Kaworu’s Brain

firefighter!toji who leaves a trail of open-mouthed kisses across the line of your jaw and down your neck, panting into your ear about how good you suck him in, and how pretty you were under him. he picks up the pace, allowing him to pull all the way out leaving only his tip in, before bottoming back out, basking in the sweet sounds of your moans and your pussy greedily slurping him back in.

"fu-fuck, i wanna— wanna make you mine forever," he moans into your neck, and you can't help but clench around him because of his words and his choice of tone. "wan' you to have my b-babies. make me a daddy," his eyes are rolling to the back of his head from just how good the pleasure is and how good he's hitting it, and your moans don't make it any better. the sound of your sweet nothings makes his dick pulsate inside you, and he fears he may cum way earlier than expected from just that. "y-yeaah? y'wanna make me a daddy?"

firefighter!toji who gets turned on by the concept of making you a mommy. the thought of you swollen, walking around with a ring on your finger and a baby in your stomach only furthered the illustrious desire of making you his. there's nothing better than leaving a mark on you—and toji loves a good one.

"you gonna be a good mommy f'me?" he's pushing your legs to your chest, squishing your tits together as he greedily slams his thick cock into you, delighting in the soft protruding in your stomach. he chuckles breathlessly as he watches you squirm around and mumble a feral and breathy 'yesyesyes,' nodding frantically with glossy eyes as you practically beg him to fill you up. "please— o-oh— l'me fill you up. promise to be the best daddy ever, 'kay?"

firefighter!toji who's so close, and he could feel that you were too. you were more wet than usual, feeling himself slip and slide easier than the beginning, and he smiles to himself. "you close, baby? can feel it." you stare at him with big glossy eyes and slick, kiss-swollen parted lips, too fucked-out to even respond. all you can do is moan and mewl at the way his cock stretches you so good, and promise him that you'll let him fill you up.

"you wan' me t'pull out, i will," both his hands are on your hips now, dragging you back onto his dick? making sure every inch is stuffed inside you. "b-but—haah—you wan' me to cum inside… say it, baby." you weren't even sure his words completely registered in your brain, but you were so far out into space that your mouth and body responded faster than your brain. because the minute you mouth and whimper a 'inside,' you both finally cum.

firefighter!toji who paints your walls white, hot and sticky cum filling you up to the brim, with some excess spitting out the sides. he leaned down to entrap you in a wet kiss, moaning gutturally into your mouth as he feels you spasm around his cock, forming a thicker ring of cream around his base.

"f-fuck…" he pants, still bottomed out in you. he sees your expression, eyes looking down to where you both were connected, seeing the slight bulge in your stomach from how deep he was in you and the sheer amount of cum he's poured into you. yet still, toji still wanted more. his hips began to move softly, jerking slightly when you let out a small mewl.

"don't think t-that was enough, mama… one more, please? jus' one more, and i swear i'll be done, 'kay?"

And okay, there had been a handful of heated hookups after long nights of breastfeeding and soothing your daughter back to sleep in her crib, where you'd begrudgingly let him pry your thighs apart on the couch to bury his tongue inside of you or sleepily fuck you on the stained cushions with your face buried in the pillows. But you'd made it clear each time that you still couldn't stand him.

You were using him for sex.

The sad thing was he didn't mind.

Not when his skin was on yours, when your mouth was still saying his name instead of someone else's.

He tried to propose to you. Four times.

You called him a manchild for thinking a marriage would make the two of you magically work.

"Think she'd say yes if I asked her on a real date then?" Sukuna said, trying to piss him off today as he leaned back in his own chair and chuckled. He didn't like the way he said real. Like the two of you had been on something that could've qualified as a date before without him knowing.

God, the only reason that asshole even came was because he heard that you were dropping off her.

"Don't even think about it," Gojo groaned, tempted to reach across the table and throttle him for suggesting it.

Having a baby with someone he was hopelessly in love with was hard enough.

Did all of his friends have to fucking audition to be the stepfather?

Sukuna hadn't even known you until after he'd knocked you up.

Never met you until you begrudgingly showed up to the frat house with a pregnancy test in hand and a scowl etched across your pretty face.

"I mean, who would you rather have be the stepdaddy?" Sukuna dryly mocked, actively ragebaiting him as he snagged the muffin that had been meant for you, unwrapping it and taking a big bite before talking with a full mouth. "Me? Or Suguru?"

Gojo would actually rather die than watch either of them marry you.

What the fuck was he supposed to do to stop them from speaking to you though?

Especially when the latter had managed to end up firmly planted in your good graces with those irritatingly smooth lines of his? Cooking you meals and murmuring in your ear what a good mother you were?

All while he just fucking sat there and stumbled over his words, feeling shittier and shittier as they tried to steal you and his daughter right out from underneath his nose.

"Neither," he grimaced, turning his attention back to his baby.

She was awake, kicking her legs in her seat as he bent forward to unbuckle her, carefully picking her up before placing her in his lap.

His heart pounded in his chest, pressure pushing down and making his ribs constrict at the thought of fucking this up.

He didn't know how to be a father. Not really. He'd never even been anyone's boyfriend. Never had any pets growing up to take care of.

Becoming frat president was the first real responsibility he ever had.

And now he had an entire human that was half-him to raise.

Drunk idiots were a lot fucking different than a baby. Who needed to be fed and bathed and loved and a million other overwhelming things he was struggling to keep track of.

She blinked up at him, familiar blue eyes squinting at him before they started to well up with tears, face scrunching up like she was about to start wailing.

He tried bouncing her up and down, but it only seemed to make her more upset, panic bubbling up before Sukuna was getting up out of his seat.

"Here," he grunted, scooping her out of his arms and cradling her against his chest as if it came naturally. "I've got her."

Her tiny body relaxed, eyes softening as he murmured something under his breath - not to Gojo, but to her. Soothing her in a way that simply didn't come naturally to him.

Going from on the verge of bawling to batting her lashes in a matter of seconds.

His daughter didn't even prefer him.

And he only had himself to blame.

Maybe if he managed to make up with you sooner, actually make you his, he could actually be living with you full time. Sharing a bed, sharing breakfast, being there to handle all the dirty diaper changes and spilled milk instead of just stopping in and begging you to let him stay to do night shafts.

You didn't trust him. Thought he was just a temporary fixture. Someone who was here for now instead of forever.

Every time he got close to convincing you he was here permanently, he always screwed it up.

God, he almost missed you giving birth just because some goddamn sorority girl stole his phone at a stupid party Suguru had insisted he show up to for at least an hour. But he'd been the one to accept the first beer - and the second.

The shots were harder to excuse.

If it wasn't for you calling Suguru in between contractions, he probably wouldn't have gotten there minutes before you had to start pushing. You had glared at him, stray strands of hair sticking to your forehead as you studied the glazed over look in his eyes and scoffed that you could smell the alcohol on him.

All he'd done was stain the memory of meeting your baby for the first time.

Fucked it all up from that very first moment.

He overheard you on the phone a couple days later, muttering something about how you couldn't believe he couldn't just stay sober when he knew you were about to go into labor any day.

Gojo hadn't touched a drink since.

He still had to show up to parties sometimes, had frat duties he couldn't exactly dodge, but he didn't let it interfere with him being a dad anymore.

"You're lucky she looks like you," Sukuna muttered, reaching up to scruff up her hair.

"Yeah," he swallowed, although part of him still wished she had more of you.

"No one would believe she's actually yours if she didn't," he dryly commented, picking out the the stitches of wounds Gojo was still licking.

"Can you stop being a dick for like, a day?" Gojo grumbled, rubbing his eyes as he glanced away from his daughter out the window at the people passing by on the street.

Staring a little too long at the happy families, his mouth twitching down at the tiny kids chattering to their parents, struggling to accept the fact that one day his own would be that be that big.

"I'm just sayin'," he shrugged. "How'd you even get her to fuck you?"

Sheer luck?

Pure chance that you somehow found his stupidity cute when you weren't sober?

He had etched the night in his head, held onto the memory with the worry that it could somehow be ripped from him too.

One of the few moments he'd gotten with you that was relatively untainted by everything that happened since.

Playing it back like a movie in his head, convinced that if he closed your eyes, he could smell the perfume you wore that night, feel your skin on his again.

He'd barely been brave enough to work up the courage to come over to you, jittery as he made an awful joke about running into you here while you tilted your head to the side and replied that you were surprised he even recognized you.

It wasn't like he'd even spoken to you before.

Not technically.

He'd bumped into you once after class, too distracted on his phone to pay attention to what was actually in front of him. In his defense, you weren't looking either, leaning against the wall to rummage through your bag for something with one hand and a coffee clutched in the other one.

The collision spilled your drink, mostly onto the floor as he immediately stopped and gawked at what just happened while you huffed an insult under your breath.

He opened his mouth to apologize, but you just glared up at him like he was worse than gum getting stuck on the soles of your shoes, nose scrunching up as you rolled your eyes and sarcastically thanked him for wasting the one treat you'd gotten yourself this week.

Gojo was pretty sure he fell in love with you from the first scowl.

Clumsily shoving his hands in his pockets and fumbling for a fifty from his wallet, holding it out as he tried to convince his tongue to move and tell you to take it. But you just shook your head and mumbled that you were going to find a janitor to mop up the mess.

His crush hadn't ended there.

Not when he couldn't stop himself from picking you out every time you passed by him on campus, feeling like a creep when he tried to come up with some way to casually run into you again.

So, yeah, when you showed up to his frat house, wearing a pretty little dress and sipping shitty beer out of a solo cup, he was rushing over before any of his brothers could notice how cute you looked when you frowned.

"Come to spill my drink?" You sarcastically asked, arching up an eyebrow when he inserted himself in the space next to you.

"That was an accident," he pouted, pushing out his bottom lip and hoping you didn't find it completely cringy. "Can't I make it up to you?"

He couldn't fucking believe it when your mouth curled up in a soft smile instead of an automatic scoff, his heart slamming so hard against his ribs he was sure it was going to burst before he even got your number.

"What do you have in mind?" You asked.

He was ready to get on his knees then.

More with every second you spent by his side, giggling at his awful attempts of flirting as you kept him at arm's length, forcing him to try harder than he had with any other girl before just to take a single body shot off of you.

His cock throbbing and aching in his jeans when your lips softly pressed against his collarbone, drifting up to drink the vodka you poured in the divot above it. His hands had been on your waist, fingers sinking in like he couldn't quite tell if you were real or just some dizzyingly beautiful hallucination his drunk brain had conjured up.

It wasn't until he managed to pull you back into his room, bending you over the bed and shimmying your dress down that he let himself believe this was actually happening.

"So you fuck every girl you take body shots with?" You teased, out of breath while he felt his own get caught in his throat at all your exposed skin.

"Just you," he lied.

Although, now that he was with you, he couldn't remember a single one that had come before.

"Uh-huh," you muttered, not believing it for a second.

He wished you had.

"You're the prettiest girl at this party," he purred, although he was already thinking that maybe he should've said planet as he dragged his tongue over the inside of your thigh, up to where your lace panties were still bunched between your legs. Leaving a damp patch as he greedily tried to eat you out through the thin fabric, acting like a desperate loser in love with someone leagues above him.

Gojo always thought he was a catch.

Cocky enough to find confidence in his position as class president, in his body and his brains, in his financial and social status.

But he couldn't shake the fucking feeling you thought he was beneath you.

It only made him crave you more.

It wasn't good enough to have you writhing underneath him, chest heaving when he finally buried his cock inside of you, hastily just grabbing a random condom from the closest drawer and carelessly sheathing himself in it. It wasn't enough to make you moan his name as he bottomed out again and again, focused more on your pleasure than how tight the condom was as his fingers sloppily played with your clit.

Gracelessly grinding as deep as he could inside you, gritting his teeth as he watched every tiny flicker of your face, searching it for a tiny inkling of passion, of hunger that wasn't just primal.

Gojo wanted you to want him for him.

Not just a quick fuck that you'd forget about sooner rather than later.

Still, he never meant for the condom to break.

He'd known from the second he saw it register on your face that you weren't going to give him a second chance. That he'd totally fucking blown it as he stammered out apologies and spread your thighs further apart to fish out the broken bits of condom from inside you, cum leaking down your thighs as you bit your lip and stared at the ceiling.

"Are you on birth control?" He asked, his voice thin and strained as he pulled out the last piece, a funny feeling settling in the pit of his stomach at the sight of his own cum dripping out of you, the way the panties he'd forgotten to fully take off of you had gotten soaked as you stared at him with unfettered irritation.

"No," you spoke quietly, a hint of embarrassment shining in your eyes as you looked away from him to the state of his messy room. "I don't really do...this."

"Oh," he swallowed.

He didn't know what to say.

What to do. How to fix something he'd never had before.

So he just awkwardly threw away the condom, chewing the inside of his cheek as he tried to put on a casual grin. "Do you, uh, wanna shower or something? Stay the night?"

"Fine," you muttered, the mood still ruined no matter what he did to lift it again. Anxiety creeping in and making his usual aftercare routine awkward and tense until you were both laying on different sides of the bed, him staring at your back while you faced away from him.

He hoped that you would be there the next morning.

That the next day would be the start of a different story. He'd take you out for breakfast and reassure you that you probably wouldn't get pregnant anyway.

Really, what were the chances of it even happening?

He fell asleep fantasizing about ways to make you fall for him too.

But you were gone when he got up, rolling over to find a cold place where your body should be.

The bed was empty, your clothes missing from the floor and no note left behind.

No phone number for him to call or text to beg for a date. He stopped seeing you around campus too.

In some sick way, he felt a fucked-up sense of satisfaction when you showed back up to tell him you were pregnant.

He thought that it'd mean you were stuck with him.

Not that he'd be spending the next year scrambling to keep your attention to himself.

And away from them.

Sukuna reclined back more in his chair, his hard features softening as he dragged his thumb to wipe away the drool from his daughter's mouth.

"You're kind of a shitty dad, dude," Sukuna grunted, not even glancing up at him.

Was he?

He didn't know what a good one looked like.

His dad had barely been there for him growing up. Too busy to be at the dinner table or attend his soccer games.

"Can you stop talking like you're her stepdad?" Gojo grumbled, exhaling as he held out his arms, ready to take her back just for his baby to betray him again, clinging onto Sukuna's shirt with her tiny fists.

"I'm not the one you should be pissy with," Sukuna shrugged, a little glint in his eyes that made his stomach churn. Already aware that something he wouldn't want to hear was about to leave his friend's mouth. "Suguru's the one taking her out to dinner tonight."

Since when?

His jaw locked, fist clenching under the table at the thought of you and Suguru sitting at a table together at some fancy place, his hand sneaking out to brush over yours as he ordered you wine and wooed you.

How the hell was he supposed to let his best friend fuck his baby momma?

"Do you know where?"

a/n: i'll let you guys name their baby, drop suggestions in the comments!!

stepdaddy!toji couldn't tear his eyes away when you walked around the house in just panties and a sheer white top after another fight just to spite your mom, with your nipples peeking through. you never gave any blunt hints, but the way you stared at his biceps every time he reached for the salt on the table, or at his huge cock when he wore gray sweatpants, spoke for itself.

stepdaddy!toji walked into your room one day while you were out to swipe your panties and sniff 'em while he jerked off, but he found something way more interesting. your laptop stayed open with a chat with your friend on the screen. he was just about to blow it off when he saw his name.

→ idk girl, it sounds gross but if you saw him you'd wanna fuck him too

i mean, you got a shitty mom who's been terrorizing you since you were a kid, he didn't raise you, he didn't change your diapers, so why the hell not? if the dick's worth it lol ←

→ it's huge, i'm sure he'd just rip me apart. i have to imagine him instead of my dildo, though he's definitely like three times bigger

stepdaddy!toji decides to shower with you the next morning, making you let out a scream. "what are you doing in here?" and you try to cover yourself up, but he just laughs. "giving you exactly what you want." he starts stripping and you stare at his massive biceps, his rock-solid chest and abs, then your eyes trail down and see the happy trail leading to a huge, hang-hard cock that was already standing tall. your mouth hung open while he sat down on the edge. "get over here, baby." one second you stopped hiding yourself, and the next you were bouncing on his cock, and he was deep inside you, ripping you apart.

his hands are glued to your ass, guiding your rhythm, squeezing and spreading you open on his cock. every time you slide down, you feel him hit that spot deep inside. "nngh! yes! yes! so good—" he leans forward and captures your nipple between his lips, suckling hard, his tongue flicking across the sensitive peak. "you were made to take my cock." you gasp when he bites down gently, then soothes the ache with his tongue. "mmnn— my little girl’s got the sweetest tits, huh? gonna suck 'em dry." your hips start to slow — you're exhausted, your muscles screaming — but he won't let you stop. his hands grip your waist and start bouncing you on his cock, fucking up into you with brutal precision. your head falls back, mouth open, letting out a long, guttural moan. "you like that, baby? you like your daddy using you like this?" "yes! yes— please nngh! don't stop—" "that's it, baby. cum for daddy. cum all over my cock."

stepdaddy!toji gets addicted to you right away. he turns fucking you every morning into a tradition. he's already hard when he pushes your door open, already stroking himself through his boxers by the time he's kneeling on the mattress, dragging the sheets off your sleeping body. "mornin', little girl." you stir, blinking up at him. his cock is already out, thick and heavy, the head brushing against your thigh. "...it's so early..." "shhh." he pulls your panties down your legs. "daddy needs his breakfast." he rolls you onto your stomach first, because he likes watching the way your back arches when he pushes inside from behind. his chest presses against your spine, his mouth at your ear. "been dreamin' about this pussy all night, baby. you know that? can't sleep proper without knowin' i'm gonna be inside you the second i wake up." "nngh! daddy—! so good..."

stepdaddy!toji uses your tits like a pacifier. it started as something innocent — him suckling gently while you watched tv — but now it's a full-blown ritual. his hands find your shirt, push it up. your bra follows. he groans the second your nipples are bare, leaning down to take one into his mouth. "toji—" "shhh." he sucks hard, tongue circling the sensitive peak. "just let daddy have this."

his eyes are half-closed. he is latched on, suckling slow and steady. his hand cups your other breast, thumb stroking over the nipple. "one day," he murmurs against your skin, "gonna put a baby in you. gonna fill you up so good. and then these tits..." he takes the nipple between his teeth, tugs gently. "gonna be full of milk for me. gonna drink it straight from the source, baby." you whimper, and he suckles harder, his hand sliding down between your legs. "and you'll let me, won't you? let daddy drink it whenever he wants. let me fall asleep right here, with your nipple in my mouth and my cum drippin' out of your tight little pussy." he does fall asleep like that, sometimes. your nipple still between his lips, your hand stroking his hair. and when he wakes up in the middle of the night, hard and aching, he slides inside you without a word, still half-asleep, still sucking your breast.

stepdaddy!toji loves making you squirt just to prove he is way better than guys your own age. he's on his knees between your legs, and he's been down there for god knows how long. your thighs are shaking, you're soaked, and he shows no signs of stopping. "i know you got it in you, baby." his fingers curl inside you, pressing against your front wall. "give it to daddy. give me that." "daddy, i can't—mnngh! i can't, it's too much—" "you can. you will." his mouth closes over your clit, sucks hard while his fingers pump faster. "c'mon, my baby. let go for me. let me see it." your body locks up. every muscle goes tight. and then it releases — a gush of fluid that soaks his hand, his chin, the towel he'd laid down beneath you. "there she is. there's my good fuckin' girl." he doesn't stop. he keeps fingering you through it, keeps sucking your clit until you're screaming, until you're pushing at his head because you can't take anymore. "one more, little girl. give me one more."

stepdaddy!toji who treats your pussy like a living thing. he talks to it, kisses it, worships it. he pushes your thighs up to your chest and groans at the sight of you. "mm, she's wet for me. of course she is. she knows who she belongs to." "look at my girl. missed me, didn't she?" he's talking to your pussy, and he means it. he leans in, presses his open mouth against your folds like a kiss. "fuck, i missed you too, pretty girl." he makes out with it. that's the only way to describe it — his tongue sliding between your lips, pressing inside, then pulling out to suck your clit into his mouth. "daddy's girl's got the sweetest fuckin' pussy in the world. you know that?" he presses his nose against your clit, inhales deep. "can't get enough." "ha— mmnh!!— daddy! i'm gonna—!" "come in my mouth, baby." you cum again from his tongue alone, and he moans through it, smiling against your pussy. when you try to pull away from the oversensitivity, he grabs your hips and yanks you back. "i'm not done. daddy's never done with this pretty pussy."

stepdaddy!toji doesn't give a fuck if someone can catch you guys, if he wanted to fuck you, nothing was gonna stop him. "someone will see—" "let 'em." he pulls you over the center console, guides you onto his lap. your back presses against his chest, the steering wheel digging into your knees. his cock slides into you from behind, and you choke on a moan. "shhh, baby. gotta be quiet." but he's already thrusting up into you, one hand on your hip, the other wrapped around your throat. "look how good you take my cock." a woman walks past with a shopping cart. you freeze, but he keeps moving, keeps fucking up into you slow and deep. "look at her. she got no idea you're gettin' stuffed full of my cock right now." "fuck— daddy! —nngh!" "that's it. let 'em hear. let 'em know who you belong to." sunlight floods the car, and anyone glancing over would see two silhouettes. he comes inside you with a grunt, holding your hips down, filling you up while a minivan parks three spaces away.

stepdaddy!toji who tells your mom he needs to spend more time with you to get to know his stepdaughter better, so he heads to the mall with you. he fucks you in the first dressing room he finds. you're on his lap, your back against his chest, the flimsy curtain doing nothing to muffle your sounds. his cock is buried deep, and he's holding you still while the saleslady asks through the curtain if everything fits okay. "just fine," he calls out, voice steady. his hips thrust up. "my girl's just trying things on." you bite your lip so hard you taste blood. his hand covers your mouth. "shhh, my baby. don't wanna get caught, do you?" but he's fucking up into you harder, faster. the cheap stool beneath you creaks. "nngh! mmn—!" "what was that?" he pulls his hand away. "you got something to say, little girl?" "daddy! — fuck... i'm gonna!—" "gonna come? right here? with your mama thinkin' we're just havin' a nice afternoon?" you nod frantically, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes. "then do it, baby. come on daddy's cock. let 'em all hear who makes you feel this good." you come with a broken cry, and he follows right after.

stepdaddy!toji finally gets to fuck you everywhere after the divorce, without hiding or trying to muffle your sweet sounds. he bends you over the thick upholstered arm, your toes barely touching the floor, ass arched high. he pushes in slow, watching his cock disappear into your tight little pussy inch by inch. the wet sound of his cock sliding in and out of your soaked pussy fills the room. "you hear that, baby? listen to how wet you are for me. this pussy knows who it belongs to, doesn't it?" "y-yes, daddy! it's you— ah!— all yours!" or when he folds you in half, knees pressed against your shoulders, your ankles hooked over his biceps. he looms over you, watching his own cock slide in and out of your gaping hole. he fucks you deep and slow, grinding his pelvis against your clit with every thrust until you're a writhing mess beneath him. "look at you little girl, taking every inch. you love being stuffed full of this cock, don't you?" "yes! daddy— mmnh!— yes, i love it, i love it!"

stepdaddy!toji who loves it when you warm up his dick. he's sitting on the couch, watching tv, and you're in his lap, facing him, his cock buried deep inside your pussy. you're both fully dressed except for where your panties are pushed aside and his zipper is down. "just sit still, little girl. keep me warm." you try to stay quiet, but every small movement makes you clench around him, and you can feel him twitch inside you. your thighs are shaking, your pussy pulsing, and you're so wet you can feel yourself dripping down onto his lap. "please— i need you to move—" you can feel him twitch inside you, feel him get harder even though he's not moving. his thumb traces lazy circles on your hip. "one day," he murmurs, "gonna keep you on my cock all day long. gonna carry you around the house like this. make you breakfast with my dick still buried in you." you clench around him involuntarily, and he groans. "fuck, yeah. squeeze daddy just like that."

stepdaddy!toji who couldn't see you for a whole week because of all the divorce drama. and when you finally show up at his place, he doesn't even take your clothes off all the way. just pushes your skirt up, rips your panties aside, and sinks into you with a groan that sounds like relief. "fuck! fuck— i needed this. i needed you, baby." your back hits the wall, your legs wrap around his waist. he's holding you up, fucking you standing, your weight suspended on his cock. "never again. never gonna go a week without this pussy again. you hear me?" "yes— mmh! daddy— yes!" "now i can have you whenever i want. wherever i want." he carries you across the room, still inside you, fucks you against every surface he can reach. the counter. the couch. the floor. "gonna make up for lost time. gonna spend the whole weekend buried inside my little girl."

The entrance to Tokyo Jujutsu Elementary opened up to the main hallway; with classrooms upon either side, and doorways spaced between walls that were kaleidoscopes of crafts and schoolbag hooks and polaroids of students over the years. If Toji looked hard enough then he’d even be able to find the polaroid where Megumi was flipping the camera off—he’d learned that one from him, see.

That was an awkward parent-teacher meeting.

But that was also the day he properly met you - beyond just the polite nod and hasty small talk at drop-off and pick-up. 

With your adorable flowery apron on - courtesy of elementary school policy - and your lips trying very hard not to twitch up into a smile—very nicely telling Megumi that that wasn’t something good kids do.

Toji agreed then. He’d have agreed with anything you said.

“But you were the one that taught—”

He’d slapped his hand over Megumi’s mouth then.

You’d let a small laugh slip- and he was a goner. 

After that meeting, Megumi may have lost something (iPad privileges for a whole month), but Toji gained something: this little ember of attraction that he couldn’t shake off no matter how much he tried. Every routine pick-up and drop-off, every bake sale, every little notification that lit up his phone—you typing into the parents’ groupchat about some announcement or the other. And though it’d never be anything too personal, his heart always thundered in his chest as he clicked those notifications open. Is it weird that he set a different tone for your notifications?

The harder he tried to ignore it, the further it kindled.

Until he evidently couldn’t even walk inside that damn building without feeling some part of him melt just a little…

Even now, his skin burns as he watches you. 

Biting back a laugh as one of your students hugged their guardian goodbye- so hard that both adult and child topple over. And then you’re being grappled into the same embrace, which you’re letting yourself be tugged into—soon enough, three more of your students join in. One tucks a wildflower from the garden behind your ear.

Sunlight falls across your face as your head falls back in a laugh - and then you’re leaning forwards and grabbing all of those tiny bodies in a hug. 

Toji can’t help but wonder whether you’d like to be embraced just the same. Toji can’t help but wonder whether you’d laugh just like that when you’re picked up and spun around, feet never touching the ground. Toji can’t help but wonder why the hell Itadori Yuji was pointing and laughing at him.

“Mr. Fushiguro’s dad, your face looks funny—!” He squeals. Loud enough for multiple parents to turn and look.

