only when satoru is positioned on a gurney are you able to analyze suguru—his shirt soaked with blood you can’t determine is his own or not. his shirt is ripped, face cut, blood dripping off his fingertips to contribute to the great vibrant red staining the floor. he’s injured, and you’re panicking–and these people could die, and who do you even start with?? you turn towards suguru, inclined to make sure he’s alright. your hands shake, you move towards him in slow, unsure steps, and he grabs one of your shaky palms—stopping you from tending to him. 

you know he can see right through you, knows that you’re bound to lock up in fear, yet he looks at you with a gentle grin—despite it all, forgetting the fact that he’s in pain and his men are grievously hurt. his thumb rakes over the back of your hand, nevermind the blood that streaks across your skin as he does so—his blood, decidedly. you can’t stop staring. at the blood on his hands–your hand, at the mass of injured people waiting for you to fix them—on the crimson puddles leading straight for you.

“hey—look at me,” his voice is stern, with a sense of understanding softness to it. it’s commanding, and your eyes stop surveying the injured and snap back to his face, his lip busted and a cut that definitely needs stitches. “you’re the best money can buy, that’s why you’re mine. just…block it out. breathe, one at a time. it’s a tall task, i know what i’m asking of you. work on satoru first, and trust yourself. we all panic, so show me why you were on the cover of academic magazines, ebi. i’ll tell you everything that happened while you work.” he offers, and you know that it must be an attempt to busy your mind—so you jump at the reprieve. he watches you slip into a different part of yourself, your brow furrowing—mind steeling as he commanded. you nod, gesturing for him to talk as your turn for satoru, popping the buttons on his shirt and cussing at the damage. 

“hey boss-man, we got him!” satoru beams, dropping a manilla file on suguru’s dark cherry desk. suguru cuts his eyes over to him, rather bored looking with his elbow propped on the table and his head leaned against his hand. he’s hesitant to perk up at satoru’s words, not wanting to get his hopes up for a lead on toji without good reason. the first trails had gone cold before he had really even had the chance to look into them; all second-hand accounts of a guy that knows a guy that had absolutely nothing to contribute other than wasting their time. “go on, open it!” 

satoru sounds so perky suguru is inclined to follow his orders for once. gojo wouldn’t look so excited if this wasn’t something good. so he pops the tab and reaches in, sliding a bundle of papers out. some are print-outs of surveillance cameras—toji’s unmistakable presence captured with sukuna—his men had gotten a hold of something concrete finally. included with those were text messages, meeting arrangements for the one who stabbed him in the back—no, shot him in the chest. they were getting a delivery tonight. this is what nanami risked his life for, and suguru was intent on making it worth it. 

“we’ll move tonight then. we have a delivery of our own to make.” he claps the file against satoru’s chest, a nonchalant smile closing his eyes as he gets to his feet. revenge. it was so near. he needed to make arrangements for this quickly, there was only a few hours to go before the meeting would go down and he needed to decide who would station where and how many weapons and cases of ammo they would need.

he thinks about you as he walks to his armory. he had practically tucked you in and promised to make up for his temperament later in the week. he sighed aloud, the heels of his boots clicking down his marble walkway. the walls were barren outside of the tapestry that hung along one of them. it’s a long hallway with a hidden door to the left side of it. it leads to his armory—walls decorated with guns, flash grenades, smoke bombs and more. he just needed to make sure that this went well, as minimal casualties as possible so you could sleep through the night undisturbed. he can seek his revenge and keep you out of it. so he can keep his promise to you. 

so he starts pulling guns off their mounts and calling his best men to get the cars ready. 

a few hours later, suguru and his top seven guys stood at the back entrance of ryomen sukuna’s estate, holding their delivery driver hostage as they wait on toji to surface for it. it was just a crate of weapons, but enough of a hassle for someone high on the food chain to come for it. apparently being a rat helps you climb the ranks. he doesn’t come out alone—several men flanking him as he takes a look around. 

he’s smirking, like he knew that something was lurking in the shadows without even having to look too hard. he folds his arms and scratches his head with the barrel of his gun, whistling. “i can smell ya, mangy little kid. what, you wanna talk about my betrayal?” he rolls his eyes. suguru steps forward, but so do satoru, choso, kusakabe, hakari, yuuta, todo, and inumaki—all of his top performers, minus the injured nanami.  

