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"choso—" you start, already feeling guilty, already reaching for the hem of his sweater.

he catches your hands and pins them gently above your head. his fingers twine with yours, pressing your palms into the pillow.

"no, sweetheart." he says, his mouth brushing your ear. his voice drops, rough and reverent. "you don’t do the work. you never do the work. you just lay there, princess, and let me take care of you. let me please you. let me—" he grinds his hips down, and you feel how hard he is, straining against the fabric of his trousers, and you gasp. "—let me do everything."

he releases your hands only to finally pull his sweater over his head. you watch the muscles of his back shift in the warm light of your tablelamp, the old scars, the lean strength. when he turns back to you, he’s already unlacing his trousers, pushing them down, kicking them off.

he kneels between your thighs, his dark eyes raking over you. "open up," he murmurs, his hands sliding up your legs, pushing your shift higher. "be good for me, okay?"

you spread your legs, trembling. he’s already so hard, the pink tip flushed and wet, and he wraps his hand around himself, stroking once, twice, his eyes never leaving your face.

"you don’t even have to move," he says, leaning down, caging you in his warmth. "i’ll do all the work. i’ll get you ready. i’ll make you feel so good. all you have to do is look at me. can you do that for me, princess? can you let me love you?"

"yes," you breathe, your voice cracking. "yes, choso, please—"

he kisses you then, deep and filthy, his tongue sliding against yours in a rhythm that makes your toes curl. his hand slips between your legs, his fingers finding you already wet, already aching. he doesn’t make you ask, nor does he make you work for it. he just pushes two fingers inside you, curling them, stretching you open while his thumb circles your clit.

"that’s it," he praises against your lips, feeling you clench around him. "that's my girl. just lay there and take it. let me get you ready for my cock."

you moan, your head falling back against the pillow. he’s relentless, his fingers pumping in and out, hitting that spot inside you that makes your vision blur. you try to rock your hips, try to chase the sensation, but he stills you with his free hand on your hip.

"no, angel." he says, his voice firm. "don’t move. let me. i want to feel you squeezing my fingers while you just lay there and let me fuck you open."

you whimper, your hands gripping the sheets because he won’t let you touch him. he’s leaning over you, watching your face, watching the pleasure overwhelm you, and his expression is something almost feral. like this—serving you, controlling your pleasure, doing all the labor—is exactly where he wants to be.

"look at you," he breathes, his fingers moving faster, harder. "so pretty. so perfect. you're doing so well, baby. letting me make you cum. can you do that for me? can you cum on my fingers like a good girl?"

"choso!" you sob, the pressure building, your body tensing.

"there she is," he croons, his thumb pressing down. "cum for me, make a mess of the sheets."

you break, your orgasm crashing over you, your walls clamping down on his fingers as you cry out. he rides you through it, his hand moving slower now, drawing out every wave until you’re shaking, boneless, your hair fanned out across the pillow.

before you can catch your breath, he’s moving. he hooks his arms under your knees, spreading you wide, his hands sliding up to grip your hips. he positions himself at your entrance, the head of his cock pressing against your still-pulsing heat.

"now," he says, his voice rough with restraint. "i’m going to fuck you, and i’m going to make you cum again. and again. until you can’t think. until you can’t even remember your name."

"please," you gasp, your hands reaching for him again, wanting to touch, to hold.

he catches your wrists and presses them back into the mattress. "no," he says, his eyes dark. "be good, or i'll stop. understand?"

you nod, dizzy, your body still throbbing.

he pushes in with one long, smooth thrust, filling you completely. the stretch burns so perfectly you cry out, your back arching off the bed, but he holds you down, his grip tight on your hips.

"fuck," he groans, his forehead dropping to your shoulder. "so warm. so tight. and you’re just— letting me use you— shit—"

he starts to move, a slow, deep rhythm that has you seeing stars. he’s doing all the work—his hips rolling, his cock dragging against your sensitive walls, his hands holding you exactly where he wants you. you try to move, try to meet his thrusts, but he growls and pins you harder.

"stay still," he orders, his voice strained. "let me do this for you. you had a hard day. you smiled at people who didn't deserve it. now you just get to lay here and take my cock. that’s all. that’s your only job."

"ch-choso!" you sob, tears leaking from the corners of your eyes. it’s too much, the pleasure, the devotion, the way he’s using his body to serve you. "i love you— hic!— i love you so much—"

"i know," he breathes, his thrusts speeding up, becoming harder, more desperate. his skin slaps against yours, the bed creaking, but he never lets you move. he holds you open, holds you down, fucks into you with a single-minded focus that’s entirely about your pleasure. "and i love you more. god, i love you so much more."

his hand slides between you again, his fingers finding your clit, rubbing tight, fast circles. you’re so sensitive from your first orgasm, every touch is electric, overwhelming. you can’t move, can’t do anything but lay there and take it, exactly like he wants, and the helplessness of it, the sheer luxury of being cared for so completely, sends you over the edge again.

you cum with a scream, your walls clamping down on him so hard he chokes, his rhythm faltering.

"that’s it," he gasps, fucking you through it, chasing his own release now. "atta girl. just— shit— i-im gonna—"

he thrusts deep one last time and stills, his cock pulsing inside you as he comes with a broken groan against your neck. you feel the heat of it, the way he spills into you, marking you, claiming you, all while you lay there trembling, his hands still gripping your hips, his weight pressing you into the mattress.

for a long moment, neither of you moves. he’s breathing hard, his chest heaving, sweat slicking his skin. slowly, carefully, he pulls out and collapses beside you, immediately pulling you into his arms. he’s still panting, his heart hammering against your ear.

"okay?" he whispers, his hand stroking your hair again, back to the gentle, domestic touches.

you nod, boneless, drifting. "more than okay," you murmur. "felt so good."

"that’s the point," he reminds you, pressing a kiss to your temple. "pretty girls like you shouldn’t have to do anything."

you smile against his chest, your eyes already closing. "then i guess i’m just going to have to let you do it again tomorrow."

You’re pumping your fingers in your needy cunt just thinking about it after every damn date with this boy. Whining out in your bed with your hips bucking up, gasps escaping your lips desperately in your empty room. Pumping faster and faster until you’ve got that sticky release all over your hand.

It’s almost as if you have this sort of ritual now, before you see your boyfriend and right after/.

Your rose toy is probably fucking tired of you.

As if you don’t you ache so damn bad around him it’s painful, hard not to shamelessly hump his thigh till you cum. No, the toy? This takes the edge off just a bit, but even the way you moan his name in your sleep is endlessly hilarious to your poor roommates that have to hear you between the walls of your off campus apartment.

“Still a virgin?” Utahime asked with a laugh when you had woken up this morning, getting ready to see Satoru.

“Not by choice,” you grumble, shaking your head and grabbing a coffee pod from the little rack, popping your favorite inside and pressing the on button. The aroma hits immediately, waking your tired brain.

You’d had the filthiest damn dream of him fucking your tits, cock sliding up and down in messy strokes that had you needing a damn shower right now.

You’re just perpetually ovulating.

Satoru is the perfect boyfriend, truly he is. He’s sweet, he’s a gentleman despite his blue eyes and where they glance too long. Mostly, he cares. You’ve fallen so in love with him so quickly over these past few months, but every time you think that things might progress, Satoru stops it. Gently lifting you up off his lap and sighing, kissing his way up your jaw, his snowy lashes tickling your cheek.

‘Sweetheart, let’s pause this,’ he would murmur those words all sweet and sultry against your skin after almost sucking on those nipples that just stay hard around this man, instead hovering a breath away so it ghosts your tits. Those huge hands brushing just underneath them.

It’s torture, really.

‘Oh, okay Toru,’ you’d whisper back, he’d moan and kiss up your neck, breaths tickling your skin. ‘Mnh…’

‘You’re so beautiful, god look at you.’

It was just wrong to talk to you like that!

“You poor baby. At least you have your toy collection,” Shoko teases, sneaking in and brushing your hair back. “Extensive, too.”

You flip her off, peeking at the phone then and seeing Satoru's name pop up.

Study session?

“Dick session?” She asks, you gasp, as if affronted at such a suggestion.

“I would never assume such a thing!”

You hope so.

*****

It’s not.

No, it’s not a dick session at all.

It really is an actual goddamn study session – both of you were sitting there in Satoru’s living room, his place was far fancier than anywhere, but that came from him being the Dean’s very son. It intimidated you a little at first, but now you’ve grown comfortable, as he made you feel so special.

Today though?

Well, you can’t focus on anything but how badly you’d love to kneel and suck your nerdy boyfriend, his thighs spread wide all slutty.

God his legs are long.

You bet his cock is-

“And this equation?” Satoru teasingly asks you, distracting you from your slutty freaking brain.

You're not even sure what stumbles out of your mouth for an answer, without saying how thick you think the circumference of his cock must be.

That is something you’ve done with your past experiences, and you know you’re good at it. You could easily deep throat a man and you wanted to see his cock so damn bad – could he be a challenge, though?

Your eyes drift down his chest, he peeks at you curiously.

“What’s wrong, sweetheart?” He asks casually, spinning his pen between his fingers and studying you. “Hard question?”

“Um… yeah, a very hard time…”

Stop that! Stop looking at his dick print!

“The question is hard?”

“Uh… the question… yes.” You feel like a damn pervert every time you’re around him, can’t you chill and let things happen when they happen?

He sighs and stands up, stretching his arms up over his head, his abdomen revealed when his dress shirt rides up, showing those little v cuts that make your ovulating brain just a million times worse. It’s like you’re in heat. It's so pathetic right now – maybe you should avoid him till it stops.

“Let’s take a break then.”

“Yeah?”

He chuckles at how eager you are at the thought and comes up to you, leaning down with a hand on each arm of your chair, tilting his head so some of that soft white hair falls over his forehead. You brush a bit of it back and he kisses your palm, lips warm and sweet.

“You’ve been such a good girl, how can I not treat you a bit?” Your heart hammers in your chest, until those next words spill from his lips. “Boba?”

“What? Huh?” You blink as he eases back, pulling up his phone and leaning against the desk. “Boba??”

“Yeah, Boba, I’ll buy you some, I know you love it,” he smiles curiously as you bury your face in your hands. “No Boba? Matcha then?”

“I’m um…” About to cum if he touches you once even. “No, I guess Boba is fine. Thanks Toru.” you manage to say, thighs pressing together, Satoru frowns, kneeling now and gently taking your hands off your face, seeing your blush.

“Are you sick!? You’re all flushed!”

“I’m not-”

“You’re burning,” he touches your cheek in concern, and you almost fucking feel bad – you’re not sick, you’re ovulating. “Baby girl, let’s get you to a doctor right now!"

“No, no I feel fine, I’m not warm because of that,” you shift in your seat and whine out at just that friction. “Promise.”

He frowns and watches you carefully. “You’re hurting, it could be the start of something!”

“Well yeah I hurt,” you sigh as he spreads your thighs and kneels between them, shoving at him. “You’ll make it even worse down there.”

“I’ll make what worse, exactly? Your…” He trails off then, seeing your panties and blushing himself, pink dancing across his high cheekbones and dusting them in that rose. “Y-your… your panties are so… uh… s-soaked and…”

You should freak out at this proximity, at just how much he can finally see of you, but all you can do is whine again, as his eyes shoot back up to yours. “I’m okay, promise.”

“Am I neglecting my pretty girlfriend?” He asks softly, just a little nervous. Satoru has never touched anyone but you, but he’s extensively studied the female anatomy, and how to make you cum.

He just wanted your first time to be perfect.

That’s why he was waiting – the last thing he needed was for you to not enjoy your first time, though he knows you’re a little more experienced than he is – Satoru’s hardly kissed anyone before you. Not because he couldn’t – he just had no interest in that sort of thing until he met you – and even then, he really couldn’t find the damn courage to ask you out forever.

“No I’m being a damn pervert,” you cover your face and he chuckles at that.

“You’re being a what, now?”

You sink into the seat, mumbling. “You heard me.”

He’d been your best friend for so long, thinking there was no chance in the world – always jerking his cock with any article of clothing you’d leave in his room, like a filthy depraved pervert – and you think you were one perverted here?

Does him wanting the timing to be just right making you think that?

Satoru exhales softly, just a hint of what he wants to say slipping from his plump lips.

“What, do you touch your little pussy thinking of me?”

His voice has you lowering your hands, he spreads those thighs and slides up your skirt, making you moan out, head falling back, your hands gripping the arms of the chair even tighter.

“Wha-?” You can’t even finish your damn word.

“Asked you a question, baby.”

“God,” he’s diabolical without knowing – or maybe he does know. You’re trembling as you lean back, letting his thumb brush on your clit and gasping at the touch, already getting slick from a brush on your skin. “What question?”

“Not paying attention, tsk,” he clicks his tongue and his teeth nip your inner thigh, sinking in and making you whine out. “Do you touch her?”

“Y-yes,” he hums a bit, tugging your panties up until your lips are visible, that dark spot growing as slick starts pouring. “Please…”

“Be patient, baby,” he leans back now, smirking at you. “Show me?”

“Are you sure you…”

“Please? I wanna see so bad,” you blush now, you masturbate sure – but not in front of people! “I’ll show you?”

“Show me you um… jerking off?”

“Yeah, I mean… yeah?” You sigh a bit.

“Toru…”

“Mmm?”

“Why don’t I um… suck you?” He is bright red now, he’s almost busting just thinking of your mouth – that won’t do. His first blow job and he busts in one go!? No, Satoru has to jerk it three times before he gets the privilege of fucking your pretty little mouth, of feeling your pink tongue on him.

“Not yet.”

“Not yet? But you’re so hard,” you giggle and tease him with your foot nudging his thigh, he glares and catches it, shoving it wide. “Not yet, then. So you just wanna see me touch myself?”

“God yes, dreamed of that since…” He trails off then, he doesn’t want to admit just how long he’s jerked off to you, because it was before you even knew who Satoru Gojo was. “Lemme see.”

“Okay…” you lean back, running your fingertips over your panties, slipping underneath and leaning your head back, eyes fluttering shut, hearing Satoru’s soft little whine. “Toru…”

“Fuck,” he thought he could handle this, but he’s utterly failing, he can’t even see your pretty pussy and he’s already throbbing, leaking so much pre it hurts, sticking to his brand new digimon boxers. “You’re s’pretty, sweetheart.”

You blush as you look at him with dazed eyes, running little circles right around your puffy clit, coated in hot slick as it dribbles out of your panties. He swipes some of it on his fingers, studying it carefully, his tongue going to lap at it, moaning as the sweetness coats his tongue.

“Oh you’re t-tasting me,” it makes you needier, until you have to plunge two fingers inside your messy, quivering hole, that loud squelch echoing in your ears. He’s gripping your thigh with one hand bruising until you cry out.

“Fuck, so s-sorry… baby I hurt… y-you…”

“No, no, like it,” he moans and puts his hand back on your thigh, squeezing again so hard it aches. He's jerking his cock faster, whining out when he sees your slick fingers pull out of your panties. You press your cum soaked fingers to his lips and he eagerly wraps them around, sucking them off. “Toru…”

“So sweet, my pretty girlfriend,” his glasses fog up when he leans down, licking your inner thigh that is trembling, sliding higher until his tongue is on you – but it's not on your skin, it's on the soaked cotton of your panties.

“Fuck…” he moans as he gets those juices that are spilling through the fabric, his and squeezing his own cock as your thighs sit over his shoulders. 

“More, please,” you're tugging at his hair so hard it hurts, bucking up your hips for more. “I need you, please.”

“Such a needy girlfriend,” he murmurs, thumb circling his drooling tip, looking up at you with desperation in his pretty blue eyes. “You want me to lick it more for you?”

Your answer is a little nod, even having him lick you over your panties is more than you've ever had done, and fuck it feels good. Sinful as he trails a long, slow stripe over the fabric, the tip stopping right over your twitchy clit, his moan is muffled against the damp cotton.

“Toru!” He's lost in your scent, in that taste, the little hints of lace decorating your panties rough against his tongue, the sound is fucking filthy.

Satoru tugs those panties up more firmly, strings of gossamer saliva dripping and dissolving, peering up at you with flushed cheeks. “Like that, baby? Is this what you were thinking about instead of studying?”

Your only answer is to nod quickly, a jerky little motion as he sees those puffy lips just swallowing the damp material. He swipes his tongue over and over, the heat and wetness of his mouth making your entire body tremble. You feel it heating up, hearing the messy sounds of his own cock fucking his fist, wishing it were your throat instead.

"Oh god, Toru," you whimper out it so pathetically, your hands tangling in his soft white hair, fluffy and silky underneath your touch, trying to pull him closer, to shove his face where you need it. “Not enough, mnh!”

He chuckles against your puffy cunt, the vibration and the quick lave of his tongue have you on edge. Pulse racing as he had the audacity to tease you, landing a wet smack on your cunt that had you pathetic.

"Ah - ah," he clicks his tongue, catching your wrists in one of his stupidly large hands and pinning them against your waist, smirking at you in a way that's utterly not dirty at all. "No touching yet, sweetheart. I'm taking my time with you."

“Meanie,” he chuckles again, but you love it – feeling that strength as he grips you so tight. “My panties are ruined, Toru.”

“Mmm. Yes they are,” he tugs them again, looking at how wet the material is, just a pathetic little scrap of fabric with your juices pouring.

Instead of showing you mercy and moving them, he just presses them further against you again, tongue shoving that fabric until it's flush with your needy clit, you swear you can feel his tastebuds as that tongue drags through the fabric, pausing everywhere that has you jerking and honing in.

Like this nerdy boy is studying you.

Oh. He is.

He's methodical, almost clinical with his research of your needy, clothed cunt just separated by this pathetic little piece of fabric, his tongue pressing more firmly against your soppy lil hole. She is pulsing around nothing, torturous strokes, pressing his fingers up and down, you're hot and sticky underneath his touch.

“Toru!” Your wrists are still pinned, his cock forgotten even though it's dripping down onto the soft, plush rug below his knees. Satoru finds your clit again and looks up under snowy lashes, you watch the drips of slick connect with that wickedly long tongue.

“Mmm. I bet I could see myself inside you,” he whispers, you suck in a breath at that, as if he is measuring the distance of your entrance to your belly button, easing your wrists to tug up your top, nipping your puffy lips over the fabric. “Scientifically.”

“Then experiment, scientifically.” He chuckles like the little shit he is, finding your clit once more, a hand pressing where he imagines his cock would bulge out.

“You are so needy f'me, s'pretty like this,” his words slur as he wraps his plump lips around your twitchy clit, barely concealed and swollen underneath the cotton material that is dripping wet. He pulls it in his mouth and sucks it hard through your panties, humming against you.

You're aching, cunt filling his hungry mouth as your hands land back on his hair, his movements making you cry out and buck your hips against his mouth for more.

“So sweet right now, god, look at that…”

Satoru is so close to cumming when he grabs his cock at the base again, squeezing so goddamn hard – he could almost bet that if he felt your cunt without the fabric, he'd spurt his white ropes everywhere.

Make a mess of you.

“Mnh. You close, sweetheart?”

Your answer is a jerky little nod, as he keeps torturing you with this fucking barrier, his teeth grazing that tiny clit ever so lightly through the fabric, making you scream out, your head falling back. Your panties are absolutely ruined now, utterly transparent with your slick and his spit coating them, your sweet little cries rushing through his ears.

Satoru? Well, he laps at the mess he's making happily, his tongue coating the entire area in circles that deliberately avoid that spot until you're twitching, tears falling down your cheeks.

"Such a messy girl," he moans out those words, eyes black when they peek up at you, his voice husky as your slick clings to his lips. "Soaking these pretty little panties f’me.”

“Please, Toru… move ‘em please,” he smirks and decides to have mercy on you, tugging them to the side of one of your lips and exhaling, watching the slick drool and spill down. You gasp as the air hits your cunt, already aching and needy, the dampness making it a cool shock.

“Fuck, you're so pretty,” he murmurs, his cock just about to bust without his touch, he glides his tongue from your ass all the way to your clit, looking right up at you. “Is this what you were thinking of, hmm? My tongue inside you?”

“Your cock, too,” he chuckles against you, but just a couple more flicks has you close, as he spreads your cunt wide, studying your every expression.