Toji grumbles something underneath his breath and straightens, like the respectable adult - the respectable adult - he is. Cool. Calm. Collected. Mature. “Oh yeah? And your hair looks funny, kid.”

Now those same parents were turning to him and glaring. 

“What—?!” He gruffs out at them, hands raising in surrender. “He started it.”

Itadori turns to them and smiles an utterly precious, gap-toothed smile. 

He tells himself that he’s imagining the way they seem to be pulling their kids away from him.

Itadori stops laughing and ruffles his own coral-pink locks. The boy had strong-armed himself to become one of Megumi’s best friends since their first day; and he always has made himself known as the chatterbox of the group. The sweetheart. The trouble-stirrer (one of them, at least). “My grandpa says it’s um- jeanetic. My father had pink hair, too.”

Toji raises a brow, “Oh?”

“Yeah! Did you know my uncle’s in prison?” The boy looks squarely up at him and beams. “He sets things on fire.”

“Same, bud.”

“I eat dirt.”

“…what the fuck.” Toji whispers underneath his breath- though it must’ve been loud enough for the keenest of eavesdroppers to listen, because before he knows it, a little boy with a face mask and the most atrocious bowl cut Toji’s seen in his life—pulls out a notebook from his backpack and starts furiously scribbling something down.

Assumably the profanity he’d just spoken.

Inumaki Toge, was it?

Now he’s the one stepping away from these damn kids. 

But before he can get too far, Toji feels a tug on either arm—he looks to his right: Itadori. 

Attempting to climb up his forearms and biceps like monkey bars.

He looks to his left: Kugisaki.

Looking knowingly between you and him.

“These partners stink of-”

“What was that?” Kugisaki asks. 

“Nothing.” Toji quickly replies. And then there was the other one: Kugisaki Nobara was impossible to miss in a classroom. If not by her chattering that was just as loud as pink-haired Itadori’s, then by the red, rubber hammer that she seemed to be fond of, smashing it on top of people’s heads if they displeased her. He was just in the middle of wondering whether he could be successfully knocked out if she hit him hard enough when-

“Where…are you taking me?” He quickly narrows his eyes- just as soon as the little girl started pulling him by the hand. Towards your classroom. “Hey—”

“Oh, c’moooon.” She rolls her eyes in a manner that was far too expert for her age. “How is the male lead going to get the heroine if they don’t even talk?”

“I’m not the main character?”

Itadori - who had by now managed to perch atop his right shoulder like some parrot - whispers uncomfortably in his ear. “How’s the rizzler going to get the skibidi?”

Toji whirls to him- “Bless you?” The fuck…

Megumi follows and nods sagely. Deadpanning. “Dad’s not sigma enough for that.”

“Not you, too?!”

“Hi?”

The Earth had given way from underneath him. But in reality, it was just your voice breaking through the chaos of the elementary lobby—Itadori had begun gripping onto his shaggy, black bangs for balance now- and Toji was doing all he could to peak through the boy’s cutely chubby fingers.

A breath catching in his chest once he realizes that they’d walked him all the way over to you.

Apron on. Brows raised. A flower tucked prettily behind your ear. Standing right at the door to your vibrant classroom; you kept a hand on your mouth to stifle your obvious smile. Though nothing could hide the light in your eyes.

And before Toji’s given the opportunity to wax shitty poetics about it in his mind, you’re nodding at the boy latched onto Toji’s head. With a smile- “Down now, Yuji. What have I said about climbing people like monkey bars?”

He sighs and removes his hands covering Toji’s eyes, “To not climb people like monkey bars.”

“And what are you doing right now?”

“Climbing people like monkey bars.” 

“Down, please.”

Yes, ma’am…Toji’s thinking to himself. Snap out of it, man.

It was like a miracle. Itadori Yuji - for however much of a sweetheart he was - was never the type to listen to authority so directly—you could tell the kid to not eat glue and he’d chug down the whole bottle. Toji knows. From experience.

But it’s as easy as butter that he’s sliding off the older man now- and soon enough, his small red shoes are hitting the floor. And he’s staring up at Toji with his scarred mouth gaped open.

In fact, everyone was.

“Um, Fushiguro-san? Is everything okay?” Your brows then pinch in concern.

Kugisaki slaps her forehead, and Megumi seems to sink deeper into his bangs. As quickly as the words are registering in his head—he’s shutting his mouth and faintly puffing his broad chest out. Making sure that you see the way his beefy biceps flex as he scratches behind his neck. “Yeah- yeah, everything’s alright. How about you?”

“Can’t complain.” You giggle. And when there doesn’t seem to be a follow-up question, he flexes even harder. “I see uh…you’ve been hitting the gym lately, Fushiguro-san.”

“Oh, me?” He has the audacity to look a little shocked. “That’s cute, doll. But I don’t hit the gym.”

“You must take steroids then.” Itadori pipes up gleefully. “My uncle takes them, too-”

“I’m all natural—”

As this subsides, you’re taking control of the chaos like the professional you are. “Alright, oh- look at the time!” Sweeping a glance behind you at the classroom clock, “We’re almost late for attendance and rehearsal time. Let’s get inside, kids.” 

You start ushering some of them inside- and Toji squirms as those balls of energy rush past him. Evidently you were preoccupied with them, but you have enough time to look up at the older man and flash him a smile-

“And I’ll see you at pick-up then?”

Faintly, he nods. “Uh-huh.”

“Good.” You cock your head up at him, “Hope you have fun with the gym then~”

“U-uh-huh.”

He can only watch mutely as you whisk a few students inside and clap your hands to get their attention—some of the parents were filtering out and he knows he must look like such a creep…but you were just so astounding. And at least he hadn’t completely fucked up that interaction-

“Mr. Fushiguro’s dad, sorry for your aura loss.” Itadori pats him comfortingly on his side. There were still some students milling about with their goodbyes. 

He whirls, “Fushiguro Toji doesn’t lose aura-”

“But you did.” Kugisaki nods with her arms crossed. “You fumbled, Fushiguro-san.”

He turns to his beloved son for reassurance. 

Megumi looks at Toji blankly. “You never had aura to me, dad.”

“That’s it-”

“But it’s okay.” Kugisaki says, “The male lead never gets the heroine in the first five minutes. They have to suffer first. You just messed up Phase One.”

He almost feels sorry asking. “And…what is Phase One?”

“The rizz phase.” This time, it’s Itadori that answers. “You have zero rizz, Mr. Fushiguro’s dad. But—we have a plan.”

“A plan?”

Itadori holds up three fingers. “Four more phases before you win Ms. Teacher’s heart!” Not so loud…he’s grateful you haven’t noticed them yet. 

Megumi holds up the correct number of fingers. “Four more phases to embarrass yourself, dad.”

What moral support, son.

“I don’t know…” 

Itadori nods seriously, “Take it this way, Mr. Fushiguro’s dad- there’s a red button and a blue button in front of you. If you press the red button you die alone like my uncle probably will. If you press the blue button you totally rizz Ms. Teacher up and live happily-ever-after before she divorces you. Which button would you press?”

Neither?! His jaw drops. “What the fu-”

“We just want to matchmake you!” Kugisaki shoves Itadori aside. 

He eyes the kids warily. Leaving his love life to three elementary schoolers? Has Fushiguro Toji really fallen this far? Oh…he really is getting old. “Whatever. I don’t a shi- damn.”

And the answer is yes, yes he has.

But then Kugisaki clasps her hands together and beams, “Then in the end you’ll be just like Jinu and Rumi from K-pop Demon Hunters!”

And beside himself, Toji cracks a little smile. “Yeah…yeah, maybe we will.”

“You’ll die in the end and she’ll become a demon!”

“…let’s just stick to Phase Two.”

.

.

.

FUSHIGURO MEGUMI’S (and co.) FIVE-STEP PLAN TO MATCHMAKE HIS FATHER AND HIS TEACHER—PHASE TWO: SWEET TREATS!

Status: Pending…

Why did he agree to this shit again?

Though it wasn’t exactly Valentine’s Day; Fushiguro Toji was lugging a cart ‘round the candy aisles of Maruetsu supermarket, followed by three children with sticky fingers that just kept on piling even more sweets into the hefty chocolate-filled cart. And more. And more. And more-

And though Toji agrees that there was never a wrong day for chocolate - he was just damn relieved that yesterday had been pay day. These brats didn’t even glance at the price before throwing chocolate bars and heart-shaped candies over the cart rim.

Right alongside a bunch of flour, butter, and whatever shit one needed to make cookies. 

Because yes—Fushiguro Toji was apparently the type to make cookies now. 

Itadori tosses a bunch of Daddy Tony’s Chocolonely into the cart. “We’re totally chocolate-mogging everyone in the store right now.”

Why did he agree to this shit again?

It’d been their idea.

Tokyo Jujutsu Elementary’s annual talent show was nearing. The decorations were being made. The kids were rehearsing after-school. And Toji didn’t care too much about such things—the only reason this had stuck in his mind was because you’d sent a message about it in the group chat. And he’d read that little sentence over and over again until he memorized it. 

To raise funds for such an endeavour, the elementary was hosting a bake sale; where parents - should they choose to do so - could contribute their own baked goods and little treats and candies that could be sold. The year before, Toji had honestly just sent Megumi off with a bag of chips that Itadori had scoffed down in all of three seconds. 

Though, in his defense, it wasn’t mandatory and he didn’t know what the fuck a bake sale was supposed to be. 

Phase Two of the plan seemingly consisted of emptying out Toji’s pockets- the three of them had insisted that this bake sale was the perfect opportunity for Toji to make his move on you.

It was simple, really—bake cookies for the sale, sell them there, and when it came to you- woo you with a special heart-shaped cookie and ask you out. Simple! 

Was it obvious that this plan had been concocted by a bunch of nine-year-olds?

Toji sighs.

He glimpses Megumi wandering into the meat section and reaching for ¥50,000 Wagyu-

The next day, after burning the first few batches of cookies and setting fire to his kitchen only twice, Toji found himself crammed into a pretty pink-frilled booth at the official annual bake sale. Equally as pink apron cinched around his waist—and his t-shirt so tight that he catches a few single parents giving him appreciative looks.

Though he wasn’t paying attention to that. 

He was keeping his eyes on you- making your way from booth-to-booth, laughing along with parents and trying out everything your students had to offer. 

Toji lets out a long, lingering sigh.

He was never going to get over this damn crush—

Next to him, Megumi and his two best friends were the ones manning the counter and giving out cookies to paying customers. He hates to admit it, but business was booming. 

“Hey…hey, if I pay you in chocolates would you sell this shit again for me?”

Megumi looks up at him blankly. “I want 60% equity and ¥5 for every unit sold.”

Toji drops a cookie he was holding over the counter—“M-maybe not…”

“Hey, there’s Ms. Teacher!” Itadori squeals. 

And then…and then the most sweet, seraphic sound echoes in his ears- too close for it to be something he’d imagined, too removed from him to be anyone but you. You’re making the tall man freeze where he was leaned over the counter - and the hairs on the back of his neck rise…he’s pausing to listen for you before he knows it.

“Oh, let me get that for you.”

Toji hadn’t noticed you walk over. Toji hadn’t noticed you bending down to pick up the cookie he’d dropped. “O-oh, no you don’t need to—” Not before you’re straightening up and holding it out to him with a beautiful smile. 

“It’s no problem.” You chirp. 

Mutely, he takes the crumbling cookie from you.

He wanted that cookie badly.

“So…I see business is booming.” You nod down at the three little ones manning the counter, “Good job, sweethearts. How are you today?”

“Good.” Both Megumi and Kugisaki echo.

“My grandma got hit by a bazooka!” Itadori beams.

Your smile falters, though Toji’s impressed at how quickly you recover. “Well…that’s certainly a time, isn’t it, Yuji? And how are you, Fushiguro-san?”

“O-oh, me—?” His faze sizzles at being called out so suddenly. And the older man hurries to scratch behind his neck—did his biceps look good in this apron? “Ah…chill.”

“Chill, hm?” You smirk. Eyeing him, “I dunno- I’d say it’s a rather hot day today.”

Features scrunching up, Toji leans his head out and looks at the sky. “Is it? Those damn weathermen always lie.”

Megumi smacks his forehead. 

“No, I just meant…” You’re flitting your gaze at the paper-thin fabric of his t-shirt, wrapped around his chiselled limbs so perfectly. Gift-wrapped. And then you’re shaking your head, instead turning to the rows of cookies put on display. “Anyways- any recommendations you guys have for me?”

Toji furrows his brows at the abrupt change in conversation. Beside him, reaching just past his knee, Kugisaki kicks him in the shin and hisses- “The cookie! The cooooookie! Make a move, male lead!”

“Oh. Oh.” Toji startles. Bending down and whispering back, “Now?”

“Yes, now!”

“But-”

“Go.”

“Wait—”

“Go!”

Finally, he holds one calloused palm out at you. Bandaged and slightly aching from baking all day yesterday. “Stay here, we made something special for you.”

“Oh?”

Toji shuffles around in the box of cookies that they’d brought with them; packaged away and separated from the rest was one particular cookie—your favorite flavor, which he’d probed out of the kids. Specifically made in the shape of a heart.

His hands shake a little bit as he turns to you with it.

Scarred lips parting, “This is…”

“For me?” You cock your head with a sweet smile.

He nods. “Free of charge.”

“That’s too sweet, I couldn’t possibly-”

“Please—” Toji interrupts, fingers weak - barely holding onto the crinkled package - as he holds it out to you. “I insist. For taking care of my son.”

Something changes in your expression, and your fingers twitch closer to his.

The trio watches open-mouthed as your hands close the gap in mid-air before—

“Oooooooo, cookie! Fanum tax!” 

Before one Todo Aoi leans over the counter and snatches the cookie fast- before everyone could even blink, all of Toji’s emotions, hopes, pursuits, and dreams find themselves stuffed down the crumb-coated maw of the little boy. Chomped to bits.

Everyone looks at him in stunned silence.

He polishes off the cookie in three bites.

“What?” Todo asks as the silence stretches even longer- and he notices the stares around him. “Needs a little more salt…”

Toji feels like keeling over. “I am going to-”

“Here, Ms.” Megumi picks up one of those cute, floral-decorated cookie packets on the counter and pushes it into your hands. “Free of charge.”

“Thank you. I…” You look at Toji as though you’re about to say something more—but then a call of your name from across the school field catches your attention. Another teacher was waving you over for something- and with an apologetic smile, you’re bowing your way out of there.

Itadori whistles, “Wow, Mr. Fushiguro’s dad. Maybe if you hadn’t waited around bein’ a scaredy-cat then Ms. Teacher might’ve gotten the cookies before Todo.” 

Immediately Kugisaki gets down from the counter- grabs her rubber hammer, and slams it down on Todo’s head. 

Then before Toji can feel a rush of pride, she grabs two cookie packets and beckons him to crouch down to her height.

Once he does, she presses both packets to his cheeks and asks seriously. “And what are you?”

“A fuckin’ idiot cookie.” 

A small gasp.

From the other side of the counter, he hears furious scribbling as someone jots that particular word down—he doesn’t need to look to know that it’s that Inumaki Toge again. Nooooo—! It’d slipped out accidentally, he promises. Also on the other side of the counter was Todo Aoi who was now eyeing the other cookies enviously- Megumi frowns and starts pulling them away from him.

Itadori turns to Toji and shakes his head as though he’d been the adult in this situation. “It’s a shame, though. Phase Two has also failed - take the L, Mr. Fushiguro’s dad.” 

“L.” Kugisaki echoes.

“L.” Todo.

“L.” Somehow Toge.

Megumi nods. “Loser.”

And somehow that hurt the most—

He groans.

Todo huffs. “Can’t believe you just got framemogged by the TJE class monitor, old man.”

Toji whirls around with a glower. “Mugged? I’ve never gotten mugged by anybody-”

“But since you’re all just begging me—” Todo turns to the bemused others with his arms crossed importantly. “-I’ll teach you the true art of rizzing.”

.

.

.

FUSHIGURO MEGUMI’S (and co.) FIVE-STEP PLAN TO MATCHMAKE HIS FATHER AND HIS TEACHER—PHASE THREE: A DATE.

Status: -84834832849 aura.

A date.

Not one he’d asked you out on, of course. 

Spring had neared like a reawakening of the Earth; the breeze was warm. The Sun cascaded softly. The birds were twittering. And Fushiguro Toji was losing it—he had already had enough of making a fucking fool out of himself in front of you.

And now he was about to do it all over again.

Megumi’s elementary school was hosting a picnic with the kids in Ueno Park, in honor of the cherry blossoms beginning to open up. 

Parents were invited too, of course. 

And it was inevitable that you’d be there.

Now with that kid Todo - a student a year older than the trio, it seems he’d found himself attached to Itadori though Toji has no idea how that friendship started - onboard for the scheme, Toji was finding himself pulled around like a marionette. This ridiculous scheme to kinda-sorta try and make you fall in love with him…

That he was going along with.

So for the outing, the four had emphasized that Toji wasn’t to come unless he was looking his absolute best. They’d told him to burn that usual black t-shirt of his - no matter how many times he tried to insist that he had a wardrobe full of identical ones. He wanted Megumi to vouch for him, but the boy had lied.

That traitor. 

Thus on the Saturday morning it’d been planned; Toji spent a good few hours in front of the mirror.

Tugging back the sleeves on his white cotton sweater- he’d been told that people appreciate forearms more this way. Dousing himself in perfume. Putting on one of those face creams Kugisaki had recommended after asking her guardian. Attempting to tame his shaggy, black bangs. He made sure his biceps were looking good that day—and stuffed Megumi into his matching sweater as well n’ rushed off to Ueno Park.

He thought he looked pretty good, honestly.

Todo eyes him warily once he arrives, “…That’s the best you’ve got?”

“The hell’s wrong with it?”

“It’s just…not sigma-”

“Shut-”

A few parents turn to look at him.

“He started it—he—”

After certainly no small amount of bickering (and much apologizing from the woman that seemed to be Todo’s guardian), they managed to make it to the picnic area. Where a row of multi-colored checkered blankets were laid out across the green grass like some form of a quilt—Megumi wastes no time before waddling over to where Itadori and Kugisaki were seated with their families.

And before long, the three kids were tugging several blankets closer together and creating a larger one. 

As Toji sighs and stalks over to them—he’s suddenly stopped by Todo Aoi. Evidently having broken free from his guardian for far, far greater purposes; he holds his hand up and makes Toji freeze. “You have much to learn, don’t you, old man?”

“Haaah?” He balks down at the boy.

“True rizzlers don’t sit around playing teatime with kids—” He throws his arm behind at the other three, “-and my beloved brother, Yuji—” They were related?! “True rizzlers have to be tall and nonchalant even if they’re short and chalant.”

Toji eyes him warily. “…Okay? And what am I supposed to do?”

“Talk. To. Her.”

“How—”

“Go there-” Todo stabs a finger in your direction. But Toji didn’t need it to know where to look. 

He sweeps his eyes across the cherry blossom gardens- and his eyes seem to find you as they always do. Even in a garden of the world’s brightest and rarest flowers, you would be the most beautiful. 

“Brother eugh, you’re getting that sappy look on your face again- nonchalant. You have to be nonchalant!” Todo exclaims.

You were wearing a summer dress that fluttered around you in the soft breeze- and before he knows it, the little boy was pushing him towards where you were standing.

“W-wait—”

“Oh, has Phase Three started already?” Soon enough, Itadori’s voice is piping up right beside him. And he’s pushing Toji, too.

Then comes Kugisaki. “Ooooo they always have a cherry blossom episode! I love those.”

The dark-haired man looks to his son for help, and he pretends not to meet his eye.

Dammit.

“Fine—fine.” An unstoppable force meets an immovable object. Toji’s pushing back against their persisting guidance, and they just won’t have it. You’re going to notice him being made a fool again. “I’ll talk to her. Don’t rush me—I said don’t-”

“Why is it that every time there’s trouble, it’s got something to do with the five of you?” 

Too late.

With your hands on your hips, you’re walking over with a playful smile.

Though there was nothing playful about the way his heart thunders-

High-pitched giggles emanate from behind him, and he doesn’t have the time to compute before all three sets of small hands - and Megumi’s mildly disappointed stare - vanishes. The kids are running off, leaving the two of you alone, once you’ve properly walked up to them—leaving Fushiguro Toji to fend for himself and also…collapsing to the ground. Because of the lack of force from behind now, his ass hits the soft grass and you’re trying not to laugh from above.

Pretty hand reaching out, “Everything alright, Fushiguro-san?”

“Toji.” He somehow manages to blurt out, taking your hand and getting to his feet. “Call me Toji.”

“Of course.” And then you’re sharing your own first name. He repeats it like a spring breeze.

Then, like the fool he is, Toji stands around admirin’ you—long enough that the silence stretches a little awkwardly, and you’re starting to shuffle on your feet. He hears a chorus of small groans from somewhere behind him, and quickly amends- “Uhhh, do you like walks down cherry blossom paths?”

You’re raising a brow in faint amusement, “Yes?”

“Have you walked down cherry blossom paths?”

“Not this year.”

“Will you walk down cherry blossom paths?”

“Fushiguro Toji, are you asking me to walk together?” You bump his shoulder with yours, then loop a hand around arm - he felt like arm candy, but don’t save him—Toji was exactly where he wanted to be - and start walking between pink-shedding trees. “You should’ve just said so. Should we have invited Megumi as well?”

“Who’s Megumi?”

Your startled laugh echoes—and it’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever heard.

The two of you loop around the pathway and then back again in companionable silence; though questions and confessions constantly bubbled up to Toji’s throat. Are you having fun? Is his body too warm? Can you hear his heart beating? Do you like the cherry blossoms? Do you know you’re far more beautiful than them?

Why do you glance at him with that knowing smile? 

What secrets do you hide?

Before he knows it, the two of you have reached the spot where you met once more. And four eager children wait for something to happen- for something to be said.

Toji knows he might not get another opportunity—so as soon as the cherry blossoms are tapering out to more of the green grass, he’s turning to you and stammering. “I-I have something to ask…”

“Yes?” You smile.

“And it might be strange-”

“Yes?”

“And weird-”

“Oh, yes?”

“And creepy- don’t be afraid to say no if it’s creepy.”

“Huh?”

“But…” He feels the question: would you wanna grab coffee sometime? claw at his throat. Toji knows you’re waiting, anticipating—and then a cherry blossom flutters down and lands on your crown—making you look far too angelic. “Would you…happen to know that Japan is turning footsteps into electricity.”

You balk. “Excuse me?”

Toji whispers to himself faintly. “U-using piezoelectric tiles…every step you take generates a small amount of energy. Millions of steps…together…”

“Okay, old man, let’s get you to bed.” Todo’s - Todo, of all people - is coming to his rescue. Ushering him away, whilst his son hopefully manages to cover for his father with a good excuse—

“I do not know that man.” Megumi tells you, then leaves.

You’re left shrugging. Ah…

As they’re walking back to their picnic area, Kugisaki murmurs. “This is the cherry blossom episode. Next is the episode where you get hit by a truck-” Toji really hopes it is. “Guess this’ll be that sort of unfinished love drama…”

“My uncle loves hitting people with trucks.” Itadori beams. 

Megumi smacks his forehead once more-

Toji narrows his eyes. “You’re gonna give yourself a concussion if you keep doing that.”

The boy smacks his head even harder. “I hope so.”

Toji mutters to himself. “Fuckin’ me too.”

Behind him, he already knows that Inumaki is jotting this somewhere in some bushes. 

As the picnic continues—more and more of Megumi’s friends join their combined blankets. Toji notices you fluttering about, too.

So caught up, in fact, that he doesn’t even notice four matchmaking masterminds roping in their schoolmate Yuta into a deep conversation.

Toji sneezes- someone must be talking about him.

.

.

.

FUSHIGURO MEGUMI’S (and co.) FIVE-STEP PLAN TO MATCHMAKE HIS FATHER AND HIS TEACHER—PHASE FOUR: THE MARRIAGE.

Status: Toji, you’re scaring the huzzzzz-

It seems that Fushiguro Toji was getting married.

Though not exactly of his own volition.

And to whom, exactly? Well, that would be none other than you—

The wedding shall be held in the idyllic venue of Tokyo Jujutsu Elementary’s sprawling playground; amongst the swings and pieces of chewed-up bubble gum stuck underneath slides. Music shall be provided by the choir team. Snacks are Goldfish crackers and nothing more—you won’t want to miss it. 

Don’t bother to RSVP.

Invitations are open to no one, he’s bound to make a fool of himself.

Again.

Toji should’ve known that something was up the second Megumi told him to come for pick-up a little earlier than usual. Elementary classes ended their day with around fifteen minutes of playtime, before official pick-up commenced.

And though Toji didn’t mind coming in earlier - he usually staved his entrance off for the allocated time so Megumi didn’t have to play with his dear ol’ dad looming over his shoulder.

Something had to be wrong- maybe he was sick? And yet…Megumi was the type to never let out even a peep even if he was—he’d have to be dragged out of class and still try to convince Toji that he was feeling well enough to go back. He’d never leave hints like that.

Maybe he didn’t like playtime anymore? That certainly couldn’t be it- playtime always exhilarated Megumi, no matter how much his deadpan son attempted to hide it. He loved his friends. He loved the small rabbit pen that the school had. He especially loved the twin black-and-white wolf spring riders on the playground.

Or maybe…maybe he was getting bullied-

Toji shakes his head clear of that thought immediately.

He’d no sooner be bullied by his son than have his son be bullied-

In fact, before he’d met Itadori and Kugisaki- Megumi loved the playground for…very…different reasons. He’d pile his ‘opponents’ high like a small kid mountain. 

Toji shudders. 

So what could it be—?

That’s exactly the thought tumbling ‘round in his mind as he walks up to that multi-colored painted building. Instead of going up those steps, however, he’s rounding the corner towards the playground on the other side - where he could hear cheers, laughter, and shrieks. Those youngsters touched the air around them with happiness, and it made some part of Toji’s chest soar to think that his son was one of them.

That’s until he’s actually in-view of the playground and spotting you. Right in the middle of the chaos of elementary classes in playtime. 

At the foot of the slides.

A bundle of weeds in your hands

A paper veil atop your head.

With that kid Yuta from the grade above Megumi’s stood solemnly beside you. An officiant. 

It looked like…a wedding.

And the space in front of you was empty for your partner.

Ah.

He looks at Megumi who was avoiding his eyes- so this was the plan…

Fuck.

He must have made a noise of bafflement- because just then you’re turning and letting a smile splash across your face. You exclaim. “Ahhh—there’s my groom!”

Oh…oh, he might faint.

Toji feels numb to the small hands that tug on his arm- “C’mon, c’mon! You’re late, Mr. Fushiguro’s dad—!” And he’s being dragged all the way to the front of the slide, where his bride-to-be was awaiting him, it seems…“After this we need time for the divorce-”

“No, the divorce should happen like four episodes later.” Kugisaki rolls her eyes.

