♱

He grins. Mischief glinting in his eyes, like he knew the effect he had on you. “I asked you a question: do you want a booth, or a regular seat?”

Blinking, you shrug. “A booth, if possible.”

Nodding, your white-haired dreamboat turns to grab a menu from the rack at the counter, giving you a brief second to peek at his physique again. Ogling him and his chest, briefly noticing the nametag pinned to his left breast.

Satoru. 

Of course a cute guy would have a cute name.

Satoru steps back towards you, hoisting the menu to his elbow and motioning you to follow with his other hand. “C’mon, this way,” he directs, one palm open at your side, weaving and navigating with the expertise of someone who was obviously familiar with the busy terrain. “It’s a little busy today, sorry.”

“No worries, I understand,” you try to offer, nodding in understanding. Attempting to not trip over yourself when he smiles in your direction. “Are you going to be my server?”

He laughs at that, leaving you a little confused for a second before he adds on, “I wish, but no. I’m up at the front desk today. Don’t worry, I’ll make sure they take extra good care of you.”

You hum, fiddling with the corner of the textbook. Let him set the menu down on the empty booth table before sliding into one side of it, dropping your things in their respective places. 

Embarrassingly stuttering over your words, you nod again. “O-okay. Sounds good.”

Satoru flashes one last customer-service smile at you, though it doesn’t exactly resemble the politeness he seemed to be trying to emanate. It was a little sly, deceitful in the way a wolf could be when luring a sheep directly into the pack den. 

“Don’t worry, the guys’ll love you,” he assures. Giving you a two-finger salute before disappearing back towards his seat at the front counter.

Settling in your seat, you finally set the textbook on the top of the table and flip it open to the page you dog-eared previously. Skimming over the paragraphs until you found where you were struggling before, thumbing open your notebook and uncapping your pen to take notes.

Beginning to scrawl in quick, jagged handwriting: the rectus abdominis muscles are crossed by three fibrounds bands…

You don’t know how long you write. Finally getting into a rhythm of reading and annotating on your own sheet, looking between each bracket of information and studying the diagrams of muscle filaments and their placements over sheaths and cartilage.

A shadow falls over your textbook, cutting the light from above. Lifting your head, you meet the eyes of the most handsome man you think you’ve ever seen— tan skin, sharp jawline, full lips bisected at the left side by a thin scar.

And those eyes. Shades of emerald and jade narrowing down at you as you stare up at him, black hair chopped just above his eyebrows and framing his ears. Adam’s apple bobbing before he finally speaks in such a deep voice that you can’t help but tremble a little.

What? It’s not like you were exactly experienced when it came to talking to guys in this caliber of good-looking.

Especially not the kind that would blatantly flex every muscle in their arms and chest when your gaze just so happened to trail down, down, down over and over like a compass seeking north.

“My name’s Toji, I’ll be your server,” he greets. Yet again tensing his bicep against the rolled fabric of his cotton t-shirt, thin black fabric tightening over the cords of muscle. “Do you still need time to look over the menu?”

You blink. Try to swallow the spit that’s pooled beneath your tongue. Jerking your focus from his very-handsome face to instead glance at the menu, then back at him.

Forcing your focus on anything but the way the corners of his lips twitch in amusement when you lick your lips at the sight of him again. 

“Umm, I’ve never been here before,” you trail off, squirming a little under his attention. “Can I just get what you usually get instead?”

His brow raises. Echoing your words, “What I usually get?”

You chew your bottom lip. “Well, yeah. Like something to drink.”

Was that a weird request? You didn’t think so, but the way he was staring at you—

“Alright, then,” Toji shrugs. “Just don’t say you hate it.”

Turning away, he leaves you there for a few minutes. You peek towards the employee entrance to the kitchen just to see him leaning up against the open door, arms crossed as he talks to someone obscured by the other door. 

Would it be tacky to leave your number on a napkin when you leave?

Deliberating over your future choice rather than trying to cram in a couple extra minutes of studying, hardly noticing his return until he set down a paper cup that was definitely not from here.

Oh well. Sniffing at the contents, it smells pleasantly enough. Even if it ended up being poison, atleast you wouldn’t have to end up taking the exam and potentially flunking it again.

“Order up,” he hums, leaning forward to peer at your textbook again. Curiously questioning, “Whatcha studying for?”

Lifting the cup, you swallow a sip and subsequently cough as it goes down the wrong pipe, cheeks flushing hot as you clear your throat. “Anatomy for a test I flunked,” you answer. Tittering, “I was hoping I’d be able to reference some of the employees here, but it’s a little distracting.”

Suddenly a little self-conscious, you peek up at him. Looking between his emerald eyes for a hint on his perception of you.

Did he think you were weird? Sure, you were okay with being labelled a geek— hell, most days you took pride in the title— but now? When you might have the chance of getting a hot guy's number if you played your cards right?

Being single was starting to get a little lonely. Who would blame you if you tried to change that?

Toji, despite your worries, seems to take your answer with newfound interest. Casually nodding as he speaks up again. “Cool. I actually studied kinesiology in college, so I could try to help you out, if you want. No pressure.”

Cute and smart?

Jackpot!

You nod, maybe a little more eagerly than intended. But he doesn’t seem to mind.

Instead letting himself leaaannn over the edge of the table, large palms splayed flat against the dark wood. The cords of his deltoids flex just beneath the hem of the shirt, close enough now that you could distinctly make out the citrus and sandalwood notes of his cologne beneath the tang of a long shift. 

He reads your notes quickly, plump lower lip caught between his teeth before he lets it snap free. Reaching up and out, he taps a blunt finger over your notes.

“You should make acronyms to remember the proper names better,” Toji advises, glancing at your expression before looking back to the spiral-bound pages. “Helped me out a little, atleast. Been a while since I was in school though, so I dunno if they’re teachin’ different things now.”

Before you can respond, a tattooed arm loops over Toji’s shoulder, your server’s form crowded closer to you as a taller, bulkier man sidles his way in.

“Don’t tell me you’re holding out on the Employee of the Month now, Fushiguro,” the second man drawls, finally stepping into sight. His grin is all teeth, charming and predatory in the way he oozes easy confidence. 

Pretty pink dyed hair tussled into a wild arrangement that barely concealed the dark roots returning, jawline blunt and eyes crinkling at the corners. Studs pierced into the lobes of his ears and thin bars prodding between the curved shells. Tattoos loop around his wrists, forearms, biceps and more, disappearing beneath the hem of an equally thin t-shirt, reappearing again along the sharper edges of his jaw and cheekbones. 

The kind of ink that’d turn most businesses away for fear of criminal activity.

The kind that was oh so affectionately titled a ‘career killer.’

It certainly didn’t kill the mood. If anything, your thighs squeezed together, gaze rovering down his front before refocusing back up to their faces.

What were the odds of a business having three hot employees?

Twenty-three percent?

Less, probably.

Toji, however, doesn’t find the intrusion pleasant. Turning his scarred lips down into a scowl as he levels his gaze at his colleague. “Man, fuck you. She’s in my section, not yours.”

His colleague only snickers. “Gojo sent me over here. Said you might need help ‘lessening your load’ since you seemed a little overworked. Don’t worry, I can take care of her plenty— show her all the ropes, teach her alllll different kinds of muscles.”

And judging from the way Toji’s chest puffs up, that seemed to be a sore spot between the two of them. With wide eyes, you watch as the two of them face off, muscles flexing and knuckles popping in silent competition.

It was like watching the Discovery Channel all over again. You could practically hear the narrator droning on in the back of your mind about pack dynamics, the fights for dominance between alphas, the consequences if neither won or stood down…

“Um, excuse me,” you finally chirp, voice wavering a little. Eyes growing wider when both heads whipped towards you as if suddenly reminded that you were right there listening to them. Both sets of irises are dark and wild with challenge. 

Swallowing, you regret speaking up for a moment. Subtly kicking yourself in the ankle beneath the table to spur yourself to continue.

“Maybe you both could help me study?” Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck fuck. Did you really just say that aloud? Trying to amend it quickly, “Sorry, I just thought that it might be better to learn if there’s multiple examples and techniques.”

Maybe the world would swallow you whole if you were lucky enough. 

The duo looks at you. Then to each other. Then back to you.

The second man recovers first. “Shit, yeah?”

“No, she didn’t mean it like that,” Toji cuts in. Glaring at his colleague, shifting his shoulder just enough that you could finally peek at the namebadge stuck to the other’s hidden pectoral.

Sukuna. 

Fuck it. What were the odds you’d get an opportunity like this again?

 You insist with a nod. “But I do, though.”

Sukuna blinks. Toji blinks. Both look at you like you’ve descended from the heavens.

“Yeah?” Toji murmurs. Lids lowering halfway as he puts his focus on you. “Shit.”

“Told you,” Sukuna pridefully hums. He knocks his head back, chin tipping towards a beaded curtain that presumably hid the employee hallway. “Knew I liked you. C’mon, pretty girl. Old man’s gotta pick his jaw up from the floor, it’ll take a minute.”

An offer you don’t dare question, instead picking up your things and cradling them in your arms as you slide yourself from the center of the booth to the end, following after the duo towards the back. Letting them guide you down a second hallway that splits off from the first, watching as Toji shoulders open a door and checks for residents before opening it fully to let you and Sukuna in.

Mere seconds after you cross the threshold, Toji’s letting the door swing and thump Sukuna’s shoulder as he walks in behind you, choosing to fit his palms on either side of your hips and walk you back towards the breakroom table. A gesture that would’ve been faintly sweet if it weren’t for the absolute heat smoldering in his irises.

Letting him crowd you up against it before your hands fly to his chest, positively quivering when Toji leans low enough to speak next to your ear. “Well? Go ahead and start studying, doll. Got a perfect model right here f’you.”

Cheeks warming, you’re stammering out, “O-okay.” Lifting your hands up to slip beneath his shirt, forcing your focus to the man in front of you rather than the one over his shoulder who was making a show of locking the door. “Like this?”

When your palms make contact with his abdomen, two things happen. One, Toji hisses at the brush of clammy skin against his infernally-heated flesh. Two, his hips jut forward, and you let out the loudest gasp possible.

Not because he had a set of abs so perfect hidden beneath his shirt that it should’ve been a crime— even though he did— but because the thick line of his crotch bumped against your lower belly. Erection so firm and prominent that the single brush of contact had you nearly squealing and wrenching your hands off of him.

“Whatever you want,” Toji murmurs, the low rumble of his voice catching your breath. He drags the tip of his nose across the crown of your head, dragging in the scent of your shampoo by the lungful. “Ain’t gonna bite if you want to go lower, though.”

Sukuna snorts behind him, but doesn’t say anything. Just leans up against the wall and watches as you continue to explore without correction. 

Toji turns his head to look over his shoulder, frowning. Reaching back behind his head and tugging his shirt up and off, revealing the sculpted torso of someone who very clearly enjoyed laborious hours at the gym. 

And fuck if you aren’t totally drinking it in. Even the finest marble statues didn’t portray the potential of man that Toji so easily did— bulging pectorals with tanned nipples faintly erect from the air conditioning, biceps filled out and flexed taut, prominent veins zig-zagging up and down and down from the crook of his elbow to the heel of his palms. 

Those abs, though… a perfect eight-pack ladder stacked and ridged to perfection, three thin veins crawling up towards his navel from just beneath the band of his bottoms. A prominent v-line cutting off where he pushes the waistband down just enough to show off the small dusting of coarse black hair that peeked out.

Mindlessly letting your palms descend until the tips of your fingers barely brush the pubis bone. Whispering more to yourself than him, “It’s… impressive.”

Toji chuckles, abs flexing. “Just impressive?”

You lift your eyes to his. Swallowing the saliva that pooled beneath your tongue. “You’ve got a really nice definition.”

Toji hums above you, clearly pleased. Raising his voice just loud enough that Sukuna would hear from across the room, “Hear that, jackass? She said I’ve got a really nice definition.”

Said man crosses the room and peels his own shirt from his torso without thought, shouldering Toji aside and taking his place in front of you. Pulling you from where you half-sat on the edge of the table to put you right in front of him.

“Nah, she just hasn’t seen real strength yet,” Sukuna growls. Wrapping one massive hand around your wrist to guide you to touch the plush bulk of his pectoral. Close enough now that when he leans forward you can clearly see the dark carmine hues of his irises twinkle. “Too busy fuckin’ around with wimps.”

You take the chance to survey him. Where Toji was all definition and meticulously built with precise cuts and edges, Sukuna was bulky and broad. Muscles thicker and less defined like he was mid bulking season permanently, pectorals bulging with the quality of a perfectly firm pillow. 

The tattoos formerly covered by his shirt span down and cut jagged lines over the twin loops hooking through dusty-rose coloured nipples, beginning again along his sides until they cut off just above the ridge of his jeans. Trimmed above the belt rather than letting it grow as wild as his hair was.

“See, brat? Tell him I’ve got a better physique,” Sukuna frowns. Competitive. 

“Man, why don’t you fuck off somewhere?” Toji grunts, reaching around you to swat at the other man with an open palm. Turning you back to face him and pulling you into his chest, face buried between his pecs. “Nobody wants to see your fat ass around here anyways.”

“Says the broke guy who sneaks cakes out the back door—”

You pry yourself from Toji’s chest, cheeks flaming hot as you interrupt. “You’re both really fit, isn’t that good enough?”

Their eyes turn to you, brows furrowed in the same expression. Like you’d just failed the most obvious test known to man despite both of them wanting a different answer.

Oops. 

Toji presses closer, sandwiching you firmly between them. One large hand raised up to cup your jaw with false sweetness, guiding your face upwards to look at him and solely him. Suddenly so sweet that you’re sure he’s leading you into a trap.

“You’re supposed to be the smart one, aren’t you?” Toji drawls. Thumbpad smearing your plush lower lip down and letting it pop free. “C’monn, use that pretty brain and tell us who you think is really better.”

You chew at your lip. “Well… you have a really great insertion in your obliques,” Toji hums at that, already approving. Your hands shift to trail over his abdomen, all while Sukuna crowds behind you. “And a prominent Adonis belt.”

Sukuna’s deeper voice rumbles behind you. “Bet mine feels better, though. Go ahead and tell ‘em.”

Toji’s eyes lift to look at the man behind you. Staring each other down over your head. 

Offering in favor of balancing the scales again, “Mmh, Sukuna does have a pretty defined serratus anterior.”

Which pleases Sukuna far more than you thought possible. “See, Fushiguro? She likes my serra-tits.”

“She said serratus, moron.”

Toji crowds in closer. Sukuna matches the action. Stuck between them, you truly question whether it’d be possible to suffocate with what little space you had between the two hulks of muscle. 

Oh well. If this was the way you died, you’d die happy.

Faintly listening to Sukuna’s retort, “I’ll show you some serra-tits—”

And Toji’s correction, “Serratus—”

Before finally cutting in once more. “Can you two ease off or something?”

Their jaws click shut so fast you think you can hear the audible snap. 

Toji’s hand flexes before he drops it to your hip, finally regarding you again as he drops his verdant gaze back down to yours— eyes flitting between both of yours to catalogue the flush that’s ridden high on your cheeks and the slight expansion of your pupils.

“How about this,” Toji’s voice lowers, rumbling as he leans lower down towards you. His breath fans out across your lips, the slight tang of cigarettes sweetened by a fruitier dessert he must’ve had sometime during his shift. “We’ll stop fighting if you can tell us who you want to kiss more. Me, or him?”

“O-oh?” You blink. A subtle shiver runs up your spine, sparks tingling outwards at the very prospect. Noticing how close Toji was, close enough to see the faint flecks of gold and darker green surrounding his expanded pupils. 

Lowering your eyes just enough to glance at his lips, imagining the plush skin pushing against yours. Wondering how the scar would feel across yours, whether it’d be soft or rough. Deciding in an instant, “You.”

“Atta girl,” Toji grins. He drops his head towards yours, one hand lifting to cradle the back of your neck, meeting you in an absolutely filthy kiss from the start. His tongue swipes over your lips in a quick request for more, immediately met when your mouth parts to accept him. 

Pitifully moaning into his mouth when his other hand holds firm on your hip, pulling you close to him. Breasts pillowing against his chest as he gulps you down, nipping and tugging at your lower lip, practically feasting on you.

Parting reluctantly with a wet smack when air becomes a necessity, a string of spit clinging between your tongues until it snaps with a wet pah! and spatters against your chin. 

Toji doesn’t back off. Instead, his eyes flick above your head where his neglected colleague stands. Speaking to you without tearing his eyes from Sukuna. “Tell ‘Kuna bye-bye, baby. Toji’ll take care of you all by himself.”

Sukuna snorts, looming in behind you until his chest presses to your back. You’re suddenly aware of a certain man’s arousal tented against your ass, rubbing discreetly with every shift of his hips. 

“Naw— tell Jiji here you don’t want me to leave,” Sukuna rumbles, the smile obvious in his voice. His large, broad hands loop around you, just barely shy of hovering the cups of your bra. His head lowers next to yours, the crooked bridge of his nose bumping against your cheekbone. “Go ahead and tell him how bad you want a real man to touch you.”

“Man, fuck you—”

Cutting in once again, as if wrangling toddlers rather than grown men nearly double your size, “Can’t you both just get along for ten seconds?”

For once, the two don’t argue. Almost synchronized as they chirp, “Yes ma’am.”

Toji’s hands adjust where they’d been holding you first, fisting your shirt and tugging it over your head in a quick swipe, tossing it elsewhere. Sukuna’s hands quickly replace it, tugging down the cups of your bra and holding your breasts himself, kneading them and flicking his thumbs over your nipples. 

Gasping softly, you crane to reconnect the kiss with Toji, hands reaching to fist his shirt and cling to him. He meets you with unerring force, tongue shoved against yours once more, groaning at the second taste of you.

Sukuna’s grip shifts on your breasts as he lowers one to the hip untouched by Toji, dragging you back against him, grinding the length of his erection over your ass in passes. The button of his jeans catches, earning a grunt and shaky breath that fans over the curve of your shoulder.

“Have you done this before?” Toji mumbles into your mouth, easing back just enough to pepper smaller kisses over the corners of your mouth. “Two at once.”

Your lashes flutter. “No, but I want to.”

“Yeah?” Sukuna cuts in. Practically humping himself against your ass this whole time, his breath comes out shakier. “Dirty girl— gonna haft’a prep you first, then.”

You hardly get a word in before the thump behind you signals Sukuna’s dropped to his knees, your head turning to peer over your shoulder to watch as the massive man peels your waistband back and tugs your bottoms down until they pool at your ankles. 

Shifting your posture to let him spread your legs apart and arch forward, Toji lifts your gaze back to his. Keeping your attention on him as Sukuna pulls the cotton of your panties aside, your cheeks flushing hot when the loud shhhhlick! sounds as the fabric sticks to your pussyfolds. 

“Goddamn, she’s soaked,” Sukuna voices behind you, voice thick and warm with arousal. Groaning as his thumbs spread you open from behind, fanning his hot breath over your sensitive folds. Dragging in an audible sniiiiiifff so loud that it sounds almost animalistic. “Fuck, perfect goddamn pussy. Gotta have a taste.”

His mouth descends on you with an absolutely feral growl— the first drag of his wet tongue presses in, wagging side to side to smear between your pussylips and flick at your clit. Pulling back to prod along your entrance and push into your slit just enough to tease.

No wonder this place was popular, if this is the service that was given. Hardly even thinking of themselves when you stood between them, putting you first.

How many men had you been with that did that?

A big fat zero.

“Fuh-fuckk,” you moan into Toji’s mouth, rocking back against Sukuna’s face. Every flick and press catching the beads of arousal that seeped from your spread cunt. “Feels so good.”

Your hands travel over the firm space of Toji’s abdomen, slipping back beneath the edge of his waistband and tugging it down, forehead dropping to his sternum. He helps you pry his boxers down, pausing when you do.

Locking on the sight of his cock as he pulls it from its confines, your jaw drops. Easily seven or eight inches long, if not more, a few freckles scattered over the shaft. Two thin veins crawling up the shaft and disappearing beneath the bulbous head.

“Oh my god,” you blurt. Barely giving Toji a second to question what you meant before you’re reaching forward to take it in both hands and spitting onto it. 

Toji twitches at your sudden touch, one hand threading in your head. “Fuck, woman, slow down.”

Your thumb spreads the pre-cum leaking from the head over the shaft, pumping him with rapt attention, hardly registering his warning. Extending your arms to follow him when Toji takes a slight step back.

“Wanna—” he starts, cut off when you immediately bend further and spit a wad of saliva over the crown of him, hissing at the sudden warmth of your mouth as you take him in your throat. “Shit, doll–”

Toji’s hips snap up in an instinctual thrust, cock head slapping against the back of your throat and triggering your gag reflex, grunting an apology as his hands gather your hair from your face. Sukuna pops from your cunt and groans, not even bothering to wipe your slick from where it coated the expanse of his lower face.

“Tight ass throat,” Toji rumbles, keeping your hair from your face as you bob up and down his cock. Circling his hips to smear himself ‘round and ‘round your throat. “Yeahh, just like that. Tha’ssit.”

Breathing through your nose, you dip forward, nose burying into the coarse hair at his base, the obscene gluck-gluck-gluck of your throat around Toji’s cock filling the room with Sukuna’s slurps. 

If the cafe was heaven, then this breakroom had to be the paradise beyond.

Sukuna’s thumbs ease back from spreading your pussylips to pop into his mouth, sucking your taste off them, then release them again to smear over your slick again and gather more, treating your arousal like creamy dessert.

Slipping the rounded edges of his fingertips between your folds and trailing over your slit, wetting his digits with you. “Gonna haft’a stretch you out a little bit so you can take both of us, okay?”

You hum around Toji’s cock, an answer that Sukuna takes without question. Pushing two thick fingers in and groaning when your pussy squelches at the intrusion before letting his digits in, pulsing as he pumps slowly. 

“Shit, y’hear that, Fushiguro?” Sukuna groans, claret eyes locked on your pussy. Twisting his fingers within you and working your cunt like an extension of himself. Curling his fingertips against your plush walls and pumping you on his hand like a puppet. “Even when her mouth’s full she’s still so damn vocal.”

Your throat squeezes around Toji’s cock, moans muffled as you rock back onto Sukuna’s knuckles.

“Mhmm, I hear her,” Toji mumbles, keeping his eyes on you rather than his colleague. “You must like us a whole lot, huh? Practically dripping just from a couple kisses and some head.”

Sure, you weren’t a virgin by any extent, but none of your exes had ever been so damn good at this. Much less having two guys taking care of you— this shit was practically a fantasy you thought could never happen.

Toji’s palm gently pats against your cheek, drawing your eyes up to him. “What, you can’t focus on both of us at the same time?”

Sukuna answers for you. “N’aw, she’s too busy gushing around my fingers like a little whore. Bet she’s never been fucked right before— haven’t you, brat?”

You can’t help but moan. Shake your head side to side, which pushes Toji’s cock further down your throat before he hisses and eases back, popping free from your lips with a lewd, wet smack.

“Bet not,” Toji replies. Both having a conversation in your stead where your words had obviously failed somewhere between Toji’s cock slapping against your cheek and Sukuna’s fingers twisting in your cunt. “Probably only fucked around with wimps before, poor girl.”

Sukuna’s echo coos behind you. “Poor girl.”

Thick knuckles prod at your folds as a third finger enters, curling and twisting right against your g-spot. Without warning, your body shivers, choking out a gasp at the last second before an orgasm washes over you.

Release splashes out onto Sukuna’s nose as he dives to lap at your cunt while his fingers work you through the waves, rolling his consonants over your clit until the vibrations twinge at your sensitive bud. 

Toji’s hand slips over yours on his cock, pulling you off of him to instead step back towards the edge of the table, barely sitting on the edge, his feet still planted on the floor. Long fingers wrapping around his shaft as he pumps himself, watching you watch him.

“You still want this, right?” he questions, gauging your reaction. The corners of his lips turn up when you nod, suddenly a little shy. Heat crawling up your cheekbones and the tips of your ears. “C’mere.”

Sukuna’s fingers slip free from your cunt, slurping your juices from his skin. “Of course she does,” his hand pats the plush of your ass, prodding you forward. “Go get ‘em, girl. Climb up.”

Urged forward, you halt in front of Toji, accepting the quick peck he gives you before finally climbing into Toji’s lap, your knees settle on either side of his thighs with his help, straddling him as he stands his cock beneath you, sliding it between your pussylips.

Your hands plant on his chest, palms splayed flat. “Hi.”

Toji chuckles. “Hi, pretty girl. Ready?”

“Mhmm.”

“Ah-ah,” Sukuna hums behind you, stepping up to press himself to your back again. Unzipping his own pants and pushing them down to use your slick as lube on his own cock. “She’s gotta say it out loud.”

Immediately, you’re following through with his condition. “Mmmhmmm. I’m ready for both.”

“Both?” Toji echoes, scarred lips splitting into a wide grin. The head of his cock just barely pushes at your slit, stretching your lips around him with a gentle burn. “Greedy, huh? Who would’ve thought.”

“I knew it from the beginning,” Sukuna chimes in. “Goody little two-shoes like her comes in here to ‘study,’ only to end up ogling all the muscles,” he tuts. “Dirty, dirty girl.”

Toji feeds the crown of his cock into you finally, bumping his hips up until you take the hint to let your thighs relax and slide yourself down his shaft, inner walls moulding around him. Your lips part, letting out a soft, shaky gasp as the spit and slick from Sukuna’s earlier attention eases the glide to an easy task.

“Fuck,” Toji curses, his hands coming to your thighs to keep you close, letting you rock yourself onto him until the burn softened. Trying to mask his own moan by talking. “I oughta keep you around, huh? Look at you, pretty eyes all glazed over already. You sure you can take both of us?”

Toji cuts you short the moment you open your mouth. Planting his feet into the floor and driving his hips up until you mewled and clenched around him, falling forward onto his chest. 

“O-ohhh fuck..”

Sukuna clicks his tongue. “He’s not that good,” he grumbles. “I could be better, baby. Let you learn what a real virile man feels like, eh?”

Toji snorts, more focused on you than his colleague. Fucking up into you at a proper pace now, rolling your hips into him with every upstroke until you were settling into a comfortable rhythm. 

Scarred lips pulling into a grin as he hums, “He’s just jealous— small dick and all that. Meathead has to use protein shakes, can’t stand that I’m all natural.”

“Tell that to the dick pump you jerk twice a goddamn day,” Sukuna grunts. One massive arm snakes under your thigh and yanks it high, hoisting you half off Toji’s lap in a single impatient motion. Sukuna’s thick cock immediately presses up in the space, sliding along the slick underside where Toji’s already splits you open. 

He nudges the bridge of his nose firmly against the shell of your ear, breath warm against sweat-clammy skin. “Are you sure you want us at the same time? It’ll be a stretch.”

“Mmmhm,” you affirm once more, softer this time. Their constant check-ins, as gruff-voiced as they were, settle something anxious in your chest. “I’m sure.”

“If you say so.”

The blunt crown of him wedges right against your already-strained entrance, pushing where Toji stretches you thin. He rocks forward in short, testing strokes, teeth gritting in focus until the head of him finally pops past the first ring of resistance. Their shafts slide and drag against each other, Toji slowing to a gentle rock just to keep your walls as lax as possible.

“Should’a stretched this little cunt more,” Sukuna mutters against your neck, rolling his hips forward again. The fat head finally pops past your tight ring of resistance, white-hot pain spearing through and immediately melting to pleasure when Toji’s thumb drops to your clit and rubs the nub comfortingly. “Shiiiit… there we go. Atta fuckin’ girl. Taking two cocks like a pro.”

Toji groans low in his throat, head falling back. Rutting himself deeper into you as if trying to compete to see who could reach the deepest. Imprinting himself into your walls and grinding his base against your pussylips. 

Scarred lips parting as Toji grunts, “Hold onto her.”

This time, Sukuna doesn’t argue. He simply slips his other arm beneath your thigh, hooking both elbows at the backs of your knees and lifting you until you’re squeezing around both of them to keep them inside, back pressed to his chest as he carries you.

A standing full nelson. 

The kind of position you could only dream of being in, only ever enjoying through the occasional smut you’d read late at night and fantasize about. Now made reality by not one but two of the finest men you’d ever had the pleasure of being sandwiched between.

Toji tilts his head forward to spit between your bodies, a thick rope of saliva landing hot between your pressed bodies. It drips slowly down the seam where you're stretched around them both, pooling at your entrance before he thumbs your swollen clit and works it in messy circles until your walls flutter and soften just enough that Sukuna can sink another inch deeper.

“Fuckin’ tight,” Sukuna hisses. Your inner muscles ripple involuntarily around the dual intrusion, and Toji’s cock twitches hard against his in response, the friction dragging a shared groan from both men.

Toji’s hand comes up to cradle your jaw, rough thumb brushing your lower lip as he looks at you. The calloused pad catches briefly on soft skin before he leans in, scarred lips dragging against yours as he kisses you. His tongue pushes past your lips, swirling without the intensity from earlier, distracting you while Sukuna’s thrusts grow deeper and deeper, the wet sounds filling the room.

You melt between them instantly, whimpering into Toji’s mouth, a soft ah!-ah!-ah! escaping as Toji rocks in time with Sukuna’s thrusts. Hands flying to hold onto something, landing on Toji’s biceps. Your fingers barely span half the thick circumference of his muscles, nails leaving pale crescents on his skin.

Sukuna’s laugh rumbles against your back. “Whipped already, Ji? Never seen you so soft.”

Toji pulls back with a wet schlick, lips and chin shining with spit. Jade eyes flicking up to meet mauve irises over your shoulder. “Try not to sound so jealous, Kuna. Ain’t a good look on you.”

Sukuna snorts. “Please, I’m the one puttin’ in the work here,” he punctuates it with a shallow thrust, dragging the crown of his cock along Toji’s cock and your walls, grinning when your head falls back against his shoulder. “Greedy fuckin’ girl knows who can stuff her best.”

“Bullshit,” Toji’s hips roll, dragging the fat head of his cock along the front wall of your cunt, right along the spot that makes your toes curl. Your whole body jerks, thighs trembling as a broken moan tears from you. 

“Fuuuck, please—”

“See?” Toji grins, smug. “She doesn’t beg when it’s you fuckin’ her.”

Sukuna grunts. “Cute. Real fuckin’ cute.”

Without warning, he snaps his hips forward, burying himself to the hilt in a brutal stroke that sends your nails skittering over Toji’s chest for support, clawing his pectorals. The sudden force shoves you down onto both of them at the same time. 

“How about we ask her then?” Sukuna’s hips smack against your ass, driving back and forth without pause now. Arms tightening their hold on your thighs until he’s purposefully bouncing you up and down them. “Whaddya say, brat? Go on, tell Jiji here who’s fuckin’ this pussy right. Tell him.”

You can barely form a coherent thought, let alone words. Mewling shamelessly, “Kuna, ah-ah-ah!” 

Toji’s eyes narrow. “Wrong.”

He surges up, crashing his mouth against yours again. This kiss isn’t the sweet thing from earlier, but a mess of tongue, his hand prying your jaw open to spit directly into your open maw. 

“Toji, fuck—” you gasp, spittle smearing over your lips. 

Barely able to swallow the wad before Sukuna’s biting at your jaw, getting you to turn your head in surprise and catch your mouth with his. Both fight to kiss you at the same time, Toji on one side and Sukuna on the other. 

Teeth clacking and tongues swirling and circling each other as much as they kiss you. Caught between them, your walls cinch tight, gleefully helpless while they fight each other through you. 

Then it happens.

Toji’s tongue slips past yours at the same time Sukuna’s does, colliding in a hot, aggressive mash of forces. They don’t even blink at the change, fucking into you with reckless abandon while they make out with each other and you all at once.

Their cocks twitch inside you at the same moment, thickening even more as they grind against each other. The wet plap-plap-plap of Sukuna’s hips against yours while Toji’s pelvis grinds into your clit. Cockheads kissing deep enough that you swear you feel them bullying over your cervix walls with each skitter of sparks up your spine.

Your pussy clamps tight around them, breaking from the kiss as your head falls back against Sukuna’s shoulder, the knot in your lower belly drawing tight before snapping apart for your second orgasm of the night. Gushing around them in a slick flood, your release spattering against the two men.

Walls fluttering around them in aftershocks that don’t seem to have an end in sight.

“Fuck, yeah,” Toji groans against Sukuna’s mouth. Feet planting as he starts fucking up into you in earnest, deep strokes that make his heavy balls slap wetly against your soaked folds, drenched in your release.

Sukuna matches him instantly, brutal tempo syncing without a word. He slams in the exact moment Toji withdraws, ensuring there’s never a second where you’re not stuffed with one of them. The alternating rhythm turns savage fast—two cocks seesawing through your overstuffed heat, chasing their own edges.

Your head lolls, lips separated as involuntary moans escape you. Sukuna’s arms flex and shift, prying your trembling thighs even wider apart until the stretch borders on obscene, your pussy on full view for the other man. The new angle gives Toji access to thumb over your clit again, pressing and rolling it, then delivering sharp little slaps to the swollen, oversensitive pearl that make your body arch against Sukuna’s hold. 

“Fuh-fuck!” you gasp. Locking onto the filthy sight as both men crane to meet each other over your shoulder, reconnecting in a messy, open-mouthed kiss, spit stringing thick between their lips when they part again. “Oh my god, that’s so hot.”

You shove Toji’s hand side, replacing it with your own smaller fingers. Swirling slippery circles over your clit at the mere sight of them, wantonly moaning when Sukuna’s teeth bite into your shoulder to muffle his moan. 

Pre-cum swabs your insides as Toji’s hips stutter first, the rhythm stuttering as they near their peaks. One big hand clamps down on your hip, yanking you down onto him harder as he bounces you selfishly along his length, grinding deep. 

Toji’s lips find yours once more as you open your mouth to speak again, letting out the most sinful moan the second you reconnect. Whimpering rawly when his cock thickens and jerks hard, barely managing a single word before he’s pulling out and twisting his fist over the head. 

“Fuck- god, m’gonna cum,” he pants, pumping the shaft just below the crown as the first rope of milky cum erupts, splattering hot across your mound, your lower belly, even catching the underside of your breasts in a messy streak. “Shiiiit, look at you.”

Sukuna’s hips snap forward into you, rutting up with animalistic pacing, chasing the way your walls squeeze around him. “Kuna, please—”

“I know, baby, I know,” he grunts behind you, grip faltering as he adjusts his hold, straining to keep upright as his balls draw up tight and tingle. “Go ahead and let go for us, just one more time. I know you’ve got it in you.”

Your lower lip catches between your teeth as a third orgasm floods your heat, cunt barely dribbling slick around his cock. Barely coming down from the high as Sukuna grunts to maneuver your limp, trembling body to Toji’s waiting lap. 

His cock slips free with a wet pop, leaving you clenching around nothing through the aftershocks. Sukuna catches himself in his fist, stroking through the last erratic jerks as thick, clear ropes spill over his knuckles and drip to the floor in heavy splats against the cold tile.

“Fuuuuuck,” he drags out, groaning. Letting his head fall forward to rest onto your shoulder, the mop of pink-dyed hair sticking to your skin as his chest heaves in time with yours and Toji’s. “Goddamn, girl.”

Breathing heavy, the three of you bask in the humid afterglow, bodies pressed close as the sweat and cum starts to stick. Toji’s hands, much gentler now, slide up your sides, one cupping your chin to guide your face back up to his.

He mumbles something slurred and soft against your lips, half-words lost in the lazy drag of his mouth as he kisses you again. Humming into each other, eyes fluttering shut to just enjoy the contact.

Only to break apart again as the breakroom door rattles and clicks open, the lock from earlier apparently non-functional as the white-haired cashier from earlier steps inside without looking up from his phone. “I’m going on my break, one of you need to actually work and take over the front—”

Satoru’s impossibly blue eyes lift up to take in the sight, immediately widening as both men tighten their arms around you.

Pupils blowing wide and pale lips splitting into a pervish grin. “Well, damn. Got room for one more?”

But blazed or not, Enjin still has a job to do. Umbreaker sweeps him across the trash dunes in a speedy blur, but by the time he arrives he is already too late and the show is over. 

All that’s left is you: a young woman passed out in a pile of demolished trash beast remains and other junk. The giant kaiju-like plushie—now inanimate and no bigger than a hand—lay beside you tethered to your person by a keyring. 

Happening upon another giver in No Man’s Land wasn’t out of the ordinary, sure, but if Enjin thought he was high from seeing your jinki in action he had to be damn near in the clouds once he recognized your clothes.  

Similar to when Enjin discovered Rudo, he could immediately tell by your dress you are a Spherite. But unlike the threadbare attire of the scrappy tribesmen teen, yours practically screams wealth. They are the finest clothes Enjin has ever laid eyes on. Appearing as if they are woven from gold itself, despite the fresh layer of grime that settled on them.

You aren’t just any ol’ Spherite—you’re a Spherite noblewoman.

Keh, interesting. 

With a shake of his head Enjin scoops you up, heading back to HQ. They aren’t gonna believe this…

Enjin digs out a backup mask from his satchel—clearly not made for your face, because it slides right off. With an annoyed sigh, he holds it in place himself. Guess that’s his job now… at least until you wake up.

Although Enjin soon discovers a pattern of how unnecessarily difficult Spherites can be upon arriving to the Abyss—as the first thing you do upon waking in Enjin’s arms is to slap the everloving dogshit out of him. 

Fuck, you have a mean right hand. 

Enjin tongues a tooth to make sure it’s still there. 

“Let me go this instant, you filthy kidnapping degenerate! I demand you to take me home!” You cry out. 

Tears fog up the mask on your face as you clearly mistook Enjin for some kind of criminal with his ‘full face’ on. Enjin sighs, tightening his grip on you and taking the not-so-painless beating you’re dishing out until you reach the nearest city. 

The very second you both are in a habitable area for breathing, Enjin unceremoniously dumps you to the ground. He catches the mask, yet he leaves you to fall straight on your ass. The fall shocks you but Enjin’s sure what’s really got you stunned is the strange bustling city surrounding you.

Removing his fullface, Enjin crouches down to eye-level with you. Overwhelmed and overstimulated by the foreign place, your eyes dart around helplessly. You’re frantic, looking everywhere for some sort of bearing of where you are and avoiding the man in front of you.

Yet Enjin just waits, clicking his tongue and rocking back on his heels, for you to quiet your hysterics enough for him to get a word in.

When your eyes, still wide with panic, finally meet, he has the nerve to raise a brow—like you’re the one being dramatic and not the guy who literally kidnapped you.