“no, no. you’ve taught me that there comes a time where the talking must cease. i just want your ashes in an urn for my office.” he hums, hands in his pockets. the tension runs high, suguru’s feline smirk making everyone on the opposing side antsy. he takes a step forward, and one of toji’s men preemptively shoots—triggering the chain of events. 

that’s where things get fuzzy. he remembers ducking behind the car and peaking around to get a few shots off. suguru couldn’t care less about the extra men—sukuna’s men–that was a battle for another time. he just wants toji. he wants to show him the monster he’s created. suguru doesn’t thrive on negativity—feels like it’s a curse, even, but he will not tolerate disrespect and betrayal. he will not give toji the chance to plan another attack. not now, when he has so much to lose. 

and when satoru’s body falls down beside him, all he can think about is the injuries he sustained, the ones that nanami endured—all of the wounds his other men would get tonight; the nearly lethal suffering he weathered–you, who would have to repair all that was broken tonight despite his oath to you. he rolls the opposite way than he had been peaking, coming around and letting his gun do any talking. he takes down two of the regular guards, opening up his shot on toji. suguru nearly laughs; it’s so easy. he expected to mourn a little, to hesitate. to feel his morality tug at him or even hear that angelic voice he’s long concluded to be yours telling him to stop. 

but his brain is clear, heart at peace. he can feel the cool wind whispering against his cheek, advocating for justice. seeing the carnage makes things so clear, his best friend bleeding out at his feet. he wonders briefly if you felt this calm when you stumbled over him all those nights ago. he pulls the trigger, there’s a loud bang! and slight jump of the barrel, smoke wafting into the night air—then the loud crumpling sound of toji’s body hitting the ground. 

and then there is silence. 

you’re pulling bullets out of satoru’s arm and side while suguru recounts the events to you, mind operating on nothing but your knowledgeable instinct. you thought he may be distracting like he was when you operated earlier in the day, but his voice is surprisingly even and soft and drowns out any grunts of pain from the others you hadn’t yet seen. satoru was easily the worst of them—but you moved efficiently to patch him up, gleeful that none of the bullets had hit major arteries and that he would be fine in a few weeks. 

you administer morphine to everyone, thankful beyond belief that all your x-rays and ct scans proved that everyone in this rival gang were horrible shooters; all your patients would make it without any real surgery required. just a lot of pain medicine and stitches—and you would consider that a good day. should any of them have needed to be opened up, you would have had to pick and prioritize them, or have suguru do it for you. no, you’re very thankful for a mess of gauze and blood on the floor, happy to hang bags of fluids and let them talk over their victory with each other. 

once his men were patched up, suguru finally let you tend to him. he unfastens the buttons on his shirt for you, “this one’s expensive. i don’t want you ruining it.” he jokes, seemingly content despite the situation and how grave it really could have been. you wonder if taking care of his enemy is the sole reason why. 

“ha, ha. i’m here to save lives, not designer shirts.” you raise a brow to chastise almost, but the grin playing on your lips betrays you. though it quickly drops when you see he’s been shot three times. he seemed to omit the part where those two men he shot, shot back. 

you suck in a breath of air and look up at him, the wounds on his chest that were nearly healed looked red and angry—due to the fact his body was already weakened from them and had just acquired three more. two of them had clear exit wounds in his abdomen and just required your cleaning and dressing of them. the one closest to his heart was a shallow wound, the bullet lodged just beneath his skin. you can’t help but feel fear. what if one of these bullets caused your grafts to rupture? what if–even if he doesn’t think it’s fatal, it is? so you insist on an echo and a ct after you’ve pulled the last bullet fragment from his olive-tinted scarred skin. 

“you need tests. i need to make sure your heart still looks good—you really need to take it easy, suguru. you’re not invincible.” you say as you place the electrodes on his skin. his deep laceration was perfectly stitched so it may not even leave a scar–and you know he can’t grin at you the way he wants due to how tight the threads pull at his cheek. 

“i’m a yakuza boss, little isha. i can’t exactly take it easy.” he leans back on his arms to allow you closer to his chest–the broad expanse of toned muscle and rough terrain. your slender fingers press the stickers in the places only you would know to put them, watching the machine read his heart beat while you take his blood pressure. you take a breath of relief when the numbers look perfect. 

“come on, one ct scan just to help me sleep tonight.” you raise your brow expectantly and pull the probes from his chest, feeling his ochre eyes stare into your face as you work. 