“There shall be no divorce.” The seven-year-old Yuta speaks above them - out of them all, he seemed to be taking his role the most seriously. And he beckons the happy couple closer to one another—fuck, Toji couldn’t even meet your eyes.

Standing in front of you, he stuffs his hands into his pocket and keeps his eyes trained on the ground- giving you a brief nod. “‘Sup?”

“On second thought, there may be a divorce.” Yuta solemnly declares.

“Hey-” Toji sends a glare at the black-haired little boy with the wide eyes, then crosses his beefy arms. “So are we gettin’ married or not? Chop chop.”

You shake your head fondly, “Don’t worry- we cut into rehearsal time for this, it seems.”

“Start the music…” Kugisaki whispers to Megumi…simply standing on the sidelines and sinking deeper into his bangs with every passing second. “The music—!”

Megumi lets out a sigh beyond his years, and clicks on the classroom speaker they must’ve brought from inside. 

In mere seconds, Stateside by PinkPantheress with Zara Larsson starts flooding the playground. Kugisaki hums to herself with a smile- “PinkPantheress n’ Zara always makes things better.”

Soon enough Yuta’s reading out of a scribbled notebook in his hands, “We’re here today to um- something about marriage.” He looks between the two of you—“Hold hands, please. They always do that in the movies.”

The two of you share a look.

And then you do.

Your fingers are warm n’ perfectly fitted in his - he doesn’t have to think to curl his own fingertips around yours. It’s as if his hands were made for holding yours—the thought zips through his body and he wonders why the hell he was getting emotional as though this was a real wedding…

Yuta continues, “-ummm, something about love.” Toji almost jolts. “Something about caring. Something about taking care of each other when you’re not feeling too good- like my momma always does, heh. She makes this chicken soup that-”

“Get on with it—!” Kugisaki hisses.

“Wait- what sort of chicken soup?!” Itadori pleads.

“That’s my rizzler! Toji bro—!” Todo cries.

“Oh, yeah—” He looks back down at his useless notes. “And stay together forever and ever and ever for at least 67 years no matter how far apart you are, or how scared of your feelings.” Yuta looks at Toji pointedly- who did this kid think he was?! “Does the happy couple have any vows?”

And maybe this was it.

Maybe this was his moment.

Maybe this was…

Toji’s scarred lips open. “I-”

Suddenly the speaker playing music explodes—not literally, though for a moment there it did feel like it. The dance-pop song that’d been playing inexplicably heightens in volume until their ears rung- and Megumi hastens to turn it down. 

Kugisaki smacks the speakers with her rubber hammer a few times before it stops. Then with nothing to play in the background, she elbows the pink-haired boy in his side—“Yuji, hit it!”

“Me?!” Itadori yelps, before noticing everyone’s gaze upon him. It’s slowly dawning upon Toji that this might not be the best place for a real confession when Itadori suddenly starts doing some confusing two-step. “You gotta go and I can’t…ehh, sorry. Uhhhh…Nepal. I just don’t want to say that-”

“Please.” Megumi drones. “Please stop.”

He stops.

Mutely, Kugisaki smacks the speaker once more and Stateside blares again.

Toji turns to the officiant- and shakes his head.

Yuta looks at you, “And what about you, Ms?”

“Oh—my vow is that you’re all getting extra homework if eeeeevery single one of you doesn’t dance to the reception tomorrow.” You look at each and everyone.

Small faces scrunched in glee.

Yuta hisses at Itadori. “Time for the rings—the rings!” And the pink-haired boy startles to hand them to him- just a single one plopped onto Toji’s open palm. It was one of those cheap ring pops; still slightly sticky and encrusted with flecks of strawberry candy from before. The actual candy part of it had been very-obviously eaten…

“Sorry.” Itadori still smiles. “I ate it.”

“And the…other ring?”

“I ate that, too.” He excitedly claims, “Plastic and all!”

“I…love whatever’s wrong with you.” Toji furrows his brows. “But also what.”

“Enough talk—exchange the rings then vow your undying love!” Kugisaki yells. “Then die!” She turns to some of the other kids looking at her strange- “What? I don’t mean it like that—the drama’s just better when they die. Where are you going- where are you-”

“Scary kid.” Toji comments. “But sweet. But scary.” 

Megumi distances himself from everything.

Before long, Yuta’s announcing that they ‘exchange’ rings. 

You mime putting one on him.

From the sidelines, Todo sobs into Itadori’s t-shirt—seriously, were they actually related or not?! “Marriagemaxxing already…I’m so p-proud of you my rizzler…my brother in rizz…my sidekick…”

He jerks. “Side—”

Yuta speaks. “And do you, Ms. Teacher—take this auraless man to be your husband?” He can already tell who came up with this officiant’s script- but before he can throw a glance at the trio and Todo, you’re nodding.

“I do.”

Toji feels his heart flutter. He grows warm.

And his fingers are just as tender and sweet as they slip that ring pop onto your left hand—“Then I announce you married- uh. Smooch?”

“Euuuuuuuugh! Gross-” Megumi wails.

If Toji thought that he’d been warm earlier—then he wasn’t prepared for right now. It feels as though his entire body was on fire from the inside; every vein, every cell, every single part of him that hummed with delight at the notion. That made him blush.

So embarrassingly, as though this was his first-ever crush.

Toji catches your eye- and you give him the briefest of nods. 

And then he’s leaning in…he’s hearing your breath catch- and pressing his lips to the back of your hand - just the lightest of grazes, where the ring pop stood out - before pulling back just as quickly. Nothing indecent. Nothing that would give away anything to you—

That ring…

It tasted sweet on his lips.

The surrounding kids cheer- loudly. Now it seems that everyone in the playground had joined in on this little act—and that’s exactly what it was.

Just a little act.

Toji’s lips quiver with the beginnings of a sentence he’s been aching to say for so long-

And then the school bell rings denoting time for pick-up.

Around you, the kids run to their classrooms and their backpacks - excited to tell their parents about what they’d just done in the playground. And as the sea of small bodies moves and thrashes against the two of you…Toji just remains standing. Staring. 

Something within him still unfinished and unsatisfied—

You’re keeping his gaze for a few more seconds, before finally dropping it and unscrewing the plastic ring from your finger. “I uh…sorry about that- and thank you for playing along.”

“Yeah…” He faintly says. “Yeah, no problem.”

You give him a tight-lipped smile. “And if you don’t mind, I should probably…”

You gesture to the parents that had started walking in now, and he jerkily nods. “Yeah- yeah, go do…that.”

“Yeah, I…” You’re then holding your hand out to him- nodding at him to keep his palm open. Then dropping the strawberry-scented ring pop into his hand. “Guess the divorce came a little sooner than expected, huh?”

“Two seconds, that’s a new record.” 

Starting to walk back—you briefly wave. If he was a cockier man, he’d have called you nervous. “I’ll see you at the talent show, ex-husband.”

“Hopefully sooner, ex-wife.”

“Oh- yes, the upcoming parent-teacher meetings.”

“That…” Toji murmurs to himself. That too, he supposes. 

And as he watches you leave…Kugisaki is the first to speak up. “Not even a date? Awww man, I hate slowburns.”

He gapes, “I uh…”

“No, he got scared of his feelings—” Itadori adds. Toji squirms. “Did you know my uncle says he doesn’t have feelings? My grandpa agrees.”

“Dad.” Megumi pulls on Toji’s t-shirt to get his attention. 

“Yes, son?”

And so deadpan, so unexpected- “You fumbled just like Klay Thompson.”

Dammit, son.

Speedwalking to the school with them. “The fuck just happened?”

That one he mouths- he mouths. But Inumaki writes that one down fast-

.

.

.

FUSHIGURO MEGUMI’S (and co.) FIVE-STEP PLAN TO MATCHMAKE HIS FATHER AND HIS TEACHER—PHASE? CURRENTLY ON HOLD…

Reason: Parent-teacher meetings.

Status: Dire. Auraless. Megumi doesn’t claim him.

Will the plan have to be abandoned?!

“So.”

“So…” You’re twiddling your thumbs together on top of the desk, eyes trained on Toji whilst his own dart around the colorful classroom. “Megumi’s such a good kid- honestly there’s nothing more to say about him.”

Because today was the day of parent-teacher meetings; that half-an-hour where parents sit before you and leaf through crayon drawings and mathematics that made them cringe. Toji himself hadn’t been the biggest fan of them when Megumi was younger—why the fuck would kindergarteners need parent-teacher meetings?!

But now that his teacher was you…

At least it gave him something even more to look forward to.

So he sets his elbows on your desk and leans in—every meeting had been conducted sitting on opposite sides of your teachers’ desk. It was far too much proximity for his poor heart to take—but you sure as hell won’t hear him complaining.

Not a single peep.

He glides his roughened fingertips over the pages before him- Megumi was never the type to be cagey about his grades. And either way he did get everything above an 80%. 

Toji tries not to let the tips of his lips twitch upwards into a smile—especially as he looked over one of the artworks that Megumi had done: a slightly-smudged drawing of three small figures, one with pink hair, another with a brown bob-cut, and then a portrait of himself. 

And then two larger figures on either side of them

Toji and yourself.

The prompt had been Megumi’s family…

“You should be very proud, y’know.” Your gentle voice breaks through the quiet air in the classroom. 

Toji had come slightly after the other parents, as organizing Megumi’s little sleepover at the Itadori household (with Kugisaki and Todo in tow) had been absolute chaos. Today they’d offered to take the children in because apparently Itadori had gotten some earthworm movies he’d wanted to share. And though Megumi didn’t seem particularly excited at the prospect of earthworms, he’d been begging for weeks to have this sleepover. 

Now. The sunlight dipped beneath the horizon outside, casting the classroom into its warm embrace—like kindling fire. The light bounced off your features and touched his lips, too. Where things were perpetually encased in day and the hours were hot and lazy—like the leaping spark from a fireplace. 

For the first time in a long time, Toji lets himself smile. “Yeah. Yeah, I am.”

You’re nodding with a smile- “He speaks about you a lot, did you know that?” Once Toji shakes his head, you’re continuing. “About how strong you are, about how you’re funny—” Your nose crinkles, “-but an awful cook.”

“Hey!” Toji squawks, indignified. “I try.”

“I know.” Something about that felt so knowing. “It really is a pleasure having Megumi in my class- he’s quiet but I think Yuji and Nobara are slowly bringing him out of his shell. He’s diligent. He’s quietly kind. He’s a sensitive kid, he notices things faster than most.”

“I’m sure he gets that from me.” He smirks.

You hum, staring at the blood-orange sky outside. There’s a long pause before you speak again—“And I think it’s sweet how he’s trying with his friends to set the two of us up.”

Toji’s jaw drops.

Actually drops.

For a moment he’s speechles—hell, he thinks he might be speechless till the end of time. Sure, he’d guessed that you must’ve noticed something being off…but he never thought you’d actually realize the two of you are being set up—!

You catch the look in his eyes- “Oh, c’mon. You didn’t think I wouldn’t notice, did you?”

“I uh…”

“The cookies. The wingmanning. The wedding. The plans-” Stifling a laugh. “Elementary schoolers aren’t very good at whispering, you know that?”

“Damn.” Toji fists his hands, softly thumping them against the table. “And here I thought a bunch of elementary schoolers could fix my love life…”

You hum—something coy in your tone. “Why don’t you fix it yourself?”

And Toji’s snapping his head up so fast that he thinks he might’ve caught whiplash-

“Would you…” He swallows. He starts off unsurely. “…maybe…like to get coffee sometime-”

“Yes.”

Barely waiting till the sentence flies off his tongue before you respond- it makes Toji wonder whether you’ve been waiting for this as long as he has. 

Embarrassment shows in your slightly-frantic movements, as you start picking at the stationary on your desk and smoothing out your clothes. Nervous. It hits him. “I uh…you’re my last meeting of the day, actually. I’m free to grab some coffee now, if you want?”

He’s never agreed to anything faster in his life.

Less than twenty minutes later and the two of you have found yourselves in the cute new coffee shop down the road. The faintest memory of sugary goods still etched on your smiling lips, and your cups of drinks warming your hands—the two of you were sitting and talking at a window booth when the rain had started.

“Oh, shit…” You peer outside. “You were right.”

“Hm?” Toji takes a sip of his black coffee.

“The weathermen always lie.”

More than the panging warmth at the idea that you’d remembered a throwaway comment he’d said- was what you’d followed that sentence up with.

“Hey, I know this is out-of-the-blue, but…I don’t have an umbrella with me, and taxis are costly this time of evening.” You shift in your seat, avoiding his eyes for perhaps the first time since he’s met you—“My apartment’s close by if you’d wanna maybe grab an umbrella from there? You could even hang around until the rain subsides, if you want…”

This time, it’s his turn to reply embarrassingly fast. “Fuck yeah.”

And so you’d ran.

You’d ran hot on each other’s heels as though someone was chasing you—maybe fear, maybe your inhibitions, maybe the feeling that Fushiguro Toji wanted to kiss you so badly.

So bad. 

You’re sploshin’ the five-minute walk it takes to reach your apartment- before you’re both darting inside and closing the door to the world. Just the two of you. On opposite sides of the narrow vestibule connecting the entrance to the living room. To your bedroom.

Toji presses himself against the cream-colored wall and breathes in. heavy.

This entire place carried your sweet, sweet scent—and it was driving him crazy. 

In front of him, your hands seemed to absent-mindedly reach for the umbrella holder- blindly clasping around one polished handle. “I uh…”

“You-”

You’re both attempting to speak at the same time—then abruptly stop when the other speaks. You gesture for him to continue, and he does the same for you-

“I just meant- here’s your umbrella.”

“Thanks.” Like a zombie, he’s reaching out and clasping it. 

This was it—this was really it.

He was about to leave.

He was about to wake up from this dream.

Before Toji’s letting the umbrella drop to the floor- and you’re both crashing into one another. It’s built and built—and the coil of tension had tightened and tightened before finally snapping—!

Lips against lips.

Tongues against teeth.

His lips sliding against yours and positively ravishing you—one of his large hands finds purchase on the back of your head. His warm touch. Toji feels the pretty pulse on your neck quicken as he tips your head back and delves his tongue even deeper - memorizing the taste of you to every crevice in his brain. 

Your essence…he wants it imbued into him.

Absolutely starving.

He just couldn’t get enough of you.

He just couldn’t get enough of you.

The two of you are making out sloppily- and the sounds of lips lifting from lips permeates your entire apartment. Punctuated occasionally by the hollow grunts that Toji himself was letting off. 

Your cunt twitches between your legs - and you’re pressing yourself into Toji even further. Pushing against his toned body. Rolling your hips against the raging, hot erection that’d found itself home in his pants. Just the sheer size of it- the thickness, the way it throbbed against you was enough to make you let out a soft, simpering nose.

One that he’s gladly swallowing up whole—greedily, even. Because that’s exactly what he was.

A fucking greedy man for everything that’s to do with you.

And he’s waited for far too long.

In no time, you’re taking him by his larger hand and pulling him to your bedroom. Leaving the umbrella and your reservations behind. 

Toji lets out a hallowed groan as he’s being pushed back into the bed- the backs of his knees hitting the mahogany bed frame. Your hands flying to the ties of his trousers. Your own knees striking the floor—

“Easy there…” Toji brushes one hand down the side of your face- reaching back into your scalp and tightening. “Don’t want my girl to get hurt.”

“Your girl?” You grin. “You haven’t even asked me out on a proper date yet.”

“And you should be buyin’ me dinner before this. Lecher.”

You’re huffing as you’re able to tear that wretched fabric off his muscular legs- finally. And your jaw…drops…

He was so…

Fucking big. 

From the moment his achin’ cock’s freed, Toji springs out and seems to pulse even thicker—the start of his base reminding you of one of those soda cans. Toji reaches down to wrap his other hand ‘round it, his palm covering some of the dark curls decorating his pelvis, and he seems to look even bigger when framed like this.

Rock-hard. Covered in numerous veins.

They were dappled all across his inches and throb-throb-throbbing- so ravenously hard that Toji’s length twitched the moment he’s feelin’ the cold bedroom air. 

And not only was he big, but that curve of his shaft was delicious.

It made you wonder what it’d feel like to have him curve up inside…

Upwards tilted. That crown of his craning up at the ceiling. The pointed end of his cock ended off with his blushin’ mushroom tip- so fat n’ already soaked in his wads of sopping precum. The color of it was the prettiest tannish pink you’ve ever seen in your entire life—and so you really couldn’t help but lean down and press a chaste peck-

The taste of his salted-caramel pre takes over your tastebuds immediately.

“O-oh…” Toji’s head throws backwards with a gravelly groan. “Don’t go teasing me now, doll.”

“You’re the one that’s been teasing me this entire time.” You counter. Though you’re loosenin’ your jaw and taking him in even further. Inch by solid fucking inch.

It’s hard to stuff Toji’s cock all down your throat like you so-badly wanted- he was big. N’ those zig-zagging veins down his length made you want to linger…massaging the roof of your mouth with a few semi-gulps that rub his inches on top. Again and again.

You’re shuttering your eyes and moaning deep into his shaft at the carnal scratch he somehow seemed to soothe.

“Ah ah—” You’re hearing him before you’re feeling him- suddenly, two thick fingertips are pinching your poor nostrils together. Eyelids flapping open to stare up at him.

Toji has the most cocky smile across his beautiful scarred lips as he peers down at you. “Now what’s this about refusin’ to take me anymore?” He asks you, punctuating the that of his sentence with a thorough nudge of his bulbous tip down your throat. “You don’t wanna take me any further, doll? Or you…”

And another.

Though, this time, it wasn’t a nudge at all.

And Toji’s massive length is pushing apart the wet walls of your throat- and mazing his throbbing cock inside. The noises you’re letting out when you slurp him up are so pretty—

And the older man uses his second hand to wipe a stray tear off your cheeks, “-can’t?”

“Mmm–mmmfg.” Choking down both your needy sobs n’ your breaths. You’re clawing at his thicks- so thick and toned. 

“What? Whaaaat?” He pinches your nose even harder. “Wha’s the matter, teach?”

“You-” Barely able to mangle out some semblance of coherent syllables - you’re going cross-eyed trying to both take him in deeper, and look at the fingers blocking off your airway. “Mmm- ngh.” Whatever mess of a sentence that was meant to be, it’s coming out embarrassingly jumbled.

Embarrassingly so.

And tears are just starting to stream down your cheeks- your cunt’s getting even wetter at his actions and pushing against his toned calf- once he finally lets go. Finally. 

With a loud pwah! you’re removin’ your swollen lips off of his cock. Feeling for your poor nose that’s startin’ to sting—“So mean, Toji. I should’ve bit that dick off.” You joke.

He looks at you with a leer, “We both know that out of the two of us, you’d be the most disappointed with that.” And it was true- it really was true. But Toji takes it a step further by lazily reaching his calf over and pushing it against your cunt. Dripping wet even through those panties of yours- your pretty dress was hiked up n’ already exposing that sweet puddle that’d formed in the middle of your underwear. 

His mouth waters at the sight. 

“See what I mean?” Then Toji straightens up and pats the top of his manspread thighs. An invitation. 

“But, I haven’t even…”

“S’okay.” He nods at you reassuringly. You didn’t have to worry about any of that needing to please shit with him- he’d be the one driving you wild tonight. “I have something even- heh, sweeter in mind.”

And hopefully every night after that.

In a mere few moments, you’re settling yourself on Toji’s lap. And then he’s attacking your mouth in a mind-numbing kiss, tongue swipin’ between your lips before ultimately sucking on those tastebuds of yours. Sucking. Like candy. 

He then maneuvers the two of you to then drape you across the sheets; slightly sodden with lust and perspiration. The blankets stick against your clammy skin as Toji presses your hips down on the mattress- “Down, girl.” His fingertips dig into the side of your waist.

“What’s that about not teasing?” You pant.

With a low chuckle, Toji presses a peck on the left side of your hips—then creeps himself down until his handsome features were huffin’ and puffin’ against your sodden cunt. His own hot breath seemed to reach out to you—curling, cloooouding, it seemed to stroke down that watery slit of yours. “Fushiguro Toji never teases.”

“You’re teasing right-”

“M’just waiting for the perfect moment.” And there’s not a second wasted- before Toji lurches himself nose-deep between your legs and gives your dripping pussy a good lick!

“O-oh…” Your mouth waters at the brazen touch- body jolting just a little. Though if you thought that Toji would let you so much as squirm whilst he’s locked between those thighs of yours, then you’d be sorely mistaken. His fingers dip down the expanse of your legs and clutches you close against his ravenous maw—“Aren’t you going to take off my panties, Toji?”

“Don’t be vulgar, doll.” He mutters- just to tease you. “M’gonna eat you through your panties, of course.”

And it’s the only warning you’re getting.

Before Toji latches his puckered lips to your cunt- properly, this time. And his loooooong tongue was lavishin’ across every inch of your pussy he can reach. Through your panties—Toji gapes his mouth open and laps like a fuckin’ animal at the leaking slit your underwear was stick to, your swollen folds, your utterly needy button. 

“Mmmmpf-” Toji’s prominent nose pushes apart your pussylips, and he’s feelin’ for that puckered, pretty nub. Already throbbing like you’ve been so impatient for him this entire time.

He presses himself closely against your clit for a few seconds—throb-throb-throb!

Like a ticking time bomb. He’s driving himself absolutely wild; before snakin’ your panties to the side and thrashing his tongue against your raw cunt. Slurping. Sucking. Everything and anything of you he could find - he’s pushing himself so nose-deep into your pussy that he damn-near can’t breathe—and eating you out like an animal. “Mmmm, don’t you move a s-single inch now.” Toji tightens his hold on your quivering legs. “I haven’t even started yet.”

“Started what…?” You babble out - your hips were yearning to push off the creaking mattress.

Though all it took was a fraction of his strength to pin you back down, roverin’ his tongue on the slick-glued insides of your folds. Rooooound and round in circles that left your mind dizzy. “Heh- what else d’you think?” Toji answers. “M’teaching this pussy how to take Fushiguro Toji, that mouth of yours barely could.” 

“Rude.”

Before you could pipe up anything more witty, he’s spankin’ four fingertips down on your glistening pussy. “S’not rude if it’s true.”

“I’m the teacher here, though.”

“Then maybe I’m the principal.” He leers- swabbing the fat edge of his tongue into your hole. “Gonna grade you and everything…”

“That’s fuckin’ corny—”

“Made your pussy weep, though.”

And just in good time, too- because almost immediately he’s letting that first inch of his tongue fuck inside your cunt. Just the first inch. But it was already enough to make your toes curl n’ your back arch—Toji’s wet muscle was just so thiiiiiiick.

He’s pluggin’ up your orifices with a mere few thrusts - the ridged texture of his tastebuds kneading your tight walls. Shovelling you open. Shovelling himself deeper inside. The flickerin’ tip of his tongue laps against some of your most tender areas n’ then pushes up into the sensitive roof of your cunt- 

“Sh-shiiiiit—” You’re keening out in the prettiest trill he’s ever heard. Toji has the audacity to let out a wet giggle at your dripping core - clenching ‘round him.

His ears burn at the musical note- and before long, your folds are burning at the searing smack! that he’s planting on top of your cunt. Your head drops down to stare at him in shock.

“That’s a C- for handling yourself.” He echoes. Two more spanks follow—before Toji nuzzles your gummy pussy n’ laps his tongue across your clit. “But an A for pretty moans.”

“I th-think that grading syllabus is a little- ngh! skewed, don’t you think?”

Yet another spank.

“Not at all.”

He was merciless. Ruthless. 

Absolutely impounding you with those slashing, scouring strokes of his - Toji’s thrusts manage to reach so much deeper than you’d have ever guessed. And when he felt that his tongue was stuffed inside your pretty pussy far ‘nough, he’s flaring those edges outwards and scraping his tastebuds down the sides of your walls. Stimulating your snug channel sooooo fuckin’ good—

“S’that so?” Toji flutters his long, dark lashes up at you. It takes a second for you to register that you might just have said that last thought out loud. 

Though you’re merely steeling your expression and nodding-

He’s plasterin’ his fingertips against your puckered pussy with a chuckle. “Cute. But flattery’s gonna get you nowhere- with all this damn squirming you’re doing, your C’s dropping down to a- haaaah, D.”

Your eyes pop open. “B-but…”

“And just think-” Toji continues without a single speck of mercy for you. His tongue’s tunneling and thrusting- faster than your frenzied mind can keep up with. “-that if you’re reacting like this to just my long tongue…” Thrust after thrust after thrust—the curvaceous inches of his tongue don’t leave a single bundle of nerve unprobed. Zig-zagging and swabbing wildly - your eyes are rolling to the back of your head. “-yer gonna fucking run away when it comes to my cock, doll.”

“Oh—” You’re tumbling your hips constantly up to him. Attempting to heighten the friction. “Promise I won’t. Promise-”

“And now look at you.” And after all he’s taught you…Toji grasps his left hand underneath your arching body. Grabbing a nice handful of your ass cheeks- it makes him smile to watch your mouth drop in shock at the lecherous action. “Dropped down to a D-.”

A fucking minus.

That earns you several more wet spanks. And then a fucking pinch—right on your clit. 

And Toji merely trundles, “Where the fuck does this pretty pussy think she’s going?”

Crashing his lips into…yours. Quiverin’ your weakened limbs around the back of his neck- 

Your ankles are weakly latching themselves there- slightly glissading down his glossy strands. It messes up his hair just a little, and Toji’s soon finding himself smirking against those pussylips.

“Tch…fine, you get a B for neediness.”

Only a B?!

But perhaps it was better that you’d kept your mouth shut - mostly because you couldn’t speak over the primal moans that kept escaping your throat - because then Toji’s sinking his canines ‘round your clit and swervin’ his face aaaaaaall around your pussy. Every corner and inch.

He’s fucking coating his features in a layer of your shimmering slick.

Like a damn medallion.

It clings to him in long, ropey excess. 

“O-oh my god—” And then your trilling vocals break the very second that he’s intruding your hole once more- this time, with his fingers…

You weave your own hands into Toji’s sweat-dampened hair and hold on for dear life. 

“Hmmm, a little possessive, huh? M’bumping that neediness to a- hah, A+...heh.”  As a reward, you’re getting his textured lips encasing your sopping clit—just so desperate and damn-near flinching with how hard you were pulsing between your legs. Needing. Needing. 

Your breath comes out in stuttered bursts, and it takes everything in you to echo. “A-and what do I have to reach to- mm, get your cock, Toji?”

“I dunno, aren’t you the one with a t-teaching degree?” He’s babbling- before that haziness in his eyes clear up once he realizes what he’s just said. “No, wait—I’m pretending to be…I’m the one gradin’ now…”

Toji looks down at your pussy as though offended. A spank wasn’t enough, he’s properly spitting. 