“So, as you may have noticed by now…this ain’t the Sphere,” Enjin says, balancing a cigarette between his lips. 

You look at him skeptically—he says it like it’s nothing, while your world is actively falling apart. What is he even talking about?!

“I know this ain’t the welcome wagon you posh Spherites are used to but…”

Enjin pauses, exhaling smoke to the sky. Your gaze follows up, widening once you see the oddly shaped dome covering the city, a strange yellow fog in the atmosphere.

“....welcome to the Abyss, Girlie. Name’s Enjin.” 

Blankly staring at Enjin, you say nothing. The both of you in a mini stare down. Although you’re the first to give by suddenly bursting into sobs.

Rolling his eyes, a thought briefly flashes in Enjin's head that he should have just left you for the raiders. Hell, he could still leave you now—you’re calling way too much attention to yourself.

However, Enjin also figures that with you all but swimming in luxury on the Sphere, you probably thought of the Pit—your so-called Hell, or its inhabitants as mere fairytale.

Enjin’s inkling is confirmed when you calm down enough to piece together that your now ex-husband had hired a bunch of shady tribesmen to kidnap and dispose of you—all to collect your inheritance. 

Yeah, not your fault.  Enjin thinks and cuts you a break. 

For your own sake, Enjin somehow convinces you to come back to Cleaner HQ with him. He can’t return you to the Sphere himself—but he knows another Spherite who’s trying to make their way back. That small glimmer of hope is enough to lift your spirits, just barely. This time, you follow him willingly—though you still cry the entire way to HQ.

Shame how prone to hysterics you are, otherwise Enjin actually thinks you’re pretty hot. Noting how the expensive silk of your dress clings so damn well to your every curve. He’d sell your clothes while you were near the shopping district—but unlike Rudo, he doubts he could talk you out of them. 

At least—not yet.

But that thought is drastically short lived as Enjin spends more time in your presence. Sure, you could have gotten along. You could’ve even been Enjin’s type. Yet there’s one glaring problem: 

You’re an annoying, needy-ass brat.  

Besides looks, you tick off nearly every one of his dealbreakers. You’re ditzy, dependent and whiny. Basically Enjin’s nightmare.

Plus your snobby little ass never once thanked nor apologized to him over the following weeks.

Not after he saved you.

Not after he brought you back to HQ where you were welcomed with skeptical, yet open arms—as a new, very reluctant (you had no other options really) recruit in-training.

And you certainly never thanked Enjin, even after all his shit luck, when he was assigned to be your teacher and look after your haughty ass. You have the most indignant pout on your face when Corvus announces that since Enjin found you, you're Enjin’s problem.

“You have to be kidding me? I’m stuck with Trashy Poppins here!?”

“Yo, Trashy—what!?” The reference doesn’t land with Enjin but he knows it isn’t good.

Semiu nods curtly in agreement of the pairing, amused that Enjin finally has someone to keep him on his toes as she ushers you off to get settled in.

The fuck?! 

Lamenting being stuck is supposed to be Enjin’s line. Enjin had figured the logical move was to pair you with Zanka—the closest thing to nobility among the Cleaners—and let you bond with Rudo, a fellow Spherite, even if he was a tribesman.

But it doesn’t take long to realize neither boy can handle a grown ass woman like you. One flutter of your lashes and they’re useless saps—like the big sister he never had, you could soothe Rudo’s worst moods with a mere head pat. 

While Zanka, older and appreciating your more ‘robust’ qualities, trips over his own tongue trying to talk to you.

Both ready to do anything just to earn a few sweet coos—unless someone steps in.

It had to be Enjin. He was the only one who could ‘resist’ your charms.

Still, Enjin’s got his work cut out for him when it comes to you—especially training you for combat and figuring out how the hell you’re supposed to use that so-ugly-it’s-almost-cute vital instrument.

He tries not to judge. Really, he does. Jinki are personal—he knows that better than anyone. But still…the fact that you even have one? That’s wild.

A Spherite? A noble Spherite, no less—the same pompous assholes who treat the Abyss like a dumping ground—actually caring enough about something to pump it full of anima?

Yeah, that’s impressive, he’ll give you that. What wasn’t though was the name you gave the lil thing: Bubu.

Tsk. Wack as hell. Vital instruments deserve names with some bite. Something like—Umbreaker.

Still, credit where it’s due—you’re picking things up faster than expected. 

However, that doesn’t spare him from your nonstop bitching, though. The complaints come daily: the strange smells your hair absorbs, the absence of your sacred skincare routines, not being able to take a 30 minute shower, and how everything down here always tastes just a little off.

But the most absurd? The cherry blossoms.

You complain the most about not being able to frolic in your lush, petal-covered garden full of rows of cherry blossoms. Enjin’s never even seen a damn tree like that, let alone the acres of grass and flowers you describe like some bedtime fairytale. You haughtily anoint yourself as a floral herbalist, an expert when it comes to your pretty little flowers.

It’s shit like that on top of everything else that irks Enjin when it comes to you.

And yet?

Enjin thinks the most irritating thing about you is the fact that he can’t seem to stay away from you. 

Sure, you’re annoying as fuck—but in spite of his own objections, Enjin keeps finding ways to keep your time occupied. He makes up excuses to train you longer and drags you along on missions that are solely meant for him. 

Moreover, since you can never keep that pretty little mouth shut, anyone you meet clocks you as a Spherite within seconds—which means you need Enjin’s constant protection, whether you like it or not.

Enjin ends up spending less time drinking or chasing women, finding a far more amusing pastime instead—the way your face twists in indignation every time the Ground doesn’t live up to your so-called “noble standards.” 

He gets a kick out of it, really. Agitating you on purpose, just to watch you squirm.

“Goddamnit, Enjin! Watch it!” 

You’d shriek every time your short skirt went flying from a sudden gust of wind he’d whip up with Umbreaker. Enjin saves that lil trick for No Man’s Land when the others’ backs are turned.

“That’s Enjin-sensei to you, Princess.” 

“Choke—slowly, Trashy Poppins.”

You’d lunge for his mask like you actually meant to rip it off, but at 6 '3, Enjin’s tall enough that you never have a chance at reaching it. It’s all worth it too—Enjin’s already got every pastel scrap of lace you own burned into memory, each one tucked away like a reward for getting under your skin.

It’s a little sadistic, sure—the way he taunts you nonstop, delighting in soiling that polished image of yours to grind you into the dirt of the ground right along with him. 

There’s a fire in your eyes every time Enjin dubs you as “Your Royal Trash Princess”—or just “TP” if he’s feeling lazy. You never fail to rise to his bait, eager to prove yourself—and prove him wrong.

Enjin feels he’s owed a bit of amusement for all his troubles.

Doesn’t mean anything.

Yet the more Enjin pushes, the harder it is to ignore that your bratty spark isn’t just an attitude problem. It’s energy. Real, raw passion. The kind that could actually cultivate anima. He sees it best when you’re snapping at him, flushed and defiant, too stubborn to back down.

It’s trouble to be sure, but fuck if Enjin doesn’t love coaxing it out of you.

All it took this time to get you going was him doubting your so-called knowledge of plants and remedies— “what kinda ‘floral herbalist’ hasn’t toked one?”  

So now here you are, in the HQ lounge, about to smoke your first joint as a ‘pre-game’ to the happy hour Corvus organized for all the Cleaners.

You and Enjin sit shoulder to shoulder on a worn, black quilted-leather sofa that’s seen better days. The cushions creak as you nervously smooth your skirt and settle in, unhooking your jinki—Bubu—from your belt to set her gently on the table.

Enjin rolls a few joints with unhurried precision—like he’s got all the time in the world, and watching you squirm is part of the ritual.

“Bet ya didn’t have anything like this in your lil’ garden, eh TP?” Enjin quips, breaking the silence.

Nose already upturned, your face scrunches as Enjin tosses an extra bud from his stash into your open palms. You hated the nickname ‘TP’ most of all, too easily mistaken for ‘toilet paper’ and Enjin knows that.

You shoot Enjin a dirty look before letting your focus drift back to the brittle sprig in your hands—the first real plant you’ve touched since becoming a Ground-dweller.

You think you actually recognize it. 

Back on the Sphere, your family was among the wealthiest, and your garden was massive. You took pride in your green thumb—like Delmon, whose garden you’ve been meaning to ask about. You want to help, if only to see what kind of plants can survive in conditions this toxic. But Enjin never gives you the space—always hovering, always cutting in before you can finish a full conversation.

You brush off those thoughts but your frown stays as your fingers trace the bud’s dry veins. Even for a dehydrated sample, it feels wrong—brittle in a way that hints of sickness. 

“Hmm. We had something like this—I think. But it’s just another weed.” You say shrugging.

“Heh,” Enjin smirks at your cluelessness, “Would you believe me if I told you ‘weed’ is exactly what we call it, Princess?”

You roll your eyes at the inordinately simple name. It probably has a proper scientific designation—but expecting Enjin to know it? Please.

“We always uprooted them—weeds are unsightly in gardens, you know. A weed, let alone one sick as this, would definitely be pruned right away so as to not syphon nutrients from the other plant life.”

“HAH?!”  

Mid-seal on his joint, Enjin stops cold, staring at you like you just dared to commit some sort of sacrilege before exhaling a theatrical sigh, shaking his head in pure betrayal.

He can’t believe Spherities are probably pissing away the dankest shit ever cultivated. The thought was maddening.

When Enjin’s eyes do meet yours again, there's no amusement as he takes a rather chastising tone with you.

“Princess, for your own good, never repeat that in front of anyone down here…I mean it.”

You huff, but Enjin doesn’t blink—just starts sealing the joint again, eyes never leaving you as his tongue drags slowly across the edge of the paper.

You squirm, and that’s all the reward he needs. 

“See somethin’ you like?” Enjin drawls, holding the finished joint out toward you like it’s a gift—and not a trap with your name written all over it.

Turning on teacher mode, Enjin decides to school you.

“I know we mostly have ‘reggie’ down here, but still, it’s worth its weight in gold for its purposes. Not just for fun ya know—chronic pain, nausea, anxiety—gives a bit of relief from the ailments of Abyss-living you Spherites have so graciously bestowed on us.”

From his pocket, Enjin produces a lighter, shoulders curling as he bows into the flame to set it alight.

Your eyes flick over the sinewy stretch of Enjin arms, the way his jacket strains across his shoulders—reminding you just how solid Enjin really is beneath all that shapeless fabric. Built like a weapon, hiding in plain sight.

You watch as his ringed fingers lift the joint to his lips. Drawing in a slow, steady breath, Enjin sinks back into the sofa like gravity’s got a tighter hold on him than usual. Smoke pools in his chest before slipping out in a long, deliberate exhale.

His gaze follows it, distant—like he’s chewing on thoughts far heavier than anything you said… but somehow still set off by it.

“That’s the problem with you Spherites….you don’t see things the way they are—you see things the way you are.” 

Enjin chuffs at his own words, closing his eyes to let his high settle. Not even completely stoned yet and he’s already spouting off pseudo philosophical one-liners.

“Everything else is collateral, amirite?”

Ouch.

Toeing at the floor, you sulk in silence. Wounded from the verbal licks Enjin just dealt you. Mulling over his words in silence though, you know it isn’t that simple. Horticulture can be complicated even in the most ideal conditions. Just because a plant is viable doesn’t mean it belongs in every garden—some plants are just incompatible.

However…

You sit silently, your teeth worrying your bottom lip as you study the brittle bud in your palm.

…that doesn’t make it worthless.

Instead of exploring any potential use, you tossed the so-called "weed" out—just like everything else the Sphere deemed useless. Not even considering how valuable it could be. You can see why Enjin wouldn't want you repeating that mistake. Enough people already looked at you with disdain as it is. 

Sure there’s a lot of things you miss about it, mostly superficial things that had to do with vanity, but overall life up there was super sterile and dull. You’d never say it out loud but you are glad you fell, it was hard on the ground but it was liberating.

Sighing, you quietly concede. You hate anytime Enjin actually has a point though. It’s the worst thing imaginable—for your pride and for his already unbearable ego.

Cracking an eye open, Enjin curses under his breath. Switching tactics, he decides to replace the long look on his Trash Princess’s face. Annoyance would do just fine. Besides, there was no need for you to pout over it, you actually had a shot at redemption here… heh, the kind that might just work out in his favor, too.

“Y’knowwwww, we’re always learnin’ better ways to grow things down here, faster too...”

Enjin moves so quietly, you don’t realize how close he is until you turn—and he’s right in your face, barely a breath away. Swiping his ringed thumb across your cheek, Enjin’s touch is surprisingly tender. However his expression is entirely obnoxious, full of amusement from how fast your pouty little face flusters.

“...could be a nice little hobby that would do alotta good…and if anyone could figure out how to grow this shit properly down here—”

Enjin plucks at the heat of your warm cheeks, pinching just enough to tease and drag the moment into something more lighthearted.

“—I do believe it could be you—Trash Princess.”

Your eyes catch something deeper than just teasing in his golden gaze—but before you can dwell on it, instinct kicks in. You jerk back, swatting his hand away, shoving whatever that was out of your mind.

Enjin just laughs, unbothered, as you glare at him.

“And why can’t you get Delmon to do it?” you counter, arms folding across your chest. By now, you’ve learned Enjin usually has an angle for everything.

Right on the mark, for a beat, Enjin actually pauses. He hadn’t expected you to bring up the obvious—Delmon, the gentle giant practically martyred to the idea of saving what’s left of the Abyss. But Enjin’s roguish grin slips back into place, spreading wider as he leans in, unapologetically invading your space.

“Why? Well...’cause I asked you, Princess. The ol’lug has enough on his plate as it is. You can handle it alone, can’t ya?”

Truthfully, even knowing your interest in Delmon never strays beyond roots and soil, it still irks every time Enjin catches sight of you with him. You look every bit the noble—graceful, composed, eyes soft and curious as you gaze up at Delmon, eager to learn. It grates on Enjin more than he’d admit, knowing he’s never once gotten that look, despite monopolizing most of your time.

“Ya know—unless, your skillset just ain’t up t’par?” Enjin finishes with a shrug.

Wholly unconvinced, you see this for the bait it is from a mile away. Nevertheless, you can’t deny that you are eager to get even the tiniest bit of normalcy back in your life from your old hobbies. Planting something, anything, would be nice—even if it ends up being contraband for Enjin. Although you still aren’t quite sure why you can’t consult Delmon. 

“Ugh! Fine!”

You fall back onto the sofa and Enjin follows, his arm settling behind you, practically draped around your shoulders. You don’t even flinch. He takes another slow hit, smoke curling toward the ceiling, but this time there’s a wicked glint in his eye as he watches you. Deciding he’s babysat the joint long enough, he leans in with a lazy smirk and holds it out to you.

“Enjin—your eyes!” You blurt out, disregarding his invitation. “Is that just from smoking!? I can’t go to happy hour looking like some kinda zombie!”

Enjin sputters mid-laugh, coughing as wisps of smoke leak from the corners of his smart ass grin.

“Eh, well duh. Why else would they get so red when I smoke?”

Enjin coughs out a few more chuckles. You roll your eyes.

“I don’t know, Trashy Poppins…I didn't make the connection since the air quality down here is 80% pollution! You could have anything.”

While Enjin is amused by your sass, the joint continues to burn down. Each second unsmoked is wasting precious bud. Leaning in, his voice drops to a low purr—the kind that makes your stomach flip.

Heh, time to pull out the big guns.

“Aht-aht-aht, c’mon now, Princess, you know the golden rule…”

You sigh, thinking you need that happy hour drink more than ever right now.

“You’re not serious.”

But you know he is, and of course you remember the silly motto Enjin makes an unspoken rule for his team. Although he mostly just uses it to get you to do something you’ll usually regret later.  You sigh, knowing you’ll never make it to happy hour until you appease the big man-child in front of you.

Enjin’s golden eyes shine with even more mischief than before and together like some damn mantra, you both repeat:

“...it’s not peer pressure—it’s just your turn.”

Resigned, you click your tongue, swiping at the joint in his hands. But Enjin is much faster as he pulls back with infuriating speed. You glower at him, snark locked and loaded.

“Nah, actually I’ll help you out since it’s your first time, Princess.”

Innuendo coils around his words, heat radiating off him as you tense under his gaze. You don’t want to argue with him though, the sooner you smoked, the sooner you both could be at happy hour.

“Open.” 

Enjin’s fingers graze the corner of your mouth as he holds the joint to your peach-glossed lips, eyes darkening when you part them obediently for him.

“Now breathe it in, nice and slow…deeper. Yeah, that’s it—hold it. Don’t let go until I say—good girl.”

You want to scoff at him, but you can’t—not with tears stinging your eyes and smoke burning its way down your lungs. By the time Enjin gives you the nod to exhale, you’re already choking, coughing it all back up in ragged plumes.

Yeah, this was nowhere in hell as easy as Enjin made it look.

The buzz rises in your head almost instantly, an airy haze creeping into your consciousness.

“See? Not a terrible cherry pop, eh?”

The glare you throw at Enjin is more of a squint. Still recovering from the fire tearing down your throat, your coughs earn you a few heavy-handed smacks on the back from Enjin. If it’s out of comfort or mockery, you can't tell. 

Everything in the room is spinning and becoming more distant, like a daydream.

“Easy there, breathe—it’ll hit easier when ya figure out how to grow it right, Princess. The dank shit won’t burn this hard.”

You want to bite back that even if you do figure out how to grow the damn ‘weed’ plant, you’d never touch it again. But the sudden heaviness seeping into your limbs drags you down, tilting your head on the axis of equilibrium.

“I think, no—I know, I need to lay down.”

Not waiting for permission, you flop down onto the worn cushions beneath you, curling up awkwardly with your head leaning against the armrest and your legs dangling off the seat at an angle. 

Enjin doesn’t miss a beat though—he scoops your legs into his lap, tugging off your boots so you can be comfortable.

Leaning back, perfectly at ease, Enjin holds the joint in one hand while the other rests on your stocking-covered shin, giving it a casual, reassuring pat. The way your arm drapes over your face tells him everything—yeah, you’ve got the spins.

“Keh, you’ll make it, Princess. Just let it all ride out.”

You’d make it alright, but not to happy hour anytime soon. Enjin supposes he might’ve let you take a bigger hit than you were ready for. 

Whoops.

Silence stretches in the aftermath but it’s not uncomfortable. Enjin takes a few more lazy tokes, one golden eye cracked open just enough to watch you, taking stock of your state. 

It’s in moments like this—rare ones, when you’re quiet—that he remembers just how fucking smoking hot you are.

Especially in that Cleaner uniform. Man, God bless August.

The eccentric tailor took special care in designing it thanks to a sudden burst of inspiration—August even convinced Enjin to allow him to keep some of the trim from your Spherite clothes that he repurposes. The outcome of your uniform is shinier, more fitted and much sluttier than standard issue. 

You took to it immediately, without much fuss and actually complimenting August. That was August’s gift though—whipping up pieces to suit even the finickiest of tastes—and Enjin had to admit, the man did his big one. 

But the real surprise wasn’t the craftsmanship. It was you—his oh-so-prim little Trash Princess—strutting around in something so damn naughty. Dressed up like a treat that Enjin can’t help but eat up with his eyes.

And whaddya know? Enjin has the munchies bad right now.

Left to his own devices, Enjin takes his time devouring the sight in front of him. His gaze lingers down the length of your legs sprawled across his lap, to the soft, exposed flesh of your thighs—spilling over the edge of your stockings just enough to make his jaw clench.

Fuck, they look so soft. He can't help but wonder how they'd feel locked around his head as his eyes climb to the next indulgence—your crop top. Rucked up to your ribs, the thin white cotton hugs just beneath your tits. Shit, the way your cute little nips poke through the fabric makes his mouth twitch with the urge to say ‘hi’ right back—with his tongue.

Is it hotter in here, or—?

Leering at you for too long is a surefire way for Enjin to pop a boner. Enjin knows he’s not alone in that either. That uniform of yours turns heads in every city you pass through. Consequently, Enjin has split more skulls because of idiots trying to hit on you or cop a feel than he ever has for anyone trying to snatch a Spherite.

Not that he’s jealous or nothing.

Nah. Just doing his job. Watching out for you. Plenty of unscrupulous assholes out there willing to pounce on a clueless little thing like you.

However, right now, Enjin’s just as unscrupulous—‘watching out’ only for a flash of your panties as each restless wiggle sinks you deeper into the lumpy cushions, bunching your skirt higher and teasing him with a glimpse of skimpy lace.

Man, just a little more and he’d know exactly which pair you picked today.

Sobering up a bit more, you sigh at your inability to get comfortable when you could feel the very springs in the sofa. Stretching, you straighten your leg suddenly and—

“Yo! Watch the feets, girl!”  

Though there’s amusement in his voice as he jolts upright, tatted hands grabbing your ankle before you’re able to land another blow.

“Ah, sorry—” You mutter sheepishly, reeling back your foot. “I didn’t mean to kick Umbreaker.”

For what it’s worth, the apology comes quickly—you’ve learned better than to mess with a man’s jinki, especially Enjin’s. You've nearly tripped more times than you can count over that bulky extension of himself that he always keeps within reach.

You know it’s serious too when he doesn’t even bother with the stupid nicknames he usually calls you. Nevertheless, you’re left puzzled when Enjin’s laughter comes out loud and sharp. 

“...that wasn’t Umbreaker, Princess.”

Huh? What does he mean that isn’t— 

You freeze. 

Carefully peeking out from under your arm, your reddened eyes squint down the length of your body and onto his. When the realization does set in of what exactly you kicked, it smacks you harder than any hit of ganja ever could.

“O…oh…—OH MY GAWD!”

Immediately springing upright, your vertigo swirls with how fast you’re scrambling to your knees as you gawk.

Time passes for what seems like a solid minute or two and neither of you speak. 

You’re staring at the crotch of Enjin’s baggy pants and Enjin is staring at you.

“Heh.”

The devious look on Enjin’s face right now could shame the devil himself. Yet you’re still in utter disbelief.

There’s no way that’s his dick!

Still, your brain won’t stop running the numbers—high girl math with clumsy calculations drawn from the fleeting brush of your toes against the long, thick mass hidden beneath the fabric of his baggy pants. Enjin’s words ring in your mind like a gong—‘that wasn’t Umbreaker…’

“You’re burnin’ a hole through my dick, Princess—”

Enjin’s voice unfurls seductively, like the smoke curling from his lips.

“—keep starin’ like that and I’m gonna think you wanna see it.”

Your eyes meet his dead-on. 

“I do.”

“Yeah, I’m sure yo—wait, come again?!”

Enjin’s grip goes slack, the joint slipping from his fingers. He was halfway to some sassy quip, ready to taunt your denial—but your delivery is so honest, with no teasing or angle to play off, he doesn’t know what to do with it.

The embers hiss against his thigh before he even registers he dropped it.

“Tch.” Cursing under his breath, he flicks it aside—it’s all roach anyway—and tries to pull himself back together.

You’re fucking with him. Yeah. That’s it. 

Smug again, Enjin leans into the bit you started.

“Ha ha…right. I know my stuck up lil’ Trash Princess isn’t asking to give me a dick inspection…”

Enjin adjusts his pants in a casual sweep that doesn’t fool either of you. He’s not brushing off the remaining flakes of ash—he’s palming his restless cock that jumped at the idea of you actually wanting to see it.

But both you and Enjin would quickly discover, despite your snobby Spherite upbringing, you lose any type of filter and sense of couth while high—blurting out your thoughts unabashedly. 

“I said I wanted to see it, Trashy Poppins. Or m’not gonna believe you’re actually that big.”

You fold your arms, huffing stubbornly.

There was no way an unbearably annoying man like Enjin was slanging actual horse cock! 

He had to be the one fucking with you here.

Well, wait, no—a cocky, stupidly sexy man having a big dick actually tracks, now that you think about it.

But still—you need to verify. For science, if nothing else. 

Yeah. Science.

Enjin blinks, taking stock of you—kneeling close, your tits straining like they’re about to burst free, and your skirt rides so high on your thighs this time, he swears one more millimeter and he’d see your panties for real. 

“C’mon now…”

Your sickly sweet coos needle at Enjin’s spine.

“...as if you aren’t always upskirting me just to see my panties.”

Shit. You knew it was intentional?

“At least you can show me your undies for a change. If you’re really that big, then I’ll be able to tell.”

The spark alight in your eyes is a challenge to Enjin, who loves pushing your limits. Now he needs to know how far you’ll go. Even if he’s completely unprepared for this turn of events, he’s sure as fuck not gonna be the one backing down first.

“S’that right, Princess? Well, I haven’t even seen yours today so—”

Enjin doesn’t even get the chance to finish before you’re lifting your skirt and spreading your knees wider. You stare up at the ceiling, the popcorn squares suddenly appearing super interesting to you. Enjin’s eyes however immediately zero-in on the pink lace stretched tight across your pussy.

Christ.

With a much closer view, Enjin picks up all the little details he usually misses—like how the hem digs into your soft curves or how the material is thin enough to see the split of your chubby lil pussy lips pressed underneath. 

Goddamn, are you intentionally buying them a size too small? 

Or is your pussy print just that fat?

Enjin gulps, mouth dry. 

His attention caught like a hook to your cunt, everything else is unimportant—including the irony of how he was just teasing you for the very same thing—it’s all utterly lost on him. His priorities shifting rapidly the longer he ogles you.

After a minute, giving him quite frankly more of his fill than he deserves, you let your skirt drop back into place. The alluring spell of your fatma breaks when your  knees snap shut and Enjin is yanked back to a world that doesn’t exist between the apex of your doughy thighs. 

All of his lecherous starring is worth it though—if only to be able to throw his own saying back at him for once.

“Now, how’s it go again? It’s not peer pressu—”

“—Yeah, yeah, I got it, Princess—My turn.” 

Enjin relents, cutting you off with a twisted grin as he shakes his head.

“Ya don’t gotta break my arm to see my dick, babe. Just makin’ sure you’re sure. Don’t need you runnin’ off telling Semiu I flashed ya.”

Semiu is already on Enjin’s ass for teasing you as much as he does. Something about him being ‘too grown’ not to ‘nut up’ and ‘come to terms with his reality’, but Enjin was never listening for long, zoning out as soon as a new lecture was underway. 

However, if your prissy ass really wants to see his dick that bad, of course he’d oblige. Hell, Enjin would get another kick outta watching your horror when you realize for real just how much he’s packing. It had been a minute since he'd seen that look on a woman.

For being as hot and charming as he is, Enjin didn’t get nearly as much play as he should’ve. He isn’t a virgin by any means, but too many women take one glance at his size and back off expeditiously.  

Life on the ground meant hustling to survive for most. Nobody could afford to be laid up for days just because Enjin’s wrecking ball of a cock tore through their walls, rendering them unable to walk—let alone go to work.

Yet with a clink, that all changes as the leather strap of his belt and gear slides free. Enjin lifts his hips enough to shove his pants down past his thighs and there it is—short red boxer briefs with a black waistband, the fabric stretched thin over the obscenely long, thick outline of his dick resting along his thigh.

Simply put, your jaw drops. There’s a static-like silence buzzing in your mind as you process the monstrous mass of phallic muscle before you.

You’ve never seen a dick that huge in your entire life. 

Clocking your shock, Enjin’s chest puffs like he’s just been crowned a king in the room.

“Relax, Princess…” he drawls, smugness saturating every word.

“I ain’t even all the way hard yet.”

Bullshit! 

Your eyes pingpong between his face and his cock before landing on the obvious conclusion—no overthinking this time.

“What are you waiting for then? Get hard.”

Enjin actually chokes for real this time, still not used to how blunt his demure lil’ Trash Princess gets when she’s high. He manages to laugh regardless once he finds his breath as he sure as hell doesn’t hate this new side of you.

“Hah?! It doesn’t work like that ya know…”

Enjin lies right through his fucking teeth. 

Just hearing that vulgar command from your prissy lil’ lips has his blood surging south, his cock swelling at rapid speed. Already on go, his dickprint thickens, straining against the fabric until threads stretch thin to form almost obscenely over him like second skin.

Yet unlike his past hookups you don’t flinch at the sight of him getting even bigger. 

There’s more than enough incredulousness on your face for sure, but Enjin half expected you to backpedal for the sake of your pussy’s self-preservation and book it out the door. Instead, the look you’re giving his dick is more akin to awe than fear.

Truly, though—you are in awe.

Men weren’t like this on the Sphere. Well, your husband certainly wasn’t.

Older than you by over a decade, your husband’s stamina was so poor he never lasted long. His size, his endurance, and his dismissive comments about your sexual appetite being perversely unbecoming for a lady of your station had you wondering if something was wrong with you this entire time—if you expected too much from sex.

But when your eyes drift back to Enjin—catching the thick vein running along his length, visible even through the fabric—you know better now. 

It was never you.

The realization brings a surge of boldness. Your gaze trails the pulse of his cock down to the wet patch blooming at the tip—so much pre spilling it seeps through the fabric. 

Enjin inhales sharply through his nose. He knows he’s proven his size, but your silence and the way you’re eyeing his cock like some kind of museum exhibit is starting to get to him. 

Enjin doesn’t want to back down as he impatiently waits for your final verdict of approval. But if you keep staring at him like that, with those big pretty eyes of yours, he’s going to come in his pants, untouched, like some fucking cuck.

“Well, Princess? Big enough for ya?”

You don’t even hear Enjin, too lost in your own thoughts. Your body, buzzed and reckless, has a mind of its own though. Reaching out, your hand leaves your lap to trace the thick ridges of his cock, mapping its shape through his briefs. 

“Oh, shiiii—” Enjin hisses. 

His lip catches between his teeth as all thoughts vanish the moment your delicate little fingers start stroking him.

“Argh—fuck. Can’t jus’ go grabbing a man’s dick like that ya know.”

Yet Enjin does nothing to stop you as your touch grows bolder. Your palm flattens around his girth—too thick for even your whole hand to wrap around, even through his boxers.

How would someone even get something that monstrous inside them!?

Encircling his leaky cockhead, you giggle as your index finger slowly tap-tap-taps the mess he’s made there, amused at how many of the small, sticky suds you can gather on your finger through the material.

Enjin’s own laugh is strangled. This can’t be real.

“Heh… fuck… you really tryna kill me, huh, Princess? Fuckin’ tease…”

You’re unfazed by Enjin’s provocations – too mesmerized by the obscenely large cock in front of you that has you squirming uncomfortably as your own panties turn swampy with heat. 

“May I?”

Meeting Enjin’s gaze, your polite innocence is accented by a wide-eyed pout that’s far too sweet for the filthy implications of your request. Like you’re nicely asking permission to play with your favorite toy—except you don’t even wait for him to give it,fingers impatiently snapping the edges of his waistband like some cockhungry slut. 

“Uh…” Enjin blanks while his dick is practically screaming at him to respond—even a damned head nod would suffice. Yet his brain blue-screens as it registers that look—the normally innocent, curiosity filled look that he's been craving since he found you in No Man's Land—now twisted into something debased and filthy.  And best of all?

Meant just for him.

Enjin’s so fucking hard right now it’s painful—and hell, if you’re planning to do something about that, he’s not about to stop you.

“Keh. Do you, boo.”

Enjin manspreads, giving you full access. You eagerly pull down his shorts just enough to release his cock, and it springs free, thick and heavy. 

Good God, he’s a big boy! 

Although you knew that, seeing the monster in all of its unleashed glory was an entirely different experience. Enjin’s dick bobs back to curve towards his abs, a shiny pubic piercing shining at his base under its shadow.

Panting, your previously dormant inner size queen activates. You have to swallow down the bucket of saliva collecting on your tongue before you choke—you can’t help but salivate at the thought of what a huge cock like this tastes like… what it feels like. 

You’re pretty sure it could break you in two, and surprisingly, the thought excites you.

Lowering yourself on all fours, the first tentative lick you give Enjin’s length has his toes curling as he grips the sofa, ripping a chunk clean off the decaying material. 

You moan out a depraved 'ahhh' once you reach the top, a little smile playing on your lips as you tongue down the hole at his tip.  Greedily, you lap up all the little dribbles of pre beading at the tip and flowing out.

“W-Woaaah—ugh. FUCK!”

Enjin’s hand flies into your hair as he clears his throat. Sure, your mouthwatering stares made a blowie likely, but diving in this shamelessly? It’s enough to make him feel like he’s losing his damn mind.

You grip his base—an insurance policy to keep him from cumming—while your other hand cups his balls, giving them a gentle squeeze. His thigh jolts beneath you and you simper at how sensitive he is despite his massive size.

“T-There’s no way in hell they taught your prissy ass how to be this much of a slut up there.”

Pouting, you release his balls to cradle his cockhead against your puffed up cheek, uncaring of the amount of pre seeping across your jaw. 

“D-Do…do you hate it? My hus—um, ex said it was a turn off. H-he'd say I have 'the depravity of a slums streetwalker.”

Staring up at Enjin, your eyes are clouded with lust, yet edged with worry—like he’d threatened to rip something precious away.  But it’s only his cock you’re coddling tighter against your cheek, your lips parting just enough to chase the beads of pre that drip close to your mouth.

If you weren’t gripping Enjin’s base so hard he definitely would have blown a load all over your face. Fuck, if the thought isn’t tempting to him though – he doesn’t think you’d even mind in this state.  

Goddamn, you’re so much sluttier than Enjin could have ever imagined. 

And he’d imagined it plenty. 

Especially on nights Enjin stumbled back to HQ drunk and alone, having closed down the bar with Corvus and Gris. Left to sate his own booze-fueled boner, he’d shamelessly rut into his pillow. Yet, no matter where his perversions strayed, every faceless fantasy in the dark insisted on transmuting into you. 

You seriously think he couldn’t match your freak? 

Oh, sweetheart, you have no fucking idea.

“Hate it?” 

Enjin holds back the growl building at the back of his throat. There’s a torrent of thoughts swirling with his high all at once—all coming to settle right back into his dick. 

“Never. Show me who you really are, Princess—n’ I’ll give it right back to ya tenfold—that’s a promise.”

If you weren’t already trembling with arousal—finally free to let your freak flag fly—you might’ve shied away. Enjin’s easy acceptance of you stirs something deeper, something messy that you usually ignore before it can settle. Now, with his scent thick on your face and tongue, you’re not thinking at all—aching with the urge to all but inhale his cock.

You merely nod, flashing Enjin a coy smile before stretching your plush lips to wrap around him. Slowly, you swallow down his girth, mouth hot with suction so deliciously moist Enjin’s hips jerk up. You gag, but his firm grip on your roots keeps your head in place, forcing his length to breach your throat.

“That’s it, baby…open up f-f’er me—g-good fucking girl, Princess…”

Tears prick at your eyes as his cock pounds back of your throat. The stretch is brutal—but some desperate part of you craves more of his filthy praise. What you can’t take with your mouth, your hands make up for—stroking every thick inch your lips can’t swallow.

“Shiiiit, girl! You’re a pro at this.”

If you ask Enjin later, he’d probably call you a throat goat, however most of your “experience” came from the smutty paperbacks high-society wives hid in corsets and swapped under tea tables—not actual practice. You don’t really know what you are doing. You’re just following the book's explicit instructions. 

Still, Enjin doesn’t seem to mind being your test dummy. 

On the contrary, Enjin is more than happy to let you do your thing and he does just that. Although, the longer your head bobs along his cock, the more your skirt rides up—until it finally flips over your hips, giving him a perfect view of the cheeky lace framing your ass.

Enjin groans, gripping your ass with bruising force before sliding his fingers down to palm your pussy over your panties—fuck, you’re already dripping for him.

“Hah—uppity cunt gets this sloppy just from a lil’ dick sucking, eh?”

Enjin laughs, yet the gravel rattling in his voice betrays him. No one has ever fearlessly tried to deepthroat him and actually fucking enjoyed it. 

Unable to respond with your mouth, too busy still trying to do the impossible and fit more inside your throat, your hips respond instead—wiggling desperately against his fingers, begging for more of his touch. 

Enjin doesn’t hesitate. Slipping a tatted finger into your panties, he drags it through your folds, marveling at how wet and scorching you are. Pushing into your core, your walls clamp down, fluttering around his digit.

Oh fuck, even his fingers are big! 

A second ringed finger follows – the rough, callous fingers of a man who's seen too many fights scrape so good against all your gooey spots. Lewd squelches echo from your pussy as your throat tightens around him in tandem. The sounds, the squeeze, the heat—all of it is driving him crazy.

Shit he’s gonna cum for real this time. 

To his credit, Enjin tries to warn you—tries to pull you off before it’s too late. 

He doesn’t wanna risk pissing you off and having you refuse to ever do this again. Enjin still wants to fool around more;, he wants to fuck you. It’s that thought—your pretty pussy lips splitting open to swallow him instead—that has him busting his hot seed down your throat in thick, hot pulses.

“HAHH—FUHH!”

Releasing your hair, Enjin half expects you to pull away, furious he hadn’t warned you.  Instead, your nails dig into his thigh, steadying yourself. You moan around him, the vibrations rippling through his sensitive cock while you work him for every last drop, his hips jerking beneath you.

Only when you’re certain you’ve drained him do you pull back, swollen lips coming off his cock with a wet pop. 

“Allll go-neee S-Sheee? HAhhhhh~♡”

Tits jiggling as you heave for air, you present your tongue to Enjin as proof you’ve swallowed all of him. Every. Filthy. Drop.

“Oh fuck me… you’re a nasty lil’ Trash Princess, aren’t you?”

You can’t help but agree—your throat’s wrecked and your pussy’s aching to be used just as thoroughly. Enjin’s fingers aren’t inside you any more, although they are still on your pussy, running through your folds absentmindedly.  

“Ngh—n-eed m-more,” you slur.

All your decorum was lost to the wind the moment you asked to see his dick—you don’t even care that it’s Enjin of all people that you just gave head to. Suddenly, the obnoxious pain in your ass seems like your only deliverance. Right now, you're more frustrated that you've spent so much time bickering with him when you could have been fucking him.

You much prefer his moans to anything else coming out of his mouth.

You need him to get hard again—immediately!

Enjin, mind mushy with release, takes another joint out to light. As much as he wants to return the favor after that kind of sloppy top, the man needs a minute.  His high has his whole body tingling from the post release sensitivity.

But you can’t wait any longer. It’s been god knows how long since you’ve had a proper orgasm and those were only from your own small, fumbling fingers. Throat achy and raw, you quiver at the masochistic thought of how his cock is going to absolutely obliterate your pussy.