“Look at that. My slutty little girlfriend.”

Satoru is trying his best to hold it together, but when his tongue glides into your gummy walls and they grip him, he's too far gone, slurping up every bit of the cum that just pours out. You shatter so damn pretty, squirting all over his face, dripping down his chin until it's glossy, his cock starts pulsing right with your hole, imagining her milking him.

“F-fuckk….”

“Toru, mnh! S'good I… please…” You’re overheated, body sensitive, it’s just not enough, even with his tongue lavishing every bit of your pussy.

Not enough.

“Please what, baby? Mnh,” he grips his veiny cock as he cums with his tongue on your clit, more of your mess drenching his throat, his face, his shirt. His white ropes coat his hand, lashes fluttering shut as he savors your jumping clit in his mouth, whining against you.

“Want your cock in my mouth, Toru please…” he exhales, breath making you jolt, looking up at you with a blush.

“I um…” he leans back on his knees and you see the mess, blushing at it. 

“I didn't touch you though…”

“Didn't need to,” he's clearly a little embarrassed, you take his cum soaked hand then – dripping white – and wrap your mouth around one of his thick fingers. “Oh fuck…”

You suck him right off, tasting that salty white substance and moaning as it hits your taste buds. Satoru pulls back and laps it off his own fingers, before kissing you right with it, the mess spilling between your mouths and dripping down.

Satoru Gojo – your nerdy boyfriend with an insane Digimon collection was a fucking freak, greedily drinking his own cum off your mouth.

You’re trembling when the door knocks, and you faintly remember that he has ordered you boba. He’s the epitome of a perfect boyfriend after that, considerate, caring, cleaning the little rivulets of your own release from your inner thighs – you’re stuck back on the opposite side of the bed, cuddling him and watching a movie.

Satoru even has the audacity to snore after, heavy body wrapping as you ache to get filled by him – at least the movie was so damn boring you drift off right next to him.

****

“I’m gonna die a virgin,” you mumble to Shoko and Utahime the next weekend, aside from more heated kisses and grinding on Satoru’s thigh after your well planned out dates – nothing.

You’re aching.

How much use could your rose toy really see!? And now you even have two more toys going along with it, though you doubt any of them are getting close to Satoru and how good he must feel. No ‘clit sucker’ could come close to what that nerdy little mouth could do.

“You look like you’re dying, girl, damn…” Utahime earns your glare. “Is it that bad?”

“He finally got me off and…” You blush now, unable to finish your sentence, remembering his tongue drinking up your juices.

“Does he know what a clit is?”

“Very much so, it was so good.”

They look surprised.

“You all have no clue, he really was,” Shoko laughs at that, leaning back and hitting the vape, handing it over to you. “No, no.”

“You need a smoke, sweets,” you grimace, brushing your hair back, pacing back and forth as the two girls watch you, snuggling with each other. “You’re pacing holes in the carpet.”

“I can’t handle this, I just… god I wanna suck his dick, is it so terrible? He hasn’t even let me touch it. I sound like a horny ass man, I hate it. I wanna respect him, I really do.”

“You wanna respect him with his cock in your throat?” Shoko finishes.

“Yes. I mean!? I will respect him without the cock in my mouth! You two are menaces.”

They’re laughing like the brats they are, blowing smoke in each other’s mouths, you damn near moan in frustration. Satoru’s gotten you off that one time, then since then he has gone right back to worshipping you in the sweet way he always did, as if you’ll what – forget about his tongue?

His stupidly long fingers…

The cum on your tongue that you lapped right off!?

The taste.

“Ugh -” you lean back and sink further into the couch. “I really am gonna die.”

“Can’t die, we’ve got that party tonight,” Utahime teases, kissing Shoko’s lips and giggling just a bit, you pout at the two of them.

In public Satoru would kiss your hand at best.

Where on earth even had that freak come from that spit his cum in your mouth last week!? He’s all gone again – the pocket protector wearing Nerd Gojo in his place, like some twin fucking took over for a minute.

“I can’t go to a party and get drunk, I’ll make a fool of myself around him, one drink and my pussy has a mind of its own…” You finally sit down, plopping back into the seat. “I feel like a pervert.”

“You are! Let’s just call you fucking pervy Sage.”

“Hey!” You glare at Utahime, Shoko is inhaling another puff of smoke, you cough just a bit. 

“Hah – Sanji from One-”

“Don’t even!? I’m not that bad,” you huff at her, frowning now. “I swear I'm not trying to be pervy. God, what is in this weed?”

“Hmm,” Shoko tugs Utahime on her lap. “I wonder if he's scared you'll like … bite his dick.”

“You're so fucking mean,” you cough a little more, eyes watering as you scowl at the two of them.

“Look slutty, like really slutty,” Shoko walks up now, tilting your chin up and crooking her lips up at the corner. “Something that screams – fuck me.”

“He licked my panties and didn’t even…”

“Really slutty,” Utahime agrees, tapping her chin. “Ooh! I know, I have the perfect outfit in mind, that little black dress of yours.”

“But it’s too small for me now! It’s from like high school, and thanks to you two cooking all the time, my hips-”

“Exactly.”

“Exactly what? Oh…”

You trail off now, realizing what everyone knew – that Satoru loves your hips, he grabbed on to them every chance he got, even when he was just a little bit shy.

“Okay…”

They kiss again in front of you, laughing a bit, making you lovesick for your man – your nerdy man who you wish would kiss you in that way, tongues all dripping. It’s not even fair.

“All lovey dovey, fuck you both.”

They’re so hot and rude laughing at you – you decide to just disappear, you don’t need your hot ass best friends making out in front of you when you’re already in pain from the constant edging from Satoru. You are rushing to your room and trying on outfit after outfit, before finally deciding on the exact fucking one they brought up.

You would look as sexy as you could and hopefully get your boyfriend to not be able to resist you.

But also you’ll respect his decision, dammit! You can wait as long as he wants to, even if you were absolutely gonna put your tits and ass out there for him. Looking in the mirror and touching up your lipstick, swiping a finger across your lower lip to smudge it just a tad.

“Oh damn you look hot, Sanji,” Utahime says when you come out.

“I am not Sanji.”

“You are.”

“Fuck you both!”

*****

Satoru can’t keep his damn eyes off you.

Fuck you’re pretty tonight.

That damn little black dress clinging to your skin is fucking ruining Satoru’s mind, brain short circuiting as the two of you navigate the insanely packed frat house, one of his hands on the small of your back protectively. People are all bumping into everyone, stumbling around, absolutely no chance he lets someone hurt you by accident.

Moreso, Satoru Gojo can’t get his fucking hands off you, no, he can feel your warmth right through the thin layer of cotton material, fingers splaying across it. He reminds himself in his head over and over just what a horrible thing it would be to fucking take your first time at a frat party, even as he has to adjust his cock, turning from you to face the wall for a moment.

“Everything okay, Toru?” You ask softly, hand on his back, he laughs, a fake and terrible attempt at being normal, turning right back around to you.

“Me!? Yes, yes. Do you need a drink, babydoll?” He asks.

The music kicks on as he speaks, and all you can see are his plump lips forming words, ringing from how damn loud they’re blaring the worst dance music known to man. “What!!”

“A drink!!”

“Huh?”

“A DRINK-”

The music pauses for just a minute, switching to something else but leaving multiple people to stare at Nerdy Gojo shouting.

You blink a bit at his shouting, he swears he’ll kill Suguru and Nanami for having the audacity to fucking laugh at him and his pain. Them smoking weed earlier and trying to give him every tip known to man on how to bury said tip right against that surely cute little cervix.

As if Satoru hadn’t studied extensively.

“Yes, please,” you smile all pretty, letting him guide you through, he just about loses it from the sheer amount of eyes locked onto you, gripping you just a little too tight, feeling the curve of those breedable hips underneath his fingertips.

Imagine having them bent over, his hands fit so perfect-

No, he can make it another night, a dumb frat party was not the time or place for something so precious as your first time. Even if you smell that good, and you’re dancing all over him, giggling, your ass brushing right against where his cock has tented his dark jeans.

Your drink in one hand, the other in his as he pulls you against him, for a nerdy boy, Gojo can absolutely move his body. You feel so goddamn good against him, with your waist in his grip now, his lips pressed against your ear – he can inhale that sweet scent you just naturally fucking have.

That’s when he realizes he’s about to cum if your ass rubs up on his cock one more damn time with those heels making you tall enough, he could bend you over and slide it right in. God he bets you’re so wet too.

Satoru has to pull back, making you blink just a bit in confusion, he downs the rest of his drink, smiling apologetically.

“Bathroom, sweetheart.”

“Oh, um… okay, want me to-”

Satoru runs the fuck off.

Maybe you’re doing too much, shit… you were absolutely grinding all up on Satoru because you were craving him so bad. You needed to give him more time! If the roles were reversed, you know he would, even if he may want to as badly as you do. Going to pour yourself a shot, you throw it back and let your eyes shut, sighing just a bit as it burns your throat.

You need to ease up and let Satoru take his time, even if you have to press your thighs together to resist the needy urge of rubbing your cunt on anything right now.

Maybe you are fucking Sanji.

*****

Satoru’s leaned back on the door, unzipping his pants and seeing his reddened cockhead, and just how fucking swollen it is. He’s jerking his cock desperately, whimpering out as the door gets knocked on, banged on in fact by fucking Sukuna of all people.

“Gotta take a piss man, stop jerking it.”

“I’m not!? I’m pissing right now – w-wait,” Satoru is jerking it of course, but how dare Sukuna call him out on it. Dickhead fratboy that he is, he’s chuckling outside of the door, but none of it is getting rid of Satoru’s throbbing erection.

He’s just way too needy, too sensitive, he can see his reflection in the mirror – those flushed pink cheeks. Sukuna thankfully fucks off, but Satoru can't even cum with just his hand, not when he knows your little fist would feel so much better, when your mouth and pussy would grip him.

No, Satoru is left tortured.

*****

You are alone for some time, concerned if he was somehow drunk or sick when the leader of the frat – the slutty ass, pink haired jock named Sukuna comes up to you, sipping his cup and flickering his red eyes up and down your face.

“Hmm, Gojo left you all alone?”

“And?” You scoff, rolling your eyes at him now, he smirks just a bit, leaning close. “He’s busy. Okay?”

“Mmm… yeah,” he peeks over his shoulder now, then looks right back down at you. “So.”

“So, what?”

He grins all big. “Wanna play beer pong?”

“Beer pong?”

“Mhm,” he tugs at a little lock of your hair. “Bet I stomp your ass at it. Look like such a good girl.”

“Hah you think I've never been to a party!?”

“Never seen you before aside from with your nerdy lover boy,” he pours you a drink now and inclines his head.

“I've partied, just… usually me and Toru are busy.”

He snorts at that.

So busy your boyfriend is jerking his cock in the bathroom.

“I see, so busy, huh?”

“Yes but…” you curse now, shaking your head. Satoru has been gone fifteen minutes and won't answer a text, a game of beer pong wouldn't hurt. “Fine then.”

It doesn’t take long until there is an entire gathering of people to watch you absolutely annihilate Ryomen Sukuna in beer pong, to the point he is fucking furious. You're landing the pong ball in every cup, decimating the entire frat at a certain point, giggling as you study them, down to the last shot, against Sukuna again.

“Beginners luck or some shit,” he’s fucking furious – you swear you see his vein ticking underneath his jaw.

Satoru is still not here.

You’re worried but you’re also enjoying the cheers, especially when you land that last one, giggling as the frat brothers who were talking all that shit about the nerdy girlfriend of Satoru moments before are now staring in disbelief. With one final, perfect arc, the ball splashes into the last cup. 

It really is beginner's luck.

But.

Also, fuck Sukuna.

"Damn, girl!" someone yells, and you take a little bow, rubbing it right in Sukuna’s face now, who is slamming down the rest of his beer.

Surely he drank enough to get annihilated – but somehow still standing just normal, big ass man has some insane tolerance because those eyes look completely aware.

"Guess I'm not such a good girl after all, huh?" you tease Sukuna, who's standing there looking down at you, setting the cup down and crushing it.

“Hmmm,” his red eyes dilate just a bit as he steps closer to you, suddenly making you feel just a bit nervous.

Satoru hates Sukuna.

It’s well known, since high school the two of them have been overcompetitive and absolutely insane against each other. He’d be fucking furious if he saw you anywhere near him at all. You peek and see him across the crowd then, getting a text from Shoko blinging on your phone.

He’s really mad.

He is.

You get another text now from Utahime, biting down on your lower lip.

Make him jealous and maybe you’ll get dicked down, Sanji.

“I’m not Sanji,” Sukuna raises a brow, lips twitching. “I’m not.”

“Sanji? Who the fuck is that?”

“One piece?”

“Nerd – hey, wait,” you’re turning and he grabs your wrist for just a moment. “Shit, I mean… you’re right, you’re not a good girl, huh?”

“I sure beat your ass,” you say, pausing when he reaches out, his fingers surprisingly gentle as they brush a stray piece of hair back from your face, rough knuckles brushing against your cheek for a second too long.

"You did, you're full of surprises, brat.”

“Brat? Whatever…”

You can feel Satoru’s eyes on you – you’d pull back, but part of you wonders if making him jealous would bring that freak out that spit cum in your mouth – maybe you are a brat. You sip your drink, remaining normal.

“I’m dating Satoru, you’re too close.”

“Would nerdy ass Satoru know what to do, how to handle your ass?” He taunts, your eyes narrow, his laugh echoing despite the music as your boyfriend starts shoving his way through. “Show you that digimon collection?”

“I’m very pleased, thank you.”

“You look like you need to get your attitude fucked right out of you,” your fingers itch to slap him now. “If he fucks up, you know where to find me.”

“No thank you, I- Toru!”

Satoru is between you and Sukuna, shoving him off and glaring right at him – perhaps the two tallest men at the party right face to face, Sukuna’s smirk making Satoru want to punch him.

“Why are you so close to my future wife?”

“Wife?” You blush and he glares at you.

“Yes, and baby momma – but you’re being a brat,” he whispers, Sukuna snorts at that.

“She is a brat.”

“You can’t call her that,” he shoves the big ass man and takes your hand now. “She has better shit to do than talk to you.”

“Aw, but we were having fun,” Satoru is dragging you away, you blink just a bit, almost scowling at Sukuna who blows you a kiss.

What a dick.

BUT.

Satoru is fuming, and he’s hot.

You’re so toxic!

“What’s wrong, Toru? I was just playing some beer pong,” you say all innocently, as he drags you past everyone, you’re struggling to keep up with his long strides. “Um… what’s wrong?”

“What’s wrong!? Hah,” he’s laughing, psychotic and feral like you turned on a switch in his brain, when he finally starts getting some privacy. “Everything.”

“I don’t get it…”

“He was hitting on you,” Satoru yanks you away in the center of the party, you barely bite back your giggle at how excited you are to see him this way, looking ever so serious when he glares down at you.

Maybe you are evil, loving how mad he is, how jealous he is when he presses you against the hallway wall on the other side of the party, you can feel the music humming through the walls, but not as fast as your heart is racing looking up at your blue eyed boyfriend. Blue eyed angry boyfriend.

This isn't sweet Satoru at all, no – he's completely fucking unhinged, his chest rising and falling with his quickened breaths, cupping your face and jerking your chin to look up at him.

“You think he was?” You ask softly, making him raise a brow. “I thought he was just… being nice?”

You make him laugh without humor now, thumb brushing across your lip. “Are you being bratty, sweetheart? Teasing me, making me jealous?”

“What? No,” you straight up fucking lie to his face, batting your lashes all innocent and cute, but you can tell my that little smirk he doesn’t buy any of it for shit right now.

“No?”

“No, I was just talking, Toru. Isn't that fine?” You trail your hands up his chest, wrapping your fingers around to hook behind his neck, tugging him down to face you. “It’s fine for me to make friends, isn’t it?”

“Not when he's looking at these pretty tits,” he cups one, making you suck in a breath – your needy boyfriend is never this bold. “They're not his to look at.”

“Oh?” You lean forward now, tip toeing as he leans low, thumb brushing over a nipple, making it perk up for his touch. “Are they yours? Yours to look at?”

He’s losing it, his pulse hammering behind his ears, in his wrists, everywhere was hammering, his mouth practically salivating as he cups that tit right where anyone can see, big hand squishing it. You gasp out at the sensation, your lashes fluttering closed, little whines mingling against his lips.

“Yes, mine, every inch of you is mine,” Satoru shakes his head now with a soft laugh. “He thought he could dance with you. Kiss your lips? Lips that are mine.”

“All yours,” you open your eyes and giggle again, earning his scowl. “Sorry you're just so cute like this.”

Satoru blinks.

“Oh, I’m cute?”

You go to press a kiss when he snatches you up in one swoop, you gasp and wrap your arms around his neck now. Thighs trembling as he carries you to some room he finds, stumbling you in and shoving you right against the door.

“You think I'm cute,” he presses his cock against your slick heat, slutty little panties practically ruined for him, grinding his cock until you're gasping out. “Well I think that you're a brat.”

You gasp. “Me?”

Two people calling you that.

Well… maybe you are.

“You are bratty, with those pretty fucking lips,” he's kissing you filthy, tongues dancing, saliva dripping between you both, easing you down so that you slide against his body achingly slow. “Maybe I should shut your bratty mouth up.”

Oh fuck.

“Yes please?” He glares at your big fucking grin. 

“On your knees then, sweetheart,” you so eagerly obey, he laughs softly, his heart hammering in his chest, a mix of being utterly furious, nervous about his first time, and dumbstruck by the sight of your heart eyes. “Look at you, bein’ such a good girl – but are you really that desperate to suck me?”

“Please yes,” you have no shame – all you want is Satoru’s cock deep and buried in the back of your throat. “If you want though! C-consent.”

“As if I haven’t wanted this for years,” he shakes his head and tilts your chin up, sighing. “I wanted to do it all perfect, to lick and kiss every inch, worship your body until you were writhing, so fucking needy for it.”

Satoru unclicks his belt, the metallic click hitting your ears. “Mnh… years?”

"Years," he repeats softly, unbuttoning his jeans entirely too slow for you, you go to move your hands and he halts them with a little smack, you bite down on your lip, aching. “Hands on your thighs, you’ll listen to me for once, since you’ve been driving me so fucking crazy.”

“Me, making you crazy, really,” you do as he says though – eagerly – palms on your thighs, he laughs a bit, the sound of his zipper lowering echoing in the room even with the reverberating walls.

“You know every time you drag that messy cunt on me it ruins me, right?” He draws out that word, sighing now. "Every time you wore those little skirts and bent over, every time you'd bite your lip while concentrating…”

Satoru drags a thumb down your lip now, achingly slow against the plumpness that moves underneath it, your teeth nip on his thumb teasingly, and then you let him push your mouth open.

“Open real wide, sweetheart,” you do just that, and he can’t help but whimper as he presses down on your tongue, as if he’s studying the recesses of your open, eager mouth. “Wider, can’t you? For me?”

You listen eagerly, opening wide and fucking obscene, your tongue out for any bit of him he wants to give you, core just aching.

“Fuck, I've imagined this exact moment."

Satoru won’t tell you just how long he has, either, he swallows – just a bit nervous now.

“Suck,” you suck his digits, slurping them and moaning around them, imagining his cock instead, loving how dominant he’s being. “Stop.”

You obey, making him raise a brow.

“You like me tellin’ you what to do? Is that why you got me so fucking mad, so jealous, to have you listen?”

“Yeah,” you whisper, as he shoves his jeans down, and the hard, thick length of his bugle strains against the thin fabric of his boxers. “Pokemon? You traitor!”

“I can’t wait to shut your mouth up tonight,” you giggle at that, Satoru sighs and frowns at them, brushing your hair back a bit. “They were a gift, okay?”

“I’ll buy you digimon ones.”

“God, you’re so perfect,” you’re still giggling, when he gently smacks your face – the lightest little touch that has you almost moaning. “Open up again, yeah? Be a good girl, baby.”

“Mmm, yes,” you nod your head, doing just as he says – the side of freaky Satoru you only saw hints of last week when he’d lavished your panties with his long tongue.