“This pussy’s made me pussydrunk, heeeeh?” He scoffs n’ edges in to suckle on your clit—all while his two bulky fingers were scissoring between your pussylips. “An A+ for that…”

Pussydrunk.

Though you’re not doing too well yourself.

You’re just sizzling from the very insides - even your very vessels seemed to be vibrating with that carnal sort of needy for him. And as Toji’s slashing strikes with his fingers accelerate, so does that kindling pit of pleasure in your stomach. “I th-think m’close, Toji…”

“Close?” Toji’s breath hitches. “Close? And we haven’t even finished the grading yet—buck up, doll, because m’not holding back anymore.”

“Th-that was you holding back?!”

Evidently so. 

And you can surely attest to that—in mere moments, he’s adding in a third finger with a lecherous slurp! of his honed inches bein’ all sucked in. Down every single joint. Down to his damn knuckles; you’re feeling those mountainous ridges push up against your sensitive pussy, and Toji’s three fingers were rovering and reeeeeaching every single spot inside. 

Claiming them as his. 

Toji laps up a silken line of slick that’d dripped from your cunt and down his wrist—you were claiming him as yours, too…“Got a second to hear your grades, doll?” Whilst the desperate pleads start to bubble at your throat- “Won’t be given’ you this cock until you do…”

“Then tell them to me—” You shriek. Haaaauling at the thick tufts of his scalp, “Fucking tell them, Toji.”

“Well, manners fuckin’ F.” Toji huffs- but he couldn’t fool you. Ohhh, the expression on his face was pure ecstasy as you guided his lapping face around your cunt. “But manners for this pussy…hmmmm…B.”

“Only a fucking B-”

“Roughness: used to be C- but oh, m’thinking it’s now an A.” He comments - the more and more frustrated you become, the more your carnal urges surface. Your grip is searing on his scalp. Your legs are locking around his neck. “Doesn’t mean you can go easier on me now, teach.”

“Fuh-fuuuuck, Toji—”

“Wetness: A+ of course.” Rolling his eyes as if that should be obvious, “Sweetness: A++.”

“Fuck-”

“That mouth of yours? D.”

“Fuck you.”

“M’trying to. And hmmmm, about the way she clenches…” He ponders- before then directly diverting his round, rotund fingertips to the spot just a few inches into your channel. He’s already mapped your smallest ridges n’ crevices out by all of these thrusts- and you’re feeling pure white-hot pleasure run down your spine as Toji then rams his dexterous fingers into your fucking g-spot. “That’s an A+++”

Because of course, you’re keeping him hostage.

Of course, you’re squeezing your velvety walls around him until his joints were turning white—and Toji’s fingers were havin’ a tough time moving back and forth stuffed between those clingy walls of yours. 

And yet…he’s scissoring apart your needy grip and rammin’ into your deepest, most sensitive depths. 

Again and again and again- “Yeah…this pussy’s definitely gonna take me now. Isn’t that right, teach?” But the only thing your fried head can urge you into doing is nodding. “Tha’s what I thought. Dumbification: A.” Toji cocks his head. “Don’tcha think I’m being too nice with these grades?”

Shaking your head fervently- through sobs.

“Mmmm…well, I think I am.” His canines teasingly grip your clit and draaaaag that swollen nub out. “S’alright doll. After this, you can grade my cock when s’time…”

He smirks - still keeping that firm attachment onto your most sensitive place - and you can feel it. You can feel it—

“And you can be as fuh-fuckin’ ruthless as you want.” Toji’s long fingers then curl inside your cunt for a final time before…“Because I know m’gonna be fucking my girl right.”

Before you’re shattering.

Breaking into your high—it first starts with an explosion of pleasure between your legs- before teleporting right up to your fuzzy head. Your thighs were quaking. Your pulse was thundering so loud you could hear it with your own ears- and it felt as though those torrential waves of bliss were just taking you over.

“Oh—oh, fuck.” Clawing your hands through Toji’s hair. The only anchor you had was this- and the tunneling digits that were fingering you to ecstasy- he was hitting at every peak. He was elongating your orgasm more than you ever thought possible. “Fuck, fuck, fuck- fuuuuuck, Toji.”

“Tha’s right- say my name.” He grunts. Such lecherous slurps! echoing from between those legs of yours as he sucked n’ sucked on your clit simultaneously. “Say my name- say my name. Who’s making you feel this good?”

“Toji.” You hiccup. “Y-you, Toji.”

A sudden spank! resounds across all four corners of the room.

Your high crescendos even further than your limits- or at least what you’d assumed them to be. 

“I was lookin’ for sir, but that works, too…” Your jaw drops at the boldness of this man. 

“Sir? D-don’t think that you’re getting off easy when I- ngh, when I finally ride you stupid.” As the last few pangs of your orgasm shimmer through your body, you’re managing to gather your thoughts better than before. “What do you think you’d get anyway?”

Toji pulls off your oversensitive pussy with a loud plap! “A’s across the board.”

“Oh, don’t be so humble.”

With that said- you’re reaching out and grabbing Toji by the collar. He gets dragged upwards—the bed dips as the larger man cages you in with his strong forearms. He leers, “I think you pass, don’t you?” You could see that somewhere during makin’ out with your pussy, Toji had tugged down his pants- likely to jerk himself off as he did so.

And his long cock stood aching and rock-hard between his legs.

That round, reddened tip of his seemed to wink up at you as he dribbled out a single bead of precum. Aaaaall the way from the edge of his cockhead, and aaaaaall the way down to his bushy black curls at the base. 

Your mouth waters. 

Hands on his body- his fingers tearing through your own fabric. Soon enough you’re naked beneath him—and he’s just as devastatingly bare. Perfectly-aligned abs. Chiselled pecs. Fushiguro Toji had a body that made him look as though he was hand-carved by Hercules himself- it was just so sensual the way his ladder-like core pushed down against yours.

And it’s so difficult to keep a stern face facing him when those bulky biceps of his were flexing—right next to your face. 

But somehow you manage- you were a professional after all, weren’t you?

“I’m serious about what I said on riding you stupid.” You’re murmuring up at him, “Flip over.”

He smirks, “And if I don’t?”

Within split-seconds, you’re grabbing a fistful of his hair and watch as his cock twitches at the rough manhandling—at the way you’re turning the two of you over and straddlin’ his hips. Toji bucks with a groan underneath you, but you’re quicker than that- and you’re clasping a hand around his gulping throat. Sweaty and scorching to the touch .

“Ah ah-” You tut. “You already had your fun. Now it’s time for mine…”

“Aye aye, teach.”

“Quiet coyote.”

Toji mimes zipping his lips shut—but there’s openin’ back up again almost instantly once he feels your sultry hips swivelling down his cock. You duck a hand underneath yourself to grab his throbbing hilt- and before long, his wet tip’s smushing apart your pussylips. He’s intruding that hole of yours and bucking up into where you needed him the most. 

He shovels in a few more inches with an echoing sluuuurp! of your pussy viciously gulping him up.

“What did I…oh.” Beside yourself, your head’s throwing backwards at the sheer pressure he was creating inside. “What did I say about staying still?”

“Actually…you didn’t say anything about that.” That grin of his was infuriatingly handsome. “Still, mmm, cockdrunk?”

“You wish…” Though that wasn’t an outright denial.

It was true that your mind was coiled with fog after your last orgasm; the dopamine still coursing through your body. And the way that Toji’s thickened, textured length was pushing your walls aside wasn’t helping—it was making you feel sensations so raw and carnal- that saliva’s dripping down one side of your mouth after a mere few semi-thrusts.

Just the bulging edge of Toji’s tip scourin’ your channel inwards.

“Awww, don’t tell me I was right?” He asks you- and it registers as mere distant words. Toji reaches out his right hand and wipes away that splatter of spit - before bringing it up to his own mouth and sucking. What an animal. “Can’t grade ol’ Toji’s cock? Or is it- heh, so good that I’m breaking all the scales?”

“You fucking-”

“Yeah yeah, wish- right?” He scoffs meanly. But honestly…he might be teasing you but he was completely infatuated with the idea of your smart mouth babbling for him like this.

The way you were twitchin’ with every light graze of his flared tip.

Your insides were getting used to him, and Toji was only stuffing himself even deeper. “Right…” Though of course- Toji himself wasn’t doing all too hot. Just a single one of your adhesive-like clenches and he can’t help but buck—

“Easy, eeeeasy- you can take me, my girl.” He grits his teeth. He blinks back the tears in his eyes. He’s guiding your impatient hips n’ grinding your cunt dooooown onto his pelvis. “Fuck- fuck, and how d’you grade the stretch?”

Your eyes pop open. “The stretch?”

“Mhm- the streeeeetch—yeah?” Toji’s chest rumbles in delight as he watches your every microexpression and reaction. Even the smallest curlings of your toes. “Such a big stretch feels good, yeah?”

“Mhm- I rate it a…” Your jaw hangs open- as though to purposefully influence your grading, he’s shovelling his length a few more times. Faster. “B.”

And that…what the fuck?!

“A fucking what?” That makes Toji’s maw gape, and his handsome face twist into something of bewilderment. You look at him and you honestly let out a little chuckle - but that seems to only spur his driving hips even further. “Oh noooo, doll. You’re joking.”

“I said what I said.” Biting back. “It’s a B because…” Throwing your head back and arching—you’re gaining more movement in your hips and letting him push inside. “-you’re just not- fuck. Bottoming. Out. Fucking do it already—!”

His feet plant ever-so-slightly on the ricketing mattress- and that means you were feeling the plushness of his muscular thighs against your back. Those tendons and rippling strength. There’s honestly nothing more for you to do but gnaw down on your trembling lower lip in the hopes that those embarrassing noises won’t escape-

Because Toji then glues his hands upon either side of your hips and slams your cunt down onto him.

It’s such incredible friction. It’s so many of his winding veins- pushin’ apart your walls and scouring you all over—

You’re arching your back into him and gasping- “A…”

“A what?” 

“A for your veins.” And that honestly manages to catch him off-guard and make him let out an exhilarated bout of laughter. Being in your presence was like four shots of espresso—fucking you was four shots of vodka. Straight. He’s dizzy and he’s clamorin’ his numerous inches up your pretty channel, watching as you drip glittering globs of slick all ‘round him. 

“Oh…” Toji seems to grow even bigger inside you. He grips you as hard as your pussy was clenchin’ him. “Keep going-”

“And a- fuck, an A for your pace—” Just perfect. Dizzingly fast; whilst still being steady and balanced enough that you were able to feel his textured length slipping into every spot he needed to slip into—“And a…a fucking F for your attitude.”

“Hey…” Toji juts his scarred lip out in a mock-attempt at a pout. “Don’t imply m’sassy when your pussy speaks like that to me.”

Right on cue, you’re letting out some of the most sinful slurps as your cunt slaps right down onto him. Onto his hefty balls. 

Toji’s thick brows raise at the sounds- even he didn’t think that your pussy could get this chatty. Mouth falling agape as he watches you drip-drip-driiiip.

You’re grabbing onto both of Toji’s sculptured deltoids for balance, increasing your pace as your legs start to grow limp. Perhaps noticing your little struggle, he’s supporting one of your legs with his left hand—and thumbing over your clit with his right. “And then? What else—dick got yer tongue?”

“You fuckin’ wish.” You snipe back.

“Yeah.” Toji simply replies. Without a single warning, he’s craning his head up and signalling you to open your mouth- instinctually, your tongue sticks out. Perfect for him to spit—a heaping mess between your lips. “You looked so pretty with my cock stuffed down your throat, too.”

Grumbling - though it was just for show - yet you swallow. “That was a B- since you almost missed.” One of your hands reaches up to swipe at the splattered saliva piled on the edge of your mouth.

“Oh, no.” With such a loving glint in his eyes, he’s leaning up and kissing the mess he’d just left behind. “That was totally on purpose, doll.”

“F-filthy…”

“You know it, teach.”

Both of your bodies were slick with sweat and glissading against one another- Toji himself was especially frenzied with his movement. His thrusts. His battering rams. The way his pointed tip struck the end of your cervix—bottomed-out, and then smeared apart your channel to drag aaaaaaall the way back down. Aaaaaaall the way back in.

And through it all- you’re sputtering out the same ruthless grading of his cock. Red-hot and ruining your insides with every thrust. Pump after pump- “Deepness…B.”

Bruising his tip’s circumference at the very back of your pussy. Dribbling out ribbons of pre. 

“Hmmm, alright a B+.” Pleasure runs through your body the more n’ more Toji grows irritated- because that meant the more he was trying to prove himself. The harder he was fucking you. “And the- hah, curve: an A.”

“Damn right.” That, he could most certainly be proud of. That slightly upwards curve of him was the perfect shape to mold your walls- to let his honed tip be the searchlight.

And your sweetest spots were what he was aiming for.

After a few more vulgar strokes, Toji’s rediscovering and ramming himself into none other than your g-spot. That throbbing bundle of nerves that’d just kept on and on waiting for him to probe you with his shaft—perhaps a bit too long at that…“What took you so long to find that spot again, Toji?”

“Take it easy on me…” He pleads with a slight hint of amusement. “Your pussy was to- mmm, hypnotizing. You can’t blame a guy for taking a little time…needy fuckin’ pussy.”

That last bit was said to himself- underneath his breath, in fact.

And yet, your proximity means that you’re catching onto every single word - and without a split-second of hesitation you’re countering back. “Oh? What was that…I’m sorry, maybe I was- hngh, hearing things? Because it just sounded to me like you wanted all your g-grade to plummet to an F?”

His lips part. “You wouldn’t…”

You peck him on the mouth. “Try. Me.”

And fuuuuuck—it’s clear he’s not expecting the way that sends pangs of excitement coursing through every inch of him. It’s clear he doesn’t know what to fucking do with himself- once he propells his ruddied cockhead to hit against the door to your womb.

And Toji’s thighs are left shivering at the way your walls immediately rush to embrace him.

Suctioning him.

A ribbon of drool drips slowly from the edge of his mouth, “A-and what do I have to do to make it up?”

“Hmmmm?” The fact that you made the Fushiguro Toji stutter so blatantly like this…it was driving you wild. It was making the cockiest smile plaster across your face- he wanted to kiss it away so bad but you were teasingly inching your lips away, making him work for it. 

He growls and repeats- “What do I have to fucking do to get- hah, extra credit? To make up for my…” Toji’s prominent Adam’s apple bobs. “-mistake.” 

“There now. Was that so hard to- hah, admit?” You coo. “Gimme a D.”

“Huh?” Toji gapes. “Aren’t you the one supposed to be- ngh, giving out the grades?”

“Yeah, I know. I’m just telling you to shut up and fuck me harder with your fat dick—”

“Yes, ma’am.” 

He lightly stirs his hips in semi-circular motions to get the most out of his veiny cock- to make sure that those prized n’ precious vessels were massaging your insides just right. “Fuck-” Your entire upper half is shaking from stimulation - “Fuck, fuck, fuuuuuck—just like that.”

“Hngh, oh yeah?” Honed canines beared.

“Faster-” And he listens.

“Harder.” And he listens once more.

“Fucking-” You’re it escape you in a trilling tone. “-b-breed me…”

Toji’s breathless once the words register to him. “Yes, ma’am…” 

Pumping up into you - meeting your bouncin’ cadence - like he was angry with you. Like he was trying to shove to your deepest depths n’ then probe his erect cock even further. Like he was trying to meld your bodies into one—

He was fucking you in a way that was so animalistic.

And Toji can’t help it- fuck, he can’t help but throw his head back—it just feels so good. Eyes shuttering. Brows furrowing. His hips unsticking from the now-dampened bedsheets to arch properly up into you-

But that’s when he feels those familiar fingers ‘round his throat again.

“Ah ah ah—” You tut. Your vision was just a little bleary from all the tears and pleasure clogging up your mind- “And who said you could- hah, move, hm? Seems like you’re the one running away, not me. What? Scared m’gonna milk you too hard, Fushiguro Toji?”

He growls. “You little…”

“F- for handling yourself.” Remembering just how much he’d teased you earlier for similar reactions just made these words so much sweeter on your tongue. “In fact…”

Toji looks eagerly up at you through his bangs.

To which you’re taking your lazy time changing your sloppy cadence into figure-eights instead. It swerved n’ stirred his pussy around your depths; and made it so that the most sensitive parts of Toji’s veins - that pinkish line underneath his slit, the frailest of his veins, where his balls rested - were being stimulated. Making him pour out wads of precum into you as though it was a waterfall—

“See me after class.”

“Fuck yes.” Toji grunts to himself- his hair was flying into his face, and every bit of his skin seemed to be furiously flushed. “Fuck—fuck, I need to cum inside you.”

Plap after plap after plap! of his hips hitting yours. “Mhmmm—”

“I n-need to fill you up until here-” His thumb briefly detaches from your clit to graze your lower stomach, where your womb was wont to be. “I need to feel it pouring out of you- then fuck it all back in.” And he was pistoning into you like it, too.

“Shit, m’close-”

Hard. Fast. The wads of his sappy precum only get stronger and more frequent - “I n-need to…”

Toji’s voice hatches into nothingness in his throat, and you’re cooing down at him cutely. “What’s thaaaat?”

“Need you to make me a f-father for a second time.” Toji utters.

And then with a particularly hard press on your heart-shaped, swollen clit—you’re both tumbling into your highs together. Tumbling into one another as you both hold each other through your strong orgasms - even stronger than the one you’d had prior.

Zaps and twinges of pleasure. 

Goosebumps dapple across your skin.

Your spine arches into him. 

Now you have Toji’s ravenous cock bulging into your walls- his globular tip searchin’ for every sweet spot and pinpointing them using his shape. That only elongated the sparks of your high until it felt never-ending; and dopamine washes over your body and leaves you wracking. Hands clawing down wherever you could latch onto the older man. Your knees squeezing tighter around his waist to milk him through his own euphoria. “Yes—yes, just like that.”

“Oh…oh, look at the way m’dripping out of you…” Toji’s mouth unfastens. Your cunt had already been bloated around his cock- now with his volumes of cum being webbed up inside, it was almost too much for you to handle.

And Toji’s orgasm rips through him strong—even his powerful limbs were wrapped around you as he powered through it. His thumb tremblin’ as he rolled and rolled.

He breathes out hot and heavy when those fingers of his dare to wonder…right along where a sheen was spreading along your inner-thighs. Every satiny drop of cum he was pouring out gets slid down your cervix- and then trickles deep inside of you. “So messy, this pussy o’ mine.”

“Yours?” You gasp. Though even that tiny reaction meant you feel his warm wetness splosh! inside you.

“Mhmmm—” He nods drunkenly. Left arm wrapping behind you and pulling you to him - resting you against his chest. “But don’t worry…this cock is yours, too.”

You scoff. “The audacity. Didn’t I give this cock an F?”

“Yeah, you sure did give me a fuck.”

You decide that the only way to shut up him is to overstimulate him by fuckin’ him—perhaps unfortunately for you, Fushiguro Toji seemed to have had the same idea.

“Mmm, now what about the parent-teacher meeting? We already- oh, handed out the grades, didn’t we?” He’s whispering in your ear once he’d somehow manhandled you into a doggy position. Sculpted abs pressed against your spine. Beefy arm wrapped around your throat in a headlock—

“T-to say what?” You’d wheezed out.

“That m’not done fucking this pussy pregnant.”

.

.

.

FUSHIGURO MEGUMI’S (and co.) FIVE-STEP PLAN TO MATCHMAKE HIS FATHER AND HIS TEACHER—PHASE FIVE: 𝕲𝖎𝖛𝖊 𝖚𝖕…

It’s so over.

Today was the day of the talent show; and Fushiguro Megumi had never felt more untalented. 

And no…it wasn’t because of any of the other competition—if he had any idea how these things go, at the end they were going to say that everyone won and everyone gets a prize. This was elementary school, after all. And he was quite grown up. 

Anyways—the point is his, Itadori, and Kugisaki’s magic show had been quite the hit amongst parents especially.

And that wasn’t why he was feeling untalented. 

It wasn’t because Todo’s PG-censored version of a Megan Thee Stallion song had been honestly…quite good. It wasn’t because Yuta’s puppeteering act had been something that’d drawn endeared laughter from both kids and parents alike. It wasn’t even because of the act that was happening right now…where Inumaki was standing alone on center stage with a notebook opened up in his hands. The last act of the night.

The rest of the show had gone swimmingly.

Inumaki was a bit more of the quiet type, but at this moment he speaks into the mic loud and clear. 

“For my talent today, I am going to read out vocabulary words taught to me by Fushiguro-san. Thank you Fushiguro-san!”

The audience coos and turns to try and find the aforementioned man.

From his position peaking-in from backstage, Megumi watches his father pale from the first row. And then sink deeper into his seat.

Deeper.

And deeper.

And deeper-

“Bud.”

Though the rest of the audience nods in sweet endearment- Toji’s damn-near jumping out of his seat in surprise. That was…clearly not what he had been expecting.

Not at all.

Inumaki continues.

“Cookie.”

And Toji has gathered enough bravery to…perhaps properly sit up in his seat. Clapping along with the other parents- looking around to make sure that he wasn’t just hearing things. And this was actually what Inumaki was reciting.

“Concussion.”

That one draws some admiring sounds. Such a big word for such a small kid—good on Fushiguro Toji, right?

He might just be safe…

“And divorce.” That one draws mixed reactions- but Inumaki closes his infamous blue notebook, and Toji lets out a sigh of relief - one that was nearly audible backstage. 

Along with the rest of the parents, he can whole-heartedly start clapping now. Maybe even throw in a cheer or two.

Let the audience know that he was the mastermind behind such academic advancements. Yeah, maybe they should pay him.

But Inumaki wasn’t done yet.

“And my favorite yet—” Which one was it? Which other important vocabulary word had Toji so graciously bestowed upon this kid? Which other aspect of his life had Toji alleviated by the sharing of precious, precious knowledge? Inumaki firmly grips the mic. “Is fuc-”

Megumi leaps onto stage and snatches the microphone out of Inumaki’s hand before he can complete that specific word…

But the implication must have been evident either way, because then each set of eyes turns behind to the black-haired man. And glares. Toji flips them off. The applause is more polite than willing now. Then he decides that he’s never showing his face ‘round here again, he’s never stepping a foot through those damn multi-colored doors if it fucking kills him, he’s never—

Just then, you’re stepping onto the stage and graciously taking the mic from Megumi. He’s so back.

“Hello? Is this thing on?” You chuckle into it. 

And Toji…Toji knows. He knows he wouldn’t mind being thrown a dirty look from every single person he meets- so long as you’re there to spot him out in a crowd. Tugging his son close to you—as you beckon all the other kids on-stage and start your speech.

It’s mostly thanking those that made it possible; the parents, the staff, and especially the students. Toji isn’t quite ashamed to admit that he’d been too busy drowning in your gorgeous tone to even register your words—

Expectedly, you were telling the kids that everyone won - and Principal Yaga had been called on-stage to hand out prizes to every one of the kids. And as Fushiguro Megumi holds his prize - a custom trophy with his name, a certificate, and a bunch of art supplies - he’s suddenly remembering why he’d been feeling so untalented.

It had been a week since Phase Four of the mission to get you and his father together. And it had been a few days since parent-teachers meeting and Toji had come to pick him up the next day, smiling dopily.

Megumi’s sure his father’s losing his marbles. 

And he has the strange, sinking feeling that after tonight- they’d either forget about the plan or abandon it altogether. Feeling so hopeless—it’s so over.

“Hey, Fushiguro…” Itadori not-so-successfully whispers to the black-haired boy, ultimately drawing attention from whomever was around the two of you. “Fushiguro, isn’t that your dad coming up the aisle?”

“And why does he have such a big bouquet of flowers?” Kugisaki adds on.

Though…once Toji reaches the foot of the stage everything becomes very clear.

Because with a hand coming up to your mouth, and the spotlight shined on you, he lovingly hands you the plush bouquet of roses from below. Roses. Red, red roses.

With a silent thank you—you’re kissing Toji on the cheek.

Every. Single. One of their jaws drop-

Inumaki starts scribbling something down in his notebook.

Yuta sticks an approving thumbs-up.

Even some of the parents in the audience whisper to one another - most nod approvingly. 

And Toji catches Megumi’s eye to wink. “We’ll talk later.” He mouths.

Megumi nods mutely- excitement thrums through him so fast that his fists clench—and Itadori has to clasp onto them. They succeeded? They really, truly succeeded?

His eyes are glimmering as he turns to Itadori and Kugisaki- both nodding excitedly in agreement. They couldn’t squeal like they wanted to right now with Yaga’s speech droning on in the background, but after…after, they had a loooot of questions for the new couple. 

Together; they loop their arms together in a silent victory.

They’re so back.

Though being silent was never something for Todo Aoi.

Yelling. 

“Fushiguro Toji rizzed Ms. Teacher before GTA 6—?!”

Status: W. 

A/N. Honestly AHAHAH- this was so unserious.

"What's happening?" You huffed at him, attempting to reclaim a fraction of your dignity despite him seeing you in far worse states than this before. He'd held you when you were disheveled, thighs pinned to your chest as he prepared you for things you were supposed to do with your future husband one day. With sweat sticking to your forehead and your body shaking, face scrunched up with pure pleasure from his nimble fingers and tongues. He didn't even react at your obvious worry, watching you swallow hard as the panic still freely pounded in your chest, holding onto his strong forearm to steady yourself. "Where are we?"

He smiled at you, letting go of your side to caress your cheek, your heart stupidly fluttering at the gesture you both knew he shouldn't be doing. Not when he was meant to stand guard for you.

You were his duty. His life.

He was only ever supposed to be a supporting role in yours.

"Somewhere safe."

“Safe?” You echoed, blinking up at him without understanding.

“I brought your favorite books,” he murmured, softly stroking your hair as he looked down at you. “And more of those paints I got you last year for your birthday.”

“But why are we-”

“Your parents were about to sell you off to a brute,” he grimaced, even when he was speaking to you so tenderly. Dark eyes hardening as they narrowed just enough to let you know he was serious.

"He wasn't-" You started to protest, thinking back to the single time you'd actually seen him at a banquet a handful of months ago. Sure, you hadn't spoken directly to you, not when you were so closely supervised, but you watched him from across the room.

There were men far worse than that.

“He would have just used you for heirs while he slept with half his court,” he dismissively scoffed.

But, wasn’t that you were meant for?

A pretty tool to be purchased as a means for peace between kingdoms?

You always knew it would happen to you. The arranged marriage, having heirs, living in a foreign place with no friends.

All your manners classes, the rigid rules you'd spent your life learning, they were all leading up to this.

You were born to be a queen.

"I can't just run from my duty," you murmured, reaching back up to drag your thumb over his defined jaw, attempting to soften the blow of disappointment. He must've spent a long time preparing this place for you, ready to commit treason just to do what he thought was best.