You slide your panties down before flinging off your jacket and top.  Taking a seat on Enjin's lap, you're now clad in just your bra, your skirt that's bunched up at your hips, and thigh highs. Grabbing his cock, you give his soggy, half-hard girth a few encouraging pumps.

Your pussy is already slobbering, a viscous string of syrupy slick drips down from your slit to land on his cockhead, connecting you to him as you line him up. 

Feeling your fingers around his length, Enjin's eyes fly open, balancing the joint between his lips as he quickly shrugs off his own jacket, checking the pockets.

“Woah, woah. Slow your roll there sweetheart—you’re skipping a few steps.”

You aren’t listening though, not giving a fuck what Enjin is talking about as you cry out, grinding your clit against his fat tip, before running it back through your folds.

Enjin grits his teeth, coughing out smoke as he holds the joint in one hand and your hips in the other. You’re being a brat again, not listening to a single word he’s saying. 

“Gotta find my rubbers…also gotta stretch you out better, Princess—you’re gonna split in two if I don’t.”

You whimper, petulant and needy. You press his cockhead against your entrance, swiveling your hips like you’re going to recklessly sink down on him at any second.

“Huh? Rubbers?” You shake your head in confusion, pouting. “m’Ennnnjiiiiin…I can’t wait that long—puh-leaseee don’t make me wait s’long, Enjiiiiin. I can take it, promiseee!”

The way you sweetly coo his name is shattering any sense of self-control Enjin has left. The urge to submit you to the ultimate corruption surges hot through his veins, but Enjin knows how big he is and while he did want to break you, he didn’t want to hurt you in the process. You are absolutely nuts to want to ride him with so little prep—now, on top of everything else, you apparently wanted him to fuck you raw.

Wait—did you just ask what rubbers were? Did you not have condoms on the Sphere?

But any lingering concerns dissipate the second you start fighting to get his tip inside you.

“Too s-slow!” You groan.

Fear is the last thing on your mind—evident in the way you impale yourself on him, defiant even against the impossible stretch. Your pussy is tight around the swollen head of his cock, strangling it as your nails dig into his shoulders. You grind in slow, desperate circles. Tears roll down your cheeks as you bite them to keep from crying out, your body fighting against every inch.

Enjin watches with a dark glint in his eyes – you trying so hard for him makes him want to flip you over and fuck you into the cushions. But he’d let you have it at your own pace…for now. 

Releasing your hip, Enjin spits into his palm, rubbing his slick fingers over your clit in slow steady circles. 

“Such a hard-headed girl—c’mere…”

Enjin takes a long drag from the joint, balancing it between his fingers as he grabs the back of your neck. His lips crash into yours before you can think.

You gasp and Enjin takes the opportunity to exhale the smoke deep into your lungs, taking the harshest of the hit himself. You're left with only the smooth, earthy flavor warming your chest before it melts through your limbs.

But it’s the way he kisses you after that really knocks the ground out from under you. His tongue pushes past your lips, tangling with yours—hungry, messy, like he wants to steal the little air you have left until you’re only breathing him in.

Your arms wrap around his neck, hands buried in his soft buzzed undercut, anchoring yourself. You moan into his mouth and he swallows it greedily, teeth nipping your lower lip before diving right back in. All the while, his thumb keeps grinding into your clit, faster now, like he’s keeping rhythm with the pulse that’s beating under your skin.

Why does it feel this good? How is he doing this to your body? S’not fair! 

Not realizing you could feel this good from a kiss, you're unraveling in real time. Your mind goes blank with every pulse, every word, every inch. You’re not even fully seated yet, but you can already feel the blunt head of his cock grinding against your cervix, the pressure building with each centimeter you drop. You never imagined you could feel this full—like he might actually breach your womb.

The thought alone has you trembling, unstable, your aching thighs giving out, causing you to slide down a bit too fast. The thick veins along his length rake across your g-spot and your body snaps. A sharp, helpless spasm rocks you as your breath catches and a small, unexpected orgasm rolls through you.

Enjin pulls back just enough to let you breathe, though your body doesn’t stop shivering, lost in a blur of pleasure and pain.

“Eh... did you just cum, Princess?”

The question is rhetorical, full of smug amusement, as he can feel the increasing wetness leaking down his cock, making it all the easier for you to slide down.    

Teasing your earlobe, Enjin’s tongue dips in to flick at the shell of it, making you clench.

“HA! Good fucking girl! A lil’ more and I bet she’ll be a real squirter f’er me.”

Enjin beams, proud of his Trash Princess. No woman had ever taken him this deep—not even close. Enjin hadn’t expected you to be any different. And yet…when Enjin looks down, he releases a groan deep from his gut.

The sight alone almost has Enjin nutting in you -- your drooling cunt spread so wide around his girth, sitting almost at his base. A thought flashes briefly – it's kinda like he’s a virgin again. Parts of his dick had never experienced this kind of molten heat so maybe, in a sense, he is? Enjin didn’t fucking care if he was though, as he ain’t about to be with the way your pretty pussy is giving way like it’s made for him. 

“Run that back.”

Enjin takes the final drag, pinching the smoldering end of the joint between his fingers before flicking it aside. He leans in again, slower this time. There’s no rush in how his mouth seals over yours. The second shotgun is less about the smoke and more about the feel of you—your lips parting for him, your breath syncing to his, and the small whimper you make as he sucks slowly on your tongue.

The haze spreads between you both, thick and warm. Simultaneously, his knuckles tease your clit, a soft schlick sound filling the space between you from you getting wetter by the second. By the strength of some unknown force, you finally bottom out, immediately collapsing into his neck. 

You both moan. Enjin feels you quivering from the inside out and you feel him everywhere—shifting your guts into your ribs. 

“I…I did it.”

Your smile blooms soft against his inked skin, lips grazing the spot where you can feel his own pulse hammering wildly.

Enjin’s in no state to congratulate you on your impressive feat. Completely sheathed in you raw, coring out your gummy walls into the shape of his dick—something in his brain chemistry fizzles. Like a bit of pussy juice, acting as a catalyst, slipped into his dick and traveled straight to his prefrontal cortex to corrode all of his previous thoughts about you. The result is clear.

Enjin doesn’t give a fuck if you are a snobby, annoying, needy lil’ brat who never let him get away with shit and bitches at him constantly—the furtherest thing from his type.

Because honestly?

Motherfuck a bullshit-ass type. Your slutty ass pussy is fuckin’ perfect. 

For the first time, Enjin realizes he might be in love with you. 

How could he even look at another woman after this?

One thing if for certain—Enjin is going to make damn sure you never have the desire to even look at another man.

Both his hands trail up your hips, groping and squeezing the plump curves of your ass before settling at your waist. His blunt black nails dig into your skin to pull you back from his neck.

Enjin whistles, admiring the stagnant stream of spittle lingering on your chin. Look at you—cockdrunk just from sitting on him. 

Enjin doesn’t think he’s ever seen you look more beautiful.

“Enjiiiiiin,” you whimper, not being able to hold yourself up. 

But your cries for him only inflame the predatory smirk on his lips, your honeyed cunt hugging his cock so beautifully. 

“Makes sense you fell from heaven, huh Princess?” 

Whether you're ready or not, Enjin forcibly winds you on his cock in slow circles. Your clit brushes up against the well placed pubic ring like a reward for being the first to experience it.

“—cause this pussy’s a fuckin’ angel.”

Your eyes are already lodged in your skull so you can’t even roll them at his cheesy line. But if your pussy is an angel, then Enjin's dick is most definitely a demon—his sinful cock tearing through your insides and condemning you straight to hell.

Moaning loudly, your body moves on autopilot—chasing more friction from the rhythm Enjin set. Good thing everyone was at happy hour or you would for sure be attracting some major attention now.

Although, to be honest you probably wouldn’t notice anyway. You don’t even notice when your bra falls away, your tits spilling out just so Enjin could watch them jiggle in his face. You only register its disappearance once his mouth latches onto one of your nipples, his tongue finally saying it’s ‘hello’.

“Shiiiiit!”

Your hips stutter, then stall when Enjin tugs at your sensitive bud with his teeth.

“Hey…I know my Trash Princess ain’t tappin’ out just yet.” 

SMACK!

Enjin brings a heavy palm down on your ass and your pussy clenches tighter around him. Enjin relishes the way your plush curves mold to his hands, each smack adding to the wet, messy sounds between you. You’ve already leaked enough on his lap to stain the sofa beneath you.

“Nah, ya just got on the ride, baby. Giddy-up.”

SMACK!

“NNNGH!” You weakly glare daggers at him. 

Any softness on Enjin’s face has since been replaced by something far more mischievous. If you thought he was obnoxious before—you’re about to learn he’s a full-blown menace inside of pussy.

Wobbling, you gather together what little resolve you have left to roll your hips forward. 

“HAAH! S’too biiiiiig,” you whine but your body can’t stop.

The juices saturated between you grant enough momentum to finally get a good, smooth bounce going.

“Fuck—that’s it, ride it like it’s yours, baby.” Enjin encourages you.

The way you cream harder every time he calls you 'baby' doesn't go unnoticed.

“Oh? You like me talking sweet to the pussy, baby girl?—Or do you just like being my filthy lil’ trash slut, hm Princess?”

Gritting your teeth, you grab on to Enjin’s shirt like reins, pulling him closer to you. 

“Y-You’re…gonna—ahshiiiit—hafta f-fuck m’better than thisss…if you want m-me to be your ‘baby girl’—Trash Daddy.”

Unfortunately, your sass falls flat—you can barely keep your head from lulling to the side. But Enjin’s thoroughly entertained nonetheless—he’ll take ‘Trash Daddy’ over ‘Trashy Poppins’ any day.

“Bet.”

Electricity runs through Enjin. He’s all charged up—now it’s his turn to unleash.

Your brow furrows from the noise Enjin makes—you’re not sure if he just laughed or snarled. But it's the only warning you get. 

Sliding down the sofa a bit, adjusting himself for stability, Enjin spreads his legs, planting his feet firmly on the floor as he bullies his cock up into you like he's breaking in his own personal fleshlight.

All you can do is go slack, falling forward on his chest. His grip bruising your hips, not allowing you to run from the way his blunt cockhead plows into your womb like a battering ram. 

The couch beneath you groans, its frame creaking under the strain. The wood and leather protest like the entire thing might fall apart at any moment.

“Enjinnnnn, m’slowwww dowwwnnn!” 

Your cries only fuel his frenzy and Enjin knows from the way you’re gushing on him you can take it.

Fuck—this sweet lil’ pussy is just so good for him. Imagine if he never met you. 

If you never—

Enjin cuts the thought off cold. 

Moving before you can blink—your world flips. One second he’s pummeling up into you, the next you’re on your back. 

Enjin peels away his shirt, muscles flexing as he looms over you. His hands curl around your ankles to keep them pinned overhead. A single bead of sweat catches your bleary eyes as it slides down his bare chest, gliding over firm muscle. The bold ink patterns seem to come alive on his skin. He looks so fucking sexy right now and you can’t help but to shamelessly ogle him.

Yet, there’s something much too serious and somber about Enjin’s current demeanor. You’ve been staring at him far too long to go unnoticed. The highly expressive, sassy powerhouse is rarely this silent. He should be teasing you right now, asking some smartass shit like if you’re ‘enjoying the view’. 

“Enjin?”

Your sweet voice hits his ears and instantly you have his attention again. Enjin flashes you a pearly white smile.

“Heh, enjoy the break, Princess? You wont get another.”

Ignoring the question in your eyes, Enjin folds you into a mating press, thrusting to the hilt all in one motion. The sound of flesh lewdly slapping against flesh fills the room, as do your cries.

But there’s still something else burning in his eyes. Enjin knows it’s unfair not to be honest with you, but taking out his unspoken feelings on your pretty pussy is the only way he can express himself at the moment. 

Suddenly, there’s a loud creak followed by a decisive snap and two of the sofa’s legs give out. If your sweat and cum weren't like glue on the old leather you’d surely slide off head first. You yell out in alarm, but Enjin doesn’t give a fuck about the damn sofa.

His mood is still soured by the thought that wouldn’t be shaken away until he confronted it—

If you never fell.

But you did. He found you—and now that Enjin has you under him like this, he needs to fuck the point he’s concluded into you:

If Rudo ever finds a way to the Sphere, Enjin will personally travel there and see to your ex-husband himself. 

Hell, he might even rail you in front of him a few times—show him what a real man could do. Maybe even a real…husband?

If the sounds of sloshing fluids and skin slapping skin weren't ringing so loudly in your ears that it drowned out everything else, you would have thought Enjin had lost his mind with the way he was cackling above you.  He sounds completely deranged, laughing at the idea of him finally wanting to settle down all while continuing to pound you deeper into the broken sofa.

But despite being high off weed and your pussy, Enjin’s mind has never been more clear—he wants to lock you down.

“Hah… P-Princess, can ya feel me in your tummy? Right…” Enjin’s golden eyes lock on the ever-so-slightly distended bulge from the monstrous intrusion in your guts.

“....right, here.” 

Throwing your legs over his shoulders, his large hands splay across your sweat sheened belly. You’re squirming under the heat of Enjin sandwiching your guts between his palm and his cock. Its all far too much—you’re too full, unable to really focus on what Enjin’s saying.

“Ahh, E-Enj—m’ c-cum, g-gonna mmm…” you hiccup, swallowing your tears.

Your nails rake down his arm to ground yourself but your body is thrumming too hard, adrift in the rush rolling through every one of your wired nerves. Your tits bounce obscenely every time your velvety walls devour his cock back down to the base. Enjin’s pubic piercing bucking against your clit has you clutching onto his dick like you were about to break it off.

You feel so fucking good. Enjin desperately needs to feel you creaming on his cock, and you would be soon if your kitten nails raking down his arms– adding more red to his already inked skin– were any indication. 

“That’s it, Princess, hah—fuck, baby, I got you. Squirt for your Trash Daddy.”

As if on command, the knot inside you coils to its breaking point, prickling every nerve, releasing a warm rush of fluids. Your body tingling in ecstasy, you quickly tumble over your peak, eyes blinded by speckles of brightness as you cum.

Yet Enjin hasn't slowed, his continuous pounding forcing more of your cum and squirt to gush out of you—the melody of his now drenched balls colliding with your wet ass only growing loude

“Fuck, that’s it. Pussy cryin’ like she wants my cum, Princess…” 

You’re barely conscious from all the pleasure, eyes rolling back into your head. 

“She’s jealous that slutty throat of yours got all my cum, now it’s her turn to swallow, isn’t that right?”

It’s a rather roundabout way for Enjin to ask if he can nut inside you, but then again, he wasn’t really asking. The thought of breeding you makes him feral. 

“Ahh—f’nnghhhh!”

Non-verbal and fucked dumb, you’d probably agree to anything right now. You’re an utter mess–pussy stretched beyond anything you thought possible, face sticky with slobber rolling down to pool in the folds of your neck. 

“O’course it is…gonna dump all these trash babies into my princess’ sweet lil’ cunt.”

Although you are super turned on by the thought of Enjin breeding you, there's no way you have any idea how serious Enjin is about putting a baby in you. How could you? You don’t even realize the love confession his cock is professing to you.

“FUHHHH—take it!”

Enjin pumps thick ropes of his cum into your tummy as his body thrashes on top of yours. The primal intensity has you vibrating as another orgasm rips through your overstimulated and overworked pussy. Filled the brim, his spunk overflows, sploshing out of your pussy as he rocks his hips, urging his seed deeper to plant right in your womb.

In the afterglow, the two of you lie off-kilter in a tangled heap on the broken sofa. There’s blood rushing to your head— not the worst place for it, you think, all things considered. Enjin’s weight is heavy, his chest heaving into yours, warm and sticky as he wraps you in his arms. 

Just as you feel you both might drift off like this, Enjin stirs. Flinching, you whimper as Enjin wills himself up, his cock sliding out of your pussy with a squelchy suctioning noise. Your knees part for him with zero resistance as he inspects his handiwork, peeling apart your battered pussy lips to reveal your dug out slit. 

“Whewww,” Enjin whistles at the sight of the thick creampie glistening in your core. “All this cum your cute pussy pulled outta me—you’d think she was my jinki.”

Sober, you likely would have slapped him for referring to your pussy as his vital instrument. But ecstasy clouds your logic, so high off endorphins and other substances, you only giggle. It is kinda funny you suppose.

“Yeah—squirtin’ on command like that. Definitely an attack type.”

Spread open, the thick plug of spunk froths out of you. But Enjin simply tuts, pushing it right back in, not wanting to waste a single drop.

“Yeah, how about that, ’mma duel wielder! Yup, definitely gotta name ‘er now—what you thinkin’ I should call her, princess?”

Enjin sees the way your pretty cunny is twitching, and in his pussy drunk mind, it's an approval. The spasms that still quake through you are like tremors of Morse Code—your slutty pussy agreeing with him, begging for more. Flipping you over on your belly, Enjin is more than happy to fulfill any request of his new vital instrument.

“Got it! Cumbringer! The Umbreaker and The Cumbringer. Nice ring to ‘em, dont’cha think?”

Cumbringer!?

Later, you would definitely regret being so thoroughly fucked out of your mind you didn’t put a stop to this. Enjin is most definitely going to be insufferably proud of himself for the next 3-6 business weeks. He’d lord this over you and tease you with not-so-subtle hints around the rest of the cleaners. 

Yet, as Enjin is swabbing his huge cock through your folds, you feel the ache of loss in your core, wanting to be filled again and you can’t seem to find the fucks to care—you just needed more of his dick, like…now.

Pleased with your compliance, Enjin thumbs the dips at the small of your back, perching your ass up so your back arches real nice.

“Trash Daddy’s gonna take real good care of Cumbringer from now on, too. Make ‘er live up to the name.”

When Enjin pushes into you again, the new angle has him bullying against your g-spot with even more intensity than before. Seeing the way you jolt, he holds back from going as deep this time to directly abuse the spot. Slick runs down your legs and despite how slippery the ruined leather cushions are beneath you, Enjin still holds you firm as his cock sloshes through your ruined pussy.

“Say, how much anima you think is in my nut, Princess?”

You don’t respond but Enjin, proving to have the stamina of a beast, feels like he should give you at least two more doses just to be sure.

⛓

Fading in and out of a euphoric stupor, you’re unsure how much time passes. Absolutely cockdrunk, at some point, you’d simply just surrendered. Your pussy clearly has zero complaints about being a jinki for Enjin’s cock and you are too dumb once you get a lil dick to stop him.

Somehow, you’ve ended up folded over the wide coffee table. It’s unstable beneath you, but Enjin doesn’t seem to care what he breaks when he’s fucking you. He only moved from the sofa when the back of it finally broke.

Straining, you think you hear voices but everything feels so far away and fuzzy. The room gets darker and you realize Enjin’s thrown his coat over you. Still sheathed deep inside you, Enjin’s cock plants lazy kisses to your womb as he speaks rather casually to someone.

Hmm, did he get a call? Is that Semiu?

Semiu is likely calling, wondering why you both haven’t shown up to happy hour yet—shit. There’s no way you’re making it in this condition; your limbs are toast. You can’t even move the weight of Enjin's bulky jacket off of you, the heavy material trapping you in the humidity of your own breath and sweat. But in a way, the warmth is comforting. Your cheek resting against the wood, you allow the tent of muggy heat and his cock moving languidly inside you to lull you into complacency— in your delirium, everything feels like a nice dream.

Yet Enjin is fully alert, a shit eating grin on his face as he stares down Semiu and Gris who had just walked in on Enjin shamelessly beating your doonies down. Enjin only spared your modesty by covering you up, but he has no qualms with either Gris or Semiu seeing him in all his glory and doesn’t even bother pulling out of you.

A fact that is painfully clear as he pats the pockets of his jacket draped over you for his cigs—he might as well smoke if he’s giving you a break.

“I win,” Semiu turns to Gris, hand out expectantly.

Semiu’s cool expression never changes but there is amusement in her eyes as Gris fishes into his pockets and places a stack of bills into her hand.

“Tsk, damn…” Gris shakes his head, although he’s not shocked. 

The two of you are down so horrendously bad for each other that this should have happened long ago as far as everyone else was concerned. The tension has been at an unbearable level for those around you, the way the two of you picked at each other non-stop like a kid’s first crush.

Alas, you’re an airhead and Enjin is so stubborn he’s delusional. So the older Cleaner members couldn’t help, but place bets on when and where you and Enjin would finally slip between the sheets. Its a shame that you weren't in one of your beds right now--in between actual sheets--instead of the lounge becoming collateral damage.

“You know, after all the game you talked about winning your money back at poker tonight, Bro said you were a no-show because you knew you were gonna lose…” Gris eyes the boneless, quivering lump that is you under Enjin’s jacket. 

Enjin really did a number on you. Your nonsensical babbles pouting for Enjin to ‘make sure to tell Semiu to bring you back some fries from the bar’ obviously means you have no idea that they are actually in the room.

“But it looks like you have your ‘ace in the hole' for an entirely different game.”

Enjin chortles. His hips stutter forward a bit too hard and you squeak in protest, he just hushes you.

“Awe, so you came back all this way to check-up on us? How sweet,” Enjin says sarcastically, taking a drag from his cigarette.

“Hardly. Rudo accidentally chugged an entire beer he thought was soda—then proceeded to throw it all up over Zanka,” Semiu says flatly. 

Enjin attempts to hold back his laughter as Semiu continues with a sigh. She explains thatGris helped carry Rudo back, promptly putting his little blacked out ass to bed. Zanka locked himself in the bathroom immediately upon returning.

“Although they're sure to be occupied for the rest of the night, since the kids are back in the building you need to wrap this shit up Enjin—she looks like she could use the break anyway.”

Semiu casts a sympathetic look your way. She did warn you about Enjin though, so he was your mess to deal with now. 

“Sure thing,” Enjin says, patting your form underneath his coat, “I’ve trained my new jinki well enough for tonight.” 

Semiu takes one look at the absolutely diabolical grin on Enjin’s face and decides she's already had enough of his shit for the night.

She sighs again. “Just hurry it up, alright?”

Enjin gives Semiu a cheeky salute. Yet the second her back is turned, Enjin mimes a dramatic chef’s kiss to the air for Gris. Enjin’s eyes roll back like he’s just had the best meal of his life. 

Gris snorts, shooting him a wink and a thumbs-up for a ‘job well done’ like a proud teammate before heading out of the room as well.

“One more thing.”

Semiu pauses in the doorway, hands resting on the double doors, surveying the crime scene-like state of the lounge. The sofa is toast, the coffee table’s on life support, and there's a growing puddle under you, spilling over to slowly drip off its edge onto the floor.

“If you’re just going to recklessly rawdog her, at least get her on the pill. Alice can sort that out tomorrow—right after you replace every piece of furniture you’ve both annihilated.”

Enjin simply shrugs, taking another drag of his cigarette.

“I suppose…we can stop by Alice’s too.” 

Semiu just rolls her eyes, only to wrinkle her nose as a wave of stale air wafts by.

“And for the love of god—crack a window. Smells like fresh ass in here.”

Once the doors finally click shut, Enjin rips his jacket off of you and smiles. You’re still blissed out in lalaland while your pussy, Cumbringer, is clenching around him like she has one more go left in her.

Grabbing your arm, he pulls you up. Still sheathed inside you, he sits back on his knees, bringing you with him, your back pressed against his chest.

“Mmmm—*yawns* Was that Semiu on the call, Enj?”

Call? Oh, heh.

“Ha, yeah baby girl, just Semiu on the line,” Enjin lies too easily. 

It’s for your own benefit though–no need to ruin your bliss with anything silly like embarrassment or shame from being walked-in on. Hell, unless Semiu says something, Enjin might be able to get away with not ever telling you.

“She said they ran outta fries though. I’ll get ya some later, yeah? Jus’ need Cumbringer to clock in one more time, Princess...”

Enjin rocks his hips with yours in a slow wave and your pout melts, no longer caring about the fries. Your head tips back onto his shoulder as he wraps his arms around you.

“Ah, mmmm, b-but—ngnh!  She mentioned something about hotdogs and getting pills tomorrow? Is that a mission?”

Enjin hums to keep from laughing as he turns your face towards him. He smirks devilishly against your lips.

Distracting you with sweet chaste kisses, Enjin rubs gentle circles over your womb. You’re gonna be so fucking hot waddling around HQ in your slutty ass uniform, tits leaking and belly full with his brats. 

The only pill he’d get from Alice would be a fertility pill.

“Nothing my slutty baby girl or my Cumbringer gotta worry about, Princess. Leave everything t’me.”

𝐚𝐧: ahh tysm for reading, especially if you are new to my writing. enjin brain rot is lethal. i needed to get this outta my system! jjk girlies forgive me for straying from my wip list and kinktober lol. definitely down to write more of him. i have a p2 and another enjin story (an AU) idea. but i have to focus on my jjk kinktober now! ♡

˖ ࣪꒰ NERDJO ꒱ ˙˖ hated that you weren't talking to him anymore. you barely looked at him in class. last monday he'd known for a fact that you scored higher than him in the recent test— but you didn't even look his way. let alone shove it in his face like he was hoping you would. what? was he nothing to you now that you fucked his brother? he couldn't make sense of it. even moreso, he couldn't understand why it upset him. he missed your rivalry. missed how you made class and academics fun again. most of all, he missed how you didn't back down to his belittling. you dished it back. made him want you. and now you were just. . . gone. all because of his fuckass twin.

˖ ࣪꒰ BIKERJO ꒱ ˙˖ had gotten a bit tired of your games and the way you blatantly avoided him, so he made sure to utilise his greatest collection. . . videos. that he took of you when you so carelessly decided to go back to his dorm. featuring a fucked-out, glossy-eyed you taking his cock and whining on it. satoshi always did this. took videos of the girls he was with. but he rarely kept them. either forgetting about or deleting them later. yours though? he couldn't stop looking back on them. couldn't stop fisting his cock to them and remembering how your sweet cunt took him better than anyone ever did. head limped back on his couch and breathing shaky as he spurted all over his trembling fingers.

he sent one of the videos to you. with a cheeky little caption.

“ignoring me when I made you feel like this babydoll? c'mon. missing you. know you're missing me too.”

your reply was a heated voice note. telling him to delete your number. calling him a creep. but he could hear the fluster. it had him grinning. he sent one back, voice all velvet and rasped. “don't think I will. don't think my favourite girl wants me to.”

because whether he knew it or not— he was right. despite your shame, you hadn't stopped thinking about it. how good he felt inside of you. how he's the best fuck you'd ever had. the things he said to you swirled your mind on the daily.

you touched yourself to him some nights. rubbing your clit in a desperate attempt to replicate the callouses on his thumb. and you fucking hated it. because he was just some player. just some guy.

and not the guy you thought you were actually falling for.

˖ ࣪꒰ NERDJO ꒱ ˙˖ was in the library when you finally approached him. it's been two weeks. no banter, no jabs, not even eye contact. so he did well with keeping his stare in his book. how'd you even find him here? no one came to this corner of the library and yet, here you were. maybe if he ignored your presence enough, you'd go away.

“so. . .” you started, he could feel you fiddling. then you sighed. shoulders sagged. “look, I just wanted to apologise for being such a bitch at start semester.”

his heart fluttered.

“the day before that your brother flirted and I didn't appreciate it. the next day I saw you in class and well. . .”

then sunk.

your face flushed. “it's stupid I know, but— I thought you were both the same person. I'm sorry. I should have figured it out.”

satoru's mind was spinning. he'd spent years creating his own identity separate from his twin brother. how the fuck did you think he and that thing were the same person?

˖ ࣪꒰ NERDJO ꒱ ˙˖ didn't care about how you flinched when he abruptly stood, the chair skidding behind him. with his eyes sharp and venom stuck to his tongue. he snapped.

“so what, fucking my brother put you in a good mood or something?” why was he acting like this? he wasn't sure. he didn't know why he was so angry.

actually, he did. he just didn't want to admit it.

and you, he's not sure what he expected other than your eyes growing just as cold. you were the same girl who butted heads with him in every academic suite after all. a part of him felt glad that you didn't take his shit. this felt nice. felt normal.

“what the hell, satoru? I'm just being honest. and how the hell do you even know that?”

“that's gojo to you.”

he corrected in a hiss. little did he know how familiar you were with the name. how you moaned it in pure bliss rather than his brother's.

˖ ࣪꒰ NERDJO ꒱ ˙˖ really shouldn't have been surprised with the banter that went on between the both of you. it was natural. your souls were like two negative poles. theory of repulsion. repulsed. he was repulsed by you. by the fact that you compared him to his brother. by the fact that you fucked that same. idiot. brother.

he's not even sure where the argument was going. only that it was pissing him off and that he almost didn't want it to stop.

he couldn't stop picking on the fact that you did it. that you actually went ahead fucked satoshi. he could see how flustered you got. how you didn't even try to deny the accusation but got all the more defensive.

but then you just had to go and say that.

“you know, since it pisses you off so bad maybe I'll just go fuck satoshi again.”

and that's. when he finally snapped.

˖ ࣪꒰ NERDJO ꒱ ˙˖ had more strength than people gave him credit for. you learnt that today. not because of how he gripped your jaw or shoved you into the bookshelf, knocking off a few books— but because of how his mouth crashed onto yours.

pure, unadulterated strength and even more roughness. with the way his mouth greedy clamped on yours. how your teeth meshed and your tongues tangled. the hard grip of his large hands. one firm on your waist and the other squishing your face.

if anything, he was rougher than satoshi.

wrestling your tongue and swallowing your whines. kissing you like he was trying to consume your very soul. maybe then you'd be his. his. all his. not fucking satoshi's.

you're not sure how many times he kissed you. every time he parted, it'd be for just a second before he was back at it again. swapping spit and strangling your hiccups. all you know was that when he did pull away, you were quivering. mouths webbed in stringy saliva and eyes hazed on one another.

that's when you felt it. hard and thrumming heavy on your thigh. your hips instinctively bucked up.

he grunted, squeezed your jaw tighter and pressed your head back into the shelf. “you serious right now?” he sneered. “your rival kisses you and you just what? get all soft and submissive? already tryna hump me like a bunny?”

fuck. the way that your eyes glossed over. . . he just couldn't help himself.

˖ ࣪꒰ NERDJO ꒱ ˙˖ can't believe he had you here now. pinned to the bookshelf with one hand clamped tight over your mouth and the other buried beneath your skirt. panties drenched and twisted to the side while two fingers messily fucked you raw. curling, and twisting, and pumping your squeezing walls.

he didn't care about making you cum. not really. all he cared about was fucking you stupid since you wanted to act like a dumb whore.

but he still did. staining your hand in his slick and forcing himself to pump faster. harder. just to see the way your knees shook and feel your slutty moans against his palm.

he was rough. clumsy. not as experienced as satoshi and it showed in the way his fingers pummelled your poor pussy into a creamy mess.

he might not have been experienced but he sure as hell studied female anatomy enough to know that his thumb was on your clit. rubbing shaky and sharp circles on the nub to send you spasming more.

satoru sneered into your face. jaw tight and eyes cold. “can't believe you're just another college slut. just like every other fuckin' girl in this place.”

his fingers sped up. wrist flicking. he curled just right on your sweet spot and rubbed the little spongy bundle of nerves into a merciless spasm.

he loved the way your eyes rolled back. how you bucked into his hand and whined. for him. this was for him. you were whining his name all muffled and moaned into his palm.

˖ ࣪꒰ NERDJO ꒱ ˙˖ drew his hand back to observe the sticky mess between his fingers. pulling his hand up to see the stringy cum all over his hand. webbed and musked. fuck. he was throbbing. glasses all fogged from his heavy breaths.

“the fuck is this, huh?” he grunts, hold his fingers for you to see. he slipped the hand on your mouth around your jaw again. pressed his messy middle and index fingers flat against your tongue and rubbed your cum on it.

his voice was a hissed grumble to your ear. “a few fingers and you shut right up? not so smart after all huh, sweetheart?“

and then he was burying them back into your flooding pussy all over again. he didn't care if you were shaking like a leaf. if you were overstimulated. he didn't even know what that meant.

all he cared about was making those pretty eyes flutter back. making you cum around his fingers cause he was addicted to feeling those velvety rings clench around his knuckles.

but most all? all he cared about was that it was him doing this to you.

even if he hardly knew what he was doing. that puddle between your legs? the trembling in your thighs? your pussy pulsing and sobbing all over his palm?

that was because of him. gojo fucking satoru.

˖ ࣪꒰ NERDJO ꒱ ˙˖ was panting himself by the time he was done. his arm was jittering and his wrist ached. but he still dragged his tongue and licked your trickling sweetness off of wrist and the back of his hand as he drew it to his mouth.

you were more than a mess. whimpering and weeping. limp on the shelves as you clung to his arms.

he felt something akin to pride.

but then you started grinding that slick, creamy cunt on his crotch. right over his bulge. hot and wet and smearing it all over his throbbing erection. his breath hitched.

your eyes were sweet and fluttery. but your whines were sweeter. you tried to humping on him. catching your clit on the curve of his hard-on to bring yourself friction. greedy girl. hadn't he finger-fucked you enough?

“please,” you whimpered. “please please please satoru, I'm sorry. just please. I need more. please fuck me.”

his breathing was thin. here you were. the girl he was obsessing over for months. begging him to fuck you in some corner of the library.

and the worst part was?

he was gonna deny you.

˖ ࣪꒰ NERDJO ꒱ ˙˖ felt his heart ache as you looked on the verge of tears when he pulled away with nothing but a grunt. he fixed your skirt and swiped off his stained hand on your inner thigh. “we've got studying.” he mumbled. he didn't know why he was doing this. didn't know why he was running away.

but every time you pawed at him. every time he saw that desperate look in your eye. that plea to just fuck you— he couldn't. no.

his mind starting spurring with what ifs. berates and insecurities and embarrassment because he just did that. he just fingered you in a public setting. uncoordinated and probably hopelessly clumsy.

his face was red. glasses fogged. but he wouldn't let you see that as he denied each of your advances and shuffled out of the library.

he needed a cold shower. forget that all of this happened.

forget the voice in his head telling him he'd fuck everything up if he even tried to fuck you.

˖ ࣪꒰ NERDJO ꒱ ˙˖ felt horrible, but now it was his turn to avoid you. he stopped talking, stopped looking, stopped interacting. and all of a sudden? you were trying to get back to normal. but for other reasons. he heard those little comments. knew that fucking beat inside of you was trying to make him snap. he couldn't take it. he almost did.

but he denied every advance you made. ignored the eyes you were giving him. the comments, the innuendos, everything.

he couldn't fuck you. you'd fucked satoshi. you'd know. you'd know.

he couldn't. he wouldn't embarrass himself like that. and you were getting frustrated.

because the guy you thought was one person. the personality you'd been falling in love with— you finally had a taste of him. you dreamt of that day in the library. how he held you. how he kissed you. how he spoke to you.

you wanted more. needed more. and when he didn't give it to you? well. . .

˖ ࣪꒰ BIKERJO ꒱ ˙˖ was quite surprised when he opened his dorm door one night to be greeted by your lips. greedy and hasty as your hands snatched his collar. he stumbled back, grunting and wide eyed. but his body fell into rhythm. hands gripping your waist, heel kicking the door shut.

he scooped you up by the backs of your thighs, groaned loud and wrecked into your mouth. “fuck yeah babydoll. attagirl. knew you missed me.”

as he tumbled you both into his couch. hands roaming every inch he'd been dreaming of for three weeks straight. mouth worshipping your skin in a way he never did for any other girl.

completely unaware that as his head ducked between your thighs, as his tongue lathered all over and your hands gripped tuffs of his white hair in them—

you were imagining a pair of glasses perched atop it instead.

© 𝒔𝒘𝒆𝒆𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒂𝒓𝒕𝒊𝒄𝒊𝒔𝒎. no plagiarism or ai training authorised. divider: @/cursed-carmine. art cred: @/_teaforgods (ig).

ᝰ.☆ enjoyed this piece? consider joining my patreon or commissioning me <3 I appreciate all the support!

˖ ࣪꒰ BIKERJO ꒱ ˙˖ would try his luck. you and him were in a thursday and friday class, and he'd use his every waking opportunity to grab your attention. flirts, charms, everything infuriating in between. he caught you in town once, rushing to get to campus and of course, offered you a ride.

“c'mon babydoll. is being late to class really better than takin' a ride with me?” he'd grin.

you'd flip him off. hiss another rejection. you knew about guys like him. you saw him in the hallways. loud, boisterous, flirting with any pair of pretty eyes that looked his way.

it confused you though. why'd he only flirt with you on thursdays and fridays? also where were his glasses?

˖ ࣪꒰ NERDJO ꒱ ˙˖ would go on to be your enemy of the semester. ever since your altercation in class, he's made it his personal life goal to hate you with his entire being. unfortunately for him, you were also smart. but a bit too confident for your own good, it seemed. did you really think you could compete with him? and so began the most fiery academic rivalry in history.

you'd be neck in neck. fighting for first place as professor's pet and battling it out on the grade scoreboards.

he'd get an assignment back with a stellar 99%, only to look over at your measly 94%. he'd grin, like an asshole. “must be hard being such a loser, huh?”

only to crumple his next assignment into tight fists when you managed to get just one percentage higher than him.

he'd exchange banter with you. debate you in class. call you a brat when you tried to prove him wrong and challenge him.

you were brilliant and unfortunately, beautiful. satoru didn't know what was happening to him. it slowly became something that wasn't just academics. and that terrified him.

as for you? you were in the same boat. the last thing you wanted was to fall in love with this asshole. but you had to admit, he looked cuter when he decided to wear his glasses and tone down the fuckboy act every monday and tuesday.

why'd he switch so drastically through the week? what a weirdo.

˖ ࣪꒰ BIKERJO ꒱ ˙˖ listened to his brother rant about the irritating girl that was his astrophysics desk partner. about how she was so unnecessarily rude and even more audacious. satoshi couldn't help but grin. was satoru, his loser of a brother, actually finding love? and when he found out that the girl in question was you? he couldn't blame him. he's been trying for months to get your number, let alone get up your skirt. he dubbed it as competitiveness. he's never had a girl reject him and thus— it's made him a little obsessed. he couldn't stop thinking about you. in bed, in the shower, hell, seeing you walk around campus and not even look at him was torture.

˖ ࣪꒰ NERDJO ꒱ ˙˖ hated himself for the way he turned out. he's not sure how it happened. just one day after a heated debate with you, he'd stormed off back to his dorm. collapsed in his desk. shoved his glasses into his hair. and soon, angry scribbling in his notes became desperate jerks of his hand as he fucked his fist. to the thought of you. that grating voice, that beautifully sharp mind. everything. he hated himself. hated that he was thinking about this. he wasn't satoshi. he didn't want girls like this— he sure as hell didn't fuck his fist this needy to one either. and yet when he spurted all over his hand, panting hard and whispering your name, it felt oddly right. it scared him.

