Shirayuuki

“Mind your own business.”

He asked this because he just wanted an excuse to hurt her. It’s kind of hard to soft-launch sadistic tendencies.

“I’m sorry, I—”

Sukuna’s hand closed around her throat, squeezing without a shred of shame or fear of killing her.

“You know damn well all of this is for someone else,” he mocked her, lowering his head to kiss her.

Tongues tangled, breath ragged from the grinding of his hips, yet there was no passion to be found. The R&B playlist she’d put on to set the mood, her lingerie, and her perfectly styled hair, all wasted efforts to connect with a heartless man.

And yet, his heart beat for you; she knew it.

Everyone knew the D&S duo: Dollette & Sukuna.

That was your nickname. Your personal branding strategy was perfect : black-and-white outfits and accessories in a coquette style, with ribbon bows and lace. A dark doll. When you acted in movies, people were blown away by your ability to embody aesthetics other than the one so intrinsically tied to your public image.

Every photo of you and Sukuna ended up on women’s Pinterest boards, and the “best friends with sexual tension” trope exploded on BookTok. You two were the OGs. A hit couple without actually being a couple.

So, as his coach’s daughter, Yorozu knew him well. She knew exactly who was on his mind while he fucked her.

It showed in the way he touched her hips, and in the frown that creased his brow when he couldn't find the curves, the thickness, that you possessed. She could feel it when his body was pressed against hers, his eyes narrowed on her as if he wanted to punish her for lacking your softness. When he pulled her hair, he’d click his tongue in disapproval. It wasn't the same texture as your braids, nor the same volume as your curly hair. He was so bored with her.

Sukuna was bored with everything in life; she knew this.

She had thought she could heal his loneliness with her love. She had fallen in love the moment she met his merciless gaze during a boxing session with her father.

But when he finished training, he didn't turn to her to get to know her.

He turned to you.

Dollette. The actress who had already won multiple prestigious movie awards at just twenty-four. Known for her theatrical personality she displayed during hypomanic episodes, traits that infused her acting roles with raw emotion. Always seen in black Mary Jane heels and high white lace socks.

The kind of woman Yorozu couldn't compete with.

But you were his best friend, not his girlfriend. Sukuna wanted nothing serious. The love he felt for you was an exception, a distortion of reality, something that happens once every thousand years, a genetic anomaly.

Sukuna only fucked women when he needed to hurt someone. Foreplay was a pain in the ass to him. He was there for the violent sound of the bed banging against the wall, for the scratches on his back as his partner reached their peak.

Yorozu smiled at him as he strangled her. 

“You think you're cute? I can't even cum with your face.”

He buried his face in her neck; his stomach churned with disgust at her scent. So far from the blend of vanilla mist, caramel perfume, and cocoa butter cream that was yours. He was allergic to any woman who wasn't you.

He closed his eyes and imagined you in her place.

Maybe you would be the only woman he’d make love to. The one with whom he’d take his time. The one with whom he’d pay attention to pleasure. All while still hurting you, because violence was his love language, his mark on humanity; that was why he boxed.

He pictured your cheeks wet with tears as you sat on his lap, in the throes of a psychotic episode. Your speech broken. The words that made no sense in your sentences. Your face buried in his chest, begging him to silence the noise in your head. You at your rawest.

He loved your tears, he loved it when you suffered. But only because of him. He hated your demons, the shadows of your mind that enveloped you in a world no one understood, not even him.

“Let’s stop this shit,” he grumbled, pulling away from Yorozu, who was whining.

She missed the warmth of his body, even though she wasn’t unaware of the coldness in his heart.

Sukuna’s lip corners lifted in a spiteful smile as he took off the condom and put on his clothes. “I didn’t even fuck you with any passion, the fuck are you whining for?”

Yorozu straightened her elbows, hoping he liked seeing her breasts (he didn't). 

“Why did you dye your hair black? We can see the pink roots.”

“To make stupid bitches like you talk,” he chuckled, remaining shirtless, his muscular body and sculpted abs on display. He got out of bed, wearing the Jaded London baggy jeans you'd bought him. You were the fashionable one in the duo; he couldn't care less about his appearance.

As he rummaged through his things to find a pack of Marlboro cigarettes, Yorozu tried to ignore the energy emanating from his room. Everything was dark and so cold, as usual. Impersonal. Nothing that suggested anything intimate about him. Yorozu always came to his place with excitement to discover new information about the man she loved, but she was greeted by the physical evidence of his disconnection from the world.

The only thing radiating light was your smile in a framed photo on his bedside table. An androgynous person with short white hair had an arm around you and looked nervous, as if whoever was taking the picture was glaring at them for touching their girl.

Uraume. Sukuna’s personal physical therapist.

Yorozu tried to sleep with him too to get information on Sukuna since he was his childhood friend, but he never gave her the attention she wanted.

She nibbled at the inside of her cheek, glaring at the photo frame.

“We could have a picnic this weekend,” she said softly, playing with her hair, hoping he would find her hairstyle attractive (he didn’t). “You have a few days left before the next MMA event, we could—” 

The bedroom door slammed shut as he stepped out onto the living room balcony. He rested his elbows on the railing, gazing at the city of Tokyo across the street, smoking his cigarette.

Sometimes he liked to watch people walking down the street and see his neighbors from the building across the street through the window to remind himself that he was superior to everyone.

All those people who felt guilt, empathy to the point of losing their sense of self. He could jerk off in front of Tokyo, show those idiots (who said how terrifying he was and had probably killed someone, making it undeserving to be among Rizin's champions) that he'd cummed on their faces.

Being empathetic, regretting something, feeling guilty was a drag.

Sukuna was as fast as lightning without his feelings, taking him to the very top of the MMA championships because that man genuinely didn't give a fuck.

He proudly declared himself the best in interviews and mocked his losing opponents. He cheated with his weight by losing quickly to be in a lower weight class and gain an advantage. He slept with his coach's daughter behind his back. Not a single fuck, and he waited for someone to challenge him.

His phone rang, and it was the special "Totally Spies" ringtone you'd set yourself so he'd know it was your group of friends and avoid ignoring his phone.

He smiled, checking his notifications.

[chats from ‘dollette's voices’ group chat]

schizoaffective baddie 💅🏿 : kuna didn't say good night to me :(((

schizoaffective baddie 💅🏿: im heartbroken and gonna kms for real now

sukuna : who gives a fuck about you

schizoaffective baddie 💅🏿: nobody 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭

sukuna's dick rider 💯 : you're mean kuna, she misses you

sukuna : don't even start uraume i just fucked yorozu im in a bad mood

[schizoaffective baddie 💅🏿 is now offline].

big ass blue eyes 👁 : sukuna you have no game why tf did you say that in front of her

sukuna : that girl doesnt want my dick lets be real she said i was a slut

big ass blue eyes 👁 : u are

sukuna : acting as if you dont have suguru's mouth around your dick rn

big ass blue eyes 👁 : 🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣

big ass blue eyes 👁 : [photo]

sukuna : delete that disgusting shit immediately 

peace n love 💐 : did yall forget i was a minor

emo boy : sukuna you're the worst big brother i know tf is that conversation yuji is 16!!!!!

sukuna : blah blah blah tell dollette to stop ignoring my calls

big ass blue eyes 👁 : is patrick bateman just experiencing guilt ??

sukuna : dont compare me to that whiny bitch he is hella insecure 

emo boy : stop saying the b word

sukuna : suck my dick choso 

emo boy : be a goddamn good older brother for once in your life

Sukuna rolled his eyes and focused on his phone to call you. After the tenth call, you finally picked up. He let out a heavy breath hearing sniffles.

“Your needy ass needs to stop.”

“I know but like anything breaks me down right now.”

“I know,” he said gently, the type of voice he uses only with you. “I told you to take your meds.”

“You don't get it, 'kuna. I need antipsychotics for the schizophrenic aspect of my disorder, but these meds make me so sleepy and basically a zombie. I need mood regulators for the bipolar aspects, but every time I have a hypomanic episode, I stop taking them so I never have the—”

“Wow, slow down,” he cut in. His heart squeezed at your faster speech. Bipolar disorder was complex, and sometimes depressive symptoms could overlap with hypomanic ones, creating mixed episodes. He was always on the lookout for contradictory behavior in you.

“How much have you spent in the last three days?”

Silence on the other end of the line.

“Dollette,” he grunted. “The fuck?”

“Well, there were tons of sales in Shibuya and Harujuku…”

“That’s not a reason to spend so much in 72 hours.”

“W-What? How do you know?”

“I know my baby.”

“Mhmm, I love it when you call me that.”

“Yeah? Enjoy it while you can because it’ll never happen again.”

“‘KUNA!”

What followed was a passionate conversation about the lace lingerie you had bought, your passion for fashion, ending in tears because nothing was going well in your life and you wanted to die.

“Happiness is a butterfly, Dollette.”

Sukuna knew how to calm you down because his sentence instantly soothed you.

“Happiness is like a butterfly which, when pursued, is always beyond our grasp, but, if you will sit down quietly, may alight upon you” is a quote that rocked your complicated childhood with Sukuna. Most of Sukuna's tattoos were for you, but the butterfly one was the most special.

“You're right, I should calm down a bit. Rest.”

“You need some dick.”

“You're a fucking slut, don't ever touch me.”

“Oh okay, I thought you wanted that dick when you talked about lingerie.

“You're just my best friend.”

Sukuna tensed, gripping the phone tighter.

Best friend, my ass. The way he cared for you was nothing like the friendship he had with Uraume.

“I guess,” he mumbled, his jaw clenching. “I’ll come cook for you tomorrow. I bet you haven’t had anything homemade in days.”

“Thank you, ‘kuna. Love you a lot.”

“As you should.” Me too.

──────── 𝐚 𝐟𝐞𝐰 𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐤𝐬 𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐫,

Happiness is a butterfly, and you were desperately chasing after it.

Sometimes your hypomanic episodes were so clever they happened at a natural time.

You'd read a mind-blowing book that gave you a new perspective on life, and bam! You'd buy 300 similar books, change your entire wardrobe because you were a new person, and your heart would race every day because you were bursting with creativity.

It was impossible for you to realize you were spiraling downward; changing your life after a good book seemed valid.

“And then he forced her to give him a blowjob or he'd throw her off a cliff in chapter two, but we learn later in the book it was her kink to be forced, and when they have consensual sex, she begs him not to be gentle with her. So hot, he's a psychopath like you,” you chuckled, rearranging your bookshelves.

“What did he do in chapter 2?”

 You turned your head, holding ‘God of Malice’ by Rina Kent. You glared at him, his eyes on your ass.

“You never listen to me. I’ve already told you about Killian Carson. He has the same mind as you, that’s why he’s my book boyfriend.”

“Wow, what a love confession,” Sukuna chuckled, his head buried in your unicorn plushies, his legs spread wide on your bed as he smoked his blunt. He was on vacation and could afford drugs without his agent yelling at him that he was self-sabotaging.

Even if you were hypomanic right now, Sukuna loved you when you were like that.

There was so much color and life in you in those moments. The real you was amplified. Not the schizophrenic you, not the bipolar you. Just you. With your love for dark romance books, your love for cinema, your love for fashion.

It's a shame the mania came with so much suffering for you.

“What do you think of this?” You lifted your skirt to show him the lingerie you'd bought.

A groan echoed through the room, and you twirled around, hoping he'd have a better sight overall.

“C'mere,” he ordered, his voice deep.

His heart yearned for a kiss so bad. A kiss on your thigh to lead to something more sexual.

You sat on his lap, wrapping your arms around his neck.

With his free hand, he gripped your ass under your skirt, kneading the pillowy flesh.

You talked about something; he guessed about another weird ass man in your romance novels, but his gaze was on your moving lips.

He bit the inside of his cheek, distracted and in love.

His phone rang several times, but he ignored it. He had the girl of his dreams on his lap.

“Wanna redo my dye with me?” he asked, tilting his head to better see your face light up. He fought a smile.

You spent quite a bit of time in the bathroom, black dye all over the sink, but Sukuna relaxed with your fingers in his hair. He stared at you as you focused on applying the chemical perfectly to his roots.

He swore he had never seen a woman prettier and cuter than you.

With long brown braids that reached your hips, your face was framed by layered french curls. Your soft face was adorned with a highlighter with satin pigments, which complemented your white strapless dress with its flowing skirt. The rest of your accessories were black, still very coquettish, with ribbon bows, barrettes, and a headband.

A princess. He wished he could be your prince.

“Shower me and shave me, too. I hurt myself in training,” he lied. He desperately wanted your touch. Desperately wanted to hurt you. Lovingly, tho. In a Sukuna way.

“You were smoking and touching my ass just fine.”

He smirked. “Don’t need any effort for that.”

────────

After a clean body, a shaved face, and a fresh dye, you finally emerge from the bathroom after two hours.

Sukuna grabbed his phone and clutched it tightly when he saw the 36 calls from Megumi.

Megumi never spoke to Sukuna; they had each other's numbers for Yuji.

Dread gripped his heart as he read the numerous messages from Choso and Megumi.

emo boy : i'm too drunk can you drive me home im with yuji

emo boy : no uber is available omg pls sukunaaaaa

emo boy : fine i will try to be careful im so tired i need to tell you what happened i think a girl liked me at the bar :))

megumi : i'm at the hospital rn because your grown ass was lollygagging when your brothers got in a car accident 

────────

When you and Sukuna arrived at the hospital, it was too late. Yuji and Choso were already dead; the attempts to make their hearts beat during the emergency surgeries were futile.

“I’m so sorry, ‘kuna,” you tried to say, but he interrupted you.

“Shut the fuck up,” he muttered, elbows on his knees, face in his hands, staring at the floor.

The doctors and nurses were busy dealing with other emergencies now, but they glanced at Sukuna.

Everyone here knew who Sukuna was.

The champion of Rizin. The one who had brought an avalanche of international fans to the Japanese MMA organization. Known for his brutality, the madness in his eyes when he fought, his mocking tone in interviews. The one whose entrances at MMA events garnered millions of views on YouTube.

How would a psychopath like him react to the death of his brothers?

Only you noticed the emotions in him. His legs were restless. His hands were trembling. His voice was harsher because he didn't know how to deal with his loss.

“It's not that deep, stop looking at me like that.”

You drew your lips into a thin line. “Sukuna…”

“I said stop looking at me like that, damn it.”

He stood up abruptly, ignoring you, and left the emergency room to go outside. But when he reached the doors, he saw his parents, stiffened, immediately looking down at the floor. His mother's violent slap didn't make him look up. Nor did her shouts. Nor his father's heavy, disapproving, broken gaze.

“Do you realize what you've done? They're… They're…” His mother placed her hand on his chest, which rose and fell, her cheeks flushed. “I told you we should have given up on him, honey.” 

Sukuna's fists clenched as he remained silent, staring at the white floor.

His mother continued talking, but could she really be called a mother? She didn't care about his own loss. She didn't care that Choso had driven drunk. It was all Sukuna's fault, as usual.

Sukuna shoved her with his broad shoulders and left the hospital.

He never liked them, anyway.

Choso was too perfect. Sukuna's parents constantly compared him to him. Because Choso had everything Sukuna lacked: kindness, empathy, compassion, care for his brothers.

He tried to light his lighter, but the wind was in his direction, preventing the flame from igniting. He grunted, his hands trembling even more.

Yuji was a dumb ass. Stupid as fuck. Sukuna didn't know what Megumi loved so dearly about Yuji. 

His lighter continued to malfunction, and Sukuna struggled to see where to press his thumb because his vision was blurred. Tears streamed down his cheeks, and he spat out his cigarette. A butterfly fluttered past him. He chuckled at the absurdity of the situation, sniffing. Happiness was a butterfly, but with that loss, he didn't know if he could catch it anymore.

────────

But to better understand Sukuna and his grief, you need to go back in time to where it all began for the two of you.

────────

˚₊‧꒰ა 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐮𝐝𝐞, 𝐩𝐚𝐬𝐭 ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

Being a victim was boring as fuck.

Sukuna's bullies were having fun today. They stole his bento, Sukuna shed some (fake) tears when they gave him more cigarette burns, and now Sukuna was choking.

Mahito laughed hysterically as he pulled Sukuna's hair, his head in the toilet bowl.

Sukuna prepared a terrified expression for when he was freed from the water.

“That'll teach you to help my girlfriend with school. She doesn't need your damn help.”

Bored, Sukuna blinked but then remembered the role he needed to play.

“I-I'm sorry!”

“Yeah, you better be. Now let's go, I hear a teacher coming.”

Mahito and his friends left the bathroom, leaving a soaking wet Sukuna alone.

Sukuna burst out laughing once he was alone.

He shook his head, chuckling. “This is getting ridiculous.”

He grabbed his Cars school bag, the one he shared with his brothers, and left middle school. He'd been teased about his bag when he first arrived, but Yuji's happy smile at sharing something with his older brother was worth all the ridicule in the world.

He glanced at his watch. He needed to pick up Choso from elementary school and Yuji from daycare before his parents got home from work and started yelling at everyone because they were late.

He couldn't care less about disappointing his parents, but he didn't want to end up in foster care like they'd threatened him with ever since he stabbed his cousin.

His family had to move because of the reputation that had developed around the Ryomen family. His parents wanted to give him a chance and were having him see a psychologist.

So he wished he could destroy his bullies and show them real bullying, but if he did that, he could say goodbye to his brothers.

“Why are you all wet?” Choso asked him, accepting the ice cream Sukuna offered.

“I went swimming.”

“It’s winter.”

“Mind your own business and eat.”

Yuji came running up, a ton of new drawings for his family in his bag. Sukuna rolled his eyes at Yuji’s bright, admiring gaze at his two older brothers.

Sukuna ruffled Yuji’s hair and gave him the ice cream he had stolen.

“Tell Mom there was an ice cream sale at elementary school and it slowed me down if she’s upset.”

Yuji shook his head. “I don’t want to lie to Mom.”

“That’s fine, I’ll tell her you wet the bed last night.”

Yuji’s cheeks flushed. “That’s not true!!” 

Choso sighed, taking Yuji's hand and walking ahead without Sukuna, who wanted to give them candy (which he had also stolen).

He was stupid. He was a threatening nuisance who needed to be kept away from them.

He threw the candy in a trash can, ignoring his heart pounding painfully before joining his brothers.

────────

Sukuna watched you from his bedroom window.

He wanted to come over and get to know you better. Not out of kindness, but mainly to see which category of people you fell into.

Sukuna sorted humanity into four categories. There were the NPCs. People he had no interest in talking to. The victims. People he enjoyed hurting and found amusing to manipulate for his own gain. There were the "friends”, people who understood him, with whom he could reveal his true madness and still be accepted (Satoru & Uraume). And then, there were the exceptions. The people he desperately sought out; the ones who made him want to live and die all at once because he cared about them so deeply. He hadn't found any of those, aside from his brothers.

You looked like a victim with those ribbons in your hair. A sheep waiting to be devoured by the wolf.

Sukuna’s mother was chatting with the new neighbors in the garden, but it wasn't the lemon tart she was offering them that looked most delicious to Sukuna, it was you.

He should welcome his new neighbors properly, rather than plotting exactly how he would break you.

But you were so pretty. He loved destroying pretty things. He wanted to know what your blood tasted like.

Sukuna had been obsessed with blood and violence since birth.

He didn't practice martial arts for the love of the sport. His body hummed with excitement whenever he heard a grunt caused by a particularly hard blow; he did it to inflict pain.

He hadn't stabbed his cousin with the intention of killing him. His pupils would dilate at the sight of blood flowing from the wound; he did it to witness the damage.

He used to hurt birds and snicker at their attempts to fly away and escape so he would break their wings. He had set up a little torture chamber in the garden shed where his parents never went.

He was forced to put a stop to this barbarity when his parents threatened to abandon him.

Sukuna knew right from wrong, and it was a pain in the ass.

So, so much restraint. All for the sake of his brothers.

His brothers were too young to understand that there was something fundamentally different about them; Sukuna wanted to preserve that innocence.

Sukuna’s impulsiveness was like fire flowing through his veins, setting his whole body ablaze whenever the urge to act became too strong.

His hands trembled with the desire to strangle you and rip the ribbons from your hair just to stomp on them. He wished he could torture birds to relieve the tension.

He grabbed a sheet of paper, drew a sheep on it, and folded it into a paper airplane. He waited until you were alone in the garden next to his before launching it.

You were wandering around your garden barefoot, clutching a large pink unicorn plushie. Sukuna frowned at the sight but sent the plane flying anyway.

He had to wait for you to circle the garden before you stumbled upon the paper. You read it, smiled, and spun around, raising your arms to the sky in thanks.

“What is she doing?” Choso asked, having snuck into Sukuna’s room, before leaning out the window to look as well.

“Dunno.”

──

“I’d like you to be kind to the new neighbors’ child. She’s suffering from depression.”

She didn’t look depressed when she walked barefoot in her garden, smiling up at the sky, Sukuna thought as he ate the maki rolls he’d made with his brothers.

Sukuna’s parents loved their children deeply, and despite the struggles they faced with Sukuna, they moved to avoid a bad reputation, yes, but above all to keep Choso and Yuji from finding out the truth about their older brother. As long as Sukuna kept seeing his therapist and doing things with his brothers, everything should be fine.

No one noticed it but Sukun, watching from the kitchen window, but you were still out walking after nightfall.

──────── 𝐚 𝐟𝐞𝐰 𝐝𝐚𝐲𝐬 𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐫,

Just as you laid your head on the pillow to sleep, your mother knocked to let you know it was time for school. You let out a heavy sigh and let your mother tend to you in silence.

Normal eleven-year-olds got themselves ready for school, but you struggled to find the motivation for anything in life.

The only thing that interested you was the Unicorn Goddess and writing her sacred book. The Unicorn Goddess had told you it would silence the demonic shrieks that made you cry at night.

Mom thought you were depressed; with your child’s mind, you struggled to grasp the meaning of the word, but you didn't feel sad.

You were terrified. As you grew older, you had withdrawn from the world, and the demons were closing in on you. Sometimes you could sleep, but at other times the screaming was so loud that you had to sleep with hyperpop blasting in your ears. You needed the Unicorn Goddess to save you.

You reached for your unicorn, but your mother grabbed your hand.

“Baby, you were bullied over this. You need to grow up.”

“But that's my only friend…”

Your mother smiled fondly, as if it were cute and not a sign of childhood schizophrenia.

“I know, my love. But you have to make an effort to fit in at your new school.”

“Fit in? Why? I just want my unicorn.”

“What happened, baby?” Her voice trembled. “You used to be such a cheerful and sociable child. Do you remember your friends Shoko and Utahime?”

You swallowed hard. They had been frightened of you when you told them about the demons at night. They had been kind and defended you against bullies, but they didn't understand you on a fundamental level. 

“I'm sorry, Mommy.” You looked at the floor. “I’ll try harder to make friends.”

Your mother’s smile grew wider, even though your heart ached more and more from constantly being misunderstood.