Forever your knight, always thinking of you when you both knew that the feelings you harbored for each other would never amount to more than the handful of nights you'd stolen together.

"And you can't expect me not to do mine."

Your mouth hung open, not sure what to do with his defiance. Just staring at his unchanging expression, resolve etched into every strong line of his face while your hand fell from it.

“This is for your own good,” he promised, leaning close enough to press a chaste kiss to the top of your forehead. “You’ll see.”

You hadn't seen three months in.

He wouldn't let you leave.

Refused to budge even when you begged with your best set of puppy dog eyes as you asked about how your family was doing, if you'd been declared missing, what was happening back at home.

His jaw would always clench, dark eyes swirling as he cupped your face and told you that you worried too much.

Solemnly swore your parents weren't even looking for their missing princess.

No, apparently, they'd just sent someone who looked enough like you to not arouse suspicion to the prince you were meant to marry.

Suguru dried your tears with kisses, dragging his tongue over the damp spots they left, his honeyed voice reassuring you that no one could replace you to him.

An imposter was out there in your place, pretending to be you, and you were in a tower trying to find the positive in this...monotony.

It wasn't like it was so terrible being trapped here with him.

Homemade meals. No more awful meetings or balls you were forced to attend. Nights spent in the warmth of Suguru's body with no fear of getting caught and condemned for what your heart wanted.

The days drifted by lazily. Napping in your bed. Reading the books he brought you. Painting by the small window.

Pacing your floor when the minutes started to drag, counting how many steps it took to get from one side of the room to the other. You even started to teach yourself how to sew, although you had to practically plead with Suguru to bring you the supplies for them.

The tower itself was cramped. Your room led directly out to a spiraling staircase, with uneven stone steps and a nauseating drop down the middle. The steps widened as you went down, but you'd barely been able to bring yourself to make it further than Suguru's living space below yours.

It was bigger than yours, but more...quaint, you supposed?

Rickety wooden furniture. A thin blanket over his bed. A single table with two chairs for you to eat with him.

He knew you hated heights.

So Suguru usually ended up coming to you instead.

A picnic blanket spread on your floor. Flowers freshly plucked from the forest below. A candle lit like it made this romantic.

And despite your determination to convince him that you could both still return to the palace, or even start a new life in a quiet port town somewhere, you were the one starting to crumble under his coaxing.

What was so great about your old life anyway?

No one could make you do anything up here. For the first time, your life was now yours.

It took you another year to realize your life was actually his.

Well, considering you lost track of time, you could only guess it had been a year. Watching the seasons come and go, leaves falling off the trees and snow capping the branches until the weather warmed again.

There was only so much painting to pass the time you could do before everything became boring.

Staring out the window waiting for something to happen, Suguru's hand on the small of your back while he delicately brushed your hair off your shoulder.

There weren't any scissors for you to trim it with. Not a single sharp item left anywhere within reach. He refused to entertain the idea of chopping some of it off either, insisting on taking care of it himself, toying and twirling the ridiculously long strands down as they cascaded over your worn dress.

It had always been long, but whatever was in the food he'd been feeding you had made it grow far faster here, trailing along the floor wherever you walked. He brushed it out for you, washed it and dried it while he made excuse after excuse not to cut it.

"Let down your hair, princess," Suguru called out from below, and for a brief second, you considered telling him that his joke wasn't funny - even though you suspected after another year or two, it might really be long enough to reach the ground. You stared down at him as he shielded his face from the sun, a hand on your hip as your brows scrunched together.

"Come inside," you shouted, struggling not to frown as you watched him walk out of your line of vision, a basket slung over his shoulder, probably with food from the closest town - not that he'd ever let you see it for yourself.

No, he locked your door when he left.

Kissed your forehead and promised to be back as soon as possible whenever he had errands to run.

It took him nearly fifteen minutes to make it back up to your door, the keys clinking as he unlocked it from the outside, swinging it open with a loud creak as you refused to look back at him.

"How's my beautiful girl?" He murmured as he approached, lips grazing against the shell of your ear while his hands traced your frame.

"I'm getting sick of being up in here," you half-whispered as you confessed what had been plaguing you for weeks, your voice raw from how little you'd been using it lately. "Can't we go to a village? Just for a day? We could wear disguises or-"

"No," he firmly said, pressing a kiss on your collarbone as you let out an annoyed huff.

"Please, Suguru," you whined. "It's been so long-"

"I'm not taking any risks when it comes to you," he scoffed a little, as if you were asking him for something absurd.

"Didn't you say no one was even looking for me?" You tilted your head to the side, pushing out your bottom lip like it would make his impenetrable resolve finally fracture.

"Anyone who saw your hair-"

"So cut it," you stomped your foot, swallowing hard as your lashes fluttered up at him.

"No," he repeated, refusing to budge.

His fingers were already unlacing the back of your dress, making quick work of loosening it while you struggled to come up with an argument that might sway him just for him to spin you around to face him.

Could you somehow convince him to take you on just a single outing?

Was it truly too much? Were you a moron for wanting more than just this?

Your dress was falling by your feet before you could think of anything - and his mouth was on your throat to make sure you wouldn't be able to.

Kiss after kiss pressed against your skin, lips tantalizingly skimming along the tendon until his teeth were grazing over your jaw. His hands making their way over your waist, fingers digging into your sides as he suddenly hoisted you up.

Carrying you back to your bed, careful not to step on your hair as he continued to pepper you with his gentle affection.

"Did I not make it perfect for you here, princess?" He purred, tenderly placing you back down on the soft mattress, making sure to drape your hair off the side. His own was falling in his face as his mouth slowly traveled down the valley of your breasts, across your belly button and pausing just below it to peek up at you. "I try so hard."

He did, didn't he?

Suguru had risked his head just by bringing you here. Did his best to make sure you weren't wanting for anything - that you wouldn't go without the luxuries you'd be lavished in your entire life.

Couldn't you just be happy for him when he was working so hard for you?

"I know," you muttered softly, guilt creeping in while his soft purple eyes bore into you. "I just-"

"Want to throw away everything I've given you for what? You'd rather hang around some peasants than me?" He grumbled, stare narrowing as he pushed your thighs up against your chest, like he had some point to prove.

"No, that's not-" You started again, but then his fingers slipped inside you, two thick digits digging deeper to stretch you out - and shut you up.

"Not what?" He dryly mocked, cocking his head to the side, well aware you would't be able to answer as he shoved his fingers deeper, dragging them against your walls.

"Don't be mean," you hissed at him, chest constricting as your lungs squeezed in time with your cunt. Unable to breathe when his digits felt like they were forcing all the air out with each consecutive thrust.

"It hurts my feelings when you want to leave me," he said, but his condescending tone didn't exactly lend any credence to what he was saying. Still, your heart stalled anyway, mind instinctively working to win him back.

"I don't want to leave you," you argued. "Just here. For a little bit."

"For a little bit," he sarcastically echoed, an anxious pit opening in the bottom of your stomach as you shook your head.

"Suguru," you whined, wiggling your hips as he drove those digits all the way in, working you open with an almost clinical precision.

"What, angel?" He hm-ed, knowing exactly what you wanted - and pretending he didn't.

You knew you should be mad. Put your foot down and demand that he take you out. But when he was looking at you like this, his fingers dimpling your skin and his mouth pampering you, you couldn't bring yourself to do either.

No matter how much you missed the sun. Smelling fresh flowers in your garden. Talking to a stranger instead of someone you knew every damn detail of.

"Come on, Sugu, would it be so bad?" You tried to charm him, but he just clicked his tongue.

"What do I have to do to keep you happy, hm?" He asked, sapping your strength without even trying. Drawing it out with every fast drag of his fingers. "Fuck you until you forget about these silly ideas?"

He pulled his fingers out, mouth pressed in a thin line just for him to tug his pants down enough to free his cock.

It bounced up against his shirt, pre-cum leaving a stain on it before he wrapped his fist around his thick base.

Watching it bob as he got back on top of you, one hand still pressing your thigh down to keep you open as he nudged his fat tip against your entrance.

His chin tilting up as he started pushing in, his jaw flexing as his shoulders tensed, testing his own self-control with each inch he slid inside of you.

You used to think your knight was an expert at restraining himself.

Back when he'd keep a straight face during banquets despite how often you'd pester him about sneaking away. Composed and collected until he finally got to claim you in private.

And now, he'd stolen you.

Turned your dreamy little secret into a reality that had started to stretch towards a forever.

You were still reaching up for him, tangling your fingers in his dark hair while he reached up to softly stroke the top of yours. The weight of him pressing down as he drove his cock in further, making sure to fill you up until he was fucking every thought that wasn't about him out of that pretty head of yours.

"My princess doesn't know what she needs," he murmured, his voice thick with hunger, all dark and dangerous as he dragged you down with him.

"I need you," you whispered, voice cracking when he abruptly bottomed out, his tip smushed against your cervix as your mouth parted in a broken gasp.

You needed him to let you breathe a little. To understand that you couldn't just spend eternity in this little world he crafted for the two of you.

But none of it actually came out.

Just more messy moans, your fingers clawing at the blankets while he just thrusted into you again and again.

The bed whined under your combined weight, your thighs trembling as his hips smacked down into you. His mouth was colliding into yours, sucking on your bottom lip while he wrecked you without hesitation.

Trying to ruin you.

Rip your heart out to have for himself. Hold it hostage too.

"Maybe I should put a baby in here," he grunted when the kiss broke, his breath warm on your cheek as he gritted his teeth. Stare drifting down to your stomach with a determination you knew you should be scared of. "You wouldn't leave our baby, would you?"

He knew exactly what to say to get to you.

Which strings to pull to turn you into his perfect puppet.

No better than a plaything. A doll to be dressed up in his very own dollhouse.

"I-I-" You stammered, but shit, when he was stuffing you so full, you couldn't find enough sanity left to string coherent words together. Left writhing and whimpering as his cock rocked and rutted into all your favorite spots.

"You what? Want one?" He teased, your heart hammering faster at the idea of actually being pregnant.

Carrying his child while you were still confined to this room.

Would he be so overprotective to confine you to the bed next?

"It's okay if you don't know," he cooed, his soft voice pitching lower while the hand on your thighs slipped down so he could have fun with your clit next.

Massing it with intention, drawing rough circles over the sensitive bud while he clicked his tongue at you again.

"That's why I have to take care of you," he continued, pressing down harder, his cock pistoning back in with more force, making sure you didn't even have the air in your lungs to tell him that you didn't need to depend on him.

You loved Suguru.

But the only way he knew how to love you back was to suffocate you. You knew you were his world. He just had to make sure he was yours.

Perhaps you were a fool for thinking that you'd be able to find a way to express that to him. To change a man who already made up his mind.

"I love you," you started, swallowing hard as you tried to gather your focus enough to get the right words out this time, get him to see your side.

But then his lips were connected with yours, barely parting enough to breathe, "I love you too."

His hips slammed against yours harder, his fingers working faster, your stomach tied together in knots as the pressure pushed you to a precipice you knew you'd fall from.

"C'mon, princess, cum for me," he groaned in between kisses, swallowing your moan as your body unravelled for him in a bright burst of pleasure. Stars you sorely missed splotching across your vision as you scrunched your eyes shut, feeling him buried to the hilt as something warm started to fill you up.

Had he-

"I hope it's a girl," he muttered, half-collapsing on top of you. His forehead pressed against yours as he sucked in heavy breaths, his cock still throbbing as his cum leaked out inside you. "Or twins."

"Twins?" You echoed, dazed as you blinked up at him.

"That should keep us busy," he smirked, one corner of his mouth curling up higher than the other as he refused to pull out. Still lodged deep inside you like he wanted to make sure his seed took.

He readjusted you, pulling your legs down so he could lay on top of you fully, his firm chest pressed against your softer one, his calloused fingers caressing your cheek as he looked at you with that lovestruck stare you'd grown accustomed to.

Had it always looked so sly?

Or were you starting to piece together something you missed once the haze of sex started to dissipate?

"I'll always keep you safe."

As your lover? Your knight? Your warden?

You still weren't sure which when you woke up the next morning. The smell of sex and sweat still sticking to your skin as you rubbed your exhausted eyes and rolled over with sticky thighs.

The left side of bed was empty.

Only a warm spot where Suguru was supposed to be. Had he gone to make breakfast? Perhaps decided to spare you of more discussions of raising children in this lonely room?

You pulled the covers up to your chest as you sat up, chewing on the inside of your cheek as you stared at the ghost of your past life in the form of furniture and books you used to enjoy before you read them a hundred times.

A piece of paper was left on the nightstand, a small note you supposed Suguru must've written for you, neat letters informing you that he'd be out for the day and he left meals pre-made for you on a tray outside.

Maybe on a different day, you might've found it sweet.

But an idea sprouted in the back of your head, blooming quickly enough that you were scurrying over to your dresser to find something to throw on, hurrying to get dressed before opening the door to find the tray he mentioned.

Instead of taking a bite, you just brought it inside - and slipped back out.

Bracing yourself for the long walk down, holding your breath as you crept down the stairs, a lump in your throat that seemed to get larger with every step you took.

You refused to look at the bottom.

Slowly making your way, attempting to remind yourself that with each step you took, you were another one closer to a way out.

It wasn't like you wanted to run away.

Not really.

You doubted your family would take kindly to you returning. Especially not if their unwed princess came with the unexpected baggage of a child they'd consider a bastard. With a man of no noble blood or important background.

But you were sure that you'd die if you didn't get some fresh air soon, wither and rot up there in your single-windowed cell.

The end came into sight - the last stair just a few feet away, your feet scampering down as your excitement started to bubble over, your head snapping up to the-

Door?

There was nothing there.

Just stone walls with no way in or out.

Was it magic? Some seal on the outside that stopped anyone else from intruding on something they shouldn't?

You were simply stuck.

And you sincerely doubted any prince would be coming to save you.

a/n: feel kinda meh about how this one turned out but hope you guys enjoyed anyway <3 reblogs + comments always appreciated

How To Join: Just shoot me a DM/comment with your idea and I’ll add it below! There’s no due date lol just let me know when you finish and post it with "No Fairytale Collab" in the tags/link this post in your fic!

Rules: 18+ (MDNI). JJK Characters ONLY (*A character that is a minor in the show/manga MUST BE AGED UP!*)

—You may do multi characters x reader fics too!

—NSFW and SFW fics allowed.

—Dark themes are allowed but please run them by me first!

—Repeat characters & fairytales are allowed. Multi fics are allowed (you can submit more than one).

Hard Limits: NO SCAT, AGE PLAY, RELIGION PLAY, RACE PLAY OR SNUFF!

AU Type: Role Swap; Gender Swap; Princess x Knight; Hybrid x Human; Crackships lol, etc.

Word Count: 1k—Beyond

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MORE TO CUM! 💋

"Oh c'mon, prez. It's end semester." Satoru cooed, still finding the audacity to lean against one of the lockers despite the reprimand.

You stopped. Shoes placed exact centre on the grey tiles as you shot the delinquent a look. "The end of the semester is Friday. It's Monday."

Satoru grinned, pushing hand through his hair. "Always sooo dutiful. Lighten up a lil."

Sukuna heard it before you said it. Saw the trail of your eyes before you had even darted your gaze to their mess of uniforms. Satoru's blazer was tied around his waist. Toji was missing his entirely. Sukuna's belt hung low. Don't even get started on all three of their hairstyles that broke at least four regulations.

Yeah, delinquent was putting it lightly.

Sukuna was already mouthing your reprimand before it left your lips.

"Fix yourselves." Calm and controlled, coupled with that glare in your eye as you folded your arms. "Lest I file a complaint in the register."

"Over what? Looking good?" Toji teased.

You huffed. Snapping your sharp stare over to Sukuna who was all but waiting for it. Red eyes held yours in nonchalance. With a hint of something dangerously close to amusement. Admiration.

"You're the captain of the rugby team. Be an example to your teammates, Ryomen."

Oh, there's that tone he loved. That strict, smooth command that sent a shiver up his spine. He bit back a smirk.

Yeah, you all had your roles. And yours was maintaining order and, by the looks of it, eye-fucking him in the middle of the hallway.

"Yes Ma'am." He nodded, pushing himself from the locker to stand at his full height. Towering over you just to see if you'd flinch.

You didn't, of course. You never did. You held his stare with an arched brow and your chin never downturned. That's what he liked about you. A bold brat through and through.

"C'mon you two. One last class before practice." Sukuna nudged at Satoru's shoulder who was a little too preoccupied with the sliver of your thigh peeking out of your skirt. The sight clenched Sukuna's jaw, but he bit back comments in favour of wrangling dumb-and-dumber.

Halfway down the hallway, and yet, he could still feel your eyes. Pierced into his spine. He couldn't help but shoot you a glance over his shoulder. Meet that controlled stare that always rivalled his.

Guess it's the one time he let the stereotypes get to him. He wondered how much you'd keep up that bratty beauty if he had you under him.

The thought of you had grown from annoyance to arousal months ago. The perfect president with her commands as sharp as crystal and her glare prettier than them. Always proper. So poised.

He wondered what it'd take to break that little attitude.

Although, if he's being entirely honest. He was kinda into those mint manicured nails that always pointed at him. Not to mention that stare? How you tried to pretend that it never lingered on him?

He saw you again at practice. Even with the sun glaring his vision and his throat burning for water. Sweat dripping down his forehead as he chugged down a bottle.

You were impossible to miss. Even in his exhaustion. Strutting along the outer corridor. Probably on your way to file in reports while others called it a day.

He caught your stare, as he always did. Felt it creeping up his back and shoulders.

Just like in the hallway, he shot you a look. Locked eyes. Only this time, he cast you a little grin.

You turned away. Like the stubborn brat he was hopelessly attracted to.

Nothing beat the rush of a whistle whipping through the air and a successful try on the final second. 50 - 46. Another win by the skin of their teeth.

The cheers of the stadium, the flashing lights, the bruised and battered arms of teammates that tossed around each other as an excited roar ripped through haze. Yeah, nothing beat that.

Well, the celebration that came after was a close second.

Stars of the league once more, Sukuna's team was treated to relax. He'd say for once, but other than training, his band of misfits hardly did much. Slacking-off was their everyday. But at least they'd earned it this time.

The blaring cheers had blurred out into the blast of music. Rhythm and beat vibrating the college assembly hall cleared out just for them. Littered in bodies and alcohol. The coach saw to them well, organised everything with the student council beforehand since he never doubted the team once.

Flashing lights. Grinding bodies. More booze than a Shibuya pub. Sukuna migrated through, his sharp shoulders finally sagged. Spotting some of his teammate with either their tongues down throats or chugging down red solo cups still floating beer pongs.

Steering through the crowd and shrugging off a drunk Satoru who tried to harass him as per-usual, he searched for the drink table. He was far too sober for this celebration. Shitfaced and slurring was what he wanted to be by the end of the night. He deserved it for being able to wrangle the hooligans he called teammates all semester.

And then, he felt it. That stare creeping up his spine.

He glanced to the left and sure enough— there it was. Calm and collected. Calculated even out of that blazer pressed with pristine in every inch. A black dress hugged and complimented your features far better. Certainly more than three fingers above the knee. Not so dignified with a drink in your hand.

Not even your posture was refined— you leaned against the drink table. One arm still folded over you, shoulders still squared.

You stare still on him.

Oh, his night just got a whole lot better.

"How irresponsible, prez." Drawled Sukuna as he stepped up beside you. Snatching one of the cups into his large hand and propping himself next to you.

Deep maroons roved your figure. The curves and dips in all the right places. Damn, he was almost jealous of that dress.

His head quirked with the corner of his lips. "It's a good look on you."

"Don't start." You scoffed a chuckle, raising the red plastic to your lips. Was that lipstick? Red. He could get used to his favourite colour on you.

It was almost uncanny. Seeing you so relaxed. Drinking. Completely out of your element and yet still poised in every right. It thrummed something deep within him. Dark.

He watched your eyes rake over him in what he could only describe as shameless with the flashing shadows obscuring it. You asked, "shouldn't you be celebrating with your team, Ryomen?"

"Sukuna." He corrected, just to watch your eyes. Watch your shoulders that tensed all the more firmer. As if it would break conduct to call him by anything familiar.

His smirk curled higher, as he slumped back with a swig. "And nah. Not when there's a pretty girl all alone back here."

Gauging your reaction, Sukuna bit a grin into the plastic rim of his cup when he noticed you cleared your throat. Where's all that confidence now, huh?

". . .Could it be that the elusive rugby captain is flirting with me?" You mused.

Something ticked within him.

His hulking body slanted, angled towards you as he propped a forearm on the table. Watched as you turned to him, almost hesitantly.

"Could it be that the uptight princess president is entertaining me?" He returned.

Your nose curled, the lights flashed over your face just in time for him to catch the wrinkles. A smile trembled over your lips. "Princess, huh?"

"Got a problem with it?

"Watch it. I'm still your president."

"Dirty talking already?"

Sukuna watched as your breath hitched. Bickering with him often came with ease, but it was a whole different ballgame when he shifted the playing field from president and delinquent to a jock and a princess.

It was amusing, to say the least. Watching you struggle for a rebuttal. You bristled when you finally found something. Straightened your spine with that manicured finger of yours so ready to point at him as you always did—

Thump!

"What the hell!"

"Ah— sorry. Soorryyy."

Alcohol seeped into the front of your dress. Clinging to the dark fabric and permeating the shimmers. A drunken smile was your only apology.

Sukuna stood straight. Shot a glare at his wobbling teammate who'd just bumped into you and ruined that pretty dress of yours.

"For fucks sakes Fushiguro," he grunted, watching as Toji lifted his hands up in surrender and then staggered elsewhere before he could get a scolding.

Turning back to you, Sukuna watched as your jaw tightened and your hands balled at your sides. Was that a pout? Cute.

"Sorry about that," he caught himself apologising when you looked up to him with batting eyes. The light flashing over the both of you in what he could only describe as fluorescent fate.

The idea came quicker than a smother tackle.

"If you need a change of clothes. . . " he almost caught himself drawling. As he stepped forward. You didn't flinch. You never did.

But it looked like you wanted to.

"Maybe I can offer a shirt? Sure I can find one for you back in my dorm."

Your stares locked, as they always did. Rivalling, controlled. Two leaders fighting for dominance as always. Only this time, you were faltering.

He watched your shoulders sag. Your arms cross over your chest tighter. Your chin still lifted but your lips pressed in a thin line.

Sukuna would be lying if he said he wasn't surprised when you actually agreed.

You looked prettier under his cheap dorm light.

Standing in the middle of his room with your legs too pressed together and your arms folded too tight. Your stare still seeped into his shoulders as he dug through his wardrobe on the far right. Looking like a fish who willingly crawled onto land and forgot she only knew how to swim.

Sukuna's dorm wasn't anything grand. His scholarship paid for privacy, not for space. The bedroom bled into a small kitchen area on the left separated only by a small counter top. A cramped couch wedged against it. On the right was his cabinet with a door that led to the bathroom. The bed laid at the centre with a singular side-table beside it.

Small, but neat. Neater than anyone would expect some jock's room to be, he's sure.

Finally, he fished out a red shirt. He could have gone for the black, maybe the white, but that deep rouge on your lips was his favourite colour. And he wanted to see you in more of it.

"This fine?" He asked as he approached, dropping the shirt into your hands that scrambled to catch it.

You pressed your lips together. Held the clothing article up by the sleeves to observe it. Flickering your gaze between him and the red.

"It's. . . big," you murmured.

And oh, poor you. There weren't any eyes anymore to hinder him. No bubbling hallways. No delinquents and presidents.

Just a jock. And a princess.

"Well I'm a big guy, princess." His head crooked in a predatory curve as his hands shoved into his pockets. The name slipped from his tongue. Easy. As easy as it seemed to fluster you, by the looks of it.

He watched you bristle again. Chew your lip and glance at the drywall as you balled the red fabric against those once perfect manicured nails that were beginning to look like they trembled.

Cute.

"Well— yeah, that's true." You stood straight once more. Uttered something that sounded like a thank you before you shuffled to the side. Not quite putting space between the both of you. But not exactly approaching him, either.

You cast him a side eye. Brought the shirt closer like it was your new knight. Poor princess.

"Are you gonna, uh, give me a moment?"

"Not unless you want me to watch?"

Flushed. Again. Like a flustered little flower with your face blooming in heat. How odd. Where's that beautiful brat that pointed and paraded in the halls?

"What?" Sukuna drawled, taking another step forward. Towering over you as he always did. You didn't flinch. You never did.

But fuck, it might have looked cute if you did right now.

"Don't tell me that the esteemed president is actually considering it?"

His voice dripped with something other than booze. Something scarily sober. Something dangerously close to want.

Want. Yeah, he's always wanted the prestigious campus princess.

"That's— that's not what I said," you stuttered. Actually stuttered. You, the poised president with your commands as sharp as crystals and your glare prettier than them. Stuttering all because the delinquent you eagerly pointed fingers at finally got you alone.

He grinned, glinting more than the usual charm back at you. "Didn't have to, princess."

"What's with that name?"

"What?"

He was right in front of you now. Close enough to hear the stutter of your breath. Feel your nerves. The shivers. Not very perfect of you, was it?

Leaning down, Sukuna established the height difference once more. His broad shoulders casting a shadow over you as his grin loomed closer. Dangerously so.

He could smell your perfume. Cherry mixed with nervousness. Hear the stutter of your heart. Every clear of your throat as you scrambled to resurrect the status-quo. When you could stare him in the eye and shoot him a command without your knees trembling.

His murmur was low, inviting. "Seems you don't mind being my princess one bit, yeah?"

Finally, he let himself touch you. A calloused thumb stroking your cheekbone. Oddly tender. Promising something rougher.

Your eyes gaped. Wider than he'd ever seen them. Confidence drained into your wobbling knees and your hands that clung to the shirt.

He paused for the first time that night.

Watched your sorry excuse for a stare. The press of your lips. The tremor that felt foreign to your dignified strut down the college hallways. This was far from the brat he fantasised you would be when he got you alone.

Sukuna's head crooked. "What's with that look?"

"Sorry. . . . I just, uh." You chewed your inner cheek. Cute, but odd for someone like you. ". . . Haven't. Done anything like this before."

He blinked.

Spoke in that terribly stark way.

"You a virgin?"

"Must you be so blunt?"

A pink brow arched. He slowed another blink at you and watched your every move. Watched your throat bob and your shoulders sag as a shaky sigh passed your red lips. It didn't look so bold under his stare.

"Yeah— yeah I am. I don't really have time for this kind of. . . " you motioned to him and how close he was. To his hand that was now cupping your face. "Thing."

He's dealt with virgins before. Had many doe eyes and shaky hands under his belt. So why'd you go under his radar? How hadn't he noticed the signs before? He'd been so swept up by your smooth voice and controlled stare that he completely slipped the possibility that the uptight college princess was—

"Sorry if that's. Like a turn off, or something."