˖ ࣪꒰ BIKERJO ꒱ ˙˖ dragged satoru out at the end of semester to a party. told himself he was being a good brother. might as well try to get along, right? but satoru was so boring. he didn't drink, didn't chat, just sat in some corner with his headset on and scrolled through his phone. and satoshi? he was all over the place. bouncing and bubbling, bumping and grinding. a red solo cup in his hand. keeping as far as fucking away from his twin as possible. fuck. why'd he even bring him here?

his irritation washed away the second he saw you, however. dolled up, dangerous, looking like both sin and sugar. he left behind his friends, ignored whatever girl tried to come his way.

he found you at the drinks table. propped his forearm on it and grinned at your little glare.

“this isn't really your scene, babydoll. tagged along with someone?”

“a few friends.”

“wow. so she can be polite.”

you rolled your eyes and noticed he wasn't wearing his glasses. seemed that the fuckboy persona was on for the night. you bit back your questions and swirled your drink in your cup.

“you never give up, do you?” you mulled.

his head took a charming curve as he sipped his drink.

“not when I want something, no.” those blue eyes raked down your frame. tracing every curve. familiarising every inch.

he dared to lean closer. white lashes batting as his grin sets into a stunning smile.

“especially when that something is as a pretty as you.”

your heart fluttered. you shouldn't have talked to him. shouldn't have kept talking to him.

you're not sure how it happened. maybe finally accepting his flirts. maybe after months of touching yourself to the academic rivalry. this heated push and pull between the both of you.

you should have known better, but— you did it. you let satoshi take you to his dorm.

˖ ࣪꒰ BIKERJO ꒱ ˙˖ has been around the block. his touch dripped with experience. he unclasped your bra with ease. barely missed a beat in kisses. large hands roaming your sweet body he's been dreaming about since the start of semester. not an inch of hesitance in his fingertips as he slipped under your dress and dragged your damp panties down. “such a pretty girl,” he crooned to your ear. how many girls had he said that to? how many did he mean it?

he's been after you for months. chasing, wanting— yearning. satoshi never yearned. he got everything he ever wanted in life.

maybe that's why he loved having to work for you. for your smooth body on his bed, opened up and so soaked for him. maybe that's why he actually took his time. mouthing on your skin. burying his face in your cunt.

he only ever ate women out as a way to get them ready. courtesy, if anything. but now? fuck, he's never actually feasted on a girl. with his hands, calloused from endless hours on his bike, dragging your thighs over. trapping you. mouth messily moving on your slit. slurping, sucking, shaking his head and nudging his nose into your clit.

he fucked you on his tongue. made you cum on it more than any girl ever has. and as you gripped his hair and whined for him? not some prissy comment or attitude? he almost came in his pants.

˖ ࣪꒰ BIKERJO ꒱ ˙˖ couldn't even care less if you didn't suck him off. he didn't even want you to. he needed to be inside of you. needed to hold you down and fuck you into his sheets. make the girl who was so unattainable finally his.

the second he was buried to the hilt inside your welcoming pussy— he couldn't breathe. you were hot, tight, suffocating him with your dripping slick and clenching cunt. he's had many girls in this position before. but no one looked up at him with those eyes. no one sounded this sweet. made him lose his fucking mind.

satoshi wasn't gentle. he couldn't be. the second his tip smooched your cervix, his hands clamped on your waist as his hips started snapping. hard, controlled. an experienced rhythm that stuffed all his inches deep into your gooey heat and meshed your clit with his pelvis.

“fuuckk, babydoll,” he groaned from the back of his throat. hunching over you. one hand gripped your hip while the other slipped around to cup the back of your head.

he was losing himself. losing his fucking mind. the bed creaked. headboard tapped. but your pretty moans were all he was focused on. your sweet whimpers and little whines as he alternated rhythms. rolled his hips. went from grinding to humping to thrusting, until your toes curled and your back lurched off of the bed.

pretty nails down his back. teary doll eyes on him as your slick dripped down his balls and splattered all over his thighs with each firm thrust.

your lips parted. eyes glossed. he saw it. cradled your head close and slipped a thumb to your clit. he knew what it meant. saw his name on your tongue.

a groan built on his. thrusts surging into wet, rushed slaps pounding against your ass.

“say it for me baby. c'mon, say my name.”

“s-sat— sato—. . .” your eyes fluttered. head thrown back. loud and needy, your moan broke into the air.

“satoru!”

and broke satoshi's mind.

you didn't know any better. they're both reffered to as “gojo” in class and you've only heard one other person refer to one of them as “satoru”. you thought that was his name. thought they were one person.

˖ ࣪꒰ BIKERJO ꒱ ˙˖ frozen. stiffened mid thrust as the last syllables stung his ear. satoru. satoru. his twin brother? did you really just fucking call for his twin while he's balls deep inside of you. making your cunt cream and cry for him. making you— wait.

didn't satoru say you were rude to him for no reason at all?

satoshi's mind worked fast. piecing the puzzle and timeline together. you confused satoru for him back then. he didn't know whether to be amused or angry.

amused because, how in the hell did you think they were the same person?

angry because, he's the one who's been working his ass off for you attention— and it's his brother's name that you call instead?

either way, he grinned. halfway a threat and a taunt. “oh?” he crooned, bucking his hips hard into yours so that his fully seathed cock dragged on all of your sweet spots.

he leaned over you. white hair dusting over icy blues. your jaw trapped in his strong hand.

“you want toru baby? want me to go get him for you?”

your confused look almost had him cackling. before he slammed! into you again. hands bundling your thighs. grin turned sharp. he yanked you down to choke your cunt on his cock and jerked forward. pounding you into the mattress and snapping the headboard into the wall as your moans pitched into cries.

“sato—!”

he gripped your jaw tight. shoved two fingers on your tongue before you said his name again and made satoshi fuck you until you were a limp cumdump.

“satoshi.” he corrected with a pointed sneer. his rabid pace not once letting up. frustration pulsed into every vein of his ramming cock.

“satoshi. satoshi.” he grit, punctuating each repeat of his name with a rough thrust.

“satoshi's the one fucking you. not satoru. satoru's my fuckin' twin. I'm the one fucking this pretty cunt stupid. I'm the one you should be calling for.”

˖ ࣪꒰ BIKERJO ꒱ ˙˖ didn't give you time to process the fact that you'd thought he and his brother were one person. egged on from the frustration of wanting someone more than he's ever wanted anyone— only to have them moan out his twin's name— spurred his mind feral.

he pounded you into his sheets. pummeling your poor pussy until you squirted all over him. again, and again, and again— until you were saying his name. whining his name. sobbing his name.

he's not sure how many rounds he fucked you through. three? four? he pushed and pulled you into whatever position he could think of. threw your legs over his shoulders and fucked you until your eyes crossed. shoved you onto your stomach and pounded against your ass until your drool stained his pillow.

he couldn't care about finally having you anymore. if you wanted to act dumb— he'd fuck you stupid. fuck his silly girl who couldn't tell the obvious difference between him and his brother who actively despises him.

he made sure it was his name you knew. made sure you knew it was him inside of you. his cock making you cum. his hands holding you through it. and for extra measure? he sucked his name in hickeys on your collarbone.

TOSHI in blushing bruises.

he made sure to cum inside. creampie you nice and full until it was dripping. then snatched your panties and wiped the mess clean with them. he stashed them away for later.

˖ ࣪꒰ BIKERJO ꒱ ˙˖ stirred the next morning to you shuffling out of his arms. he tried to pull you in, kiss your head, but you were up and frantic. he cracked an eye open, watching as you shuffled out of bed and searched for your clothes. you looked almost panicked. he couldn't help but grin at the sight of your nude body prancing around his room, littered in all the marks he'd given you.

he propped his head onto one of his hands, brow arched and grin audacious. “something wrong, babydoll?”

oh, there's that glare he loved. only now you looked utterly embarrassed. flushed face and glossy eyes as you clumsily pulled on your clothes.

“shut up.” you mumbled, but made the mistake of looking in the mirror. you saw it. hickies spelling out his name. the night crashed back into you.

right. you thought the twins were one fucking person.

satoshi could only grin. tilting his head and pouting. as if he felt sorry for you.

“awww baby, embarrassed? 's okay. it was cute.” he sat up, raking his eyes that grew progressively darker down your wrecked frame.

“just a reminder. that it wasn't toru fucking that sweet cunt. toshi bruised those pretty thighs up, kay?”

he snickered as you tossed a pillow at him. still called you babydoll as you called him creep.

˖ ࣪꒰ NERDJO ꒱ ˙˖ texted his brother the same day.

“the fuck did you dip to? could have told me.”

he nearly broke his phone at the reply.

“sorry. your little rival was all over me. had to take care of her.”

satoru stared at his phone. telling himself it was fine. that he shouldn't be mad. he didn't feel a fucking thing for you— why should he care?

maybe because satoshi always got the girls.

maybe because he hated him.

he shoved his phone into his pocket. got up and went to class. you weren't looking at him. guilt riddled in your stare that remained forward.

fucking. great. of course you were just like every other girl on this campus.

he was in a mood all day. avoided his brother like he always did and kept to himself. all he wanted was to get to his dorm, kick off his shoes, study, maybe read some manga, play on his switch.

so imagine his surprise when he found a crumpled pair of cum-filled panties strewn over his bed and heard the familiar engine rev from outside his window?

it didn't take a genius to know whose those were.

his hands trembled. glasses fogged and slipped down his nose. red swarmed his vision.

satoru didn't quite know how to throw a punch, but he's never wanted to break his brother's jaw more.

© 𝒔𝒘𝒆𝒆𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒂𝒓𝒕𝒊𝒄𝒊𝒔𝒎. no plagiarism or ai training authorised. divider: @/cursed-carmine. art cred: @/_teaforgods (ig).

ᝰ.☆ enjoyed this piece? consider supporting or commissioning me <3 part two coming soon!

Your eyes flick from the amused guard to your new ‘friend’ who gets one last pull-up in before dropping two socked feet to the ground with a grunt. You swear the fucking ground rumbles. He turns towards you and your knees wobble as his shadow over takes you.

Red eyes. Half of his face is mutilated, marred by a fire from long ago, you can surmise. His face tattoos match his body. He’s tall, you wouldn’t even be able to reach the height of his makeshift pull-up bar on the tips of your toes.

You stiffen as he sizes you up like the other inmates did on your way in. You hope you wrapped your chest tight enough. A woman in an all male prison? Not a good idea for too many reasons.

“Hi—” you clear your throat of the high pitched tone, adopting a fake, deeper one, “Hey, bro. It’s uh— cool to meet you— or whatever.”

You could slap yourself. Who are you kidding? You don’t know how to talk like a guy. You should have told Gojo ‘No, no amount of money would make me spend a year in a male prison.’ You shouldn’t have drank so much and stupidly agreed that night at the bar, because now, the best case scenario here is that the guard takes you away and they throw the real you into a women’s prison for trying to ‘fool the system.’

The man takes a step forward, and you’re already tensing for a blow— but he just shoulder checks you on the way out. You stumble a little, immediately going to rub your shoulder.

The guard looks properly amused, holding back a laugh. “Here,” he kicks off the wall, pushing some supplies into your arms. Another guard must have handed these over to him as you greeted your cellmate.

“Have fun,” he makes his brows jump and moseys away.

You deeply exhale through the nerves in your chest, walking towards your bed, if you can even call it that. You drop the supplies onto the thin mattress. Sheets, blanket, toothbrush, etc.

You’ve never been one to pray, but you’re considering it right about now. You shake your head and give yourself something to do: put on your sheets, organize the few toiletries you have on your desk.

After fifteen minutes, some kind of bell rings through the prison and you watch inmates filter out of their cells.

You stand and lean out of the cell curiously. You catch one of them muttering about ‘green beans’ and you realize it’s dinner time.

You enter the crowded mess hall and you’re immediately overwhelmed, clattering trays and chaos. The smell of old meatloaf and sweaty man fills the room.

You keep your head down as you get in line, adopting a slight slouch in hopes to avoid accidental eye contact that could be perceived as a threat. The second you’re pulled into something like a violent altercation, you’ll likely be exposed as a woman quite fast.

Dinner is slop with a side of slop on a metal tray, and you’re realizing why Gojo wanted to avoid this place so adamantly. A fucking paid vacation, he’d said.

You scan the mess hall with the tray in your hands, heart racing.

You spot two guards leaning against the entrance, watching you with amusement— like they’re waiting to see what happens to you, who will pick the runt of the litter. You’re the entertainment. You must look like a little meek boy, shaking in your boots.

It’s packed. Big men in little stools. It reminds you of highschool clicks but worse. You spot your pink haired cellmate, sat alone at the only empty table, but one mean glance up with those red eyes and you’re searching elsewhere.

“Who do we have here?” A deep voice sings as a heavy arm drops around your shoulders.

You glance up at him to see a blue haired man with scars all over his body, like he’d previously had poorly done stitches. He smiles at you with dead eyes.

Some of his friends surround the two of you, bored and idle— but their bulky presence only makes you nervous.

“Need somewhere to sit?” he hums tauntingly, tilting his head down to your level. “My name’s Mahito.”

“Oh, I—”

“Shhh little pet, I’ve got you now. I’ll take you under my wing! You don’t even have to thank me or anything.” His smile makes your spine tense with chills as he moves to stand in front of you.

Do you have another choice? You’re afraid of offending him and his scary friends if you decline.

Mahito continues, as if your acceptance is a given. “Let’s just get some things straight before—”

He’s interrupted by a large fist slamming into his jaw, knocking him right off his feet and onto his ass. Your hands tense around your tray, eyes wide as your gaze snaps to see who just punched Mahito into a limp, dream state.

It’s your pink haired cellmate, looking down at his victim while ringing out his fist like it’s just another Tuesday.

Fights must be common around here, because when you look around, no one seems surprised. Most of the men just mind their business and continue eating their food. Even the two guards are whistling, turning the other cheek.

You gulp. Mahito’s friends don’t even try to defend him, they just back away— like hyenas in the presence of a lion. You hear one of them mutter a name, ‘Sukuna.’

You wonder if anyone is even going to bring Mahito to the infirmary, but when Sukuna’s roaming gaze sweeps over you, all thoughts freeze in fear.

You hold his gaze a beat too long, unsure, until you see a flicker in his expression, a subtle tightening of the corner of his eyes. In a breath, you fold inward, chin dipping down to your chest in retreat.

He breaks the tension first, adjusting his neck as he turns away. He settles back into his seat with his meal, relaxed and borderline bored.

You have no clue what his intentions are, or what saving you signifies. Regardless, you’re relived to not sit with Mahito.

With no other option, you inch your way over to the only empty table where Sukuna sits. He remains focused on his food, ignoring your presence completely as you sit as far away as possible— on the literal side edge of the seat.

You cautiously take a bite, peeking at him defensively, but he remains indifferent.

__________________

Lights out, 9:10 pm.

You lay in your uncomfortable little bed, staring at the dirty ceiling. The cell door clanged shut at exactly 9 pm and when the guard made his final round, flashlight shining through the corridor— he passed by with a slow, deliberate glance followed by a wink that made you feel uncomfortable.

You can’t sleep, tossing and turning for 10 minutes. You shift on your side, unable to lay in one position for longer than two minutes due to this stone of a mattress.

“Quit. Moving.”

You freeze at the demand coming from your cellmate, who probably hasn’t been able to sleep with all of your loud movement.

“Sorry,” you chirp quietly, pressing your lips together between your teeth.

He exhales, deeply. You peek at him and he’s facing the opposite wall, naked back towards you.

You don’t know prison etiquette, are you meant to do something specific if someone saves you from a group of scary individuals like he did earlier? Maybe give him half of your lunch from now on or he’ll take you into the back and beat the teeth out of you?

“Um,” you whisper, practicing your ‘boy’ voice.

You feel the energy in the room shift, like when you were a child sharing a bunk with your sibling and you’d start spouting nonsense to each other after 3am.

“Thank you.”

You feel relief when a silent moment passes, maybe he’s asleep and didn’t hear you, because now that you’ve actually said it, you regret it. How stupid and naive could you be? You reckon gratitude like this may not apply in prison.

He grunts as he adjusts his position, and you cringe at the ceiling, subtly inching your thin blanket up to your chin. Oh. He definitely heard you.

You nod off after too many minutes of silence and you wake in the morning to the sound of the breakfast bell. You all but squeal opening your eyes to see your sweaty cellmate looming over your bed.

You quickly clear your throat, sitting up and glancing around at your surroundings. You kick your ‘boy’ voice up, trying to recover from your girly scream. “Morning.”

He throws a small towel over his shoulder and walks off, unbothered by the strangeness of standing over someone’s bed before they’ve even awoken.

Your breast wraps are still in tact when you peek down under your shirt, so you don’t think he saw anything he wasn’t supposed to.

Breakfast is uneventful, thankfully. Mahito, who has fresh dark bruises along his face, doesn’t even look your way. You sit alone at Sukuna’s table, the same acceptable distance as before.

Things are just okay, you think.

That is, apart from the whole using the bathroom thing. You’ve been putting it off. But, it’s unavoidable.

After breakfast, you peek into your cell where the shared toilet is, only to see Sukuna casually reading a scroll with one hand and doing one armed push ups with the other. The image of using the toilet in here makes your face sour. That’d be a type of humiliation you’d rather avoid, and that’s not even accounting for keeping your gender a secret.

Instead, you settle for the shared bathrooms connected to the showers in one large tiled, communal room.

Standing in front of the toilet stall, you curse Gojo’s entire family line. Because of course the stalls don’t have doors. Somewhere far away, Gojo suddenly feels shivers race down his spine in the middle of his little mochi date.

Apart from the unsettling experience of using the bathroom surrounded by large men shaving and brushing their teeth, you overheard interesting information as you did your business. You had to translate male prison gossip lingo, but apparently Sukuna and Mahito’s little altercation yesterday wasn’t random.

They have history. Something about ‘daring to touching his soul’ — whatever that means. You think soul is code for a drug supply, maybe.

Yesterday’s incident was a ‘checking’ as your fellow inmates say. Mahito was trying to force you, someone weak and new, into his group, which made him look strong among the lower ranks. But when Sukuna stepped in, punching his lights out in front of everyone, it was a show of power.

Mahito dominates people like you, small and submissive by nature, to stay on top, but Sukuna operates on a whole nother level. In that simple act, he showed everyone that you’re on the bottom, people like Mahito are in the middle, and Sukuna reigns on top.

You’re already cringing at your naivety thanking him last night, like he was some knight in shining armor.

Once you get back to your cell, Sukuna’s still reading, this time, sat on his bed all glistening with sweat having finished his workout.

You ignore your nerves walking past him to sit on your own bed with your back against the wall.

You’d scored a notebook and pen from the recreation room, and begin idly drawing the time away. Seeing how he’s the only thing there is to draw in this place, you start sketching Sukuna’s profile.

His nose is particularly a unique shape, reminiscent of the Greek God statues. You glance up for the millionth time to get the particular slope of his bridge committed to memory, and startle to see him looking back at you with a glare.

You slouch into yourself, your face growing hot having been caught staring and you force your eyes back down.

“You keep thinking you’re allowed to do that.”

Your heart rate kicks up at his scary gravelly tone, like a demon having come back to life in the form of his vocal cords. You naively thought he didn’t notice your glances, since he never even spared you a look.

“Sorry,” you mutter quietly.

“Look at me,” he demands in a way that you wouldn’t dare consider disobeying. Fuck. You were hoping he’d just let it be.

You clench your eyes shut for a brief moment, squeezing your pen in your palm before slowly sitting up and peering at him.

“Pitiful. Truly.” He scoffs, looking at your entire form with disgust. “Do you have no honor? Stand.”

You hesitate, gaze flicking, feeling like you’re playing a game of simon says.

“I said,” his tone rumbles as he moves to sit at the edge of his bed, chin resting on his fist, “stand.”

A passing inmate side eyes your open cell, but he minds his business as if it holds a sleeping monster within.

You gently toss your notebook to the side and your brows twitch as you push yourself up to stand, socked feet meeting the cold floor.

You aren’t even sure if you’re meant to be looking at him still, gaze uncertain.

“Now kneel.”

A flashback of how hard Sukuna’s fist met the bone of Mahito’s jaw makes you slowly bend and drop to your knees.

You spot a flicker of satisfaction in his eyes before a judgmental expression takes over, like your obedience is simultaneously sickening and mandatory to him.

“You hold your head quite high,” he hints at your lack of respect, and if putting your forehead on the dirty floor is all he makes you do for disrespectfully staring, you’d probably be lucky.

Your brows pinch in a pout, grossed out with the prospect of it but still, you inch your head down.

“Good,” he drawls the word out with a whispery rasp, “Go on. All the way down.”

Once you’re in a fully seated bow, like a servant in the old ages, he exhales slow and deep. Cathartically.

A long moment passes with his red eyes on the back of your head. The floor smells like dirt and a trace of bleach. You’re completely vulnerable in his position, with the back of your neck exposed and blinded.

Honestly, you’re wondering if Sukuna is still there. It’s so quiet, all you can hear is the subtle mumble of the others outside of the cell in the main area and the tick of the clock.

You prepare to speak by taking in a small breath, and that’s all it takes for Sukuna to snap at you.

“Did I say you could speak?”

You gulp.

“You’re new,” he complains, “The next time you disobey me, you won’t enjoy what I do.”

You hear the bed creak from him standing, but he doesn’t take a step in any direction. Just stands above you.

“Lick the floor.”

Your lips part in shock, blinking at the floor in confusion. You can’t even begin to imagine the disgusting things that line this floor after decades of men coming in and out. You’ve seen the guy who cleans the floors, he’s blind— literally. Humiliation is the only benefit to making someone do something like this, to knock them back into their place. You don’t have another choice.

“Show me,” he snaps, making you flinch. “Your tongue.”

Fuck this place, you obey. Slip your tongue out and slide it against the floor, eyes clenched shut to cope with the taste of everything horrible and bitter.

Pushing your palms to the floor, you lift your head, giving him the pathetic display of your twitching tongue.

The light above halo’s his pink head like a dark angel, and you see his lips curl into a diabolical smile. Pleased with your submission.

He squats, lining his mouth to your ear— not touching, but close enough to hear. “The hell are you looking at?”

Your eyes clench shut as fast as his words come out and you almost flinch when you feel the tip of his finger brush against your clavicle. Your breast wrap is right there—not impossibly close, but too close for comfort. It’s like he’s bringing attention to how frail your bones are, brushing the bone so lightly.

“Speak.”

“You— I’m sorry,” is all you know to spit out around the taste of the bitter floor in your mouth.

He tuts like your answer is just average, a boring C- at best. It seems to be all you know how to say, that and thank you.

“I don’t want trouble— I didn’t know I couldn’t look at you,” you stupidly explain.

“Have a little crush on me?”

You gulp, shaking your head. “N-No.”

He stands. “Why are you here?”

“Because you told me to—” your uncertain gaze flicks around his face but never connects to his eyes.

He interrupts you, repeating himself in a rougher tone, “Why are you here?”

You realize he’s asking why you were locked up.

“Speak. My impatience is not passive you’ll soon find out,” he snaps at you when you don’t immediately answer.

“I— I lost a bet. I needed money.” Technically not a lie, but you can see how your words imply that you robbed someone or something.

He uses a socked foot to nudge at your tummy, and you tense, praying he doesn’t lift it or lower it in either direction.

You’re bracing for a kick, a shove, something. Instead, he simply runs his foot down your abdomen until his toes brush the clothed skin above your pussy. You shiver in anticipated worry, looking up at him through your lashes like he’s a god given the right to deciding your fate.

Just when you think this is it, he’s going to push just an inch lower and notice your lack of dick— he loudly sniffles and walks out like nothing happened.

________________

Later, 11:25 am.

Your one reprieve after your humiliating morning is the library. Everyone has a job in prison— a 0.25$ paying job— but it’s better than nothing. You’d been lucky to land a job sorting books. Pushing a little cart around, organizing the collection of educational texts, self-help, religious, even things like the hunger games— it was nice.

That is, until your heart drops down to your ass when Sukuna pushes you against the shelf, chest pressing into your back.

You gasp, dropping the book in your grasp. Your mind immediately flicks to movies you’ve seen, involving a homemade shiv and a lot of blood, people who have nothing to lose and kill just for the hell of it. You’re an easy target too, smaller than the rest.

“You’re welcome,” he says casually into your ear. He’s not even pushing into you in an overtly sexual manner, just pinning you to the shelves.

You knew he was awake last night. But, he definitely didn’t intentionally protect you from Mahito, no, it had nothing to do with you. He’s taunting you.

You let out a shaky breath, daring to speak just above a whisper. “F—for what?”

“This is how it’s going to work,” he explains, hard hand gripping the back of your neck, “I’m going to fuck your ass, use you until that gratitude dries up and in return— no one will touch you.”

Oh shit. Your face pales. He’s explaining the concept of being a ‘bitch’ to you because it’s your first time in prison. Was it that obvious? (Yes.)

You let out a fearful whine under your breath, so quiet, but being so close, he hears it.

“What’s wrong? Thought you wanted to thank me,” he mocks you, hot breath fanning your ear. Maybe in another universe, you’d beg the domineering man fuck you— as you. But if you want your gender to remain a secret in here, you have no choice but to get out of this.

“I— but,” You grip the shelf harshly, thinking of any excuse, “I’m a virgin!”

A pause. Did that actually work? You’re not an actual virgin, but you’ve never done anal— technically not a lie.

Your bated breath halts when he lets out a boisterous laugh. “Oh?” he drawls like a king on a throne.

You can almost guarantee he feels your heart thumping through your fucking back.

“You’re just a hole. Meant for use. Doesn’t matter to me, I truly don’t care.”

“I— please, I can’t do that for you. I want to— I really want to! But I can’t,” you breathe, hoping you haven’t offended his ego— which you assume is larger than this building. You want to be able to say yes, just so that you don’t have a target on your back.

“Tch,” he clicks in distaste, “I won’t injure you. Is that enough to address your concerns?” You think he mutters a ‘loser’ under his breath but you aren’t sure.

The fact that he’s even trying to quell your fears is surprising, and gives you a spec of hope. It also allows you to consider the idea of what his protection in exchange would mean. Everyone clearly fears Sukuna, you’d get through this year untouched— aside from the obvious.

“Uh—uhm,” you gulp, side glancing back at him as much as his grip will allow. “I’m insecure about uh.. my dick.”

His brows lower into a furrow, looking at you with judgement. “Fine,” he rolls his eyes, “your little cock won’t come out of its confines. Satisfied?”

Are you actually going to do this? Can you even pull this off? The fact that this man even wants to fuck you in the first place is completely out of the blue. You knew things like this happened in here, but from this guy?

You shift. “Why do you want this— with me?”

“I’m not gay,” he scoffs, “Fool. I simply need a flesh light.”

“Oh, and,” he pushes his nose into your head, behind your ear, and sniffs, “you smell nice, like a woman.”

You shiver. It’s horrifying that he can actually smell that on you without knowing it.

“Deal?”

You clench your eyes shut and nod.

He finally pushes off of you and mutters a ‘good’ before walking away and out of the library.

___________

You’ve never been one for the concept of anal. You’d glare whenever a boyfriend would even bring it up. It’s always felt inconsiderate, like you’re just being used when a more pleasurable hole is right there. You’re kind of nervous, but part of you is relieved.

Since you made the deal, Sukuna has ‘claimed’ you. He makes you grab his meals for him, sit across from him in the cafeteria, visible signs of ownership. The other inmates avoid you completely; even a minor bump into your shoulder in passing earns an apology. You’re his now, and everyone knows it. Off limits.

As for your end of the deal, you aren’t sure when Sukuna is going to be in the mood to fuck. You’ve been stealing peeks at him, watching too closely, hoping for a signal, but Sukuna noticed. After that time you practically jumped when he stood up from his bed, he gave you a glare that made your knees weak. Instead, you’ve decided to just wait for him to tell you when he’s ready.

A few days after your library talk, Sukuna finally gives you the signal.

It’s morning, and you wake to see him hovering over your bed once again.

You startle, sitting up quickly as you rub your eyes. “Wh— what happened?”

He tosses you a little bag of chips, the type you can only get from the confectionery, and your brows furrow down at it.

“Um,” you glance at him, unsure, “thank you.” It sounds more like a question than a statement.

“Library, 12 pm. There’s a spot with no cameras in the back.”

Your eyes flicker in recognition, and your heart races as you nod. “Okay, I’ll— um— I’ll be there. That’s great. Sounds good.”

He deadpans at your pathetic attempt at speaking and walks off.

You can’t help but feel a weird affection placing the bag of chips under your bed, rolling your eyes at yourself. It’s a bag of chips, and you have more to worry about than catching feelings for this guy.

You have to prep.

The communal showers are sectioned by half walls and curtains. You’ve been able to shower, dry yourself, wrap your breasts, and get dressed all inside of the little shower section without anyone seeing your important body parts since you’ve been here. Still, you’d rather some privacy as you do what needs to be done today.

Thankfully, it’s empty when you check the showers while breakfast is taking place.

You stand there naked under the water, toes curling in nerves as you slowly bring the empty bottle up to fill it with water. A homemade douche. It’s mildly humiliating shooting water up your ass but it’s a necessary evil.

About a few hours later, you’re sorting books like your job entails, while anxiously glancing at the door and wall clock every two minutes with anticipation.

At 12:03 he pushes the door open, and you immediately turn your head back to face the shelves.

You hear him snap at the only person reading at a table, forcing them to leave. Your heart races when you hear him lock the entrance door behind them.

You stupidly pretend you’re deciding which shelf the book in your hands belongs on as his heavy footsteps close the distance between you.

He settles right beside you and you peek up at him.

“Come.” He nods his head, gesturing you to follow as he turns and leads you to the last isle, all the way to the back of the room.

“Right here?” You glance at the camera in the corner.

“Right here.”

You gasp when he grabs your hips and manhandles you over to the very corner of the isle, pressed into the shelf with your back to him. “It’s a blind spot.”

“Okay,” you lick your lips nervously, fumbling with the hem of your sweatpants. “I— how do we— should I just—?”

He squeezes his big hands over your shaky ones, stopping you. “Relax,” he snaps. “Ass fucking is not that difficult. It’ll be a lot easier for you than it is for women.”

You gulp at that, his (rude) reassurance means nothing considering the obvious.

He swats your hands away and you squeak when he pulls your sweatpants down enough to expose your ass to the chilly air.

You curiously glance back when you hear a click of a cap opening. He squirts an ungodly amount of lube into his palm and tosses it aside. (How did he even obtain lube in here?)

“Pretty fucking ass,” he says as if it’s an insult, using one hand to spread your cheek and slide a glob onto your hole with two fingers.

You cringe at the cold feeling of the gel as he rubs your hole, anticipating him shoving his finger in there.

“It’s gonna hurt,” you say wearily, “right?”

He rolls his eyes, using his middle finger to push at the resistance of the rim.

You gasp when it pops in. He slowly massages your insides in a manner to loosen the very edges, preparing the most taught of the muscles to stretch. It’s more weird than uncomfortable feeling something wiggling around in there.

“You’re lucky I’m doing this,” he rasps, “Virgin.”

“Thank you,” you squeak. He uses his free hand to shove your hips out a bit more.

He whispers as he pulls his finger out, “How’s it feel knowing you’re about to get fucked in the ass? Feel the shame yet?”

You gulp and clench your eyes shut when you catch a glimpse of his hefty cock being pulled out of his sweats. A large, scary winding vein catches your eye.

“Slow,” you chirp as he presses the tip to your ass, “please go slow.”

He notches his chin over your head, wrapping one arm around your tummy to push your back into his chest and grunts, “I will.”

His large body envelops you, like a hard hug. If it weren’t for his tip forcing your asshole to open up, you’d probably enjoy being held by a big man like this.

You hiss, unable to keep your hands from snapping back and digging your nails into his hips. The intrusion is uncomfortable, so odd and unnatural to have something this big pushing into your backside.

He doesn’t seem to mind your nails, undulating the tip around in circles within the very inside so you can get used to the feeling.

“That’s it,” he drawls, “open up.”

You let out a high-pitched whine and your ‘boy’ persona is thrown out of the window, completely irrelevant as he inches the rest of it in. He’s fully seated.

“Okay, okay,” you gasp, frantically tapping his hip and toned back, “don’t move yet.”

He exhales deeply, like he feels relaxed having finally mounted a warm hole. His warm huffs of breath calm you as they steadily fan the side of your head.

“Tick tock,” he hums after a minute of your hole pulsing around him in attempt to cope with the intrusion. “It will hurt less if I move.”

“Fuck,” you whimper, shaky hands moving to brace against the shelves. “Okay, fine.”

“Good.” He wraps one hand roughly around your mouth and his other arm holds your midsection taut to his front.

You squeal behind his hand when he pulls out and barrels back in with one hard rut. It hurts, but somehow, his large dick has reached your g-spot through your ass. You likely have a bulge in your tummy from the way his tip is angled to push down against your vaginal canal through the back door.

“Ahhh.” He tilts his head and rumbles an exhales right into your ear, like he’s dipping into a nice, warm hot-spring.

It doesn’t take long for him to set a rhythm, rocking his hips in short, hard thrusts. The contact of your cheeks meeting his hips creates a loud ‘plap,’ bouncing off the books in lewd repetition. His harsh breaths are the most you receive from him in terms of vocalized pleasure, but sometimes he offers a grunt.

Your feet shuffle with every hit, toes barely touching the ground as his strong hold keeps you up in the air like you’re just a human sized flesh light. He’s using you, and you can’t deny his incidental abuse of your g-spot feels good.

“You moan like a fuckin girl,” he hisses into your ear as he pounds your ass.

You can only moan under his palm, confirming his what he thinks is an insult. The jackhammering is short and mean, barely a few inches of his base exiting your puckering hole before stuffing it back inside.

“This ass is mine,” he grunts as your clit throbs with need, “Pathetic fuck. Letting a guy bend you over.”

Your legs shake as he grows frantic and mean, putting horrifying strength behind each thrust. You’re fucking like bunnies, your body frantically jostles up and down and you’d be embarrassed if it weren’t for how he’s completely dominating you. A few books fall right off of the shelf and clatter to the carpeted floor with the force of it all. You wonder if he’s fucking you this hard because he thinks you’re a man, that you can and should be able to handle it.

You exhale sharply out of your nose, eyes clenched shut as you take his last few slams.

“Fuck!” He grunts, throwing his head back as his grip on you grows so harsh you’ll have bruises on your waist later. You feel his dick pulse as he dumps his load as deep as he can go into your ass, keeping his hips still against your irritated asscheeks.

Finally he sighs as he slides out, making your hole clench shut the second the intrusion is gone.

You practically stumble for balance as he lets you go, knees buckling. Pussy dripping and confused while your ass aches.

You want to just collapse right here, take a much needed rest, but you can’t risk an accidental flash of your pussy. You pull your sweatpants up, out of breath.

He tucks his dick back in, glancing down at you with a glow of physical relief on his face. “You took me well,” he licks his top teeth, tilting his head. “Did you enjoy getting your cherry popped?”

That was almost a compliment. Your insides are still screaming for an orgasm and a break simultaneously. You feel your face rise in temp, pathetically, and you can’t help but tuck your chin to your chest.

“Just fucked you and you’re getting shy.” He snickers with a look of disgust. “I think i’ll play with you again and again until I tire of this.”

He doesn’t even give you a chance to respond before moseying out of the library, adjusting his dick in his pants as he goes.

Somehow, you’d gotten away with the first fucking without revealing your secret. Aside from not having a chance to finish the job and rub yourself to a much needed orgasm, you’re quite proud of yourself.

Sukuna doesn’t speak to you more than usual following the act, he’s just not the type. Does one speak to their flesh light between uses?

That night, you almost believe you’re dreaming when you wake up to Sukuna’s weight lying directly on top of you. You couldn’t sleep comfortably on your sore ass, so you’d had to sleep on your tummy, giving him a perfect opportunity.

“Again,” he rasps into your ear, grinding against your ass. You must have done well earlier if he’s already back for more, or he’s fond of how your asshole feels.

You tiredly whine and lower your groggy tone to say, “But the guards will hear— and the others.”

He ignores your concerns and crawls down your body, yanking your sweats down. You squeak, pushing a hand under yourself to keep your pants up at the front.

You glance over your shoulder. “What are you— oh!”

He spreads your ass and licks a stripe up your asshole, terrifyingly close to your pussy. So close your pussy clenches in anticipation, having a sweet mind of its own.

He pauses as he looks down at your hole with furrowed brows. It’s dark enough that he won’t be able to see the feminine parts of you, you hope.

He doesn’t say a word about his pause, just brings his face back down and pushes his tongue into your ass. He wriggles it around and you cringe, gripping the sheets as he stimulates your sore hole. You can’t even tell if it feels good to have your ass ate, or if it’s the concept of this man with his face in your ass, or the fact that you’re just fucking horny and begging for scraps.

After one last lick from your hole all the way up to your lower back, he crawls up to lay on you with his lips to your ear.

“Why the fuck is your ass sweet?” he asks as he lifts his hips to yank his cock out. Your brows raise, almost letting out a snicker. It must be due to your pussy leaking wetness down to your ass all day since the library.

“I— I don’t know,” you mumble as he holds one of your cheeks open and slides his tip against your hole.

“Just,” he grunts as he pops the tip in, not even waiting before pushing in to the hilt, “stay quiet and I’ll be done in a second.”

You whine under your breath, fisting the sheets as your toes curl. His legs surround the outsides of yours as his arms wrap around your neck in a loose headlock. You aren’t sure you can stay quiet if he pounds you like he did before without his hand covering your mouth. Getting caught with his dick in your ass doesn’t sound so great.

But fuck, you suddenly don’t care because his abs clench as he lifts his hips and slides back in, already gaining a stead rhythm. It’s slower than before, but hard. Your eyes roll back at how passionate it is, fingers pressing into his pulsing arms around your neck. You can’t remember the last time a man truly put his heart into fucking you.

You think you may be able to enjoy this little arrangement after all, considering his dick is big enough to pound into your g-spot with every hump. Maybe his claim on you, the free use of it all, is charming too.

But then, he begins to slide a hand down under you and you freeze.

He’s reaching for your nonexistent dick.

You snap your hand down to grip his wrist, stopping him, but you know that he could bypass your frail hold if he really wanted to.