──

After school, you were thinking about what kind of friends you could invent to please your mother. Telling her you’d eaten lunch alone and that classmates thought you were weird would break her heart.

In any case, your dream was to be an actress; embodying and creating characters came easily to you.

You were riding your bike, stopping at a convenience store to pick up some candy for your mom, just in case she discovered your lie. The truth would go down a lot easier with a bit of sugar.

“Hey, ballet-flat girl!”

A male voice called out to you, but you were lost in your own world.

You had developed concentration issues upon starting school. Your parents had you tested for ADHD, but you didn't meet all the criteria.

Someone struggling with dopamine issues, executive dysfunction, and boredom was worlds apart from someone who was simply inattentive because they were lost in their own hallucinatory world.

Still focused on thoughts of the Unicorn Goddess and how she would save you if you kept writing her sacred book, you stowed your purchases in your bag and got back on your bike.

You managed to ride two blocks before someone shoved you violently, knocking you to the ground.

You scraped your knee against the asphalt and froze as you noticed three persons your age looming over you.

Two of them had short white hair. One had a bob cut, and the other had sparkling blue eyes. But the one who really caught your attention was the boy with piercing red eyes and pink hair. He was taller than the others and wore a menacing smirk.

“So, the doll finally notices us?” he muttered, kicking your bike again. “Slash her tires,” he ordered his friends. 

“I swear I’m only doing this because he promised me Digimon cards,” the blue-eyed boy blurted out.

“If you want cards, I’ve got plenty. I’m playing a character who’s a fan of them in a play; I wanted to understand his psyche better,” you said softly, rummaging through your bag.

His eyes widened. “No way… What the hell?! This card is so rare!!” He sat down next to you, eyes full of wonder.

“This isn’t what we were supposed to do, dumbass.” The red-eyed boy clenched his fists.

“Kuna, stop it ! She seems really nice!”

“Satoru, I don’t give a fuck.”

The other person hesitated for a few seconds before sitting down on the sidewalk too.

“Not you too, Uraume,” Sukuna sighed.

“My bad, ‘kuna.”

Sukuna fixed his gaze on you, narrowing his eyes. You were wearing black platform Mary Janes with lace trim and tall white socks. Your afro puff was tied back with a ribbon.

“You do theater? You should go to fashion school. Do you think this is Fashion Week or something?”

“F-Fashion what?”

“And she’s dumb. Wow.”

Sukuna waited for you to burst into tears over the bike and his insult. But you barely reacted, as if you were miles away.

His fists clenched and unclenched.

He kicked your bike a third time, breaking a part and making it unusable for the moment. He turned toward you, an unfriendly smile on his face.

“What are you gonna do now?”

You blinked a few times, your expression blank. You stood up, smoothed your skirt, handed a few Digimon cards to Satoru, slung your bag over your shoulder, and walked off down the sidewalk.

Sukuna glared at you. You thought you were special with your nonchalant attitude? He’s going to teach you some manners. He’s going to show you his torture chamber to shock you, then threaten you so you don’t say anything to his parents.

─

“I saw a demon today.”

You were cuddling your unicorn plushie for comfort on your bed.

“Maybe it’s a demon that screams at night. Maybe it needs a little love to stop screaming in pain.”

You got out of bed, still barefoot in your Strawberry Shortcake pajamas, and quietly left your room to press your ear against your parents’ door.

“She has serious inattention issues and doesn’t even react when we call her! Your daughter is severely disabled; she even lost her bike!” your father yelled, as if being disabled were a moral failure.

“She was bullied! She’s doing her best!”

You tensed up, a knot forming in your stomach.

Would they argue even more if you told them about the demons screaming at night? Would they be afraid of you, like Shoko and Utahime?

You took advantage of their argument to perform your favorite ritual for sleepless nights: circling the garden while chanting incantations.

It was important to show respect to the Unicorn Goddess so she would save you from the demons.

─

You were pretty creepy.

You'd walked past Sukuna for over ten laps of the garden but hadn't noticed him because you were so focused on muttering incomprehensible things.

He threw some dirt at you to get your attention.

In the moonlight, you were even prettier and you made his stomach churn.

"Who are you talking to?"

"The Unicorn Goddess."

"Ah, so you're really that weird."

You were about to continue your walk, ignoring him, but Sukuna called to you again.

"Come into my garden, I have something your Unicorn Goddess will love," he lied. 

Your eyes lit up, and he helped you through the broken fence that separated your gardens.

Maybe it was Sukuna's love language. To bully, scare, make people cry.

Because he'd never shown his torture chamber to anyone. He swore it was to scare you, but his heart was pounding, as if he hoped your strangeness would make you an exception in his world.

“You’re very hurt,” was all you said when you saw the multiple bloody bird carcasses hidden in his father’s shed. “Take this. This is going to soothe the shrieks.” You gave him your unicorn plushie.

“The shrieks?” he murmured, frowning.

“You’re a demon. I’m haunted by demons. Unicorn Goddess is going to save us,” you said softly. “But you have to whisper; demons always come to haunt us in closed rooms.”

He didn’t understand why you didn’t scream and said he needed to go to foster care. He didn’t understand why you didn’t treat him like a public menace, but like a wounded boy who needed divine healing. He stared at you, speechless, lost.

“Can I kiss you?”

You blinked, looking at the animal carcasses around you. “Um…”

“Yeah, I know. Do you want to be my friend?”

You shrugged, distracted by a butterfly landing on your arm.

Why not?

──────── 𝟒 𝐲𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐬 𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐫,

Time dragged so slowly in the psychiatric ward.

You spent your time sleeping because of the antipsychotics. They made you gain weight, forcing you to wear those ugly, baggy, blue hospital clothes.

You wouldn't miss the plain walls and floors, the sound of doors opening and closing, or the musty air conditioning once you got out.

Most girls spent the summer before the start of the school year trying to have a "glow-up"; they didn't have psychotic episodes like you did.

The psychiatrist entered your room as you stared outside at the patients who were allowed to go out, unlike you.

“How are you feeling today?”

That stupid ass question they asked every other day. You were a literal zombie with no time to gain perspective on the situation because you were constantly asleep. Yet, they had the audacity to ask that.

“I'm fine.”

“You have visitors in the common room. You’re allowed to go out into the hospital grounds during the visit. You have one hour.”

Your world regained its color and vitality.

You struggled to get out of bed so the psychiatrist helped you to the common room where your group of friends was waiting.

“What did they do to my girl?!” Satoru exclaimed, rushing over to hug you.

“Your girl?” Choso chuckled. “You’re gay.”

“Hi,” Uraume greeted you calmly, rubbing your arm.

Only Sukuna stared at you piercingly without saying a word, before looking away, his hands in his baggy jeans.

He had changed since the eleven-year-old boy who wanted to kiss you in a shed filled with animal carcasses. Now, he struggled a great deal with his feelings, especially guilt, which manifested differently in him than in other people. He remained silent while everyone else laughed, trying to ignore the state you were in. A state that pained everyone, Sukuna included.

Uraume knew their best friend well and decided to leave you alone with Sukuna while the others went to get food from a vending machine.

“You're feeling guilty,” you stated as you sat on a bench, side by side, your thighs touching.

“I'm not,” he mumbled. “Just… Conflicted. I don't know what to do for you to be okay. I don't feel guilty about calling an ambulance for your episode; I'm angry. They don't try to treat you; it’s like they just want you to shut up and not make too much noise for their own comfort.”

“They said I’m probably bipolar but couldn't diagnose me yet because I’m a minor.”

“And they’re giving you huge doses of medication anyway? They’re completely crazy.”

“I wish I had the same condition as you,” you said, resting your head on his shoulder. “You channel your energy easily. Finding out that my stories about demons were actually auditory hallucinations was disorienting.”

“Mind you, I believed you.”

“No you didn't; you saved me as ‘schizoaffective baddie’ in your contacts.”

“Alright… Acting like being a baddie with mental illness is a fatal character flaw.”

“It really is. I had an audition for a movie today,” you pouted.

Sukuna patted your head.

“You were unlucky today, but you’ll win all the acting awards later on. A talented, schizophrenic, bipolar actress only comes along once every thousand years.”

“Don't go romanticizing the thing that's ruining my life.”

“Wait ‘till you hear what I think about psychopathy.”

You chuckled but stopped when you remembered the face of your mother when she heard you had schizophrenic traits and not depression.

“I'm such a disappointment,” you whispered. “Mommy is weird with me now.” 

You missed when she would be so caring with you when she thought you were just depressed. Now, there is hurt in her eyes as if having mental illness was a betrayal.

“Mom can't stand me too.” Sukuna took your hands, intertwining you fingers. “But it's okay, you're not a disappointment to me.”

“That's not a compliment coming from you.”

“The fuck?”

Your shoulders shook with your laugh. 

The need for belonging somewhere and the desire to be cuddled by someone who saw your flaws and chose to cherish them nonetheless shaped your life together. It's kind of funny you found solace with someone as hurt and mentally ill as you.

──────── 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐲𝐞𝐚𝐫 𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐫,

“Happy birthday, ‘kuna,” you breathed on his neck.

You had climbed the wall just before midnight to arrive on time. But you raised an eyebrow when you saw dark hair instead of his pink.

“What are you doing here?” he grumbled, his voice sleepy. He hadn't opened his eyes but recognized your scent. He let out a groan when he felt your softness against him. His hands went under your skirt to grab your ass, kneading your ample flesh.

“That's not your gift.”

“That's fucking enough f’me, just need some bonus tits.”

He turned you around so he was lying on top of you. He leaned down to place soft kisses on your neck. You shivered; it was the first time a man had touched you like that.

Sukuna had often had his hand on your ass, but he had never kissed your body before today. “S-Sukuna, what are you doing?”

He added his tongue to the kisses, and the sucking. A wave of heat surged through your stomach, and you wanted even more, wanting to experience something normal in your daily life as a mentally ill teenager. But not with Sukuna.

“S-Stop.”

“Why? You shake at my touch. And I’m doing nothing. Needy slut.”

You slapped Sukuna, stiffening at his insult. But he said that on purpose, because he smirked.

“I’m into that. Let’s hurt each other.”

“Sukuna, you’re not my type.”

Sukuna's eyes squinted.

“What is your type?”

“Suguru. Calm. Gentle. Girl dad energy.”

“Suguru is fucking gay,” he glared at you. “What type of energy do I give?”

You looked at his muscular chest, his piercing red gaze and his broad shoulders. You gulped, looking away. You will never say it to his face.

“Wow, you're the shy type in bed. Interesting. I need to adapt,” he let out a mocking laugh but his affection was evident in the way he stroked your thigh.

“No need to adapt, I told you this isn't your gift.” You tried to get out of his grip to get his present from your bag.

“Why are you acting like I'm some average guy? I don't give a damn about your gift. Give me your body.”

Tears prickled in the corners of your eyes and he let out a heavy sigh as if you were a burden.

“I had a bad day, don’t start.”

You sniffled. “I spent hours on it, ‘kuna.”

“And how is that my problem? I asked for nothing. My parents stopped giving me gifts since I stabbed that boy. I don't care about my birthday.”

You wrapped your arms around him, holding him tight.

“But you give me amazing gifts.” You nuzzled him.

For your birthday this year, Sukuna made a scrapbook listing all your favorite movies. Sukuna wasn't very creative, so he asked his brothers for help to make it look nice. Last year, it was about your favorite books, and when you were younger, he made a book himself out of paper to list your favorite recipes. He always needed other people to help make the gift less impersonal, but the love and affection in the thought of the gift came from him.

“It's to manipulate you into giving me your body, don't get it twisted.”

“Maybe I want you to twist my body.”

He froze.

He flirted with you constantly, and when he wasn't doing it seductively, he did it meanly. He was capable of asking you to kiss him and bullying you within the span of less than twenty-four hours.

But you never gave in. Until now.

“I thought your type was gay ass men. Lunatic as fuck.”

“I just don't think you're the right man for the life I want.”

He suppressed an eye roll, his tongue tucked against the inside of his cheek.

Your bullshit about being a mom pissed him off. You always talked about this. Motherhood. Everyone found it touching that a sixteen-year-old girl knew what she wanted so early in life. Sukuna was the only one who felt like vomiting at the idea.

“You will never be a mom because you're gonna be my fucking wife. And we will have a great child-free life.”

He crushed his lips against yours. You burst into sobs. You wanted that life with him. Being with someone who understood your weird, darker parts. But you desperately wanted to belong somewhere. Maybe if you were a mom, your own mother wouldn't be disappointed in your mental state anymore? Maybe society would stop seeing you as a poor victim of psychosis. You would have control.

“No, you won't. You just won't. Baby, sometimes you don't have the motivation to brush your teeth and I do it for you,” he whispered against your mouth, reading your thoughts because he was intimately connected to you.

“I’ll be a new person for this.”

“Something psychotic people like you love to say, and everyone laughs.”

“Fuck you.”

“Bitch, I am fucking you.”

You wanted to protest, but the roll of his hips pressing his erection against you silenced any urge to stand up for yourself.

“Sukuna, I’ve never done this.”

He wiped away the tears of frustration streaming down your cheeks. “Me neither.”

“You—What?!”

“You're the only girl that matters; I will never touch anyone else.”

Your expression softened, and you accepted him.

His kisses trailing along your thick thighs. His odd way of trying to go down on you through your cotton panties made you laugh. His fingers touching the deepest parts of your body. You swore he had access to your heart, as you clung to him as if your life depended on it.

His fingers moved in and out of you, like a romantic dance without any sudden, frantic speed. He was trembling, as if aroused, or holding back the urge to be rough, or a mix of both. Either way, you were grateful he was making an effort and not giving in to his sadistic fantasies right away.

You wanted to please him too, so your hands roamed over his chest, tracing the ridges of his abs.

He smiled against your lips; butterflies took flight in your stomach.

But the door suddenly flew open, and Sukuna’s mother looked on with surprise and concern as Sukuna’s hand pulled away from between your legs.

An awkward silence hung in the air for a few moments before you grabbed your bag and left Sukuna’s room.

“I didn't know you were his girlfriend.”

“I'm just his best friend. We were a bit lost tonight,” you said politely to his mother, accepting the glass of orange juice she handed you.

“I know you love my son very much, but I need to warn you: he’s not the man for you. He’s violent, selfish, and a literal psychopath.”

You gazed out at the garden, trying to escape the uncomfortable conversation.

“Thanks, but I’m already aware of that. I know what he did to his cousin.”

“And you still talk to him?”

 “So what? Am I supposed to stay away from him because of something he didn't ask for? He hasn't hurt anyone since that incident. You spend all your time threatening to abandon him. Sukuna is suffering so much in silence.”

Sukuna’s mother flushed with anger. “You’re sixteen; you can’t understand. I’m doing what’s best for my family. And Sukuna is no longer part of it.”

You flinched and covered your mouth to stifle a gasp of surprise when you saw Sukuna in the doorway. He held a finger to his lips, and you gave a discreet nod.

“Sukuna is an anomaly in our genetic makeup, I don’t know what happened... he was born completely unhinged. Even his mixed martial arts coach tells him he’s too violent. But Sukuna won’t listen to a thing...”

“You do realize when you talk like that you make me feel...”

“No, not you,” she reassured you. “You’re the good kind of crazy. It’s absolutely not your fault that you deal with schizophrenia and manic episodes. Sukuna is a danger to the public. I’m sure he’ll end up in prison. He needs to be a bit more like Choso. He’s truly the perfect child.”

You glanced over to where Sukuna had been, but he was gone.

With a knot in your stomach, you knew he had heard what his mother said, and you understood why he had dyed his hair black—he wanted to look like the ideal brother. Choso.

──────── 𝟖 𝐲𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐬 𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐫,

˚₊‧꒰ა 𝐦𝐚𝐢𝐧 𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐲, 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐞𝐧𝐭 ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

“Why them and not him?”

“God took the wrong brothers.”

“Sukuna is an abomination to the Ryomen.”

Sukuna remained silent as he walked through the room, hands in the pockets of his baggy jeans, yet he heard everything being said at the funeral.

He agreed with them. It should have been him.

He had nothing but violence to offer humanity; being an MMA celebrity was merely putting glitter and paint over a foundation of rotten wood. Sukuna was rotten to the core. He had known that for a long time. But in the days following Choso and Yuji’s deaths, he was suffocating under a reality he couldn't bring himself to acknowledge: he should have killed himself long ago to spare his family the suffering, but he was too selfish to do it. Rotten.

Sukuna had wept at the news of their deaths, though it wasn't as if he cared all that much about his family.

He listened to the Buddhist priest chanting the sutras, wondering if he would have the privilege of having his spirit guided like that when he died.

When the attendees stepped forward to offer incense and say prayers for Yuji and Choso, he went outside to smoke, sitting on the steps.

What he was doing was incredibly rude. That was surely why no one had spoken to him during the otsuya tradition. (the Japanese wake held the evening before the funeral, where the deceased's family receives comfort through offerings)

A noise caught his attention; he turned toward you as you stepped out of a taxi, trying to push your way through the paparazzi. They were forbidden from approaching the funeral itself, so they lingered outside the building, hoping to snap a photo of at least one of the two celebrities in attendance.

“I'm so sorry, Sukuna!!!” you apologized profusely, bowing your head exaggeratedly. Sukuna smirked, a cigarette dangling from the corner of his mouth. 

“What’s your excuse for being late on the most tragic day of my life?”

“I… I had hallucinations and had a panic attack.”

His eyes softened and he opened his arms for you to sit on the steps between his legs, which you did gladly.

He rested his chin on your shoulder. “I left during oshōkō.” (when they gave incense offerings and prayers)

You gasped. “You give the idea you don't care about them when you do that, Sukuna.”

“Yeah, because I don't.” He pressed your back even tighter against his chest.

“I saw you trembling that day.”

Sukuna stiffened. “It was just shock. I don't give a damn about them.”

“What about accepting Mahito's bullying so you wouldn't be abandoned by your parents? What about your dark hair, just to be a better brother to them? What about—”

He crushed the lit end of his cigarette against the brown skin of your arm. You cried out in pain, and he sneered.

“Now, shut your damn mouth.”

He wrapped his arms around you, but you held your breath as you noticed the cigarette burn scars on his skin. Your heart ached every time you saw them. Physical manifestations of a time when he was desperate enough to do anything to avoid being separated from his brothers.

“Mahito was cruel,” you said softly, caressing his scars.

“No more cruel than me. Who else could attempt murder at ten years old like I did?”

Your giggle warmed his heart. He leaned down to kiss your neck, his warm lips peppering kisses all over you. Several camera flashes bothered him, and he lifted his head to glare at them.

“Don't do anything that could damage my reputation; I start filming my movie tomorrow.”

“Is there a kiss with a man in the movie?”

“There’s even a sex scene.”

He burned you with the cigarette again.

“Sukuna, stop!”

“You're a fucking virgin. Why would you ever do that?”

“Do you have to kill someone to play a murderer?”

“Well, yeah. Where do I sign up for the role?”

You rolled your eyes and straightened yourself up. He adjusted your skirt for you and kissed your knees.

“I’m going to bring flowers to your brothers.”

“What about me? I’m grieving. I need gifts.”

“I remember clearly being heartbroken because I wanted to give you a gift—”

 “And I was heartbroken because I wanted to fuck you.”

“You lied that day. You deserve it.”

“Lied?”

There was no way you were going to let him know that you had wanted to be his first, or that you cherished the moment he said he wouldn't touch anyone else. Because he lied. Sukuna always lied. You hated the man you loved.

You smacked him on the head with your bag and ignored his insults as you walked into the building.

──────── 𝐚 𝐟𝐞𝐰 𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐤𝐬 𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐫,

“You stink,” Satoru complained, downing a glass of vodka while his eyes remained fixed on his best friend.

Sukuna fiddled with his tie. A pathetic attempt to look put-together and hide his distress. But everyone noticed it: the dark circles under his eyes, his disheveled hair, his lack of hygiene.

“He’s been like that since the photo with Nanami,” Uraume admitted.

Sukuna glared at the people in the bar who were watching them with admiration. Satoru was a well-known public figure, a bit like Vinnie Hacker; he ran a YouTube channel where he posted commentary and reviews of anime. His good looks brought him a lot of visibility, and the fact that his boyfriend, Suguru, was a rockstar played a huge part, too. Sukuna hated how popular they were, both in Tokyo and internationally.

“Don’t talk about that!” Sukuna slammed his fist onto the bar counter. “I’m trying to forget that thing.”

“I’ve found Sukuna’s kryptonite!” Satoru let out a mocking laugh, brandishing the photo of you kissing Nanami in a café.

Sukuna growled and grabbed Satoru by the collar of his T-shirt, shoving him against the nearest wall. He landed a lightning-fast punch that made Satoru’s head spin, yet Satoru lifted his head, nose bleeding, and smiled.

“You love that girl so bad.”

Satoru didn’t get it. Nobody could get it.

It wasn’t about love, affection, or grief. It was about him. Always about him. Sukuna was selfish.

If Choso and Yuji were dead and you had a boyfriend now, who would be his exception? Who would be there to make him feel like he belonged somewhere, despite his broken brain? Who would be his butterfly?

He was so angry. He hated you and his brothers. He had tasted that human emotion, and now he was hooked. If he had no one left now, he might as well go completely mad.

He kept striking Satoru, who grunted and spat blood onto Sukuna’s face. The blows rained down. A futile attempt to vent his rage, for it would never be enough. A psychopath’s soul is greedy; he wanted to possess you and his brothers so that you would always be with him.

Uraume managed to stop Sukuna just as Satoru collapsed unconscious to the floor, amidst the screams of the bar patrons.

Sukuna stared at his bloodied fist, realizing just how right his mother had been to want to abandon him, for he felt no guilt whatsoever for having hurt his best friend.

─

Suguru’s eyes shot daggers when Sukuna entered the hospital room.

“What the fuck?”

“He pissed me off,” Sukuna yawned and slumped into a chair, manspreading. He looked at Satoru’s sleeping, bandaged face and chuckled. “He’s gonna be pissed when he wakes up.”

“I’m going to make him press charges against you.”

“Ooh, I’m scared. Emo boy is gonna ruin my career.”

“Are you always like this?” Suguru tensed.

“Worse in bed.”

Suguru ignored the remark and stroked Satoru’s arm. He knew his boyfriend was crazy and would forgive Sukuna, even if it made him mad.

Sukuna thought it was stupid to care that much about someone else until he remembered that he would commit genocide if anyone ever laid a hand on you.

Sukuna received a Google notification on his phone.

“Dollette and Nanami Kento: the new hit couple who met on the set of their new film have made it official!”

He hurled his phone against the wall. Suguru jumped, looking at Sukuna as if he were insane.

Sukuna placed the apology candy and chocolates he’d bought on the bed before walking out. He needed to fuck and hurt someone.

──────── 𝐚 𝐟𝐞𝐰 𝐝𝐚𝐲𝐬 𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐫,

“Does he know about your mental illness?”

Heat rushed to your cheeks as you took the phone off speaker.