Your murmur cut his thoughts right off. He locked stares with you once again— or at least tried to. For once, you couldn't meet his eyes.

Sure, it wasn't what he was used to. Wasn't what he expected. But honestly?

The thought of the uptight student council president being awfully inexperienced stirred another fire within him. Something deeper. Darker.

Wouldn't it be fun to corrupt a princess?

"Hardly," he scoffed, his grin settling into an arrogant smirk as his free hand slipped down. Snatched you by the waist and dragged you against him in a rough pull.

You yelped. Dropped the shirt and scrambled your hands for the one on him instead. Damn, even the way you clung to him was pretty.

That crystal stare of yours had melted into soft edges as you batted your eyes up at him. Achingly adorable for the pain in his ass you had been for the entire semester.

Cupping your face firmer, he drew you closer. Pressing every perfect inch of you into his callouses.

His voice rumbled, "you ever kissed anyone?"

Your brows furrowed. Warmth spread through his chest at the familiar sight. There's his beautiful brat. Bristling as your fingers bunched tighter on him and you huffed.

"Obviously! I'm not that—"

His mouth shoved to yours. Rough lips sealing over your cherry ones as the hand on your waist squeezed. Feeling your softness against his jagged. Your innocence to his experience. The way you squirmed— whether trying to get closer or further, he wasn't sure. He didn't think you quite knew either.

It was funny, really. How snarky you were with that tongue of yours. Now? It trembled. Fumbled. Struggling to keep up with his kiss as he leaned into your space and flushed you into him.

Your hands slipped to the top of his shoulders. He felt your nails scratching into the skin there through his shirt. Manicure nervous where it once was confident.

The whimper was what forced him to part. Already missing your warmth as his hand on your face slipped to the back of your neck. Cupping, caressing.

"No, no. Not like that." He coaxed, dangerously soft as he peered at you through hanging lashes. His thumb traced over your pulse, reassuring. "Relax. I've got you."

He felt your body lock up against him— then ease. Felt the flutter of your heart against his and the gulp under his thumb.

No words. Just a silent stare. A small nod. Sukuna guided you back in. Still rough, but slower. His lips moulding over yours and easing you into the kiss. Giving you room to breathe. Room to feel.

The hand on your waist slipped. Arm hooking around the small of your back and hoisting you closer. Impossibly so. To feel that sigh of relief that eased out of you and the melting of your muscles.

"Atta girl," the words muffled against your lips before he could overthink them. As if it was natural to hold a pretty virgin in his hands and corrupt her with guidance. Maybe. Or maybe it was just you. The fact that he got to take control for once.

Hot kisses smeared from your mouth. Along your jaw. Down your throat. Both hands roved over your sides now. Feeling the dress that clung to you in all the right places. The body you hid under pristine uniform.

"Can't believe you were holding out on me, princess." He groaned, breath fanning your pulse. A shiver ran up his spine as your fingers delved into his messy hair. Scratching a bit on the undercut only to rake through the fluffy strands.

Your small sighs of bliss were everything to him. For once, you were quiet. No sharp reprimands. No cool commands. Just quiet. Just his. His pretty princess in his arms as his mouth poured fire into your veins.

Big hands smoothed over your hips. Venturing behind. Cupping your ass. Squeezing. Your little yelp rumbled a husked chuckle from the back of his throat.

His teeth dragged over your pulse. Nipped. "Can I?" His fingers flexed with his desire.

You nodded.

"Words." He firmed, with a small swat! to your ass just to feel you jolt again.

You squeaked. "Yes— yes."

Your thighs bundled in his hands. Fitting perfectly. Like you were made for him. With ease, he lifted you. Nudged your legs around his waist as his mouth found yours again. Hotter. Messier. Banking on your fumbling to spur the kiss into desperation as he carried you back.

Sukuna wanted to say he tossed you onto his bed. But he was gentle. Achingly gentle. Tipping you back into his sheets and roaming your shivering body with his eager hands.

He withdrew with saliva this time. Locked eyes with you to make sure you saw the sinful string. Grinned when you flushed again and tried to avert your stare.

"Eyes on me." He ushered, cupping your chin.

You struggled. You, the studious student council president, struggling to hold his eyes for once. But you managed.

He drawled. "Good girl."

Then pressed a chaste kiss to your smeared lipstick and ruined it all the way back down your neck. Tracing your shivers as his fingers slipped below your waist. Over your hips. Teasing your thighs. Until he hooked into the hem of your dress.

"Let's take care of this mess, yeah?" He muttered into the crook of your throat. Sliding the fabric up. Slow. Slower when he got to your hips. Your tummy. Your breasts— over your head. Until you were laid bare before him aside from your underwear.

Red, too.

Sukuna arched his brow. "That your favourite colour? Or is it just for me?" A hand traced down your side. Cupped it so that his thumb could trace over the corner of your bra. Right over your tit. His hands were big enough to encase them entirely.

He watched you through lidded-eyes. Watched as you tensed. As you shivered. Chewing your lip when you were unable to hurl back a rebuttal.

He could get used to this darling side of yours.

A kiss atop your breast. Then the other. He pulled one out of your bra to circle his thumb on the pebbled nipple. Only to replace it with a kiss when you grew too sensitive.

You squirmed. Whimpered. Sensitive. Guess you really were a virgin. The confirmation thrummed something dark within him. Ticked his smug smirk back to his lips that dragged further down. Over the valley of your breasts. To your tummy.

You twitched when he reached your thigh.

"Fingers or mouth?" He mumbled into the softness of your inner thigh. Long finger hooked into the waistband of your panties as he stared back up at you. "Pick your poison, princess."

"I— uhm. . ." Your breathing was shaky. Fluttered. Like a poor little bird as you squeezed your thighs together— he wedged them apart with a huff.

"Fingers. . . I think."

Such a soft croak. Nothing like the girl he knew you to be. Not a prestigious president when you were under him. Drunk on his kisses and trembling from his touches.

No, here? You were just his princess.

"Tell me what feels good," he whispered, eyes locked on yours even as you struggled to hold his stare now. Fingers slipping from the waistband to your centre. Featherlight as he stroked on your thigh. Nursed the shivers there together with his mouth in softer than expected kisses.

Before he reached your soft heat. Brushed over your clothed slit. Up, down. A small stroke of his thumb. Testing. Teasing.

The damp spot tugged his smirk wider. His thumb pressed into it. Just a little firmer. A little hotter. Stroking up to nestle under the crook of your finger. Circle just right—

You pitched a whine.

"There?" His murmur fanned your tummy. Your little nod squeezed something in his heart as he circled his thumb again. "Mmm. Y'know what that is, pretty?"

"I— Yeah. . . mnn. My clit—"

"That's right," he cooed. "Feels good when someone plays with it, huh?"

Filth dripped from every words. Sought to seep into your veins and corrupt your perfect little soul. Now wouldn't that be a sight? To taint the pinnacle of perfection you always were.

After massaging over your clothed cunt enough to soak through the fabric, he hooked two fingers into the corner of your panties. Dragged them to the side to finally— finally get a look at the other girl he'd been waiting for all semester.

Wet. Sopping. Dripping a cute little leak down your sensitive slit. All for him.

"Wet lil' thing for a virgin, aren't you?" The vibration of his voice seemed to spill more of your arousal, and he chuckled at the sight. Repeated the cycle until you squirming with a small, pitiful whine.

"I've gotcha, princess." His thumb swiped over your slick. Over your clit and slit in a slow, agonising stroke that wrecked your thighs into a squirm.

"Ryo—"

"Sukuna." His thumb trapped your clit. "I'm playing with your pussy right now. You call me Sukuna."

His free hand shot out. Ambushing your wriggles and holding you still against his mattress for his hand to work between your legs. Maroon eyes pouring heat into yours as he locked your stares. Forced you to maintain it.

"Su—" you croaked, stirring under his grip as his thumb became two fingers that stroked you oh so sinfully. "Kuna. . . mngh."

"There you go," he praised, soaking his fingers in your slick just a little more. Before he circled your slit with his index. Prodded. Tested. "If it hurts lemme know. Just. . . feel."

A kiss to your tummy. A distraction. As his thick finger slowly slipped inside. Breaching your gummy velvet that clamped around his knuckle immediately.

The sound that left you was pathetic. Nothing like the president he knew. Just his pitiful princess who squeezed her eyes shut and clambered at his broad shoulder.

He paused his hand. Waited. Feeling the pulse of your walls and the tight clamp around only one of his fingers. What a little thing you were.

"Princess," he cooed. Dragging his index out. Slow. Agonisingly slow— watching the stickiness glint on his finger before he pumped it back to the knuckle. Curled just right. "If you're clenching s'much round just one fingers how're you gonna take my dick?"

You whined. Pretty. Pathetic. Your hips trying to buck into his finger that eased into a languid pace. Steady as he worked you open. Got you used to the feeling.

So silky. So soft. Spilling all over and he hadn't even given you two yet. The sight of your pussy clenching around his knuckle grumbled a groan from deep within him.

"Pussy's so eager to get her cherry popped," he muttered, pressing another finger to your slit. Waiting, working you open. Just a little further, a little more—

Your head fell back as two of his beefy fingers slipped into you.

"S'kuna. . ." you croaked. Blinking those big eyes at his ceiling as your chest rose quick. Falling in stutters. Struggling to breathe. Your nails slipped from his shoulder to his elbow. Trying to hold him. Trembling.

"Sshhh, I've got you. Doing so good." The hand holding you down stroked up your thigh. To your side. Caressing so tenderly as his fingers pumped slow yet filthy. Stretching you out on just his middle and index. Leaking your stickiness all over his palm and wrist. Fuck.

"Messy girl." Another kiss pressed to your taut tummy. He pumped back into your squelching pussy a little harder. A little faster. When he gouged you could take it. When your moans told him you wanted more.

He observed you. The scrunch of your face. The knit of your brows and the way your lips parted. Whines mixing into whimpers mixing into moans. Thighs tense yet squirming. Into him. Away from him. Causing his fingers to bump and grind on several sensitive spots within you.

He curled. You croaked. Bucking your hips down into his palm in a display he could only describe as need. That neediness poor little virgins broke out into when they learnt what true pleasure was.

He grinned. Curled his fingers again. Searched for a spot— there.

"Fuck— there," you whined.

"Here princess? Righhttt here?" He drawled, fingers circling that gummy spot until your spine lifted off of the bed and he had to return to holding you down. "Oh, there it is." His fingers thrust. Once— twice— maddening. "That's the spot. The one that's gonna make you cum for me."

Spilling. Messily, helplessly. Your pussy soaked him with every pulse. Spasming when his thumb finally joined the mix. Flushed to your clit and stroked as his fingers found a fast pace. Pumping mercilessly and working you up to that first orgasm.

"I— 'm gonna. . . fuck, kuna—" you whimpered, teary. One hand fisting the sheets while another shot to his wrist, clinging to him feebly. "Gonna. . . I'm—"

"Gonna cum?" His grin smooched your tummy. Fingers worked faster. Stroking deadlier. Right into that spot as he swirled your clit. He watched your face. Watched you break.

"Yeah you are. Cum for me baby."

Your body bowed. Obeyed him. For once. Cunt clamping around his knuckles. Quivering into pronounced throbs as a sob crossed with a whine spilled from your lips.

Sukuna watched your body submit to the orgasm. Shaking in thralls of pleasure as your hips mindlessly ground into his hand that had long since stopped. Fingers curling and rubbing into that spot along with your pitiful grinds to ride you through your high.

His pretty president. Just a pathetic princess. Cumming all over his hand.

"There you go. That's it, just feel it. Lose yourself." He swirled your clit one more time for good measure. Just enough to feel it twitch weakly against his callous.

His fingers slipped out. Coated in your slick. He brought them to his mouth without a second thought. Watched you through the haze of your orgasm and how your eyes still tried to find his even when you were wrecked.

His tongue flicked out. Laved over your wetness as he held your stare. Made sure you watching him enjoy the mess that he had made you. The taste on his tongue. Fuck—

Sweet. So fucking sweet.

"Always knew you'd be so sweet." He huffed, breaths heaving as he took the moment to observe you. The far cry that he had broken you down into.

So pretty when you were ruined. Just as he thought you'd be.

But still speaking, it seemed.

"Sukuna. . ." you murmured, trying to look up despite your rattling thighs and your shaky breath. Your grip returned to his shoulders. Clinging to him.

"Want. . . wanna make you feel good too," your legs hooked around his waist. Squeezed. Oh fuck.

He shut his eyes. Reran your words in his hazed mind. How could he ever deny you?

"What an eager princess." His hands snatched you by the waist. Swung you over so that you squeaked at how easy it was for him to manhandle you.

Propped in his lap like a pretty thing like you should be. Slotted so perfectly and wedged against his burning bulge. Nudged just right into your messy cunt and dragging the slick all over his jeans. Seeping through and soaking into him.

His eyes fluttered. A grunt forced between his teeth as his hands splayed over your waist. Clamping down and grinding you into the rough rolls of his hips.

A large hand found your face again. Cradled it so gently while his body worked animalistically. "Yeah? Want me to feel good too? What're you gonna do for me?"

His lips fell back to yours. Smothering your answer into pretty little whines. His tongue ventured in this time. Dominating you in every way he could. Searing his mark into you. His princess. His.

"I— hngh. Kuna."

"You gonna whine like a brat? Huh?"

"Mngh."

His hand slipped behind you. Palmed your ass and squeezed it. Pressing you firm into him to spur the sparks between your crotches. Rubbing the heat into something feral until you were both bucking messily.

Hot kisses laved your neck. Over your throat. Your pulse. Sucking hickies in his wake as he caught your clit on the rift of his erection. Grinding just right until you whined his name in that prettily pathetic way again.

"Fuck," his huff fanned your jugular. "Gonna fuck that pretty pussy so good. Make her all mine."

Rough hands dwarfed yours. Encasing them as he dragged your fingers to his belt. Pressed them into the buckle with the demand clear in sight. The promise of what was to come. What he'd do to you.

Your hands froze.

So did he.

With a tender consideration so uncharacteristic of him, Sukuna pulled from your neck. Nudged you to face him. "Hey," his thumb pressed to your cheek. "You okay?"

Your eyes tried to avoid him. He saw it. Dragging your stare back to him at least three times before you finally held it again.

"I. . . I just. . . I don't know if I—"

His eyes softened.

"Nervous?" He murmured.

You stiffened. Unblinking. Before you cleared your throat and slowly, so achingly slowly, nodded your head.

Sukuna was no brute. No matter what the stereotypes said. So the little nod was all he needed before his hands slipped back to your waist and carefully pulled you off of him.

"That's okay," the assurance didn't even sound like his voice. Soft, for the elusive rugby captain everyone knew him as. "We don't have to do anything else. You did good."

A kiss to your temple. He felt you ease against him as he sat you on the edge of the bed and got up. Walked over to where you dropped the shirt he'd gotten you earlier and came back to pull it back over your head. Careful. Attentive.

The fabric fell over you. Hanging low like a dress. He couldn't help the quirk at the corner of his lips. Yeah, his colour looked good on you.

"We'll get you cleaned up in a bit. You're gonna need some water."

"I. . . thanks. Thank you."

"For being a decent human being?"

He scoffed at your big eyes. Long arms caging you in on the edge of the bed as he observed you. Your pouting lips and tear-streaked face.

Fuck. He could get used to this.

"Don't get to used to it," the tease fanned your lips. Just to hear that hitch in your breath again.

The pretty, prestigious president. His pitiful princess. All softness to his callouses and tender to his roughness.

His thumb and forefinger caught your chin. Nudged it up.

"Next time, I won't let you run away, yeah?"

A rough peck to your lips. It sounded like a threat, but when he pulled back, there was no denying it. The affection in his eyes.

The affection for you. His pretty pain in the ass.

© 𝒔𝒘𝒆𝒆𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒂𝒓𝒕𝒊𝒄𝒊𝒔𝒎. no plagiarism or ai training authorised. divider: @/dollywons & @/pixopix. art cred: @/hunnismokah

The city never truly went dark.

Even past midnight, Taipei pulsed beneath the penthouse windows—a restless constellation of neon and streetlight bleeding upward through the glass, painting the room in slow, shifting hues of gold and amber. From this height, everything looked distant. Reduced. Manageable. The kind of view people would kill for.

You don’t look at it the way you used to.

At first, you had. You remember that version of yourself—standing too close to the glass, fingertips grazing the cool surface, letting the glow soak into your eyes as if it meant something. As if it proved you had made it somewhere. That all of this—this life—was something to be proud of.

Now, it’s just background.

The apartment hums softly around you, a kind of curated silence that never quite becomes quiet. The temperature is always right. The lights dim themselves without needing to be touched. Somewhere deeper in the space, glass settles faintly against polished surfaces, a small, delicate sound that belongs to a world where nothing is ever out of place.

Luxury has a sound. You’ve learned that.

It’s soft. Controlled. Careful. Suffocating.

You stand near the window, a glass of wine resting between your fingers. You don’t remember asking for it. You rarely remember asking for anything anymore—not when it appears anyway, exactly as you would have chosen it, as if the decision had been yours all along.

That used to impress you. Now it makes something tight settle in your chest.

You’ve gotten used to it. That’s the worst part. The comfort, the precision, the way everything fits so seamlessly into your life that resisting it feels unnecessary—exhausting, even. Your wardrobe changed first. Then your routine. Then the smaller things, the ones you didn’t notice until they were already gone. Books replaced. Contacts fading. Messages that stopped coming, or maybe you just stopped expecting them.

You don’t reach out anymore. Not because you can’t. Because you don’t know how to explain it.

How do you tell someone that nothing is wrong, and yet everything is?

That you’re safe, and yet—

Your grip tightens slightly around the stem of the glass.

There are people everywhere. Staff moving quietly in spaces you don’t enter, security stationed far enough to be unseen but never absent, drivers waiting below in case you decide you want to go somewhere—though the list of places you can go has grown smaller in ways no one has ever said out loud.

You are never alone. And yet, you have never felt this unreachable.

Even the people who once mattered—the ones whose names used to sit so easily on your tongue—feel distant now, like something remembered through water. Your family. Your friends. They exist somewhere beyond this height, beyond this carefully constructed life.

You could call them. You know that. The thought lingers, fragile and useless. What would you even say?

The words don’t come. They haven’t, for a long time. Not after—

Not after what he did.

The memory of those three days still lingered, though never in a clear way. It came back in flashes more than anything else—the cold steel table beneath your hands, the white fluorescent light burning above your head, the sharp sound of the cell door locking each time someone left. You still remembered how the room had felt too small, too silent, as if the walls themselves were closing in around you.

“Do you have proof?”

That question had been asked more than once, always in the same flat, detached tone.

And every single time, you had nothing to say.

Because there had been nothing to prove. Nothing except your own words, and those had meant nothing in that place.

Even now, the thought of it made your chest tighten. Your body still carried the memory of those hours—the sleeplessness, the stale air, the way time had dragged so slowly it had stopped feeling real. You remembered trying to explain yourself again and again, only to be met with blank expressions and indifferent eyes, as if they had already decided the truth long before you had entered the room.

That was the moment you truly understood what it meant to be helpless.

And some part of you had never really recovered from it.

You hadn’t known how small a person could feel until then. You know now. And maybe… maybe that’s why this is easier.

The realization doesn’t come sharply. It settles, slow and unwelcome. Maybe that’s why you stopped pushing.

Why the edges of this life—this beautiful, carefully arranged cage—don’t scrape against you the way they should. Why you’ve learned to move within it instead of against it. The mind adapts. It always does. Especially after it’s been shown, so clearly, what happens when it doesn’t.

He knew that. Of course he did.

Your reflection stares back at you from the darkened glass—composed, quiet, exactly as you’re meant to be. There’s nothing visibly wrong. Nothing anyone could point to and name.

Everything is exactly where it should be. Including you.

Exactly where he wants you.

—

A soft knock breaks the quiet.

It’s polite—measured, familiar. The kind that waits just long enough to be acknowledged before the door opens anyway.

You don’t answer. You already know they’ll come in.

The door slides open with a muted sound, and one of the staff steps inside, posture straight, movements careful in the way everyone here seems to be. There’s a bag in their hand—structured, branded, something expensive without needing to be examined closely.

They stop at a respectful distance. “Ma’am,” they say gently, lowering their gaze for a second before extending the bag toward you. “Sir had these delivered for you.”

You don’t move right away.

There’s a small pause before you take it, fingers brushing against the smooth handle. The weight of it is light, but it settles in your hands heavier than it should.

“He’s hoping you’ll wear them tomorrow.”

Your brows knit faintly, confusion slipping through before you can hide it. You glance up. “What’s… tomorrow?”

The staff member hesitates. It’s brief. Controlled. But you notice.

“I’m sorry,” they reply after a second, voice just as polite as before, “I’m not permitted to answer that.”

Not unable. Not unsure. Not permitted.

Something in your chest tightens at the wording.

They offer a small, practiced smile. “Have a pleasant evening, ma’am.”

And just like that, they step back, placing the bag neatly on the table beside you before leaving the room as quietly as they entered. The door closes. The sound is soft.

Final.

You stand there for a moment, staring at the bag. Then, slowly, you open it.

A pair of heels rests inside—sleek, carefully chosen, the kind that matches everything you already own without you ever remembering buying anything like it. Of course they would fit. Of course they would suit you. They always do.

Your fingers brush over the material, but your mind is already somewhere else.

Tomorrow.

You exhale quietly, trying to piece it together. Maybe he’s taking you out again. Another dinner, another place you’re meant to enjoy. Or maybe something quieter—one of his private arrangements, something controlled, curated.

His yacht, maybe. That wouldn’t be unusual.

You set the heels back in the box, closing it with more care than necessary, as if the answer might reveal itself if you handle it gently enough.

It doesn’t.

—

By the time you step out into the main living space later, something feels… off.

Not wrong. Just different.

There’s movement—more than usual. Staff crossing the room with purpose, voices low but constant, the quiet efficiency of preparation. And then you see it. Luggage.

Not one or two pieces. Several. Large, structured cases lined neatly near the entrance, more being brought in and arranged with careful precision.

Your steps slow. For a second, you just stand there, trying to make sense of it. And then—

“Ah.”

You don’t need to turn to know he’s there, but you do anyway.

Yuta stands a few steps away, already dressed, already composed—like he’s been ready for a while now. His gaze finds you immediately, as if he had been waiting for this exact moment.

There’s something light in his expression. Amused. Curious.

He tilts his head slightly, a faint smile playing at his lips. “What’s wrong?” he asks, tone soft, almost indulgent. “I thought you might like the surprise.”

Your grip tightens slightly at your side. “I…” The word falters before you steady it. “I'm not. Certainly not.”

Your eyes flick toward the luggage, then back to him. “What is all this?”

He follows your gaze briefly, as if only just noticing it.

“Oh… these?” he hums, almost thoughtfully, tapping a finger lightly against his upper lip. “Right.”

There’s a pause—deliberate. Then, like he’s just remembered something trivial—

“Ah. Yes.” His smile deepens just slightly. “We’re going on our honeymoon.” The words land too easily. Too casually.

For a second, you just stare at him, like you’re waiting for the rest of it—some clarification, some explanation that makes it make sense.

It doesn’t come.

“Honeymoon?” you repeat, the word feeling unfamiliar in your mouth. “What are you—”

He doesn’t let you finish. His smile deepens slightly, something pleased settling into his expression as if your confusion is exactly what he expected.

“We leave tonight,” he adds, like it’s a minor detail.

Your eyes flick toward the luggage again, then back to him. “You didn’t tell me anything about this.”

“You’re right,” he agrees easily. Not apologetic. Not hesitant. Just… certain.

Another step closer, his presence closing the distance without effort.

“I wanted it to be a surprise, Sweetheart…”

—

And he wasn’t joking.

You realize that the moment the car doesn’t turn toward the usual route, when the city thins out into quiet stretches of road that lead somewhere more restricted, more controlled. By the time you’re escorted through a private terminal—no crowds, no lines, no questions—you understand just how little of this was ever meant to involve your choice.

The jet is already waiting.

Everything about it is understated and expensive—the kind of luxury that doesn’t need to announce itself. Soft lighting, wide leather seats that look more like a lounge than anything meant for travel, a quiet hum that barely registers once you’re inside. Staff move around you with practiced ease, already knowing where you’ll sit, what you’ll want, what you won’t ask for.

You don’t remember agreeing to any of it.

The flight passes in a blur of dimmed lights and muted conversation you’re not part of. At some point, the sky outside shifts—dark to pale, pale to gold—and when you land, it isn’t home anymore.

It’s Paris.

Cold air greets you as you step out, sharper than what you’re used to, carrying that unfamiliar weight of being somewhere far enough that going back doesn’t feel simple anymore.

But you don’t stay.

You’re moved just as smoothly as before—from car to platform, from platform to something that doesn’t quite feel real at first glance.

The train waiting there looks less like transport and more like something preserved from another time. Deep, polished exteriors. Gold detailing that catches the light just enough to feel deliberate. Staff dressed in crisp uniforms, movements precise, expressions carefully neutral.

Not many people board. You notice that.

A handful at most—each of them dressed like they belong here, like this kind of travel isn’t an experience but a habit. Quiet conversations, low laughter, the subtle weight of money that doesn’t need to be displayed to be understood.

This isn’t public. This is curated. Exclusive.

The moment you step inside, the atmosphere shifts. Warm lighting. Polished wood. The faint scent of something rich and clean lingering in the air. It’s beautiful in a way that feels almost unreal—too perfect, too intentional. Too contained.

Your hand tightens slightly around your bag as you follow him down the narrow corridor. And then the door opens.

The cabin is… smaller than you expected, but not in a way that feels lacking. Everything is arranged with precision—soft bedding laid out neatly, the sheets untouched and pristine, a small seating area by the window, polished surfaces reflecting the low golden light. The window itself stretches wide enough to make the outside feel closer than it is, though the glass is thick, unyielding.

There’s only one bed. You don’t comment on it.

You don’t look at him either, not immediately. Your gaze lingers on the details instead—the way everything has already been prepared, the absence of anything that feels temporary. Like this space had been waiting.

For you. For both of you.

Behind you, the door clicks shut. Soft. Final.

And suddenly, the space feels smaller than it did a second ago. Warmer. Closer.

You can feel him there without turning—his presence filling the room in a way that makes the air shift slightly, like everything is aware of him, aligned around him.

A pause. Then, quieter—

“Do you like it?”

—

Your fingers curl slightly at your side, nails pressing into your palm as you steady your voice.

“I don’t… understand,” you say, quieter than you intend. Your eyes flick around the cabin—the bed, the door, the window that feels more like a frame than an exit—before settling somewhere just past him. “What’s the purpose of this?”

There’s a pause. You don’t need to look to know he’s watching you.

“The purpose?” he repeats, like he’s tasting the words, turning them over for amusement more than clarification.