“of course. anything for you.” he purrs, sliding off the gurney and following you to the adjacent room to do the scans for your anxious mind. 

“anything, hm? you said toji shot you. is that what happened when i found you?” you ask, guiding him to lay down for the machine. 

“you’re relentless, ebi. and you tell me i don’t know when to quit.” he chuckles, earning him a glare from you as you try to run the scan. you’re quiet while it’s running, eyeing the results as they populate on your desktop. 

“you said you’d tell me everything and thennnnn you said you’d do anything for me. one simple request. i just want to know what you went through that night.” you hum so sweetly he knows he won’t be able to deny you any longer. 

“yes, fine, brat.” he shakes his head, sitting up on the hospital bed to face you. despite his seeming annoyance, his lips are turned up in a grin. he looks over your face, adorned with the excitement that he has finally given in to you no doubt. you lean forward, hip bumping against the side of his metal gurney. 

“that night, i was betrayed. my mentor–toji fushiguro. he was like a father to me, and satoru. he taught me the ropes of being a yakuza boss. most of everything i know came from him. i was meant to meet with the head of our rivals, toji organized the entire thing,” he reflects on this with so much pain in his eyes—you understand why he had brushed off the retelling for as long as he could. it’s clear he didn’t want to think about it. but maybe since the saga is over, he feels free enough to indulge you in it. “on our way there, sukuna’s men flipped my car. i crawled out of the wreckage and toji…shot me in the chest to finish the job.” he looks down at his marred flesh, littered in the scars from that day. 

“how did you make it to that alley?” you ask, hanging on his every word. he was incredibly resourceful and resilient—and that can’t be entirely taught.  

“dragged myself. there were patrons in that bar that owed me. if i could have made it inside, i knew someone would have gotten a hold of satoru, at least. i left him home because he’s a loud mouth and would ruin the meeting—but it was a mistake. satoru knew. he smelled toji’s betrayal, and i dismissed it. my bad judgment nearly cost me my life.” he focuses on a crack in the tile flooring next to your feet. you notice the brokenness that flickers in his eyes as he stares at that point on the ground–a proverbial crack in the foundation. you interrupt those drowning thoughts of his own self-criticism by putting your hand on his shoulder, you remember your own cracks and how they’ve been mended since. 

“it seems like you have pretty good judgment. no one can be right one hundred percent of the time. i had to learn that early on, even with the science and miracles of surgery. everything seems under control, don’t underestimate yourself. you have it all put together.” you encourage, thumbing over the edge of his collarbone. his skin is so warm and tan despite how often you see him inside. he looks at you as if he’s surprised by your touch, but makes no move to evade it. after a moment of staring, he chuckles, and you look away—though you can feel his eyes trained on you like always. 

“no, isha. i may look orchestrated, but i’m falling apart.” he sighs out, a hint of that pain darkening the golden brown autumn eyes he looks at you with. you can’t repress the intrusive instinct to trace the thick scar left by toji’s betrayal—by your skilled sutures. you shake your head at his words.

“when i found you, you were falling apart. now you’re putting it back together. it’s a process.” you say, voice falling to a whisper as you realize just how close you are to him. you’re standing between his legs, your knees buckling slightly as his rest against your thighs. you have to conjure every ounce of your courage to lift your gaze to his notorious bedroom stare, ochre pools sending a tingle down your spine. you bite your bottom lip and his vulturous gaze flickers down to watch the way your white teeth dug into the plush color of your lip, the flesh swelling a bit from the pressure. he puts his hand on your hip, so gentle by manner of touch but so rough by feeling. his fingers are long enough to rest atop the supple fat of your ass, and you can feel electricity thicken in the room like the moments before a loud thunderstorm. you don’t know who leaned in first, but your lips meet—and lightning strikes. you feel his fingers curling into your clothes, your very bones. his lips move fluidly against yours, his head turning to mesh with your slow movements. your brain is fuzzy, his other hand reaching for the dip of your waist to pull you into his lap—except he grunts in pain from the contact, and you pull away with the sudden clarity that he is hurt and you are his doctor—as well as everyone else’s in this hospital. 

you can feel the heat in your cheeks as you look out of the machine room to see if anyone saw the two of you. he just admires you with amusement, that you’re concerned you overstepped despite how obviously he feels for you. 