“Sukuna, I’m getting my makeup done for a photoshoot; don't say things like that.”

“So that’s a no,” he chuckled on the other end of the line.

“Well, it’s kind of scary to tell someone, ‘Hey, I have schizoaffective disorder, it’s a mix of schizophrenia and bipolar disorder!’”

“I don’t see the problem. Everyone knows you’re mentally ill.”

“He thinks I’m a tortured artist. He doesn’t understand how sick I really am. I don’t know how to tell him. It’s like you really want me to tell him so he’ll leave me.”

“Exactly. You’ve found me out.”

You hung up on him and let your makeup artist make you look beautiful.

Sukuna loved sabotaging your relationships a bit too much, but you weren’t going to let him do that with Nanami.

Nanami was the perfect man. Gentle. Someone who wanted a family. Serious.

Everything Sukuna wasn’t.

‘Have a good day, love.’

Butterflies took flight in your belly whenever Nanami texted you; you’d chat with him for a few moments before receiving a message from Sukuna and losing your smile.

‘He’d find the Unicorn Goddess cringe. Would she even want to save him? We’re her favorites.’

‘Those were schizophrenic delusions, ‘Kuna.’

‘And yet, I feel like you saved me anyway when you gave me that plushie. Maybe it was real.’

 No.

He lied; he was a manipulator.

Just a few days earlier, he had deliberately sent you a sex tape of himself and Yorozu, pretending he’d sent it to the wrong person.

You were in a relationship, yet seeing your best friend fucking another girl made you want to cry. Because he had said you were the only one who mattered.

You didn't reply to the message, leaving it on "read."

After a busy day, you had a date with Nanami and were spending the night with him.

His face was gentle. He didn't have Sukuna's tough look which gave him such an intimidating aura, or those piercing red eyes that sent shivers down your spine.

Everything was so calm with Nanami.

He kissed your entire body as if you were a being to be cherished, not conquered like Sukuna did. Every moan was earned, not taken by force. Every caress was a genuine touch, not a form of manipulation.

But you covered your breasts with your hands, not because you were insecure, but because Nanami lacked that feverish gaze Sukuna had when he looked at you. You didn't know if you were truly wanted. If you really belonged here, in this bed with him.

After sleeping with Nanami for the first time, you lay in the dark regretting your actions, his arms wrapped around your waist.

He was fast asleep when the darkness of the room began to suffocate you, with demons crawling across your back. Paralyzed and terrified, their limbs left a slimy fluid trickling over your skin. You trembled in discomfort, unable to speak, your clothes feeling too tight.

Tears welled up in your eyes, and it wasn't until the screams, the ones you were so used, rang out that you finally snapped back to reality.

You tried to break free from Nanami’s embrace, but he was holding you tight against him. You sobbed even harder.

You shook him, waking him abruptly.

You said something in a panic, but your words made no sense. He turned on the bedside lamp and stared at you, frowning.

“Did you have a nightmare? It's okay, Dollette. Do you want some tea?”

The demonic shrieks grew in intensity, and you hyperventilated, choking on your tears.

“D-Dollette, I—”

You froze, staring at something in the room that Nanami couldn't see. The look of horror on your face unnerved Nanami; he didn't understand what was happening. You let out a scream of terror and leapt out of bed, running out of Nanami’s room.

He followed close behind, worried.

“Dollette!”

You rushed out of the apartment and scrambled down the stairs, gasping for breath, still in your pajamas and barefoot. Once outside, you ran through the streets looking for a garden where you could circle around and perform your incantations.

You only remember running for a long time, because when you woke up, you were in the hospital.

“W-What happened?” you asked the nurse who had come to change your IV drip.

“You had an episode. We have to wait for the doctor to prescribe the right medication. How are you feeling? Can you tell me today's date?”

“Oh—”

A noise to your left made you stop and turn your head, staring at the wall for several long seconds.

“Miss Dollette?”

“Excuse me,” you whispered, embarrassed. “Could I have some headphones and my MP3 player?”

 “Of course. Someone with dark hair dropped off a lot of your things.”

She went to get your belongings, and you drifted off to sleep listening to the hyperpop music that soothed your anxiety. But you were jolted awake by the panicked voices of nurses surrounding you.

“But there was no history of suicidal behavior noted in her medical file...”

“Ms. Dollette, we have to follow protocol; we’re going to put diapers on you to make things easier for everyone.”

Before you could even protest, they were undressing you and restraining your hands.

“What did I do wrong?” you asked in a trembling voice, recognizing the procedure.

“You tried to strangle yourself with your earbuds; we found them wrapped around your neck while you were asleep.”

“They just got tangled—”

“You have a schizoaffective profile; it’s only natural that you wouldn't understand yourself...”

You stopped listening, recognizing that kind of attitude.

Once you were labeled psychotic, people assumed that everything you said was just the ramblings of a schizophrenic who couldn't be trusted. No matter how intelligent or relevant your point was, being psychotic meant your ability to be heard was compromised.

The humiliation of having to pee on yourself was something you hadn't missed about the hospital since you were fifteen.

──────── 𝐚 𝐟𝐞𝐰 𝐝𝐚𝐲𝐬 𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐫,

“Why the fuck did you call an ambulance?” Sukuna yelled.

Nanami’s tense face remained unreadable as he adjusted his tie.

“She seemed to need medical help.”

“They constantly mistreat her. In a psych ward, they treat you like an animal if you aren't just depressed or anxious. What kind of world do you live in not to know that?!”

Nanami focused on the mental health posters on the psychiatric ward's blue walls.

“You really aren't the guy she needs.”

“I don't want to hear criticism from a man who disfigured his own friend in front of everyone,” Nanami said flatly, remembering the Satoru incident that went viral even after this, he said Sukuna was still his brother and we should move on.

“So what?” Sukuna smirked. “At least I would’ve run after her to comfort her and tell her they were just hallucinations. You chose to be a fucking pussy and call emergency services, just to humiliate her.” His voice barely concealed his venom.

“She wasn't on a regular treatment plan; that’s extremely dangerous.”

“She just needs headphones, a garden, and emergency antipsychotics for when the episode gets too intense.”

“But she’s also bipolar; that’s what the doctors said.”

“Who gives a shit about that?” Sukuna shoved Nanami, his hands on the other man's shoulders. “I’ll be the one handling her finances and advising her if she’s manic and wants to buy a bunch of stuff. She’s hypomanic, not in a full-blown manic episode with paranoia. Stop seeing her as a woman with no autonomy,” he added defensively, cracking his knuckles and getting ready to fight.

“I see you’ve got mental health issues too.”

His smirk widened into a grin. “Hell yeah. You scared?” He tilted his head.

A noise interrupted them as you leaned against the wall, making your way toward the hospital’s common room. Sukuna turned pale when he saw you and rushed over to pull you into his arms.

“Those motherfuckers are dead, you know that, baby?” He kissed your forehead. “This is literally medical abuse. You don’t need that much medication.”

You shrugged, still groggy from your nap. “I just need a few minutes to wake up.”

Nanami watched you, realizing he was intruding; he set his flowers down on a chair before leaving. Sukuna tossed them in the trash, taking advantage of your disoriented state.

“When you were running, you were looking for a garden, right? To walk around and pray?” Sukuna asked as you sat down.

You nodded mechanically, your head resting on his shoulder.

“Dollette, there’s a way out of this. Don’t be so spaced out.”

“Since when are you so optimistic about life?”

“I’m angry and happy. Happy that Nanami failed at being a good boyfriend so I have to step up, angry because you’re being abused. Is it true they forced you to wear a diaper, like you said in your text?”

You winced.

“In the emergency unit, yes. But I’m spending a few weeks here, and they haven’t put me in one.”

“I’m really gonna kill them.”

“Sukuna, it’s really sweet of you to come, but I want to continue my relationship with Nanami.”

Sukuna’s eyes widened.

“Dollette, he literally sent you to hell.”

“He didn’t know. Not everyone knows that psychiatric wards are horrible.”

Sukuna’s body vibrated with anger, and he let out a mocking laugh. “You think you found your man and you’re gonna leave me?”

You regained a bit of energy and pushed him away. “I need to get my life together.”

“Do it with me!” He grabbed your wrists to pull you up and stormed into the restroom, forcing you to follow him.

“Let go of me!” you shouted, but he locked the two of you inside the wheelchair-accessible stall.

“Fuck me, then. Because you aren’t giving Nanami a baby without giving me a taste of your pussy first. I can tell you that.”

“That’s all you ever think about; it’s always like that with you!” Tears welled up in your eyes and you tried to punch him, but he hoisted you up and forced you onto the sink.

“Awww, are you mad because I’m not romantic like your Nanami? What does he do better than me besides that, huh?” he snapped, radiating a terrifying aura with fury in his eyes. He slapped your thigh hard. “Stop crying; you piss me off.”

You slapped him back, your tears intensifying.

He grinned, rubbing his cheek, aroused. “I missed this.” He knelt before you and kissed your calves, moving up to your thighs. “You’re lost, ꒰ა ♡ ໒꒱. You think a baby will heal you? Since you were born, you’ve kept talking about being saved and healed. When are you going to embrace who you are?”

The shock of hearing your real name after years kept you from pushing his hand away in time before it slid beneath your skirt.

With clammy hands, you bunched up your skirt and tried to ignore his fingers caressing the wet warmth between your thighs. You cleared your throat as a wave of heat rose deep within you—an explosive cocktail mixed with your tears.

“You don’t embrace a life-ruining illness; you treat it.”

“There’s no cure for schizophrenia, baby. You just have to aim for remission, but you’ll always be scared of a new episode. So learn to love yourself. Screaming demons might turn into silent ghosts, but they’ll still be ghosts haunting you. A baby won’t change that.”

“So what’s your solution?” You sniffled. “Loving myself won’t stop the delusions, hallucinations, and negative symptoms of schizophrenia.”

“Your solution is me.” Your arousal soaked the fabric of your panties, and he slipped his fingers underneath. “Your body agrees with me; she is so wet.”

The feverish heat between your legs tightened around his fingers as he moved them in and out. They were big, calloused, and tattooed as if the devil’s own hands were penetrating you. But if you looked too closely, you’d see the cigarette burns on his arms all over again. You were thinking back to your childhood with him, how he is your only safe place and you didn't want to.

“You can't cure me, Sukuna,” you whined. His thumb on your clit sent an electric jolt through your body.

“I don't want to cure you; I think you're perfect like this. Society just wants us to be ashamed of who we are, and I don't buy that bullshit.” He kissed your inner thighs, pushing your panties to the side. “I’ll buy you a house with the biggest garden ever for your hallucinations. I’ll keep a stock of antipsychotics in case they get too intense, but I’ll never call those motherfuckers to drug you. I’ll help you with your chores when you lose your motivation and help you connect with the outside world when you don't want to leave the house. That’s what I’ve been doing for thirteen years, isn't it?”

“You spent years having sex with Yorozu; you never focused on me. You promised you wouldn't touch anyone but me.”

Your sobs were the only sound in the room.

Sukuna lifted his head, his eyes narrowing. “Because a certain bitch didn't want me in case you forgot, dumbass.”

“Stop insulting me,” you sniffled, your voice trembling.

“You deserve it. Why do I have to force you to even look at me?” He parted your lips. “You shaved for him but not for me. Who is your safe place, huh?”

“No, it means I don't care about you.”

“Me when I lie,” he laughed quietly, his hot breath caressing your cunt.

He lifted your skirt so you could see him clearly and sank his tongue inside you, grabbing your thick thighs to hoist them onto his shoulders. He lapped between your folds, groaning at the taste of you. A taste he’d waited years to discover. Pleasure coursed through your body; you shivered at the divine sensation of his licks on your throbbing bud, your back arching away from the mirror.

Your phone rang, and your hands clenched when you saw it was the man you were cheating on.

“Nanami, I-I’m a little busy.”

Sukuna paused, glaring at you, but remained silent.

“It’s okay; I wanted to let you know we’re having dinner at my parents’ place when you get out of the psychiatric ward.”

Your heart swelled with joy. You belonged somewhere. You were going to be a mom. Everything was okay.

“You aren’t uncomfortable with me?”

“No, of course not. It’s not your fault.”

You grinned. Your body was warm with the feeling that you mattered, not from Sukuna’s tongue. You were about to push Sukuna’s head away when your smile suddenly vanished.

“I told them you had some drug issues because of the pressure, don’t worry. No need to tell them about your mental health struggles.”

Your vision blurred again. “W-Why?”

There was silence on the line for a few seconds before Nanami sighed.

“I don’t think… I want to be associated with… You know…”

“See?” Sukuna murmured against you as you sobbed, hanging up on Nanami. “You have nowhere to go. It will always be me.”

Your chest heaved frantically, racked by your breakdown.

Happiness is a butterfly, and you had spent your whole life chasing it.

But if the butterfly was a psychopath, what were you supposed to do?

Relax and wait for it to land on you, the way you would with those insects?

Sukuna straightened up, and instead of stopping because you were clearly distressed (like a normal person would) he crushed his lips against yours. You fought against him, stifled by his kiss, but he grabbed your hands and pinned them behind his back.

“Stop fighting it, dammit. Nobody will love you more than me.”

You could breathe a little easier at that declaration of love, your gaze softening. But it would never be enough. Sukuna would never be enough to bridge the gap separating you from other, non-psychotic women. Even if Sukuna loved you madly, unless you worked on yourself, you would always feel like you belonged nowhere. The void was something that had to be filled from within, not by love from the outside.

Fuck it, honestly. Just fuck it; you were exhausted.

Craving connection, you wrapped your arms around his neck, kissing him back.

“Fucking lunatic,” he quipped against your lips.

He unbuttoned his jeans and stripped off his lower clothes. He took his thick cock in his hands, rubbing the pierced tip against your clit as a gasp escaped your lips at the sight of its size and the piercing.

“When are you going to admit I’ve got big dick energy?”

You knew what he was referring to. That almost-first time back when you were sixteen. “You’re so corny,” you smiled fondly, still tearful.

“You’re really a lunatic, baby.” He nibbled your lower lip and plunged into your tight heat just as his tongue entered your mouth. “To be totally honest… I only showered today because I wanted to look presentable for you. I don’t know what’s happening to me, but I’ve lost weight. I changed fighter weight classes in Rizin.”

Feeling so full, you stammered repeatedly, eliciting a chuckle from the man who (you weren't even sure if he was your boyfriend anymore) was holding you.

“It’s depression, Sukuna. You lost your brothers.”

“Shut up, I didn’t even like them.”

Your tongues tangled in an intimate, passionate dance, punctuated by your gasps. He thrust his hips to hit the depths of your glistening pussy; the sound of wet friction made you feel shy. But not Sukuna; once you’d adjusted to his size, he set a brutal pace.

“Oh my god,” you moaned softly, clawing at the back of his neck and clinging to him, your fat thighs wrapped around his waist.

“Mmh, yeah,” he groaned, each roll of his hips sending tremors through your core. “The Unicorn God and whatever that schizophrenic shit of yours was.”

Mortified and embarrassed, you tried to push him away, but he shoved you violently against the mirror, which shattered on impact. That didn’t stop Sukuna; he pressed your back against the shards of glass, which dug into your skin. You cried out in pain, but his eyes gleamed just as they did when he was fighting—lit up at the sight of blood flowing from your wounds.

“Hell yeah.”

“You’re genuinely so scary…”

“You aren’t scared at all; you’re pulsing around me.” 

Your toes curled and uncurled frantically as he thrust into you. You struggled to remember what kind of building you were in, so completely did the way he was fucking you transform your world into intense, warm colors.

With his hands on your lower back and love handles, he shifted your position so your head and neck rested against the sink, holding your body firmly. You clung to the surrounding walls to keep from falling, moaning plaintively each time your back scraped against the edge of the basin. Sukuna’s cock grew harder at every sound of pain, his mouth watering at the thought of being the cause of your suffering.

The blend of blood, love, pain, and pleasure was the perfect metaphor for being with Sukuna. You couldn’t wait to get out of the psychiatric ward and let him fuck you in positions where you could hold him close and feel him right against you.

You had been heartbroken just minutes ago, but now you felt so alive.

It was no longer a question of belonging somewhere.

But of belonging to someone.

And you had your answer.

──────── 𝐚 𝐟𝐞𝐰 𝐦𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐡𝐬 𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐫,

˚₊‧꒰ა 𝐞𝐩𝐢𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐮𝐞 ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

You stepped out of the psychologist’s office, wiping away your tears. Sukuna was waiting for you, leaning against his black car with anti-paparazzi tinted windows. His tie was undone, his shirt unbuttoned at the collar, and his hair tousled. You were a mess together.

“Should I kill your therapist? Why are you crying?” he asked; there was no worry in his voice, only anger that someone other than him had dared to hurt you. Your body, your tears, your whole soul belonged to him.

“We just talked a lot about my self-esteem issues; it was truly liberating. I feel better.” You snuggled up to him, seeking his warmth.

The drive home was silent.

Both you and Sukuna were suffering a great deal at the moment.

Sukuna was increasingly realizing that he would never see his younger brothers again, and he still struggled to take care of himself because of his suicidal ideation. Living with you was part of what made him feel alive. You would wake him up for his MMA training, cook his meals, and run his bath.

You hadn’t yet found the right mood-stabilizing medication, so you still experienced depressive and hypomanic episodes. Sukuna managed your finances and did his best not to frustrate you, while being careful not to enable your troubled behavior. He handled the unpleasant household chores, like cleaning. He would call to remind you to take your medication when you were away on a shoot.

From the outside looking in, you were struggling a lot.

But there was so much tenderness. You understood and supported each other, taking care of one another on the road to remission.

“Which one did Yuji prefer?” you asked softly, sitting between his legs as his arms wrapped around you.

“The first one.” After coming home, Sukuna felt exhausted from the MMA event with multiple fights in a single day so he went straight to bed. Wanting to comfort him, you decided to watch Cars, the movie that connected him to his brothers. You stroked his hands in silence, feeling his tears trickle down onto your neck.

Grief was complicated to process when you had a neurodivergent brain.

He kept saying he didn’t care about his brothers that he only missed them because they loved him yet he couldn't stop dyeing his hair black. He was desperate to feel a connection to Choso however he could.

Yorozu didn’t understand how Sukuna worked. She wanted to "fix" him with her love, failing to realize there was nothing to fix, only things to embrace and accept. She had tried to seduce him anyway, even after the two of you were officially together and Twitter had blown up over it. Sukuna punched her.

You weren't trying to change your boyfriend; you were trying to stop chasing an ideal.

You let yourself simply live, waiting for the butterfly to land on you. No chasing. Non-sedating medication, tailored therapy, care, and love—that was what you needed; no more running after something.

Sukuna laid you down on the bed when you dozed off before the movie ended, pressing his body against yours. He breathed in the scent of the cocoa butter cream on your skin, his cock hardening.

“Dollette, wake up. I need you.”

You chuckled sleepily and turned over, facing away from him.

“As if that’s going to stop me.”

He still made love to you that night.

And every other night.

Because it’s always been you.

but right now you weren't having fun at all.

nanami slowly leaned in. his hot breath hit your ear, making you shiver. "you look spooked, sweetheart. you okay?" he said, and he sounded dangerously protective. "y-yeah, i'm fine," you gulped, trying not to look at him. "it's just super hot in here."

you noticed nanami lookedup at higuruma. for a while they just stared at each other in silence, and then this slow, knowing grin spread across both their faces. that look made your knees go weak. higuruma took his time taking off his jacket. he did it slow, eyes locked on yours, and tossed the expensive thing right on the dirty floor.

"what a shame," he said, rolling up his sleeves and showing off those strong forearms. "maybe we should talk about your behavior."

before you could get a single word out, nanami's heavy hands landed on your waist. he pulled you back, pressing you into his hard chest. "you've been waiting for this the whole time, haven't you?" he whispered into your hair. "teasing us so much."

"i... i have no idea what you're talking about," your voice shook, and your heart was thumping so loud they both definitely heard it. hiromi stepped even closer. his hands hit your thighs, bunching up your skirt. "oh, trust me, you know exactly what we're talking about."

they literally crushed you between them, and you felt the burning heat of their bodies. nanami grabbed your chin and pulled it up, forcing you to look at him. "i think it's time to teach you a lesson."

he didn't let you scream — his mouth covered yours in a demanding kiss. he kissed you deep, filling you up with himself, while hiromi went for your neck at the same time, leaving wet, open-mouthed kisses on your skin. your head started spinning and reality started to blur.

nanami pulled back from your lips for a second and then with one sharp, confident move he grabbed you by the waist. before you could even gasp, you were up in the air. he held you there, making your legs spread wide and hooking your knees over his arms. now you were basically hanging on him — your back pressed against his chest, and you were completely open in front of both of them.

your short skirt rode up to your waist, leaving you in just thin panties. nanami went back to your ear, nibbling on your lobe and cheek before sliding down to your neck. meanwhile, higuruma slowly unbuttoned your blouse, button by button, and as the fabric parted, he started biting your chest, making you arch in kento’s arms.

"wait— mmnh! hiromi..." you gasped, "there're cameras in the elevator... maybe we should go..."

"don't worry 'bout that, darling," nanami laughed low and soft, pressing his lips to your shoulder. "don't you worry your pretty little head."

hiromi finally threw your shirt open and slowly moved down with kisses toward your stomach. "just enjoy what we're gonna do now, okay?"

he got down on his knees, and you felt his hot breath scorch your delicate skin. he didn't rush. first, his lips barely brushed the inside of your thighs, leaving light, almost weightless kisses that sent an electric charge through your body. you felt nanami tighten his grip on your knees from behind, locking you in the air; you literally couldn't move.

"look how wet she is. perfect," hiromi rasped, looking at how the slick glistened on your already damp pussy. "you wanted this, didn't you? for us to see how much this little pussy leaks when it's needy?"

"n-nngh!... hiromi…" your moan drowned in the quiet hum of the elevator as he lifted two fingers and unceremoniously stretched your folds apart to fully expose you. at first, he just teased you with the tip of his tongue, short and wet strokes. you felt him lick away the drops, smacking his lips, savoring your taste.

"mmngh! haah! please…" you jerked in nanami’s arms, but he just held you tighter against his chest. "hold on, sweetie, we're just gettin' started," he whispered in your ear, and at that moment, he started to slowly rotate your hips in circular motions.

those circles made you literally rub against hiromi’s face. you felt the stubble on his chin, his nose pressing into your already swollen clit, and his tongue going right into your soaking pussy. wet, obscene sounds echoed in the cramped elevator.

"haah! more… nngh!" you weren't in control of your sounds anymore, gasping with pleasure. "oh yeah," hiromi growled, not pulling away for a second, "you're so sweet. i'm gonna lick you dry 'til you start beggin' us to stop."

his pace picked up. he went rougher now. hiromi didn't tease anymore. he took your clit between his lips and started sucking on it hungrily like he’d fuckin' die if he didn't.