Then, softer—

“It’s you, Y/N.”

The way he says your name lands differently here. Too close. Too deliberate.

A small exhale leaves him, almost theatrical, as he tilts his head, expression shifting into something that resembles hurt—just enough to be convincing if you didn’t already know better.

“Can you not be so rude to your husband?” he murmurs, voice laced with a gentle reproach that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “You’re lucky I’m patient.”

The words hang between you. Light. Empty.

You don’t respond. You’ve learned not to—not when the tone and the meaning never quite match.

He watches you for a moment longer, as if waiting for something that doesn’t come.

Then he moves.

It’s sudden—not rough, not forceful, but quick enough that your breath catches as his hand closes around yours. Warm. Firm. Familiar in a way that makes your shoulders tense before you can stop it.

“What—”

You don’t get to finish.

His thumb brushes over your knuckles, a slow, almost absent motion, before something cool slides against your finger. The movement is practiced, smooth, like he’s done this a hundred times before.

You freeze. The sensation settles. You look down. A ring.

It catches the light immediately—sharp, bright, unmistakable. A diamond, set cleanly, flawlessly, the kind that doesn’t just sparkle but demands to be seen.

Your breath stills.

For a second, you just stare at it, like your mind needs time to catch up to what your eyes are already telling you.

When you finally look up, he’s already watching your reaction. Of course he is.

There’s a faint smirk playing at his lips, subtle but there, satisfaction threading through it as he lifts your hand slightly, just enough to bring it closer to him.

He presses a soft kiss against your knuckles. “Easy,” he murmurs against your skin, voice low, almost amused. “It’s easy to get a reaction out of you, huh, pretty lady?”

You don’t pull your hand away. Not because you don’t want to. Because something in you hesitates—tight, uncertain, like moving too fast might shift something you don’t fully understand yet.

Your throat feels dry.

“Uhm…” The word falters before you can shape it properly. Your gaze drops back to the ring, then lifts again, uneasy. “You didn’t have to.” It’s the only thing you manage.

He hums softly, like the answer doesn’t matter. Then, almost casually, he lifts his own hand. The movement is unhurried. Intentional. The same ring gleams on his finger.

For a moment, the world narrows to that detail alone—the perfect match, the quiet confirmation of something you hadn’t agreed to, hadn’t been asked about.

Your chest tightens.

He tilts his hand slightly, letting the light catch it just right before his gaze flicks back to you, something playful settling into his expression.

“Couple ring, baby,” he says lightly, the words edged with quiet satisfaction. Then, softer, drawn out just enough to linger—“Surprise~”

—

You don’t argue after that.

You don’t fight it—not openly, not here. Instead, you do what you’ve learned to do best. You adjust.

Through the rest of the day, you move beside him, not quite with him. You respond when spoken to, nod when expected, let yourself be guided from one place to another without resistance. It’s easier that way. It always is.

He notices, but he doesn’t say anything about it—not directly. There’s just that quiet sense of approval in the way he looks at you sometimes, like you’ve done something right without being told what the expectation was in the first place.

By evening, he takes you to the dining carriage. It’s… exactly what you would have imagined, once.

Soft golden lighting. Tables set with polished silver and crystal that catches every flicker of movement. The low hum of quiet conversation blending with the sound of live violins somewhere near the far end of the carriage—gentle, elegant, the kind of music that fills the space without demanding attention.

It’s beautiful. Perfect.

The kind of setting you’ve only ever seen through screens before—movies, fleeting images, things that never felt real enough to touch.

And now you’re here. Living it. Experiencing it. And somehow… It feels worse.

You sit across from him, posture composed, hands resting lightly in your lap or around the glass he ensures is never empty for long. The staff move seamlessly around you, attentive without being intrusive, every detail handled before you even realize it needs attention.

Anyone looking would think this was romantic. They would think you were lucky.

Your gaze lifts briefly, meeting his. He’s watching you again. Not constantly—but enough. Enough to make you aware of it.

Dinner passes like that. Quiet. Controlled. Predictable in a way that feels rehearsed, even though nothing is spoken aloud to guide it.

And then, when the music shifts—slower now, softer—He stands.

Your breath stills for half a second.

He extends his hand toward you. An invitation. Not really a choice.

“Come on,” he says lightly.

You hesitate. Just for a moment.

But he already knows you won’t refuse. Not here. Not in front of others. So you place your hand in his.

The moment your fingers touch his, his grip closes—gentle, but certain—and he guides you toward the open space where a few others have already begun to move with the music.

The violins swell softly around you.

His hand settles at your waist, pulling you just close enough to feel the warmth of him through the thin space between you. Your other hand rests in his, held steady as he begins to lead.

You don’t make a scene. You don’t pull away. You move with him, step for step, letting him guide the pace, the direction, everything.

It’s easier that way. Safer.

He seems… pleased.

There’s a quiet amusement in the way he looks at you, like your compliance is something he finds endearing. Like every small decision you make eventually circles back to something that benefits him.

And maybe it does.

The dance itself is… calm. Almost peaceful, if you let yourself ignore everything else. The music, the rhythm, the gentle sway of the train beneath your feet—it creates a kind of illusion.

For a moment, it could almost feel real. Normal. But it isn’t. You know that. And so does he.

—

By the time you return to the cabin, the quiet settles in again.

The door closes behind you with that same soft, final click.

You step inside first, your movements slower now, more deliberate as the day begins to catch up with you. Your gaze drifts automatically—across the bed, the small table, the dim lighting—

And then it stops. On the phone. It rests there, exactly where it shouldn’t.

For a second, you just stare at it. It used to be yours. You remember that much. But now…

Now you’re not even sure you could unlock it.

Still, you move toward it.

Your fingers hesitate only briefly before picking it up, the screen lighting up at your touch. Notifications fill it—stacked, layered, more than you expected.

Missed calls. Messages. Names you recognize.

Your chest tightens slightly as your eyes scan over them, the weight of it settling slowly, heavily. And then—

One notification catches your attention. Your bank.

Your jaw clenches before you can stop it.

‘Your account has been temporarily blocked. Please contact your branch for further information.’

For a moment, everything else fades. The room. The train. The quiet. All of it. Because you had followed along.

You had stayed quiet. You had played your part, done exactly what he wanted, exactly how he wanted it. And still—

Still, he hadn’t kept his word.

Your grip on the phone tightens slightly.

The sound of the door sliding open breaks the silence.

You don’t turn immediately. You don’t need to. You can hear him.

The soft exhale, almost satisfied, as he steps inside. The faint rustle of fabric as he begins to remove his jacket, movements unhurried, comfortable—like he belongs here. Like you do too.

He pauses when he sees you, his gaze flicking to the phone in your hand. There’s a small shift in his expression—not sharp, not alarmed.

Just… curious.

A faint smile follows, edged with something unreadable.

“What are you looking at?” he asks, voice smooth, almost casual, as if the answer doesn’t already matter to him.

The question hangs in the air, quiet and dangerous.

For a second, you say nothing. Then something in you snaps.

Your grip tightens around the phone as you turn fully toward him, the words coming out before you can soften them.

“You said—” your voice falters, then steadies, sharper now, “you said if I cooperated, if I did everything you wanted, you’d fix this. That things would go back to normal…”

He doesn’t interrupt. Doesn’t even move. He just watches you. That same calm expression. That same faint, unreadable smile.

Your chest rises a little faster now.

“I have done everything,” you continue, the frustration slipping through, raw and unfiltered. “I’ve stayed. I haven’t caused problems. I’ve done exactly what you asked—so why is nothing changing?”

Still nothing from him. Not even a flicker. The silence pushes you further.

“Why is my account still blocked?” you demand, lifting the phone slightly like proof. “Why are there missed calls I can’t even return? Why can’t I contact anyone?”

Your voice cracks slightly at the edge, but you don’t stop. “At least let me call my family,” you press, quieter now but no less desperate. “That’s not unreasonable. You said this wouldn’t—” You cut yourself off, swallowing hard. “You said it wouldn’t be like this.”

The room feels smaller. Tighter. Every word you say seems to disappear into him without resistance, without reaction—like throwing something into still water and never seeing the ripple.

By the time your voice finally fades, you’re left standing there, breath uneven, the weight of everything settling heavily in your chest.

And him?

He hasn’t changed at all. There’s a soft exhale from him, almost thoughtful, as if he’s been patiently waiting for you to finish.

“Y/N…”

Your name sounds different now. Lower.

He lets the silence stretch just enough to make you look at him fully.

“You’re still a criminal,” he says, voice calm—too calm. “Remember?”

The words land harder than they should. He takes a slow step forward.

“Everything you had… everything you were… it doesn’t exist anymore without me.” Another pause, his gaze steady, unwavering. “You’re only standing here—enjoying this, breathing like this—because I allowed it.”

He doesn’t stop.

“Otherwise…” His head tilts slightly, almost thoughtful again. “You’d still be there.”

Another step closer.

“Rotting.”

The word is quiet. Deliberate.

Your fingers curl tighter around the phone.

“And let’s not pretend you don’t understand what that means,” he continues, softer now—but there’s something underneath it, something colder. “You remember what it was like.”

The air feels heavier. Harder to breathe. His gaze doesn’t leave yours.

“You know what happens in places like that,” he adds, the faint trace of a smile returning—but this time, it doesn’t reach his eyes. “A place full of people who have nothing to lose.”

Another pause. Then, almost gently—

“A woman like you?”

The words linger. Dangerously.

He steps close enough now that the distance between you feels meaningless.

“Tell me,” he murmurs, voice dropping, “how long do you think you would’ve lasted?”

Your breath catches.

He doesn’t look away.

“Surrounded. Alone. No one to protect you.” A beat. “No one to stop them.”

The implication settles in slowly. Deliberately.

“A pretty woman like you…” he repeats, quieter now, almost thoughtful. “You wouldn’t have stayed untouched for long.”

The softness of his tone makes it worse. Not louder. Not harsher. Just… certain.

By the time he falls silent, the room feels suffocating. And you—You can’t find anything to say.

Because somewhere, beneath the fear and anger and everything else, there’s something far worse settling in.

The realization.

Of where you are. Of what he’s taken. Of how little ground you have left to stand on.

—

That night, you still shared the same bed. Not by choice. Not really. But you didn’t argue.

You lay on your side, turned slightly away, the space between you carefully measured—just enough to feel like distance, even when it wasn’t. The train moved steadily beneath you, a low, constant rhythm that filled the silence neither of you broke.

He didn’t speak. You didn’t either.

No questions. No remarks. No attempts to bridge the quiet. And for once… he didn’t push.

You could feel him there—his presence, steady and unbothered, like the silence itself didn’t inconvenience him in the slightest. As if this, too, was something he was willing to let stretch for as long as it needed to.

—

The next day wasn’t much different. If anything, it felt heavier. You kept your distance.

Stayed in your cabin longer than necessary, lingering near the window where the outside world blurred past in slow, breathtaking motion—lakes stretching endlessly beneath pale skies, mountains rising in the distance, their peaks dusted faintly with snow.

Someone had mentioned it earlier.

That the train would be passing through Switzerland before continuing on to Italy.

You didn’t care. Not really.

The view was beautiful—undeniably so—but it felt… far away. Like something you were watching through glass that didn’t quite belong to you.

Because it didn’t. None of this did.

You stayed there anyway, sitting quietly, your gaze fixed outside more often than not. It was easier than looking at him. Easier than acknowledging anything else.

If you couldn’t leave—Then this was the least you could do. Stay away. Say nothing.

Make it clear, in whatever small ways remained to you, that you weren’t part of this.

That you weren’t his.

Even if everything else said otherwise. You didn’t join him for breakfast. Or lunch.

When one of the staff knocked softly and stepped inside later in the day, their posture polite, voice careful—

“Ma’am, sir has requested your presence in the dining carriage.”

You didn’t even turn fully.

“I’m not hungry,” you said. Simple. Flat. Final.

The staff hesitated, just briefly, as if expecting something more. When none came, they nodded.

“Of course.” And then they left.

The door closed behind them. The silence returned.

You let it stretch. Let it sit there, heavy and deliberate, like a statement you didn’t need to say out loud.

—

A few minutes later, the door opened again.

This time, you didn’t need to look to know who it was. Footsteps. Unhurried. Certain.

You glance back anyway, just in time to see him step inside, followed by a few staff members pushing in a wheeled cart—covered dishes, fruit arranged neatly, everything set with the same careful precision you’d come to expect.

They stop beside the bed, placing everything in its place before quietly stepping out again, leaving the two of you alone.

You watch it happen. Silently. Then your gaze lifts to him.

He’s standing there, as composed as ever, like he’s waiting—for what, you’re not sure.

Maybe for you to speak. You don’t.

Instead, you turn back toward the window, your expression closing off as you let the silence settle again.

A few seconds pass. Then—

“Are you… perhaps on your period?”

The question cuts through the quiet so unexpectedly that it takes you a second to process it.

Your head turns sharply.

A frown pulls at your brows as your eyes lock onto him, disbelief flashing across your face.

“What?”

He looks… genuinely puzzled. Not mocking. Not taunting. Just—curious.

“You’re acting like you are,” he continues, as if explaining something obvious, his tone calm, almost thoughtful. “Acting all moody. Switching every time..."

A small sigh escapes him as he shakes his head slightly. “It’s exhausting, sweetheart...”

Your expression tightens. “I’m not.” The words come out sharper than before, immediate, firm.

For a moment, he just looks at you. Then—Something shifts.

His eyes brighten slightly, a slow grin forming like a realization clicking into place.

“Ah.” He tilts his head, watching you now with a different kind of interest.

“So… you are ignoring me after all.”

There’s a hint of satisfaction in his voice, like he’s just solved something that had been quietly entertaining him.

“Now I get it.” The smile lingers. And somehow—That makes it worse.

You draw in a slow breath, steadying yourself, then look away again. There’s no point. You already know—whatever you say, however you say it—it won’t change anything. It never does.

Silence feels safer. Easier.

Behind you, you hear him shift slightly. A faint exhale. Then—

“Y/N…” His voice comes softer this time, but there’s an edge beneath it. “I don’t like this reaction from you at all.”

You don’t turn.

“Could you change your tactics?”

Your brows pull together faintly at that—confusion, disbelief, something close to irritation flickering through you. Tactics? Like this is a game. Like you’re choosing this.

You don’t answer. You just sit there, back still turned, gaze fixed on the passing blur outside the window.

He watches you for a second longer. Then—another sigh.

“Alright, alright…” he mutters, tone shifting again, lighter now. “Let’s fix one thing at a time.”

You hear the soft clink of plates.

“The food’s going to get cold,” he adds, almost cheerfully. “Come on, let’s eat.”

Out of the corner of your eye, you catch the movement—him picking up a plate, a fork, settling himself at the edge of the bed like this is normal. Like this is just another quiet moment between two people who belong together.

“Y/N,” he calls again, a little more gently this time.

You don’t move. Not even a glance. Just stillness. Your back to him.

It stretches. That silence. Long enough for it to become something else.

He exhales again, this time heavier. You hear the plate being set back down.Then—

“I love you.”

The words land quietly. You don’t react. Maybe you don’t even breathe for a second. A pause follows, deliberate. And then he repeats it, slower this time, clearer—

“I love you...”

There’s something different in his voice now. Softer. Almost… regretful.

“I didn’t want it to turn out like this,” he continues, quieter, like he’s thinking aloud. “I’ve thought about it. A lot.”

Another pause.

“I know I messed up. I really did.” His tone dips, something almost fragile threading through it. “Doing all that to you… making you go through that… just to keep you with me…”

Your fingers twitch slightly at your side.

“It was wrong.”

The words hang there. And despite yourself—You start to turn. Slowly. Carefully.

Your eyes lift toward him, uncertain, searching for something—anything—that might make sense of what he’s saying.

For a moment, his expression matches his words. Soft. Regretful. Almost human.

“And—”

You’re fully facing him now. And that’s when it changes. The shift is instant.

That softness twists—pulls—until it sharpens into something else entirely.

A grin. Cold. Certain.

“And I’m not sorry at all.”

The words land like a drop into still water—quiet, but everything inside you reacts at once.

A chill runs down your spine. Your skin prickles. Goosebumps rise along your arms before you can stop them.

For a second, you just stare at him. Then your body reacts before your mind catches up—you push at him, trying to create distance, trying to get away from that look, that tone—

But he catches your wrist easily. Too easily. His grip is firm, unyielding, like he expected it.

“Careful,” he murmurs, almost amused.

Before you can pull back again, he lifts your hand, pressing a soft kiss against your wrist like nothing just happened.

“Finally,” he hums lightly, glancing up at you, that same grin still lingering, “you looked at me.”

Your stomach twists.

He tugs slightly at your arm. “Come on,” he says, tone shifting back again, almost casual. “Let’s eat—”

Something in you snaps. You wrench your hand back, shoving at him harder this time.

“Stop it!” Your voice breaks through the room, sharp, shaking.

“You’re insane!” The words spill out now, fast, unfiltered. “You’re actually insane—do you even hear yourself?!”

He doesn’t move. Doesn’t interrupt. Just watches. And that makes it worse.

“I shouldn’t have listened to you!” you continue, your chest rising unevenly. “I shouldn’t have come here—I shouldn’t have come to Taiwan in the first place—”

Your voice cracks, but you don’t stop.

“Then I wouldn’t have met someone like you—a maniac—jerk—”

The sound cuts everything off. Sharp. Sudden.

The impact comes a split second after.

Your head snaps to the side, the force of it sending a jolt through your entire body. For a moment, everything goes still—too still—as the sting blooms across your cheek, hot and immediate.

Your breath catches. The room goes quiet. Too quiet. Something small hits the floor with a faint distant sound.

You don’t register it right away. Not until the pain settles deeper, sharper—and you realize the edge of his ring had struck you hard enough that the diamond has come loose, skidding somewhere out of sight.

A dull ringing fills your ears.

Your hand lifts slowly to your cheek, trembling slightly as you touch the spot. It already feels swollen, tender—aching beneath your fingertips.

A soft, broken sound leaves you before you can stop it. And still—

He just stands there. Looking down at you. Unmoved. Unbothered.

He flexes his hand slightly, rolling his wrist like he’s testing the impact, his expression thoughtful rather than angry.

“Guess…” he mutters, almost to himself, “I’m not a very patient man after all.”

—

Your world tilts into darkness after that muttered admission, a whirlwind of rough hands and tearing fabric that registers only in fragments—the sharp rip of your blouse giving way, buttons scattering like fleeing insects across the floor, your skirt yanked down your hips with a violence that scrapes your skin raw.

Clothes, panties, bra—all shredded and flung aside in a heap by the bed, leaving you utterly bare, exposed, vulnerable under his predatory gaze.

Time fractures; one moment you're reeling from the slap, the next you're splayed on the mattress, body contorted into submission as Yuta folds you in half like a broken doll, your knees jammed against your heaving tits, calves hooked over his shoulders, thighs splayed obscenely wide.

Your ass lifts off the sheets, pussy thrust upward and parted, swollen lips glistening with unwilling slickness, clit throbbing visibly in the cool air of the room.

The position pins you helpless, hips canted high, holes on full display—your puckered asshole winking above the dripping slit of your cunt, folds already puffy from earlier abuses, inner walls clenching greedily around nothing.

He looms over you, shirt discarded somewhere, his cock jutting thick and veined from his open pants, but he ignores it for now, eyes locked on your spread sex with that cold, certain grin twisting his lips.

The dinner tray sits forgotten nearby, plates pushed aside, and his hand darts to it, snatching a ripe papaya—plump, golden-orange flesh split open crudely with his thumbnail, juicy innards spilling viscous nectar that drips in sticky rivulets down his fingers. It's obscenely phallic in his grip, the seeded core bulging like a engorged head, pulp soft yet firm enough to mimic a brutal thrust.

"Perfect," he murmurs, voice low and filthy, smearing the fruit's warm, sweet ooze along your inner thighs first, painting your bruises with glossy trails that mix with your leaking arousal.

The scent hits you—tropical, musky, cloying—blending with the sharp tang of your own pussy juices as he drags the papaya's ragged end through your folds, coating your clit in pulp that makes it twitch and swell.

Your breath hitches, body betraying you with a fresh gush of wetness despite the terror coiling in your gut. "No—don’t!" you whimper, but it's feeble, swallowed by the wet schlick as he presses the papaya's tip against your entrance, the yielding flesh molding to your hole before he shoves it in—hard, unyielding, stretching your cunt wide around the girth.

The fruit mashes inward with a lewd squelch, pulp bursting inside you, fibers scraping your sensitive walls as he twists and pumps it deeper, fucking your pussy raw with the messy intruder.

Juices flood out around it—papaya nectar mingling with your creamy slick, dribbling down your asscrack to soak the sheets in a filthy puddle.

Your inner muscles spasm, sucking at the pulp, the seeded core grinding against your cervix with each savage plunge, bloating your belly slightly with the sheer volume crammed inside.

"Look at that greedy little cunt," he growls, eyes dark with lust, free hand pinning your thigh harder to keep you split open. "Swallowing this fat papaya like it was made for your sloppy hole. Tch… is it better than my cock!? Huh!?"

He works it relentlessly, the fruit disintegrating under his thrusts, chunks of orange mush extruding from your stretched lips, your clit mashed against the pulpy shaft each time he bottoms out.

Your hips buck involuntarily, the overstimulation ripping gasps from your throat—pain and pleasure twisting into a nauseating heat that has your pussy fluttering, clenching, gushing more arousal in rhythmic squirts.

The bend in your body amplifies everything; your tits squash against your knees, nipples diamond-hard and scraping your own skin, while gravity forces every drop of mixed fluids to cascade toward your face, splattering your chin and lips with sweet-salty essence.

He leans in closer, breath hot on your exposed folds, watching the papaya rape your hole up close—the way your labia cling to the mushy invader, stretched thin and red, inner pink glistening through the pulp.

"Time to feast~" he rasps, yanking the ravaged fruit halfway out with an obscene pop, strings of pulp and your cream stretching between it and your gaping pussy. Your walls flutter emptily, aching at the sudden void, but he doesn't give you reprieve—instead, he shoves the papaya toward your mouth first, mashing the dripping end against your lips. "Suck it clean, Sweetheart. Taste your whorish cunt on this..."

You turn your head, but folded as you are, there's no escape; he forces it past your teeth, the pulpy mass filling your mouth, flavors exploding—tart fruit, your musky tang, the faint metallic hint of your earlier blood from the slap.

You gag, choking on the soggy fibers as he fucks your throat shallowly with it, drool and nectar bubbling from the corners of your lips, running down your neck to pool between your compressed tits.

Satisfied with your messy oral worship, he pulls it free, a thick strand of slime connecting your tongue to the fruit, then dives face-first into your wrecked pussy.

His mouth latches onto your clit like a starving beast, sucking hard enough to hollow his cheeks, tongue lashing the nub in frantic circles while his fingers cram the papaya remnants back inside—three digits plus chunks of pulp, knuckle-deep, stirring your guts into a frothy mess.

You scream around nothing, the sound muffled into a keen as he devours you, lips slurping obscenely at your hole, tongue spearing through the pulp to lap directly at your spasming walls. Papaya juice squirts with every suck, spraying his chin, your thighs quaking uncontrollably in his iron grip.

"Mmhh, fuck—your pussy's a sloppy fruit salad," he groans against your flesh, vibrations shooting through your core. “Hah… Cumming already? Maybe I should make a rule on it as well, hm?”

The orgasm crashes without mercy, your body seizing in the half-folded trap, pussy convulsing wildly around his buried fingers and mush, squirting a hot jet of mixed fluids straight into his greedy mouth.

He drinks it down, humming approval, teeth grazing your clit as waves rip through you—endless, brutal, leaving you a trembling, sobbing wreck.

He doesn't stop, though—lapping every drop, fucking the pulp deeper until your hole overflows, a constant drip of filthy slurry leaking from your ruined slit. Your vision whites out, mind fracturing under the assault, his unyielding control etched deeper into your shattered will with every degrading thrust and slurp.

—

Your body still shudders from the aftershocks, pussy a wrecked, pulsing mess of papaya sludge and your own squirted cream, walls quivering around the invading fingers he finally yanks free with a wet slurp.

Strings of orange-tinged froth cling to his knuckles, dripping onto your upturned ass as he straightens slightly, eyes gleaming with feral hunger.

The room's door hangs ajar—left that way after he came in earlier, voices murmuring faintly from the hallway beyond, the crew's low chatter filtering through like distant thunder.

Footsteps shuffle nearby, shadows flickering under the frame, but Yuta doesn't glance their way, doesn't care if they peek or listen to the depravity unfolding. Let them hear your screams, see your holes get ruined; it only fuels his dominance.

He shoves his pants down fully, thick cock springing free—heavy, nine inches of veined girth, head purpled and leaking precum in fat beads that stretch and snap as it bobs. No prep, no mercy; he slaps the fat crown against your soaked slit, smearing through the pulpy remnants, grinding your clit under the weight until you jolt.

"Gonna fuck this sloppy cunt raw, sweetheart," he growls, voice thick with lust, pinning your thighs wider with his elbows as he notches at your entrance.

One brutal thrust forward, and he spears you balls-deep, cock splitting your tender folds apart, mashing the leftover fruit deeper into your channel. The stretch burns deliciously, your inner muscles clamping down on the invading shaft, sucking him in with obscene suction as papaya mush squelches out around his base, coating his sack in sticky glaze.

He doesn't ease in—pounds immediately, hips snapping with punishing force, bedframe slamming the wall in rhythmic thuds that echo down the hall. Each drive mashes his pelvis against your clit, cockhead battering your cervix like a battering ram, stirring your guts into a churning froth.

Your folded position makes you take every inch deeper, ass cheeks spread by the angle, his heavy balls slapping your tailbone with wet smacks.

"Fuck, your pussy's milking me—clenching like a vice on my dick…!" he grunts, sweat beading on his brow, free hand mauling your tit, pinching the nipple until it throbs red. You keen, back arching as much as the pin allows, juices spraying with every withdrawal, splattering his thighs and the sheets.

The crew's voices hitch outside—someone mutters "What the hell?"—but he laughs low, thrusting harder, making your body jiggle, tits bouncing against your knees.

He fucks you through another building peak, pace relentless, cock dragging along your ridges, veins pulsing against your fluttering walls. Your cries turn guttural, pussy convulsing as orgasm rips free again, gushing around his pistoning length in hot spurts that soak his groin. He doesn't slow—chases his own release with savage grunts, hips blurring, balls drawing tight.

"Take my load, Y/N—fill that womb with my cum, yeah?" he snarls, burying deep and erupting, cock throbbing as thick ropes of semen blast your depths, flooding your core until it overflows, creamy white mixing with fruit pulp to leak in rivulets down your crack.

He grinds through it, stirring the mess, ensuring every drop paints your insides before pulling out with a filthy pop, your pussy gaping, womb-tainted seed bubbling from the ruined hole.