“D-Don’t touch,” you breathily murmur through his continued thrusts.

“Tch,” he grunts in distaste, “Won’t see your ugly dick. You should be thanking the gods that I’d even try to touch you.”

You wish you could allow him to touch, rub your clit, finger you, fuck you the proper way. But no matter how horny you are, you have to have a clear head about this. If he knew you were a woman, he could tell the guards— or worse, tell the other inmates and let them have a turn with you. That’s just the tip of the iceberg of the horrible things that could happen to you if you’re exposed.

“I know, I know,” you gulp, lips parting as he manages a particularly nice thrust, “just— next time. Okay? Next time.”

He huffs, exasperated and gives up, moving his hand away and instead uses it to dig into your hip to get a better angle.

“Fuuck,” you breathe in a particularly girly way as he reaches deeper, and he hisses in your ear in obvious pleasure. He seems to enjoy the way you ‘moan like a woman.’

“Good,” he thrusts, “little,” thrust, “hole.”

He cums with a last few pitiful humps and rubs his hips against your ass in a circle as if to make sure his cum is deeep in there.

You feel utterly spent when he pulls out, two loads in your ass just from today and you’re clocking out.

He doesn’t even give you another look as he gets up and stretches with a yawn, wet dick still hanging about his thigh.

You pull your sweats up with a grimace at how sore your asshole feels. If you weren’t so horny, you might be annoyed how beat up your insides feel.

You exhale in relief when he passes out the second he flops down into bed like any average man does. You’re already thinking of some way to fool him into thinking you have a cock by the next time he wants to fuck.

_______

You’ve stolen a cucumber from the kitchen. It wasn’t easy, but you managed.

Sukuna has you up against the cell bars and has grown quite confident in his ability to fuck you within an inch of your life. He doesn’t seem like he’s all that invested in you, after all, he still thinks of you as some boy he’s using to get off. But you’re still enjoying it as much as any woman can reasonably enjoy anal.

He definitely seems to enjoy fucking you too, because you can feel his thighs shake as he pounds into you.

He kicks your feet wider and reaches around you to grab at your ‘dick.’ “Gonna let me touch it now?”

You gulp, peeking down at his hand that finds the cucumber and grips it.

“Jesus Christ, you’re fucking hard.”

You would laugh in his face if he wasn’t obliterating your insides with heavy humps.

He slowly begins to knead your ‘cock’ and the only way you know that, is because the tip of the cucumber incidentally rubs against your clit with every one of his strokes.

“Oh shit,” you breathe, brows raising and blinking into an eye roll of surprise pleasure. The stimulation to your clit and g-spot is like heaven after two days of being pent up.

“Don’t— don’t stop,” you beg, making his brow quirk.

The second you start fucking back into his cock, like an auto-masterbater, Sukuna’s eyes roll and his orgasm appears in the distance.

He sinks his teeth into your shoulder, indifferent to the pain he could be causing and meets your thrusts half way. There’s no way you’re not waking the entire cell block with the slapping sound bouncing off the concrete walls.

You sigh in disappointment when he lets go of your ‘dick’ and uses both hands to grip your hips, thrusting harder than ever.

He hisses an inhale like it hurts, a string of saliva connecting your shoulder to his teeth— and cums as his feet slightly shuffle.

“Phew,” he exhales, pulling out and tucking his dick back in. He crashes right into bed, just like before, and leaves you throbbing and needy. Again.

_____________

Sometime in the middle of the night, Your cell.

Sukuna has turned ravenous, he wants to fuck everyday, at least twice. It’s a bit much because you have to prep the same day before anal, and you’ve had to turn him down. Not without worries of how he’d take the rejection with little explanation, but thankfully, all he did is tsk and walk off.

One day of no sex, and he’s been staring at you through the entire day. When you wake up, in the cafeteria, on walks, while you draw on your bed. It’s frightening since you can’t read his expression that’s always resting in a threatening way. Would it be stupid to ask what he’s feeling?

Honestly, you just wanted him to wait until you could prep, and then he could have at it— but he didn’t get the message. And it’s not like you can just tell him, ‘Hey Sukuna, you can fuck my ass anytime now. Clock’s ticking!’ That’d mean you’re actively seeking anal, and that’s ridiculous. Right?

You shrug it off and decide to ignore his stare, focusing your attention on the book in your hands. He’s a big boy, if he needs something, he’ll ask for it.

And ask for it, he does.

You gasp when you’re suddenly pushed down flat to your bed, strong hands spreading your legs so Sukuna can rest between them as your book clatters to the floor. You hadn’t even heard his footsteps, or the creak of his bed as he stood.

“Jesus Christ,” you breathe, looking up at him with your heart racing out of your chest. “You scared me.”

His clothed bulge is hovering just above your pussy, but if he rested his weight down a few inches, you’re fucked. Maybe literally.

He must have just showered, his hair is damp and dark pink. He looks down at you hungry, like you’re not a person but a fucktoy with a timed lock on it that’s almost ready to use again, licking his bottom lip. “Does this fix your problem? Can I fuck you now, princess?”

Your brows furrow, an obvious question mark on your expression. You ignore the pet name meant to taunt you, because you’re not a man with toxic masculinity.

He rolls his eyes. “I’m not kissing you. Missionary is as romantic as I’ll get. Take it or leave it.”

What? He must have misinterpreted your rejection as a desire for more intimacy and affection when you have sex. The idea of missionary with Sukuna makes your tummy flutter— but you can’t.

You press your lips together, concealing a laugh. “Oh. Um— no,” you gently press against his chest, “I like how we usually do it.”

“You know,” he leans into your face, “I’m getting real tired of you bossing me around.”

“I’m sorry,” you say, recalling your excuse for keeping your dick out of sight, “I just feel— uh—insecure.”

“Fuck that,” he grunts, grabbing hold of the hem of your sweats, “Only way to get over that shit is to face it.”

You grasp his wrist, nervously. It’s not like you don’t want Sukuna to know you’re a woman so you can fuck the way you want to, it’s just too complicated and risky.

“I— really, let’s just do it against the wall, like we always do!” you attempt to convince him as he pulls against your hold.

He doesn’t say a word, just squints at you like he can smell bullshit in your words.

Suddenly, he yanks your pants all the way down until they fall to the floor and you immediately cup your sex, trying to hide from him. You twist your lower half to lie on your side, legs bent around his side so they can stay together.

He glances down at your lower half and grips your thigh. “Show me,” he snaps, more suspicious than warranted if he actually believed your lies of insecurity.

You shake your head stubbornly, clenching your eyes shut.

“Now,” he allows the word to reverberate against the walls of the cell, and you swear you can feel the vibrations in your chest.

That domineering tone is like a frequency that emits a wave of submission in timid people like you, like a lions roar to a cornered bunny.

Still, you don’t open your legs.

He scoffs a huff of air, like he’s in disbelief of your sudden ability to grow balls. Pun intended.

You peek your eyes open when you feel him shift to crawl down your body until his breath is fanning your hand covering your pussy and naked asshole.

You squeak when he slides his tongue against your fingers. “Open up,” he taunts, giving your asshole a little lick as well.

You whimper as he begins licking at your hand and your thighs, resolve dissolving with every warm, wet touch.

“I’m— I’m scared,” you admit with panic, though you’re being too vague for him to actually console you even if he wanted to.

He takes a big bite out of your thigh and you gasp, pussy clenching in need from the sting. Your wetness has made your hands slippery, and the second he takes another bite, this time a deep one on your fingers, your hand slips away with a sting and a hiss.

He takes the opportunity to yank your legs apart, spreading them over each of his thighs till you’re on full display in front of him. Like a plate.

Your wide eyes flick from your exposed pussy, to his red eyes trained down between your legs. You quickly reach to futilely cover yourself once again.

“Aht!” he scolds, pinning your wrists to the bed on either side of your body before they can cover your sex again. “Don’t fucking move,” he snaps, inches from your face.

You must have the expression of a small animal being prepped for slaughter as he closely eyes you because that’s exactly how you feel. You watch his face shift as he realizes your features aren’t just girly, you’re a fucking girl.

“Please.” You plead him, but for what exactly?

He exhales into you, ignoring you to observe your body. He lets go of one wrist to slowly raise the hem of your shirt up to your collarbones, revealing a tightly wrapped chest.

As if he needs to make sure, he rips it away and blinks at your bouncing tits. One last look at your pussy and he huffs harshly, gazing into your eyes like he just won the lottery.

“Holy shit.”

You’re mute, afraid and frozen in place as your legs clench around his hips, trying to close them around him even though it’s impossible.

“Why are you here?”

He watches you with equal parts curiosity and amused awe.

“I— I made a deal. A stupid fucking deal,” you breathe in your natural feminine voice. It’s not hard to assume the deal was money for time in prison.

He shakes his head, laughing airily like he can’t believe his eyes. “Now this is so very interesting. A woman in my cell.”

He leans into your ear, making your chest and tummy erupt in goosebumps. “I knew your little asshole was too good to be true.” He nips your ear and you whine.

“Don’t— please don’t tell anyone.”

Your quiet request makes him burst out laughing, head tossing back as he hovers over you territorially.

“Tell them?” A vein in his forehead pops as his gaze manically flicks back and forth from each of your eyes, “No, you foolish little thing. You’re all mine. You’d have to fucking kill me to share this pretty pussy.”

You aren’t sure if you should feel relived or scared. You’ve grown fond of Sukuna’s cock, but that look in his eye is downright diabolical.

“You’re,” you begin with a swallow, “not gonna hurt me?”

“Ohhh,” he breathes cathartically like he’s battling aggression seeing something so small and delicate beg not to be broken. “No, no. I’m not gonna hurt you. You’re safe with me.”

You aren’t so sure, if that glint in his eye and tone in his deep voice tells you anything. Like mouse encountering a perfect piece of cheese suspiciously sitting in the middle of the kitchen floor, begging to be eaten.

He leans in and lays a soft kiss to your cheek, making you blink.

“See?” he hums smiling, “I know exactly how to handle with care.”

He presses his nose to your neck and starts sniffing you loudly, like a dog— down to your breasts, your tummy, and finally he takes a good long sniff of your pussy.

You slap your hands to your face in embarrassment and he groans loudly on an exhale, jaw pinching as he clenches his teeth. “Fuuuck. Nothing quite like it. Your pussy smells very nice,” he trails off with a manic laugh, licking his lips.

His eye catches on your pinched brows once you hesitantly pull your hands away to grip the sheets and he leans into your face with a careful kiss to your jaw. “Deal still on, baby?”

You absolutely have no choice, you need his protection now more than before. Without this deal, there’s no telling what he’d do— no matter what he says. And even if he keeps his word, who’s to say no one else will find out your secret? It helps that he’s hauntingly sexy with a big dick he knows what to do with.

You gulp, nodding. “Yes, please.”

“Goood,” his lip curls as he drawls the word out, “That’s very good.”

He licks a wet stripe up the side of your face, making you grip his biceps.

“Are we going to have sex? My— You want my—”

He interrupts your stutter by humming against your cheek with amusement. “Oh yes. I want your pussy. I’m gonna take it over and over again.”

You exhale a sigh, eyes slightly rolling back, enjoying his words a little too much for the situation at hand.

“I’m not on birth control,” you warn him weakly as he begins to suck on your neck.

He hums nonchalantly, slowly sliding his hand down your tummy.

Your hips jerk when he cups your entire sex, long cold fingers pressing into your warm folds that are just begging for love.

“We don’t have condoms,” you add, biting your lip as he uses two middle fingers to carefully brush from your slippery hole up to your clit.

He chuckles against your neck, wickedly, like he’s enjoying every aspect of this conversation.

“No, we don’t,” he agrees with a smile you can literally hear on his voice.

Your jaw drops as he starts rubbing leisurely circles against your throbbing clit, back arching to press your abdomen into his hard abs.

“You have to pull out,” you whine in a broken moan.

“Okay,” he agrees with ease, moving to press his lips to yours.

You barely kiss him back, as his lips slide and suck on yours.

“I thought you said you didn’t want to kiss me,” you say, muffled as your legs tremble.

He moves his middle fingers down and slides one into your core, making you gasp into his mouth.

He abruptly shoves his tongue into your mouth, sliding and flicking against your tongue. He peeks the tip of his pointer finger in to join his middle inside you, and once your initial ring of resistance gives, he shoves it in like a glove.

“Oh,” you whine, brows pinching and toes curling. “Your fingers are so— fuck— they’re big.”

“Oho,” he breathes as he unhurriedly rocks them in and out, “You’ve been so unsatisfied, haven’t you? Getting ass fucked with not one touch to your pretty, crying little pussy.”

You nod erratically, “I was just so scared if you found ou— oh god.”

He gradually puts weight behind his thrusts, fingering you at an angle to abuse your g-spot.

“You thought I would want to hurt you,” he assumes with a pitying smile, “No, no. I just wanna fuck the shit out of you.”

You reach down and grip his wrist, but his hand in motion makes it difficult.

“Please make me cum,” you beg, “I’d be really— so grateful.”

“Yeah?” He presses a peck to your lips and crawls down to stuff his face between your legs. “Finally,” he sighs to your pussy.

He glances up at you and pecks your jumping clit. “Gonna eat your pussy. You want that?”

Your eyes roll back and you nod pathetically. “Oh my god, yes.”

He doesn’t waste time. He makes a pursing motion with his lips and basically sucks your clit into his mouth like a vacuum, gently suckling on it with his eyes blissfully closed. His free hand rests around your hip and flat against your lower tummy.

Your brain is fucking buzzing, toes curling in the air as you breathe short, pathetic breaths. You’re delightfully surprised he knows you need your clit stimulated to cum; a man in prison just isn’t the type you’d expected to know what most women need.

You use both hands to gently curl into his pink hair, watching his lips envelop your clit as the motion of his hand rocks into you.

“That feels good,” you affirm, voice shaky, making sure he knows he’s going a good job so he doesn’t feel motivated to stop.

He doesn’t answer you, just flicks his tongue against your clit with horrifying stamina, like his tongue is as trained as the rest of his body. You don’t feel a second of lag in his force behind his tongue and that yummy suction.

You melt when he transitions into thorough, flat tongued licks, the kind that nudges your clit in a way that’s not too overstimulating— but genuinely pleasurable in a sustainable way. You could actually cum like this. You rub his head like a masseuse, kneading the skin affectionately, making his brows and forehead slightly move with your massage.

He eats you like he hasn’t eaten his favorite meal in a long time, and considering the slop in the cafeteria, your delirious mind thinks it makes perfect sense that he’s probably soo hungry. It’s not his fault he’s so eager.

Your toes curl as your abdomen clenches inward, honing your focus to find an orgasm in the distance with every specifically pressurized slide of his tongue.

He tilts his head idly, side to side and the second he finds that perfect angle to the left, you gasp and yank his head impossibly closer.

“Right there, huh?” is the last thing he says before repeating the motion perfectly, over and over and over while his hand continues at ample speed. It’s about 27 licks in when the white blinds your sight and you give in to the ecstasy of an orgasm.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you— fuck!” you stupidly babble the one phrase you can’t seem to stop repeating to the man ever since you met him, voice strained and slurring as your brain short circuits and cuts off the connection between your motor skills and brain signals.

Even when you fall limp with fading euphoria, frailly whining, ‘no more,’ his big mouth attaches to your entire slit like a fucking milk pump, despite acknowledging your orgasm passing by discarding his wet fingers to join his other hand on your hip/tummy area.

It’s an interesting sight— your weak, spasming body jerking in overstimulation as he blissfully hallows his cheeks and enjoys your cunt with all kinds of tongue techniques. The type of techniques a stupidly rich man has learnt after so many wine tastings to get the full taste profile of every berry inside to layer over his every tastebud. Getting his full money’s worth of this favorite thing.

But fuck if it doesn’t feel good to be licked, even with the ultra sensitivity of an after glow.

“Sukuna— please,” you whimper, “Aren’t you gonna fuck me?”

That’s what makes him pause, flicking open his relaxed, heavily lidded gaze.

He unsuctions your warm folds, letting go in one popping motion and you exhale sharply when the cold air hits you.

He crawls up your body like a predator, more than twice your size. He slides his arms under your back to hold you flush to his body, hugging you in a possessive hold. One hand wraps around the back of your neck, fingers almost meeting at the front, and the other massages your lower back.

“Am I popping your pussy cherry too?” he hums, lips brushing yours as he speaks into your mouth.

“No,” you huff, “Is that a deal breaker?”

He nips your lower lip. “I’m gonna eat you whole,” he expresses how deeply he wants to fuck you— how small a concern like being a virgin would be to him.

You shiver, and maybe even start to consider why he’s in prison in the first place. Eat you.. whole..?

“Can we fuck first?”

He licks his teeth as his metaphorical tiger tail flicks behind him— like a bunny has triggered a tigers instinct to play while in the midst of a chase. If he could purr, he would be right about now.

Interrupting your little moment, the breakfast bell rings. Sukuna must have made his move an hour before six while you were reading the night away and neither of you noted the time. Sukuna had thought it’d be a 10 minute ass fuck, but now that he’s stumbled upon gold in the form of a woman, he’s gotten distracted.

You’re expecting Sukuna to be frustrated that you have to stop before you even reached the main event, but surprisingly, he just helps you get dressed and then stands lazily by the cell bars to cover you while you wrap your chest so no one eyes his plaything.

The guard just passes by boredly, doing morning checks, nodding at Sukuna in brief greeting.

Once the guard is out of sight, you huff in exhaustion and sit up on your bed. After all the fear of being exposed as a woman and having an orgasm like that, all you want is to sleep. You literally nod off as you sit there, listening to the ruffle of Sukuna throwing on some new clothes.

Two taps to your cheek makes you startle, slurping up some drool as you open your eyes. Sukuna squats in front of you, holding your knees.

“Breakfast,” he reminds you, “get up.”

You pout at his tone, having hoped he’d soften up to you after learning you’re a woman. A woman he desperately wants to fuck and protect and own.

“Can’t you bring it to me?”

He blinks at you, deadpanning. “The fuck did you just say?”

You flinch a bit, chin tucking into your chest. You grow even more alert as he stands and pushes over you, making you lean back in bed with your palms behind you, supporting your weight right beside his own larger ones.

“Does this pretty little thing want to be punished?”

You immediately bite your lip, smiling as he pushes his head into your neck to nip at it.

“Mhm, keep doing that,” you encourage his panty dropping neck kisses.

Oncoming footsteps leading closer and closer to your cell make your heart jolt, and suddenly he roughly pushes you down flat with a veiny hand tight around your throat.

“Begging for a beating so early in the morning are we, boy?” he rasps, menacingly, as the inmate walks past, peeking at your altercation briefly before scurrying off in fear of becoming involved in Sukuna’s business.

You smile.

Oh. This’ll be fun.

______

SORRY edged you there, didn’t I?

Also not sure if this counts as gender bend? Lmk if I should add it to the warnings!

the potion bubbles once — a soft shimmer, a tiny spark — and you’re leaning back thinking maybe this is gonna work, when your apartment door swings open without a knock. without anything. just chaos.

“HEY—” satoru announces himself like the human embodiment of a car alarm. “what are you cooking? smells kinda fruity. like you, i guess.”

you flinch so hard the whisk flies out of your hand.

“satoru. don’t. you can’t just— you can’t be here right now.”

he ignores all of that immediately and comes up behind you. leans over your shoulder and peers into the pot.

“is that… pink hot chocolate?” he asks, delighted. “wow. didn’t know you made drinks that matched your personality. adorable.”

“don’t touch it,” you warn, reaching for the pot—

he grabs a mug. fills it.

...and downs it.

you actually slap your own forehead. “oh my god. satoru—”

he blinks once. twice. his pupils dilate so fast it looks like someone hit a switch.

“wow,” he says softly.

oh no.

“you’re—” he takes one slow, reverent step toward you, “—beautiful.”

OH NO.

“satoru— sit. SIT. you weren’t supposed to drink that—”

he takes your hands in his like you’re reenacting a wedding vow. “why didn’t you tell me you were in love with me?”

“OH MY GOD, I’M GOING TO PASS OUT.”

“no don’t faint!” he panics, cradling your face like you’re made of spun sugar. “who will i marry if you die???”

“STOP SAYING WE’RE IN LOVE.”

but it’s too late.

the potion sinks its teeth in and satoru becomes… different.

clingy. sparkly-eyed. hopelessly, violently obsessed.

satoru clings to your hands like he’s afraid you’ll vanish if he blinks too slowly. you try to peel his fingers away; he just tightens them, eyes wide and glassy and so full of emotion it makes your stomach hurt in a way you’re not prepared to unpack.

“satoru,” you try again, voice strained, “that wasn’t for you.”

“it was for someone else?” he asks, looking genuinely betrayed. “someone… better?”

you groan. “it wasn’t for anyone better. it was— ugh, just— sit down before you fall over.”

he doesn’t sit. he steps into your space, presses his forehead to yours like he’s trying to merge souls, and whispers, “i can’t lose you.”

“YOU’VE NEVER HAD ME.”

he gasps like you shot him. “not yet.”

you swear under your breath, tug your hands free, and make the tragic mistake of turning around.

because he follows.

like a duckling. like your shadow drank four espresso shots.

“stop following me.”

he bumps into your back like he didn’t hear a single word you said. “i literally can’t.”

“it’s a potion side effect.”

“no,” he says, completely serious. “it’s destiny.”

you squeeze your eyes shut. “i hate magic.”

“i love you.”

you scream internally.

the next few hours are hell.

you go to brush your teeth — he stands right beside you, brushing his own teeth with your spare toothbrush like you’re reenacting a couple’s commercial.

you try to make coffee — he hugs you from behind and whispers, “we should share a mug.”

you try to put on shoes — he kneels down and tries to tie them for you, fails, and kisses your ankle in apology.

you try to go to class — he walks beside you like a man escorting his pregnant wife to safety.

“you didn’t have to come with me,” you mutter.

“i literally did,” he says proudly, wrapping your arm through his. “love demands sacrifice.”

love demands therapy, you think. love demands a restraining order.

class is mortifying.

satoru sits next to you, thigh pressed against yours, leaning in so close his hair tickles your cheek every time he inhales. he takes notes for you. for you. with little hearts in the margins.

then the professor calls your name.

satoru raises his hand.

“she’s here,” he says. “my girlfriend.”

every single person turns.

you consider jumping out the window.

during break he corners you against a vending machine, dramatic and breathless like the moment demands violins.

“don’t talk to anyone else,” he whispers.

“why?”

“because they might fall in love with you,” he says, dead serious, “and i simply cannot handle that.”

you shove him away so hard he almost trips.

you don’t know when it starts — maybe after lunch, maybe after the third time he hugged you just a little too long — but something in satoru’s expression shifts.

he keeps staring at your mouth. and your neck. and your hands.

and then he lets out a soft, frustrated whine that nearly buckles your knees.

“what now?” you sigh.

“i think,” he whispers, cheeks pink, “you activated a secondary effect.”

“what secondary effect?”

he reaches down and gestures at— yeah. down there.

your soul leaves your body.

“FIX IT,” he whispers harshly.

“IT’S NOT MY FAULT.”

“you brewed the potion,” he accuses.

“YOU DRANK IT.”

“because fate wanted us to be together!”

you rub your temples. “you just want to have sex.”

he gasps, offended. “i want love! intimacy! closeness! spiritual bonding!”

then he leans in and groans against your neck. “…and maybe sex.”

you don’t know the exact moment you snap — maybe it’s when satoru crowds you against your own kitchen counter, begging under his breath, voice cracking like he’s in pain. maybe it’s the way his hands shake when he holds your face, or the soft, ruined little sound he makes when you push him away, like rejection physically hurts him.

or maybe it’s just that you’re tired, and he’s warm, and you’ve been wanting something — someone — to want you this desperately for a long, long time.

all you know is that one second you’re arguing, and the next his mouth is on yours and you melt.

he kisses you like he’s drowning. like he’s holding onto you for air.

his hands slide into your hair, gripping gently, pulling you closer like he can’t bear the space between your bodies. the first moan slips out of him so easily it shocks you — soft and breathy, right against your mouth, his hips already pressing forward like he can’t control them.

“please,” he whispers, kissing you again, deeper, messier. “i need you. i can’t— i can’t think—”

you grip his shirt, pulling him closer, and he breaks — you feel it, the way he gasps into your mouth, the way his body goes hot and trembling against yours.

he lifts you before you can protest, hands firm under your thighs, carrying you like you weigh nothing. your legs wrap around his waist automatically, your breath catching when you feel him — hard, insistent — grinding between your legs through his sweats.

“satoru—” you gasp.

“i know,” he breathes, forehead against yours as he stumbles you both into your bedroom. “i know, i know, i know— just let me— god, let me have you—”

he lays you on the bed but doesn’t leave your body for a second, crawling over you, kissing you like he’s trying to memorize the shape of your mouth. your shirt is gone before you register the moment he pulled it over your head; his lips are already on your neck, trailing down, slow and reverent, like every inch of your skin deserves worship.

and maybe in his potion-flooded brain, it does.

“you’re perfect,” he mutters against your collarbone, kissing lower. “you’re— you don’t understand what you’re doing to me.”

his fingers trace the waistband of your shorts. he hesitates.

you nod.

he exhales like he’s finally allowed to breathe. your shorts come off in one slow pull. his eyes drag up your body like he’s seeing real light for the first time.

“holy shit,” he whispers. “i’m gonna die.”

he kisses down your stomach, slow, teasing, maddening. your hips arch into his mouth without meaning to, and he groans like your body reacting to him is the hottest thing he’s ever experienced.

“please,” you whisper, surprising yourself.

his eyes snap up to yours.

“say that again,” he breathes, voice breaking.

“please,” you repeat, breathless. “touch me.”

he lowers himself between your thighs like he’s kneeling before a shrine.

and when he puts his mouth on you — warm, soft, so gentle it kills you — your hand shoots into his hair, pulling, and he moans like you’ve just given him permission to live.

he eats you out like a man starved.

slow at first, savoring, tongue flattening against your clit in long, steady strokes that make your legs shake. his hands hold your thighs open, thumbs rubbing slow circles into the softest parts of you, grounding you and wrecking you all at once.

“you taste—” he breaks off with a groan, licking deeper, slower, like he’s savoring every second. “god, i knew you would.”

“satoru—”

“i’m here,” he whispers against you, voice desperate. “i’m right here— just let go, baby, please—”

you come undone embarrassingly fast.

your thighs clamp around his head, your back arches off the bed, and he moans into you like your orgasm is something he can feel in his bones. he doesn’t stop — he keeps licking, softer, slower, coaxing you through every wave until you’re trembling and gasping and pushing weakly at his shoulders.

he kisses the inside of your thigh, slow, sweet, too tender for someone who just ruined you with his mouth.

“c’mon,” he whispers, voice wrecked. “wanna feel you around me.”

you pull him up, kissing him again, tasting yourself on his tongue, dizzy and breathless as he grinds against you. his cock presses between your legs, thick and hot through his sweats, and he groans into your mouth like he’s falling apart.

“take it off,” you whisper.

he does — fumbles, actually, cursing under his breath as he kicks his sweats away, climbing over you again, hair falling into his eyes, breath shaky.

he lines himself up. and he sinks into you.

your breath catches; his does too.

“oh— my god,” he says, voice breaking entirely. “you’re— fuck— you feel—”

he can’t finish a sentence. he pushes deeper and deeper until you’re fully filled, stretched around him, and he collapses against your chest with a helpless groan.

“i can’t— i can’t believe you let me— i love you, i love you so much—”

your hands grip his shoulders, pulling him closer, and that’s what snaps his restraint.

he pulls out slow, thrusts back in harder, finding a rhythm that makes your toes curl and your breath break. his forehead drops to your shoulder, his moans hot against your skin, hips moving with a desperation that borders on worship.

“i need you,” he gasps. “i need you so bad— please— don’t stop— don’t leave me—”

“i’m not,” you whisper, nails dragging down his back.

he chokes on a sound and fucks you like he’s losing his mind.

you cum again, tighter, harder, pulling him down with you, and he follows seconds later, spilling into you with a broken groan that sounds like surrender.

he stays inside you, panting, trembling, kissing your shoulder like he’s afraid you’ll vanish if he stops touching you.

and that’s where the potion starts to crack.

satoru doesn’t give you time to recover. he’s still inside you, still hard enough it’s almost unfair, and even though he’s shaking, even though his breath is a broken mess against your throat, he pulls his hips back and fucks into you again—slow at first, testing, like his body hasn’t caught up to the fact that he already came.

you gasp, fingers digging into his shoulders. “satoru— wait— you need a second—”

“no,” he whispers, breath hot and frantic, “i can’t stop— you don’t understand— i need you—”

his lips brush your jaw, your cheek, your mouth, messy and desperate, like he’s afraid if he stops kissing you for even one moment you’ll disappear.

“please,” he breathes, voice cracking right against your lips, “don’t make me stop, i’ll die—”

you want to laugh, but the way he thrusts into you wipes every thought from your head. he’s deeper now, angling his hips just right, hitting places inside you that make your breath hitch and your thighs tremble. you can feel him everywhere—his hands gripping your waist, his chest pressed to yours, his breath shaking against your shoulder.

he feels unreal.

he feels like he’s been wanting this far longer than the potion could explain.

and maybe that’s why you don’t notice the shift at first.

the pressure in him changes—his rhythm, his breath, the tension in his muscles. something coils differently beneath your hands. his hips stutter, just slightly, like he forgot what his body was doing.

his breath stills.

his thrusts slow—not stopping, but hesitant.

“satoru?” you whisper.

he lifts his head.

and you know instantly.

his eyes—god, his eyes—they’re still blown, still dark, still hungry, but something clears in them like fog burning off glass. something grounds. something real returns behind the blue.

he blinks once. slow. confused.

your heart stops.

you feel him still inside you, buried deep, your legs still wrapped around his waist, his breath shaking against your cheek—but the spell? the haze? the feverish devotion?

it’s gone. or—it’s changing.

“what… what am i—?” he starts, voice hoarse, like he’s waking from a dream he doesn’t know he was having.

you panic instantly, trying to shove him back, scramble away, anything to lessen the humiliation clawing up your throat.

“it wasn’t— i didn’t mean— satoru, i swear, it wasn’t for you, you were under a spell, i’m so sorry, i didn’t—”

but he grabs your wrists. gently.

“hey,” he says quietly. “look at me.”

you try. your vision blurs.

he cups your cheeks with both hands, thumbs brushing your skin, still inside you like the most intimate kind of trap. “i’m not stopping,” he says.

your breath catches. “satoru— you don’t have to— it’s just the potion—”

“the potion wore off.”

his hips press into yours—slow, deeper than before.

you gasp.

his voice drops into something low. something that has nothing to do with magic.

“and i’m still not stopping.”

he kisses you—slow, nothing like the frantic potion-driven hunger before. this kiss is worse. it’s honest. it’s intentional. it’s him.

when he pulls back, his forehead rests against yours, breath hot and uneven.

“i want you,” he whispers. “not because of a spell. not because I’m confused. because I’ve wanted you for longer than I should admit.”

your chest caves.

his hands move to your hips, pulling you closer on his cock, and he rolls his hips into you with a control that makes your eyes flutter shut.

you whimper. he swallows it with another kiss.

“so unless you tell me to stop,” he murmurs against your lips, “i’m going to fuck you the way i’ve actually wanted to.”

you don’t tell him to stop.

you can’t.

not when he withdraws slowly, the drag making your nails dig into his back, not when he thrusts back in with a force that knocks sound out of you, not when he moans your name like he’s saying it for the first time without any magic twisting his tongue.

he’s different now.

every thrust is deep, like he’s learning your body from scratch. like he’s savoring every inch of being inside you. like he’s been imagining this for way longer than the past few hours.

“god,” he breathes, voice low and wrecked in your ear, “you feel even better like this. when i’m actually myself.”

you choke on a moan.

“look at me,” he whispers, slowing his thrusts just enough to make you desperate. “i want you to see it. i want you to know it’s real.”

you do.

and it ruins you.

your orgasm builds too fast, too sharp, your entire body tightening around him, dragging him deeper. he groans—a raw, unfiltered sound—and his thrusts turn messy again, needy, desperate, entirely human.

“cum,” he whispers. “please— please cum for me—”

you do.

you fall apart with his name tangled on your tongue, body clenching around him so hard he gasps your name like a prayer right against your mouth.

he finishes inside you with a low, shaking moan, hips pressing tight to yours, arms wrapping around your body like he’s holding onto something he finally gets to keep.

he stays like that.

still inside you. still breathing hard. still kissing your cheek like he's afraid to stop.

and when he finally manages to speak, it’s quiet. breathless. real.

“told you,” he whispers, lips brushing your jaw, “i wasn’t stopping.”

you’re still catching your breath when satoru finally rolls onto his side, dragging you with him like he’s afraid gravity might separate you. he’s warm and heavy and completely overwhelming, and he kisses your shoulder once, soft, almost shy—in a way you do not have the emotional stability to process right now.

you mumble into the pillow, “we need to… talk… about what just happened.”

he hums, lazy and smug, arm tightening around your waist. “mm. later.”

“no, not later— satoru, you were under a potion—”

“keyword: were,” he says, brushing your hair back so he can kiss behind your ear, “and then i wasn’t, and i still stayed inside you, so—”

you slap his arm.

he grins into your shoulder like you just confirmed his entire worldview.

and then—a knock.

you jolt upright. “oh my god.”

satoru groans dramatically and flops onto his back. “whoever that is better be ready to leave disappointed.”

“satoru— put your pants on.”

“no,” he says instantly. “i live here now.”

“NO YOU DON’T.”

you’re scrambling for clothes, for anything that doesn’t scream “i just got railed into a different universe,” when the knock comes again.

you freeze at the door. you know that knock.

your stomach drops. “oh my god. it’s him.”

satoru lifts his head from the pillow like a golden retriever who heard food hit the floor. “him?”

“suguru,” you whisper. “the one the potion was for.”

satoru goes still.

and then he smiles.

not a nice smile. a slow, wide, predatory little thing that tells you someone is about to have a really bad day.

he doesn’t reach for his shirt. he doesn’t fix his hair. he just sprawls across your bed and goes, “open it.”

“satoru—”

“open. it.”

you open the door.

and there he is, your original crush—standing awkwardly in the hallway, holding your notebook like it’s a peace offering.

“hey,” he says softly. “you left this in the library, and I just— oh.”

his eyes travel from your flushed face… to your neck… to the oversized shirt you threw on… to the very tall, very shirtless man in your bed behind you.

staring. directly. at him.

suguru clears his throat. “I didn’t realize you had company.”

you’re about to stammer out some excuse, ANY excuse, but satoru beats you by a mile.

he sits up slowly, sheets falling off his hips, revealing way too much skin for normal social interaction.

“no thank you,” he says.

suguru blinks. “sorry?”

satoru stands.

full height. bare chest. tiny sweatpants. bite marks YOU put on him.

“she’s busy,” satoru clarifies, stepping behind you and hooking one finger through your belt loop like a man claiming land. “with me.”

you almost combust on the spot.

suguru tries very hard to maintain dignity. “i just wanted to give her—”

“and now you’ve done that,” satoru interrupts, already starting to close the door. “thanks so much. deeply appreciated. goodbye.”

“satoru—” you whisper harshly.

he snaps the door shut with a soft click.

silence.

then he looks at you with the smuggest, most infuriatingly gorgeous expression you’ve ever seen.

“what?” he says innocently. “i was polite.”

“you were NOT polite.”

“i said thank you.”

you groan, burying your face in your hands. “i hate you.”

he steps closer, fingers sliding under your chin, tilting your face up toward his. “mm, no you don’t.”

“i do. so much.”

he kisses you.

“you REALLY don’t.”

you shove him. he laughs, catches your wrist, pulls you back against him, and murmurs against your lips,

“so… round two?”

your breath catches.

“i hate you,” you whisper again.

he grins, kisses the corner of your mouth, and says,

“you’re gonna hate me way more in about ten minutes.”

perm taglist @dearjihyo @sketchbonked

“Oh, thank fuck! You have no idea how much I appreciate it, man.” Kusakabe bellows in celebration, and Shiu’s forced to lean his head away from the speaker if ever he valued his ear drums.

Atsuya Kusakabe was a farmer specializing in hybrids just like Shiu was, though his friend had taken it a step further and raised only bulls on his farm. Though he really did reconsider this friendship when the other was trying to pawn off one of his biggest bulls on him for a few days.

In his bemused wonderment at his friend, Shiu almost doesn’t register the soft nudge of something against his open palm. Something warm, something silky. He snaps his head down- and a sudden smile spreads across his face as he realizes just who it was.

You’d wandered off from your cosy lil’ corner, and cuddled up to him leisurely. 

“Hey there, girlie.” Shiu whispers, reaching his fingers up to scratch behind your ecstatic ears. You weren’t quite the social hybrid, even amongst your own kind. Always frolicking by yourself when let out to graze, always straying behind the group after milking. 

Shiu couldn’t even tease enough out of you (not even half a bucket!) when compared to the rest of the cows here. But the thing is, you seemed perfectly content with your few close attachments on the farm, your few friends, your rejection of many bulls (and trust that the attempts to woo were many). And whether that was because you’d grown too attached to him, whether that was just the way you were - he didn’t exactly mind.

He knew he shouldn’t have favorites, and yet…here you were.

“Feeling all better?” He’s asking, and you’re nodding languidly. Still tired, then. This season’s heat had been as powerful as ever - out of all his hybrids, it was safe to say that you had one of the strongest.

The neediest.

The sultriest.

Which wouldn’t even have been notable if you’d just let another bull hybrid mount you through them to ease the urges, perhaps even result in a cute lil’ calf for his farm- but that was exactly the problem. 

You didn’t.

Shiu couldn’t even count on two hands how many times he’d tried to pair you off with one of his bulls - and each time had ended in a disaster. Either you’d barricaded yourself in another part of your barn room, or you’d claw your way outside altogether. Each and every time, Shiu would check on you in the middle of your heats to find that you were in the throes of your desires, fiddling with nothing but the toys he’d gifted you, and his sullen bulls would be pouting n’ pushed off to one side. Useless, really.

No matter how needy you were, you just wouldn’t take to them. And it wasn’t that they were particularly weak, or unattractive - there was Ino who you’d just ended up chatting through your heat with, Kashimo and Ijichi who you’d both kicked out, Takaba who you didn’t even look at, Naoya who you…

Yeah, he didn’t want to think about the beaten-up state you’d left Naoya in. It made him laugh.

He wondered who the problem was - those bulls that couldn’t woo you properly, or you who couldn’t be wooed.

He blamed the bulls.