“You got me jealous on purpose, yeah? Wore that slutty outfit to fucking ruin me, wanted cock in your throat that bad? Got me fucking leaking so much… fuck…”

Your answer is to keep that mouth open, leaning forward as you lap your tongue along the damp spot where his pre cum has already soaked through, right over a traitorous yellow pikachu. You’ll make more fun of that later, right now he’s jerking his hips, hissing at the drag of your cute lil tongue on him.

“Fuck…” You’re teasing him just like he did you – licking and sucking his tip over the damp cotton of his boxers. “Act so sweet and you’re evil, shouldn’t feel that good through that… mmm…”

Satoru’s letting you suck around his fat cockhead, slurping every bit of his white cum from it, tongue lolling right along that slit over and over.

“Torturing me back?”

“Yep,” you lick your lips, making him sigh, shaking his head now.

“Go on then, take what’s all yours…" his voice is low, hoarse damn near as he for the very first time pulls his cock out, letting it spring free, slapping against his lower abdomen with a loud, wet smack. “Can you fit all of it?”

You knew he’d be big.

You didn’t know he’d be that big, with his jeans undone all slutty, his pokemon boxers shoved down – his cock is perfect, just the right amount of thick and entirely too fucking long, with a prominent pale blue vein running along the underside. You’re literally drooling as he strokes it right in front of you, the head flushed a deep, pretty pink as it leaks white.

You’re soaked, fucking ruined.

“I can.”

You cannot.

Maybe?

You will try!

“Go on then, sweetheart, lemme see how good you can take all of me,” he chuckles as you lean forward without hesitation, pressing a soft, open-mouthed kiss to the tip. “Teasin’ me more?”

You lap your tongue up, keeping your hands right where he asked you too, sliding underneath so you hit that frenum. His sharp inhale is met with his huge hand tugging in your hair so hard it hurts, pulling at the hairs on the nape of your neck.

“Fuck… greedy lil mouth,” he’s damn near slurring his words when you swirl your little tongue around the head, lapping up the salty taste of his cock underneath, brushing along that vein. He whimpers out when you wrap your lips around it and suck. “Oh my… f-fuck…”

Satoru loses it the first time you really suck his cock, his hand coming to rest on the back of your head, pushing you down further as his other hand rests on the doorway, beginning to move so that he’s choking you. You’re whining out, aching to touch your cunt so bad you slide your fingers down.

“So desperate,” he tuts his tongue, fucking your throat now, his cock slamming the back of it as tears spill. “B-baby, is this s’okay?”

You pull back as he does, with a wet, filthy pop, grinning. “I want it, all the way deep in my throat, Toru, I can take it.”

“You can take all of it in that tiny lil’ throat? When she’s this tight?” He whispers, your nod makes him glare now. “Have you done this?”

You blink a bit. “Yes?”

“Then I’ll fuck your throat so hard you’ll forget anything but me,” he takes you over now, slamming deep inside, you’re whimpering as one of his feet spread your thighs, and you’re soaking his black boot. “That’s it, rutting on my boot and taking cock like a little slut, hmm?”

“Mnhgh…” you’re done for, this is exactly what you needed, him railing your throat until you can’t think, until you’re gagging and tears are spilling.

“Look at me,” he orders softly, you do just that as he presses deep, sniffling as you try to take all of him, he hisses as he feels his tip stretching that tight throat, his Adam's apple bobbing. “You know I fucking love you? And respect you?”

You giggle around him and he glares.

“You have to know if I’m gonna say all this,” you pull back again, fingers all coated in your slick, gliding it along his sticky tip.

“I know you love me, Toru. I love you…” He sighs, touching your cheek. “I love you talking to me this way, you could be meaner.”

“Oh? Fuck my frustration on your throat?”

“Please?”

“You’re ruining me,” he mumbles, slamming right back inside, now that he knows you’re okay, he can lose control, see how much you can take, as you grind on that shoe, nails now pressing in the muscles of his thighs, jeans slipping down. “Want our first time to really be right against this door? Shove your slutty skirt up and ruin your cunt for fuckin’ anyone?”

God, Satoru’s sexy like this, fogged glasses and all.

Your answer is to take him all the way, your nose brushing against the white hair, the tufts of it tickling your nose, he’s stuttering now, unable to stop himself from fucking faster, harder, the wet sounds mixing with his whines. He doesn’t hold them back, either, every time he does he feels a fresh gush of wetness even over that leather, he can see it shimmering as he pulls back and slaps his cock on your mouth.

“Slutty girl, this all f’me, huh? Not that fucking loser downstairs?”

“All you.”

“Hold that tongue out,” you do just that, and Satoru slaps his tip on your tongue over and over, as you keep grinding on him. “Can’t believe you’re this much of a pretty little whore, god I thought you were a good girl?”

“Toru… please…”

“Please what?” You just keep rubbing. “Desperate, fuck… stand up.”

You can hardly do that when he helps you by tugging you up, spitting directly in your mouth, you swallow it greedily, earning his pathetic moan as he turns you, shoving you against that door. “Mnh!”

“Stop me before I fill all your fucking holes with cum,” he’s kissing down your neck, his glasses cool against your neck, whines escaping his lips as he shoves that slutty lil dress up the gentle curve of your hip. “All of them, I’ll have your cunt drippin’, your throat full, fuck that ass while I’m at it.”

“Mngh, please, please,” it’s all you can do but to arch.

“That needy?” He’s tugging your panties to the side, dragging his tip up and down over and over, moans escaping his lips when he bends down, turning your face to him. “First time in a frat house against a door? You’re so wet do I even need to finger you right now?”

“Already did,” you answered, he laughs, shaking his head and kissing you, rubbing even more, teasing your slit with the fat head of his cock until you’re weak, your thighs shaking. “Please, please….”

“Please what, fuck your cunt for the first time? That’s what you’ve been wanting, me to lose it, huh?”

“Yeah,” he scoffs, teasing even more, mouth messy and mean as he bumps your clit, until you squirt right down his length, dripping all down the carpet.

Sukuna’s carpet – it’s his room you faintly notice, as you see the little pictures on the walls.

You wonder if Satoru meant that.

“Squirting already, haven’t even fucked you yet,” he pulls back and bends down, slamming his cock so deep you scream out, head falling back as he tugs your hair, making your ass arch out as he fills you. “Oh my g-god… baby…”

“Toru,” he lets you adjust to his thickness, the very first time your cunt has ever been filled – and this wasn’t how he wanted to do it.

He wanted to stretch you out – one finger, two, then three – but you’re so soaked you suck him right in. Such a tight, perfect fit he can hardly take it, bending down to press sweet kisses on your bare shoulders, easing back and shoving in again, taking your hand and placing it on your tummy, pressing so you feel it all.

“Feel me here?” He asks softly, desperately – worried for a moment with how tight you are that he’s hurt you, but your answer is to look back at him with those slutty, parted lips and dilated eyes, nodding. “Who’s inside you?”

“You, Toru.” you answer, cunt spasming as she’s already close, his body overtaking you, wrapping and tugging, shoving even deeper.

“Who’s first?”

“You.”

“Who’s gonna make this cunt stretch out?”

“Y-you and… ah!”

“Mine, mine… fuck you’re all mine,” Satoru gave you that minute to adjust, a last mercy before your nerdy boyfriend fucking loses his mind. “Mine, this pretty body, this perfect pussy… you… mine…”

“Yours,” you whisper it over and over as Satoru fucks your messy cunt, even though it’s hard to take, you’re so full it feels perfect, letting his hand wrap your throat, fingers pressing on either side of your windpipe. “Ah!”

“Hah – such a perfect fit, made f’me,” he’s fucking you so deep you feel him everywhere, cock gliding in and out of your sticky, gummy walls, fucking you so goddamn messy it's dripping down between your thighs. “B-babyyy…”

You arch for more when he pulls out of your cunt with a filthy squelch and you whine from the loss. “Back in, please…”

He lifts and carries you to the bed, thighs shoved wide, feral now as he shoves back inside and sees himself moving inside you. Every slick glide smoothing your puffy cervix, until she is bruised and aching, that dress shoved higher, panties tugged firmly to the side. He uses both to move in you, laughing as you gasp out, as your thighs tremble.

“Aw, is it too much, sweetheart? Too deep?”

Feral Satoru is here, mixed with sweet Toru, but his cock is anything but sweet – the way it stretches you out, fucking ruins you, pummels your cunt so deep you’re about to cum all over his length, already sensitive.

“Mhm!”

“Full of me?”

“Nghhhh…”

You don't know how the fuck else to answer, it all is entirely too much, the way he can see his cock print, his insane laugh, those blue eyes glittering with the frames fallen off. So blue it hurts to look at, eyes almost threatening to close.

“Nuh-uh, eyes on me, that's it,” Satoru keeps pumping into your cunt, leaning up to shove your thighs against your tits, smushing them as he fucks you dumb.

He knows it too.

“Can't think?”

“mmm, nnnhhh,” your answer is pathetic and just a babble really, as your nerdy, once virgin boyfriend pummels your messy, needy cunt until she's stuffed so full it hurts. Your nails pressing into biceps, digging in as he stretches your puffy lips on it.

“Can’t even fucking talk – already?” Your eyes roll back in your skull as his cock ruins your pussy, so deep you do feel him all over.

“Gonna pump you so full, hah will you finish college without me breeding your cunt?” Satoru Gojo is batshit insane, as he leans over you, bending you so that you're folded in half under his heavy weight. “What would you do then, hmm? If I breed your slutty cunt? Make you mine.”

“Want it, mmm,” you’re utterly fucking shameless about it, feeling his bruising grip, his cock getting creamy at the base as his heavy balls slap.

“Jerked it in the bathroom, had me so hard,” you bite down on your lip, gasps escaping your throat, eyes locked. “You love that, huh? Driving me insane, slutty dress, pretty body… god…”

He presses your thighs down enough to tug your tits out, gripping them and exhaling, thumbs brushing your nipples until they’re peaks.

"Look at you," he pants, "taking my cock so well, pretty girl. You’re just such a good little slut for me, aren't you?"

You can only moan in response, your body trembling as he hits that spot inside you that makes your vision go white, your answer is to grip his hips with your thighs, letting him cup your face, pumping you so full that you can feel it all over. Warm and hot when he whines out so pathetically in your ringing ears, slutty little moans falling from your lips.

“Takin’ all of it, god…” He kisses you even as you shatter, your cunt spasming all around his veiny length, milking him for every drop. “So fucking greedy. So needy.”

He leans down and captures your lips, spurts of cum still pouring, you can feel him twitching, nails pressing into the strong muscles of his back. “Toru… l-love… toru y-you…”

“Cock drunk, sweetheart?” He teases, like the menace he really is – but he also lovingly caresses your cheek. “You took me like you were made for me.”

“I did?” You’re so damn drunk off him you’re slurring your words, pussy achingly empty, feeling his cum slipping out.

“You did a very good job. Such a good girl.”

“Yay!”

Satoru snorts at you, shaking his head and peppering kisses, leaned up on an arm, his shirt half open, revealing the hard planes of his chest. “You’re s’cute… I wanted to take it easy your first time.”

“I loved it,” you admit, yawning now, peeking around the room. “Mmm, can we go home though?”

“Of course we will,” he kisses down your body though, breath ghosting your thighs, spreading them to watch the filthy mess of his cum pour out, groaning. “You’re wasting it all, baby.”

“Hmm? Ah!” Satoru scoops some of that mess up against his fingertips, shoving it right back inside your quivering hole. You’re gripping him tight, thighs clamping down on his hand, as he smirks. “Toru you’re… crazy…”

“Mmm, you really have no idea what I have wanted to do,” he clicks his tongue, pushing that cum deep again, watching your every expression. “Gonna keep you so full of cum it’ll drip everywhere.”

Satoru does not just fuck you once, no – he makes sure to bend you over in the backseat of his car, fucking cum back inside. Once you're at his house he is pumping ropes of cum on your tits, laughing at how messy you get coated in white, before spreading it all over your body.

Satoru fingers and fucks all that cum inside until you're a trembling mess in his arms, passing out and snoring.

“So funny you started all this but then couldn't keep up, hmm?” He teases softly, cleaning you up, cock sore from how you gripped him, how much he came. But even the sight of milky drops escaping your hole had him damn near twitching back to life, groaning against your skin.

*****

“Good morning,” your nerdy boyfriend is littered in pretty kiss marks, indentions of your teeth all down his neck, a loopy smile on his face as he stands there shirtless, glasses firmly back on.

“Oh! Good morning…” you thought you'd be the one to ruin Satoru Gojo, ride his cock till he whimpered and cried from overstimulation.

You had no clue he'd fuck you so good you couldn't sit up right without his help, cupping your face and leaning down to kiss your lips, tilting your chin up and smirking. You're a mess.

A pretty mess.

Hair fucked up, covered in fingerprints and hickies, taking the coffee he brings and sipping it, sighing as it hits your tongue. “Mmm… good morning.”

“Don't you look pretty in my bed?” He muses, smirking on his features. “I wonder what Sukuna thought of his bed covered in your squirt.”

A blush heats up your cheeks. “I didn't squirt that much!?!?!”

“You really did,” you shove him playfully, giggling then. “My cum too though.”

“You did it on purpose, his room!”

“Me? Never.”

Satoru absolutely did.

That's what Sukuna gets for hitting on his girlfriend, dried up cum all on his blankets – as if he could handle you ❤️

heheh i hope ya'll liked horny reader for a change!!!

The air in the luxury suite is thick with the scent of expensive cologne and the raw, musky smell of sex.

You are pinned to the silk sheets, your palms sliding against the fabric as you struggle to keep your balance on all fours.

Behind you, Yuta is relentless. His white dress shirt is damp with sweat, clinging translucently to the hard ridges of his back and shoulders, straining against his muscles with every violent surge of his hips.

His trousers have long since been pushed down, hanging precariously loose around his hips, leaving nothing between his heat and your trembling body.

Slap!

A sharp, stinging blow lands across your right cheek, the sound echoing through the silent room.

You gasp, trying to shift your weight to escape the sting, but his fingers dig deeper into your flesh, his grip bruising and possessive as he fucks you still in place.

"Don't move," he growls, his voice a low, dangerous rasp against your ear. "I didn't tell you to move, did I?"

He thrusts deeper, hitting your cervix with a blunt force that makes you cry out in pain, a high-pitched whimper that only seems to fuel him.

"Hahh.. three.." He begins to mutter, his voice strained and heavy with exertion, counting the repetitions of his assault.

"Five..." Thud. "Nine..." Thud. "Thirteen..."

His hot breath ghosts over your skin as he leans forward, his chest pressing against your back, and reaches around to grip your jaw.

His fingers are iron, forcing your head back and twisting your face so you're forced to look at him. "Thirteen days almost, sweetheart..."

His eyes are dark, shimmering with a cruel sort of amusement. He leans in, pressing a mocking, lingering kiss to your lips— "And still no sight of your women thing?" he whispers, his voice dripping with mockery.

"Is my baby finally having a baby?"

The words hit you like a physical blow. Your eyes widen, flooding with a mixture of shock and genuine terror.

The idea, the implication of his seed taking root inside you, sends a jolt of panic through your spine. You tremble violently under him, your breath hitching in a sob.

He sees it. He sees the fucking terror reflecting in your pupils, and he lets out a deep, guttural groan that melts into a dark, triumphant chuckle.

"Aww haha..." He throws his head back, a predatory laugh escaping his throat, and in that moment, you feel him change.

Inside you, his cock pulses and swells, growing thicker, harder, stretching your walls to their absolute limit. The sensation is overwhelming, an intrusive fullness that feels like it's splitting you apart.

"W... what—!" you gasp, your voice cracking. "Stop... please! You're... you're going to break me! Stop it!!!!"

"Break you?" he mocks, his grip on your jaw tightening as he begins to drive back into you, harder than before. "Oh sweetheart... just the way I like it..."

Plap! Slap! Plap!

Every time you try to crawl away, another sharp smack lands on your ass, forcing you back down.

"Ah ah, what's wrong? "feels so good"? "Can't take it anymore"?" He continues to mock you, his words dirty and degrading, whispering about how you're nothing more than a vessel for him, how your body was made to be used this way.

Despite the way he fills you, his hips driving hard enough to keep grinding against your swollen clit, he doesn't let go. He doesn't even climax. As if holding the fuck back until it just bursts.

—

Two weeks…

Two weeks after Italy, Taipei welcomed you back under a dull gray sky.

The penthouse looked exactly the same as before. Clean marble floors. Floor-to-ceiling windows stretching over the city. Soft music playing somewhere in the background. Everything polished to perfection.

Yuta had barely been around since returning.

The staff informed you on the very first morning that he’d already left before sunrise. Apparently work had piled up during the honeymoon, and now he was “extremely busy.” The explanation came with breakfast already arranged neatly on the table like nothing was wrong.

At first, the distance felt relieving.

You could finally breathe without him constantly standing behind you, touching you, watching you, speaking into your ear like he owned every inch of space around you.

But after a while, you realized he never truly left. You noticed it in the way the staff hovered around you no matter where you went.

If you sat in the library, a maid suddenly needed to reorganize shelves nearby. If you stood near the balcony too long, one of the guards appeared outside the doors. If you stayed inside the bathroom for more than twenty minutes, someone knocked softly to ask if you were alright.

You were never alone long enough to relax. Even the silence felt supervised. And then there were the nights.

Yuta only came home late now. Sometimes after midnight. Sometimes closer to dawn. You usually woke to the mattress dipping behind you before feeling his hand slide beneath your dress…

Then came the sex.

No… not exactly sex… but, rape.

You stopped trying to soften the word in your head because that was exactly what it was. He took what he wanted from your body whenever he returned home irritated, exhausted, or in need of control. Half asleep or not, willing or not, it never mattered.

And somehow the worst part wasn’t even the violence. It was the way he acted afterward.

The soft kisses pressed against your shoulder. His fingers combing through your hair while he held you against his chest. The quiet voice asking if you missed him while bruises darkened beneath your clothes. Like cruelty and affection meant the same thing to him.

And the pregnancy comments only made everything worse.

At first, you ignored it. Stress could delay periods. Lack of sleep could too. Your body had been through enough lately to explain it away.

But the days kept passing. And every morning, that sick feeling in your stomach grew heavier…

—

You sat at the dining table one afternoon, absentmindedly finishing the last bite on your plate when a maid immediately stepped beside you with a folded napkin. Before you could react, she gently wiped the corner of your lips.

You frowned, pulling back slightly. “I can do that myself.”

“I—I’m sorry ma'am.” The maid lowered the tissue at once. Her voice sounded careful. Practiced. “Sir asked us not to let you overexert yourself.”

Your brows knitted together. “Wiping my own mouth is overexerting myself…?”

For a second, she looked unsure. Then the expression disappeared just as quickly. “I’m only following orders.”

“.......” You glanced around the room after that and finally noticed all of them again.

Two maids standing near the kitchen entrance. Another adjusting flowers that didn’t even need adjusting. One of the guards visible through the open doorway, standing motionless outside.

Always there. Always fucking there.

There was no sign of any electronic devices around you, he knew you better than you knew yourself. About your little tactics. About what you're actually capable of. Well he couldn't risk that…

Though, the only things left were books.

Books, meals, sleep, and him. Perfect right?

Sometimes you caught yourself staring at your reflection in the mirror for too long, trying to recognize the person looking back at you.

Other times, you just stared out across the city in silence, watching people move far below while your own world remained trapped inside these damn walls. And eventually, even that became routine.

One afternoon, you woke to silence.

No footsteps outside the bedroom. No voices. No hands touching you awake. Just silence. For a moment, your exhausted brain almost forgot where you were.

Your body ached the second you tried sitting up. A sharp soreness pulled through your hips, your thighs still weak as your feet slowly touched the floor.

The oversized shirt hanging from your body slipped slightly off one shoulder as you stood there for a second trying to steady yourself.

The room smelled faintly of him still. Cologne. Smoke. Something warm and masculine buried deep into the sheets no matter how often the staff changed them.

You hated that you noticed it now.

Slowly, you walked toward the mirror near the dressing area. Your reflection came into view piece by piece until you finally stopped in front of it completely.

For a long moment, you said nothing. Bruises colored your skin like fingerprints someone forgot to erase. Faint purple marks wrapped around your wrists.