"a-ah! hiromi! nngh-aa!" you screamed, throwing your head back on nanami’s shoulder while he kissed your cheek, holding you in place, and your cry echoed through the tight cabin.

hiromi’s tongue went deep between your stretched folds, licking everything inside, while the two fingers he’d managed to shove in kept roughly stretching you, opening every millimeter of your tender flesh for his mouth. loud, squelching sounds of your pussy and the wet sounds of his mouth filled the elevator.

"mmm, look what you're doin' to us," nanami kept rotating your pelvis, forcing you to grind even harder onto hiromi’s tongue. "you wanted this, didn't you? walkin' 'round in front of us in those skirts that show off your ass?"

"haah! mmngh… ahh! more… more!" you didn't even know what you were saying anymore. the man behind you didn't give you a second's break — his palm covered your mouth, muffling your next moan. "hiromi, please… mmmngh-ah!" you broke free from nanami’s hand, and your moans got louder. "yes! right there! ahh-h!"

nanami pulled his hand away from your face only to sink into your lips, catching your next whimper. "stick out your tongue, baby," he whispered, and you obeyed before you could even think. "come on."

as soon as you parted your mouth and the tip of your tongue peeked out, nanami let out a low growl and bit into your lips. he captured your tongue with his lips and started sucking on it, slow and greedy. "mmmmmfff!.. kento!... " you moaned right into his mouth, feeling your whole body tighten like a string.

nanami sucked your tongue rhythmically, like he owned it, making you gasp for air. meanwhile, higuruma, feeling your reaction, stretched your folds even wider and sucked on your clit with twice the force. "mmmngh... most perfect sweet pussy. gonna eat this little swollen clit up."

your sounds turned totally incoherent, becoming a solid stream of moans and ragged breaths mixed with whimpers. nanami pulled away from your tongue for a second, his whisper brushing right against your lips. "good girl. hear how loud you're bein' for us?"

your body was stretched to the limit, like a wire about to snap. nanami kept dominantly sucking your tongue, cutting off your oxygen and making you choke on your own moans while his hips rhythmically rotated your pelvis, grinding you into hiromi’s face. you thrashed convulsively in kento’s arms, feeling everything inside tighten into an unbearably hard, hot knot.

higuruma, feeling your orgasm coming, stretched your already swollen folds with his fingers until it almost hurt, and for the last time, sucked your clit in as deep as possible, licking it frantically. a loud, dominant squelching filled the cramped elevator.

"a-a-ah! kent— oh god, i'm gonna... mmmngh-a-a-a!" your scream broke into a rasp as the first wave of orgasm literally ripped through you.

you felt your muscles inside start to contract uncontrollably, pulsing hot wetness right onto hiromi’s face. you shuddered all over, your legs on nanami’s shoulders shaking with a fine tremor. kento pulled away from your tongue at that moment just to catch your wide-open mouth in a silent scream and greedily breathe in your orgasmic moan.

you gasped, your head falling onto nanami’s shoulder as white spots swam before your eyes. hiromi didn't stop even when you started twitching in convulsions. he kept greedily licking and sucking up your slick, which was now dripping down his chin and lips.

"hiromi, stop... ah... i can't anymore..." you went limp in kento’s arms, feelin' a heavy, leaden weakness spread through your body. you barely breathed, pressing your forehead against nanami’s shoulder. your body still shook with small, lingerin' tremors, and your head was a total vacuum. you were literally floating in the clouds after such a crushing orgasm, feeling like soft, pliable clay in their hands.

but the blissful silence didn't last long. nanami pulled back a bit to look at your face and took you by the chin, forcing your blurred gaze to focus on him.

"you think that’s it, darling?" his voice sounded scary calm and low. "you really think we're gonna let you come just once?"

your eyes widened. you tried to say something, but only a weak, ragged exhale escaped your throat. "what're you..."

hiromi slowly pulled away and got up from his knees. his lips glistened wetly, and there was a streak of your juices on his chin that he didn't even think about wipin' off. he looked down at you, fixing his shirt cuffs.

"that was just the start," he tossed out, and his voice vibrated in the tight cabin. you were still hangin' in nanami’s arms, legs shaking, and your mind was fading. "n-no... wait..." you tried to pull your thoughts together, "someone could walk in right now... the dispatcher... he might hear through the intercom..."

nanami just laughed low against your neck, and that sound made you shrink. he didn't let you go. instead, he shifted his grip to get comfortable and started to slowly, intentionally rub your aching, oversensitive cunt against his huge, rock-hard cock through the fabric of his pants.

"ah!" you sobbed, whimpering from the unbearable pleasure that bordered on torture. "nanami..." "we could just call the dispatcher again so help comes right now," kento whispered, keepin' up the methodical grind against you, squeezin' out new portions of wetness that now fell in heavy drops and dripped onto the elevator floor. your heels had been lyin' in the corner for a while now. "is that what you want? you want us to get pulled out of here right now?"

he didn't stop, and you felt his hardness throb, promisin' somethin' way bigger. at that moment, hiromi stepped in close. he cupped your face in his palms and sank into your lips with a deep, greedy kiss. you tasted yourself mixed with his hot spit — intimate, and crazy turning you on.

"m-m-m," he hummed into your mouth, pulling back only a millimeter. "is this what you want?" you should've said "yes." you should've screamed 'bout how they broke all the rules, how hierarchy was trashed, and how you're all gonna get fired in disgrace. you should've stopped this.

but you didn't. your first orgasm was so mind-blowing that all you could think about was the throbbing weight you felt with your ass through nanami’s clothes. you couldn't even dream of just one of them in your wildest fantasies, but getting both at once? that was the kind of extreme greed they write about in books.

“n-no…” you aggressively shook your head, completely forgetting you were in the damn elevator of an office building. your hands dug into higuruma’s shoulders on their own, and you started desperately, almost insanely grinding against the man behind you in every way possible, begging for more with your body alone.

hiromi gave a faint, barely noticeable smile without taking his eyes off you, watching the way you writhed in kento’s hands. “that’s what we thought. dirty girl… you spent months tempting your bosses just so they’d fuck you at the same time?”

you barely heard him. his words drowned in the rush of blood pounding in your ears, and you only nodded quickly, feverishly, agreeing with every word he said. “c’mon, baby,” nanami caught you with one hand, giving you more space, “use your hands. take my pants off.”

with trembling fingers, you reached behind you as much as the cramped space allowed and touched his cock through the fabric for the first time. nanami let out a low, rough groan and pushed himself into your palm, rolling his hips forward. you tried to feel more of him, but kento only tightened his grip on your waist.

“baby, i just had to sit there without getting to taste you. you’d better hurry up.” you frantically searched for his belt buckle, but your fingers wouldn’t cooperate. you couldn’t see what you were doing behind your back, and helpless little whines started slipping out of you.

“i-i can’t do it… kento, i can’t…” you sobbed, tears blurring your vision. nanami laughed quietly, enjoying your desperation. “what an impatient girl, huh?”

he jerked his hips sharply to help you, and finally you managed to undo the belt. then the button and zipper gave in too. his pants slipped down, and immediately, without waiting, you covered his cock with your hand over his boxers. nanami threw his head back, sucking in air through his teeth with a hiss. you moaned too — just the thought of him being inside you turned you into a melted, shapeless mess.

by then, hiromi already pulled his pants down slightly. you froze as you looked at him. his cock looked intimidating: long, heavy, veins standing out clearly along it, the tip already wet. exactly the one you imagined whenever you touched yourself.

you breathed heavily, your pussy still pulsing after your orgasm while your hands already pulled down the blond man’s boxers behind you. the second his cock came free, it pressed against your ass with a dull thud. you felt the heat of it against your skin.

nanami wrapped a hand around himself and slowly dragged the tip over your untouched back hole first. panic shot through you instantly, your voice turning high and almost frightened. “kento!.. please, kento…”

he immediately buried himself against your neck, kissing you greedily with his mouth open, leaving your skin wet and burning. “relax,” he whispered, his voice vibrating through your body. “we’re not going there… for now.”

you relaxed a little, but the realization crashed over you in another wave: that meant they were both going to fuck you. at the same time.

your thoughts didn’t even have time to form into words before higuruma stepped closer. he cupped your face, gently but firmly sucking on your lower lip before pulling away and looking directly into your eyes.

“if it hurts, just tell us, okay?” his voice sounded serious, almost gentle. “we won’t do anything that’ll hurt you. we’re here to give you what you’ve been begging for all this time. tell me you understand.”

you only nodded shakily, unable to force out a single word. “use your words, sweetheart,” nanami insisted, pressing his cock against your lower back. you swallowed hard, your voice rough from all the screaming and moaning. “i… i understand. yeah. please…”

nanami adjusted his grip on you more comfortably, one arm still holding your weight while the other slowly, carefully guided his cock. at first, he only teased you with it, dragging the tip through your folds, coating himself in all your slickness, practically soaking himself in your juices before finally giving one decisive thrust.

he pushed in slowly, giving you time to feel every inch of his impossible thickness. you cried out instantly and grabbed onto higuruma’s shoulders with a death grip. meanwhile, hiromi pressed himself flush against you, holding your hips steady and helping you keep your balance while his eyes tracked every shaky breath you took.

he really was huge. you felt him literally forcing your insides apart, pushing so deep that every experience you’d ever had before suddenly felt like some pathetic joke. your head fell back, your moans breaking apart into weak little whines.

“mmmngh! kento… haa-ah… hurts… no, feels good… god—!” you choked on the words as he filled you completely. “that’s it, sweetheart, take all of me,” nanami rasped, his voice vibrating through your body.

“you’re too big… kento, you’re too big…” “i know, baby,” he started moving inside you slowly, deeply, “it’ll feel better soon. just relax for me.”

while that happened, higuruma kissed his way down your neck to your chest, which already spilled out of your bra cups. he wrapped his lips around your nipple, sucking greedily while nanami kept thrusting into you from behind.

“fuck…” kento growled, picking up the pace. “knew you’d have a fucking heavenly pussy… she’s squeezing me so tight.” all you could do was whine and sob. “ah! mmngh!! feels so good… more… haaah!”

“yeah?” higuruma pulled away from your chest, his gaze turning sharp and hungry. “it’s about to feel even better.” nanami cupped your face with both hands, turned you toward him, and crashed his mouth against yours in a deep kiss. “take a breath,” he ordered right against your lips.

you were already completely fucked stupid from his cock and the heat of their bodies. the second you gasped for air, you felt another huge, hard shape starting to push into you. hiromi entered you from the front, and you practically whimpered into nanami’s kiss while your fingers dug into higuruma’s shirt hard enough to make the fabric strain.

the moment he fully pushed inside, stretching you beyond anything imaginable, you screamed so loudly it felt like your voice tore through the entire building. “oh god! god! fuck… fuck! a-ah-ahh!”

tears spilled from your eyes automatically from the shock and overwhelming fullness. nanami laughed low against your lips, licking away the salty wetness. “no god here, sweetheart. we’re the ones making you scream like that.”

both of them stayed still for a moment, letting your body adjust to the unbearable stretch. hiromi’s hand squeezed your breast possessively while nanami bit at your shoulder and every patch of exposed skin he could reach.

it felt like forever or maybe only a few seconds — you had no idea anymore. the only thing you knew was that you needed them. “more… want more… please…”

“our girl’s getting greedy, huh?” higuruma smirked while looking at your flushed face. “one cock isn’t enough anymore? now you always want two?” then they started moving. together. hard. rhythmic.

it felt like your pussy was about to split apart, your whole body turning into one shaking, dripping mess. you moaned and whimpered while they kept taking turns kissing you, your chin already soaked with spit, your face damp with sweat and their touches. saliva and slick ran down your neck and chest, and you were pretty sure there was already a puddle forming on the elevator floor beneath you.

their movements turned sharp and perfectly synchronized, and you felt them practically pounding you into the narrow space between them. nanami set a deep, animalistic pace from behind while hiromi matched every thrust from the front, forcing your body to stretch to its absolute limit. the cramped elevator filled with unbearable wet sounds: skin slapping against skin, heavy male growls, and your endless, choking moans mixed with the smell of all your arousal.

“ah! haaah… nngh! fuck, kento… romi… a-ahh!” you cried out when they bumped against each other inside you, trapping your womb between them.

“look at this fucking mess,” hiromi rasped without taking his eyes off the place where your bodies merged together. “you’re sucking us in so greedily. such a needy little hole for your bosses.”

nanami grabbed your hair, pulling your head back slightly so he could see your face twisted with pleasure. “hear those sounds, baby?” he slammed into you hard, and the elevator filled with a loud, filthy squelch. “that’s all you. you’re so fucking wet we’re practically drowning in you.”

“mmmngh! yes… more… ” you couldn’t even control the saliva dripping down your chin anymore, mixing with their sweat. your face stayed damp, your hair stuck to your forehead, and your eyes rolled back.

higuruma leaned forward and crashed his mouth against yours, swallowing your moan with his lips. his tongue moved just as aggressively as his cock while his hand kept squeezing your breast hard enough to hurt. when he finally pulled away, a thin string of saliva stretched between you before breaking against your neck.

hiromi tightened his grip on your thighs even more, lifting your hips so you stayed completely open for both of them. the elevator smelled heavy with sweat, bodies, and slick, and the only thing breaking the silence were the filthy sounds of their bodies slamming against your ass.

nanami slowly moved his hand down the front of your body. his fingers, soaked with your slick, found your clit. “look at this little thing,” he rasped, his voice vibrating through your spine. “look how swollen it is. you’re pulsing so much, sweetheart.”

he started playing with you, and the elevator filled with another wet, messy sound from his fingers moving against you. every touch sent a shock through your body.

“mmmngh! kento… ah!” you sobbed shakily as your thighs started trembling uncontrollably. “please… i wanna come… i’m gonna… mmhnm!!" “no,” he cut you off. he gave one deep, crushing thrust. “don’t even think about coming without permission.”

their pace grew even faster, turning into something raw and primal. nanami’s heavy thrusts from behind crashed against hiromi’s from the front. the mirror in the elevator completely fogged over now, thick drops of condensation sliding down it just like the sweat running along your back. you could barely breathe anymore, your moans dissolving into broken little whimpers.

“tell me,” nanami suddenly pinched your clit hard between his fingers, making your back arch violently as you screamed. “who does this sweet, greedy pussy belong to?”

“a-ahh! yours! only yours! always only yours!” you practically sobbed the words out, losing the last of your sanity from the overwhelming pleasure. “good girl,” hiromi whispered smoothly against your damp shoulder before kissing it. “such a good girl. keep taking us, baby.”

your pussy pulsed violently, burning from the friction and impossible fullness. every thrust from nanami and hiromi forced more slick out of you, thick drops falling onto the floor and adding to the puddle already spreading beneath your feet. you felt completely used, ruined, and unbelievably happy in exactly that role.

the tension inside you coiled into a tight, unbearable knot that was about to snap. from behind, nanami made one last, crushing thrust, driving into you to the very hilt with a loud, wet sound, while hiromi made a powerful lunge forward at the same time, pinning your uterus in a vise between the two of them.

at that moment, nanami pressed hard against your pulsing clit, and that was the final straw. you literally buckled in their arms. the elevator walls started to swim before your eyes, and a series of choking, ragged sobs ripped from your throat.

"mmmngh-a-a-a! god! god! i— aah!" you gasped, feeling the first wave of orgasm paralyze your legs. your pussy started to contract convulsively and rhythmically around them, trying to squeeze every last drop out. you felt every vein on their members, every movement that now felt a hundred times sharper. a frantic, wet squelching filled the tight cabin — it was your juices, forced out by their pressure, literally splashing onto the floor and mixing with sweat.

you felt everything inside flip. your stomach muscles cramped, you threw your head back aggressively, pressing the back of your skull into nanami’s shoulder, and you just stopped breathing for several long seconds. you were shaking so hard that hiromi had to grip your thighs in a death lock to keep you from sliding to the floor.

"yes, just like that," nanami growled, feeling your pussy literally suck him in. "cum on our cocks, our pretty girl." you could not answer. you only whimpered and shuddered in a long, agonizingly beautiful ecstasy. tears of happiness and shock rolled down your wet cheeks.

you were still shaking from the lingering waves when you felt the blonde’s breath grow heavy, turning into a muffled growl. "fuck, you are so tight...so perfect baby..." he rasped, driving into you one last time with such force that you felt his pulse at your very center.

hiromi, feeling your tremors and kento’s frantic rhythm, also stopped holding back. his movements became sharp, almost rough; he literally slammed you into nanami, wringing the last moans out of you.

for a moment, everything froze. you felt nanami shudder through his whole body, his fingers digging into your thighs until it hurt, and he poured into you in a hot, pulsing stream. almost at the same time, hiromi let out a low, guttural sound and also went still, pressing his forehead against your shoulder, giving all his tension to you.

"so good mmm..." you went totally limp in their arms, feeling the scalding heat of their seed spread inside you. a sharp, mechanical sound and a sudden jolt of the elevator under your feet made you all freeze.

"hello, elevator number four? we have recorded a stop; we are restarting the system now. is everything alright with you?"

Your breath catches sharply in your throat. Panic explodes in your chest, tight and suffocating. Your hands fly up to press against your sternum, feeling the frantic thud of a heart that isn’t supposed to be yours. Cold sweat prickles along your hairline and down your back. The room feels smaller, the air thicker. If I don’t change this right now, he will kill me. I have to win him over — the man I’ve been completely obsessed with — before he decides I’m still that same woman who deserves to die.

The heavy wooden door creaks open. Two maids slip inside, heads bowed low, shoulders hunched like they’re expecting the worst. They carry a tray between them with a pitcher of steaming water, neatly folded linens, and a small bowl of scented oil. Their footsteps are quick but nearly silent on the cold stone floor, as if they’re trying to disturb you as little as possible.

“My Lady,” the older maid says quietly, almost whispering as she carefully sets the tray down on the side table. “We’re here to help you dress. Your usual silks today?”

You swallow and keep your voice soft. “No, not the silks. Something simpler and warmer, please. I’m going down to have breakfast with the Duke in the dining hall.”

The younger maid’s eyes go wide. She almost drops the pitcher, water sloshing dangerously over the rim and dripping onto the floor. “Breakfast… with His Grace?” she blurts, voice cracking with surprise. “In the dining hall?”

The older maid quickly elbows her and forces a nervous smile, though her hands are visibly shaking. “Are you sure, My Lady? He always eats alone. He might not… like it if you show up.”

You nod, sliding your legs over the side of the bed. The stone floor is icy against your bare feet, sending a shiver up your legs. “I’m sure. Please help me get ready.” You pause, then add gently, “And thank you. Both of you.”

The maids go completely still. The younger one stares at you with her mouth slightly open, pitcher forgotten in her hands. The older one blinks rapidly, her hands freezing mid-air above the tray. They exchange a wide-eyed, startled glance, the kind that speaks volumes without a single word. The silence stretches for a long, awkward moment, thick with confusion and unease.

Finally, the older maid clears her throat. “Of course, My Lady. Right away.”

They hesitate for another heartbeat, still stealing uncertain glances at you, before hurrying into motion. Their hands are a little clumsier than usual as they help you out of the nightgown and into a heavy charcoal gown with long sleeves. The soft wool feels warm and comforting against the chill in the air. While they brush out your hair and pin it up in a simple style, they keep darting quick, nervous looks at your reflection in the mirror. The younger maid’s fingers tremble slightly as she works, and the older one’s breathing is a touch too shallow.

They finish dressing you in tense, heavy silence. Once they step back, you thank them again. They both bow deeply, still visibly unsettled, and you step out into the torch-lit corridor. Servants you pass press themselves flat against the walls, whispering frantically the moment your back is turned. Your heart hammers louder with every step toward the grand dining hall.

The massive double doors swing open with a low creak.

There he is.

Duke Ryomen Sukuna sits alone at the head of the long oak table. Pale morning light filters through the tall windows, casting sharp shadows across his face. Loose strands of pink hair have escaped their tie and fall across his forehead. His dark tunic stretches tight over broad, powerfully muscled shoulders, the collar open just enough to reveal the edges of intricate black tattoos that swirl across his collarbones and down his arms. Crimson eyes are narrowed in concentration as he cuts into a thick slab of meat with slow, deliberate strokes of his knife. Old scars mark the visible skin of his neck and the backs of his large, calloused hands. He radiates raw, quiet danger — the kind that makes the air feel heavier. This is the man you’ve spent months fantasizing about, the one whose every appearance in the manhwa made your pulse race.

You walk straight to the chair on his right — the seat that has stayed empty for the entire six months of your marriage — and sit down.

His knife stops mid-cut.

The silence is immediate and suffocating, broken only by the soft crackle of the hearth fire.

Sukuna’s crimson gaze lifts slowly. It locks onto you with raw disbelief and burning disgust. His jaw clenches, the scar along his cheek tightening. For a long moment he simply stares, like he’s trying to decide whether you’re real or some new form of insult.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” His voice is low and rough, laced with irritation.

You swallow hard, hands trembling under the table. You force a small, nervous smile and say softly, “Good morning, husband. I thought it might be nice to have breakfast together for once.”

The words hang in the air.

Sukuna’s expression darkens. He sets the knife down with a sharp clink that echoes through the hall. Slowly he rises to his full height, towering over you — tall, broad-chested, every inch the warlord who has killed without hesitation. The look he gives you is ice-cold.

“You thought it would be nice?” His voice is low, cold, and dripping with contempt. “Six fucking months you couldn’t even be bothered to speak to me… and now you suddenly decide to play house?”

He pushes the chair back with a harsh scrape and rises to his full height, towering over you. His large hand clenches so tightly around the back of the chair that the wood groans in protest.

“Just looking at you ruins my appetite.”

Without another word, he turns sharply on his heel. His cloak snaps behind him like a whip as he stalks out of the hall. The heavy doors slam shut with a deafening boom that echoes through the room and makes the silverware rattle on the table.

You’re left completely alone at the long table, staring at his abandoned plate as the food rapidly cools. Your heart pounds violently in your chest.

This is going to be so much harder than I thought.

But you don’t run. You pick up your fork with still-shaking fingers, take a small bite of the now-lukewarm food, and force yourself to swallow. A heavy, determined weight settles in your stomach alongside the food.

The rest of the morning dragged by in a haze of nervous energy. You moved carefully through the castle, speaking softly to the servants, thanking them for small things, and trying not to overwhelm anyone with your sudden change in behavior. Every time someone flinched or stared too long, your stomach twisted. You knew they were waiting for the old you to snap back into place.

By mid-afternoon the light outside had shifted to a softer gold, and the castle felt a little less oppressive. You decided it was time to try something more direct.

You found one of the kitchen maids and asked her to prepare a simple tray — strong black tea, warm bread, and a few slices of roasted meat. These were the things you remembered him enjoying in the manhwa, the small details you’d clung to while reading late at night. Nothing too elaborate. When the tray was ready, you took it yourself, ignoring the wide-eyed, startled looks from the staff as you carried it down the long corridor toward Sukuna’s private study. Your heart beat faster with every step.