And he’s patting the top of your head tenderly, carefully avoiding the slight protrusions of your horns that were oh-so-sensitive. Mutterly absent-mindedly, “It’s alright, it’s alright. Trust that we’ll find you a proper mate next year, girlie.”

You can only nod unsurely, gesturing at his phone. “Someone’s talking, Shiu.”

“Huh? Oh someone’s-” Oh, right, he was in the middle of his call still. He’d almost forgotten. Shiu tunes into the latest of Kusakabe’s spiel, and it didn’t seem like he’d missed out on anything too important—

“-had no idea what I was going to do for the few days I’d be in Tokyo for the Hybrid Farms Convention, I’ll pick him up right on my way back from there.”

“Mhm, sounds good.” He rattles off.

“You can keep him anywhere you like, to be honest. He doesn’t have any specific requirements, he’s just as sturdy as he is massive- hah! Though, I do give Toji a separate room of his own from the others…just in case.”

“Mhmmm.”

“My apprentices will be taking care of it while he’s gone, all ready for that big boy to be back.”

“Mhmmm.” Shiu lightly furrows his brows—if he has apprentices, and he has other bulls he’s leaving behind, then why did he need to leave Toji in particular with Shiu again? Oh, whatever…

“And you remember what I said earlier, right?”

Well, he wasn’t really listening but…“Mhm-”

“You have to keep an eye on Toji while he’s in rut.”

“Mh-” Shiu’s eyes bug out of his scalp, his knees grow a little weak, and he damn near drops his phone- oh, too late. He’s already dropped his phone down into the green grass below, startling you in the process. “While he’s in what?”

.

.

.

Name: Toji Fushiguro

Age: 30’s (approx.)

Hybrid type: Bos taurus

Height: 6’2+

Weight class: 1600kg - 1800kg.

Other notes: Subject has a sleek black coat, high intelligence, and a somewhat temperamental demeanour. He will insult you if it comes to infringing upon his freedom. Does not care for medical exams. Continuous horn growth that shows evidence of strong fighting capabilities, fatal power, and weapon-like appendages. It should be noted that the subject is of a larger size even amongst Bos taurus (in particular, the Nambu shorthorn bulls) and needs larger spaces of leisure than most. Take care to handle, needs multiple handlers.

Shiu’s face only grows pale as he reads down the medical sheet, quickly flicking his eyes to the very end so that he might be able to spare himself some of the torture.

-particularly powerful ruts with the urge to breed. According to the handler, it is noted that the subject has not spent a rut in the presence of a mate.

Even paler.

To emphasize, he is unmated.

And paler.

And currently nearing his rut.

For the second time in the past 24 hours (which isn’t many times, but it’s strange that it’s happened twice) Shiu’s fingers drop whatever he was holding in shock. Diligently, you’re right beside the farmer to pick up the piece of paper and hand it to him - giggling when he drops it for a third time.

Though, it was by sheer miracle that he doesn’t just faint right then and there.

Oh—he catches a glimpse of Kusakabe’s large white cattle trailer backing up into his hybrid pen and can feel himself teetering already. Thankfully, you were right there to nudge your head against his frame in support, slightly worried for the human man.

Because not only was Toji said to be nearing his merciless rut, but according to the medical sheet that his friend (‘friend’ hah!) had handed to him, he was unmated?

Makes sense, Kusakabe’s farm specialized in bulls.

But perhaps if Toji had a mate then the cow hybrids of this farm would be safe- he casts a sidelong look your way. Perhaps you - with your still-sweetened pheromones, and your even sweeter demeanour - would be safe.

“Something wrong, Shiu?” You’re asking, worriedly.

“N-nothing-” The farmer places a hand on your head and pats, faintly. “Nothing at all, don’t you worry about a thing, girlie.”

Ah, well…Shiu thinks to himself, watching as the truck finally finishes reversing, and Kusakabe (that bastard!) slides out of the driver’s seat to open up the towering steel door in the back. It looked so massive compared to the admittedly above-average man, and that only made Shiu’s tension increase twofold at what may be lurking behind those metal gates.

Ones that seem to burst open with a roaring screeeech—

“Oh, shit.” His mouth was desert-dry, his grip unyielding on you who’d been angling your head to get a better look. “Oh, shit.”

Because Toji Fushiguro was massive.

Dominating.

So many thousands of kilograms of a hybrid that sauntered smugly out of the trailer, as if he owned it. As if he owned this entire farm and everyone in it. 

The rest of the hybrids were drawn in by the commotion, turning their curious eyes towards the refined horns that gleamed as they entered the light. Towards the thundering ground. The powerful flank. The polished coat. The single golden ring ‘round his nostrils.

And you had to admit that you didn’t expect him to be so…handsome.

All ruggedly scarred lips from his tussles, and a face that seemed to be carved by the heavens above. You let your widened peripherals glide down the smooth skin of his front; all broad shoulders, prominent pecs, the cutest golden hoops pierced through his pink nipples, and abs for days. He shakes his shaggy black bangs out of his gaze. 

Those smug verdant eyes that take one look your way - the way that Shiu had his possessive hold on you - and narrow. 

Kusakabe startles as his prized bull hybrid suddenly stops in his tracks, his grip on his leash slightly faltering. And it seems that everyone within the pen holds their breath as a low huff of gruff displeasure leaves Toji, scorching hot fury reaching where you were.

Jaw clenching.

Eyes flashing.

He lowers his horned head as if he was about to-

“Ah ah-” Kusakabe’s the one to break through the charged tension on the farm with his command. He tugs on Toji’s firm leash, though, as a farmer, Shiu thinks he could see the slight waver in his movements.

Toji’s rumbling in refusal, tugging against the restraints. And Kusakabe’s nearly thrown off his feet- before he’s holding onto the side of the truck for balance, pulling the bull hybrid away from where his sights were set. “Easy, boy, easy.” He’s looking at you two with an apologetic smile, “Sorry, he’s just a bit excited with the ru-”

“Ahem ahem ahem-” Shiu suddenly coughs, cutting off the other man. “Better get him settled inside his enclosure, Kusakabe. Don’t want any more trouble now…”

“Ah- right, right.”

And with a slight swat at Toji’s flank, he’s fighting against the hybrid to guide him towards that lil’ enclosure made specifically for him. Shiu had taken care to section it off from the rest of the pen where the cows were, with hardy wooden tree trunks that composed the fences. And not one, but two padlocks that Kusakabe seems relieved to lock once he’s managed to get him inside.

Hands slightly shaking where Toji breathes hotly down his neck, black tail flicking in irritation.

“Calm down, calm down.” The farmer wasn’t sure whether he was telling it to Toji or himself- finally finishing off with the locks and looking up at him. “Now- you be a good boy, alright. Don’t give Shiu any trouble, don’t fight too hard with the other bulls- no use in telling you not to fight, I know you won’t listen to that anyway, and no matter what-”

Toji raises an unimpressed brow as Kusakabe raises a directing finger.

“-no going overboard with your rut.”

“And what exactly does ‘overboard’ mean?” Shiu wearily nears the special pen, arms carefully lifted off of you and wrapped around his own body in comfort.

Kusakabe beams, “No idea! We’ve never had him near cows before!”

Shiu felt like hitting him.

“Well, she just got off her heat-” At the way that Toji’s nostrils flare, his grin widens, Shiu almost regrets saying that with a gesture towards you. Oh? He blocks the bull’s greedy line of sight towards you, and grumbles. “-so no funny business.”

Toji scoffs.

“Use your words, Toji.” Kusakabe pleads, “No need to be like that.”

And he takes a second to pause. To consider. To seemingly mull over his words before- “Eat my ass-”

“Toji-”

“That’s it-” Shiu spits, not waiting for either man nor hybrid to finish before he’s stomping off to where you were watching the commotion from (as was the rest of the farm, but it seems like this hulking intruder had eyes only for you). 

And with his hand placed gently where your flower-patterned collar was, Shiu leads you away from the herd. Away from the pen. Away from Toji, towards the barn where your room was. “That’s it- for the time that that bull is here, he won’t be seeing a single glimpse of you, that’s for sure.”

“But why?” You whine, your head tugging backwards. And Shiu could almost balk at the way that you - you - were half-heartedly resisting his grip, trying to look back at Toji. “Why can’t I-”

“Because.”

And that was that, you were isolated inside the barn, and Toji was padlocked away in his pen. Far, far away from you for the time that he’d be staying there.

And as Kusakabe waves his exit from his farm, promising to be back in a few days, Shiu makes sure to get a good punch in (all in good friendship, of course). Because Shiu Kong was calm. Shiu Kong was composed. Shiu Kong could survive just a few days with an in-rut bull hybrid infiltrating his farm.

“And how long until you’re back again?”

“Three- ouch, three days. You have a good right hook, man.”

After all, it was exactly that - just a few days.

What’s the worst that could happen?

.

.

.

The first day.

Toji could see you.

Through the slightest crack in those barn doors, just the tips of your ears peaking out as you glimpse at him. It turns out that just Shiu’s command couldn’t hold you, and you staggered your way up to the barn doors whenever that damned farmer of yours wasn’t around to see. Watching. Waiting.

Taking in the sight of him.

And it wasn’t that Toji wasn’t used to stares - he was a prized bull hybrid, larger than most. So it was quite the given that he’d gather stares from competition, from unmated cows, hell, even from farmers who would like their chance at raising human-hybrid offspring. And so it wasn’t exactly new…

But just this way you were looking at him…it made him shiver.

Those pretty doe-eyes held up a curious, somewhat fearful, admiration. A slight arousal dampening between your legs that his honed senses could smell from even here—

Toji swears something in him had snapped the very split-second that he’d arrived here.

That he’d first locked eyes with you.

That he’d first sniffed at the remaining sweetness of your heat. Your sex.

Every sense in him right now (even the rational ones) were screaming at him to break out of this enclosure and waltz right up to you, break through those barn doors if he had to. He wanted to smell your pheromones. To hold you. To stuff his hot, throbbing cock between your legs and watch as you struggle to take it all.

He wanted to breed you.

And - multiple times - Toji found himself barging against the locked doors of his pen. Whispering your sweet, sweet name underneath his breath (learned from some of the other hybrids that watched him), ramming his horns against the wooden walls.

He was in rut.

Badly.

Badly, badly, badly.

The sheer intensity of it was more than anything else he’d ever felt- fuck, not even his first rut had felt this strong. It wasn’t that he was unmated. It wasn’t that he was in an unfamiliar place. It was just you, you, you.

Taking the wind out of his lungs. Making his length ache heavily between his strong legs. Wafting his intoxicating scent - something spicily sweet, with a peculiar tang in it that made you drunk on it like liquor, like mulled wine - all the way to where you were watching from the barn doors.

You’re sagging heavily against its wooden frame to take it in, sighing at the murky pheromones that seemed to cloud the entire farm-

“Oi, girlie!” 

And through it all, that damned Shiu had made sure to cockblock him.

Even now,  here came his annoying, grating tone. He’d kept a close eye on Toji ever since Kusakabe had left in his truck, rarely straying too far from the hybrid pen. He was always butting in, always breaking the stare-down between you two.

With one hand on his hip, the farmer watches as you startle at his voice. Suddenly hurrying to stumble back inside the barn where you came from.

And it would’ve almost been cute had it not been a result of you breaking one of his direct rules: do not interact with the bull in rut. But the thing is, you’d never seen a bull like him—and he was in rut? Oh…

Shiu barks out, “Where’d you think you were going, huh? Yeah- that’s right, inside.” And with you gone, Shiu would glare up at Toji. Toji wasn’t shy to glare right back.

“Problem?” He smiles.

“Yeah-” The farmer had crinkled his nose- and pointed at the way that Toji had been impatiently pushing against the enclosing walls, trying to break out, trying to get to you. He spits out distastefully, “-that. Don’t think you’re getting anywhere near her, got it?”

“Not at all.”

That night, Shiu had sent for a few more locks to be delivered from the hardware store downtown (he wasn’t even sure that they did delivery, but he’d coax them into if it meant not taking his eyes off of you). Multiple. He’d fixed them onto the gates of Toji’s pen, “This should keep you out.” Shiu had declared, jangling the metallic additions with one hand. “Not even the finest bulls in the world would be able to break through these. Hah! Take that.”

“Fuck off.”

He’d charged at the other man, but alas, the gates stayed steadfast.

.

.

.

The second day.

Toji had murmured your name like a mantra all night.

All night.

Again and again and again-

“He really doesn’t seem so bad, Shiu.” You’d tried to whine to the farmer, when he’d come back into the barn after fixing a few more locks - the count was reaching upwards of ten by now - on the gates of the bull’s enclosure.

But Shiu had only waved off your pleading noises, “Now, don’t give me that look. I heard the way he was ramming against those gates last night, I heard his bellows.” Needless to say, you had, too…“And I just don’t think it’s safe for you to be out when such a bull is in rut, girlie. Not unless you wanted to be mated- hah!”

Well…

You pushed your quivering thighs together. You’d hate to admit that in the privacy of your room last night, listening to Toji grow so desperate, listening to him say your name like that…you’d actually reached for your heat toys about once or twice.

You’d never felt this way about a bull before- hell, you’d never felt this way about anyone before.

And it was such a strange sensation to be glidin’ up the buzzin’ tip of your vibrator to your clit, massaging that sweet lil’ nub without the carnal pangs of your heat. Just the carnal pangs of…pure need-

“Besides.” Shiu’s cutting through your lecherous memory, and you hope the evidence of your lewd acts don’t show on your face. He gently pats at your head, the way he’s done so many times before. “You don’t need to be mounted by such a big, bad bull. My poor girl.”

“I don’t?” You mutter to yourself.

And Shiu doesn’t seem to catch on, “After all, it’s not like you’re in heat.”

No…you suppose not.

But you can’t help but raise your face into the saturated atmosphere, seemingly so balmy and languid ever since Toji stepped foot onto the farm. And there, you can smell the most addictive scent- fuck, something that just made your core twitch with need.

“Feeling alright, my girl?” Shiu looks on at the way you shiver, and whatever he sees there makes him lead you back to your place within the barn. “Hm, maybe you should get some rest- it’s probably that bull’s pheromones messing you up.”

“M-messing me up?” You’re asking, your entire body feeling set alight. Though, you didn’t feel the slightest bit messed up.

“Mhm- since you’re unmated, just coming off an unsuccessful heat. But it’s alright-” Shiu reassures, starting to shut your door, and there’s a meaningful look in his eyes. “We can try again next year, I have a few other bulls in mind that you might like to mate with. And he won’t be getting anywhere near you until then.”

“He won’t…”

Shiu continues, “Besides, Kusakabe will be picking him up tomorrow, so you have absolutely nothing to worry about.”

You don’t say anything, but you know that you aren’t worried. Not even the slightest bit.

In fact…your body wished he’d be here even longer.

But ah- if he was just going to be taken away tomorrow, then what was the use in wanting? As your wooden door slams shut, you’re realizing that you just might never see him again.

And, outside, Toji only rams against the pen fence even harder.

He wanted you.

He wanted you.

He wanted you.

.

.

.

The third (and final) day.

Or is it…

“What?” Shiu barks into his phone receiver, so loud that it startles every hybrid grazing in the vicinity. All of them were out, leaving the barnhouse all barren by this point - though Shiu didn’t doubt that his voice reached even you inside. And the sheer incredulousness in his tone makes even Toji look over, with a smirk that told the farmer that he was quite enjoying witnessing his distress. But Shiu paid no mind to that.

He couldn’t.

Right now, he was much more frazzled by the words that had the utter fuckin’ audacity to sheepishly leave Kusakabe’s mouth on the other end of the line. Almost in a trance, Shiu pinches the bridge of his nose and repeats. “So…you’re telling me…” Each word tremored with the sheer effort that it took to keep the rage out of them, “That you want me…to come…”

“All the way to Tokyo to help me fix up my engine and save me from being stranded? Yes.” Kusakabe’s voice finishes off, “Shiu, my oldest friend, my dearest pal, have I ever told you how much I love y-”

“Atsuya Kusakabe I will kill you.”

Toji snorts out in laughter, and Shiu is suddenly reminded that he’d been in the middle of fixing up just one more lock to the bull’s pen when he’d gotten the call. Gate held ajar for now. Padlocks unlocked as he fixed them on. 

Glaring at the hybrid for the interruption, Shiu’s pinching the pen closed as he grumbles. “And you need me - you can’t just go to one of the many, many, many mechanics in Tokyo - because why exactly?”

“Aww, don’t be like that, Shiu!” Kusakabe cries out, “Do you have any idea how expensive Tokyo is? I just bought a cute lil’ pastry before the convention, and it bankrupted me for generations!”

“And you don’t have any other friends that are closer?”

“Man, if I had any other friends, period, do you think I’d be calling you?”

Shiu supposed that was a fair enough statement. “But- but I can’t leave…” He clicks his tongue, “Just get a train then! Leave that pile of junk at some trash site where it belongs-”

“I mean, I could…” And though Kusakabe’s tone was one of curious innocence, he’d long since learned that nothing ever boded well for him when he used it. He waits with bated breath until the other man continues- “-but that just means I’ll have to leave my truck - including my cattle trailer, which I use to transport my cattle - here. And you know what else that means I’ll have to leave?”

Shiu shivers, “Wh-what?”

“Toj-”

“I’ll be there right now.”

Kusakabe cackles, “Take your tiiime~!” And soon enough, the sharp tone of the call being ended reaches Shiu’s ears.

With one last semi-glare thrown in Toji’s direction, the farmer is speed-walking to his own truck - all those tools Kusakabe needed still inside from his last fix-up. More like running. More like sprinting to save his friend.

Not because he wanted to save his friend, of course. But because every second that Kusakabe was stuck in Tokyo, was a second even longer that you were stuck with Toji on this farm.

All alone.

And he couldn’t have rushed out of here more determined.

More hasty.

More careless-

“Well, would ya look at that.” Toji’s scarred lips twitch upwards into a grin. And he’s reaching one of his beefy arms out to lightly - just lightly - nudge at the wooden gate of his enclosure. Watching as it swings wiiiiiiide open—creeeeak! Bearing the rest of the farm to him with welcome arms. “What a sweet little gift f’me.”

All those pesky padlocks and ties, carefully added over the last few days, were useless if some silly lil’ farmer ever forgot to lock them.

Toji takes such delight in taking that first step out of his enclosure, broad pecs heaving as he takes in the candied trail of scent left all over by a certain pretty cow hybrid. You.

He then takes a second step, a third, a fourth—

And he knows exactly where he’s heading to - the barn.

Where you were just settling in for the day, your feverish body settling atop a particularly soft, tangled mass of golden hay. Cuddling in. You’d heard Shiu’s truck take off, though it would be out-of-character for him to leave so suddenly. You weren’t sure what to think, and you were just about to nod off when…

Creak-creak-creeeeeak—!

The barn door opens.

Shiu? Fluttering open your eyes, you’re just about to raise your head and ask him what all the yelling and commotion was, when-

Oh.

Oh.

That wasn’t the farmer at all.

Toji’s large, sculptured figure takes up nearly the entire door frame. And even from here you can see his sultry grin, his agitated hips. You can smell his intense drunken pheromones—“Room for two, sweetcheeks?”

.

.

.

“I’m- hah, sensitive there…” You’re pouting as Toji relentlessly tugs you by your stubby horns towards him. His overlarge hand plastered to the back of your scalp and guided you down between his meaty thighs - not only had he kissed you silly by this point, but the hybrid had you drenched and quivering all over the hay for more.

But first…

Your watery eyes bulge as you take in the sheer length between Toji’s legs - inches upon inches, throb after throb, all looooong and rock-hard with need. His erection stood right up to graze his navel with glittery drops of precum.

Decorated with so many puffy veins down his shaft that your cunt twitched just imagining how he’d feel inside of you.

Each one pulsated as Toji drip-drip-dripped in gooey sap down his cock, all ready to pierce your hot sex. Heavy balls tightening with even more, with the urge to breed. And you’d do well to remember that bull hybrids in particular were known for having absolutely massive cocks-

“What’cha thinking about, sweet girl?” Toji hums, the point of that nickname proven when he takes a deep, heaving gasp of the pheromone-saturated air. 

Before you can answer, one of his hands slither down to grip that heavy cock of his. Right ‘round the fat hilt where he can move his long length to smack! down between your half-parted lips. Using just the globular tip of his cock, he’s smearin’ apart your maw and just glossing over it with his creamy pre. “You’re not thinking of tapping out already, huh? You’re not…scared are you?”

There’s a slight mocking hint in his tone, nevertheless you’re shaking your head fervently. 

He snickers, “That’s right. You don’t care what that stupid farmer of yours has to say, hm?” And oh—Toji has to stop himself from simply stuffing every inch inside your mouth already, instead wetting your lips enough so that he can sliiiiide in. “You’re not really such a good lil’ hybrid like he says- huh?”

“No-” You’re hiccuping out, “Not at- mmpf.” 

Only for big, bad Toji to rut his cock against your mouth. Shutting you up with his flared tip, you can taste the pure arousal seeping into your mouth.

All warm n’ wet on top of your tastebuds—you’re drooling around his thick tip before you even know it.

“No, because you’re a baaaaad girl, aren’t ya?” He’s tutting, swiping away the splatters of saliva that just kept on leaking from the edges of your mouth- and instead, he’s reeling back to replace it with a jetstream of his own spittle. Straight onto the middle of your tastebuds.

With a second hand tugging open your mouth, Toji takes a nice look at that gluey wad sitting on your tongue- before he’s plunging his rude cock right back in between your lips. “Because you’re- haaaaah, careful, careful, no teeth- because you’re my good girl, aren’t ya?” Staring at you with half-lidded green eyes, “Allllll mine.”

“Mmmpf—” You’re muffling out around his raw girth, Toji was just so big that your maw was constantly open in this lecherous ‘oh’ shape.

Gobbling his veiny inches up even deeper and deeper, you’re only growing wetter at the way that his bawling divot scrapes down the roof of your mouth. Swervin’ left and right, and reaching for that cute lil’ dangly thing at the back of your throat-

“Ever taken a bull’s cock before?”

Choking at the lodgement in your throat, “N-no—”

“Yeah? Thought so. Ever taken anyone before?”

Shaking your head.

“Well then, she’s taking me so- hah, well.” Toji’s crooning out from above you, fucking his hips in sloppy half-thrusts inside your mouth. That rough line of his happy trail ends up scratching the tip of your nose, and you find that his intoxicating scent only grows stronger the closer you get…“Haven’t you had breakfast today, sweetcheeks?”

With tearful eyes, you’re looking up at him in confusion. “Mmm—ngh.”

“Ah ah- flick your tongue at my tip if you wanna say ‘no’—oh, just like that.” And then his mean, scarred lips end up formulating a mocking pout. “Such a cute tongue, can’t believe she’s gone hungry for so long- ngh.”

“I-” Tears stream down both your cheeks, and you’re panting out through each thrust of his achin’ cock. “Fuck, Toji, you’re just so big-”

Other hand pushing on the back of your clammy head, deeper n’ deeper. His superhuman strength was just incredible- “And look, she’s just become so greedy.” As if he wasn’t the one tunneling every spot inside your mouth, spotting it with his pre. “Don’t you know you don’t have to take any more, sweet girl, don’t you- oh—” Toji accurately hits the back of your throat, a direct thud! of his globular cockhead. He grins, watching you salivate around his cock- “-oh, fine, if you insist…”

“You’re- hck!” And the fact of the matter was that he hadn’t even fully bottomed-out yet. Criss-crossing your eyes, you spot that you had even more inches to go- “You’re so ngh-”

“And you want me to bruise the back of your- oh, throat, you say?” Toji’s cutting you off with his mean grunts, smack after smack of his heavy balls. 

They graze the front of your chin and make you feel such carnal pangs, your cunt grinding back against your heels. “I didn’t even- oh.” But too late - his geysering divot was already bruising away back there. 

Push after push.

Probe after probe.

Until Toji’s shaft had stirred up every single hidden spot inside of you, and he was swelling up even more like he wanted more, more, more—

“Toji-” Your nails claw down the pale expanse of Toji’s thighs, just so plush rippling underneath your touch. “Toji I want-”

“Ohoooo?” His raven brows raise in amusement, a mean grin spreading across his face. “The good girl is making demands now, hm?” As you whimper away, he’s thrashin’ at the back of your throat- again and again. “I guess I can’t just keep listening to her, huh?”

Her? Who…oh. 

He was talking about your thoroughly damp pussy, with the sappiest noises leaving you each time you’re pushing back on your heels. Soaked with desire.

And Toji seems amused by your shocked reaction, “How cute…go on then, sweetcheeks. Go on. Lemme know what that cute lil’ heart of yours desires.”

You’re pulling back from his red, glistenin’ tip with a lecherous pwah! “I-I want…” You’re sobbing, lashes fluttering in a way that makes- oh, you won’t be mad if he told you he was getting even harder now, would you? “-I want to feel you, Toji.”

To feel him?

To feel him?

His hazy peripherals snap down to see the way you were eyeing his long, long length. And then he’s realizing - oh, you wanted to feel him inside, did you?

Inside…fuck.

Your eyes damn near bulge out of your skull at the way that Toji’s rock-hard length only seemed to grow even…bigger at your words. Flaring up until he was red-hot at the tip, all slicked with a glaze of saliva and pre.

Toji smacks his painfully hard shaft down once more at your maw, “What dirty, dirty words- and from such a good girl?” He scoffs.

And just as you’re about to explain yourself, you’re suddenly feeling near whiplash at the way that Toji grabs onto your throat and flips the two of you around. Hoisting. Manhandling. Ending up with his back against the floor, head against the hay, and your naked cunt drivelling right above him. 

So wet and pretty.

Toji’s mouth waters at the sight of your damp, glistening hole. And he can’t help but immediately reach one hand over to thumb apart your puffy pussylips, pressin’ apart your folds and spitting straight into your hole.

“Or were they words from her, hm?” Toji’s gruffly snickering, flopping that wide tongue of his out to catch your droplets of slick. “Talking out of that pussy, hah- you’re even dirtier than I thought, sweetcheeks.”

Your thighs ache as they hover, slightly chasing the warmth of his mouth. “M’n-not dirty! I just wanted to feel you…” Casting a longing look behind at his throbbing length-

“As if. And you can have my cock-” You look up hopefully at his answer, how cute—you couldn’t even properly fit his cock inside your mouth, and now you think you could fit him inside your cunt? “-but first I’ve gotta stretch this dirty girl ouuuuut.”

“But, I can take- hngh!”

As if. Before you know it, Toji’s slithering his long, looooong tastebuds inside your cunt with absolutely no warning, no hesitation.

Just the ridged texture of his muscle slithering inside, and you’re quivering at the sheer size of him. And he feels the tightness of your circular innards and grins- “Woah…” Just a single taste of you, and his pheromones are blasting out in pure need. “Don’t you know that you hafta stretch ‘er out first, hm? What- never done this before?”

Gingerly, you shake your head ‘no’.

“Oh- reeeeeally.” Just pryin’ aside your folds, you were so fucking wet that that honeyed slick splashes down onto his face like a puddle. Toji rolls his eyes, “I would’ve never thought.” 

You huff n’ puff atop him, “Don’t- don’t tease, Toji-”

“Why, m’not teasing..” He’s spitting on your cunt yet again, letting the dewy excess trickle back down into his throat. “I already know that this pretty pussy hasn’t been satisfied like she deserves. I can fucking taste it-” Tunneling back in again. “Can hear it.” The most lecherous slurps echoing in your ears as he does, the bull’s ears flick your way to listen to it. “She wants only me- heh, wants me to be her first, doesn’t she?” 

Slurp-slurp-sluuuuurping as he’s rovering his tongue, somehow contracting it and extracting it in a way that massages your velvety walls.

Again and again.

“All you hafta do is sit there- all pretty, and take it.” Toji croons, and something dark glints within that gaze of his as he catches your lost expression. “What? That dear farmer of yours never taught you how to take it like a good girl when yer being eaten out.”

“N-no-”

“Then let me teach you—” Oh, you knew he didn’t bode well by the way that he said it. You knew it. 

And in a split-second, Toji has one hand plastered at your hip, and the other veering upwards to smack! down on your swollen pussy. “Ah ah-” As you buck, that hold he has on you grows numbing, and you’re sure he’s leaving nail marks there for weeks. “Toji’s first rule- don’t run.”

“I won’t—” You’re swallowing your words back just as soon as you say them, because just then- two of his rovering fingertips intrude their way inside your cunt.

Not even waiting for you to get used to him, not even faltering as you squeeeeeeze.

He’s straightly stuffing two of them inside your snug channel, the bulbous ends of Toji’s digits digging into each of your hidden spots without even trying. Turning them over. Pushing into every nook n’ cranny n’ crevice over and over- “Oh my god-” Bellowing out, your body starts to move back and forth against him - as if it didn’t know whether you wanted to bounce down or run away- “Toji, I’ve never felt something like this- ngh.”

Only for a loud smack! to ring out against your wet pussylips once again, and for Toji to haul you back onto his mouth with his beefy arm. “What’d I say about rule number- hah, one, hm? Silly girl.”

He was stopping you from running from it.

He was looping one of his thick, beefy biceps ‘round your waist, stopping you from moving away from his open-mouthed kisses. “Good.” Pulling you in so close that his golden nose ring presses frigidly against your clit and makes you flinch. “Atta girl- atta, sweet girl.” Toji smirks against your cunt, once you try squirming your hips and find that you can’t move even a single inch. “Now squeeeeeze those pretty legs around, I don’t care if I fucking suffocate, use me, sweetness- that’s the second rule.”

“Like- like this?” You ask, your whiny pitch trembling just as much as your legs were by now. Feebly, they attempt to straddle Toji’s head properly. 

To which it almost looks as if the bull hybrid was about to laugh—“No.”

Numerous more spanks of his fingertips on your cunt, and soon enough you’re finding yourself completely limb atop him. As he fingers you to tears, rotund fingertips scouring all the way to your cute cervix-

“I mean-” From your hips, his hand is then moving to your thighs. Wrapping around them to squeeze and squeeze and squeeze- until Toji felt light-headed. “-like this.”

“I think m’d-doing it.” You’re gyrating atop him wildly by now, finding a staccato in time with his thudding! fingers. Not only were they thick, they were just so long too - and they left you feeling dizzy with his vulgar strokes, with his incredible scent.  

“Third rule, fuck back into me.” He commands, with that specific tone of a bull in rut that made you want to listen to him immediately. Your hamstrings screamed in protest as you continue, “Fuck her back into me- harder now, aren’t you a cow hybrid? Buck.”

You could barely even believe your ears, “You’re just so fucking mean- fuck!”

“Yeah, yeah, just like that.”

And Toji’s tongue? Oh, he wasn’t just staying still - not at all.

Toji had his tongue wrapped ‘round your throbbing clit and spanking down with his tastebuds. “And the fourth and final rule-” He gurgles through the wettened wads you were seeping out,  “-is to get ready.”

You’re blinking your teary eyes back open, looking down at him in shock. “Get ready for what?”

It takes a few more probin’ thrusts before he can bear to pull away- and that, too, with the loudest smooch! The bull hybrid’s pants come out in heaving gusts, scalding air making you quiver at the sensation.

“Get ready…” Toji rattles off, after a few sultry seconds. And oh- you wonder, why was his tone octaves higher? Why did he sound so breathy? Why was there something…crazed in the way he said it- “-because you think a bull hybrid in rut would really be this nice, sweetcheeks?”

Jaw dropping, “Oh-”

“You don’t know how painful it was to hold myself back-”

And before you know it, your spine’s arching as you struggle to accommodate him- struggling to handle the raw primal pressure of his thick tongue and two- three of his fingers plunging into your hole. Pushing and pushing and pushing—

You’ve become masterful at rule number three, it seems, as you’re pressing your thighs upon either side of Toji’s face until he groans. 

All of his appendages just reaching all the way for the very back of your cunt—“Ohhh, please-” Your head throws backwards as you feel him fuck you with his tongue like he was trying to ruin your inexperienced pussy. “P-please-”

“Oh m’ having a pleasant time alright.” Toji snickers, his heated pants leaving your skin perspired. The mountains of his knuckles were striking your outer pussy so hard now that they were starting to grow red on his skin. “S’fuh-fucking sweet.” Stinging.

Plap! after plap! You’re moaning as his mouth unhinges undeniably deeper to let even more of his tongue’s inches inside. Stretchin’ out your cute orifice, “Gonna hafta stretch her at least twice- haaah- twice as fuck! much if you wanna fit my cock, sweet girl.”

“Twice as much…” You’re repeating breathlessly, you couldn’t even begin to imagine it. It already felt like Toji was pulling you to your very limits - so even more…

“Rule number five- just made it up, heh.” Toji spits out - literally, a glittering glob of spittle that sticks to your slit. It slides down to your hold and makes it easy for him to thrash his tongue inside like an animal- like he was frenzied by his pheromones, like he couldn’t control himself from push-push-pushing.

Not even at a controlled cadence- Toji couldn’t stop himself from squishing your sweetest spots at the very back of your cunt. In almost no time, he’s finding that cute lil’ heart-shaped g-spot of yours - and Toji’s fingertips and tongue were fighting over which one gets to press on it the most.

Again and again until you’re in actual tears- “Rule number five is- ngh, you have to take it.” Holding you to him, until your cunt folds were plastered against his puffy lips. “Take it all like my good girl if you wanna finally take my cock.”

“Please-” Being pummelled away to the maximum, it’s all you can say like a constant mantra. “Please please- ngh! Please-”

“That’s all that dirty mouth can say now?” Toji tuts, “Tch- what happened to wanting me inside? Wanting my cock? Wanting to be fucked like the slut you secretly are?”

Primal swabs, again and again.

Twofold.

After each word, Toji’s tongue sizzles against your tender pussy - lips glued so deeply against your folds, that you can feel him lappin’ away every ounce of your slickness.

It drips slightly down his chin, and leaves your cunt slipping on top of Toji’s handsome face. You grab onto his large horns with a yelp- “Oh! Fuck, Toji- did I really say that?”

“Of course you did- hah, gallop, sweethearts.” With yet another spank, he rovers his face even deeper between your trembly legs. Nose-deep. Skin-deep. So deep, in fact, that the veins on Toji’s sculptured neck pop out.

You’re unsteadily bucking against him on instinct, and that leaves the man groaning. “Just like that.” Swallowing up every inch of your outer cunt, you’re being pierced by the relentless ministrations of his tongue again and again—“You asked to be fucked like a slut- hngh, and that’s exactly what m’giving you. Aren’t I just the beeest mating partner, sweetcheeks?”

“But I didn’t-” You’re babbling out, drunk on the vicious scrape-scrape-scrape of his intrusions. His fingers pushed just as your g-spot, and you could feel him glissading down even deeper. Deeper. Deeper. “-I didn’t say that—”

“Oh, didn’t you?” He’s hazily looking up from between your legs - there was something bleary in his eyes, something gone. “I think I remember-”

“Well I don’t-” As you’re raising your voice, you can’t believe it- Toji’s powerful tail wraps around your thighs and drags you back down.

He rumbles, “Rule number one…” In warning.

And it’s only with a few more thuds! that Toji’s pretending to remember just what you’re whinin’ away about, his dark brows shooting up to his bangs. And you can feel your treacly cunt quiver with the vibrations of his laughter, “But ah- I remember now.” His eyes crinkle into slits of amusement, eating you out until his nose ring slicks with your syrup. Just the notion is enough to leave his pheromones heightening, “I believe you said…‘you wanted to feel me’.”

Mouth dropping in recognition, “Oh- I did.”

“And what did you mean by that, hm?” Toji speaks through the ringing slurps, zap after zap of pleasure. “You’re already feeling me here-” Pokin’ at your g-spot, “And here-” His tongue snakes out to suck on your clit once more. 

“I just meant I wanted to feel you- hck!”

His sweaty brows furrow, “But yer already feeling me-”

“No- more like I wanted to feel your-” You’ve never spoken words like this before, not even in the throes of your worst heats. You glance back at his twitching erection, “-there.”

“My where?”

“Your- your cock, Toji!” You’re wailing out, your legs feeling numb at the way he strikes your sweetest bundle of nerves. “I wanna feel your thick, looooong cock- please.”

Oh, you really were such a dirty girl. He’s gnawing down on that nub of your clit, “And where do you wanna feel my thick- looooong- cock, hm?”

You’re stammering, mouth growing less in-your-control the longer he’s making a mess of your poor pussy. “Inside-”

“Inside where?”

“Inside my cunt-” And you’re shocked you manage that out without stumbling over your words, gryatin’ back into his open maw with sly figure eights. But even that wasn’t enough—

Toji rolls his eyes, such a mess. Such a shattered mess. Just pushing and tasting and lavishing his tongue all over- “Say it again-” When you’re repeating your sultry words, “More- dirtier. Be good f’me, girl, say it again-”

“I want your cock inside my cunt, Toji.” You’re whimpering out, you’re shaking. Feeling the inexperience bubble within each of your veins, because the hybrid was just having so much fun corrupting you. “I want it inside- want you to fuck me with that cock so badly-”

“Atta girl.”

Forcing you to say those lecherous words, forcing you to cum—

“Oh my god-” With your back arched, you’re throwing your body into the wave of pleasure that suddenly bursts inside your body. “C-cumming- I’m cumming, Toji-”

“And it’s all because of me.” He’s smugly saying, perfectly puncturing at your g-spot with his constant pushes. 

Because of Toji’s rut, his senses were so honed that he could mark each peak of your high- the explosion of bliss that he pinpointed with his fingers, with the slashes of his tongue. “Heh- me.” With a wet chuckle, Toji’s tongue was going to lick up every inch of your pussy like he was frenzied. Couldn’t get enough. Lap after lap. “Me me me me-” He sucks on your clit, letting his canines nibble lightly on them, and it lets out the most lewd sluuuuurp. “-and look- she’s thanking me.”

“Fuck! Never felt something so good-” Whining out, you’re bouncing your back into each of his hits. “-might be the best orgasm I’ve ever had- hck!”

“S’a pleasure, sweet girl.”

By the time the best of your high bates, Toji still hasn’t let up between those syrupy legs of yours. When he’s licked up every droplet of sap you’re letting out, he’s moving over to lick at the sheen of slick glued to your thighs. 

Again and again.

Until you’re all the way overstimulated, and tears start to drip as if from a faucet. “I th-think m’done, Toji.” As if he already didn’t know - you’re pushing at his clammy head. “My orgasm’s over, I wanna try taking your cock now-”

“And you’re sure?”