Dark hickeys lingered beneath your collarbone and along your throat, barely hidden beneath the loose fabric sliding against your chest. Your lips still looked swollen.

Your gaze slowly lowered. The shirt draped loosely over your stomach, soft fabric shifting slightly with every breath. You found yourself staring there longer than necessary.

Nothing looked different yet. Not really…

Your fingers moved slowly, hesitating before resting lightly against your own abdomen. Warm, soft, normal.

But your mind refused to see it that way anymore. Because now every little feeling inside your body terrified you. Every wave of nausea. Every moment of dizziness. Every strange ache suddenly carried meaning now.

You wondered quietly when your body had stopped belonging to you. The thought came suddenly enough to make your chest ache.

Your eyes lifted back toward the mirror again. The ring caught your attention next. Resting perfectly against your finger.

“.......” Your fingers curled slowly into your palm before you suddenly looked away from the mirror entirely, unable to keep staring anymore.

A soft knock broke the silence before you could sink any deeper into your thoughts. Three careful taps against the bedroom door.

You lowered your hand from your stomach immediately, shoulders stiffening slightly as the handle turned a second later.

One of the maids stepped inside quietly with her head lowered. She looked young—probably younger than you—and lately she had started avoiding eye contact almost completely.

“Ma’am,” she said softly, standing near the doorway. “Your bath is ready.”

Eventually, you turned away from the mirror and walked toward the bathroom slowly, bare feet sinking into the soft carpet beneath you. The maid followed a few steps behind without speaking, carrying folded towels against her arms.

The bathroom lights were already on when you entered. Steam curled faintly through the air from the large bathtub filled near the marble edge, the scent of expensive oils lingering heavily in the warmth.

The maid quietly placed the towels down nearby before reaching toward the hem of your oversized shirt. “May I…?”

You flinched before you could stop yourself. The girl froze immediately, fingers pulling back at once. “I—I’m sorry,” she murmured quickly.

Your eyes closed briefly. “No,” you said tiredly after a moment. “It’s fine.”

Nothing about this felt fine anymore. Still, you lifted your arms weakly and let her help remove the shirt from your body.

Her movements remained careful afterward, almost mechanical, like she’d trained herself not to react to what she saw.

But you noticed the pause anyway. The brief hesitation when her eyes caught another dark bruise along your ribs.

The way her fingers tightened slightly around the fabric before she forced herself to continue normally.

You stepped into the bath slowly, the hot water immediately stinging against your sore skin hard enough to make you inhale sharply.

The maid pretended not to notice. She knelt quietly beside the tub afterward, gathering your hair over one shoulder before pouring warm water down your back with practiced hands.

Neither of you spoke for a while. Only the soft sound of water moving filled the room.

By the time you stepped out of the bath, the steam had already begun fading from the mirrors.

The maid wrapped a towel carefully around your body before helping dry your hair in silence.

The bathroom door opened quietly afterward, warm air from inside spilling back into the colder bedroom as you stepped out slowly, one hand absentmindedly gripping the towel tighter against your chest. That was when you heard them.

“…did you see her back earlier?” The voices came from just beyond the partially opened dressing room door. Soft whispers.

You paused instinctively as another maid answered quieter this time. “There were bruises everywhere…”

A small silence followed before the first voice spoke again, sounding uneasy now. “I heard sir was arguing yesterday too. She looked frightened when she came downstairs.”

“You shouldn’t talk about this here.”

“I know but—”

Your footsteps shifted slightly against the floor. The conversation stopped immediately. Dead silent.

A second later, two maids quickly appeared near the doorway carrying folded clothes, both of them freezing the moment they noticed you standing there.

The younger one lowered her eyes so fast it almost looked painful. “Ma’am,” she murmured quickly.

The other forced a polite smile onto her face, though the tension around her mouth gave it away instantly. “Your clothes are prepared…!”

You stared at them for a long moment. Neither woman looked up again. Not once. And somehow that hurt more than if they had openly pitied you.

Because you understood then. They saw everything. The bruises. The crying. They heard the screaming through the walls just like everyone else in this penthouse probably did. And still—Nothing.

No one asked if you were okay. No one tried helping. No one even dared acknowledge it aloud for more than a few seconds before fear swallowed the words back down again.

Of course… of course they wouldn’t help.

People always chose survival over strangers. Especially when the stranger was already doomed. So instead, the maids simply stepped closer and began helping you dress like nothing had happened at all.

—

And by the fourth week, the penthouse no longer even looked like your home. You realized it the moment you stepped out of the elevator and nearly froze at the sight in front of you.

Workers moved in and out of the hallway carrying boxes large enough to block entire doorways. Expensive shopping bags covered the marble floors in neat stacks, names of luxury brands printed across them in gold lettering.

Garment racks stood near the living room filled with tiny pastel clothes still wrapped in plastic. Someone wheeled in a cream-colored cradle while another carefully carried armfuls of stuffed animals toward the upstairs rooms.

For a second, you genuinely thought you had walked into the wrong floor.

A maid brushed past you carrying folded blankets. Another followed behind her with baby bottles still inside unopened packaging.

The realization hit your stomach so suddenly it made you feel sick. Nobody had asked you. Nobody had even mentioned it. They were already preparing for it like the decision had been made long ago.

You stood there silently while workers shifted furniture across the floor, voices overlapping softly around you.

“Careful with that corner.”

“No, the crib goes upstairs.”

“Sir said the white curtains, not the beige ones.”

Then another voice cut through the noise. Sharp. Irritated. “No. Not there.”

You turned instinctively.

Yuta had just walked in through the front entrance, still dressed in dark work clothes, his tie hanging loose around his collar like he’d pulled at it during the drive home.

His expression looked terrible. Jaw tight. Brows furrowed. One hand shoved into his pocket while the other pointed impatiently toward the staircase.

“I already told you the dresser goes beside the wall, not near the window,” he snapped at one of the workers. “Do I have to repeat myself five times?”

The poor man immediately apologized and hurried to fix it.

Yuta exhaled sharply through his nose, clearly seconds away from losing his temper further—Then he saw you.

And just like that, everything changed. The irritation disappeared so fast it almost felt unsettling to watch.

His shoulders loosened slightly. The tension left his face. That familiar polished smile slipped back into place like a mask being carefully worn again.

“Sweetheart…” His voice softened instantly as he walked toward you.

His gaze flickered over your face before motioning casually toward the scattered baby items around the penthouse. “Do you like the colors I picked?”

He didn’t even wait for an answer. “I had them redo half the room because the original furniture looked cheap.” He clicked his tongue lightly.

“And the mattress materials here are apparently terrible for infants, so I imported better ones from Italy. Ah—and the clothes upstairs should be washed again before use. I don’t trust factory chemicals touching the baby’s skin.”

Those words kept hitting harder every time he said it. Meanwhile he continued talking so naturally, like this conversation wasn’t completely insane.

“I also ordered three different strollers because I couldn’t decide which design looked best.” A small amused breath left him. “You’d think spending money would make choices easier.”

“…….” Your throat tightened quietly.

Yuta stepped closer then, lowering his voice slightly as if sharing something intimate. “We need to think of a name too, right?”

That smile returned again. Soft. Beautiful. Completely fake…

His fingers slid around your hand before lifting it carefully toward his lips. He pressed a slow kiss against your knuckles without breaking eye contact.

“Well…” His mouth curved faintly. “I’ll leave that to you, Y/N.” The way he said your name almost sounded affectionate.

“I know you’ll be a perfect mommy.”

The whisper settled beneath your skin like poison. You felt utterly sick.

Yuta must have noticed something shift in your expression because he leaned back enough to finally give you space to breathe again.

“I’ll call a doctor soon to confirm everything properly,” he continued casually. “Though I can’t exactly let my darling be alone with another man, can I?”

A quiet laugh slipped from him, teasing. “Maybe I’ll have the consultation done here instead.”

You said nothing. Your eyes dropped away from him instead, focusing somewhere past his shoulder while the workers continued moving around in the background.

The silence stretched…

“What?” he asked softly, his head tilted slightly. “Still not happy?”

“……” You clenched your jaw. There was no point answering. No point fighting. So instead, you turned slightly as if to leave.

The movement barely lasted a second before his hand closed around your wrist.

“Mm. Come upstairs with me.”

His grip wasn’t rough, but it wasn’t optional either. He started guiding you toward the staircase while speaking over his shoulder to the workers again. “Not that room. The nursery is the third one—”

Your vision blurred suddenly. You blinked hard. The floor beneath your feet tilted strangely.

At first you thought maybe you’d stood up too quickly, but then the dizziness worsened so violently your stomach twisted. The voices around you became muffled. The lights overhead blurred together painfully.

Your legs gave out. Everything lurched sideways.

“Sweetheart?—”

You barely registered Yuta’s voice before strong arms caught you against his chest. His tone changed instantly. Sharp, Panicked. “Y/N!?”

The last thing you felt was his hand gripping the back of your head before darkness swallowed everything whole.

—

The doctor arrived less than twenty minutes later.

By then, you had already woken up. Unfortunately…

You sat against the headboard of the bedroom while one of the maids adjusted a blanket over your legs for the third time despite you insisting you were fine. Your head still throbbed faintly from the fall downstairs, though honestly the worst part wasn’t the dizziness anymore.

It was Yuta. He hadn’t left your side once. Not while carrying you upstairs. Not while barking orders at the staff downstairs. Not even now.

He stood near the windows in silence while the doctor unpacked equipment onto the bedside table. One hand remained tucked into his pocket while the other rested against his jaw, thumb rubbing slowly beneath his lower lip.

“Any nausea recently?” the doctor asked gently while wrapping the blood pressure cuff around your arm.

You hesitated only briefly. “A little.”

“Loss of appetite?”

“Sometimes…”

The doctor nodded thoughtfully. “Dizziness before today?”

“Yes.” From the corner of your eye, you noticed Yuta finally move.

“When did it start?” he asked quietly.

The doctor glanced toward him before looking back at you. “Stress can heavily affect the body,” he explained calmly. “Especially sleep, eating habits, hormonal balance—”

“She hasn’t been sleeping properly,” Yuta interrupted immediately. “But other things are fine.”

Your jaw tightened.

The doctor gave another small nod while writing something down. “That would explain the weakness and fainting. Her blood pressure is lower than normal as well.”

Yuta’s brows furrowed slightly. “Hm?”

“She needs rest,” the doctor continued. “Less emotional strain. Proper meals. Hydration.”

A bitter thought nearly made you laugh. Less emotional strain. Inside this house?

The doctor finished checking your pulse before finally stepping back slightly. “For now, I don’t believe this is anything severe.”

Silence settled briefly afterward. Then Yuta spoke.

“And the baby?”

The room went still.

The doctor blinked once. “…Baby?”

Yuta looked up slowly from where he stood beside the bed. “She’s late, so... ”

The doctor’s expression shifted into visible confusion. “I see,” he said carefully. “But there are currently no signs of pregnancy.”

The silence afterward felt horrifying. The doctor continued speaking, unaware of the sudden tension thickening the room.

“A delayed cycle can happen from stress alone,” he explained. “Exhaustion, hormonal imbalance, dietary changes, supplements…” He adjusted his glasses slightly. “Has she been taking anything recently?”

Your heartbeat slammed hard against your ribs. Before you could answer, Yuta spoke first. “What kind of supplements?”

“Nothing dangerous from what I can tell,” the doctor replied casually. “But certain herbal products or dietary habits can disrupt menstruation temporarily.”

You kept your eyes lowered. Too scared to look at him.

The room became unbearably quiet. And somehow that felt far worse. Slowly, you lifted your gaze. Yuta was staring at you. Completely still.

The softness from earlier was gone now. No smile. No warmth. Just that unreadable expression settling across his face while his eyes searched yours in silence.

Then finally—

“…I see.”

His voice came out calm. Too calm. And that terrified you more than if he had shouted.

—

Your mind slowly drifted back before you could stop it. Back to the dining table. Back to the silver trays placed in front of you after every meal without fail.

Fresh fruit always waited there afterward. Strawberries. Grapes. Pears carefully sliced by the kitchen staff. Sometimes melons. Sometimes oranges. But your eyes always searched for one thing only.

Papaya.

At first, maybe it really had been because of Italy. Because of the honeymoon. Because of the filthy way Yuta had used it on you with his fingers while laughing softly at the mess dripping down your thighs. The memory alone still made disgust crawl beneath your skin.

Maybe that was why you kept asking for it afterward.

The maids never questioned you. If anything, they seemed relieved whenever you requested food willingly. Papaya appeared more often after that. Fresh slices during breakfast. Chilled cubes beside lunch. Fruit platters after dinner.

But eventually the fruit became something else entirely. An opportunity.

The black cumin seeds had been easier to hide than expected. Tiny enough to disappear beneath spoons of yogurt. Mixed quietly into tea whenever the maids looked away long enough. Sometimes crushed between your fingers beneath the table before swallowing them quickly with water.

Small things. Desperate things…

You hadn’t even known if they would work. Honestly, part of you had believed they wouldn’t. But fear made people try anyway.

And every time Yuta touched your stomach afterward… every time he talked about children with that twisted softness in his voice… every time you imagined something inside you becoming half of him—You kept going.

You weren’t trying to hurt yourself. You just couldn’t bear the thought of carrying him inside your body.

And now here you were. Sitting in suffocating silence while the truth settled into the room like smoke.

The doctor had left only minutes ago. Too quickly. Too awkwardly. His polite smile had looked strained near the end, especially after noticing the atmosphere shifting colder and colder with every second.

The bedroom felt enormous now. Too quiet. You still hadn’t looked at Yuta properly. Couldn’t.

The weight of his silence pressed against your skin harder than shouting ever could. Then finally—

“Explain.”

The word came out low. Not angry, Not loud, Just… broken.

Your fingers tightened slightly around the blanket pooled in your lap. Slowly, reluctantly, you lifted your eyes. And your breath caught.

Yuta stood near the foot of the bed exactly where the doctor had left him, except now he looked like something had been ripped open inside him.

His eyes were wide. Red.

The veins beneath them visible from strain while his brows twisted together tightly—not with rage, but something far worse. His hands hung clenched at his sides so hard the knuckles had gone pale.

And then you saw it—a single tear slipping down his face.

Your chest tightened painfully. Not because you pitied him. But because somehow this looked more horrifying than violence.

Yuta noticed you staring and laughed once under his breath, except the sound came out uneven.

“Explain,” he said again. His voice cracked this time.

“Explain the damages you’ve caused.”

The last few words nearly broke apart completely as he spoke them. You had never seen him like this before… so devastated.

His breathing became uneven as he dragged a hand over his face before looking at you again, eyes glistening violently now.

“I bought everything,” he whispered hoarsely, almost like he was talking to himself. “I prepared everything for you.”

The nursery downstairs flashed through your mind instantly. The clothes, the cradle, the tiny socks folded neatly into drawers.

Yuta swallowed hard enough for you to see his throat move. “You let me…” His voice faltered. “You let me believe there was a baby.”

A horrible silence followed. Then finally his expression changed. Not into anger. Something emptier. Something colder.

His jaw tightened while his wet eyes stayed fixed on yours without blinking. “And all this time,” he murmured quietly, “you were trying to kill it.”

“.......”

Yuta moved before you could say anything.

One second he stood near the window, breathing unevenly beneath the dim bedroom lights, and the next he was in front of you.

You instinctively shrank back slightly against the mattress, but he dropped to his knees beside the bed so suddenly it startled you.

His hands reached for yours immediately, almost desperately, fingers trembling as they wrapped around your wrist.

His red-rimmed eyes searched your face desperately, as if he was still waiting for you to laugh and tell him this was all some misunderstanding.

“Why…?” His voice cracked badly.

His fingers trembled violently as he pulled one of your hands toward his face, pressing your palm against his cheek almost desperately. Like he needed to feel you. Like he needed proof you were real.

“Why did you do it?” he whispered. A tear slid beneath your palm. His eyes squeezed shut briefly before opening again, glossy and bloodshot.

“I did everything for you.” The words came out rushed now, unstable. “I gave you everything, didn’t I?” His grip tightened around your wrist.

“You like money? I gave it to you. Clothes, jewelry, trips, this fucking penthouse—” his voice shook harder, “—anything you looked at, I bought it.”

You stared at him silently while his breathing turned harsher.

“You wanted comfort, I gave you comfort.” He laughed weakly through tears, the sound almost pathetic. “Luxury? Fine. I gave you all of it.”

His free hand lifted slowly toward your face then, fingers brushing through your hair with terrifying gentleness.

“So why…” he whispered brokenly, thumb trembling against your temple. “Why won’t you…” The sentence died in his throat.

You watched the exact moment something inside him snapped. His expression twisted suddenly. Not into hatred. Something worse.

His hand slid down from your hair toward your neck. Then—He shoved you backward onto the mattress hard enough to knock the air from your lungs. Your head hit the pillows as his hand wrapped around your throat instantly.

“WHY WON’T YOU LOVE ME!?”

The scream ripped violently out of him. Your eyes widened in shock as his grip tightened.

“WHY!?” he shouted again, strangled. “WHY WHY WHY!?”

You clawed weakly at his wrist, choking on air while tears blurred your vision.

“WHY CAN’T I THROW YOU AWAY!?” His face crumpled horribly as another sob tore through him. “WHY CAN’T I JUST LEAVE YOU!?”

His hand tightened harder. Your breathing turned sharp and broken beneath him. Tears spilled uncontrollably from his eyes now, dripping down his face before landing against your own skin.

“I tried—” he choked out hysterically. “I fucking tried—” His voice collapsed entirely. “WHY…”

His forehead pressed against yours roughly as his body trembled above you. “What have you done to me…?”

The words barely came out audible. Then suddenly—His grip loosened.

Air rushed painfully back into your lungs as you gasped hard beneath him, coughing weakly while your chest heaved.

Yuta stared at you for one horrible second longer before something inside him finally gave way completely. His shoulders shook violently. And then he buried his face against your chest. Crying.

He broke down against you like something ruined beyond repair, fingers gripping helplessly at your clothes while uneven sobs wrecked through his body.

Meanwhile you lay there beneath him shaking, your throat burning beneath the marks of his hand while tears rolled silently into your hairline.

You didn’t know which hurt worse anymore. His love…? Or the fact that some part of him truly believed this was love at all…

—

The penthouse had gone strangely quiet after that day.

The low hum of the air conditioning still drifted through the ceilings. Footsteps still crossed the marble floors at all hours. Somewhere downstairs, pots clinked softly in the kitchen while the chefs prepared meals no one seemed interested in touching.

Two maids stood near the kitchen island that evening, folding freshly dried linens with slow hands. “They still haven’t come out?” one of them whispered carefully, glancing toward the staircase.

The older maid beside her frowned faintly. “Not at all.”

“But it’s been two days…” The younger girl lowered her voice further. “I brought dinner upstairs earlier and the tray from yesterday was still outside the room untouched.”

A long pause followed. Only the sound of boiling water filled the silence between them. Then—

“Do you think everything is okay?” the younger maid asked quietly. “The doctors keep coming almost every few hours…”

The older woman immediately shot her a sharp look. “Don’t ask questions you don’t need answers to.”

The girl swallowed. “I just… it’s scary.”

Because it was. Everyone in the penthouse had heard it. The shouting. The sound of furniture hitting walls. The muffled sobbing that sometimes carried faintly through the hallways late at night. And worse—Your screams.

The younger maid’s fingers tightened around the folded towel in her hands. “Last night I heard—”

“Enough,” the older woman cut in quickly, her expression hardening. She glanced once toward the upper floor before lowering her voice further. “Do you not remember the previous workers?”

“The guards. The drivers. Half the staff from before.” The older woman folded another towel with stiff movements. “They disappeared overnight.”

“…What?” The younger maid froze slightly.

“I don’t know exactly what happened,” she admitted quietly and finally looked directly at the younger girl now, eyes sharp with warning. “So if I were you, I’d stop listening at doors and stop asking questions.”

Her voice dropped even lower. “If we don’t keep our mouths shut, it won’t take long to replace us too.”

“So better keep a blind eye unless you want to lose more than your job.”

“……” The younger maid immediately went silent. Because everyone here understood the same thing. Something terrible was happening.

And nobody was going to stop it.