Your heart was hammering so hard it felt like it was trying to climb out of your throat. Two guards outside the heavy double doors stared at you in open confusion but didn’t stop you. You paused for a second, took a steadying breath, and knocked once.

A gruff “Come in” came from inside.

You pushed the door open and stepped into the study.

The room was exactly the kind of place you’d pictured him in — tall shelves lined with old books and rolled scrolls, a massive oak desk covered in maps and scattered letters, weapons mounted neatly on one wall. A fire burned low in the hearth, filling the air with the faint smell of smoke and polished leather. Sukuna sat behind the desk, quill in hand, pink hair tied back messily with a few loose strands falling forward. He didn’t look up right away, focused on whatever he was writing.

Then his crimson eyes flicked up.

The moment they landed on you holding the tray, the temperature in the room seemed to drop. His expression shifted from irritation to pure suspicion in a heartbeat.

“What the hell is this?” he asked, voice low and flat, like he was already tired of whatever game he thought you were playing.

You stepped further inside and carefully set the tray down on the edge of his desk, trying not to let your hands shake too obviously. “I noticed you didn’t eat anything at breakfast,” you said quietly. “So I brought some tea and a few things. It’s nothing fancy. I just thought… maybe you’d be hungry by now.”

Sukuna leaned back in his chair, studying you like you were a problem he couldn’t quite solve. The silence stretched out, thick and uncomfortable. He glanced at the tray, then back at your face.

“You brought me food,” he said slowly, almost like he was testing the words. “You suddenly show up with tea and bread like we’re… what? Friends now?”

He pushed his chair back and stood, circling around the desk with slow, deliberate steps until he was standing right in front of you. He was so tall you had to tilt your head back to look at him. Up close he was even more overwhelming — the heat radiating from his body, the faint scent of leather and steel and something darker, the way his broad shoulders seemed to fill the space between you.

You forced yourself to hold his gaze. “I know I’ve been terrible to you,” you said, voice soft but steady. “I don’t expect you to believe me right away. I just… I want to try and do better. That’s all.”

Sukuna’s jaw tightened. He reached out and picked up one of the slices of bread, turning it over in his large hand as if checking it for poison. Then he dropped it back onto the tray with a quiet scoff.

“You want to try,” he repeated, the words laced with disbelief and a sharp edge of mockery. “How convenient. Tell me, wife — what exactly changed overnight? Did someone put you up to this?”

His hand suddenly came up, fingers gripping your chin firmly but not harshly, tilting your face up so you couldn’t look away. His touch was warm, rough from years of fighting, and the closeness made your pulse spike.

“Or are you just scared I’ll finally do what everyone’s been expecting me to do for months?” he asked, voice low and dangerous.

Your breath caught. Being this close to him — feeling the intensity rolling off him in waves — made fear and something far more complicated twist together in your stomach.

“I’m not here to scheme,” you whispered. “I just don’t want things to keep being like this.”

Sukuna stared at you for a long, heavy moment. His thumb brushed once over your jaw, almost absentmindedly, before he let go and stepped back.

“Get out,” he said, the words cold but quieter than you expected. “And take your pity tray with you.”

He didn’t move away any further. He stayed standing there, arms crossed over his broad chest, watching you with dark, unreadable eyes — like he was waiting to see whether you would actually leave… or do something else.

You didn’t argue.

You simply picked up the tray with both hands, gave him a small nod, and left the study without another word. The heavy doors clicked shut behind you. The hallway felt longer than usual as you walked back toward your chambers, the tray growing heavier with every step.

Once inside your room, you set the tray down on a side table and closed the door. Then you sat on the edge of the bed, staring at the floor.

That went badly.

You let out a slow breath, rubbing your hands over your thighs. The memory of Sukuna’s cold stare and dismissive words kept replaying in your head. He hadn’t even touched the food. He’d barely listened.

Of course he didn’t. Months of silence doesn’t just disappear because I brought him tea.

You leaned back on your hands, looking up at the canopy above the bed. The situation felt heavier now. Fixing this relationship was going to be a lot harder than you’d hoped. He clearly still saw you as the same person who had ignored and schemed against him for half a year. And why wouldn’t he?

If you couldn’t turn this around, things were only going to get worse. You didn’t want to think about how the original story ended, but the possibility lingered in the back of your mind anyway.

You sat there for a while, the afternoon light slowly shifting across the room. Eventually you stood up, walked over to the window, and looked out at the grounds. Your mind kept turning over what to try next. Another small gesture? Giving him more space? Something else entirely?

It was going to take time. A lot of it. And patience you weren’t sure you had.

You sighed quietly and moved away from the window, already thinking about what you could do tomorrow.

The next morning arrived quietly.

You woke earlier than usual, the soft grey light filtering through the tall windows pulling you from a restless sleep. For a few minutes you lay there, staring at the velvet canopy above the bed, thinking about yesterday. The rejections still stung, but you refused to give up after just one bad day.

You got up, washed, and chose a simple but elegant deep-grey gown. After eating a light breakfast alone in your room, you decided on a different approach today. No trays, no forcing your way into his meals. Just quiet presence.

You made your way to the castle’s main library — a spacious, peaceful room lined with tall shelves of books and scrolls. You picked a thick volume on regional history from the shelves and settled into a comfortable chair near the window where the light was good. Not too close to his usual spot, but not hiding either.

About an hour later, the door opened.

Sukuna walked in, still wearing his cloak from whatever business he’d been handling outside. He stopped short when he saw you already there, book open in your lap.

For a brief second his expression flickered with surprise before settling back into that familiar guarded look.

“You’re here too now,” he said, voice flat as he moved toward the large table in the center of the room. He pulled out a chair and sat down, spreading some documents in front of him. “Is there anywhere in this castle that’s still mine?”

You closed your book slowly and looked up at him.

“I can leave if you want,” you offered calmly. “I just thought it might be nice to read in here. It’s quiet.”

Sukuna didn’t tell you to go. He leaned back in his chair and studied you for a moment, crimson eyes sharp and assessing.

“You’ve been talking quite a bit these past two days,” he said, tone dry. “More than I’m used to.”

You gave a small, honest shrug. “I know. I’m trying to change that.”

He tapped his fingers once against the table, watching you openly now. “Trying,” he echoed, like he was testing the word. “That’s what you keep saying. But I still don’t know why.”

You hesitated, then answered simply, “Because I don’t like how things have been between us. And I think we could be… better. If we tried.”

Sukuna let out a short, humorless breath and leaned back further, still studying you.

“Better,” he repeated. “That’s a bold claim.” He paused, then added quietly, “Don’t get your hopes up. I’m not interested in pretending.”

But he didn’t ask you to leave.

You stayed in the library for another hour, reading in silence while he worked across from you. He didn’t speak again, but every so often you caught him glancing in your direction — wary, confused, and just a little unsettled.

It wasn’t much.

But it also wasn’t outright rejection.

You stayed in the library for another hour, the only sounds being the occasional rustle of paper and the soft crackle of the fire. You kept your eyes mostly on your book, though you were barely absorbing the words. Every now and then you felt Sukuna’s gaze on you — heavy, searching, and still full of suspicion.

Eventually, he set his quill down with a quiet tap. He leaned back in his chair, arms crossing over his broad chest as he looked at you directly.

“If you’re serious about wanting to fix things,” he said, voice low and even, “then maybe you should start by actually appearing publicly with me.”

You looked up from your book, surprised. He continued before you could respond.

“There’s a ball tomorrow night at the capital. I’m expected to attend.” He paused, studying your reaction. “Rumors have already reached half the empire that my wife hates me. It would be good to change the public perception a little. At least act like a fucking couple for once.”

The invitation — if it could even be called that — hung in the air. It wasn’t warm or romantic. It was a test, plain and simple.

You closed your book slowly and met his eyes. “I’ll go with you,” you said without hesitation. “If that’s what you want.”

Sukuna watched you for a long moment, as if waiting for you to take it back. When you didn’t, something unreadable flickered across his face.

“Good,” he said simply. Then he stood up, gathering some of his documents. “Be ready by evening tomorrow. Don’t make me wait.”

He headed toward the door, cloak shifting over his shoulders. Just before he left, he paused and glanced back at you one last time.

“And try not to embarrass me,” he added, though his tone was less biting than before. Almost… cautious.

The door clicked shut behind him, leaving you alone in the quiet library once again.

You let out a long breath and leaned back in your chair, heart still racing. A public ball. Tomorrow. With Sukuna.

This was a big step — and a dangerous one. You’d have to be careful. Very careful.

But it was also an opportunity. A chance to stand beside him in front of everyone and start showing that you were different.

You stood up, clutching the book to your chest, a mix of nerves and quiet determination settling in your stomach.

Tomorrow it is.

The next day passed in a quiet blur of nerves and preparation.

You spent most of the afternoon trying not to overthink everything, but as evening approached, the anxiety crept in anyway. When the maids finally arrived to help you get ready, they moved around your room with careful, slightly confused energy — still adjusting to this gentler version of their mistress.

You chose a deep crimson gown made of rich, heavy silk that flowed elegantly to the floor. It had long, fitted sleeves and a modestly elegant neckline that showed just enough collarbone to feel refined rather than daring. The maids helped you into it, lacing the back with steady fingers while you stood in front of the large mirror. The fabric felt cool and luxurious against your skin, the color bringing out a quiet intensity you hadn’t expected.

They brushed your hair until it gleamed, working through every tangle with patient strokes. Most of it was pinned up into an elegant style with delicate silver pins, but they left a few soft strands loose to frame your face. One of the maids added a simple but beautiful necklace with a single dark gem that rested just below your collarbone, along with matching earrings. A touch of rose-tinted balm was applied to your lips, and a light dusting of powder to even your complexion.

You stared at your reflection the entire time, heart beating faster. This version of you looked every bit the refined duchess — poised, beautiful, and completely unlike the cold, silent woman the public had come to expect at Sukuna’s side.

“You look beautiful, My Lady,” the older maid said softly as she stepped back, a hint of genuine surprise in her voice.

“Thank you,” you replied quietly, smoothing your hands down the front of the gown. Inside, your stomach was in knots. This would be your first real public appearance with Sukuna. Everyone would be watching. Waiting for the usual tension or outright disdain they’d grown used to seeing between the Duke and his wife.

A firm knock sounded at the door.

“He’s ready for you, My Lady,” a servant called from the hallway.

You took one last steadying breath, thanked the maids again, and stepped out.

Sukuna was waiting in the main hall, dressed in formal black with subtle gold embroidery along the collar and cuffs. His pink hair was neatly tied back, and the sight of him in full formal attire made your chest tighten. He looked every bit the powerful duke — tall, imposing, and dangerously handsome.

His crimson eyes swept over you slowly, from head to toe. For a moment his expression was unreadable.

“You’re actually coming,” he said, voice low. It wasn’t quite a question.

“I said I would,” you replied simply.

He gave a short nod, then offered his arm. The gesture felt stiff, like he was still testing whether you’d take it or pull away at the last second.

You slipped your hand through his arm without hesitation. His muscles were tense beneath your fingers, but he didn’t pull away.

As you walked together toward the waiting carriage, he spoke again, keeping his voice low enough that only you could hear.

“People talk. A lot. If we’re going to do this, at least try to look like you don’t hate being next to me.”

You glanced up at him. “I don’t hate it.”

Sukuna didn’t respond, but his grip on your arm tightened just slightly — not painful, just… firmer. Like he was anchoring himself.

The carriage ride to the capital was quiet, the only sounds being the wheels on the road and the occasional shift of fabric. Sukuna sat across from you, watching the passing scenery with a distant expression. Every so often his gaze would drift back to you, as if he still couldn’t quite believe you were really there.

When the carriage finally slowed to a stop outside the grand hall, music and warm light spilled out into the night. You could already hear the murmur of voices and feel the weight of the eyes that would soon be on both of you.

Sukuna stepped out first, then offered his hand to help you down. His palm was warm and steady against yours.

“Ready?” he asked, voice gruff.

You nodded, slipping your hand back into the crook of his arm.

“Then let’s go act like a fucking couple.”

The grand hall glowed under hundreds of crystal chandeliers, casting warm golden light across marble floors and velvet-draped walls. Music from a full orchestra swelled through the air, mingling with the low hum of conversation, the clink of champagne glasses, and the rustle of silk and satin gowns. The scent of expensive perfumes, fresh flowers, and roasted meats from the banquet tables hung heavy in the room.

The moment you and Sukuna stepped through the tall arched entrance together, the entire atmosphere shifted.

Conversations faltered. Heads turned. A ripple of surprised murmurs spread through the crowd like a wave.

You felt every eye on you. Some were curious, some shocked, many openly calculating. The Duke and Duchess of the North rarely appeared together in public — and when they had in the past, it had always been marked by cold distance and icy silence.

Tonight was different.

Sukuna’s arm was solid beneath your fingers as he guided you forward. His posture was straight and commanding, every inch the powerful Duke Sukuna the empire feared and respected. You stayed close, your hand resting lightly but deliberately on his arm, chin lifted with quiet confidence.

A portly lord with a heavy gold chain and an embroidered waistcoat approached first, bowing deeply.

“Your Grace, Duke Sukuna,” he said smoothly, then turned to you with a slightly wider smile. “And Duchess… what an unexpected pleasure to see you both together this evening.”

Sukuna gave a curt nod. “My wife wished to attend. I saw no reason to refuse her.”

The lord’s eyebrows rose, but he recovered quickly. “How wonderful. The two of you make quite the striking pair tonight. The Duke and Duchess of the North, united at last.”

You offered a polite, gentle smile. “Thank you, my lord. It’s a pleasure to be here.”

Sukuna’s arm tensed slightly under your hand, but he didn’t pull away. As the lord moved on, more nobles drifted closer, drawn by the unusual sight. You heard the whispers clearly now.

“...the Duke and Duchess actually look civil…”

“I thought she hated him…”

“Look at them. She’s practically standing with him…”

Sukuna kept you close the entire time, one large hand occasionally resting at the small of your back as you moved through the hall. The touch was possessive, almost protective, even if his face remained cool and composed.

Later, when the orchestra struck up a slower, more intimate melody, Sukuna leaned down, his voice low against your ear.

“Dance with me.”

It wasn’t a question.

You nodded. He led you onto the polished floor, one broad hand settling firmly on your waist while the other held yours. He moved with surprising grace for someone of his size and power — confident, controlled, guiding you effortlessly through the steps. You followed his lead, hyper-aware of every point of contact: the heat of his palm burning through the silk of your gown, the solid wall of his chest so close to yours, the faint scent of leather and smoke that clung to him.

For a few moments the rest of the room seemed to fade.

“You’re doing better than I expected,” he muttered, voice barely audible over the music. His crimson eyes flicked down to meet yours. “People are staring less like they’re waiting for us to start arguing in the middle of the floor.”

You looked up at him, a small genuine smile tugging at your lips. “I told you I wanted to try.”

His grip on your waist tightened just slightly. His thumb brushed once over the fabric of your gown, almost absentmindedly.

“Don’t get comfortable,” he said, though there was less bite in his tone than usual. “This doesn’t mean I trust you yet.”

“I know,” you replied softly. “But thank you for giving me the chance anyway.”

Sukuna didn’t answer. But he also didn’t let go of you when the song ended. Instead, he kept his hand on your lower back as he guided you off the floor, staying closer than strictly necessary.

A short while later, a group of older lords approached Sukuna. One of them — a tall man with silver hair and sharp features — gave a respectful bow.

“Your Grace, if we could steal a moment of your time? There are some matters regarding the northern border that require your input.”

Sukuna’s jaw tightened for a brief second. He glanced down at you, then back at the lords.

“Fine,” he said curtly. “I won’t be long.”

Before he stepped away, he leaned in close to your ear, voice low. “Stay here. Don’t wander off.”

You nodded. His hand lingered on your waist for one extra second before he pulled away and followed the group toward a quieter side balcony for their discussion.

Suddenly, you were alone.

You stood near the edge of the dance floor, champagne glass in hand, trying to look more relaxed than you felt. The weight of curious stares hadn’t faded. A few noblewomen still whispered behind their fans, and every so often someone would glance your way with open speculation.

A deep, smooth voice spoke from your left.

“Duchess, I don’t believe we’ve had the pleasure of a proper introduction tonight.”

You turned to find a tall, broad-shouldered man with dark hair and sharp green eyes watching you with a lazy, confident smile. He was dressed in deep emerald and black, a marquess’s insignia pinned neatly to his lapel.

“Marquess Toji Fushiguro,” he introduced himself with a respectful bow of his head. “I’ve heard quite a bit about you over the years. Though I must say, seeing you here with the Duke tonight is… refreshing.”

His tone was warm and easy, without any obvious scheming edge. You felt yourself relax just a little.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Marquess,” you replied with a small smile. “I’ve heard your name mentioned before. You handle the eastern trade routes, don’t you?”

Toji’s smile widened, looking genuinely pleased that you knew. “I do. Though I’m surprised you’re familiar with such dull matters. Most duchesses prefer to stay far away from trade talk.”

The conversation flowed surprisingly well. He was charming in a straightforward, slightly roguish way — asking light questions about the northern estates, commenting on the music, and even making a dry joke about how stiff most balls tended to be. You found yourself smiling more naturally, the tension in your shoulders easing as you chatted. For the first time that evening, talking to someone felt… comfortable.

Toji tilted his head slightly, green eyes glinting with curiosity. “If I may be bold, Duchess — you seem different tonight than what the rumors suggested. Happier, perhaps?”

You were about to respond when a large, familiar hand suddenly slid around your waist from behind, fingers gripping your hip with clear possessiveness. A warm, solid body pressed against your back, and you didn’t need to turn to know who it was.

Sukuna.

His grip tightened, pulling you back against his chest in one smooth motion. The heat of his body seeped through the silk of your gown, and his thumb brushed slowly over your hip bone — a blatant, territorial claim.

Toji’s easy smile faltered for half a second before he recovered, inclining his head respectfully.

“Duke Sukuna,” he greeted calmly. “I was just keeping your wife company while you were occupied.”

Sukuna’s voice was low and dangerous, rumbling against your back. “I can see that.” His hand stayed firmly on your hip, fingers pressing in just enough to make a point. “Though I don’t recall asking anyone to entertain my duchess.”

You felt the tension rolling off him in waves. His other arm came around your other side, almost caging you against him in front of the entire hall.

Toji raised an eyebrow, still perfectly civil. “No offense meant, Your Grace. It was an honor speaking with the Duchess.”

Sukuna didn’t reply immediately. Instead, he leaned down, lips brushing the shell of your ear as he spoke loud enough for Toji to hear.

“We’re leaving this conversation,” he said flatly. Then, louder, “Come, wife.”

Sukuna didn’t stop walking until he had guided you into a quieter corner of the grand hall, partially shielded by a tall marble pillar and heavy crimson velvet drapes. The music and chatter of the ball felt distant now, muffled. His hand never left your hip. If anything, his grip tightened, fingers digging possessively into the silk of your gown as though he needed the contact to ground himself.

He turned you to face him with surprising care, then backed you gently but firmly against the cool marble pillar. One large hand stayed locked on your waist while the other came up to brace beside your head, effectively caging you in. His body heat enveloped you instantly — warm, solid, and overwhelming. The faint scent of smoke, leather, and something darker clung to him, making your pulse stutter.

“You seemed to be enjoying yourself,” he said, voice low and rough, almost a growl. His crimson eyes burned down into yours with unmistakable intensity. “Laughing with him like the two of you were old friends. Did you forget you’re here with me tonight?”

The jealousy in his tone was unmistakable — sharp, dark, and barely leashed.

You kept your voice calm, though your heart was racing. “We were only talking. He was civil. Nothing more.”

Sukuna’s jaw clenched visibly. His thumb began to trace slow, deliberate circles over the curve of your hip through the thin silk, a possessive caress that sent heat rushing across your skin.

“Civil,” he repeated, the word laced with pure disdain. “I saw the way he looked at you. The way he smiled at you.”

He leaned in closer, his breath warm against the shell of your ear, voice dropping into something dangerously intimate. “And here I thought you were trying to mend our relationship. Yet the second I turn my back, you’re chatting and smiling with another man like it means nothing.”

His grip on your waist tightened, pulling you flush against the hard wall of his chest. You could feel the tension coiled in every muscle, the barely restrained frustration rolling off him in waves. One of his fingers slipped just beneath the edge of your gown, brushing bare skin at your hip — a deliberate, claiming touch.

“I don’t like sharing what’s mine,” he growled softly, lips brushing your ear. “Especially not with bastards like Toji Fushiguro.”

You swallowed hard, breath shallow. “I wasn’t trying to make you jealous. I was just being polite while you were busy.”

Sukuna let out a low, dangerous sound in the back of his throat — half a scoff, half a laugh. His free hand moved to your jaw, tilting your face up so you had no choice but to meet his burning crimson gaze.

“Polite,” he murmured, thumb stroking slowly along your jawline. “You’re lucky I didn’t drag you out of here the moment I saw his hand move toward you.”

His eyes dropped to your lips for a long, heavy second. The air between you felt charged, electric, like the tension might snap at any moment. For a heartbeat you thought he might kiss you right there — hard, claiming, in full view of everyone still watching from across the hall.

Instead, he leaned in until his lips ghosted against your ear again.

“Next time someone approaches you while I’m gone,” he said, voice dark and velvet-rough, “you tell them you belong to me. Clearly. Because if I have to remind them myself… I won’t be nearly as polite.”

His fingers flexed on your hip in one final, possessive squeeze — a silent promise — before he slowly stepped back. His hand remained at the small of your back, heavy and unrelenting.

The music swelled again around you.

Sukuna’s expression smoothed into something cooler and more composed for the public eye, but the heat in his eyes stayed locked on you.

“Come,” he said, voice still low. “We’re dancing again. And this time, you’re not leaving my side for the rest of the night.”

Sukuna led you back onto the dance floor without another word, his hand firm on your waist, pulling you closer than strictly proper for a public setting. The orchestra had shifted into a slower, more intimate melody — strings and soft piano weaving through the air. Couples swirled around you, but you barely noticed them. All you could focus on was the heat of Sukuna’s body pressed against yours, the way his fingers splayed possessively across your lower back, and the unmistakable tension radiating from him.

He moved with controlled grace, guiding you effortlessly through the steps. Your bodies were flush together, chest to chest, his thigh occasionally brushing yours as you turned. Every point of contact felt electric.

“You’re quiet now,” he murmured, voice low enough that only you could hear. His crimson eyes locked onto yours, dark and intense. “What happened to all that polite conversation you were having with the marquess?”

You tilted your head slightly to meet his gaze. “You told me not to leave your side. I’m listening.”

A low sound rumbled in his chest — not quite a laugh. His hand slid lower on your back, fingers pressing in just enough to make your breath hitch.

“Good girl,” he said softly, almost mockingly, though the heat in his eyes was anything but. “Keep listening. I don’t want to see you smiling at anyone else like that tonight.”