He wasn’t asking to be nice. He was asking to make you turn your head and balk at the way his impossible size had only seemed to grow even bigger. Your lips wobbling, “Y-yes.”

“Oho?” Dark brows raising, he stops his ministrations and moves both hands to now grip at your waist. “Well, you did tell me to put my ‘thick, looooong cock inside of your cunt’-”

“So shut up and do it.” Huffing in embarrassment, you pound at his muscular chest - and he could barely even feel it, like kitten kisses on his bulky body. It’s enough for Toji’s cock to jolt with need, and for his attractive face to break out into a grin.

“Atta girl.”

And with that final compliment, Toji’s making to grab onto your waist and lift you off of his face—with the loudest smooch! It’s ringing out like the prettiest melody in both your eardrums, and Toji just barely manages to disconnect himself with your sweet pussy.

Just barely breaks his lips from your tender folds, all slickly glossed.

Just barely wrenches you off with ease, and takes one nice look at your hole - when you’re realizing that Toji Fushiguro suddenly stops. His nostrils suddenly flare. He suddenly stutters-

“O-oh, sweet girl. I don’t think you even realize-” Toji gawks up at your cunt. And you’re feeling somewhat shy when he filthily leans his features in and takes a good, long sniff at your cunt. As you’re looking up at him in confusion, “-you’re in heat.”

“In heat?” He sets you down near his rugged v-line, and you’re animalistically grinding your cunt down on his thickened length. You look up at him for answers, “What do you mean? Shiu said I’ve already finished my heat-”

“Fuck what Shiu says, silly girl.” Lightly spanking your pussy, Toji rolls his sage eyes. His pupils were all blown-out and bleary with lust, only darkening the more he takes in your buttery pheromones. 

Oh, you smelled like the sweetest freshly-whipped cream - and that only made his mouth water as much as his swollen cock was. Drenching the cute innards of your thighs n’ your pussy mound with his sap, he grins. “I can smell it.” He parts his scarred lips, a thin line of saliva trickling down one side. “I can fucking- taste it-”

“Oh—” You’re gyratin’ back against his plummy cock tip, oh-so-lewdly. And you take another sniff of yourself, reaching up to feel that your scent glands have swollen up. “I g-guess you’re right-”

“Sugar, I am right.”

Before you know it, the world’s a blur around you- and suddenly you find your back against the soft hay. Your head being cushioned by one of Toji’s rugged palms, Toji’s large body hovering over you. Pressing you down-

“And this pretty pussy’s tellin’ me that this is yer first heat with a bull, hm?” Sliding his thumb between your glossy crevice, he listens for the squelches. “Awww, how cute—so m’your first, sweet girl?”

“Yes- yes.” And when he places his fleshy cock between your legs, at that sweet spot where you wanted him the most, you can’t help but realize that oh- he’d been stretching you out for so long for a good reason.

Because Toji’s hybrid cock looked absolutely ginormous between your legs, especially with the way he’d thickened up in size while eating you out. His cockhead was as red as a huge strawberry, and multiple times bigger. Bull hybrids, famed for the shaft length - now slipping n’ sliding between your pussylips.

Just kissing at your geysering orifice- “Oh- fuck.”

“And you know having you on top would be the easiest for her…” That said, he’s swatting his rough fingertips down on the nub of your clit. He’s spitting. He growls, and it’s enough to send shivers down your spine- “But m’still gonna have her in a mating press.” Throwing your legs over his shoulders, folding you damn in half. “Because you also forget one- fuck-” Just feeling you clench around nothing, enough to make him reach up and grab at a wooden beam. “-thing, sweetness.”

“And what’s that, Toji?”

“I’m in-” Hard enough that the wooden beam breaks—“-rut.”

Fourth rule, remember?

Because you didn’t think that he’d go this easy on you when he’s in fuckin’ rut, did you? You didn’t think that he was going to fuck you nicely, did you? You didn’t think that he wasn’t going to act like a damn animal, did you?

In a sudden motion, Toji’s plugging your hole up with his thick cockhead- and shoving it deep into your deepest insides. Long. Hard.

You’re yelping, nails finding purchase on his deltoids and clawing on for dear life because- “A virgin, are ya?” He tuts, “Don’t think m’gonna go easy on ya.”

“Oh my goodness-” Thighs curling around his toned waist, hips attempting to buck away. “Holy fuck-”

“Easy, easy.” It was just so cute the way you were struggling - especially when you were talking so big about wanting him. “Breathe in, girl- there ya go.”  You’re following as he instructs, “Breathe in. Breathe out. Breathe in—” And suddenly there’s a sodden spank at your pussy, “-you, too, pretty pussy.”

Something that catches you off-guard, and makes you swallow him up an inch deeper. Your eyes rolling all the way to the back of your skull, “Fuck fuck fuck fuck- I’ve never felt like this. You’re so big- hold on, Toji, you’re so-”

“Hold on?” 

“What-”

“Hold on?”

He’s then spitting out into your open mouth, and slapping your pussy so hard that you’re seeing stars. Instantly, you’re set on edge by the way that his rugged cock suddenly slams- “You’re telling me to h-hold on?”

And was that a stutter in his sentence?

A laugh?

Toji Fushiguro sounded like he was fucking losing it by merely hearing your whining questions- “You seriously want me to…” Clawing down in front of your body, one of his rude hands press down on your stomach as he’s sinking iiiiiiin. It makes you feel every ridge n’ vein, every inch, every bit of his thick shaft intruding in. “-hold on?”

“It’s just- I just didn’t think you’d be so big-” He was barely even halfway in and you could already feel Toji at your throat, gushing out sticky wads of slick. With your feet planted on the hay-littered ground, you’re trying to arch your back nearly away from—

“Oi- who said you could tap out?” Before you know it, Toji’s hand lifts from your thigh to grab onto your tail - one pulling you in by the tail, his right hand still feeling for that tummy bulge he was fucking into you.

You can’t get away by the way he’s manhandling you back down into his hips, skidding straight across the barnyard floor. “Tch- ya need ta be herded or what, silly girl?” Grazing his dark happy trail against your front, the curly tufts of it scratch your clit. “Come back t’me- rule number one, remember?”

“Fuck-” Throwing your head back in tears, your legs were limp from the sheer pressure being put on your lower half. “-I can feel you reaching in so deep-”

“And you wanted me to hold on?”

He was never going to let that go - he was never going to give you even the slightest second to get used to his incredible length. 

Palm pressing down on the cylindrical outline makin’ itself known on your tummy - just that big. Pelvis moving in a rapid, urgent half-thrusts-

Toji isn’t even waiting for your cunt to take it all, his red cockhead probin’ just inwards. Inwards and inwards and inwards. He can feel the tight resistance of your pussy, your sweet body unable to take him whole right now- and it only makes him groan.

With his head thrown back, he’s letting go of your tail to smear apart your pussylips. “M’in fucking rut and you wanted me to hold on-” He’s hissing, pushing your snug folds so far apart that you have no choice but to take his hammers. “Been teasing me with that s-sweet scent ever since I fucking got here and you want me to hold on-” Pulling you to him. Dragging you to him.

Toji breaks every single second that he’s not fully sheathed inside of you, and he’s just pummeling his hips deeper- “Hold on, hold on, hold on.” After each mention of his mantra, he’s rutting in. “You want me to h-hold on and-” Harder. “-and you know what-” Deeper. “-I want to do, sweet girl?”

“What-” You’re gasping out through your tears, sticking to both of your cheeks by now. “What do you want, Toji?”

“I want to- fuck! Well, first I want to fucking fit-” He’s whispering underneath his breath, darkened eyes narrowed as he takes it in. “Fit- fit- fit-” Before you know it, he’s spitting down once more on your cunt and shoving his cockhead inside. “-fucking fit-”

Blinking away the tears in your eyes, “And- hah, and what else did you want?” By the heightening of his pheromones, you already knew that it was something about to ruin you.

“I want…” He was teasing you now, just lightly grazin’ that blushing hot tip against the roof of your cunt. You could feel him filling up every sneaky orifice, and Toji was fucking you like he’d just gone feral- “I want to-”

“Oh, fuck!”

With a final, lewd thrust- Toji Fushiguro bottoms out.

“-breed ya, sugar.”

And he meant it. The massive bull hybrid was drilling into you like a madman- his cattle nose ring clanging with each rut. “I’ve been wanting to breed you since the moment I stepped foot here.” Toji growls, the red crown of his shaft directly heading towards your cervix now. Bruising. “I want to fuck- fuck you through every day of your heat- my rut.” And he was emptying out such long strings of precum into your womb, “Try to get you pregnant every single day of my rut.”

“You’re going to get me…” Your pupils are swirlin’ in comical circles within the whites of your eyes, and just the mere notion makes your tastebuds sizzle with saliva. You hadn’t spent your heat properly with a bull- let alone found yourself mated by one.

Bred by one.

“Fucking pregnant.” Toji finishes off with a snicker, pushing against that cute lil’ tummy bulge that he was pounding into you. 

“Oh, please-” You’re throwing your head back with a mewl, “But I’ve never been m-mated to anyone before. Are we sure it’s going to take, Toji-”

“I’ll make it take.”

His jackhammers were so hard by this point, enough so that your sap splatters out of you in puddles. It glistens right down the inner parts of your thighs, and Toji swipes his thumb down from your pussy to glaze it in the syrup. To reach up to his scarred maw and suck on it.

And when he feels your spit-slicked lips start to wobble out more concerns, he’s pushing that very thumb between your own lips.

“Shut it, silly girl. Ya really think that when I hah- when I fuck you like this—in this mating press.” As if on cue, his manhandling strength seems to be folding you even deeper in half. “With this pretty pussy-” Dragging out a few more slurps with his thrusts, “-and my rut- you’re not gonna be walking outta this barn stupidly pregnant?”

“I-I don’t-”

“Silly, silly girl.” It’s a rude thwack! of his curvaceous ball sack after each slam, and you can feel your body grow more restless after each of his spat-out words. So mean. “Silly lil’ hybrid thinks she’s gonna make it outta here- hah, without bearing my calves.”

You’re shivering, your body so limply fucked by this point- that Toji’s tail has to wrap around one of your thighs. Holding you up. Interlocking your ankles around his neck with that silky tail- “Well, since m’inexperienced-”

“And m’gonna give you the experience of yer life- heh, I already am.” 

He was - he really was. Just making you see stars every time Toji’s overlarge, plump cockhead dug into your g-spot. Somehow he’d managed to map the insides of your walls, and each thrust grazed his length against your sweet bundle of nerves. 

Probing and probing a bruise exactly the size of his round circumference- “M’gonna corrupt you, sweet lil’ thing.” A sleazy smile spreads across Toji’s handsome, perspired face. “M’gonna fill you up with so much of my cum that- hah, they’re gonna be milkin’ it out of you for months afterwards, sweet girl.”

“Fuck, I’d like that-”

“Oh yeah?”

“I’d like that s-shoooo much, Toji.” 

“Bet you’d like it even more after I fill you up with my calves, hm?” He titters, pheromones slowly growing saturated enough to mingle with your own. “After I fuck this pretty pussy pregnant ‘nough times that she remembers how it feels when I fill you up? After I breed you until we can- hah, fill this whole damn farm with them? After I make a momma out of you and no other bull can ever even think of touching you-”

You squeal, “Yes- yes yes yes yes-”

His tail tightens around your ankles, horns charging as if he was only growing more n’ more excited. Throbbing with more need. “And you better fuckin’ know that these are promises, sweetness. That no fucking farmer can ever break.” Toji stares you deep in your heart-shaped eyes as he says, “I will get you pregnant.”

“Oh, I’d fucking hope so.” You glide your hands down your front, “I wanna feel you right h-here, Toji.” Down where your womb was.

Fuck…you were dangerous for a bull in heat.

And his entire body feels feverish with need, the burning sensation of his rut overtaking Toji completely. 

As his hips only grow sloppier, you’re grazing your sweaty palms further down his body. Starting from his shoulders, before ultimately you end up squeezing Toji’s massive milky pecs.

Even for a bull, they were just so plush. And you can’t help but twiddle your thumbs ‘round the golden rings that he had pierced through his pinkish nipples, lecherously.

He shivers at the sensitive sensation, “O-oh? Look at you.” Snapping his head down, you swear you could see a rouge flush take over his cheekbones. “You’re corrupted already.” And both of Toji’s own hands end up removing from your stomach and your pussy, ending up- oh, you could’ve already guessed.

Both of Toji’s hands end up on your tits.

Squeezing.

Kneading.

Before you can say a word, he’s already growling out- “And as any momma would- we’re gonna hafta make sure you’re making enough milk, huh, sweetcheeks?” That last bit of his sentence ends up drowned between the valley of your chest.

Toji’s gaping his maw wide open and sucking on your right tit, his left hand pinching the nipples of your left tit.

“I don’t think anything’s gonna come out just yet-” Your tail swishes in arousal as you watch him hollow out his attractive cheeks, thoroughly sucking on your tit like his favorite lolly. Sucking like he was trying to make milk come out—“I never did produce…much…milk…”

As soon as the words leave your mouth, you’re being proved wrong. Because with a gushing sensation, you can feel your hardened nipples stream out something straight into Toji’s open mouth. “You were saying?” 

Pure white milk.

And he was such a messy eater, your ivory syrup dripping down his lips. It glosses them and created the sweetest lacquer that Toji himself was addicted to- “Mmm, so much, sweet thing—fuck.” He’s pinching at your left tit, too, a splashin’ puddle of milk that he immediately plops his mouth over to gulp up. “Ya really are a sweet thing-”

“I’ve never made this much even for the farmer-” You’re gasping, and your milk cascades down Toji’s chin like a waterfall. Constant. Sloppy “How did you even…”

“Because you’re in heat.” He says- choppy, through the way that he barely wanted to speak, barely wanted to remove himself from the sweet fountains of your spurting milk. “Because m’in rut.” Toji’s hips smack into yours so hard that you see white for a second, and his happy trail perfectly carnally itches at your clit. “And tonight- we’re gonna make a fucking baby, sweet mama.”

“O-oh—” With your voice cracking, you’re reaching your high. It comes instantaneously, and you arch into Toji’s glissading muscles as you ride through it.

As you’re fucked through it.

“Cumming again?” Toji’s marvelling, his words thick - he had his mouth full, after all. Smelling the saccharine sweetness of your orgasm in your pheromones, he’s marking each peak of your high with a bang! of his reddened cockhead. 

Slowly opening up your womb even more, your g-spot felt so red-hot and raw from the inside as he just kept on thumpin’ away there. Again and again and again. “Of course, ya are- fuck. Just like thaaaat, fuck back into me- third rule. They say the momma needs to cum good if we wanna get you pregnant after all-”

“And what about you?” Still in the throes of your bliss, you feel absolutely no inhibitions in babbling away. Drunk on the thick, veiny size of him fucking you through your high—“Aren’t you gonna?”

“Gonna what?”

“Fuck…”

“Rule number six-” Toji pipes up, a mean glint in his eyes. “-is to use those words like the big girl you are.”

And you best believe that he was fucking you like he was trying to push the very words up to your throat, his veins massaging your sweet spots and making you shiver, his pearly white teeth back to sucking on your milk. “I want- hah!” You wince when his right hand slithers down to pinch your clit, “-you to cum- fuck.” You moan when his left keeps toyin’ with your nipples, streaming out dairy for Toji to swallow up. “-inside my cunt, Toji.”

And there—his eyes slightly widen in interest, “You really said it.” A proud smile gracing his face, “You really, really…oh.”

With a few more lewd thrusts, he’s emptying out his heavy balls. 

They tighten as they spurt out the creamiest wads of cum waaaaaay back into your spongy womb, suckin’ up each pearly droplet as Toji fucks them inside you. Splashing out. Pooling out. That bawling divot in the middle of his shaft just leaves a murky mess behind, ribbons of ivory that glue your walls together.

“Oh fuck-” He’s clenching his canines, you swear he’s holding back tears—“And you’re gonna take it-” Toji snarls, fighting against the urge to throw his head back - simply because he wanted to look at you as he stuffed you till you were overspilling. “-take every single last drop-”

The hulking bull hybrid shakes as you clench your velvety walls. “Oh, yes.” You’re shivering once he smacks! your clit once more, swirlin’ those sultry webs of seed with his fingertips.

Toji’s pushing them inwards, again and again. “And yer gonna keep it, aren’t you?” Fucking you, again and again. 

He hums, gluing the edges of his fingers inside your channel, so that not a single gumdrop can leak out of you. “Second rule, sweetness, squeeze those pretty legs. S’gonna tell that pussy to keep my cum inside- give me a lil’ calf, heh.”

“Shit- keep talking and I’ll…”

It’s too late for you. You’re so far gone on his pummeling length that with a few more strokes, you’re reaching your high once more.

White-hot.

Toes curling.

Back arching.

You can’t even control yourself, it’s the most powerfully sinful sensation you’ve felt in your entire life. And this time, not only are you overspilling in Toji’s glutinous white cum - you’re also spraying out your own slick. Translucent splashes of sweetness, so powerful that your entire body shakes. 

Your high was being dragged out of you.

Squirting. You can’t believe you squirted during your first heat with a mate, your first heat mounted.

And as he instinctively bucks his hips through it, your new mate swears- “Fuck- fuck, don’t tell me you’re- oh. You are. Turns out I milked you dry, hm?” Something in him oh-so-triggered by the way you just kept on drippin’ from that pretty cunt, it’s as if the hybrid part of him knew that he had to do something to stop you from losing so much of it. “Rule number four, my sweet mate.”

But no bracing in the world could prepare you for what you felt in that very moment - because suddenly you’re feeling a strength so incredible that it’s as if you’re being split apart. “Your- your knot?”

“Damn right.”

You just had to see this for yourself. Chin hitting your chest as you watch Toji push n’ push the incredibly swollen base of his cock inside you. It was so round n’ red, about four times his actual circumference. 

It sinks in with a lecherous sluuuuuurp—and Toji empties out a few more streaks of cum just from the sheer sensation of having his sensitive hilt sheathed inside of you. Isn’t that every bull’s dream? To have a mate as pretty as you, choking and overstimulated around his knot? Ready to take all of him until you’re pregnant-

“We’re mates now.” You’re still shivering from the shockwaves of your multiple highs, so overstimulated that you don’t hear his murmurs. Sobbing, you’re tugging cutely at his nipple piercings to garner his attention. “Wh-what was that, Toji?”

“I said–” Roughly, he pulls off from your lactating tits. Your milk drivels down either side of his greedy maw, “-that you know a bull’s rut lasts days, right, sweetcheeks?”

“Oh.”

“Guess we have a lot to learn…h-heh.”

.

.

.

Shiu was halfway through his drive to Tokyo.

Halfway through his window cracked down halfway, his dark hair playing in the breeze, head nodding in time with the beat of some early 2010’s pop hit that’d surprisingly managed to calm him down during his drive.

Sure, Kusakabe had completely ruined his plans and forced him to leave you unattended on the farm - but Shiu can’t help but almost feel grateful towards his friend.

After all, it’s not every day that he gets to go out like this - the life of a farmer sure was a busy one. And it was such a nice day out, driving along smooth and silent in his truck like this was almost therapeutic. He’s almost considering getting an apprentice or two so that he’d be able to do this more often. He really thinks he could find inner peace like this, maybe all those self-help magazines he grimaced at in convenience stores were onto something. A man needs time for himself, too, y’know?

Yeah, time for himself. Time to just wind back, enjoy the highway, just appreciate the beauty of the world, y’know?

Halfway through a drive of peace and quiet, when he suddenly realizes-

And Shiu’s stepping so hard on the brakes that he wouldn’t have been surprised if about five other cars smashed into him from behind right about now. And he wouldn’t have noticed, either—”I left the gate of the bull in rut fucking unlocked-”

Immediately after he remembered, Shiu had gone and done a (likely illegal, most definitely illegal) U-turn right then and there. Heading right back where he came from, he’d cut off multiple cars, almost run over some unsuspecting old lady in his haste to get back to his farm - Kusakabe be damned, his best friend could rot in Tokyo until the end of time for all he cared. After all, he was the one that caused all this!

Shiu made it back home in less than half the time it took him to halfway down his journey to Tokyo (he’s sure he ran a few red lights).

And he’s fumbling with the keys of his gates, forgetting his truck and sprinting right up to where his cattle hybrids were. All cooped up inside the pen, they hadn’t gone into the barn still - and yet, with one sweeping glance, Shiu can’t really find any missing.

So he almost dares to breathe a sigh of relief- before his eyes catch the placement where Kusakabe’s bull had resided. Where Toji resided.

And Shiu’s heart drops at the same time as his jaw.

It was empty.

Quickly, he’s suspecting just why the cows and bulls outside weren’t going inside the barn, and Shiu takes another look at his herd—fuck!! Fuck, fuck, fuck - there was one missing.

And he knew exactly who it was.

In urgent, jerky motions, Shiu’s throwing open the gate to the pen (this time double-checking to lock it behind him) and heading straight towards the barn.

The barn where he can hear the rustling of hay, where he can smell the saturated sweetness of hybrid pheromones, where he can see—oh, you on your hands and knees, with your pretty ass raised high in the air for Toji’s cock to plough into, his powerful body. You’re all sprawled out on the hay, saliva and milk splashing out of you at a constant pace. You mewled as he stretched out your cunt so mercilessly, again and again and again. The plump knot ‘round his base hitting your pussylips with almost painful thwacks! 

And by the ribbons of miry cum that clung onto both your lower halves, Shiu was safe to assume that this certainly wasn’t the first round…

Shiu’s nostrils flare, and he’s realizing that this wasn’t just the heady scent of Toji’s rut - it was your heat, too. That luscious creamy smell that made his mouth water, and his cock twitch in his pants as he took in the sight-

BZZZZZZZZ—!

Thank god his phone was on silent mode- Shiu hastens to pick it up before either of you can hear. Though, he doesn’t think he’s very successful with it.

Because just as Shiu places the crackling phone against his ear, whispering out a quiet- “H-hello?” He sees that Toji’s smug, handsome head turns in the direction of the barn door. And he’s smirking straight at the other man as he claims every inch inside of you, Toji’s honed tip pinpointing into every tiny nook and cranny. 

And if that wasn’t enough, he’s leaning down to grab onto your leaky tits- and squeeeeeze out a pure white stream of your milk. Much more than Shiu’s ever been able to tease out of you during milking sessions.

He was making his mate known.

Slowly, Shiu backs out of the barn without you noticing (though, you were so deep in the waves of your carnal pleasure, that he thinks it would’ve been impossible to get your attention anyways).

Only once he’s out of the headiness of the barn does Shiu finally manage to register the other man’s voice-

“Hello? Helloooooo? Man, where are you now-”

“Hey, Kusakabe.” Shiu speaks, still slightly dazed. Still slightly staring through the barn doors from afar - all because of a fucking gate. “Take the next train here from Tokyo- no, don’t worry about your truck, you can pick it up later. No, you don’t need the cattle trailer anymore.”

Kusakabe sputters, “Huh? But why?” At the other man’s silence, one could almost hear the moment that understanding sets in. “Oh man- oh wait, don’t tell me that Toji and that sweet cow hybrid of yours has-”

“Yeah.” Shiu grits, and he pinches the bridge of his nose. “Unrelated, but would you happen to know any good names for calves?”

A/N. YOU ASK AND DADDY PROVIDES (not child support tho-) YES I SAW Y’ALL IN THE COMMENTS-

You want to tell them to stop breathing so loudly — it feels disrespectful. Their existence is unnecessary noise. Their bodies clog the space that should be reserved for him and you alone.

None of them know him like you do.

You know the rhythm of his foot tapping against the tile when he’s impatient. You know the little crease between his brows when he concentrates. You know the exact cadence of his voice when he says, “open wider for me.”

So what if this is the third cleaning you booked within the same month?

You told the receptionist your gums were “a little tender”. Your gums are perfectly fine. It’s your sanity that isn’t.

You keep his business card in your pocket, warm with your body heat. The ink is wearing off where your thumb rubs over his name again and again.

He gave it to everyone, sure. But no one keeps it like you do. They don’t whisper to it, don’t fall asleep holding it, don’t kiss it goodnight.

The receptionist calls your name. “Dr. Gojo will see you now.”

Finally.

God, his face — it’s the kind of beautiful that leaves you shaking. There’s no flaw, no wrong angle. Every part of him is exactly where it should be. You hate the idea that anyone else gets to see this. Gets to see him.

He smiles, says your name in that buttery register. He adjusts your chair and guides you back with soft and tender hands. He leans over you and being beneath him like this feels like destiny.

He has no idea what he does to you. No idea how devastating it is to have him this close. It takes everything in you to not reach up and touch his jaw and pull him closer and press your forehead to his and tell him that he belongs to you and no one else and—

“You’ve been taking good care of yourself,” he says.

The snap of latex against his gloved hands is foreplay, and his praise is seduction. Your thighs tense. It’s embarrassing how fast your thoughts collapse.

You love it when he asks you to open up, when he touches you, angles your head exactly how he wants and explore every inch of your obedience. You’ve memorized the exact spot his thumb rests, the amount of pressure on his fingers.

You’re so close to him that you can hear his breathing. You want to ask him what he’s thinking about. You want the answer to be you.

He finishes too soon. You’re not ready. You’re never ready.

He pulls away and gives you a satisfied nod he gives to good patients.

“See you next time,” he says. Next time. Next time. Next time.

And you will. Soon. You’ll make sure of it.

Three months ago

You weren’t supposed to meet him that day.

It was a throwaway appointment — a last-minute cancellation the receptionist squeezed you into because you happened to be nearby. You barely had time to sit before the assistant pushed open the door and called your name.

You didn’t expect anything out of the ordinary from all your previous routine checkups. But when he turned toward you, it was nothing short of extraordinary.

His bright hair caught the light like it was intentionally showing off.

His eyes were so vivid it felt illegal to look into them for more than a second.

Your organ systems forgot they had a job — your lungs, your brain, your heart.

You’d never been disarmed by a person before. You didn’t even think people had the power to do that.

“Let’s get you seated,” he said.

That voice. God.

He adjusted the chair and lowered you gently, explaining the procedure with an intimacy that caught you off guard. The way he leaned close to show you where to rest your head, how his hand ghosted near your jaw without touching yet.

Frankly, it felt inappropriate.

Your body reacted like he’d whispered something filthy. And when you felt him place two fingers under your chin, tipping it up to the perfect angle, your pulse shot upward so fast your vision went blurry.

And while he was rambling on about brushing technique or gum health or something, you couldn't process any of it. Your brain was stuck on one thing, and one thing only: he touched you.

You didn’t leave that room the same person who entered it.

You stood up, nodded politely and thanked him like a functioning adult. You walked out trying to act normal while on the inside, a dangerous thought began to form, one that would only continue to spiral:

He was perfect.

Not just “attractive”, not just “easy on the eyes”.

Perfect.

Perfect in a way that felt targeted. Perfect in a way that felt designed. Perfect in a way that made your body mourn the seconds you weren’t with him.

You replayed his voice all the way home. You replayed his touch. You replayed the way he smiled.

You needed more. You needed him.

Sleep didn’t reach you that night.

The memory of his fingertips brushing your lips resurfaced with humiliating clarity everytime your eyes fluttered shut.

You employed every method possible to forget — you’d roll over, shove your face into your pillow, and try to force yourself to forget the feeling, but your skin remembered.

You had to see him again. Soon. Now. Immediately.

But you couldn’t just show up. You weren’t unhinged — not outwardly. You needed a plan, a reason; a way back into that chair.

You sat down on your desk with renewed purpose, opened your laptop, and before you could question what you were doing, the clinic’s name was already being typed into your browser.

Your motive wasn’t to make an appointment. You were looking for their scheduling structure, their staff rotation, their hours. Any scrap of information you could twist into something useful. But their website was useless. Too clean and too vague.

So you did what any sane, functioning person would do. You called the clinic.

“Hi! Just checking if Dr. Gojo is in today?”

You wrote down the answer. You hung up. Waited a respectable amount of time—you weren’t an animal—then called again. You used a different tone. Different phrasing. Different fake reason.

Another time slot. Written down. Compared. Cross-referenced. It wasn’t enough. You needed data. A pattern. A system.

The spreadsheet grew fast into a color-coded grid;

Green: confirmed work days Orange: probable presence Violet: ambiguous Red: unacceptable absence

Blocks of time were highlighted, circled and analyzed:

He arrived earlier on Mondays. Left later on Thursdays. Took a longer break on Fridays.

Why rely on chance when you could rely on predictions?

Today, your alarm goes off an hour earlier than usual. The spreadsheet predicted an early arrival.

Thursday — Projected Arrival: 7:42 AM.

Last week it was 7:50. The week before, 7:46.

And if your deduction about his caffeine habits (large mocha, double shot espresso, two pumps of sugar, extra foam, less ice) is correct, then today should fall neatly in the middle.

You stand across the street from the clinic with a coffee cup you don’t even plan to drink, pretending to scroll your phone.

The time is 7:45 AM. Any second now.

7:46 People pass. Irrelevant. Noise. Filler. Not him.

7:47:50 You lift the coffee cup to your lips to fake a sip. Your eyes are locked onto the reflection in the glass window across the street — your perfect surveillance method.

7:48:12 There. He’s punctual. Of course he is. He cares about you so much. He’d never leave you hanging.

Dr. Satoru Gojo strolls up to the clinic with his hands in his coat pockets. His hair is obnoxiously bright in the morning light. It taunts every other shade of white in existence.

He’s wearing his spare blue scrub set, the one with the bleach stain on the hem from three weeks and two days ago when he knocked over a bottle on accident. He really should be more careful. Your clumsy boy.

He unlocks the door and disappears down the hall.

7:48:36 — Confirmed.

You mark down the time your notes app. A near-perfect match with your prediction. You understand him better every day.

You should go home and relax now, but then you see her walking straight into his clinic — female, short bob, beige coat, smug little bag.

That’s not right.

He doesn’t have any scheduled appointments now. You know there’s nothing booked in this slot. You checked.

Who is she? What does she want? Why is she here?

This doesn’t make sense. Unscheduled walk-ins are rare. Unscheduled female walk-ins are suspicious.

Does she know him? Is she new? Is she early? Did she call yesterday? Did she call after you checked? Did she lie? Did she flirt?

The receptionist nods and leads the woman toward the hallway. Toward him.

This is fine. It’s totally fine. He’s a dentist, after all. He sees patients. He helps people. It’s his job.

You stare at the clinic door long enough to memorize the exact angle it swings shut after she disappears inside.

You don’t leave.

You tell yourself you’re just passing by, just stretching your legs. You walk as if you’re checking window displays — never mind that the only window worth checking is the one that gives you a perfect side-angle view of his room.

And then you see them.

The woman with the bob is on the chair, chatting with Satoru. You expect her to be annoying, maybe loud—Satoru hated the loud ones—but she’s pleasant.

She’s laughing softly, one hand tucked behind her ear. She looks foolish. Like she’s audtioning for a toothpaste commercial. You think she must’ve had veneers done. No one was born with teeth like that. No one, save for Satoru.

A friend? No — too cheerful. A former coworker? No — not in those shoes. A vendor? No — she didn’t bring any products. A stalk— No. That’s your role.

You watch the bob girl shift her posture, trying to look cuter. Your teeth grind. Then the woman leans in, says something to him, something you can’t make out.

And he laughs.

Your Satoru — your perfectly punctual, perfectly bright, perfectly oblivious reason for existing, is laughing.

It’s not a polite chuckle. Not the forced, professional smile. It was a real, shoulders loosening, eyes crinkling smile. The kind that should only ever be directed at you.

Your mind goes very, very still.

You can’t hear what she said, but you know it wasn’t funny. She shouldn’t be making him laugh. Shouldn’t be making him anything. That expression is yours and yours alone. Your reward. Your discovery.

You’re not jealous. You’re vigilant. You’re careful. She’s one disruption. An anomaly. You’ll handle it.

This is your time slot. This is your schedule.

Your doctor.

Fine. Good. You needed this. People like her will always flutter around him. Let her — temporary little distraction. She won’t matter long. Not when you’re the one coming back soon. Very soon.

You can’t get the image out of your head. Her laugh. His laugh. No. Absolutely not. Everything about that scene was wrong.

You pace down the sidewalk, the morning sun too blinding, the traffic too loud, the world too irritating.

All the while, your brain keeps looping one thought: you need to get inside that clinic. Right now. Before she steals more seconds that aren’t hers.

But you can’t just walk in, or say you forgot something. What would you even pretend to forget? Your dignity? It’s long gone anyway.

And even if you did fabricate some imaginary object, the receptionist would retrieve it in seconds and that bob-headed parasite would go right back to stealing his minutes.

You need something better. A believable reason. A legitimate one. Something that’d make the receptionist pale and scramble, and say the magic words: “We’ll get Dr. Gojo right away.”

Emergency. That’s it. You need an emergency. This is logical. It’s reasonable. This is exactly what any rational person would do if they saw a strange woman hovering around their dentist.

Okay. Think. How does one create a dental emergency?

You could claim a crown fell out; You don’t have one, but they don’t know that.

You could say you felt a crack; Nobody can disprove a sensation over the phone.

You could say you woke up with swelling; “I swear it’s huge,” is such a flexible phrase.

You could even lose a tooth.

Yes. Yes, yes, yes.

You’ll lose a tooth.

It's perfectly convincing. Perfectly harmless — at least, if you plan it right. You read once that if you put it immediately in a glass of milk, the chances of replanting the tooth skyrockets. And whose hands would you trust more than Satoru’s?

Safe hands. Careful hands. Big, warm, gorgeous hands that would cradle your face and say, “Don’t worry, I’m here.”

Your voice will tremble; you can do that on command. Your eyes will water; you’re already halfway there.

They won’t make you wait, they won’t question it. He would never turn away a patient in pain.

And that bob-haired waste of space? She’ll watch him run to you first.

You’ll be exactly where you’re supposed to be. Back in his chair. Back under his hands. Back inside his attention.

You buzz with anticipation and sprint to the nearest grocery store. You check out a bottle of milk and head straight to the restroom, adrenaline singing in your veins, determination settling into your bones. You lock yourself in and grip the edge of the sink.

You ball a wad of paper towels and bite down on them. You’ll need something to stifle the scream. You’re not dumb — you’re not about to sabotage your own plan by having someone rush in and interrupt you.

Okay. Okay, okay. You breathe once, twice, three times.

This is it. This is devotion. This is fate. You whisper, “For Satoru.”

Then you slam into the sink.

Crack.

A sunburst of pain sucks all the oxygen out of you. Your knees knock the side of the stall. You choke on your own muffled cry — a broken, animalistic whimper. Your vision blurs so hard you think you’ve passed out, but you’re still there. The taste of rust crosses your tongue. Then you spit into your palm.

It worked. It fucking worked.

Jagged, red at the root, shining with triumph — your tooth.

You stagger back, dabbing at your mouth. The tissues are still clenched between your teeth now.

It hurts. Oh, it hurts so bad. But it’s sacred.

People only deserve his attention if they’re willing to bleed for it.

You give yourself one minute to practice your act — sixty seconds of dizzy euphoria, staring into the mirror with a mouthful of tissues and blood smeared across your chin.

You look pathetic. It was perfect.

You stumble into the clinic, towards the counter, hands cupping your jaw to really sell it. Your eyes are glossy with unshed pain, voice shaking so sweetly when you plead:

“I—I think something broke. Please… I need to see a dentist right now.”

And just like you dream, she scrambles to pick up the phone, and says the magic words:

“I’ll get Dr. Gojo right away.”

You’re being ushered down the hallway, trembling, clutching your jaw like it’s the most fragile thing in the world. You don’t have to fake the adrenaline; your body is already shaking so hard your teeth (your remaining ones) chatter.

You see the bob-haired bitch scurry out of his room. Good riddance.

The door clicks open. And he’s there.

Your reason, your ruin, your everything: Dr. Satoru Gojo.

His eyes widen with concern the second he sees you curled in on yourself, breath hitching.

“Hey… hey, easy,” he says, unbearably soft, stepping closer, gentler than you’ve ever seen him. “You must be scared. Let me take a look, okay?”

You lift your gaze slowly, letting your lashes tremble, letting your breath wobble. You look small on purpose; crafted yourself into the perfect picture of vulnerability.

You whisper, “It… it hurts.”

His brows knit together instantly. “Aw, sweetheart—”

(Your heart combusts.)

“—I’ve got you. We’ll fix it. I’ll numb the area first, get rid of that pain.”

He dons his surgical gloves with slow, careful movements, retrieving the syringe like he’s trying not to startle a frightened animal.

It does unspeakable things to you.

And when he steps closer and reaches for your chin, you flinch back — deliberately, strategically.

He goes soft all over. “Hey. I promise I won’t hurt you.”

You let your voice shake even more. It isn’t hard. You’re already breathless.

“B-but this is my first time doing something like this,” you say, tiny, terrified. “Please… promise me you’ll be gentle?”

His eyes snap to yours — startled, confused, embarrassed?

He swallows, the tiniest bob of his throat, before he speaks.

“I promise.”

Oh, Satoru. Your darling Satoru. Your beautiful, clueless, perfect idiot.

He leans closer, fingertips tilting your chin, ever so tender and loving.

“Just open wide and relax for me,” he says.

You nearly dissolve into a puddle on the chair. This is your best idea yet. You’ve never seen him care so much about you before, and you want to push the boundaries even more.

He begins to angle the numbing syringe, but you tense up again — intentionally, the picture of sweet, irresistible innocence.

“Hey… look at me.” His voice drops, low and coaxing, “I’ll take good care of you. Trust me.”

You know what he means. You know exactly what he means.

The clinical intention. The rational intention.

But your brain, faithful and deranged, hears something else entirely.

The needle slips into your gum, and the anesthetic floods in, numbing all sensation until the only thing you can truly feel is him, towering above you, looking only at you.

Let her make him laugh. That’s all she’ll ever be — a clown. Let her think that’s enough.

He only speaks like this to you. He said he’ll take care of you. He promised he’d be gentle with you. He’ll make you all better. Only you.

You go home with blood-soaked gauze between your teeth and victory under your skin.

Your tooth hurts, your gums throb, your jaw is stiff; none of that matters.

The compassion he showed and the way he looked at you isn’t something you can un-feel.

You lock the door behind you and head straight to your bedroom. You don’t even bother turning on the lights — the glowing screen of your laptop is all you need.

You sit on the floor, cross-legged, pulse fast as you open your browser.

Dr. Satoru Gojo, you type.

The first results are boring.

Clinic listings, dental certifications, a generic staff bio.

No flavor. No soul.