—

Upstairs, the atmosphere in the bedroom was suffocating, smelling of stale sweat, musk, and the metallic tang of blood.

The doctor, a middle-aged woman with a clinical expression that couldn't quite mask her discomfort, stood between your trembling legs.

You were draped across the edge of the bed, your hips tilted up, your pussy exposed and raw. The doctor’s gloved fingers trembled slightly as she performed the internal examination, the latex snapping against your swollen, inflamed walls.

She sighed, pulling her hand away and noting something down on her clipboard with a shaky hand.

"No... no sign of pregnancy yet," she murmured, her voice devoid of emotion but laced with a hidden pity. She looked at the bruising around your thighs and the way your entrance was gaping, unable to close fully after days of relentless penetration.

"There are minor injuries... mucosal tears. She is physically exhausted. She should rest, Mr. Okkotsu. If you continue at this pace, you risk permanent damage or a severe infection."

Yuta, who had been leaning against the wall with his arms crossed, his dress shirt left unbuttoned and hanging loose from his frame, looked worse than he had days ago. A phone rested against his ear while his other hand rubbed slowly over his jaw.

His voice sounded rough. Hoarse. Weak in a way you had never heard from him before.

“No, move the meeting to Thursday,” he muttered flatly into the call, eyes distant. “I said Thursday, not tomorrow… I won’t be there.”

Then his jaw tightened slightly. “I don’t care what the board thinks right now.”

Another pause followed before he dragged a tired hand through his dark hair, exhaling sharply through his nose.

“Handle it yourselves for once.”

The call ended abruptly. And only then did he finally lift his eyes toward the room again, letting out a low, dark hum that rumbled quietly in his throat.

He didn’t look concerned. Hell no.

"So," he muttered, his voice a dangerous rasp. He stepped forward, the floorboards creaking under his weight. "So what you're saying is... she's still functional. She can still take it."

The doctor opened her mouth to protest, but Yuta didn't give her the chance.

"Get out," he commanded, his tone cold and final. He didn't even look at her as he waved her away, his eyes locked onto your shivering form.

The moment the door clicked shut, the silence was shattered. Yuta didn't waste a second. He didn't use lubricant; he didn't use tenderness.

He grabbed your waist with bruising force, hauling you back toward him and slamming his cock back into your ravaged pussy with a violent, wet thwack.

"Agh! No—!!" you shrieked, the sound tearing from your throat, but he smothered your cry by shoving his hand over your mouth, pinning your face into the mattress.

Thrust!

He began to fuck you with a renewed, desperate aggression, his hips slamming against yours with a rhythmic, punishing force.

He was breathing heavily, the sound jagged and labored, as if the very act of moving was starting to drain him. Yet, his grip was iron.

"No sign yet, huh?" he hissed into your ear, his voice dripping with a mocking, obsessive edge. "Maybe I'm doing it wrong. Maybe... I'm not deep enough. Maybe we... we just need to stay connected... all the time."

"Hmh..." He groaned, a guttural sound of possession, as he drove himself in to the hilt, bottoming out against your cervix.

He didn't pull back. He stayed there, buried deep inside you, his cock pulsing and filling you to the point of bursting. He wrapped his arms around you, locking you against him, refusing to let a single millimeter of space exist between your bodies.

"I don't intend to let you go," he whispered, his voice trembling with a mixture of lust and madness. "Not until you're carrying my seed... not until you give me what I want.

He spent the rest of the night like that—half-asleep but still hard, still plugged inside you, his weight crushing you into the bed.

Whenever you tried to shift or sob, he would simply thrust once, hard and deep, to remind you who owned every inch of your insides.

—

The next morning, the cycle repeated. He didn't let you leave the bed. When the doctors returned to check for infections or the elusive pregnancy, he kept his hand firmly on your hip.

Between the medical checks, he took care of your basic needs with a brutal efficiency. He didn't ask if you were hungry.

He gripped your jaw, forcing your mouth open, and shoved food and water down your throat, barely giving you time to swallow before the next bite came.

He fed you just enough to keep your heart beating, just enough to ensure your body could sustain a pregnancy.

As the days bled together, it became apparent that Yuta was fading. His skin had grown pale, his eyes sunken, and his movements were slower, more labored.

He was getting weaker, his own health deteriorating under the weight of his unhealthy obsession. But the madness in his eyes only grew.

Even as his body failed him, he couldn't stop. He just… won't stop.

—

And, the next day, the doctor came again. She was trembling now, her clipboard shaking as she looked from the medical readings to the gaunt, manic expression on Yuta’s face.

"Still... nothing," she whispered, her voice cracking.

Yuta snapped. "Are you even fucking checking it right?!" He didn't just speak; he roared, the sound echoing off the marble walls of the penthouse.

He slammed his hand against the bedside table, sending a glass of water shattering across the floor. "I have been inside her for days! Every hour! Every single minute! Why isn't she getting pregnant?!"

The doctor flinched, stepping back, her eyes darting to your broken, shivering form. "It's... it's probably because... of the damages already caused," she stammered, her voice barely audible.

"The constant trauma to the cervix, the inflammation... the body is in shock. But... don't worry... she's... she's not infertile yet, she just needs—"

"SHUT THE FUCK UP!" Yuta bellowed, his voice raw and guttural. "Get out! All of you! Get the fuck out of my sight!"

He didn't wait for them to gather their things. He practically shoved the medical team out of the room, the heavy mahogany door slamming shut behind.

The silence that followed was more terrifying than the screaming. You lay there, your legs splayed, your pussy a raw, gaping mess of red and swollen flesh, leaking a mixture of blood and old cum.

You tried to crawl away, a pathetic, instinctive movement, but Yuta was faster. He lunged, his fingers locking into your hair with a violent jerk that snapped your head back, forcing your spine to arch.

He didn't give you a second to breathe. He hauled you upward and shoved his thick, throbbing cock deep into your throat.

"Gacwk—!" You choked, your eyes bulging as he rammed himself upward, hitting the back of your throat with bruising force.

He wasn't looking for pleasure; he was punishing you for the doctor's news. "Useless," he hissed, his voice a dark, wet rasp against your skin.

"A useless, broken little hole. Why won't you just take it? Why won't you just grow my fucking baby?"

He gripped your throat with his other hand, squeezing tight, cutting off your air until your face turned a bruised purple and your lungs burned for oxygen.

Just as you began to black out, he ripped himself out of your mouth with a wet pop, leaving a string of saliva trailing from your lips.

Before you could even gasp for air, he flipped you over and slammed his cock back into your pussy with a violence that made you scream into the pillows.

He reached around and pinched your nose shut, forcing your mouth to hang open in a silent, desperate gasp for air.

He held your nostrils tight, ensuring you couldn't bite him or scream, reducing you to a shaking, breathless object beneath him.

"I'll fucking make it happen," he groaned, his pace becoming frantic, his hips slamming into you with a rhythmic, desperate thud.

He was shaking, his own body failing him, but the obsession drove him forward. With a guttural, animalistic howl, Yuta finally peaked.

He drove himself in as deep as physically possible, bottoming out against your cervix, and erupted. You felt the hot, thick jets of his cum flooding your insides, filling your ravaged pussy to the brim, the pressure almost unbearable.

But he didn't pull out. He stayed buried inside you, twitching, his breath coming in ragged gasps. Then, the madness took over.

While still inside you, he reached down, shoving two fingers into the opening of your pussy, right alongside his cock.

He began to pump his fingers in and out, swirling them aggressively, pushing the pooling semen deeper and deeper into your canal.

"I'll push it in," he whispered, his eyes wide and glazed with insanity. "I'll push it all the way to your womb... I'll force it inside you."

He continued to finger you brutally, stirring the seed and the blood, believing that through sheer physical force, he could override biology.

He worked his fingers deep, scraping against your sensitive, torn walls, shoving the cum upward in a desperate, delusional attempt to conceive.

You lay there, pinned and breathless, feeling the wet, sliding friction of his fingers and the heavy weight of his cock, knowing that in his mind, this wasn't sex anymore—it was a siege.

—

At some point, you stopped remembering what your body used to feel like before all of this. Before the endless exhaustion dragging through your bones. Before every muscle constantly ached. Before your hips felt sore every time you even shifted beneath the blankets.

You couldn’t walk properly anymore. Couldn’t stand for long without your knees threatening to give out beneath you. Sometimes even lifting your own hand felt exhausting.

And Yuta… well, most nights now, he simply sat back against the headboard and pulled you onto his lap instead, large hands gripping your waist while he made you ride him slowly for hours until your vision blurred from exhaustion.

If your body weakened and slumped forward, he’d only tighten his hold and murmur soft little praises against your ear like you were doing something good for him. Like you were finally learning. That became your routine now.

Afterward, the maids would come in quietly with lowered eyes, never looking directly at either of you for longer than necessary. One cleaned the sheets while another carefully wiped your skin down with warm washcloths, gentle hands avoiding the bruises decorating your thighs and waist.

None of them ever spoke much anymore. Not with Yuta nearby.

Even now, he stood outside on the bedroom balcony, cigarette burning slowly between his fingers while smoke curled around him in pale ribbons.

Another meal arrived not long after. Soup. Rice. Fruit cut into perfect little pieces.

One of the maids carefully sat beside you on the bed, lifting the spoon toward your lips. “Please eat a little more, ma’am,” she whispered softly.

You swallowed mechanically. One bite. Then another. And then—Your stomach twisted violently.

The nausea hit so suddenly your eyes widened before you even understood what was happening. You barely managed to turn your head aside before vomiting harshly onto the floor beside the bed.

The maids startled immediately. “Quickly—!”

“Towels—”

“Move the sheets—”

The room erupted into hurried movement while your body trembled weakly against the mattress, your throat burning painfully.

But Yuta didn’t move. He remained standing near the balcony doors, cigarette still resting between his fingers while he watched the scene unfold with an expression too blank to understand. Then finally—

“Call the doctor upstairs,” he said quietly.

One of the maids immediately rushed out. At this point, the doctors practically lived inside the penthouse anyway.

Yuta had arranged entire rooms downstairs for medical staff weeks ago, though nobody openly acknowledged why. Maybe because even he still refused to fully believe it after what happened before.

Or maybe because he was terrified to believe it. Not after what you had done to him. Not after losing it once already.

But this time was different. This time your body had finally given in beneath the weight of him. And Yuta—he looked almost frighteningly calm after the confirmation came.

Like a man gripping something too tightly because he knew exactly how easily it could disappear.

You had become what he wanted. Exactly what he wanted. And to celebrate that victory, he threw a party. A massive one.

—

The penthouse downstairs filled with expensive flowers, soft music, laughter, glasses clinking together beneath warm golden lights.

Important guests arrived dressed in luxury while staff carried trays of champagne through the halls all evening.

You could hear everything from upstairs. Every faint murmur, laugh. Every distant note from the piano downstairs. It almost felt unreal.

Because somehow, despite being the center of it all—you weren’t invited to your own pregnancy celebration.

Yuta still had you dressed for it anyway.

The maids carefully groomed you hours beforehand, brushing your hair until it shined beneath the bedroom lights before slipping expensive fabrics over your weak body piece by piece. Jewelry rested against your skin. Perfume touched your throat.

You looked beautiful. Perfect. Like something meant to be displayed. But once they finished, the bedroom doors locked again.

And you remained there alone while the party continued beneath your feet. Your hands slowly tightened into the sheets.

Why was this happening to you?

The thought came suddenly. Sharp enough to hurt. Your breathing started trembling before you even realized it.

Where did it all go wrong? Was it the moment you met him? The moment you accepted the contract? The honeymoon? The first time he touched you?

Or had your life always been leading here from the beginning…?

“Why…” your voice cracked softly into the empty room. “Seriously, why?”

You pressed both hands over your mouth immediately, trying to stop the sound escaping your throat, but your body had already begun shaking violently.

Nobody was coming for you. Nobody. Not your family. Not your friends. Not anyone. And maybe the worst part—Maybe they truly didn’t care enough to.

A broken laugh escaped through your fingers.

Did the money really matter that much? Had your existence become something so easily traded away?

Your shoulders curled inward as another sob ripped out of your chest, harsher this time. Tears streamed down your cheeks uncontrollably while your breathing turned uneven and panicked.

Maybe you should just end it…

The thought slithered into your head so naturally it terrified you.

Maybe if you disappeared, all of this would finally stop. No more locked rooms. No more hands touching you whenever he pleased.

But even that felt pointless. Because somehow, even your own body didn’t belong to you anymore.

You broke down harder after realizing that. Your vision blurred completely as muffled cries escaped helplessly through your palms, shoulders shaking violently while the room around you began feeling smaller and smaller.

And then—a hand suddenly gripped your shoulder hard enough to hurt.

You gasped sharply. Your head jerked upward immediately through blurred vision only to find Yuta standing over you.

He tilted his head slightly to the side, brows faintly knit together in confusion as he stared down at your ruined face like he genuinely couldn’t understand what he was looking at.

Slowly, his thumb brushed beneath your eye, smearing tears and mascara together carelessly.

“Tch tch tch…” he muttered softly. “Ruined all the makeup.” His fingers slid across your cheek almost absentmindedly.

“I was planning to do other things with this later too.” A quiet sigh left him before he stepped back slightly, completely ignoring the fact you were still trembling apart in front of him.

As if your crying simply wasn’t the important part here. Then casually, he reached into the pocket of his slacks. And pulled out a phone.

Your breath caught instantly. That was your phone. The same one he had taken away weeks ago.

Yuta glanced down at it briefly before holding it loosely in front of you with a faint smile curling onto his lips.

“I was thinking…” he said lightly, almost conversationally, “since this is such incredible news…” His eyes slowly lifted back toward yours.

“We should let your family know.”

“After all,” he continued softly, amusement slipping into his voice now, “they gave me such a wonderful gift~”

“……” Your hand moved instinctively toward the phone the second you saw it, desperation flashing across your face as your fingers reached for it without thinking.

But Yuta was quicker. He pulled it away smoothly before you could touch it, the corner of his mouth curling upward as he watched the panic flicker through your expression.

Slowly, deliberately, he lowered the phone against the front of his slacks instead, pressing it teasingly near his crotch while his eyes remained locked on yours. A knowing smirk spread across his face.

“Ah, ah…” he murmured softly, almost amused by your reaction. “You know what to do first.” His head tilted slightly, dark eyes glittering with expectation.

“Get on your knees, sweetheart.”

—

The moment you sank to the floor, the cold marble biting into your skin as you knelt before him. Yuta stood tall, a towering figure of dominance, looking down at you with a mixture of possessiveness and amusement.

He didn't wait for you to initiate; he reached down, unzipping his fly with a slow, metallic rasp, his cock sprang free, thick and pulsing, smelling of musk and heat.

He guided your head forward, forcing your mouth open to accommodate his girth. As you began to suck him, the wet, sliding sounds of your tongue and lips filling the silence, Yuta let out a casual, low groan of pleasure. “Ughm…fuck.”

He reached down, his fingers gently caressing your cheek, tracing the line of your jaw with a tenderness that felt sickening.

While you were occupied, your mouth stretched wide and your throat working to take him in, Yuta casually held your phone in his other hand.

He began to tap the screen, the soft clicks of his fingernails against the glass rhythmic and indifferent. He scrolled through your contacts with a bored expression, shrugging slightly as he scanned the names, his eyes searching for a specific target.

“Who should I call?” he mused, his voice airy and detached. “Hmm… maybe this one.”

He dialed the number and held the phone away from his ear for a moment, listening to the long, agonizing ring. You could feel the vibration of the call through his thigh, your eyes watering as you continued to bob your head, the thick head of his cock hitting the back of your throat.

Finally, a woman’s voice answered, sounding tired and fragile. “Hello…?”

Yuta’s reaction was immediate and cruel. He gripped the back of your head, his fingers digging into your scalp as he shoved himself deeper into your throat, forcing a muffled, choking gag from your lungs.

He didn't flinch at your struggle; instead, he spoke into the phone with a terrifying, calm composure. “Am I speaking to Y/N’s mother?” he asked, his tone almost polite.

There was a heavy, suffocating silence on the other end of the line before the woman answered, her voice trembling.

“I’m her close aunt… who is this?”

Yuta hummed softly, a sound of mock contemplation, while his free hand moved to caress the bulge of his cock where it disappeared into your throat, feeling the desperate contractions of your muscles. “She wishes to speak with you,” he said simply.

“What?” The lady’s voice shifted instantly, transitioning from confusion to a sharp, panicked edge. “Who…? What do you mean? Who is this?!”

Yuta repeated your name casually, like it meant nothing. Then, with a sudden movement, he shifted the phone, pressing the speaker directly against your ear.

The voice that exploded from the phone wasn't one of hope or reunion; it was a scream of raw, jagged rage and unbearable grief. “What are you saying?!”

The woman suddenly snapped, her voice cracking violently through the speaker. “Don’t play with us like this!”

“She died!” the woman cried. “We saw the reports about the Taipei flight! We already buried her things—!”

Your breathing stopped.

“We’re already suffering enough!” she continued desperately. “Do you understand that?! We still can’t even accept what happened to our girl!”

Every word hit like a knife directly into your chest.

“Please…” her voice broke apart now, raw with grief. “Please stop doing this to us… and don’t contact us again.”

—Beep—

“……”

Your mind couldn’t process the words properly. It felt like your thoughts had suddenly detached from your body entirely.

Dead.

They thought you were dead.

Yuta felt you stiffen, and with a soft, satisfied grunt, he pulled his cock out of your mouth with a wet schlick sound. He looked down at your devastated face, a playful, mocking glint in his eyes as he wiped a stray drop of pre-cum from his tip.

“Oops,” he whispered, his voice dripping with faux innocence. “Forgot to pull out before.”

He stepped back, leaving you collapsed on your knees, the phone still humming with the remnants of the aunt's sobbing rage.

You remained frozen on the floor. You refused to process what had just happened. Your lips parted soundlessly before a shaky breath finally escaped your chest. “I…” The word cracked apart immediately.

“I’m alive…” Your own voice sounded unfamiliar. Weak, lost.

“I am alive…” you whispered again, eyes unfocused as tears continued slipping helplessly down your face. “Why would she say that…?”

Your breathing started shaking harder. “Why…?”

The thoughts came too quickly after that, slamming into each other inside your head until nothing made sense anymore.

Maybe she lied. Maybe she knew. Maybe they all knew.

Your hands trembled violently against the floor as another broken sound escaped your throat.

“I… is she lying for money…?” you mumbled desperately, almost to yourself now. “Is that it…? Why would she do that…? Why…?”

The nausea returned immediately. Everything hurts. Your body, your head, your heart.

The pregnancy had already turned your emotions unstable for weeks now, every feeling too sharp, too overwhelming, too impossible to control—and this—this shattered whatever little stability you had left.

Meanwhile, beside you, Yuta simply tucked himself back into his slacks with slow, unbothered movements.

His expression looked almost bored, like this entire situation had become mildly inconvenient rather than horrifying.

He glanced briefly at the expensive watch around his wrist before lifting his eyes toward the bedroom door just as one of the workers hesitantly peeked inside.

“Sir,” the man said quietly, avoiding looking at you completely. “The guests are asking for you downstairs.”

Yuta barely spared him a glance. “I’ll be there in a few minutes.”

The worker nodded quickly before disappearing again. And still—You remained collapsed on the floor crying.

Yuta exhaled softly through his nose before finally stepping toward you again. Slowly, he crouched down and placed a hand atop your head, fingers brushing lightly through your messy hair almost affectionately.

“Y/N,” he murmured gently.

Something inside you suddenly snapped. Your hands shot forward without warning, gripping tightly onto the front of his collar. You didn’t even know what you were trying to do anymore.

Fight him? Push him away? Beg?

Your entire body shook violently as you stared at him through swollen, tear-filled eyes.

“I’m not dead!” you screamed suddenly, voice breaking apart halfway through the words. “Why did she say that?! What did you do?!”

Yuta blinked once. Then his expression softened with almost insulting calmness.

“I didn’t really do anything, sweetheart,” he said casually. His hand moved to your cheek, thumb brushing beneath your eye while you struggled to breathe properly.

“They just tend to believe everything they’re told.”

Yuta tilted his head slightly before continuing almost thoughtfully, “It seems they really didn’t care that much in the end.”