The jealousy was still there, simmering just beneath the surface. You could feel it in the way he held you — tighter than necessary, almost like he was daring anyone to try approaching you again.

As you turned under his arm and came back into his embrace, he leaned down, lips brushing the shell of your ear.

“He thought he had a chance,” he continued, voice rough. “Like he didn’t know exactly who you belong to.” His fingers flexed against your waist. “Maybe I need to make it clearer.”

Your heart hammered against your ribs. Being this close to him — surrounded by the swirl of music and watching eyes — made everything feel heightened. The scent of him, the solid strength of his body, the barely restrained possessiveness in every touch.

“Sukuna…” you started softly.

He cut you off by pulling you even closer, until there was almost no space left between you. His breath was warm against your temple.

“You wanted to mend things,” he reminded you, tone dark. “Then stop giving other men reasons to think they can talk to my wife like that. Smile at me. Stay close to me.”

The song began to slow, but Sukuna didn’t release you. He kept you locked in his arms even as other couples started drifting apart. His hand slid up your back, fingers tracing your spine through the silk, a silent claim in front of the entire hall.

When the music finally faded, he didn’t let go right away. He stared down at you, crimson eyes heavy with something dangerous and hungry.

“We’re leaving,” he said abruptly, voice low. “I’ve had enough of these people watching us.”

He didn’t wait for your agreement. His hand stayed firmly at the small of your back as he guided you through the crowd toward the exit. Nobles parted for him instinctively, eyes wide at the sight of the Duke and Duchess leaving together so early — and so obviously entangled.

The cool night air hit you the moment you stepped outside. Sukuna kept you close as you waited for the carriage, his arm wrapped around your waist like he still wasn’t ready to stop touching you.

Once inside the carriage, he sat beside you instead of across from you. The door had barely closed before his hand was back on your thigh, gripping possessively through the fabric of your gown.

The carriage started moving, carrying you both back toward the estate through the dark roads. Sukuna’s hand remained on your thigh the entire ride, heavy and warm — a silent reminder of exactly who you belonged to.

By the time it finally rolled to a stop in front of the castle, the moon hung high in the sky. The journey had been quiet, thick with lingering tension. Sukuna hadn’t spoken a word, but his grip on your thigh never loosened.

When the footman opened the door, Sukuna stepped out first and offered you his hand. You took it, letting him help you down onto the stone steps. The cool night air felt refreshing after the stuffy ballroom, but it did little to calm the nerves fluttering in your stomach.

He walked you inside, his hand resting possessively at the small of your back the whole way through the dimly lit halls. Servants bowed and quickly disappeared when they saw you both. The castle felt unusually still.

When you reached the point where the corridors split — one leading to his private wing, the other to yours — Sukuna stopped. He turned to face you, his expression unreadable in the low torchlight.

“You did well tonight,” he admitted grudgingly, staring at you for a long moment before glancing away. “But if I see him — or anyone else — near you again like that…”

He didn’t finish the sentence. He didn’t need to.

Sukuna gave a short nod, almost like he was dismissing you. “Goodnight.”

He turned to leave, heading toward his own chambers.

You stood there for a second, heart pounding, before the words slipped out — soft, shy, and a little nervous.

“Wait…”

Sukuna paused, looking back at you over his shoulder.

You swallowed, cheeks warming as you forced yourself to speak. “You know… we can’t really fix things as a couple if we keep sleeping separately"

The words hung in the air between you. They sounded bolder than you felt.

Sukuna went completely still. For several long seconds he simply stared at you, crimson eyes narrowing slightly as if he couldn’t quite believe what he’d just heard. The silence stretched, thick and heavy.

Then, slowly, the corner of his mouth twitched — not quite a smile, but something darker, more dangerous.

“Is that so?” he said, voice low and rough. He took one step back toward you, then another, until he was standing close again. “You’re asking to sleep in my bed now?”

He tilted his head, studying your face like he was trying to find the trick in your words. His hand came up, fingers lightly brushing your jaw as he looked down at you.

“Careful, wife,” he murmured, thumb tracing your lower lip. “You keep pushing like this… I might start thinking you actually mean it.”

His gaze dropped to your mouth for a long second before returning to your eyes. The tension between you crackled again, even stronger than it had been at the ball.

Sukuna didn’t move away. He waited, watching you closely, as if daring you to take it back… or push further.

The silence stretched, heavy and charged. His thumb was still resting against your lower lip, warm and rough, while his crimson eyes searched your face for any sign of deception. You could practically feel the suspicion rolling off him in waves.

Finally, he let out a slow breath, almost a scoff.

“…Fine,” he said, voice low and guarded. “If that’s what you want.”

He stepped back slightly, but his hand stayed on your waist, fingers still gripping you with quiet possessiveness. His expression remained cold, cautious, like he was waiting for the other shoe to drop.

“Don’t expect this to mean anything,” he added, tone flat. “I’m still not convinced you’ve changed. But if you’re so determined to play the part of a real wife… then come.”

He turned and started walking down the corridor toward his private wing, keeping his hand on the small of your back to guide you along with him. The touch was firm — not gentle, but not forceful either. It felt like both an invitation and a test.

The halls were quiet at this hour, lit only by flickering torches. Every step echoed softly. Sukuna didn’t speak again until you reached the heavy wooden doors to his chambers. He pushed them open without hesitation and stepped inside, holding the door for you.

His rooms were large and unmistakably his — dark wood furniture, a massive bed with black silk sheets, a low fire burning in the hearth, weapons and scrolls neatly arranged on shelves. It smelled faintly of smoke and leather.

Sukuna closed the door behind you with a heavy click. He leaned against it for a moment, arms crossed over his broad chest, watching you with that same calculating stare.

“You wanted this,” he said quietly, almost like he was reminding both of you. “So here we are.”

He pushed off the door and walked further into the room, loosening the ties on his formal tunic as he went. The movement was casual, but you could feel the tension still radiating from him.

“Get comfortable,” he told you, glancing back at you over his shoulder. His voice was low, almost seductive, but the suspicion never fully left his eyes.

He didn’t say anything else. He simply waited, watching to see what you would do now that you were truly alone with him in his space.

You stood there for a moment, suddenly very aware of how large his chambers felt and how small you felt inside them. The fire crackled softly in the hearth, casting warm light across the dark wood and black silk sheets. The air smelled like him — smoke, leather, and something faintly metallic.

You swallowed and moved toward the side of the room where a large wardrobe stood. One of the maids had already brought a few of your things here earlier, as if the servants had anticipated this. You picked out a simple black silk nightgown and hesitated.

Sukuna had turned away slightly, pulling off his formal tunic and tossing it over the back of a chair. The movement revealed the strong lines of his back and the black tattoos swirling across his skin. He didn’t look at you, but you could tell he was still aware of every move you made.

You changed quickly behind the privacy screen in the corner, the silk cool against your skin. When you stepped out, Sukuna was already sitting on the edge of the massive bed, wearing only loose black pants. His pink hair was untied now, falling messily around his face. He looked up when you approached.

For a long second he just stared.

Then he let out a slow breath and patted the space beside him.

“Come here,” he said, voice low.

You walked over and climbed onto the bed. The mattress dipped under your weight. Sukuna watched you the entire time, suspicion still clear in his crimson eyes even as he pulled the covers back for you.

You slipped under the sheets, lying on your back. The silk felt cool and smooth. Sukuna stayed sitting for another moment, then finally lay down beside you. The bed was large, but he took up so much space that you could feel the heat radiating from his body.

He turned onto his side, facing you. One arm rested above his head while the other lay between you, close enough that his fingers almost brushed your arm.

The silence was heavy.

“You’re really here,” he muttered, almost to himself. His gaze traced your face, still guarded. “In my bed.”

He reached out slowly and brushed a strand of hair away from your cheek. The touch was surprisingly gentle, but his eyes remained cold and watchful.

“Don’t make me regret this,” he said quietly. “If this is another game… I won’t be kind about it.”

Then he shifted closer. Not enough to touch fully, but close enough that you could feel his breath against your skin. He didn’t pull you into his arms. He simply laid there, watching you like he was waiting for you to prove something — or reveal your true intentions.

The fire crackled softly in the background. The weight of his presence beside you made it hard to relax, but you stayed there, heart beating steadily.

Sukuna’s voice was barely above a whisper when he spoke again.

“Sleep, wife. We’ll see how long this little performance of yours lasts.”

He didn’t close his eyes right away. He kept watching you in the dim firelight, guarded, suspicious… and just a little intrigued.

Morning light filtered softly through the heavy curtains, pale and hazy, casting long golden stripes across the dark wooden floor. You woke slowly, cocooned in warmth that felt both foreign and strangely comforting. Sukuna’s arm was draped heavily over your waist, his broad chest pressed against your back, one leg loosely tangled with yours beneath the black silk sheets. His breathing was deep and steady, the faint rise and fall of his chest brushing against you with every inhale.

For a long moment you didn’t move. This was the first time you’d ever woken up beside him — sharing the same bed, the same space, the same air. Your heart beat a little too fast as the reality settled in. The Duke of the North was holding you in his sleep, even if it was only out of habit or unconscious possession.

Sukuna stirred a few minutes later. His arm tightened around your waist for a brief second, pulling you closer on instinct, before his body went still. You felt the exact moment consciousness returned to him — the subtle shift in his breathing, the way his muscles tensed ever so slightly against your back.

He didn’t pull away immediately.

“You’re still here,” he said quietly, voice low and rough with sleep. There was a hint of genuine surprise beneath the words. “Figured you’d sneak back to your own room before I woke up.”

You turned your head slightly on the pillow to look at him. His crimson eyes were half-lidded, messy pink hair falling across his forehead. Up close like this, without the usual cold mask, he looked almost human — though the sharp suspicion in his gaze reminded you he was anything but.

“I told you I wanted this,” you replied softly.

Sukuna let out a slow breath, almost a huff. He propped himself up on one elbow, looking down at you properly. His hand stayed on your waist, thumb brushing slow, absentminded circles over the silk of your nightgown. The touch was light, but you could feel the weight of his attention — guarded, calculating, searching for any crack in your resolve.

He watched you for a long, heavy moment, suspicion still clear in his expression. The silence between you felt intimate and fragile at the same time. His fingers flexed once against your waist before relaxing again.

“Don’t get too used to this,” he said eventually, tone flat but not cruel. “One night doesn’t fix anything. One night doesn’t make me trust you.”

Then, almost like he couldn’t help himself, he added more quietly, “But… you can stay for breakfast if you want.”

Sukuna rolled away and got out of bed, stretching his powerful arms above his head. The morning light traced every line of muscle and the intricate black tattoos that covered his shoulders, chest, and back. He moved with the casual confidence of someone completely at ease in his own space, yet you could still feel the tension humming beneath his skin.

God, he’s even hotter in person… no wonder I was obsessed.

He grabbed a fresh tunic but didn’t put it on. Instead, he leaned against the wardrobe, watching you in his sheets with that dark, cautious gaze. The fire had burned low, leaving the room quiet and heavy with unspoken tension.

Sukuna tilted his head slightly. “Well?” he asked, voice still rough from sleep. “Are you going to lie there all morning?”

You didn’t make him wait long.

You slipped out of bed, the black silk nightgown clinging lightly to your skin as you moved. The morning air in the chamber felt cooler than the warmth of the sheets you’d just left. Sukuna watched you the entire time from where he leaned against the wardrobe, arms crossed over his broad chest, expression unreadable but intense.

“Breakfast will be brought here,” he said simply, voice still rough from sleep. “No need to go to the main hall today.”

A short while later, servants arrived with silver trays. They moved quickly and quietly, setting the table near the tall windows with practiced care — a pot of strong black tea, warm crusty bread, thick slices of roasted meat, fresh berries, and a small dish of honey. The scent of the food filled the room, warm and savory. They kept their eyes lowered, clearly unsettled by the sight of you in the Duke’s private chambers wearing only a nightgown and robe, but they left without a single word.

Sukuna sat down first. You took the seat across from him.

The morning light streamed in through the tall windows, casting a soft golden glow across the table and highlighting the sharp angles of his face. It traced the black tattoos visible at the open collar of his tunic and the faint scars on his hands as he picked up his knife. For several long minutes, the only sounds were the quiet clink of silverware and the distant crackle from the hearth.

Finally, Sukuna set his knife down with a quiet click and leaned back in his chair, crimson eyes locking onto you with that familiar guarded intensity.

“So,” he said, voice low and guarded, “what made you change?”

You looked up from your plate, heart skipping a beat. Just died and woke up in the body of the woman you’re supposed to kill. No big deal.

There was no point in holding back anymore. 

“I like you,” you said simply, meeting his gaze. “I’ve liked you for a long time.”

Sukuna stared at you for a long, heavy beat. Then he let out a short, bitter laugh that didn’t reach his eyes.

“Bullshit.”

The word landed blunt and cold. He leaned forward, elbows on the table, watching you with sharp suspicion.

“You expect me to believe that? After months of silence, after treating me like I was beneath you, after making sure everyone knew how much you despised this marriage… you suddenly like me?” His voice dripped with disbelief. “Try again.”

You didn’t look away. Your voice stayed quiet but steady.

“No, really,” you said. “I do. I like you. That’s why I’m trying so hard.”

Sukuna’s eyes narrowed. He studied your face like he was searching for the lie, the manipulation, the trick. The silence stretched between you, thick and tense. His fingers tapped once against the edge of the table before he leaned back again, the corner of his mouth curving into a slow, dangerous smirk.

“Okay, little liar,” he murmured, voice low and rough. “Then prove it to me.”

You blinked, heat rising to your cheeks.

“Prove it to you…?” you repeated softly, the words coming out a little breathless.

Sukuna’s smirk deepened, but his eyes stayed sharp and watchful. He leaned forward slightly, resting his forearms on the table, closing some of the distance between you.

“Yes,” he said, voice dropping lower, almost velvet-smooth. “Prove it. You say you like me. You say you want to fix this marriage. So show me.”

His gaze drifted slowly down to your mouth, then back up to your eyes. The air between you felt heavier now, warmer. He reached across the table and brushed his fingers lightly against the back of your hand, the touch deceptively gentle.

“You’re in my chambers. In my bed,” he continued, thumb tracing a slow line over your knuckles. “If you’re actually serious… then stop hiding behind pretty words and prove it.”

His touch lingered, possessive but controlled, sending a slow shiver up your arm. He didn’t pull away. Instead, he watched your reaction closely, crimson eyes dark with suspicion and something much hotter underneath.

“Prove it, wife,” he said again, voice low and seductive. “I’m right here. Show me how much you like me.”

The breakfast table suddenly felt far too small. The tension had shifted — still laced with his suspicion, but now crackling with slow, deliberate heat as he waited for you to make the next move.

Your pulse thundered under his thumb. You could feel the weight of his stare, the way his crimson eyes darkened as they traced your face, your lips, the line of your throat. He wasn’t touching you anywhere else, but it still felt like he had you pinned.

You swallowed, heat blooming across your cheeks and down your neck.

“…How?” you asked, voice quieter than you intended. “How do you want me to prove it?”

Sukuna’s smirk deepened, slow and dangerous. He leaned in a little closer across the table, his thumb still stroking lazy circles over your knuckles.

“That’s the fun part,” he murmured. “You figure it out. You’re the one claiming you like me. So show me what that looks like.”

His free hand moved, reaching across to tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ear. The gesture was almost gentle, but his fingers lingered at the side of your neck, tracing lightly down the column of your throat before pulling away.

“You can start by coming here,” he said, voice low and commanding. He pushed his chair back slightly and patted his thigh once. “Don’t make me ask twice.”

Your breath caught. Heart racing, you stood up slowly and rounded the table. The moment you were close enough, Sukuna’s hand caught your wrist and pulled you down onto his lap. He settled you sideways across his thighs, one arm wrapping securely around your waist while the other rested on your leg, fingers splayed possessively over your thigh.

Up close like this, you could feel the heat of his body, the solid strength of his chest against your side, the way his breath brushed your temple.

“Better,” he said, voice rough. His hand slid slowly up your thigh, stopping just below the hem of your nightgown. “Now… show me.”

He tilted his head, lips hovering near your jaw.

“Kiss me,” he ordered softly. “Like you mean it. Like you actually want your husband.”

His crimson eyes were locked on yours, still guarded, still waiting for the lie to slip through. But beneath the suspicion, there was clear hunger — dark and patient, daring you to close the distance.

Sukuna’s fingers flexed on your thigh, a silent reminder of his patience running thin.

“Well, wife?” he murmured, voice velvet-rough against your skin. “I’m waiting.”

You didn’t hesitate any longer.

Leaning in, you pressed your lips to his. The kiss started soft — tentative on your end, testing. Sukuna stayed still for half a second, as if surprised you’d actually done it.

Then he took control.

His hand slid to the back of your neck, pulling you harder against his mouth. The kiss deepened instantly, turning hungry and demanding. His tongue swept past your lips, claiming your mouth with a low growl that vibrated against you. He tasted like black tea and heat, and the way he kissed you was nothing short of possessive — like he was trying to erase every other man who had ever looked at you.

You gasped into his mouth. Sukuna used the opening to tilt your head and kiss you deeper, tongue stroking yours with slow, filthy intent. His other hand gripped your thigh tighter, fingers digging into the soft flesh as he pulled you more firmly onto his lap until you were straddling him.

“Better,” he rasped against your lips when he finally pulled back just enough to breathe. His crimson eyes were dark, pupils blown wide. “But not enough.”

He kissed you again, harder this time. One hand slipped under the hem of your nightgown, palm sliding up your bare thigh, pushing the silk higher and higher until his fingers brushed the edge of your underwear. He didn’t go further yet — just teased, stroking the sensitive skin there while his mouth moved to your jaw, then down to your neck.

“You say you like me,” he growled against your throat, teeth grazing your pulse point. “Then prove how much.”

He sucked on your skin, hard enough to leave a mark, and you couldn’t stop the soft moan that escaped you. Sukuna’s grip on your thigh tightened in response, and you felt him growing hard beneath you, the thick length pressing against your core through his pants.

Your hands moved on instinct, sliding up his chest, fingers curling into the fabric of his tunic. He made a low, approving sound and rocked his hips up once, grinding against you deliberately.

“Touch me,” he ordered, voice rough. “If you’re serious, then fucking touch me.”

You obeyed, sliding your hands under his tunic, palms running over the hard planes of his stomach and the tattoos that covered his skin. His muscles tensed under your touch. Sukuna rewarded you by biting down on your neck again, then soothing the spot with his tongue.

He pulled back just enough to look at you, breathing heavy, eyes burning.

“Keep going,” he said, voice dark and commanding. His hands gripping your ass firmly as he pulled you down harder against his growing erection. “Show me exactly how much you want your husband.”

His hips rolled up deliberately, grinding the thick ridge of his cock against your clit in slow, filthy circles. The friction was maddening, heat building fast between you.

You moaned into his mouth. The sound seemed to snap something in him.

He growled low in his throat and rocked you harder against him. “Fuck,” he rasped against your lips, breath hot. “You’re already so wet for me.”

One large hand slipped further under your nightgown, calloused palm dragging up your bare thigh until his fingers found the soaked fabric of your panties. He groaned at the feeling, pressing two thick fingers against your clothed slit and rubbing firmly, spreading your wetness.

“So fucking wet,” he muttered, voice dark and rough. “All this from just sitting on my lap?”

He pushed your panties aside with impatient fingers and dragged two thick digits slowly through your slick folds. The first direct touch made your hips jerk sharply. Pleasure shot through you like lightning — hot, electric, and overwhelming. You were already soaked, embarrassingly wet, and Sukuna could feel it.

He chuckled darkly against your throat, the low vibration sending shivers racing down your spine as he kissed and bit along your neck, marking you with teeth and tongue.

“You’re dripping down my fingers, wife,” he growled, voice rough and filthy. “This greedy little cunt is making such a mess already.”

He pushed one thick finger inside you slowly, stretching your tight walls. Your inner muscles clenched hard around the intrusion, hot and silky. The feeling of being filled by him — even just one finger — made your breath hitch. He added a second finger almost immediately, scissoring them lazily while his thumb found your swollen clit and rubbed tight, relentless circles.

The wet, obscene sounds of his fingers pumping into your soaked pussy filled the quiet morning room — lewd squelching noises that would have made you blush if you weren’t already trembling with pleasure. Your arousal coated his hand, dripping down his wrist and onto his lap as he worked you open with practiced, unhurried strokes.

You whimpered, hands fisting tightly in the front of his tunic. Sukuna’s free hand yanked the neckline of your nightgown down roughly, exposing your breasts to the cool air. He leaned in and sucked one sensitive nipple into his mouth, tongue flicking roughly over the peak before his teeth grazed it. The sharp sting mixed with pleasure made your back arch, pushing your chest closer to his hungry mouth.

“So fucking sensitive,” he murmured against your skin, voice muffled as he switched to the other nipple, sucking harder. “Look at you. Falling apart just from my fingers like a desperate little whore.”

He curled his fingers inside you, stroking that perfect spot with devastating accuracy while his thumb pressed firmer circles on your clit. Your hips rocked desperately against his hand, chasing every thrust, every stroke. The wet sounds grew louder, filthier, echoing obscenely in the quiet chamber.

Sukuna pulled back just enough to watch your face, his crimson eyes dark with lust and that ever-present edge of suspicion.

“Cum for me,” he ordered, voice low and rough. “Let me feel how much this supposed ‘liking me’ makes this tight little pussy squeeze around my fingers.”

His fingers curled harder, stroking that sensitive spot relentlessly while his thumb worked your clit faster. The pleasure coiled tighter and tighter in your core, burning hotter with every thrust, every filthy word.

It snapped.

You came hard with a broken moan, walls clenching violently around his thick fingers. Your thighs shook uncontrollably as slick gushed over his hand, soaking his palm and dripping down his wrist. Pleasure crashed through you in waves, leaving you gasping and trembling.

Sukuna groaned deeply at the feeling, still pumping his fingers slowly through your spasms, drawing out every last pulse until you were shaking and oversensitive, whimpering softly.

He finally pulled his fingers free, glistening with your release. Without breaking eye contact, he brought them to his mouth and licked them clean, tongue dragging slowly and deliberately over his skin, savoring your taste.

“Sweet,” he murmured, voice husky and dark. His eyes never left yours.

He lifted you effortlessly and stood, carrying you toward the massive bed. He laid you down on the black silk sheets, hovering over you with that same dark, hungry look.

“Take the nightgown off,” he commanded, already pulling his own tunic over his head, revealing the full expanse of his tattooed, muscled torso. “I want to see all of you.”

His hands moved to his pants, loosening them as he watched you, eyes burning with lust and that ever-present edge of suspicion.

“Prove how much you actually want me, wife.”

You sat up on the bed, heart hammering against your ribs. Under his burning gaze, you reached for the hem of your nightgown and pulled it up and over your head, letting the silk fall to the floor. The cool air of the chamber brushed over your bare skin, making your nipples tighten instantly.