No reprieve—he flips you roughly onto your stomach mid-fold, yanking your hips up high, knees splayed wide to expose your untouched asshole. The crew's door creaks wider now; eyes peer in, gasps ripple through, but Yuta ignores them utterly, spitting a single glob onto your pucker before lining up his cum-slick cock.

"Punishment time, Heh," he hisses, voice edged with cruelty.

"This tight ass gets it dry—no mercy for brats who mouth off." The head presses, unyielding, forcing past your resisting ring with a searing burn that has you shrieking, nails clawing the sheets. Inch by agonizing inch, he forces in, dry friction ripping screams from your throat as your sphincter stretches impossibly around his girth, raw walls gripping like a fist.

He bottoms out, balls mashed against your dripping pussy, then starts railing—short, vicious strokes at first to loosen you, then full-length hammers that make your body lurch forward, tits dragging the mattress. The burn morphs to twisted fire, prostate-milking pressure building despite the pain, his cockhead punching your depths.

"Hear that baby? Your ass is squeaking on my dick—sucking me in like the anal slut you are," he taunts, slapping your cheeks red, spreading them wider for the audience.

Whistles and murmurs from the doorway spur him on; he fucks harder, pace brutal, sweat-slick skin slapping loud enough to drown them out. Your pussy clenches emptily below, creampie drooling onto the bed as anal ecstasy coils tight—humiliating, overwhelming.

He doesn't last long in the vice—growls deep, slamming home and unloading again, hot jets of cum painting your bowels white, overflowing to trickle down your thighs. He rides it out, grinding deep, slowly and smooth, cock still twitching inside your punished hole, before he starts pounding again.

Yuta yanks his dripping shaft from your gaping ass with a wet pop, cum bubbling out in thick rivulets that soak the sheets beneath you. He ignores your shaky protests, flipping you onto your back like a ragdoll. Your legs splay wide, pussy still leaking his earlier load, swollen lips glistening under the harsh room light.

"Look at that… you're aching for more, aren't you?" he snarls, gripping his slick cock and slamming balls-deep into your core in one vicious thrust. You arch off the bed, a broken moan ripping from your throat as he stretches you anew, his girth splitting you open, pounding your cervix with every brutal snap of his hips.

He fucks you like a machine, relentless, hips pistoning without mercy. Your walls flutter and clamp around him, milking his length as unwanted orgasms crash through you one after another—your body betraying you, juices squirting around his invading cock.

"That's it, cum—let it out, sweetheart," he grunts, pinching your clit hard enough to make stars explode behind your eyes. Sweat pours off his muscled frame, dripping onto your heaving tits as he leans down, capturing your mouth in a savage kiss, tongue forcing past your lips to plunder deep.

But he craves more degradation. Pulling out mid-thrust, strings of your mixed fluids connecting you, he hauls you up by the hair and shoves your face into his crotch.

"Choke on it, baby—clean your ass off my cock." You gag as he rams down your throat, the musky tang of your own ass and his cum flooding your senses.

Bulging cheeks hollow out, drool spilling from your stretched lips as he face-fucks you savagely, balls slapping your chin, nose buried in his coarse pubes.

Tears stream down your face, but the haze of ecstasy drowns any resistance; you're lost, floating in a sea of overwhelming bliss, body quivering from the constant stimulation.

He erupts down your gullet without warning, thick ropes of semen forcing you to swallow or drown, excess bubbling from your nostrils. Only when you're wheezing does he withdraw, cock still rigid and veined, slapping it across your cum-smeared cheeks.

No pause—he shoves you back down, mounting you again, this time alternating holes with feral precision. Ass, then pussy, ass, then pussy again—each switch a fresh violation, his cum from one orifice lubing the next.

Your body jolts with every plunge, holes stretched raw, overflowing with his endless seed. Orgasms blend into one endless peak, your mind fracturing under the onslaught, reduced to whimpering, twitching flesh.

—

The ride blurs into hours of nonstop ravaging. He flips positions effortlessly: you bent over the sheets, ass high as he reams your backdoor, the bed sway adding to the depth of his thrusts; sprawled beneath him, legs pinned to your shoulders for a mating press that bullies your pussy into submission, his weight crushing the air from your lungs.

Cum floods you repeatedly—pussy bloated, ass a creamy mess dripping onto the leather. When your voice cracks from screaming orgasms, throat raw, he grabs a water bottle, pinches your jaw open, and spits a mouthful into your slack lips, sealing it with his own.

"Drink up, baby—can't have you passing out before I fill you again." Cool liquid mixes with his saliva, trickling down your chin as you gulp desperately, revived just enough for him to resume.

Choking interludes punctuate the marathon: dragged to your knees on the floorboard, head bobbing furiously on his cock, gagging on the cocktail of cum, ass juices, and pussy slick coating it.

He skull-fucks you until your eyes roll back, then hauls you up to impale your ass reverse-cowgirl style, forcing you to grind while he slaps your clit.

The Italian countryside whips by outside tinted windows—vineyards, hills, distant lights—but you're blind to it all, the world narrowed to the burn in your holes, the slap of skin, his grunts of dominance. "Feel that, Y/N? My cum sloshing in your guts—marked inside out. Heh… so silly of you always denying…”

By the time the luxury train idles at the private platform, you're a quivering wreck: belly distended from seed, thighs sticky rivers of fluids, holes twitching open around nothing when he finally pulls free mid-boarding.

But even as the cars jolt into motion, sprawled across the plush bunk in the opulent sleeper compartment with him looming over you, he doesn't stop.

Legs hooked over the bunk's edge, he alternates pounding your pussy and ass, the train's steady rumble and rail clatter masking your muffled cries.

Mouth-to-mouth hydration becomes ritual—his lips crushing yours, water poured in to sustain the torment, your body arching into each violation, lost in euphoric surrender.

Hours stretch into a transatlantic blur of penetration: double-filling your pussy until it squelches audibly, then stuffing your ass while fingers plunge your cunt; throat bullied until hoarse, revived, repeat. Orgasms wrack you endlessly, muscles seizing, vision whiting out, yet he drives on, cock an unyielding piston.

Italy looms below as the train descends, but your descent is deeper—plummeting into total, mindless rapture, body his eternal vessel, protests long drowned in the flood of pleasure.

—

The restless pounding continued relentlessly for days, a ceaseless onslaught blurring the boundaries between flight and rail, your body jolted by the plane's turbulence morphing into the train's rhythmic sway without pause.

Yuta's cock hammered into your pussy and ass interchangeably, stretching your holes to their limits, cum and slick gushing out in thick rivulets that soaked the sheets and floors of both cabins.

Fingers rammed alongside his shaft in double penetrations that made your walls convulse, throat raw from gagging on his girth only to be force-fed water and some foods from his mouth to keep you pliant, orgasms crashing through you like tidal waves—each one shattering your mind further, synapses frying in white-hot ecstasy until thought dissolved into pure, animal need.

Protests? Forgotten. Resistance? Obliterated. You were his fucktoy, womb brimming with his seed, every fiber rewired to crave the violation, descending into a mind-broken haze where his dominance was your only reality, body arching instinctively for more even as exhaustion clawed at your edges.

Finally, the train screeched to a halt at some sun-drenched Italian station, your trembling feet touching solid ground for the first time in what felt like eternity.

Yuta had evolved—more clingy, more strict than before, his massive hand clamping around your waist like a vice, fingers digging in possessively as if ready to haul you back against him at the slightest twitch of rebellion.

He knew you wouldn't dare; not after the marathon of ruination he'd inflicted, leaving you a drooling, cum-stuffed shell utterly satisfied with his conquest, smug in the knowledge that your soul was fractured beyond repair, molded eternally to his will.

He guided you—half-carrying, half-dragging—to one of Italy's most breathtaking vistas, a cliffside overlook where the Tyrrhenian Sea crashed against jagged rocks under a golden sunset, vineyards rolling endlessly below. Pressing up behind you, his body molded to yours like a shadow, arms snaking around your swollen belly to lock you in place.

His lips brushed your nape in hot, lingering kisses, tongue flicking out to taste the sweat-slick skin, breath hot against your ear as he murmured, "Do you like our honeymoon, baby?"

Silence hung heavy, your fractured mind piecing together the words through the fog of submission. Then, in a voice small and reverent, broken yet fervent:

"Yes…”

—

He'd show you the whole of Italy after that, parading you through its most opulent corners like a prized possession on display—private yachts slicing through the crystalline waters off Capri, where champagne flowed from chilled magnums and the air hummed with the murmur of elite guests; secluded villas in Tuscany perched amid olive groves, their stone terraces laden with truffle-laden feasts under starlit skies;

Hidden coves along the Amalfi Coast, where speedboats ferried you to sun-drenched beaches reserved for the obscenely wealthy, waves lapping at your feet as servants hovered with chilled limoncello.

Each vista more lavish than the last, his arm always possessive around your waist, fingers digging just enough to remind you of your place, the swell of your belly pressing against silk gowns that clung to your curves like a second skin.

And every time, as the golden light of dusk or the velvet hush of midnight framed these extravagances, he'd lean in close, lips grazing your temple, voice a silken rumble: "Do you like this, sweetheart? I planned all these for you. For us.”

Your nods came automatic now, a fractured whisper etched in submission—eyes downcast, throat tight with the weight of it all. His free hand would rise then, thumb tracing the fading bruise on your cheekbone, the mark he'd inflicted with deliberate precision during one of his 'lessons' back then.

He'd tended it meticulously after—ice packs, arnica creams imported from Swiss labs, a dermatologist on speed dial to ensure it healed with a subtle shadow rather than garish purple—but never fully erased.

No, he'd linger over it, fingertips circling the tender violet bloom peeking from beneath layers of expertly applied concealer. "It suits you more like this," he'd murmur, voice laced with dark affection, eyes locking onto yours with that piercing intensity that made your pulse stutter.

"A little reminder... keeps you much more beautiful, keeps you mine. Right?"

—

Now, fresh from a manicure at one of Milan’s most exclusive salons—where crystal chandeliers dripped light onto marble counters and the air scented with rare essences of bergamot and rose—he’d insisted on your hands, those newly adorned fingers gleaming with flawless crimson polish, long and elegant, nails sharpened to wicked points.

‘“Mmh baby, your hands look so goddamn sexy, do you know that?” he’d growled the moment the technician stepped away, his eyes darkening with that feral hunger as he tugged you into a shadowed alcove at the back of the shop, the velvet curtain half-drawn for illusory privacy.

Here you sat on the plush pedicure throne, thighs pressed together under your designer skirt that Yuta got you, with him looming over you—tall and unyielding, his pants shoved down just enough to free his thick cock, heavy and throbbing in the warm lamplight.

Your hand wrapped around his shaft, slick with the spit you’d been forced to drool onto it, pumping with practiced rhythm—up and down, twisting at the swollen head where pre-cum beaded like pearls, then dipping lower to cradle his balls, rolling them in your palm, squeezing just firm enough to draw those deep, guttural grunts from his chest.

The shop had emptied in a hush of knowing footsteps; the staff—manicurists, receptionists—scurried off like startled birds, vanishing into back rooms or out the door, eyes averted, lips sealed by the weight of his black card swipes and whispered threats veiled as tips.

No audience now, just the wet schlick of your fist gliding over veined flesh, the musk of his arousal thickening the air, your fresh nails scraping lightly along his sack, teasing the sensitive skin until his hips bucked involuntarily.

You hated it—hated how your body had acclimated to this degradation, muscles remembering the stroke, the grip, a treacherous heat pooling low in your core even as your face twisted in feigned revulsion, lips pressed thin, eyes flicking away in silent protest.

He caught it, of course. Yuta’s hand shot out, fingers vise-like on your chin, yanking your gaze up to meet his blazing stare, breath hot and ragged against your face. “Hmm… You don’t want another trouble, do you?” he hissed, thumb digging into your jaw, the bruise on your cheek throbbing under his touch like a fresh claim. “Then be a good wifey and make me cum.”

No escape, no defiance—your hand plunged deeper, faster, forearm burning as you jerked him with desperate fervor, nails raking the underside of his balls, thumb pressing into the seam while your other hand joined to twist the base, milking him relentlessly.

His thighs tensed, abs clenching under his half-unbuttoned shirt, grunts escalating to snarls as veins pulsed hot against your palm, his cock swelling impossibly thicker, slick head flaring purple. He shuddered violently, a tremor ripping through him, and rasped, “Kiss me, Y/N.”

But instead of his mouth, he gripped the root and slapped the leaking tip against your lips, smearing pre-cum across your glossed pout, smirking down with cruel delight. “I told you to kiss... kiss it real good and sloppy~”

Your lips parted on command, tongue darting out to lap at the slit, sloppy and obedient—sucking the crown into your mouth with a wet pop, cheeks hollowing as you swirled around the ridge, bobbing shallow but fervent, nails digging into his thighs for leverage while your hand pumped the shaft in blurring strokes.

Saliva dripped down your chin, mixing with his essence, the obscene slurp echoing in the empty salon as you hollowed deeper, throat relaxing to take more, gagging softly on his girth. He thrust shallowly, fucking your face with restrained savagery, balls tightening in your grip until—with a guttural roar—he erupted.

Thick ropes of cum flooded your mouth, spilling over your tongue, oozing from the corners of your lips as you swallowed what you could, the rest splattering your hands in sticky white strands, a few errant drops hitting the bodice of your silk dress, darkening the fabric like obscene pearls.

Panting, he pulled back, cock twitching in aftershocks, then cupped the back of your head tenderly, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. “Good job, sweetheart... I’m very very pleased with you~”

—

People noticed—always. Waitstaff in crisp uniforms averting their gazes a beat too long; fellow diners at exclusive tables exchanging loaded glances over crystal rims; locals in quaint piazzas falling silent as you passed, their whispers trailing like smoke: "Povera ragazza... that mark..." or "È lui, il ricco... non si tocca."

Eyes followed you everywhere—curious, pitying, envious—tracing the possessive drape of his hand, the way your body leaned into him not from desire but necessity. But none dared speak up, none intervened with so much as a concerned word.

Why?

Money.

His money coiled around everything like an invisible noose, strangling dissent before it could form. A nod to the maître d', and service tripled; a flick of his black card, and entire venues cleared. Power manifested in ledgers and led lights, in the hush that fell when his name dropped. The world bent to his wealth, and so did you.

Bound tighter than any chain, your existence now tethered to the endless stream of his fortune—no more words of protest, only the cold gleam of platinum cards fulfilling every whim he deigned to grant.

Designer wardrobes overflowing in walk-in closets that dwarfed your old apartment; jewels dripping from your neck like liquid fire, each piece a shackle disguised as luxury; medical suites for your pregnancy, specialists charting every flutter of the life he'd planted in you.

Your needs, your wants—they danced on the strings of his provision, a puppet show where you mouthed lines scripted by his bank balance. Even your family, those clinging vines from your past life, he'd 'taken care of' with his signature benevolence.

Lavish wire transfers to pay off their debts, trust funds seeded for your siblings' futures, a beachfront condo for your parents in some sun-soaked nowhere.

"Because I care about you, Y/N," he'd coo during one such revelation, sprawled naked beside you in Egyptian cotton sheets, his hand splayed possessively over your belly. “You don't have to worry anymore. See? I'm good to you."

But contact? Forbidden. Phones confiscated, emails monitored, visits rerouted through his lawyers. Not that they had power to pressure anyway—they'd been bought, silenced, fattened on his generosity until gratitude morphed into complicity.

Just like you… shut in his gilded cage.

"You know, he's not so bad once you get to know him."

Your sister, Toph, had always proved rather convincing when it came to you---like everyone else, she had you wrapped around her strong little finger from the day she was born and all the days after. Her word was your Bible most times, you both put your trust in each other so completely, and there was rarely ever a doubt in your mind that Toph didn't know exactly what she was doing. But here, you couldn't help rolling your eyes.

She'd felt it somehow, your unimpressed expression, thumping at your shoulder quickly and laughing under her breath when you'd visibly winced.

"And he's attractive, too!"

You gave her a short look, brows raised in question. "Like you'd know, Toffee." She was always saying strange things like that, being able to feel when someone was interesting, or cute, or muscular. And you supposed that's what the Firelord Zuko was as you look around the room and allow your eyes to land on him.

Interesting in the way he spoke gruffly even when he was trying to be kind. The way he dragged men over to the group he was speaking to, just to have them agree with him on whatever he'd been arguing. Interesting in the way he let his hair fall over his scarred eye in public, not ashamed, you'd gathered, but not wanting to entertain the questions that came with it.

Cute in the way a bear was cute, something broad and grizzly, eyes squinting when he laughed and teased the Avatar and the Waterbending Master's brother.

Muscular like a sea of mountains, ripples of them across his body, pushing through the fabric of his formal garments. Muscular in the way his hands flexed out when he'd caught you staring at him, the way—oh, fuck, he'd caught you staring at him.

You swiftly turn back to a grinning Toph, her eyes shining white and mischievous. You thump her shoulder back, feeling the floor rumble beneath your feet, and it's not quite so obvious who's doing it but you think it's best not to find out. There are eyes boring into your side as you try and listen to the babbling woman in front of you—something about the food from tonight, or had she asked what food you wanted for tomorrow? You didn't know and you almost didn't really care, the way you'd spot him in your peripheral still glancing your way, only ever leaving his distraction when someone grabbed his shoulder or asked him something serious.

"I need some fresh air."

"Fresh?" Toph's face scrunches in a strange disgust, arms folding over her chest. Her smirk expands over her face as she stares right through you. "It's humid everywhere, you know. It's the Fire Nation—"

"Yes, yes, thank you for the tidbit."

With a kiss of her warm cheek, you hurry away from her before she can make some crude joke about the burning in your cheeks, and just before you escape into the main corridor, the Firelord catches your eye again.

And he is so disgustingly beautiful.

You scurry through the almost empty hallway, nothing but servants carrying piles of dirty bowls and cups and royal advisors gliding back to the hall to discuss important business with the still fresh lord, his duties seemingly never-ending. You slip and sneak behind one wall, and then another, left and right and left again, the passageways seemingly endless too. Once you let your mind settle, you finally register that you've stopped hearing the bustle that once filtered out of the great hall, met with the silent whirring on wind and dry humidity that made you sweat underneath your silky green dinner gown. All of sudden, you realize you're nowhere near the outdoor garden you were aiming for, and if you hadn't been so stubborn, you would've maybe admitted that you were lost. You make a few turns here and there that you think are leading you back in the direction of the hall, but you're not entirely sure, cursing yourself for being so equally, stubbornly distracted. Too absent-minded, Toph would often tease, never paying attention to your surroundings like you ought to.

You didn't care. You didn't need to pay attention like normal people did.

With a frustrated huff, cursing under your breath in a way that's still attempting to be lady-like, you slip off your nice shoes with a swift hand, letting your cold toes hit the stone floor.

You hum out, closing your eyes and listening for those busy vibrations you and Toph had been so attentive to before in the great hall. You mind wandered and search for her familiar cadence of footsteps against the bare ground—she had a habit of tapping her foot when she wanted to drown out noise, and you loved being the only one to hear it. You stepped carefully towards the tremor sounds in the earth, inching just closer to them to guide yourself back, feeling the jittery drunk conversation bouncing off of some walls in the distance. To your left, you'd concluded, not too many corridors way. You smile when you feel Katara's laugh somewhere far-off, mixing with the low rumble of Toph's chuckle. You wonder if she can hear your heartbeat, but the idea is quickly drowned out by another sound.

You tilt your head to pay attention to both, careful not to lose the guidance of your sister and her friend, but oh-so-curious as to who might be approaching.

Your smile drops and you resist opening your eyes for a moment. You know those heavy footsteps, that soft breathing reverberating in the air and in your ears.

You let your eyes flutter, a deep sigh leaving your lips without your permission.

And he smiles as he comes closer, something simple and boyish. "Good evening." He bows his head to you politely, and you return the favor, keeping your head down as he speaks. "Sorry to disturb you." You lift your head up when he takes a step closer, your hand reaching out instinctively. He stands still, as if at attention like a solider. "I'm Zuko."

You laugh and you can practically hear his heart flutter. "What are you doing, we know each other."

"Yes, I thought perhaps you'd forgotten." He adjusts his posture, his back and shoulders broadening. He's quick with his words, tumbling out of his lips like they've betrayed him. Still, he stands firm, head held high. "Since you'd failed to say hello."

Your breath hitched at that accusatory tone and you looked away to save face, knuckles crackling. "Yes, they sat us a way's away—"

"You failed to say hello the whole night."

He takes a careful step closer once again and this time you know well enough to step back, to keep this distance between you. And still, with your feet against the warm floor, you can feel his heartbeat quicken despite its normally calm pace. His hand looks like it might reach out for you but he knows well enough too.

"You know perfectly well why it seemed inappropriate."

Now, what's the story on you and the gruff Firelord?

Perhaps it starts when Toph had first introduced you to the jumbled and unlikely Avatar group a year ago, another hot summer that you can only remember when you dream.

Scorching days at Ember Island with your sister’s traumatized buddies from the war, sweat dripping from your body in vulgar sorts of ways when one distinct friend eyed you for longer than necessary. He had this way about him, something gorgeous and mesmerizing in a way that was unfair. When the summer heat got almost entirely unbearable, you'd all spent your time in the Water Tribe, basking in whatever cool air you could find. Your room had been just next to his, in a far wing of the palace, and you'd sneak away together when sleep refused to take you, or bundled up on the floor of your visiting chambers and tell stories upon stories. His voice like honey in your ears.

So, perhaps the starts instead during that same summer, in a now humid bedroom, with his hand up your skirt, and his lips against your jaw, and your name being mumbled repeatedly from his soft lips like a prayer. It's not quite so clear how you'd gotten to this point—whether it had been the drinks he'd snuck into room to rid you of the nighttime boredom, or the way your eyes couldn't stop flickering to his slender fingers brushing against yours—but sooner or later, you're on his lap, another hand in is your hair, and all decorum has been tossed right out of the window.

And the story ends that same evening, when there's a creak in the floorboard behind the bedroom door, and a quick glance between the two of you that says this can't possibly happen again. Sure, you hadn't been caught this time, but there was something messy about mixing things up with your baby sister's friends, something filthy about meeting in secret with the new Firelord in all his broken honor and his faltering prestige. He'd been worshiping you on that bedroom floor, but it could never happen twice, you two had reputations to uphold, kingdoms and communities to lead.

So, Zuko should know why you didn't speak to him at this party, why you hadn't spoken to him in almost exactly a year (of course, you both had been counting), and why you'd really only agreed to come in the first place because of Toph. Because she'd begged like she knew why you wouldn't want to, and you knew that seeing him from a safe distance was better than not seeing him at all.

But, you see, that's why he'd invited you too. It wouldn't be suspicious, because the whole group would come, and you both could speak because the whole group would be speaking, and he would promise not to let his hand drift towards your thigh like he wanted, he'd promise. And instead, you stayed on the complete other side of the hall the whole time, laughing at what other people were saying to entertain you, talking to everyone except for him, waltzing around in that dress and that color that drove him absolutely insane. He'd been so hopeful when he finally caught your eye across the table. When you'd left almost immediately after, avoiding his gaze—he had been almost absolutely sure that it was an invitation.

However, the way you were looking at him now said differently.

You looked around carefully. No one close by, no one peeking. Still, you wouldn't relax your shoulders just yet, lest the two of you grow too comfortable. You lowered your voice and stripped that unlikeable tone out of it. "You should get back to the hall and I can follow behind. Surely people are awaiting you—“

"I can excuse myself in my home."

"You can also speak to your guests properly in—”

“Is that what you are—a guest?”

“As opposed to what?” There’s a heaviness in your breath that hadn’t been there before, and you suddenly realize how close you’ve let him come, how near his breath and heart rest sound against the arch of your feet. “My lord.” Your scowl deepens as you flick your wrist and quicker than you’d meant it to happen, Zuko stumbles back with a hand on his chest. Your lips almost fix themselves to ask it he’s okay, but you’d hate to give him fuel.

He lets out a huff of a laugh, arms lunging to grab your hands. He’s trapped you, walking you back further and further away from the party, from Toph’s clever tone, from the clinking of lingering drinks and glasses—it alls starts to fade as you struggle against him.

“You’re not supposed to be able to control the human body,” he notes breathlessly, gaze traveling and skittering all over you, like he was imagining you use those same skills for all the wrong reasons, for nefarious purposes. “What was it you said, the calcium and phosphorus in my bones?”

“Who cares what I said, we shouldn’t be here—!”

Thump, thump, thumping upon the stone floor and your sister’s voice is whispering to you three halls down, asking where you’ve run off to. But she knows exactly where you are, exactly who you’re with, she’s always been so much better at that seismic sensing than you.

You find yourself wondering why she really begged you to come to this party, why she’d insisted on mentioning Zuko in every single conversation since you’d arrived.

Toph rarely played stupid, but when she did?

Something was up her sleeve.

You rip one arm from Zuko’s slowly loosening grip and slap your hand against his lips, and you swear you hear him groan against you, leaning closer into your touch. But you know silencing him won’t matter. Toph knows. You can practically feel her smile spreading across her lips like butter. And then you hear her laugh—that evil one she does, when she’s mocked you for just long enough, when she’s won in some game, when all goes her way in the easiest way possible. She’s laughing, but she stops walking—abruptly, so it seems, and—

The ground rumbles.

“Shit.”

“Hmm?”

Before you know it, you’re dragging Zuko away from Toph’s line of fire—she’s clumsy when she’s giggling—and just then, the ground cracks before you both, the dirt and rock from beneath emerging from the opening and creating a blockage between you and every other living being in the palace.

You and Zuko. Alone.

Toph would be dead by morning, you’d make sure of it.

“Aw,” Zuko coos against your palm before you slip it away. “You trapped us together, how sweet.”

You shove at his chest with no real weight, allowing him to drift just slightly closer. “Don’t get your hopes up, it was that brat—this is your home, you know, you’ll have to clean this all up.”

“No, I owe Toph, I think this’ll do.” His hand crept closer to your face, thumb running over your jaw as soft as kisses, as light as feathers, and you burned with the feeling. But you let him. Not just let him, you wanted him to, you'd hoped he'd touch you, just like this, the whole night, knowing that you shouldn't. He smiles sweetly, dipping his head to nose the crook of your neck, the bridge running just behind your ear and down so he could take in the scent he'd been waiting for---a whole year he'd been waiting. "Please. Tell me you've thought of me."

You let in a sharp breath, straightening your figure at even the thought of your answer. How were you supposed to lie?

"Even once would be enough."

His other hand dips to your waist, pulling your hips closer to his own in this new comfortable silence, smiling gently against your skin.

"I can show you how enough it would be."

guys I'm working on part two THIS VERY SECOND I SWEAR please don't hurt me

hope you guys enjoy and let it be nourishing to our bodies

love, your pretty princess!