“That’s why they forgot you so easily.”

“No…” the protest came out weaker this time, barely audible.

Yuta’s hands suddenly cupped your face completely, forcing your eyes toward him. “Shh…” he soothed softly, thumbs wiping away tears that wouldn’t stop falling. “You still have me, baby.”

One of his hands slowly slid downward, resting gently over your stomach. “And our baby is growing inside you, right?”

His voice lowered further, warmer now. “You have your own family now.” A kiss pressed against your forehead. “You don’t need anyone else.”

Yuta kept kissing your face slowly between words, like he was comforting a frightened child.

“You’re no longer Y/N…” His lips brushed against your trembling cheek.

“You’re only Mrs. Okkotsu now.”

“Say it,” he whispered softly. His forehead rested lightly against yours. “Say it for me.”

You didn’t even realize you were crying harder until your chest began hurting from it. Your mind felt broken open. You were so tired. So unbelievably tired.

Your lips trembled weakly before the words finally stumbled out in a shattered whisper.

“…Mrs… Okkotsu…”

The reaction was immediate.

Yuta pulled you into his arms so quickly it almost startled you, holding you tightly against his chest while a shaky breath escaped him.

“There you are,” he whispered warmly against your hair. His arms wrapped around you possessively, almost protectively now, while his fingers stroked slowly up and down your back.

Sweet praises spilled endlessly from his lips after that. Like you had finally become exactly what he wanted.

And as he held you there trembling in his arms while the party continued downstairs beneath your feet, he closed his eyes briefly before whispering quietly against your temple—

“I finally understand my father now…”

His hold tightened slightly.

“…It's only because of you.”

—

Then the silence begins. The kind that settles slowly over years.

The usual soft music downstairs was gone. Screams, cries, arguments, footsteps racing through marble halls. One by one, they disappeared until the penthouse no longer sounded alive at all.

Only the workers remained. Even now, two of them struggled near the grand staircase, carefully pulling a massive framed painting through the hallway while arguing in hushed voices.

“Higher—higher, or it’ll look uneven.”

“I’m trying. The frame’s too heavy!!”

“No, sir specifically said the center wall.”

The older worker exhaled tiredly before adjusting his grip again. “Careful with the corner. If this gets damaged, we’re dead.”

The painting was enormous. Tall enough to dominate the entire wall once finally lifted into place above the fireplace.

After several long minutes of repositioning, stepping back, adjusting again, and nervous murmuring between themselves, they finally managed to secure it properly.

“Straight?”

“…A little left.”

“Uh… there?”

“Mm. Perfect.”

The workers slowly stepped away afterward, heads lowering immediately the moment footsteps approached from behind.

A small child wandered into the room first. Dark hair. Dark eyes. Tiny fingers curled around the sleeve of his sweater as he stared up at the massive portrait hanging above the fireplace with open curiosity.

Inside the painting, you looked beautiful. Beautiful in the way expensive things were preserved.

Your painted figure sat near the window of the penthouse, dressed entirely in soft white fabric while golden light spilled across your skin.

One of Yuta’s hands rested possessively against your waist in the portrait, his wedding ring carefully painted into view. Meanwhile your own expression looked distant. Empty… dead. But perfect to everyone else.

The little boy pointed upward immediately. “So she… is my mother?” His voice chirped softly through the room.

Behind him, another figure stepped forward. Yuta. Older now. Taller somehow.

The sharpness in his face had deepened with age, though the elegance never left him. A few strands of dark hair fell loosely across his forehead while his hand rested lazily in his pocket.

At the child’s question, his gaze slowly lifted toward the portrait. For a moment, he simply stared at it in silence. Then—

“Hm.” A faint smile touched his lips. His hand moved gently onto the boy’s head, fingers smoothing through his hair while he continued looking up at the painting.

“Yes,” he said quietly. “Isn’t she so gorgeous to be kept this way?”

The child nodded immediately. “Very pretty!”

Yuta chuckled softly beneath his breath before patting the boy’s head once more. Then finally, his eyes lingered on your painted face one last time before he spoke.

“I hope you follow my path as well, son.”

"try again?" you ask. he nods. this time you do the moving, you lean forward and give him a quick closed mouth kiss on his lips. you pull away.

his eyes widened. lust blown. you stepped back only for him to grab your hand. awww he wants another ?

he goes in first , it's the same closed mouth kiss. you were about to pull away when his hand rests at the back of your head. Pulling your lips against his. he forces your mouth open and slides his tongue into it. you squirm. both hands pushing at his chest. for a dork, he is pretty strong. you let out a moan of protest which is quickly eaten up by him. his other hand gropes your body. what's wrong with him? finally you're able to push him away. that once adorable face -flushed with embarrassment has morphed into something sinister. a deranged look flooded his eyes.

"are you okay?" you asked. he bites down on his bottom lip and nods. "o..okay, i'm going to head back home now." you take slow steps back. he matches each step as he tries to find the words to say.

"please stay." his voice reaches out to you. so sweet yet tinged with a warning. you should run - but he doesn't let you. he rushes to your side. pulling you down to the couch. "i knew you liked me. i knew you would come around... i.." he pressed his nose against your neck, his hands pinning your wrists to the couch. "i just had to give it some time - that's what he told me." he looks down at you, he's gasping for breath, his fingers tigthen around your wrists, his legs pressing against yours. his crotch - oh fuck. you could feel it, hard against your thigh. what kind of nerd gets hard over kissing?

"you're a pervert." you mumble. he bites his lips,

"you say it like its a bad t..thing." he paractically moans the words as he shifts to rub his dick between your legs. your toes curl at the sensation. wrists twisting under his grip. "you're so pretty." obsession leaks out from his lips, soaking into inhis words. this guy in not right. he is unstable. obsessed even - panic set in as you attempted to fight back.

"hey hey. it will hurt less if you rel..relax." poor, pathetic guy, can't even speak properly because a cute girl in under him. you should be flattered but he is just too weird. he sticks his tongue out, licking the side of your face. he bares his teeth and bites down on your cheek. you squeal at the sudden feeling of his teeth pressing against your skin. he pulls at the flesh.

"stop that!" you shout.

"i can't you're too cute." he coos as he bites you again. your hand finally slipped from his. slap. you hit him right across his face. the creep is frozen in place for a brief second. his hands move to touch the burning red mark you left. "d..do it again." he practically begs.

you're confused. you try to run. to push him off you. and you do! you're on your feet- ready to run when he grabs your hair. he pushes you down to the floor. your hands reaching out to fight back. yet he doesn't dodge, he accepts the swings you throw his way. a sick laugh slipping through his mouth as you hurt him. a heavier hit finally landed on his nose. his head tilted up as a trail of blood drips from his nose. you froze - he's kinda pretty like this.

"i didn't know you l..liked it that rough." he immediately grabbed your hips, ripping off your shorts and panties. "then let's do it rough."

oh no - maybe you shouldn't have teased the loser.

It’s not Yuuta’s usual scene, but he felt bad when nobody responded to Yuuji’s invitation to spend a night out in Shinjuku. In Yuuta’s defense, he thought they would maybe go to an izakaya or two, get a meal and a few drinks before heading home. However, what Yuuta was unable to predict was Yuuji deciding to go to an idol show on the fly. Yuuji was practically begging him to go, making promises that it’ll be a lot of fun. And when words don’t work, Yuuji grabs Yuuta by the wrist and leads him to the venue despite his protests.

So that’s how Yuuta finds himself in a random basement venue crowded with sweaty guys on a Saturday night. Again, not necessarily his idea of a night out. But Yuuta’s a good sport, so he’ll do his best to enjoy the show anyways.

What starts as a murmur bursts into a boisterous cheer as soon as the stage lights flash on. It’s radiant, nearly blinding. It’s not the lights that sear a black hole into his vision. No, it’s you.

In that fluffy costume that makes you look like a slice of cake personified. The way your skirt bounces exemplifies the pep in your step as you make your way around the stage. Your eyes meet his as you wave into the crowd, and he thinks he’s having a heart attack.

“Good evening everyone! We really hope you enjoy the show we have in store for you tonight!” you speak into the mic, exuding a blissful aura like it's second nature. Yuuta swears he can feel it embrace him, the first warm ray of sunlight you feel after a barren winter.

The crowd roars in response before quieting down. The silence only serves to spur the anticipation drumming throughout his body, his heart beating loudly in his ears, catching in his throat.

The instrumental starts with a sweet chiptune lead, and all hell breaks loose. The rhythmic chants and clapping nearly blow out his ear drums, and he loses Yuuji in the chaos of fans rushing closer to the stage. It’s disorienting, trying to follow along while not losing his sights on you.

He moves along with the crowd, ebbs and flows like the ocean’s waves. No matter how much he’s pushed, he’s focused on you. Once he finds his footing, it gets a bit easier. It lets him focus on other things, like learning your name through the fan chants. It’s a cute one, one he savors on his tongue whenever he yells along with the crowd as you sing.

With every step, every graceful note that spills from your lips, he can only feel himself falling deeper. It’s like you’re a siren, and him, the unfortunate sailor who’s all too willing to walk to his demise. He yells and cheers even louder in his trance, just to see if you’ll grace him with another look.

And you do.

It’s brief but you look right at him again for the second time tonight, with a dazzling smile that puts the sun to shame.

How can he keep your attention? Maybe he should’ve stopped by and bought a lightstick or two before coming in.

Song after song after song, he roots for you with a frenzied energy he didn’t know he had in him. It’s a battle against his parched throat to force the words out and really make sure you can hear him. Every time you look his way, he feels electric. It’s like static, all his hair standing on edge like he’s rubbed a balloon and your gaze is the point of contact that zaps you both.

Before he knows it, the show’s over. It’s far too soon for his liking. Even though it was Yuuji’s idea, Yuuta’s really warmed up to the whole thing–far more enthusiastically than he thought he’d ever be, so much so he’s tallying the number of times you looked his way.

Six. Six times he’s felt that electricity run through him, six times you’ve made him catch his breath and nearly choke on it. Did you feel it too? There’s no way you didn’t. He could see it in the way your eyes sparkled, in the smile that was hand-delivered to him. It’s too many times to be a coincidence.

Yuuta only manages to snap out of his trance when all the lights turn back on and Yuuji slings his arm around him.

“Sorry I lost ya earlier,” Yuuji apologizes, out of breath, presumably from dancing and chanting with the wotas, “how was it?”

“It was,” he pauses for a moment, “fun.”

“See, I told you it’d be fun!” Yuuji beams at the confession. “You wanna get chekis?”

“Chekis?”

“Yeah, like a picture with one of the girls. I already know who I’m choosing tonight!” Yuuji pats Yuuta on the back, a friendly gesture Yuuta returns in kind. “But since you don’t know the members, you can just choose a color. Doesn’t really matter.”

It doesn’t really matter, he said, but it really does. Because if Yuuta chose differently he never would have been able to meet you.

So once he gets to the front of the line, he points at the laminated picture of you.

It shouldn’t be this overwhelming. Idols are normal people too. It’s a lot more obvious with underground idols, in the dingy live venues they book, in the way they stumble over their words on stage or occasionally forget a dance move or lyric. There’s appeal in the imperfect, a diamond in the rough.

But that’s the thing, you still shine bright, blindingly so.

As Yuuta walks up to you, his nerves only get worse. His senses are running on overdrive taking you in, in all your ruffly glory. Something sweet and floral hits his nostrils as he breathes in. He didn’t consider you’d be wearing perfume. It’s the right amount – just enough to whet the palate and bite his tongue in fear of saying something wrong.

He thinks he’s seeing things when he’s barely an arms width away from you, and everything about you seems to sparkle.

You look giddy when he gets up to you, a large smile plastered on your face with open arms as if you’re reuniting with an old friend.

Is he supposed to hug you?

While he hesitates, you’re quick to close the distance, wrapping your arms around his waist. Yuuta carefully does the same to you, doing his best to not implode on the spot. When you let go, he’s flushed in the face and has to think about something else to calm himself down.

“Ah! I haven’t seen you around,” you ask with your hands behind your back and eyes wandering like you’re examining him, “you’re new here, aren’t you?”

“Y-Yeah, you could say that,” he says. The room feels ten degrees hotter.

“What’s your name?”

“Yuuta.”

“Yuuta…” you repeat carefully, as if you’re tasting it on your lips, “Cute name for a cute guy. Is it ok if I call you Yuu-tan?” You look at him with this doe-eyed expression that makes his chest taut.

When you say it like that, with your eyes glimmering under the stage lights, how could he say no? Yuuta’s stumbling over his words, babbling like an idiot before he’s finally able to get out a meek, “sure.”

You seem to like that, your face lighting up with pure glee.

“Alright Yuu-tan, what kind of pose did you have in mind?”

He absolutely did not think this far ahead. He has to tell himself to calm down, breathe in, breathe out, before asking, “what kind of poses do you usually do?”

“Mmm… Hearts are pretty common I’d say.” You gently grab his hand and the softness of your skin triggers alarm bells in his head. He’s in danger. “But since it’s your first time, how about we do something special?”

You say it in a way that has him blushing harder – first times.

“S-special?” he repeats.

Carefully, you wrap your arms around his waist. Softer than when you first grabbed him. Like there’s a gentle affection weaved within your embrace.

Your face is pressed against his chest. It’s enough for his breathing to shorten, to be far too aware of the pressure you place on him.

With an innocent pout you look at him, softly reassuring him, “Just pretend I’m like your girlfriend or something.”

You’re close–too close. And this whole situation is just too much for him. There’s no escape from you–your smell, your warmth, the softness of your skin.

“Do you have a girlfriend, Yuu-tan?” you ask, leaning into him more.

Did he hear you right? Every time you talk it feels like you do so with the express purpose of stealing the air from his lungs. But still, there’s no way that’s what you asked him. Right?

“Huh?”

“I said,” you purr into his ear before repeating your question, “do you have a girlfriend, Yuu-tan?”

So, he did hear you right. Now he’s scrambling again for an answer, blood pumping so hard he can hear it steadily pulsing in his ears.

“N-No.”

“Then you can think of me as yours!” you exclaim, far too easily. It echoes like a clocktower’s bell at noon. If he listens close enough, he swears he can hear the notes of a wedding march.

The only anchor that can bring him back down to Earth is a tug on his shirt, a whisper of your touch against his chest. When his eyes meet yours, he’s starstruck. The glitter around your eyes only serves to make his heart beat faster, how it sparkles and makes you look even sweeter.

“Alright, look at the camera for me, okay?”

So he does. You get in position too, soft lips pressing against his flushed cheek. It happens too quickly for him to react, and with a countdown from three and a flash, the picture’s taken.

You’re quick to sign the polaroid, and Yuuta can barely get a look at what you’re writing before you finish.

“Hold it carefully, ok? The ink can smudge,” you instruct him, gently passing over the picture. “And don’t shake it! The whole shake it like a polaroid thing is a myth.”

He silently takes the picture in his hand, carefully taking it in. You’re able to fit a decent amount on the picture. In the top left corner, “To my beloved Yuu-tan,” and in the bottom right, “Thank you for coming!”

“I hope you’ll come back again,” you say sheepishly, a bit like a girl who just confessed to their crush on the school rooftop.

“O-Of course!” Yuuta’s practically forcing the words out of his words, doing his best not to choke.

“Pinky promise?” You lay out your pinky for him, waiting expectantly. Yuuta, on the other hand, is struggling to recollect himself.

“Mmhm.” He brings his pinky over to yours, and you wrap around each other’s fingers. Yuuta thinks it’s just that until you bring your hand back to kiss your thumb.

“Seal it with a kiss?” you ask with an innocent smile.

“Huh?”

You don’t repeat yourself, simply look at him in a way that makes his cheeks red. After a moment, Yuuta repeats the motion, nearly shaking as he brings both of your hands closer to his lips before kissing his thumb.

By the time he finds the courage to look you in the eyes, he’s sure there’s steam coming out of his ears. His gaze shifts down, but darts back up as soon as he hears you giggle.

“You promised! No take-backsies. I don’t like broken promises.” You pout before breaking back into that picture perfect smile of yours. “Thanks for coming by, Yuu-tan!”

– The post concert dress down is the same as usual. Struggling to get out of polyester costumes clinging to your skin from sweat, doing your best to fold your ruffled layered skirt into a manageable mass and failing the first couple of times. It’s a routine you’ve gotten used to.

What you’re not used to, is receiving a warning from one of your groupmates.

“Hey.” Your group leader stands over you as you attempt to continue packing your costume away. “You've gotta be a bit more careful.”

You look up at her with a raised brow, taking in her disappointed expression. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You know exactly what I’m talking about,” she relents, her tone becoming more annoyed than disappointed.

So this is what you think it’s about. But it really isn’t any of her concern. You haven’t had any problems until now, so what’s the harm in continuing? If anything, she should be grateful. If you were to crunch the numbers, you’re sure you bring in a decent amount of fans by playing up the girlfriend experience schtick. And not just any type of fans – devoted ones. Those that return to night after night to spend a minute of their time with you. Those that would empty out their wallets at a snap of your fingers.

If you were to be honest with yourself, you like the power you hold. There’s a thrill that rushes to your head when your fans are stumbling over their words, stringing along a response for the sole purpose of pleasing you. But there’s no way you’d ever admit that to her. She just wouldn’t get it.

You let out a deep sigh. “It’s fine! This type of crowd is harmless. I’m just trying to do my job, you know.”

“You’re going to attract some crazies if you keep going down this path.”

“Yeah, yeah.” You shrug her off as you finally fit your costume into your luggage, swiftly zipping it close before it has the chance to recoil.

“Hey.” She grasps your shoulder to grab your attention. “Listen, I’m being serious,” she says, and there’s a genuine tinge of concern in her voice.

“Me too. I’m making us money. Good money. And if it means I have to bat my lashes and put on an act, then that’s what it is.”

She sighs, defeated. “Just don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

–

In the days after the concert, Yuuta falls into a rabbit hole. It’s just too easy – your group is pretty active on social media, trying and promoting just about anything that’ll stick. It starts simple enough with a livestream here and there. Just listening to you talk makes his heart all warm and fuzzy.

The longer he lurks and follows, the more he realizes just how many opportunities there are to take you in. You being an underground idol works in his favor. Desperation’s the name of the game, with you selling just about anything you can get your likeness on – signed polaroids, acrylic standees, can buttons, the list goes on.

Eventually, he’ll put in orders for those as well, but none of them replace the sensation of holding your hand in person, of your soft lips against his face.

At the end of the day, there’s no way you can’t see his devotion towards you. At this point he knows everything there is to know about you–through the selfies you post online, the memes you retweet, even the daily blog post where you write about your day.

There’s more than that as well. There’s an inherent intimacy he feels in the single shot chekis he orders as soon as the shop link drops on Twitter, in the comments he leaves on your livestreams, with the username you unknowingly gave him.

And in the short weeks he’s been following your account, he’s greeted with a rare chance encounter. A custom video, made by you, just for him. And though the price is probably hefty for what it is, he’s quick to seize the opportunity.

Sure, he’s burning a hole in his wallet. But how can he complain? When he can hear your sweet voice again, talking to him like he’s the only one in the room. It’s the closest thing he can get to seeing you for now. Things have just been so busy these days. He wonders how other sorcerers play the balancing act between dating and work.

But just a couple weeks later he gets an e-mail. He nearly jumps in his seat in his room when he sees the e-mail notification with the subject line “to my beloved yuu-tan~”.

His phone comes alive with you in frame, sitting in something different from your usual stage costume. Something cute, something that sends butterflies to his stomach and a blush to his cheeks. A comfy sweater that seems just a little bit too big for you, along with a matching skirt. The hem dangerously brushes against your upper thighs, and he has to make a considerable effort to draw his gaze back to your eyes.

The background is a simple white backdrop, and judging from the lighting situation, it’s probably something you filmed in your room. You’re filming this. In your room. Just for him. The thought is enough to make his heart race.

“Is this on?” Your finger taps on to the camera, face getting closer to the lens before moving back. Even when you’re clueless, you’re adorable. “Ah, it is.”

“Yuu-tan! Thanks for supporting me so much as you always have!~” Your voice is bright as always. The way your nickname for him dances on your tongue feels like a salve for even the most mortal of wounds.