You already know all this surface-level nonsense. These pages aren’t for people like you — they’re for strangers.

You’re not a stranger.

His personal social media accounts are locked. All of them. Of course they are.

He's private. Someone that beautiful had to be. But privacy doesn’t erase information.

You have to find a way in.

So you discover the cracks:

coworkers with public profiles

relatives who overshare

a cousin who tags him in old photos

family friends who post albums from reunions

a retired teacher who still uploads grainy class pictures from ten years ago

You sit back for a moment, staring at his aunt’s page. Her feed is full of blurry lunches and knitted scarves.

Perfect. You’d be a distant aunt.

You open a new tab. A new account. A new identity. You give yourself a delicate old-lady name, a grandmotherly profile picture, a blurry banner, captions filled with emojis and misspellings, posts about your silly grandkids.

You follow his entire family tree. Then, finally, you follow him.

Your eye twitches with anticipation.

If he declines, you’ll simply try again from a different angle. If he blocks you, you’ll build a new family member.

But if he accepts… if he accepts…

The notification comes instantly.

Satoru Gojo accepted your follow request.

You’re in his world now.

Now that your fake-old-lady-profile has infiltrated his circle, doorways start opening: tagged photos from when he was a teen, comments under his university posts, friends teasing him, coworkers tagging him at events, relatives posting birthday pictures, people mentioning his preferences, old likes he forgot about.

You absorb it all.

You pause at a photo he liked. A woman’s face — the actress, Waka Inoue.

So that’s what he likes. That’s what draws his eye. That’s the shape of his fantasy.

You turn your gaze toward your own reflection in the dark screen. Your clothing is wrong. Your hair is wrong. Your makeup is wrong.

Wrong things can be changed.

You create a single folder — a dossier.

He’ll recognize you the next time you meet him. You’ll become his dream. One perfect piece at a time.

It’s 9:42 on a Sunday morning.

You’re sitting by the window, waiting.

You chose this seat intentionally.

It had the perfect lighting, perfect angle, perfect radius of visibility from the doorway.

A book is open in front of you, pages untouched. You don’t need to read; you only need to look like someone he would want to read beside.

Your reflection in the glass pane matches the blueprint you carved from ten years of digital breadcrumbs: soft waves grazing your shoulders, a delicate blouse draping just right, a muted skirt stopping shyly above your ankles and small earrings that dangled gracefully.

You look like someone meant to be photographed holding his arm.

Two drinks sit on your table — the props in your carefully constructed tableau. An iced mocha (your decoy) and a sparkling water (your actual drink).

And after weeks of monitoring his off-day patterns, you know that on Sundays, around mid-morning, he gets coffee. Always the same shop, always the same route. He doesn’t think twice about routine, so you place yourself in it like a missing puzzle piece.

He walks in wearing casual clothes, glasses slipping down his nose. He looks so disarmingly human like this. Less “doctor” and more “man you’d want to wake up beside.” He’s too adorable, all too unaware of how attractive he is.

He sees you instantly. You knew he would. There’s nothing accidental about this.

“Oh—hey!” he called out. “This is unexpected.”

You lift your head with the sweetest, softest, perfectly engineered surprise.

“Oh! Dr. Gojo! I… didn’t think I’d see you here!”

He walks over, adjusting his glasses, a little flustered.

“Just Satoru is fine,” he says. “You can drop the formalities. We’re not in the clinic.”

A shy blush escapes you, just as you practiced in the mirror. “Okay… Satoru.”

The name sits beautifully on your tongue. He hears it. His shoulders slacken.

“So, uh… what brings you here?” he asks, gesturing around awkwardly. “It’s just that, I’m a regular, but I don’t think I’ve seen you here before.”

“I just came by for a little weekend treat. This here—” you lift your drink and laugh gently, “—is my guilty pleasure. An iced mocha, double shot espresso, two pumps of sugar, extra foam, less ice.”

His jaw drops. He’s bewildered. Absolutely stunned.

“No way. That’s my exact order.”

Hook.

It’s almost too easy. You nearly grin. Nearly. Instead, you pause, blink, tilt your head.

“Really? A dentist with a sweet tooth?”

“Guilty as charged.” He laughs, rubbing the back of his neck. “That’s so funny, we’re already matching coffee orders.”

Matching.

You can already hear church bells ringing.

You lower your eyes, feigning hesitation. A pause that suggests you’re a litty shy and a little nervous.

“Actually… I’ve been meaning to thank you. For helping me last time. I’m really grateful, so, if you’re free… would you maybe like to join me?”

Line.

He shouldn’t say yes. You know that, he knows that.

But his eyes do a once-over at you: your pure persona, your demure posture, all sculpted just for him. He sits across from you without another thought.

“Sure. I’ve got time.”

Sink.

Satoru settles into the chair across from you, fingers curling around his iced mocha.

He looks relaxed, surprisingly. As if sitting with you is the most natural thing in the world, even though this is the only time he’s spoken to you off a dental chair.

“So,” he begins, leaning forward a little, “how’s your tooth? Any pain since then?”

You shake your head, and tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, offering him a shy smile.

“It’s fine, thanks to you.”

A barely-there pink rises on his cheeks. You note the way he tries to hide it by taking a too-quick sip of his drink, only to wince when the cold hits his teeth.

Cute.

“So, uh… what are you reading?” he asks, hoping to recover, nodding toward the book you haven’t touched once.

You allow your eyes to widen like you didn’t expect him to ask.

“Oh, just some light reading.” You run your finger along the spine. “The Tale of Genji by Murasaki Shikibu — Heian period court intricacies, relationships… It’s dense. I won’t bore you.” (it didn't matter that you couldn’t name a single character if he asked.)

He perks up, intrigued. “No, no — that’s really cool. I’ll admit, I’m a simple man.” He laughs. “I read whatever I can squeeze between work. Only seem to have time for manga these days though.”

“That makes sense,” you say. “I imagine it gets overwhelming. Everyone in the city seems desperate to get in with you.”

He groans dramatically. “Don’t remind me. Yesterday someone even tried flirting with the receptionist to steal a canceled slot.”

What a weak attempt.

“Did it work?”

He snorts. “Not a chance. The waiting list is already a month long.”

You laugh politely at your own downplay, hiding a smile behind your cup. You lower your gaze the way all his favorite actresses do in candids. “Well, you’re really good at what you do — I would know.”

He clears his throat, rubbing the back of his neck. “Nah, you’re a good patient.”

“How so?”

He shrugs. “You’re easy to talk to, I guess. Most people are either afraid of me or asking me out.”

Don’t let the rage get to you. Just keep smiling.

“Oh? Do they really ask you out?”

He admits with a grimace. “More often than I’d like.”

“I can see why,” you tease.

How daring of you.

He looks down at his drink, embarrassed. He looks stunned, shy even, but he shouldn’t be — not with a face like that.

“I mean,” you add softly, swirling your straw, “you’re kind, smart, good at what you do.” You offer a tiny, modest shrug. “It’s not hard to imagine people falling for that.”

“That’s—wow, uh—thanks.” He laughs nervously and darts his eyes away for a second. “You’re… not too bad yourself,” he adds. “Though I’m sure you’re used to compliments by now.”

Oh... Pull yourself together. Your fingers toy with the edge of your sleeve.

“You think so?”

He nods without hesitation. “Yeah. I’m glad I ran into you today.”

You can practically feel the universe tightening the noose around his destiny. Poor Satoru is a puppet who hasn’t realized he’s on strings. He’s open, comfortable—and dare you say—starting to like you.

Which means it’s time.

You need to leave. Now. Before he gets too comfortable. Before he stops thinking about you.

Because the secret isn’t making a man like you. It’s making him want more.

You wait— Time it, feel it. Sense the exact moment he leans in, a question perched on his tongue—

Then you stand.

The scrape of your chair might as well be a gunshot the way he flinches.

He stammers, blinking up at you, “Ah—do you, uh, need to go already?”

Your heart flutters at the crack in his voice. That small, wounded surprise. You are that good.

“I should, I don’t want to take up your whole morning.”

He sights up straighter, like the chair suddenly isn’t comfortable without you in front of him. His next words come out in pieces, scrambled, “Oh—no, it’s not—I mean, you’re not, um, I honestly don’t have anything to do, so if you wanted to stay, I wouldn’t—”

He’s unraveling. You did that.

It takes everything in you not to let out a victory cry. Instead, you force out a small and meek, “It was really nice talking to you, Satoru.”

You said his name again.

You can see what it does to him.

“Yeah,” he murmurs. “It was.”

You gather your things slowly, giving enough time for him to watch you and to process the loss of your presence. You shoulder your bag, one last polite nod before turning to leave.

One step. Two. Three—

“Wait.”

You could kiss yourself.

You turn, looking over your shoulder, eyes wide with perfect surprise. He’s standing now, hand in his pocket, awkward, nervous.

“Um…” His fingers fumble with a folded bit of reciept paper, edges crushed from how tightly he’s been holding it. He steps closer and clears his throat. “This is probably a bad idea.”

You give him your most virtuous look. “What is that?”

He glances aside in embarrassment, “I’m not supposed to do this with my patients.” He hands you the slip of his paper. “My personal number,” he says.

Oh. my. fucking. god.

You wanted to scream, laugh, grab his shirt, kiss him, shake him, sink your nails into the flesh of his heart and carve your initials in it.

“I-I… don’t want to get you in trouble,” you whisper.

He shakes his head immediately. “No, it’s fine. I trust you. Text me if anything happens. Or even if anything doesn’t.”

You close your fingers around the paper, cradling it. You have him wrapped around your finger. “Okay,” you say. “I will.”

Everything worked.

Every detail and carefully chosen word.

Executed to perfection, a masterpiece in manipulation.

Everything is falling into place exactly as you planned.

You can’t text him immediately — that’s what clingy, overeager, sloppy little creatures do.

You aren’t an amateur.

So you set the paper on your nightstand, smooth it flat, and let it sit.

You wake up. You make tea. You replay his laugh while brushing your teeth.

It was nothing short of torture, but you had to be patient. For you are his favorite patient.

Three days is the magic number — an acceptable timeframe.

Three days is when he starts to think of you unprompted.

Three days is enough time for him to be haunted by thoughts of “why hasn’t she texted?”

So you start drafting.

Thank you again for keeping me company.

Too plain. Too empty. Delete.

I really enjoyed seeing you. Hope you got home safe!

You gag. Actually gag. Delete.

Thanks again for helping me last time. You really made me feel better.

Ugh. Terrible. You sound like a Yelp review. Delete.

Hope I wasn’t too much of a bother again.

What the fuck? You want pity? Absolutely not. Delete.

You sit cross-legged on your bed, the light from your phone glowing against your palm like a holy artifact. His number waits in your contacts, untouched: Toru <3

Come on.

You didn’t reengineer your entire personality and reconstruct your wardrobe just to send some lukewarm, baseline-human nonsense.

You want to sound warm yet bold. Funny and a little flirty. You want him to blink at his screen, smile without meaning to, then reread it ten times over.

Is it normal to want to see your dentist again this soon?

Yes. Yes, yes. This is the one.

Harmless on the surface. Playful underneath. Disarming in its simplicity. Suggestive if he wants it to be. Teasing if he reads it twice. A confession if he looks closely.

You cross-reference your spreadsheet and confirm his schedule today: No appointments. Lunch break window. Phone likely in pocket. Brain likely idle.

It's the ideal time for emotional interference — you position yourself like a sniper, and hit send. The message floats away, a little digital bullet aimed straight for his heart.

Then you wait, the way a lion sinks into tall grass. And sure enough—

Your phone buzzes, not a minute later. Not even forty seconds. Thirty-one. He read it immediately.

A laughable little thrill curls through you as you stare at the notification lighting up your lock screen:

Only if your dentist has good bedside manners 😉

Your entire bloodstream vaporizes and reconstitutes itself in the span of a heartbeat. Your stomach swoops so violently you nearly drop the phone. You read it thirty-one times and then another four, just to make sure you weren’t hallucinating or misinterpreting the innuendo.

The wink. The fucking wink.

He could have just said “lol” or “haha”. But he didn’t.

Satoru Gojo winked at you.

Digitally, yes. But it counts.

And not a friendly wink either. Not a “grandma made a pie” wink.

A bedside. Manners. Wink.

You’re dizzy with implications. There are so many. What does “good” mean to him? Gentle? Dominant? Hands-on? Does he think you’re picturing him hovering over a bed with gloves off and voice low? Because you are, now. You are so vividly doing that.

You could still dial this down — send a safe, soft-pedaled emoji or a polite “haha, you’re so silly”. All it takes is your next reply to tip the scales toward cordial or carnal.

But your brain isn’t interested in balance aymore.

No, your brain has already slithered off the rails and is now joyriding straight into his lap. It’s licking the thought of his voice bending low, whispering for you to “open wide” with something other than dental instruments in hand. It’s already imagining his so-called bedside manners without latex gloves — no latex at all, for that matter.

You have all the power now. The invitation is sitting wide open, legs parted, saying: come inside.

Is that so, doctor? Next time, I’ll be better prepared to assess your technique

And when he responds, he bites back, hard:

Bring a notepad. I’ll give you plenty to write about

You nearly let out a sound.

You clamp your thighs together without thinking just to contain the full-body voltage that line delivers straight to your pelvis.

You lie back against the pillows, grinning like a lunatic, fingers hovering over the keyboard, thumbs twitching with indecision.

He wants this. He started this.

But still — you want to measure the next stroke just right.

Fair warning: I have strict standards

You can picture him mentally debating, wondering how inappropriate this is while simultaneously wanting to dive in anyway.

Delivered. Read. Typing…

Fair warning: I never disappoint

God. You sit up. Sit forward. He’s still typing. Another text pings in right after:

You free Friday night?

You swear you stop breathing. You let your head fall back, body sizzling, mouth dry. Then you answer, calm and confident like you’ve practiced before.

It’s a date.

You lock your phone and stare at the ceiling with a slow, consuming smile. The room feels too small to hold the satisfaction inside of you.

He has no idea what he’s just set in motion, but you know exactly what comes next.

Satoru Gojo pulls up in his car and steps out like a wet dream.

White dress shirt, perfectly fitted, rolled just once at the sleeves like he doesn’t even know how pornographic his forearms are. A slim black tie, undone (you’d undo it further).

He leans against his car, wearing a devil-may-care elegance, holding the sexiest bouquet you’ve ever seen.

Red roses were far too generic. He held an assortment of deep wine-colored calla lilies, indigo hyacinth, black dahlia, a single spray of bleeding heart, tied in dark silk. You want to crawl into his lap and purr for it.

You’ve been getting ready since 11:00 for a 7:30 dinner.

It started with a three-step exfoliation.

Then a cooling mask. Then a hydrating mask. Then another to seal the glow.

You tweezed precisely — eyebrows, bikini line, the back of your neck. You moisturzied every inch of your body. Twice. Then oiled it.

You sprayed perfume in strategic places: back of the knees, between the breasts, behind each ear and under your hairline so it would bloom when you played with your hair.

You matched the color of your lipstick to the color of his favorite whiskey. You lined your underwear drawer in the off chance he opened it. You painted your nails a color he once liked on a girl’s post from six months ago.

You wore the dress that made your waist look strangled. You wore the shoes that gave you the posture of a prayer.

And by the time you were done curling your hair, steam emerged from the bathroom like smoke after arson.

But it’s all worth it. He’s worth it.

You had rehearsed the steps you’d take down the stairs earlier so that you’d look like a starlet.

You know how you look. You’ve seen it in the mirror a hundred times already, practiced every expression — wide eyes, coy smile, neck bared just a little more than necessary.

You walk toward him slowly, pretending not to notice how his eyes track every inch of you, from the straps over your shoulders, to the dip of your waist, to the swell of your legs straining beautifully against heels he’ll definitely make you regret later.

“Hey,” he says, offering you the bouquet.

The words taste too good in his mouth. And the way his fingers curve around the stems? You almost moan on instinct.

You take them with trembling control. “They’re stunning.”

“So are you,” he says, eyes dragging down your body and back up. “Do I get to keep looking at you all night?”

It should be illegal the way he says it. So lethal you want to die.

“You better,” you say, curling your grasp tighter around the bouquet. “I got all dolled up just for you.”

You don’t tell him about the playlist you listened to while shaving. Or the way you rewaxed your legs even though they were fine.

You don’t tell him you read six articles on body language to keep your posture effortlessly receptive and just barely challenging.

You don’t tell him you spent twenty minutes making sure your purse contents were both practical and inviting.

You don’t tell him about the notes you made on his favorite wines, his casual turns of phrase, the photo from his stories where you could just barely see the title of the book on his nightstand.

He smiles and opens the door for you. “Shall we?”

His fingers brush your lower back as he guides you into your seat. You’re already soaking, and the night’s only just begun.

The interior of the car smells like him, and the radio hums with ambient jazz, the kind of music people undress to in good movies.

His one hand grips the steering wheel, forearm flexing with each turn. You can’t stop picturing it above your head, fingers gripping the headboard, pinning you down as he sinks inside. You imagine leaving crescent-moon marks in that same arm, clutching him through every thrust.

He glances over. “How was your week?”

“Better now.”

He laughs under his breath, the sound curling around your neck. “I was hoping you’d say that.”

The drive feels like the prelude just before climax — surreal, floaty, skin too sensitive, body tuned too high.

Every passing streetlight reflects against his cheekbones, his lashes, carving his features in gold and shadow. And when his thumb grazes the gearshift, all you can think about is whether he fucks like he talks.

When he parks, you barely register it.

The restaurant is tucked between two blank storefronts: wooden façade, softly glowing paper lanterns flanking the entrance, barely visible signage in elegant brushstroke kanji.

He kills the engine and turns to you.

“Ready for the best meal of your life?”

You let your smile drag out slowly, lip catching on your teeth. “Don’t keep me waiting.”

The maître d’ greets him by name and leads the way to the sushi bar. You glide onto the dark leather stool by his side, close and together, no barriers. You sit, crossed legged, spine perfectly postured, dress kissing your thighs with every shift.

The chef bows low and welcomes you in soft Japanese. He works in silence before you, each slice of fish a performance. The entire meal is a private show, course by course, a slow unveiling.

“This one’s from Niigita,” Satoru says, pouring sake into your cup. “It’s supposed to open up as it breathes.”

“We have that in common.”

He smiles, and that little twist in his lips has your toes curling in your heels.

The first dish arrives. The tuna gleams beet red, accompanied by fresh wasabi and smoked soy.

You watch him out of the corner of your eye as you lift the first piece to your lips, fatty tuna so soft it collapses like butter. You moan (not by accident).

“Holy shit,” you say, hand over your mouth. “I think I just saw god.”

Satoru raises an eyebrow, pleased. “And here I was hoping you’d say that after dinner.”

You chew slowly. Swallow. “You know what they say — save the best for last.”

He watches your lips, then lifts his cup. “Amen to that.”

And so it goes. Bite after bite, poured drinks and conversation. You match him beat for beat — his tastes, humor, quirks.

When he references his favorite manga, you recall the exact line that comes after that. When he talks about enjoying late-night walks, you describe the exact route that just happens to mirror the one in his tagged photos.

He rests one elbow on the bar. “If I asked you what you really thought about me after our first appointment…”

“Which version do you want to hear? The censored or unfiltered version?”

He grins. “Both.”

“Mmm. I think I’d rather show you than tell you.” You pause, lowering your lashes. “But I will say this — I hated the girl who came in after me.”

It's a bold move, but you want him to know. And every time you speak, he looks at you longer.

Another dish arrives. Amberjack, kissed with yuzu zest. He lets you steal his when you eye it too long.

Between courses, you joke about food crimes, admit your secret obsession with absurdly niche documentaries and “coincidentally” drop the title he tweeted about last year as if you didn’t spend nights combing through his feed.

Then his hand brushes your knee, barely a graze, but to you, it’s a spark in a dry field. Your entire body stills under the table, tightly coiled. You want him all over.

“You’re kind of perfect, you know that?”

You feel heat. The final thread of restraint snaps. You place your chopsticks down carefully. You turn toward him, half-shifted on your stool, your leg brushing his.

“I don’t want dessert,” you say.

He raises a brow, smirks. “No?”

“No.”

He blinks once, registering, then leans in. “My place?”

It's so tempting — to feel the silk of his bed, his scent on the sheets and the way his furniture looks when he’s distracted and naked.

But not there, not yet.

You want him in the room where it started, where you first imagined what his hands would feel like if it weren’t covered with latex. You want to feel it raw.

You shake your head. “The clinic.”

Then a laugh, sharp and hot. “Seriously?”

Your eyes are unblinking, unapologetic.

And that’s it. No hesitation. He’s already reaching for his wallet, throwing down enough cash to cover every dish twice over. The chef bows and the staff whispers in polite reverence.

He doesn’t question it again, just takes your hand, leads you to the car, and starts the engine. Your mind is already in the chair, already naked under fluorescent lights.

You glance at him as he pulls out of the lot, hand on the wheel, other hand casually resting between you like it isn’t dying to move. You want to grab it. Put it where it belongs. On you. In you.

His shirt is tight enough across the shoulders that you imagine splitting it open. You want to ruin it, ruin him. You want to press your tongue to his wrist and claim his pulse.

You want his tie around your neck. His name in your mouth. The taste of his skin. You want to be so deep in his thoughts that even his dreams wake up blushing. You want to unzip his spine and live inside him.

You imagine what he’ll look like when he loses control. What his voice will sound like when it breaks. You’ll memorize it, bottle it up, stitch it into your brain, ingrain it in you forever.

He turns the corner, the sign for the clinic glows blue and white in the distance.

Tonight, you go back to where it all began.

Satoru unlocks the front door without a word.

You follow him in after him, traced in his shadow — a devout thing.

He flicks on the examination light and the dental lamp explodes in surgical clarity. It blooms overhead in a cold, perfect cone. A goddamn interrogation spotlight on you, the suspect.

You expect him to smile like before, warm, casual, amused. But he doesn’t.

He shuts the door with his foot. A sharp thunk. The lock clicks behind you like a cell door.

His eyes roam the room, then you. His jaw is set. The muscle in it ticks once.

He’s… different.

You noticed it in the car too — the way his fingers drummed the steering wheel like he was holding back. Now, you’re not sure he is.

He tosses his tie onto the counter, sending metal instruments clattering as the silk brushes them. The tray rattles, a staccato little foreshadowing.

“You want the chair,” he says.

Not a question. Not an offer.

You nod.

He gestures. “Go on.”

The vinyl is cool against the back of your thighs as you sink into the seat. Your dress hikes up slightly — a detail he absolutely notices. He reaches for the control panel, but doesn’t immediately press anything. His hand hovers, then he turns to you.

“You’re not who you say you are, are you?”

Your mouth goes dry. Your heart lurches.

How…

He presses a button.

Beep.

The chair reclines a few inches.

“You called the receptionist asking for my schedule, didn’t you?”

… does he know?

Beep.

Lower.

“You pretended to be someone else everytime.”

You should speak. You should deny it.

Laugh. Cry. Run.

Beep.

Back further, your hair spilling over the headrest, your body opening under the cone of clinical light. The angle is suggestive without even trying. Vulnerable in a way that makes heat curl deep inside you.

He pulls on a pair of gloves—one, then the other—snap, snap in punctuation marks.

“When you showed up at the coffee shop on my day off, I knew I didn’t just run into you.” He tugs the gloves down snug. “You don’t even drink coffee.”

He looks directly at you.

“You even knocked your own tooth out.”

The accusations echo all around you.

He knows — all of it.

The obsessive anlaysis of his calendar. The half-dozen “wrong number” calls. The morning stakeouts and the lies you spun, stacking one on top of the other until the only truth left was you wanted him.

In any way, at any cost.

Your hand finds the metal tray beside you by accident. Instruments tremble with a jarring, metallic trrrring. Satoru watches you react, watches every tremor.

He brushes along your jaw, trailing it. “Do you have any idea how fucked up that is?”

You nod. There’s nothing left to say.

“You should be arrested for the shit you pulled.”

His gaze drops to your hands, trembling on the edge of the armrests. Without breaking eye contact, he reaches to the tray beside you and plucks up a pair of sterile elastic tourniquets, the kind used to stabilize an arm for blood draws.

“I used to imagine you on your knees,” he says, “in my waiting room after hours, tongue out.”

He loops the first thick band around your right wrist and the armrest, cinching it tight with a practiced flick. You can’t breathe. You don’t try.

“Wondered if you thought about me, if you touched yourself after appointments.”

Your left wrist is next — another pull, another sharp snag, binding you helpless. The bands stretch enough to give the illusion of freedom, but no more; every movement meets resistance.

“Sorry darling, can’t have you flailing.”

Your chest heaves, your pulse thunders. He watches the panic spread beautifully across your features.

He adjusts the headrest—click—cradling your skull in his palms. His thumbs rest behind your ears. His face is close now, framed by the halo of the dental lamp, eyes bright and impossibly blue.

His glove grazes your lower lip; not a kiss but not even remotely professional. It was enough to set your entire body on fire, every nerve alight under the cold, white brilliance of the exam lamp.

“Tell me,” he says, “is this how you pictured it?”

“Not even close,” you manage.

He leans in, and your back arches under the light. You’re open. Caught. Laid bare on sterile vinyl beneath the weight of guilt. His mouth is so close now you feel his breath.

“You’re insane,” he murmurs, brushing his gloved thumb over your trembling bottom lip. “But so am I.”

You don’t dare to close your eyes. You want to see everything. Because he saw everything. Because he wanted it too.

“Open wide,” he commands.

You do. But not your mouth. Because he’s not your doctor tonight.

Your legs part and his gloves squeak as he drags a hand over your inner thigh. “You didn’t think I would find out? That you wouldn’t be caught?”

He doesn’t give you room to respond, reaching behind you—another click—the chair groans and tilts further back, until your legs slide open wider under gravity, posture collapsed and defenseless beneath him.

“Look at you,” he breathes, taking in the sight. “My lovely stalker in the flesh.”

The metal tray at your side clinks again as he pulls it closer. He reaches for the suction wand.

“Are you sure you can handle me?”

You’d crack your jaw for him. You’d dislocate your ribs to make more room for him. He’s your addiction and this chair is your confession booth.

You whimper—yes, yes, yes—but he’s already dragging the tube down your throat, past your lips. He doesn’t push far, just enough to press down your tongue. Satoru watches you as you gag around the suction, your throat fluttering under the pressure, eyes glossy.

“So eager,” he teases, and the sound of it, the sound of him, is too much. He slides it back out, obscenely slow, and it glistens with spit. “Messy little thing.”

He grabs the tray again, rips gauze from the sterile stack, and stuffs one square into your mouth, watching your lips stretch around it. He pushes two more in, then another wad, just to see how far you’ll let him go.

“Let’s keep the noise down, yeah?”

Your muffled whimper vibrates through the gauze, helpless and needy.

He traces with his gloved knuckle, trailing higher and higher up your thigh with maddening slowness, hovering near where you need him most.

His other hand wraps around your jaw, tilting your head up until your eyes lock with his, blue and burning.

“Don’t you dare look away.”

You couldn’t if you tried.

The dental lamp floods straight into your pupils, washing everything else to shadow. You blink against the brightness, tears gathering from the intensity, from the humiliation of being exposed in the most unholy posture. And he loves it.

He spreads you open with two fingers, exposing your wet, swollen folds to the light. The lamp overhead catches every glisten, every twitch. You try to lift yourself up into his hand, but the elastics bite into your wrists, forcing you to take every torturous second at his pace.

The first touch is barely a touch — the rubber pad of his index finger nudges directly over your clit. A soft push, a slow circle.

The gauze stuffed into your mouth squelches with spit as you sob around it, teeth sinking into the cotton until your jaw aches. He drags his other gloved thumb over the corner of your lip, smearing the saliva that leaks out.

“Mmm, such pretty sounds,” he hums, slipping deeper. “You’re dripping all over my chair. I could ruin you. Right here, right now.”

He waits there, buried to the knuckle, doing absolutely nothing. Your body clenches helplessly around the intrusion, trying to pull him deeper. You whimper into the gag, wrists twisting uselessly against the rubber restraints.

He laughs and lowers his face again until his lips brush your ear.

“You want more?”

A pause.

“Beg.”

You choke on your own breath, air, tears, spit, need, trying to form any sound that resembles a plea. His finger crooks suddenly, finding the spot instantly. Your ragged, gagged cry spills out of you in a confession.

“There’s your little problem area,” he murmurs, delighted.

He strokes it again. Harder, controlled, devastating. Your vision whites out at the edges and your hips thurst upward in broken, jerky movements, driven entirely by instinct.

The his thumb joins in.

The rubber presses directly on your clit, pushing the wet folds apart around his hand. You damn near convulse — your legs spread wide for him and he thursts in deeper, spreading his fingers apart.

He fucks his fingers in harder, faster, pushing you right to the edge, and then — he withdraws; abruptly, completely, leaving you gasping and choking against the gag, body trembling, thighs slick and open in the cold air.

He steps back and pulls off his gloves with two sharp snaps, tossing them to the tray.

“You look pathetic,” he says.

You wanted to show him just how much.

Your wrists strain against the armrests; you want to touch him, claw him, hold him, anything. Your teeth clamp down around the gag, a muffled snarl erupts low in your throat. Your legs kick out, shaky and half-controlled, but enough to make him grab the armrest and pin you down. His expression flashes from amusement to delight.

“Well, well, look who’s come out to play,” he sings, climbing onto the chair, caging you beneath him.

You buck beneath him again in defiance, and the vinyl screeches under the violent movement. He grabs your throat, holding it with steady pressure, asserting that he can collapse your air at any second.

“You want to challenge me?” He rests his forehead against yours, so close to you that your tears spot his cheek. He pins your wrist with one hand while the other slams your hips down against the chair. “Then fucking challenge me.”

You can’t talk. So instead — you spit the gauze at his face. It hits his cheek, wet and dripping.

“Well now,” he murmurs, brushing your spit down the curve of his own jaw with two fingers. “If you’re going to act like a little monster… I suppose I’ll have to handle you like one.”

He fists his hand in your hair and drags your head back, baring your throat, forcing your mouth open. The restraints creak as your body curls up instinctively toward him, needy and feral.

He kneels on the chair, looming above your pinned body, and drags his cock out — flushed in deep red, heavy and thick enough that your lips part instinctively in disbelief.

“Oh,” he laughs, breath hitching. “You want a taste?”

He taps the head against your lower lip, smearing pre-cum all over, and presses forward to stretch your mouth around a shape substantially bigger than you were ready for.

You try to take him. You really, really try.

But your jaw strains. Your throat tightens. Your lips can’t stretch enough to get past the head before your throat spasms in a futile attempt to open wider.

“What’s wrong?” he taunts, grip tightening in your hair until your scalp burns. “You were so bold a moment ago.”

He nudges forward another inch, forcing your mouth wider, guiding it to the very edge of what it can handle until drool leaks down your chin.

Tears spill from the effort, your neck is strained against the headrest. He watches you struggle, eyes darkening as he watches your jaw quiver around the stretch. Your tongue presses helplessly against the underside of his cock, trying to coax him deeper.

“Oh, sweetheart,” he groans, “if you can’t even take me in your mouth—”

His free hand curls around the base of his length, pressing harder against your lips, pushing a broken whimper from your chest.

“—how the hell,” he pants, “are you going to take me in that tight little cunt?”

You suck harder, jaw screaming, threatening to tear itself apart. You want to swallow him whole, bury him deep, prove that you’re built to take him everywhere.

Satoru smirks down at you, lust-drunk and wicked. “Want to try again?”

You nod frantically, mouth open in a trembling “O”. You think, clear and loud enough for your own mind to hear it:

Yes. Yes, please. Break me on your cock. I want everything you’re about to do.

His eyes gleam like he hears it.

Then he yanks your hair back and shoves himself against your tongue again, harder this time, enough to make your throat seize. You try again, desperate, shaking, gagging on air as you fight to fit around him. He watches you choke on the attempt and loses his goddamn mind.

“Fuck — you’re killing me.”

He leans back, cups your cheeks with both hands, and spits straight into your mouth. A vulgar, wet rope of saliva landing on your tongue and coating your throat.

“There,” he growls, grabbing his cock and smearing his spit across your lips, down your tongue. “Open wider.”

Your throat tries to open. But when he pushes in that inch too far, your gag reflex punches back and you choke hard enough to jolt your entire body, a broken, wet sound that shakes your chest.

“Agh—enough. Enough.”

His voice is ragged, crackling with need. He drags himself out of your mouth and grabs your waist, lifting your restrained body off the backrest with a snap of strength that steals your breath.

He shifts position so fast the chair squeals under him. One moment his cock is pressing at your tongue, the next it’s slapping wetly against your dress, dragged down the centerline of your body, leaving a slick trail of spit on the fabric.

“It’s going in somehow,” he hisses, “if not your mouth, then—”

But he doesn’t finish. Your body reacts before he does. You want to take over, to redeem yourself.

Your hips snap foward, dragging yourself along his cock as he slides it down. Your nails claw for leverage even with your wrists bound.

You tilt yourself, angling your soaked cunt toward him with intent so clear, your entire body trembles as the head nudges your swollen entrance. You strain for contact, cunt pulsing around nothing as you try to drag him into you without permission.

The sight of you trying to mount him while bound, gagged, ruined with tears and spit and slick — he falters, and he jerks forward like he can’t help it. He drops his weight onto you, cock pressed flush to your dripping entrance.

Your chest heaves against him, wrists twisting violently until the elastic bites deep into raw, flaming flesh. It hurts. It thrills. The pain is proof.

“You want it that bad?”

You nod, frantic and wild.

His hand flies to the tray, sending metal rattling. He picks up a scalpel and holds the blade between two fingers, angled toward the rubber binding you.

It slides under the tight band, then—snap—your raw wrist springs free, shaking violently with relief. Thin red marks carve around the skin, swollen and tender, baring evidence of how hard you fought for him.

Good.

Let them stay. Let them bruise and scar.

You earned them.

He drops the scalpel with a clatter, pressing his cock hard against your slit again, smearing slickness over both of you.

Your freed hands fly upward to grab him, nails sinking into his shoulder, dragging him down with a desperation so sharp it borders on violent. Your fingers make their way to thread into his hair and yank him down to your lips.

“Take it properly this time,” he rasps, voice shredded.

“Doctor’s orders,” you oblige, wrapping your legs around his waist to push him in, the head of his cock catching and sinking a fraction of an inch inside your dripping heat.

He slams forward and your body shatters open around him — a shock of pain, a flood of head, a gasp that turns into a moan that turns animalistic. You dig further into his back, dragging warpaths of red down his skin as he sinks further into you.

Finally. This is what you fought for. What you bled your wrists for.

Satoru groans, both of you shivering under the sheer violence. You meet his thrust with a force that makes the chair recline a full inch backward.

His eyes widen. “You’re—” Another thrust. “—trying to take control.”

You bare your teeth in a delicious grin. Then you flip him.

It’s messy, graceless—a snarl, a shove, a twist of your hips and wrists and weight—and suddenly he’s on his back in the chair, stunned, breath gone, cock still buried inside you as you straddle him, thighs clamped around his hips.

You slam yourself down. Hard. He chokes on his own moan.

“Oh—fuck—” His fingers stab into your waist, leaving craters.

You grind down, lifting and dropping your hips in brutal, punishing strokes, using his body like you’re built for it, like he was made to beneath you, inside you, ruined by you.

Your hands push his shoulders down, pinning him with a strength you didn’t know you had. You're taking your revenge.

The chair rattles violently. The light overhead swings in its arm. You collapse your weight onto him, breasts sliding against his chest as you slam down again, again, again, chasing the pleasure.

Satoru’s face contorts, eyes rolling back and mouth falling oepn, hands clutching you so hard you know you’ll bruise. “You’re going to—fuck—you’re going to break us both—”

You whisper against his ear, voice ruined: “Shut up.”

Then you bite him.

His body jerks so violently his cock slams deeper, hitting a place that makes your vision split into stars. He grabs your hair, yanking your head back, exposing your throat.

“Insane,” he moans. “You’re fucking insane—”

His hand between your shoulder blades pulls you tighter. Your nails rake his chest. Your hips pound down and his breath comes out in shuddering, broken gasps.

You slam down. He cries out. You do it again.

He arches up into you, bucking like he’s trying to escape and bury himself deeper at the same time. You grab his throat and angle him to look at you as you take everything he has.

Your mind is a cathedral of obsession. He’s yours now. You’ll ride him into the grave. You’ll drag both of you into ruin. You slam down so hard the tiles begin cracking under the chair.

“That’s it,” he chokes. “That’s—god—fuck—”

Then he snaps.

He sits up in a single violent moment, arms crushing you to him, mouth on your shoulder, your throat, biting, sucking, marking you with his brand.

You moan, throat raw, as he thrusts up into you from below. Your cries start to shake. Your legs go numb. Your mind falls apart. You claw at his hair, panting into his ear, “Don’t stop.”

He shakes, gripping you like a man drowning. He slams up into you at the same moment you slam down onto him, and the collision rips into a full-body convulsion that arches your spine off his chest and sends your nails carving across his back.

Your throat goes silent for a moment, too much pleasure to even make a sound, before the cry finally tears free, a raw, keening note of release. Your cunt clamps around him so hard he nearly folds with you.

He drags you down on his cock, burying himself so deep the air punches out of him. He stutters, then grinds in ragged and broken thrusts as he groans a low, wrecked sound into your throat, biting into it as he pours into you. You feel blood rising under his teeth — and you almost come again from that alone.

Your legs give out. Your arms tremble intensely. Your body collapses against him, twitching, spasming, clenching with aftershocks so intense it would break the Richter scale.

“Fuck… fuck… stay right there… don’t move… don’t—”

You don’t listen — you shift instead. And you feel it: the soft, hypersensitive throb of him still inside you, your slick leaking down over him. You feel him groan into your neck.

“No—no, sweetheart, don’t—”

Again. You want it again. You want to make sure he can’t walk anymore. To make him delirious.

So you roll your hips again and you kiss him. His lips part on instinct, and you swallow his breath, tongue pushing into his mouth, messy and wet, teeth clashing.

You grind down again and his moan breaks in half. “Fuck—don’t—god, I’m still—”

“I don’t care.”

You kiss him slow, sealing him. His hand slides up your back with a gentleness so at odds with the brutality of what came before that it steals your soul. His mouth lingers under yours, open, wanting more, wanting you.

Every risk you took to get you here worked.

Your obsession made him yours.

His chest rises against yours in one long, shuddering breath. And when you pull back, his voice cracks open against your lips in a low, hoarse murmur:

“… come here, I’m not done yet.”