Sukuna’s eyes raked slowly over your naked body — from your flushed face, down the curve of your breasts, your stomach, and the glistening wetness already coating your inner thighs. He let out a low, rough sound deep in his chest, almost a growl.

“Fuck… look at you,” he muttered, voice thick. “So small. So fucking pretty.”

He shoved his pants the rest of the way down his hips and kicked them aside. His cock sprang free, heavy and thick, the veined shaft curving slightly upward. It was meaty — obscenely so — the girth making your mouth go dry. The flushed head was already leaking, a bead of precum glistening at the tip. Even fully hard, it looked almost too big, too heavy, the weight of it making it hang thick and full between his powerful thighs.

You couldn’t help the soft, shaky breath that escaped you.

Sukuna noticed. His smirk was dark and satisfied as he crawled onto the bed, the mattress dipping deeply under his much larger frame. He settled between your spread thighs, his broad shoulders forcing your legs wider apart. The size difference hit you all over again — he was so much bigger than you, his body completely eclipsing yours as he hovered above you.

He gripped his thick cock in one large hand and dragged the heavy head through your soaked folds, coating himself in your wetness. The blunt, meaty tip nudged against your entrance, pressing just enough to tease the stretch.

“You’re tiny compared to me,” he rasped, voice low and rough. “Gonna feel every inch when I split you open.”

He pushed forward slowly.

The thick head of his cock breached you, stretching your entrance with a slow, burning pressure. You gasped sharply at the sheer girth — he was so thick that your walls had to part around him, fluttering and clenching as he sank deeper. The heavy, meaty weight of his cock filled you inch by inch, dragging against every sensitive ridge inside you until you were full, so full, your back arching off the bed with a broken moan.

Sukuna groaned deeply, the sound vibrating through his chest as he bottomed out, hips flush against yours. His balls rested heavy and warm against you.

“Shit,” he breathed against your neck, voice strained. “So fucking tight… this little pussy is sucking me in like it was made for me.”

He stayed buried deep for a moment, letting you adjust to the overwhelming stretch, the way his thick cock throbbed inside you, hot and heavy. Then he started moving — slow, deep rolls of his hips that dragged his meaty length along your walls with every thrust. The wet, obscene sound of him sliding in and out of your soaked cunt filled the room, slick and filthy.

You whimpered, nails digging into his broad shoulders. “Sukuna… you’re so big—”

He growled at your words, hips snapping harder, driving his thick cock deeper. The drag was exquisite, every vein and ridge rubbing against your most sensitive spots. His size made you feel impossibly full, stretched wide around his girth, the pressure bordering on too much but so, so good.

“Take it,” he rasped, voice dark and possessive. “Take every fucking inch like the good little wife you’re trying to be.”

He leaned down and captured your mouth in a messy, hungry kiss, tongue fucking your mouth in time with his deep thrusts. His heavy balls slapped against you with every powerful stroke, the wet sounds growing louder as your arousal dripped down his shaft and soaked the sheets beneath you.

You moaned into his mouth, legs wrapping tighter around his waist, heels digging into his back. The size difference made everything more intense — his broad chest crushing your breasts, his muscular thighs spreading you wide, his massive frame completely dominating yours as he fucked you into the mattress.

Sukuna pulled back just enough to look at you, breathing hard, eyes dark with lust and that lingering edge of suspicion.

“Tell me again,” he growled, hips grinding deep, the thick head of his cock pressing against that perfect spot inside you. “Tell me how much you like your husband’s cock while I’m ruining this tight little pussy.”

You could barely think through the overwhelming fullness. His cock was so thick it felt like he was splitting you open with every slow, deliberate thrust. The heavy drag of his veined shaft against your walls made your toes curl, pleasure bordering on too much.

“I like it,” you gasped, voice breaking on a moan as he rolled his hips again, grinding the fat head against your g-spot. “I like your cock so much— fuck, Sukuna, you’re so deep…”

A low, satisfied growl rumbled in his chest. He hooked one of your legs over his arm, spreading you wider, and drove into you harder. The new angle made his thick cock hit even deeper, the heavy weight of his balls slapping wetly against your ass with every powerful thrust. Your juices coated his shaft, dripping down to soak the sheets beneath you, the lewd squelching sounds echoing obscenely in the quiet room.

“So fucking tight,” he groaned, voice rough and strained. “This greedy little cunt is sucking me in like it doesn’t want to let go.”

He leaned down, capturing your mouth in a messy, dominating kiss. His tongue fucked into your mouth in time with his cock, deep and filthy, while his hips snapped forward harder. The sheer size difference made everything more intense — his broad, muscled body completely covering yours, his weight pressing you down into the mattress as he fucked you with long, punishing strokes.

You whimpered into his mouth, nails raking down his back, leaving red lines across his tattooed skin. Sukuna hissed at the sting and rewarded you by pounding into you even harder, the thick head of his cock bullying that sensitive spot inside you over and over.

“Again,” he demanded against your lips, breath hot and ragged. “Tell me who this pussy belongs to.”

“You,” you moaned, legs shaking as another wave of pleasure crashed through you. “It belongs to you— only you—”

“Good girl.”

He sat back on his heels, pulling your hips up with him so your lower back was off the bed. The new angle let him drive even deeper, his thick cock stretching you wide with every brutal thrust. His thumb found your swollen clit again, rubbing tight, firm circles while he fucked you senseless.

The wet slap of skin against skin mixed with your broken moans and his low grunts. Your breasts bounced with every powerful snap of his hips, nipples tight and aching. Sukuna’s gaze was locked between your legs, watching hungrily as his thick cock disappeared into your soaked pussy again and again, stretching you obscenely around his girth.

“Look at that,” he growled, voice dark. “Taking every inch like you were made for me. So fucking pretty when you’re stuffed full of my cock.”

The pleasure coiled tighter and tighter in your core, burning hotter with every deep thrust, every swipe of his thumb on your clit. Your thighs trembled violently in his grip.

“Sukuna— I’m gonna—!”

“Cum,” he ordered, hips slamming into you harder. “Cum on your husband’s cock like the desperate little wife you are.”

It hit you like a wave. You came hard with a broken cry, walls clenching violently around his thick length, pulsing and fluttering as slick gushed around him. Your whole body shook, back arching sharply as pleasure tore through you.

Sukuna groaned deeply at the feeling, hips stuttering. “Fuck— that’s it. Milk my cock.”

He fucked you through your orgasm, prolonging it until you were whimpering and oversensitive. Then, with a low, guttural groan, he buried himself to the hilt and came hard, thick ropes of hot cum flooding deep inside you. He kept grinding his hips in slow circles, pushing his release even deeper as he emptied himself completely.

“We’re not done,” he said quietly, a dangerous promise in his tone. “Not even close.”

Sukuna pulled out of you with a wet, filthy sound, your combined release dripping down your thighs. Before you could catch your breath, he flipped you onto your back and manhandled you like you weighed nothing. He sat on the edge of the bed, pulled you into his lap facing away from him, and hooked his powerful arms under your knees, folding you in a full nelson.

Your back pressed flush against his broad, tattooed chest. Your legs were spread obscenely wide, knees pushed up toward your shoulders by his strong arms. The position left you completely helpless — folded in half, pussy exposed and dripping, his thick cock sliding hot and heavy between your slick folds.

“Fuck, look at you,” he growled right against your ear, voice feral. “So small and folded up for me. Perfect little fucktoy.”

He thrust up hard, burying his massive cock back inside you in one brutal stroke. The new angle made him feel even thicker, even deeper. You cried out, the sound raw and broken as his meaty length stretched you wide open again, the fat head bullying against your cervix with every thrust.

Sukuna went feral.

He fucked you like an animal — hard, fast, and relentless. His hips snapped up with powerful force, slamming his thick cock into your soaked pussy over and over. The wet, obscene slap of skin against skin filled the room, mixed with the lewd squelching of your dripping cunt taking every inch. His heavy balls slapped against your ass with every brutal thrust, the impact jolting through your body.

You were cockdrunk almost immediately.

Your mind went hazy, eyes rolling back as pleasure overloaded your senses. All you could do was moan helplessly, body limp in his hold as he used you. His thick cock dragged against every sensitive spot inside you, the sheer girth stretching you so wide it bordered on pain, but the pleasure was so intense you couldn’t think straight.

“S-Sukuna— ahh— too deep—” you slurred, voice broken and whiny.

He only fucked you harder, arms locked tight under your knees, keeping you folded and helpless as he pounded into you. His chest was slick with sweat against your back, his hot breath panting against your ear.

“Take it,” he snarled, voice feral and animalistic. “Take every fucking inch. This is what you wanted, isn’t it? My cock ruining this tight little pussy.”

You could only moan incoherently, head lolling back against his shoulder. Drool slipped from the corner of your mouth as he fucked you senseless, his thick cock bullying your insides with every savage thrust. The wet sounds were filthy — your juices coating his shaft and dripping down his balls, soaking the sheets beneath you.

Sukuna suddenly pulled out, flipped you onto your stomach, and yanked your hips up so your ass was high in the air. He slammed back into you in one brutal thrust, fucking you in deep, punishing doggy style.

“Fuck— yes,” he groaned, voice wrecked. One large hand came down hard on your ass with a loud smack, the sting blooming hot across your skin. He did it again, harder, the sharp crack echoing as he pounded into you from behind.

Your face was pressed into the sheets, ass up, completely at his mercy as he railed you. His thick cock drove so deep you felt it in your stomach, the heavy drag of his veined shaft making your eyes roll back. He smacked your ass again, gripping the soft flesh hard as he used you.

“You’re mine,” he growled, hips snapping forward relentlessly. “This pussy is mine. Say it.”

You could barely speak, mind blank and cockdrunk, but you whimpered obediently between moans, “Yours… it’s yours—”

Sukuna snarled in satisfaction and fucked you even harder, the bed creaking violently under the force of his thrusts. His heavy balls slapped against your clit with every brutal stroke, pushing you closer and closer to the edge again.

He was relentless now — grunting low and animalistic, cursing under his breath as his hands gripped your hips hard enough to bruise. He claimed you with deep, punishing strokes, each one driving his thick cock so deep you felt it in your stomach.

“Fuck— this pussy is sucking me in so greedily,” he growled, voice wrecked and animalistic. One hand left your hip and came down hard on your ass again with a loud smack, the sharp sting blooming hot across your skin. He did it again, harder, gripping the soft, reddened flesh and spreading you wider as he railed you.

Your mind was completely melted. All you could do was moan and whimper into the sheets, drool slipping from the corner of your mouth as he pounded into you. His thick, meaty cock stretched you so wide it felt like he was reshaping you from the inside. Every deep, punishing thrust made the fat head kiss your cervix, sending sparks of overwhelming pleasure-pain shooting through your body.

“S-Sukuna— too much— ahh—!” you slurred, voice broken and whiny, barely coherent anymore.

He laughed darkly, low and breathless, and smacked your ass once more before gripping both cheeks and spreading you obscenely. He watched hungrily as his thick cock disappeared into your soaked, fluttering pussy again and again, your juices coating his shaft and dripping down his heavy balls.

“Look at this greedy little hole,” he rasped, hips snapping forward brutally. “Taking my fat cock so well. You’re dripping everywhere, wife. Making such a fucking mess on my sheets.”

He leaned over you, chest pressed to your back, one arm wrapping around your waist to hold you in place while the other braced beside your head. The new angle let him drive even deeper, his heavy cock bullying that perfect spot inside you with every savage thrust. The wet, filthy plap plap plap of his hips slamming into your ass filled the room, mixed with your broken moans and his guttural grunts.

You were shaking, thighs trembling violently, another orgasm building fast. Your mind was blank — nothing but the overwhelming stretch, the heat, the relentless drag of his thick veined cock inside you.

Sukuna’s breath was hot against your ear. “You’re mine,” he growled, teeth grazing your shoulder. “This tight little cunt is mine. Say it while you cum on my cock again.”

You could barely form words, but you whimpered obediently between moans, voice slurred and cockdrunk. “Yours— it’s yours— Sukuna— please—!”

He fucked you harder, hips pistoning relentlessly, the heavy slap of his balls against your clit pushing you over the edge. You came with a shattered cry, walls clamping down around his thick length like a vice, pulsing and fluttering as another intense orgasm ripped through you. Slick gushed around his cock, soaking his thighs and the sheets beneath you.

Sukuna groaned loudly, the sound raw and feral. “Good fucking girl—”

He didn’t stop. He fucked you through your orgasm with deep, stuttering thrusts, hips snapping erratically as he chased his own release. With a final, powerful drive, he buried himself to the hilt and came hard. Thick, hot ropes of cum flooded deep inside you, pulse after heavy pulse filling you until you felt impossibly full, the warmth spreading through your core. He kept grinding slowly, rolling his hips in lazy circles to push every drop deeper, making sure you took all of him.

You could feel it leaking out around his thick cock — warm, sticky, and messy — dripping down your thighs and soaking the sheets beneath you.

Sukuna stayed buried deep inside you for a long moment, his massive body pressing you firmly into the mattress. His chest heaved against your back, hot, ragged breaths fanning across the side of your neck. The scent of sweat, sex, and his skin filled the air with every shaky inhale. One of his hands stroked slowly up and down your side, almost possessively, while the other stayed gripping your hip, fingers digging in like he still wasn’t ready to let go.

“…Not bad,” he muttered, voice hoarse and low against your ear. “For a little liar.”

He finally pulled out slowly, inch by thick inch. A heavy trickle of his cum immediately leaked from your abused, fluttering pussy, warm and obscene as it ran down your inner thighs. Sukuna let out a low, satisfied hum at the sight before he rolled you onto your back and collapsed beside you.

Without a word, he pulled you against his chest, one strong arm wrapping around you possessively. His skin was hot and slightly damp with sweat, his heartbeat still racing steadily under your cheek as he held you close.

His fingers traced lazy patterns on your skin as he caught his breath.

But he didn’t let go.

a\n: honestly didn't know how to end this but hope you enjoyed! likes and reblogs appreciated!!

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

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

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

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

You ran.

The forest swallowed you whole.

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

You pushed harder.

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

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

You nearly collapsed with relief.

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

Fushiguro Meat Co.

You limped toward it, every cut and bruise screaming.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A wild, desperate plan came to your mind.

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

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

“This is my husband.”

The words rang in the quiet night air.

The women froze.

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

Silence stretched for a heartbeat.

Then the women erupted.

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

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

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

Toji.

So that was his name. Toji Fushiguro.

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

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

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

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

“…Yeah. She’s mine now. Wife.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You owe me now. Big time.”

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

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

Toji didn’t give you time to argue.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Hearing his name from your lips made his eyes narrow.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Toji’s low chuckle cut you off.

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

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

“Give me your foot.”

You hesitated.

“Now,” he growled.

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

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

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

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

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

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

He didn’t explain what that meant.

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

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

“Stay there,” he muttered.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Toji…” you whispered.

He raised an eyebrow.

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

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

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

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

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

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

You woke to the sound of knocking.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your stomach twisted. “What do we do?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The younger women smiled warmly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Knock. Knock. Knock.

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

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

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

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

He opened the door.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The guards blinked, clearly thrown by the united front.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your breath caught. “Real terms?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You nodded, still flushed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Gods, he was huge.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He didn’t move away. Neither did you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

You wet your lips, heart racing.

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

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

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

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

He really was massive up close.

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

Toji noticed you staring.

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

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

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

You shook your head. “Not ugly.”

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

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

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

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

“I know,” you whispered.

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

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

Your breath caught.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You hungry?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your mouth went dry.

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

You stood frozen in the bedroom doorway.

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

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

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

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

The silence that followed was deafening.

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

He took one slow step closer, then another.

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

You swallowed hard but didn’t back away.

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

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

He tilted his head, studying you like prey.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The air felt too thick to breathe.

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

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

Toji’s words hung heavy in the air.

You didn’t answer with words.

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

That was all it took.

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

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

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

You nodded again, cheeks burning with embarrassment.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Then he devoured you.

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

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

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

“Toji— oh gods—”

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

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

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

Then he shoved his trousers down.

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

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

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

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

He pushed in.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“This cunt belongs to me.”

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

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

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

“Go to sleep.”

-

You woke up to warmth.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Toji—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

You quickly looked away, cheeks burning.

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

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

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

You swallowed and whispered, “I understand.”

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

“Good.”

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

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

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

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

Then the bell above the door rang again.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Toji—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Toji… please—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But he didn’t cum.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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You were the king of a kingdom known for its kindness and wisdom, and you lived up to the reputation of your kingdom. You never balked at helping other kingdoms after disasters or supplying the united forces with soldiers and arms to fend off the persistent undead threat to the south. Much like your father before you, you were well loved by everyone.

And King Vell of the dragon kingdom to the west loved you even more than anyone else did. Far more.

He had loved you almost at first sight, dragon-men hybrids were known to love impulsively and strongly. His eyes laid upon you during one of the annual meeting of rulers to discuss matters that affected all the realm. It was the first one you had attended after you had been crowned following the death of your father.

Your feminine features and long hair made you far more a thing of beauty than any lady or princess he had ever seen, and you carried yourself with the carefully trained poise of one too, despite it having been your first ruler’s meeting. You were a man, but not as gruff or brash as any of the other male rulers.

While it might have been just a bit scandalous, he simply had to have your hand in marriage. The more the two of you interacted, whether by diplomatic meetings or written correspondence, he became only more resolved to join your two kingdoms by way of a marriage between the two of you.

Such a joining would make your combined territory the strongest force in the known world. So the union would be very practical in addition to sating his unyielding desire to have you bound to him and whimpering under him as he fucked you free of your senses. He was sure you’d moan beautifully for him, all he had to do was convince you of the union.

But alas, you seemed entirely uninterested. Every subtle romantic hint or gesture, or gift seemed to go over your head. You dodged his advances like an expert, he couldn’t tell if it was intentional or you were avoiding a romance with him.

In truth it was a little bit of both, a lot of things did go right over you, or you were just to busy with running your kingdom to notice, but not everything was so subtle. Certainly not the extravagant gifts of floral presentations, jewelry, and chocolates.

King Vell was attractive, a large sturdy body, muscles adorned by red scaly plates, a shimmering pair of wings, a prehensile tail, two ornate horns, and eyes like rubies. But he was forceful and used to getting everything he wanted, most kings probably were, but he was particularly aggressive and his kingdom often reflected that. There had been no wars in a while, sure, but there had been occasionally rising tensions boiling beneath the surface and he wasn’t afraid to use tragedies in other lands to advance his leverage and trade deals. If there was some kind of natural disaster and he had the materials to help rebuild you could bet that King Vell would sell it only at a premium.

That isn’t the type of man you wanted to marry. Where was your valiant knight or noble lord? That’s the kind of person you’d rather forge a union with.

King Vell finally realized that simple courtship wasn’t how he would win your hand, no, it became apparent even to him that you were not interested in him or what he had to offer you. So instead he switched tactics. Like with other matters he was in no way opposed to the use of force. Dragons were very possessive with what they considered to be theirs.

An outright war over you was, of course, out of the question. That would result in a lot of blood, no guarantee of victory, and it would leave both kingdoms far too weak. And even if none of those problems were an issue it would likely take years. Far too many drawbacks, it simply wasn’t the way to go about things.

That was okay, Vell had other ways of securing you a good deal more peacefully. Guards could be paid off, kingdoms could be infiltrated, people could be stolen away when they expect it least…

And that is exactly the way things played out.

Thanks to his spies he knew every secret passage in your castle and every detail of your schedule.

You were in the library, reading through one of the books you so dearly loved, when you heard something large scraping the floor. You went to the back corner to investigate to find that a shelf had been moved and that behind it there was a gaping passage into the dark.

A dagger pressed into your throat from behind, the glow of his torch lit the dark in front of you.

“Stay quiet and walk in front of me. No funny business.”

It was clear from his accent and depth of his voice that he was a dragon hybrid. You were reasonably sure that you were in no mortal danger, who goes through the trouble of infiltrating a castle and kidnapping a king just to kill them? They either wanted a king’s ransom or leverage and control over the kingdom itself.

He closed the bookshelf passage behind you, there was a lot of tunnel to get through and you were made to move at a brisk pace, though you moved as slowly as you were allowed, hoping that delay may result in your guards finding you missing. Though the chance was slim, and even if they did discover you missing in time it was even less probable that they’d find the secret passage even you hadn’t known about.

“Stop dragging your feet!”

You were pushed roughly forward and quickened your pace just enough not to get pushed again.

The tunnel intersected other paths, evidently meant to get people lost or at least slow them down if it was ever invaded. It seemed it hadn’t done much good. Someone with extreme knowledge about the castle had betrayed you. The thought filled you with despair.

Eventually the tunnel led into the sewers, luckily well made with proper pathways, but that offered no protection from the stench. You wrinkled your nose but felt complaining wouldn’t do any good.

From there it was another series of doors and paths that finally ended in a grate, temporarily displaced with a press of a specific brick.

Hidden in the trees a cart waited for you, and you were briskly swept away from your beloved kingdom and into the lands of King Vell.

You had no idea he was behind your capture until they took you directly to him, the journey had taken over a week and you had little chance to bathe, Vell was happy to provide you with fresh clothing and the opportunity to clean yourself.

Perhaps he thought that good treatment after such a rough journey would be enough to sway you to like him, no such luck for him though.

You demanded release, though knew that wouldn’t happen. And your armies wouldn’t mobilize since you were a hostage, You had hoped they’d at least not roll over for Vell but it seemed that Kidnapping you wasn’t the only thing he and his lackeys did.

They had simultaneously kidnapped all the highest military leaders, your entire high council, and many lords, ladies, and distant relations. So you could not be easily replaced with a distant heir and no one could lead.

Your kingdom was in disarray and easily taken in its entirety by King Vell.

He owned it all just as he owned you.

“Don’t look at me with such disdain, love, we have the strongest kingdom in history. We should celebrate.”

You tried to push him away but he was too strong, and far more insistent than normal. His lips crashed into yours, claiming them, a hint of wine on his breath, one strong hand on your hip and the other pressing you into the kiss from the back of your head.

That kiss only stirred up his appetite and he needed far more to feel full. He nibbled at your neck, sucking it and peppering you in loving kisses. Tonight he’d finally make love to his feminine prince, his long held dream would come true.

You could feel his slimy reptilian length press into you through the clothing you both wore. It wouldn’t shield you from his touch for long though.

Vell began unbuttoning your shirt then undoing your pants, all while you struggled frantically. You didn’t want any part of this. What had you done to deserve such a thing? Your eyes burned as you lost your composure, tears streaming down your cheeks.

“Shh, no need for that my dear king, I’ll be so gentle. I love you. You’re the only person I have ever cared about.”

“I don-”

He silenced you with another kiss before slipping out of his clothing, revealing his massive draconic dick, and guiding you to the bed, laying you out gently, quite possibly the only time he had ever treated another being with anything even approaching tenderness.

He applied oil to his hands from a nearby jar.

King Vell kissed your tear stained cheeks, continued by trailing kisses down your neck to your chest, kissing then licking your nipple as his oiled hand worked between your cheeks and massaged oil into your hole.