“Your support is number one in my heart, you know. But Yuu-tan…”You drag out his name in a way that’s too much for him, and the way you pout up at the camera? This has to be attempted murder, he thinks. But he continues listening attentively. “It’s been a while since I’ve seen you. I miss you, I really do.” Your voice pulls on his heartstrings and makes him ridden with guilt. It genuinely pains him to hear you like this, his chest tightening at the sound. But then your voice lightens up, your expression brightens with the next words that slip past your lips, “you’ll come to the next show, won’t you?”

Yuuta finds himself nodding at his phone, as if you’ll be able to see his response if he’s enthusiastic enough. Yet, it’s as if you knew exactly how he’d reply.

“Alright, I’ll see you there then! This is a promise.” You lift your pinky up to the camera before pulling it back. “Oh wait, I don’t think I can do this through the camera, haha. Guess you’ll just have to finish it in person! Bye bye!” you sign off, and the video ends there, paused on your angelic smile.

Yuuta nearly breaks his phone replaying the video over and over again. It’s surprising the image of you hasn’t been burned onto his screen. But there’s one part in particular that’s his favorite.

It’s when you pout and disarmingly look up at the camera. Bat your eyelashes in just the right way to make him pitch a tent in his pants. That combined with the way you say his name, it’s no surprise the next thing he does is frantically search for the bottle of lube in one of his drawers.

What happens next, there’s no way you can fault him for it. All he can think about is how cute you are as he dispenses lube on to his right hand and unzips his pants with his left. Once his cock’s free, he groans as he palms himself, daydreaming about how you’d hold him. His other hand finds his phone, repeatedly going back to the same timestamp where you’re practically moaning for him.

He finds a rhythm, fast. Not just for jerking off, but looping your voice in a way that makes him light-headed. It just adds another layer to the image of you playing in his head. If he times it just right, he can pretend that slick wet sound of him fucking his hand is your sweet pussy instead. His pace gets faster, thinking about the other kinds of sounds he could wring from you.

You would moan so sweetly for him. He’d do everything in his power to make sure of it. He’s far from a selfish lover. He’d be sure to prep you beforehand, his hands tracing the curve of your body before delving into your underwear. Start a bit slow, teasing you into asking for more as he plays with your clit. He wonders what kind of expression you’d wear.

Maybe you’d be a bit shy. Maybe you’d be needy, desperate to ask him for more. Whatever’s the case it doesn’t matter, as long as he gets to hear your sweet voice.

Once he’s tested the waters he’d go faster, and he thinks about the heave of your chest, the short breaths you’d give him as you’re getting closer. Would you call him by his real name, or the nickname you’ve given him? He doesn’t really mind either way, but part of him hopes for the former. Regardless, the mental image of you cumming on his fingers along with your voice played on loop is enough to send him over the edge with a choked moan, hot ropes of his seed spilling from his slit. Yuuta’s body nearly gives out as he relaxes back into his chair, exhausted and out of breath.

“Alright, I’ll see you there then! This is a promise!” Your voice plays again through his phone as he finally comes down from his high.

So he steels himself. Tells himself that it doesn’t matter what the occasion is, he’ll make sure to go to the next live show, the one after, and the one after that. It’s a promise, after all.

—

The next time Yuuta goes to see you, he’s a bit more prepared. At least, that’s what he likes to tell himself.

In reality, he’s still just as nervous as the first time. While the video was nice, it just doesn’t hold a light to seeing you in person. Getting a waft of that sweet, floral perfume of yours as he approaches you, relishing at how the smell of the live venue just seems to disappear in your presence. Then there’s the ball that forms in his throat that he can’t swallow as he gets closer.

You light up as soon as you see him, star-bright.

“Yuu-tan!” you shuffle up to him with your arms outstretched for a hug, “I missed you!”

“I missed you too,” he says, and it feels like a weight’s been lifted off his chest. He brings you in closer, but feels a bit self conscious when he realizes just how tight you’re holding on to him. Tight enough that he can feel the curve of your tits pressed against him. Then he finds himself panicking and letting go.

“Did you have a good time at the show?” you ask, seemingly unphased by his internal plight.

”I did, I did,” he replies, nodding a bit too enthusiastically.

“I’m so happy you remembered our promise.”

”O-Of course.”

“What kind of pose did you want today?” Your expression softens as you put your hands behind your back and bend slightly, look up at him doe-eyed and curious.

After all he put into coming to the show, he’s stunned into silence. He had one in mind, but the idea simply melted as soon as he saw you. He can’t help it, it’s just what you do to him. He’s sure he’s making a fool out of himself again, and can feel it in the way his cheeks burn with embarrassment.

”Could you choose again?” he asks meekly.

“Hmm…” you muse, pouting dramatically and placing your chin in between your thumb and index finger. Yuuta waits with bated breath.

“Could you make a circle with your arms?” you say with a snap of your fingers.

”H-Huh? Sure.” He awkwardly follows your instructions, his fingertips meeting one another, miming the act of holding a large box against his chest.

You bend down and disappear from his vision, only to reappear between his arms.

“Boo!” you exclaim, palms faced outward with your fingers spread apart.

Yuuta’s startled. It isn’t that the act itself is scary, but the way you press against his chest and grin at him awakens a gnawing desire in his head. The lengths he would go to see you smile like this for him–just for him. By the time he’s shaking out the thoughts out his mind, he realizes you’ve been waiting for a response.

“Ah, you really scared me,” Yuuta jokes, feigning a scared expression to soothe his nerves.

“Hm? You think I’m scary, Yuu-tan?” you quip back, but then you’re pouting your lips, and the way the glitter glimmers under the stage lights makes it look like you’re going to cry.

It’s like you’ve pierced his heart, he swears he can feel it. Maybe with Cupid’s arrow. It seems like a side effect of this is becoming a blubbering mess every time he tries to speak.

“N-No, that’s not what I meant!”

“Don’t worry,” you giggle with a bright smile that soothes his heart, “I’m just messing with you.”

Gently, you adjust his position until his arms are wrapped tightly around your waist.

But when you press up against him, Yuuta thinks you’re approaching dangerous territory. Even with all the layers in your skirt, he swears he can make out the shape of your ass. It doesn’t help that you keep adjusting your position, brushing against his clothed cock multiple times over. All he can do is bite his tongue and hope that nothing comes to light.

“Yuu-tan, is this ok?” You look back at him with that innocent glimmer in your eyes.

”Y-Yeah, it’s perfect,” he replies, nearly biting his lip as he does so.

You give the cameraman the okay to take the picture, and with a countdown that feels longer than last time, the picture’s taken.

“You’ll come to the next show, right, Yuu-tan?”

“Of course.”

“Pinky promise?” You outstretch your pinky again, and this time, Yuuta’s swift on the uptake, wrapping his pinky around yours with more enthusiasm than last time. It’s such a simple gesture, but Yuuta is fond of promises and all they represent. Love intertwined in a simple hook of pinkies. The gentleness of your thumbs pressing against each other, the giggle that leaves your lips as you make a heart with your hands.

“Pinky promise,” he repeats with a gentle smile.

—

In the days that follow, Yuuta’s come to a realization.

Don’t get him wrong, seeing you perform is great and all, but his favorite moments with you are the intimate ones. The one on ones, the short and sweet conversations where he can tune out the rest of the world. And when he does the math, they’re too few and far between.

Simply put, he can’t wait for the next show. So, he forges his own opportunities. It’s just too easy to do when you post selfies of where you’re handing out flyers for the night. Part of him thinks your agency should be a little more conscious of internet safety, but then again he wouldn’t have been able to find out where you were if that were the case.

Thanks to your social media posts, it doesn’t take that long to find you. It’s busy in Shinjuku but it’s pretty easy to follow the endless trail of girls hanging out flyers. Even though you’re lined up with all the other idols, hostesses, and maids dressed to the nines to promote themselves, he could easily pick you out of the crowd. They just don’t hold a candle to you.

“Please come to our show!” you exclaim with a smile, waving the flyer and hoping the random man in front of you will take it. And for once, he does. So you look up. “Oh! Yuu-tan! What’re you doing here?”

Yuuta feels all warm and fuzzy at the mention of the pet name.

“Ah, I was just running some errands,” he says sheepishly.

“Really?” you ask back in a hushed whisper before breaking into a smile, “what a coincidence!”

Before you can comment any further, a man sneaks into your field of vision and interrupts the conversation, shyly waving his hand at you and asking for a flyer. Your eyes light up for a second before you turn to give him your attention.

“Please come to our show!” you casually hand over the flyer to the stranger with a smile.

Yuuta doesn’t like that.

For a split second, he thinks you should quit being an idol. But then the thought boomerangs back, sits and marinates as he considers it further.

Yeah. That might be a good idea.

“It was nice chatting with you Yuu-tan, but I really gotta get back to work.” You pout at him. It hits him differently this time. He almost mistakes it for guilt, but it’s not quite that. It’s not as surface level, gets deep under his skin like poison and spreads unease throughout his body.

“I’ll see you at the next show, Yuu-tan!” you send him off with a wave and a smile, one he thinks is too soon.

Yuuta waits for you to brand your pinky for him, but it never comes.

Disappointment. It’s disappointment.

He’s been a fool. You’re distracted by all these so-called fans that you can’t see what’s right in front of you. Worse of all, your agency is putting you up to it. He really thinks it’s time for you to quit.

So Yuuta waits.

For an idol, you lack a crucial sense of self-awareness. You don’t even notice when Yuuta follows behind you once you finish your shift. Even as the bustle of the city crowd quiets down as you make your way to your agency building on a random side street, you don’t notice he’s trailing behind. Imagine how much danger you’d be in if some crazy fan were to follow you. You’re lucky to have Yuuta there for you, he just needs to make you see it too.

He almost loses you when you leave the agency building in much more normal and muted. He nearly has to stop himself from drooling at the sight of it. He can see it so clearly, the image of you wearing it on a date with him. Maybe it’d be at a cafe, somewhere he can see you laugh and smile with him as he feeds you an intricate, overpriced slice of cake. But before he gets too lost in his imagination, Yuuta shakes it off and resolves himself to continue following you.

The longer he follows you, the more Yuuta starts to feel invisible. You don’t notice him when he’s right behind you at the turnstill. When he follows you through all the twists and turns of the station, hell, even when he’s three spots behind you in line for the train. The lack of self-preservation is stunning, he thinks. More than that, how could you not notice your number one fan, your boyfriend, putting in all this effort to make sure nobody hurt you? But it doesn’t matter–soon enough you won’t have to worry about that.

You step off the train after a few stops, and Yuuta’s always behind you, not that you’re aware. The rush of people leaving the train is enough to help him blend in, but once you leave the station he adds some slack to the distance.

Another fifteen minutes of walking and he’s there, watching from a distance as you unlock your apartment and go inside.

Yuuta waits a minute before approaching the unit you just walked into. The lock to your apartment isn’t anything he can’t break through, and with a pointed blast of cursed energy, the lock breaks with a quiet snap. He makes a note to himself to tell you to get a better place.

Then again, it’d be best if you just lived with him anyways. He’d take care of anything, everything, as long as it’s for you.

The door creaks just a little as he opens it slowly, careful not to disturb you.

The apartment is cramped, narrow halls made even smaller by the coats you have hanging on wall hooks, but just down the corridor he can see your living room. Calmly, he takes off his shoes and places them down neatly next to yours before quietly walking over. You aren’t there.

He backtracks to where the hallway splits, approaching the bedroom door. It’s slightly ajar, tantalizing like a bow on top of a present. It’s as if you were expecting him.

When he pushes the door open with a slight tap, Yuuta’s greeted by a half naked figure. You were probably in the middle of undressing. He takes a moment to mentally thank whatever higher up there gave him the blessing of perfect timing.

“Get out of my apartment!” you yell, throwing whatever you can at him, but it doesn’t seem to do any damage. He walks casually towards you, even as you tremble. He doesn’t understand why you’re shaking, but he knows he can fix it. You have nothing to worry about, everything will be better now that he’s here.

His expression softens as soon as you look him in the eyes.

“Hey, hey, it’s just me,” Yuuta coos.

“Y-Yuu-tan?” you ask, voice out of breath from thrashing around, “what are you doing here?” your voice drops in a way that he hasn’t heard before. It’s intimate, he thinks.

“I’ve been worried about you,” he says, a tenderness wrapped in his words.

“Worried?” you ask in the softest tone he’s ever heard. It endears him.

“Yeah. You didn’t pinky promise me today.”

“Huh?”

“I just wanted to make sure you were okay. You usually pinky promise me before you say bye. But you were so distracted today.”

There’s a brief pause, but it feels like it lasts a lifetime. Yuuta studies your expression, one he doesn’t recognize. When your eyes meet his, he takes it as a sign to explain himself further.

“And it’s not just that. During your lives, I see you looking at other guys and it really hurts me,” his voice softens, his chest tightening at the confession. He notices the tears falling down your face, and scrambles to make it better. “But you don’t need to do any of this anymore. You have me,” he says with a hand against his heart.

It doesn’t seem to help as your barely contained cries become louder.

“Yuu-tan, you’re scaring me,” you confess.

He tilts his head.

“I don’t think I’ve said anything scary?”

Another pause. He waits for an answer but isn’t given one he wants as you run for the door. It’s a losing game to run from him, his body quick to shield you from the door, his hand tightly wrapping around your wrist.

“Why are you running?” he asks, genuine hurt in his voice.

“Because you’re scaring me, Yuu-tan,” you reply, voice trembling.

“I’m not trying to be scary, I just want to be a good boyfriend for you,” he whispers softly against your ear, and to prove his point, his hand grazes your thigh, traveling further until his fingers hook around the waistband of your underwear. “Make you feel good like you’ve done for me,” he says breathlessly.

“N-No, I don’t want this, please,” you beg.

Your words are rearranged by the time they hit his ears. For all intents and purposes, all he hears is “I want this, please” and that’s all he needs to kiss you. It’s soft for a moment, but then it’s as if something snapped inside him.

There’s no patience behind it; he’s waited so long after all. He kisses like his time with you is sand trickling down an hourglass and he’s on his last grains. All groans and grasping at your cheeks to keep you with him, hot and heavy.

“Y-Yuu-tan, please,” you plead shakily.

There’s something at the end of your words he doesn’t catch, but he’s all too willing to give you what you want, especially when you’re asking so nicely.

Your breathing quickens as his hand presses down on your legs so you can’t escape. Yuuta’s hand gingerly traces up your thigh until he gets to your underwear. The soft breath you let out when he brushes over your clit sends blood rushing straight down to his cock.

His tongue brushes against the cotton fabric of your underwear, a cute moan leaving your lips, just for him. It’s what he’s been craving to hear, the subject of all his sweetest dreams and basest fantasies, and it’s better than he could have ever imagined. Now that he has it, he needs more.

There’s no warning, no tact to his movements, he can’t hold himself back any longer. There's only pure, unadulterated desperation with every stroke of his tongue against your underwear until he finally pulls the fabric to the side.

When your hand grasps his hair, he’s taken by surprise but he doesn’t dislike it. He indulges you and even lets out a throaty moan when you tighten your grip. He didn’t take you for the rowdy type, but you’re full of surprises, aren’t you?

It enables him further to dive into you and lap around your clit to hear those short gasps that sound like music to his ears. His arms wrap around your thighs to bring you in further, his nose pressing into you as he starts to build a steady tempo.

It seems to be too much for you with the way your body keeps shifting, but Yuuta is nothing if not determined. Maybe you’re testing the depths of his dedication, but there’s no universe where he’d ever fail you. No matter how much you move, he’s stuck to you like a leech, sucking at your clit with fervor. There’s intention with every motion, in the way he huffs and inhales deeply through his nostrils, in the messy way he sucks and slurps at your slick.

Even though he’s working so hard to please you, something’s not quite right. You’re so… quiet. It makes Yuuta think you’re holding yourself back. There’s no need for that, especially between lovers. Soulmates, even.

“Let me hear how good you feel,” he pants between breaths, “it’s okay.”

His movements become more pointed, determination lighting a fire in his stomach just to hear how sweet you get when you cum. The anticipation is killing him, but he thinks there’s been a breakthrough when your thighs tighten around his head, your breaths getting shorter by the second.

When you finally cum, it’s nothing short of heavenly. Sweeter than any note he’s heard you sing on stage, better than what he’s heard in his dreams. It’s not just that, but the full body reaction as well. The trembling, the taut muscles, the rise and fall of your chest– it’s all so erotic.

So your love language is words of affirmation. He makes note of that.

The only complaint Yuuta has is that the moment was far too short lived for his tastes. He has to hear more. See more. Have more. His fingers press gently against your wet hole, one small push from penetrating.

“W-Wait, it’s sensitive–”

Yuuta cuts you off by slipping it in with ease, quickly followed by another. Hungrily looks at the point where he’s connected to you. He starts slowly, fingers carefully pressing and curling until he finds a spot that gives him the reaction he’s looking for.

“Too-too much, stop-”

He doesn’t. Why would he ever deprive you of pleasure? He presses in further, bullies the spot that makes you scream louder. It’s not long until he sends you tumbling into another climax. It’s far more drawn out than the first. He can feel it in the way your walls convulse around his fingers.

Even though it might be too much, Yuuta still fingers you through it. He can’t help it. You just look so cute like this, reduced to a sputtering mess. And knowing that he’s the only one who has the privilege of seeing this side of you? He’s on cloud nine.

He knows he’s being a bit mean right now. But there’s so much lost time to make up for. He might also be letting his jealousy of seeing you with another man get the better of him right now, but it’s ok. At the end of the day, he’s making you feel good.

Yuuta watches with wonder and amusement as you cum again. He almost feels bad for pushing you this far, seeing the way you squeeze your eyes shut and thrash around through your orgasm. While he’s not a fan of your pain, he loves being your source of comfort, the one to clean up your tears. It’s a necessary evil, he tells himself.

Yuuta plants a trail of kisses down your neck to help shoulder the burden, and it seems to help as you come down from your high.

“You’re doing so good for me,” he sighs, adoration laced in his voice as he kisses your forehead.

“Y-Yuu-tan,” you pant, “you’ve already made me feel so good. D-Don’t you think that’s enough?”

“Of course not,” he responds with a soft gasp as if he’s incredulous at the idea, “I have so much more I want to give you.”

“More?” you ask shakily.

“Mhm,” he purrs with a soft smile, unphased by the tremor in your voice. His fingers slide in and out of you with ease, drawing another soft lewd sound out of you.

“No, no, no, I can’t, I can’t-” you plead, before you’re cut off by a kiss. Yuuta notices you have this habit of denying yourself anything good for you, but you don’t need to do that. What are boyfriends for? He doesn’t stop, even when you scratch and leave blossoming trails of rose on his skin. It only makes him intensify his movements, picking a fast rhythmic pace to hit that spot that makes you moan so sweetly.

When you cum with a wail, Yuuta’s there to swallow every cry you give him, tongue swirling against yours to help you through it. There’s a tenderness to it, as if he’s telling you it’ll all be okay. In between labored breaths he huffs in your ear with a neediness in his tone, “let it all out for me.”

He didn’t mean it literally, but he’s not displeased with the results either. That being said, it does catch him by surprise when you clench and gush all over him and the sheets. The warmth of you soaking his pants makes him feel dizzy with lust. Next thing he knows he’s nose deep into your folds, lapping up at everything you have to give. Not a drop goes to waste, not when he lifts your legs and traces the trail of juices from the fat of your ass to your inner thigh.

It’s just too much for him. When he comes up for air, he’s hastily picking at his pants.

“Have you done this for anyone else?” he asks as he unbuckles his belt and slides down his pants.

You shake your head furiously in embarrassment. It’s cute. Part of him wishes he could record a video of it and save it for later. But there’s more pressing matters at hand.

Yuuta’s hard cock presses against the fabric of his boxers, begging to be freed. His hand barely breaks through the elastic when it springs free, slapping his stomach from the recoil. Seeing your hole slick with arousal for him is almost enough to make him cum right there. He takes a deep breath and tries to collect himself.

Yuuta strokes his cock before pressing it between your folds, collecting all your arousal along the way. Even this is enough to make him shiver, feel it deep in his core. He bites his lip and lines himself up with your entrance. The sight of your hole quivering as he taps his tip against it makes him lightheaded.

So he starts slow, presses against your cunt steadily until he gets past that first ring of muscle that makes you gasp. From there, it’s just a matter of patience and self control, pushing further and further until he finally bottoms out with a groan. It goes in so easily, it’s like you were made for this–for him. Yuuta feels like he’s floating.

While Yuuta’s never been one to think about his size, he still sees you squeezing your eyes shut. His hand caresses your cheek before he reaches for your hand, interlocking his fingers with yours. He brings your hand up to his lips and gives your fingers a chaste kiss, from one lover trying to comfort another.

“Hey, it’s in. It wasn’t that bad, right?” he asks softly, like he’s letting you in on a secret.

You give him a shy nod, and he smiles at that.

“You’re doing so good for me,” he praises, gently wiping the tears from your eyes. Even in the afterglow of your tears, you look beautiful. Then again, he’d find beauty in anything you give him. It doesn’t matter what kind of expression you wear, as long as it’s just for him.

“I’ll start slow, ok?” Yuuta brandishes his pinky.

There’s a moment of pause, a shake to your hand as you wrap your pinky around his. He’s already one step ahead of you and swiftly seals it with a kiss and a giggle.

Yuuta keeps his promise, as he languidly rolls his hips into yours. It takes every ounce of self control to keep a slower pace, but he has to savor his first time with you. You feel perfect around him–your warmth enveloping him like a blanket, almost suffocating with its embrace. It’s too much for him, he can’t keep biting his lip and holding back his moans. Then again, he’d be a hypocrite holding himself back, wouldn’t he?

So he lets whatever sounds caught in his throat escape through his lips, lets you hear just how much you’re messing him up. All broken groans and whimpers of your name. And maybe it’s a bit too much for you, seeing you grab the pillow to cover your face. But Yuuta isn’t embarrassed, and you shouldn’t be either, so he’s quick to toss the pillow off the side of the bed.

“Y-Yuu-tan, please,” you ask.

It sounds like there’s something else you were going to say, but the noise thins out into a hushed whine. But Yuuta can read between the lines. His hands spread your legs apart further for leverage, his lips pressing against yours until he builds it up to a slew of open mouthed kisses. Tongue against tongue, choked gasps and moans escaping into each other’s mouths. He kisses you like he wants to consume you, breathes in so intensely like you’re the air he needs in his lungs.

It’s everything he’s ever wanted. He can’t help himself from rutting his hips into yours a little harder, losing himself in the soft plush of your walls squeezing him tighter with every passing moment. Even the wet sounds of his cock fucking into you is melodic to him, along with your staccatoed gasps, it’s an earworm he wouldn’t mind keeping.

He can’t let himself all the fun though, his fingers making their way to your throbbing clit. It seems to catch you by surprise, earning a yelp from you that soon melts into a moan.

“Yuuta-”

The world stops moving. It’s as if he’s frozen in place as soon as he hears his name from your lips. No nickname, no extra letter. Just Yuuta. It’s enough to make his head spin, his nerves go haywire as he snaps his hips into yours faster, desperate to hear it again.

“Say it again,” he groans breathlessly, desperately trying to keep himself from cumming right then and there.

“Yuuta, Yuuta-” you whine in that tone he’s dreamt of, stroked himself to on lonely nights and he’s so close. All self control goes out the window as he practically fucks you into the mattress. He feels delirious feverish with an ailment that can only be cured through you. He can’t let you go; not now, not ever.

An idea hits him like a strike of lightning, reverberates throughout his entire being. His pace slows for a second. There’s a look of confusion on your face.

“If we have a baby, you’ll have to quit, right?” he asks, his finger gently tracing a heart around your stomach.

Your pupils dilate. Yuuta recalls that it’s a sign of love. Affection. His heart skips a beat.

“Y-Yuu-tan,” you mumble, a tremor in your voice, “what are you saying?”

“You’ll have to stay if we have a baby,” he whispers into your ear before his hips snap into yours, “right?”

You make some unintelligible noise in response, but he knows it’s just because you’re overwhelmed with joy at the idea. Knowing you’re happy makes him happy too.

There’s no time to waste, an urgency to Yuuta’s movements as he pushes against your legs until you’re folded into a mating press. His hips pick up a steady rhythm, the loud slap of skin echoing throughout the room.

Yuuta fucks you like he means to make good his proposal–his body pressed flush against yours, his hands wrapping around the back of your head to bring you into his embrace. He throws caution to the wind, lets lust take over.

Everything about you is overwhelming. How you scratch at his back, how you bite down on his neck hard enough to draw blood, how your legs tremble with each stroke. It’s like you want it just as bad as he does.

And who is he to deny you? His hand slips between your sweat covered bodies, trails down to your throbbing clit to show it some love. He wants you to feel as good as he does, or better. Preferably the latter.

He knows he’s doing a good job when he hears that tell-tale sign of your breaths quickening, along with your heart beating faster against his chest.

But something’s off.

You won’t stop throwing your body around, as if you’re trying to loosen his grip around you.

If this is your way of testing his love, then he’s passing with flying colors. It only lights a fire in him, determination ablaze in his fingertips as he draws tighter circles around your clit, the roll of his hips morphing to something slower, but deeper. It’s only a matter of seconds before your body gives in to his love and affection, cries sputtering from your mouth as your muscles tense up around him.

Yuuta can’t control himself any longer with your pussy convulsing around him, his pace becoming erratic, his breathing heavier. His voice breaks, a shaky whine catches in his throat before he goes over the edge.

“Love you, love you so much,” he cries before cumming, burying himself deep inside and making sure to give you everything he has. Every twitch of his cock leads to the undeniable warmth of his seed painting your insides white.

He takes a moment to collect himself and catch his breath, but he doesn’t take himself out of you. It’s like the intensity catches up with him all at once as he collapses onto you. Even in his state of exhaustion, he finds the energy to gingerly kiss your forehead.

He didn’t even have to ask, he knew you only thought of him in a platonic way. He’s your best friend, like a brother to you. As much as it pained him, he would never do anything to jeopardize your relationship. If he were to really say how he felt, he’d run the risk of losing you… and that could not happen. He couldn’t imagine his life without you. 

So he accepted that the two of you were just friends. Besties! He endured your talks about your latest crushes and heartbreaks even though he was dying to tell you I’m right here. Let me take care of you. I can make you so happy. I love you. I want you. 

And when you asked him if there were any ladies in his life, he just shook his head, pretending that he was just too busy to even think about things like that. Little did you know you consumed his every waking thought, your image etched into his mind and essence embedded into all of his actions. Everything he did was, in some part, for you. He got out of bed to see you. He kept up his apartment so you could come visit. He took care of curses to make the world a better place for you. He lived for you. 

Despite his love for you, you tormented him. Thinking of you kept him up at night. He’d toss and turn, unable to get comfortable as glimpses of your image flashed in his mind. Sometimes he would have good fantasies of you two holding hands, kissing, going on dates and the like; but most of the time the fantasies were less pure. He’d think about your body; fuck, what he would do to just touch your breasts, even only over the shirt. They looked so soft behind those tank tops you’d wear, and sometimes he could see your bra. It made him feel like a total virgin how those thoughts made him sweat… don’t even get him started on the more depraved fantasies and what those did to him. 

And because your likeness would not let him sleep, he had to find a solution. So he got himself a bottle of sleeping pills, and those mostly suppressed the urges enough for him to fall into slumber so that he could be well rested enough to continue daydreaming about you the next day. 

It’s when he wakes up from a drug-induced slumber, morning wood hard and leaking over a dream he’d had of you, that the idea comes to him.

And that’s how you find yourself in his apartment after a long day, sitting on the opposite side of the couch from him watching some show. You guys had plans tomorrow, and he offered for you to spend the night so that you both could wake up early and get breakfast together. He even let you sleep in his bed, and he would stay here on the couch. How sweet, right? You’d had a long day, and that dinner Yuuta made for you both had you nodding off.

You gave a big yawn, smacking your lips and stretching just enough for your shirt to lift and expose a little bit of your plush tummy.  “Man, I didn’t realize I was so tired… I think I’m going to turn in for the night. Sorry, Yuuta.”

“It’s alright. Rest up, okay?” He watches as you rise, staggering a bit before you sauntered down the hall, disappearing into the abyss of his apartment. 

Yuuta laid back, pulling the blanket he brought out over himself as he stared at the ceiling. Guilt immediately struck him. What have I done? He just drugged you! But he tried to rationalize in his mind; You didn’t ever have to know that you were drugged… it was like you said, you were just awfully tired. Nothing had to happen. Even if he did go in… He wouldn’t actually do anything, of course, just lay next to you and watch you sleep. At most, cuddle you. Right… It didn't have to go too far. He just needed something—anything—to satiate the urges… for a while, at least. 

Still, Yuuta laid there for a while. He tried to calculate how long it would take for you to fall asleep… like really asleep, considering the dose he gave you. He wanted to give you enough time to change and do your bedtime routine before coming in. He strained his ears, trying to hear the creak of your footsteps on the floorboards, or a video playing on your phone. He heard nothing.

As quietly as possible, he got up from the sofa and crept to his bedroom. As he got closer, he saw that you’d left the door ajar. Yuuta peered in, slightly kicking himself for taking so long. It looked like you barely made it to the mattress; your shoes were strewn across the floor like you’d haphazardly kicked them off, and your shorts left in a pile right before the bed. You had knocked right out, and made Yuuta wait so patiently all that time for nothing. 

He let himself in. 

At first, Yuuta stood at the foot of the bed, just taking you in. The moonlight perfectly fell onto your sleeping form, highlighting your sock clad feet that hung off the bed as you laid down on your tummy, knee kicked up to reveal your panties between your legs, and face smushed into the pillow. He couldn’t help but stroke the arch of your foot, almost like a test to see how deep in sleep you were. You didn’t even stir. 

But he was getting a bit ahead of himself. 

He tried to calm himself down, choosing to lie down on his back next to you where you were facing away from him. Yuuta didn’t look at you at first, just trying to acclimate to your presence. He could hear your soft breathing, could feel your chest rising and falling with each breath. Most of all, he could smell your sweet scent, picking out the individual notes of your perfume, shampoo, down to your lotion. He wanted more. 

Yuuta finally turned over, facing the back of your head. Swallowing nervously, he brushed your hair back from your neck, leaning in to take a deep inhale. With his nose pressed right against your neck, he could smell your natural scent, the most intoxicating of all. His arms wrapped around you, pulling you into him tighter as he got drunk off your smell. Yuuta didn’t even realize that he was grinding ever so slightly into your ass until he heard you grunt. 

He shot right up, staring at your face as your eyes slightly opened. Yet, you didn’t look at him, just stared, dazed, straight ahead before your eyes fluttered closed again. Yuuta swallowed thickly, his heart going a million beats a minute and cock just aching between his legs. You wouldn’t remember that, would you? There’s no way he could stop now, and… maybe he didn’t want you to forget. 

Fuck it. If you woke up, you woke up. 

Yuuta scrambled over you, pulling you to rest on your back. Your hair splayed around you, arms laid limply at your sides, and your chest open for purchase. He pursed his lips as he peeled your t-shirt back, revealing your breasts. They bounced out, nearly making him whimper. His hands shook as they came over you, merely resting on your breasts before he gave them a generous squeeze. His thumbs rolled over your nipples before circling and pressing into them. He experimentally put one into his mouth, suckling on it as he throbbed in his pants. Your head bobbed from one side to the other, eyebrow twitching. Yuuta wondered if you were dreaming. He hoped you were dreaming of him.

Your whimper broke him from his reverie with your chest, his lovestruck gaze scanning your body as it arched under his touch. Your teats were swollen, imprints of his teeth littering your chest. God, he could have stayed like that for hours, but the brush of your clothed cunt against his cock was undeniable.

Yuuta bit his bottom lip, watching your face as he slipped his hand past your underwear. You were soaking wet, making it easy for his slender fingers to explore your slit, so engorged and pulsing with need. You took his fingers so nicely, lips parted and panting. Your eyes swam beneath your eyelids, darting back and forth. He knew this was a lot for your body to process, even asleep. 

“Does that feel good, baby?” A sick grin split across his face as he played with you. “Do I make you feel good?”

Your noises increased as he brought you closer to orgasm. Your eyes even fluttered open one or two times, rolling back as your body twitched from his ministrations. You were so reactive, he was perfect for you, wasn’t he? He knew exactly how to touch you, like your body knew all along.

“Should I let you cum?” He whispered against your ear, mouth hot and wet.

Your eyes opened for a longer time than they had before, lazily roaming around until they found him. You moaned and fell back into your daze, but that was enough confirmation for him. He now desperately wanted you to wake up, to look at him, to see him, to feel him. He murmured sweet nothings wetly into your ear as he made you cum on his fingers. Yuuta couldn’t stop himself from peppering kisses down your jaw and neck, telling you how good you were for him.

His fingers moved on their own, untying his sweats and pushing them down just enough to free himself. With his hand that made you cum, he wrung his cock, shivering at your sticky warmth. As he got snug between your legs, he saw your eyes open, staring off into space. He gently grabbed your jaw, turning your gaze onto him. Now, he saw the slightest bit of recognition.

You tried to speak, but it was unintelligible, all mumble and whisper.

“What was that, love?” He asked, no longer ashamed.

But he didn’t give you time to answer before feeding his cock to your cunt. He watched your eyes widen for a split second before turning back to their half-lidded state. Your lips trembled, unable to form a word, but your breath quickened. So did his as his thrusts pushed more and more of himself inside of you.

The power of his thrusts sent your hips back as he crawled on top of you, bringing your thighs up. He watched tears begin to build at your eyes, but your cries only spurred him on. You were waking up, and he couldn’t wait for you to finally feel him and all of his love.

“You feel so good, sweetheart.” He laughed breathily. His body propelled into you, over you, consuming you. 

“Yuu… ta…?” You made a noise that sounded like it meant something, and it was a shaky, cracking attempt at his name. He stopped in his tracks, sweat trailing down his brow, cock buried deep in your messy cunt. For a second he couldn’t meet your eyes, instead staring down at your heaving chest. But he soon worked up the courage to look you in your eyes.

You hummed softly in response, naked and sweaty beneath him. Your thighs were aching from the past 20 minutes of “foreplay” which he loves so much. Burying his face between your thighs while striking his cock but edging himself so that he could finish inside your warm, sweet hole.

“I’m not letting any of it go to waste, m’kay?” He had told you, before filling you up repeatedly with his sticky white seed.

His hand shifted from your thigh, warmth spreading to your tummy when his large hand pressed down gently. Eliciting a soft moan from you, your hands clawing into the silk sheets, curling your toes and squirming. As if you weren’t already on edge. “Mmm… s-stoppp.. don’t press there,” you whined, left eye closed from the twitching pleasure.

“No?” He raised an eyebrow, smirking, before lifting his hand obediently and staring at your abdomen. “S’hard not to… can see my cock bulging from inside your cute belly,” he hummed lowly, hips slowly pulling back.

It’s almost like you could feel what he was about to do, already watching your back and holding on a breath. His hips slamming forward, knocking the air out of you, a loud moan passing unfiltered through your soft lips. “Fuck… you sound good with me in you, you look incredibly good with me inside you, you smell so good when I’m in you… wanna marry me, doll?” He breathed out, his hand moving from above your abdomen to grab your chin.

“We’re already marriedddd.. stop talking and just fuck me..”

He chuckled, moving to push his index and middle finger into your mouth. “Don’t even need to ask twice…” he grinned, eyes half lidded with blissful pleasure. He blinked, watching you instinctively suck on his fingers with muffled soft moans, before he pulled his hand back, pushing your thighs down against your chest again. Lifting his hips, and slamming back into your again.

Plap. Plap. Plap.

Your breathing had quickened, your head lolling to the side, moaning out loud between every thrust. The room was loud and lewd. A fwop here and a shlorp there. “A-ah.. ah… mmh..!” You moaned out for him, mouth agape, eyes squeezed shut. While he was groaning shamelessly and moving his hips with a desperate pace.

“F-fuck yeah… you love this, don’t you?” He chuckled between his own gasps at your mindless nodding, “love being fucked dumb by me,” he punctuated dumb with a sharper thrust, pressing the gummy head of his cock against your cervix. Before focusing on the quicker, more shallow thrusts.

His pace quickened when he felt the tingle at the back of his spine, that euphoric sensation buzzing through him, before he stuttered and slammed against your hips for the last time.

Cum spurted from the tip of his cock, painting your walls in his warm white seed again. Filling you up for the nth time that night. His body blanketing yours in a warm hug, kissing the tension and stress away on your face. “Y-yeah.. just… a little more, angel..” he breathed out, muscles tightened and sweating all over. Nose nudging against your cheek.

“Just… a few more rounds, I need to see your tummy all big, whether that be from our babies… or just that cute bulge from my dick.”

he concludes that something must be up, “what’d you want from me?”

there hangs a silence between you two afterwards. sukuna’s slow yet heavy footsteps reverberate through the hallway, followed by your quick and light ones.

you pout as you notice that the king of curses isn’t even sparing you a glance, “nothing at all. i just like to be with you.”

you add the latter as an afterthought. you don’t expect sukuna to react to that, so you continue to trail behind him into the courtyard.

“tch,” you hear him scoff in annoyance. you’re sure he doesn’t mean any actual harm by that, so you don’t take it personally.

sukuna eventually sits down on the engawa, where the servants have placed the comfy zabuton cushions. there’s always one for you as well—right next to sukuna’s. it’s become a habit for the maids to include you in sukuna’s daily routines, because you’re always with him.

you eye your own cushion, though don’t make an effort to actually sit down on it. sukuna stares ahead, not bothered to notice you at the moment. you look down at his lap, recalling just how perfectly you can fit on it.

you don’t waste any more time and plop down on his thick thighs, your back against his chest. sukuna’s brow twitches at the sudden contact. his bottom pair of eyes look down at you whilst the upper ones keep looking ahead aimlessly.

“get off me,” the king of curses commands through a low tone.

sukuna doesn’t push you off, however. that alone tells you enough; he’s tolerating your behaviour. as per usual. or perhaps he secretly likes your proximity.

you shall never know which of the two it actually is.

“nooooooo,” you exaggerate with a whine. you don’t want to.

you wrap both of your arms around one of sukuna’s—clinging onto him like your life depends on it. he simply responds by sighing.

you know sukuna’s able to grab you by the collar and force you to sit down on the cushion beside him, but he doesn’t. your heart flutters every time he shows tolerance to your clingy behavior. it means that maybe—just maybe—he’s opening up to the idea of being more affectionate with you.

“such a fuckin’ brat,” sukuna puts one hand on your waist, the others supporting his weight on the engawa. he grumbles, but there are clear signs of him relaxing with you in his presence.

you chuckle at the realisation and swing your legs in excitement. sukuna unexpectedly bites your ear in response to your increased activity on his lap, “stay still or i’ll kick you off.”

you let out a small whimper as you feel his fangs gently sick into your earlobe. you jolt back and rub the skin with your hand, looking up at sukuna with a playful frown before teasing him back.

you roll your eyes and answer him with a firm yet mocking, “sir yes, sir!”

sukuna clicks his tongue at your tease. you answer him like he’s some general in the military. that’s not the kind of relationship he has with you—it’s more than that. even though he knows you’re joking, he dislikes it when you call him anything other than ‘my lord’, ‘my king’, or just his name.

he finds great satisfaction in the way you refer to him as such. you’re the only one who can make sukuna grin each time you remind him of his status and the power he has over you.

the power dynamic; it’s addictive.

he needs more of it.

sukuna reaches out to grab your face with one hand, but you’re quick to pull your head back the moment you see that intimidatingly big hand coming down onto your vision.

you clear your throat and apologise, “i mean—yes, my lord.”

the king of curses hums in content. that title is exactly what he had been looking for.

he retracts his hand and settles it back down on your waist, patting your sides twice to show his satisfaction with your obedience.

you stop squirming around in his lap and simply lay back down in his arms. you close your eyes and nearly fall asleep because of the comfortable atmosphere. the slight breeze against your face is relaxing and perfectly compliments the warmth from sukuna’s body.

what a perfect way to spend your day.