Your captor massaged around the rim for a while before dipping in a large finger, curling and exploring your insides before it was followed by a second finger. Then a third. All massaging and moving and opening you up while you begged him to stop.

Your hips bucked and twitched every time his fingers hit a specific spot inside you, forcing your body to betray you which only made you feel shame and embarrassment. He worked his fingers in until you came on your belly, he licked it up and remarked on the sweet taste before aligning his cock with your asshole and pressing it into you slowly, savoring the first moments of experiencing your warmth and tightness.

You pressed your hands against his scaled chest in a futile attempt to remove him even as your breath hitched and moans left your lips. He ran his hands up your sides, tenderly exploring and roaming your body.

The king kissed you while thrusting before slowly wrapping his long tail around you, binding your arms. His speed steadily increased until he was really pounding into you, desperate to fill you up like he had been dreaming of for so long. Far too long.

His balls smacked into you with each of his movements until he stopped to empty them into you deeply. He stared into your eyes as he came. You had been fucked into exhaustion and physical contentment. Or maybe shock. Either way, you were limp and your eyes half lidded and glassy. His tail slowly released you.

The dragon king tenderly flipped you over and spread your cheeks, admiring the way his cum leaked so beautifully from your hole.

He caressed your cheek gently then picked you up and put you in a basin of warm water he had the servants prepare for the two of you. He washed you diligently himself, not willing to let any hands but his touch you.

It took a while to prepare the wedding, many arrangements had to be made. Any royal wedding was to be an extravagant affair, but yours signified the joining of kingdoms. It was a grand spectacle. A grand feast, the finest bards, floral arrangements everywhere.

He wore the traditional outfit of his people, and you wore a modified version that accentuated your delicate feminine features and long hair.

By the time you said “I do” you were convinced of the words, over the weeks he had gradually fucked all the resistance out of you. Or at least most of it. There was nothing you could do to escape so your mind had to accept it or break.

He tried everything he could to keep her alive. Various types of acupuncture, medicines, herbs, visits to the apothecary, nothing seemed to work on the vicious disease ravaging her body.

On a moonless night, he knelt by her beside, his undead heart aching as she spoke her final words.

“Don’t… cry…” she murmured, her skeletal hand caressing his cheek and wiping away the tears that wouldn’t stop. “I may die… but my love will… persist through it all…”

Choking on a sob, he leaned forward to press his forehead against hers. “I don’t want to be alone… I can’t stand it, I won’t let you go.”

She began to hum, carefully running your fingers through his soft locks. “Then I’ll come back… I promise. I’ll… find you…”

The clouds covering the moon moved out of the way for just a moment, letting its light shine on her face one last time.

“I love you, Valentine.”

With that, she drew her last breath.

It took several days for reality to set in. Valentine still came to her room every night, sat beside her slowly decaying corpse, and kissed her head.

“Goodnight, my dear.”

~

Darkness fell over the land, leaving you nothing to light your path. Everyone warned you to be home before nightfall, but you foolishly ventured on, wanting to gather more fresh herbs for dinner.

After all, you were out camping in such a nice cabin, why not take advantage of the change of scenery and eat something you gathered yourself?

Life in the city was hard, and you thought a change of pace would be nice. After all, in only a few months you were to be married off to someone you didn’t know.

‘Aren’t arranged marriages outdated?’ you thought to yourself as you forced your body to move forward.

Your father was wealthy and a bit distant, but you never thought he would marry you off to someone you hadn’t even met!

It was just supposed to be a walk to clear your head, to try and make sense of what your life was becoming.

Well, now you were lost in a dark and wintery forest with your phone dead and scarf blown away with the wind.

It was hard to see even your own two hands in the pitch blackness that surrounded you, and the only way you were able to move without tripping was to grab at trees as you passed by.

A part of you wanted to cry out for help, but knew that could possibly cause you more trouble than it was worth. After all, many predators lurked in the thick forest.

You didn’t want to come face to face with one.

Tears fell down your cheeks, and you struggled to keep yourself from giving in to the falling snow. If you just lied down, maybe you wouldn’t have to be so afraid anymore.

The soft white snow would cover you in a blanket, keeping you nice and comfortable through the rest of the winter until you thawed in the spring.

‘No, can’t have that. I’m sure some animals will dig up my corpse. They wouldn’t be able to have a proper funeral for them,’ you thought to yourself, puffs of white escaping your lips.

Though, as you continued on despite the wind tugging at your coat and your boots sinking deeper into the snow, it almost felt like something was guiding you.

When you turned towards the left, your worries eased and the wind was a little less harsh. You didn’t give it much thought, and continued to travel on the easier path.

Little did you know, fate was leading you somewhere you were supposed to be.

The cold nipped at your skin, your lungs struggling to breathe in the frosty air. All seemed hopeless…

Then, a light in the distance lit a fire under you. You forced your frozen feet to keep moving, trying your best to ignore the pain in your tingling limbs.

‘Just a few feet more…’ you thought to yourself, struggling to keep yourself from passing out. ‘Almost… there…’

Before you lost consciousness, you saw the source of the light. Someone was holding an old fashioned lamp, a beacon in the snow storm..

~

Waking up was a bit easier this time. Though the light spilling past the gap in the curtains hurt your eyes, you didn’t feel as uncomfortable and weak as before.

You sat up on your own, blinking the sleep away as you finally took in your surroundings.

“You’re awake,” a voice called out from a dark corner of the room. Focusing in, you were able to make out a pair of red eyes, instantly alerting your mind to potential danger.

Human beings didn’t have scarlet eyes, but your father had told you many tales of those who did. Hoping the creature didn’t realize you noticed, you nodded.

“Haven’t you been taught to speak? You seemed awfully talkative in your sleep. I could hear you whining from down the hall, you know.”

Your face burned, and before you could retort he emerged from the shadows.

“I see your fever is down. The nurse has been fretting over you day and night.”

The man had long white hair that cascaded down his shoulders and red eyes to match. He was disturbingly beautiful, like a painting that came to life. It wasn’t human, his features were almost uncannily perfect.

He didn’t bother to hide his fangs when he spoke. “(Name) (Last Name), correct? Quite the coincidence…”

“What do you mean?”

“I suppose you wouldn’t know, we haven't formally met,” he mused, at your confused expression.

Your eyes narrowed in suspicion. Who was this handsome stranger? Or yet, the better question…

“What are you?”

The man rolled his eyes, sitting on the foot of your bed. “Quite the rude question, isn’t it? I’m a vampire, is that what you wanted to hear?”

He stared down at you, his gaze cold and unenthusiastic. “More importantly, I’m your fiancé.”

It was too much to process at once. You read plenty of horror and romance novels about vampires, and he fit the description perfectly. The strangest part about the situation wasn’t that he was a vampire though.

“You’re Valentine? As in the man I’m ENGAGED TO-“

“The very same.”

Nothing about him seemed like good husband material. His eyes seemed empty and lifeless, like those of a porcelain doll, and he was so cold towards you, his future fiancé. Even when his eyes were on you, it seemed like he was barely paying attention to what you had to say!

“I won’t marry you, I just won’t!”

Valentine smiled, a first in the little time you had known him. Instead of it being warm and inviting, it sent shivers down your spine.

“Oh, really now? We’ll see about that.”

The window curtains opened just enough for you to peek out, his gloved hand avoiding the sunlight. The outside world was blanketed in a thick sheet of snow, and you looked on in horror when you realized it reached the window.

“We’ve been snowed in. You’ll be staying here for at least a week until the blizzard passes through.”

He turned, brushing off his suit pants before walking to the door. “Breakfast will be served at 7 am sharp. A servant will arrive here shortly to get you ready.”

The vampire paused in the doorway, hesitating a moment before turning back to look at you. “… and don’t try to leave, you’ll freeze to death in that snow.”

With that, he was gone and you were left alone to fume in your room while you waited for help to arrive.

~

You walked the halls of the manner, noticing the only lighting came from extravagant light fixtures that hung from the ceilings. There were no windows besides the one that had been in your room, and you could only assume that was to protect the master of the estate.

‘I can’t believe father married me off to a vampire…’ you thought to yourself as you were guided to the dining room. Your father promised you the man you were to be wed to would take care of you and give you the life you had always wanted, but you were beginning to doubt his words.

When you were being dressed by the older servant woman, you were able to see your body in the mirror more clearly than usual. Your fat belly, rolls, and little imperfections made you wince. There was no way Valentine had agreed to be your husband knowing what you looked like, perhaps he had sinister intentions in mind.

No one as beautiful as him would want you, vampire or not, so you kept up your guard. Despite your insecurities, you were a confident woman that refused to be bullied or tricked into some loveless marriage.

By the end of the week, you’d have him end this engagement and go back home to your lovely cats!

Valentine was waiting in the dining room, an empty plate sat in front of him. He sipped on a glass of what you wanted to assume was red wine, hsi eyes never leaving you.

“Took you longer than I expected. I don’t like to wait, I’ll have you know.”

You bristled at his words, sitting across from him. His eyes cut to the servants, who quickly scurried to the kitchen to bring out your breakfast.

“I will be busy through most of the day and night. I suppose you can call this a trial run for our married life,” he said, sipping on his wine before letting out a sigh.

“…”

You didn’t want to speak to him, not when he seemed so cold and unfeeling. Even if you didn’t want to be married to him, it almost hurt to know your potential future husband would have no affection for you whatsoever.

When you weren’t looking, his eyes softened ever so slightly, and he took in your full figure before his features returned to his neutral expression.

For just a split second, you thought you saw the faintest crinkle in the corner of his eyes, the look of someone who was incredibly fond of another.

You shook your head and ate silently. It was just your imagination, you weren’t even sure if vampires could love someone.

After breakfast, you walked back to your room, shutting yourself in before pulling a book from the bookcase and plopping onto your bed.

Valentine watched as you left, that softness returning as he contemplated whether to let himself fall in love with a mortal again.

~

Earlier that night, Valentine felt something stirring in his chest. His undead heart felt heavy, and even his cold body felt like it was on fire.

Valentine staggered down the endless halls, gripping the wall as his chest ached. Something was wrong, and in his heart he knew he had to do something to prevent a terrible tragedy.

One of his servants approached, brows furrowed. “Master, are you alright-“

“The door… open the door.”

He fell into the snow, nearly crawling as he tried his best to move with the unyielding pain coursing through his body. Had he been poisoned?

“Master… there’s a girl out in the snow!”

From that angle, both the servant and Valentine could see a young woman through the nearly blinding snow. You, however, could not see them.

The second he laid eyes on you, the pain melted away into bliss, spreading through his limbs and all the way to his heart.

“Get a lamp and tell the others to prepare a room.”

After you collapsed, Valentine carried you to the room and watched over you through the next several days as you battled a horrible fever.

He refused to partake in his usual meals, unable to leave your side for even a second.

“Could it really be her..?” Valentine questioned aloud, his fingertips brushing against your feverish cheek.

When you woke up in a daze, he was the one to slowly lower you back down and tend to your illness.

Although his undead heart felt heavy in his chest when he left your side, he knew that if you truly were who he thought you were… you’d be upset when you woke up.

He loved you more than anything, but stayed silent as he wiped the sweat from your brow and monitored your health.

Valentine didn’t want you to be in an unhappy marriage, where you had no choice in the matter… so if you couldn’t fall in love with a vampire, he wouldn’t make you stay.

He loved you enough to do that.

Part of him was also afraid. You were reborn as a mortal, a being that would never be able to live alongside him without becoming a vampire yourself.

What was he supposed to do when you died too? Valentine steeled himself, not wanting to get too close. He had to emotionally distance himself, or he’d end up distraught for centuries again.

Though, as you fell asleep after eating breakfast, Valentine couldn’t help but return to your room. You were laying across the bed, a few pages into the book you had been reading before you fell asleep. It seemed your fever had taken a lot out of you, and you were still exhausted.

He carefully tucked you under the thick comforter, leaning down to inhale your familiar scent before kissing your forehead.

His body ached to be closer to yours, to feel your warmth sink into his pale skin as it once did all those centuries ago. Valentine had taken on no other human bride, for there was no other human he loved as much as you.

When he retired to his bed chambers for the afternoon, he couldn’t help but grope the bulge in his pants, his cheeks flushed as he sat on the edge of his bed.

Your scent had driven him to the brink of insanity, it took everything in his body to leave your sleeping body alone.

He slowly stroked his cock, thinking of the small glimpse he got of your naked body as he changed you out of your soaking wet clothes.

The snow left you cold and wet, and he didn’t want you to get sick… but still, his eyes had fallen on your ample bosom and thick thighs. How he wished to reach out and touch what was his, what had always been his…

But he didn’t, and as he touched himself he imagined an alternative reality where he did. He imagined you waking up, smiling as he kissed and touched you…

The vampire came, panting softly as the shame started to set in.

Did he really deserve you?

~

You woke up to an empty room in the afternoon, your body aching from the awkward sleeping position, but otherwise you felt… fine. Your book was sitting on the nightstand nearby, a bookmark placed between the last pages you read.

Although you didn’t remember placing the bookmark, you chalked it up to your mind playing tricks on you.

“Lunch is ready, madam.”

The sound of your door opening hadn’t registered, but the voice of the maid who stepped in to fetch you had. You jumped in surprise, nearly falling over before catching yourself on the nightstand.

“A-alright… I understand.”

You didn’t see him during lunch, figuring Valentine was busy with his work he mentioned before. You only saw him again while you were exploring, passing through the labyrinth-like hallways to try and find something to entertain yourself with.

“Lost?”

He appeared behind you, almost as if he had been your shadow this entire time.

“F-fuck! I swear to god, everyone in this place is trying to give me a damn heart attack.”

The man chuckled, but for some reason getting any kind of reaction out of him felt strangely… good.

“My apologies, I was just curious as to why you were wandering about like a scared little rabbit and assumed you were lost.”

This made you puff out your cheeks. “I am in fact not lost, I’m just exploring. I can find my way just fine, thank you.”

He watched you open a random door, only to be greeted by a supply closet. When you turned to him with your face heated with embarrassment, he scoffed.

“I’m going to be your husband, you can ask me to show you around, you know. I don’t bite.”

Valentine pretended to not be hurt when you flinched at his words, and simply turned. “What is it you want to see?”

You recovered from your temporary fear of his fangs sinking into your throat and replied. “… do you have a library, by chance?”

“The biggest library you’ll ever see.”

Valentine was completely correct. An entire wing of his manor was dedicated to his vast collection of books, ranging from historical records to smutty romance novels.

You tried to avert your gaze from the more… erotic covers but he notices they caught your eye. “Interested? I have a good selection of romance novels. You can take whichever ones you’d like to read to your room and keep them.”

That was rather kind of him, and it confused you slightly. How could a man that was supposedly as cold as him allow a stranger to take books from a collection he so obviously adored?

The shelves were free of dust, some older books fixed with new bindings to keep them from falling apart. The vampire must have spent a lot of money on the upkeep of his novels, so why were you allowed to just keep any you so pleased?

“Master Valentine, the phone is working again.”

The two of you glanced up at the servant as he walked in, carrying a rotary phone. You weren’t sure if those even worked anymore, and you only used one before when your grandma was alive.

“Ah, thank you Francis. (Name)…”

He tilted his head towards the phone, his expression back to being neutral. “Call your father, talk to him about your thoughts on the marriage and… tell him you have my consent to end it if you must.”

His words left you standing there in a daze as he left the room to give you privacy. You blinked, trying to regain your composure before you took the phone.

“Father… it’s me, (Name).”

The man on the other line huffed. “I thought you went and run off somewhere. Good to see you’re with Valentine, as this is his number after all. Tell me, do you like your future husband?”

You weren’t exactly sure anymore. Regardless, you sighed and continued. “Father, I told you I don’t want to be in an arranged marriage, can’t you-“

“I didn’t say you had any choice in this, little girl,”

You froze at that, recognizing the belittling tone of his voice. Though you didn’t hate your father, he wasn’t someone you enjoyed being around because of how he treated you like a pawn for his business affairs.

“Without marrying into the Valentine family, our business will go under. He’s willing to make some trades and deals that will have us set for life and pay for your sisters’ college funds. I sent you to college, didn’t I? You wanna repay me by putting your father in debt?”

You didn’t reply, your face falling as he sighed on the other end. “Do whatever you have to do to make sure this marriage goes through, or don’t bother coming home.”

You handed the phone back to the servant, silently carrying your books to your room as you tried not to cry. It seemed like you truly had no other choice now. After being so adamant about not wanting to marry him, would Valentine still even want you?

I mean, who would? You didn’t even like yourself, with your fat thighs and tummy that was too big. What could you even offer him in return?

With a glance at the romance novels, you blinked before getting an idea. They were all aimed towards women like her, with plump female protagonists. Perhaps… he had a fetish of some sort?

You went to dinner with your plan in mind, wearing the elegant red dress provided to you by the servants. Perhaps you could seduce him…

Valentine’s eyes followed your figure as you walked into the dining room, with an expression you couldn’t quite read. His grip on silverware tightened to the point it bent in his grasp

“You look… nice.”

Your plan was working so far, but you had to remain coy for it to keep going. “Thank you, Valentine. I didn’t want to look like a mess if I’m eating with such an important man.”

His eyebrow raised, but he didn’t question your sudden change in attitude. Instead, he sipped his drink, his red eyes following the curvature of your body before landing on your plump thighs.

Soon, you finished eating and left, giving him a little smile before you did. It left him feeling confused and… oddly aroused.

~

Valentine leaned back in his chair, glancing at the portrait of his deceased lover that hung atop the fireplace in his office.

You looked just like her, the same hair, same eyes, and the exact same, perfect figure he had always adored.

In his time, women with soft, plump bodies were considered the beauty standard, and it hadn’t changed for him. His pants tightened as he thought of you in that red dress, how your fat tits were barely within the expensive fabric.

He wanted to see you in even finer clothing… and perhaps none at all.

‘No, I can’t think of her like that…’ he thought to himself, rubbing his temple. ‘I don’t want to get attached…’

As he began to start signing the endless paperwork on his desk, a knock on the door caught his attention. Valentine could already pick up your scent through the door, so he straightened himself up in an attempt to hide his erection.

“Come in.”

You stepped into his office, still dressed in that red dress, though your heels were gone. Instead, you walked towards him barefoot, your eyes on his.

“You seemed stressed today…” you murmured, walking behind his desk. Before he could ask what you were doing, you reached around his chair.

Your hand moved down his chest and under his suit jacket. His skin felt cold, and you hoped he could still get it up being undead and all.

“I can help you relax, you know? Take it… as an apology for being so rude.”

At this point, the only worth you could find in yourself was making use of your body, but in his eyes you were showing him affection and care.

Was it truly okay to relax while your hands worked to unbutton his pants? It had been so long since he felt the touch of a woman, and you were his love, his everything…

Valentine let out a shaky breath as his cock sprung forward, precum dribbling from his tip as your hand held onto his length. He hissed, holding onto your arm as you stroked him slowly.

“I… could be a good wife. I might not have the most experience, b-but I’ve read plenty of novels. I can make you feel good…” you murmured against his neck, your cheeks flushed with both embarrassment and arousal.

Watching his chest rise and fall rapidly as he panted and moaned with each jerking motion made you feel a certain something… but you didn’t give in to it. You were here to pleasure him, that was it.

“A good wife, hmm?”

He sighed, his eyes half lidded as he looked back at you, noticing your warm cheeks and pouting lips. Oh, how he wanted to feel your lips on his while you jerked him off. Every single day he imagined something like this whole touching himself, desperate to feel his lover against him again.

He came in your hand, panting as your thumb blushed over his pink tip. You brought your cum soaked fingers to your lips, shyly licking the excess liquid away as you stepped back.

“… I hope you feel better now,” you murmured, glancing towards the door. You did what you were supposed to do, you got him off and now you should leave.

Part of you didn’t want to, but you turned towards the door anyways, unable to look him in the eye.

“Where are you going?”

You stopped when you felt his hand on your wrist, keeping you in place. “… I did what I was supposed to, and now I’m going to bed.”

“… supposed… to?”

Valentine's undead heart clenched in his chest. Did you think that all you were to him was something to use? You didn’t get understand his feelings for you.

“My father… he said I have no choice but to marry you. It’s… not that I don’t like you. I just…”

He watched as tears fell down your chubby cheeks. “I’m afraid you… won’t want someone like me.”

Without further warning, the vampire lifted you up and placed you on his desk. You blinked in surprise, your face heating up when he tore the expensive red fabric of your dress from your chubby frame.

“I guess I’ll have to show you then… I can be a good husband to you.”

He didn’t care anymore. Valentine loved you, and didn’t want to see you upset. He pried your thighs open, kissing down your soft belly, paying extra attention to the soft fat of your tummy before placing a kiss on your damp panties.

“V-Valentine, you don’t have t-“

His fangs scraped against your thigh, making you go quiet. “Shh, I’m going to make you feel good, alright?”

Your panties were tossed to the side so he could get to your bare cunt, his tongue immediately pushing inside of you. His fingers flicked your clit, and he looked up at you with pussy drunk eyes.

No one had ever touched you like this before, much less buried their head between your thighs! Your mind was already fuzzy with pleasure, and your clit twitched against his lips.

His fingers replaced his tongue so he could focus his mouth on your clit, and you could feel something building up in your belly with each curl of his digits.

You came once, but he wasn’t done. As you felt fireworks going off in your lower belly, he latched onto your clit and added another finger, continuing to pump his fingers in and out of you through your orgasm.

Even when you touched yourself in the past, you had never felt such pleasure. Suddenly, you started to squirm, feeling embarrassed. “S-stop, I’m gonna-“

Your pussy gushed, squirting fluid all over his pale face. You just squirted for the first time, and on your betrothed of all people!

There was no time to be embarrassed, though. The vampire between your legs was too busy licking his glistening lips as he stroked his cock, ready to be inside of you.

“You have no idea how much I’ve wanted this, my love. No idea at all…”

You were too blissed out to question his words. Valentine had no intention of telling you that you were his reincarnated love… at least not yet.

He pinned your wrists above your head, peppering kisses along your neck before biting down gently, marking you as his.

His cock pushed into you, the slick dripping from your cunt making it easy to begin moving immediately. This was heavenly to him, being inside of the woman he adored after thinking he’d never see you alive again. Nothing would take you away, he couldn’t bear it.

“You’ll stay with me, won’t you?” he said through muffled whimpers, his hands gripping the fat of your hips. “I can’t let you go… you’ll be my wife, I’ll t-take good care of you!”

He lapped the blood from your neck, groaning into your sweat covered skin as he felt you clench around him.

Valentine came inside of you, his body feeling warmth for the first time in centuries. This was how he was supposed to feel, absolutely in love.

Your future marriage was saved, and you now knew that Valentine was fond of you, though for now… you weren’t sure why.

As you laid next to him, he decided to love your human self without guilt.

After all, you said you’d always return to his side.

~

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