“we should get back out there, your friends probably want to see you…” you smile, but all he can see is your kiss-swollen lips. he smirks, nodding and rising to his full height before following you into the main wing. 

the two of you don’t discuss the kiss, nor the obvious shift in your relationship. suguru calls you more often, invites you out to accompany him for walks around tokyo, takes you for fancy dinners. there’s been no official labels, no indication that this is his version of dating. you almost wonder if he’s toying with you since he knows you hold some sort of attraction to him after you basically threw yourself at him when he was injured. 

on the surgical front, things have been quiet. since that night, there’s been no retaliation. even you know better than to think it will stay that way. suguru, of course, is expecting their attempt at revenge any moment now—hence why you haven’t been to his estate in weeks. he doesn’t want you caught in the crossfire, but he’s not prepared to give up his time with you. that explains all the long video calls and expensive dates, if you can go so far as to call them that. you enjoy his focused attention, but can’t deny that you miss all the time you used to spend together. 

thankfully, today’s call is different. “hello, little isha. would you like to be my date for the upcoming annual charity gala?” he asks, the smirk clear in his tone. you like to give him a hard time, especially when you’re feeling neglected, he’s noticed–so your scoff doesn’t surprise him. 

“do i really have a choice in this?” you grin, and he wishes he were there to see your features brighten. 

“mm, no.” he chuckles, but you know he’s just placating you. 

“i don’t have anything to wear, when is it?” you huff, trying to disguise your excitement to go to an event with him. it speaks to how highly he regards you–and a hard launch tells you that he’s ready to make this real. 

“don’t worry ebi. satoru will be there in twenty minutes or so, i’ve taken care of it all. do your hair and makeup however you’d like, i’ll be ruining it all anyway.” he says so casually you don’t even catch it at first, only the fact the gala was today and you needed to get ready as soon as possible. 

“wait—you’re asking me to this today?!” you exclaim, panic setting in. you need to take a full shower in twenty minutes and trust that he picked something decent for you to wear. 

the phone line goes dead in response. you groan and slam it on your bed, sprinting for your shower. a charity gala? it must be a hot-shot event. maybe he didn’t tell you in advance because he didn’t want you to freak out over the people you’d be rubbing elbows with. you’ve learned to trust him wholeheartedly, but that doesn’t mean you’ve stopped wondering what he’s up to. did he say he was going to ruin your makeup?!

satoru is sitting next to a garment bag positioned on your bed when you get out of the shower. you didn’t leave your door unlocked—

“you broke into my house?” you gape at him, still wrapped in a towel. he’s unashamed, long legs stretched in front of him with one one ankle folded over the other. he just shrugs, keeping eye contact with you over his dark shades. 

“hey, he told you i’d be here in twenty, not my fault you took fourty-five! don’t worry—i’m not looking.” he smiles wolfishly, seemingly enjoying getting a rise out of you despite all you’ve done for him. you know he’s harmless—to you anyways. he juts his chin toward the bag and shoe box next to him. “hurry up—you got a lot of work to do woman.” he snickers, eyeing your soaking wet hair. you narrow your eyes at him and step back into the bathroom to dry your hair and put on a robe. something tells you suguru would not love the idea of satoru watching you in your towel, harmless or not. you style your hair in your favorite formal style, waiting to do your makeup until you saw the dress suguru selected. 

you step back out into your room, rolling your eyes as satoru fakes loud snores to convey his boredom. you ignore him to the best of your ability, unzipping the black plastic to reveal an even darker black dress. it’s a long formal gown with a slit up the side, the obsidian satin was adorned with shining glitter and a diving neckline. it’s gorgeous, and will look stunning on you. you nearly flush as you run your fingers along the smooth skirt, shaking your head at the lengths he would go to at times. you go for the shoe box next, pushing off the lid to reveal a matching black heel with red bottoms. you gasp—and satoru snickers. he knows how suguru is, and this was just the tip of the iceberg. you pick the shoe up, analyzing the sleek and expensive heel. you are going to tear suguru a new one when you see him. 

the setting sun sends one of her last few rays of light through your high windows, catching on the things left in the shoe box. a gleam catches your eye—something shiny and bright. you move the other shoe aside to find a necklace and matching earrings—gold with diamonds. no doubt all real. this time you have to look at satoru. 

“is he serious?” you hold up the jewels, satoru’s wide grin telling you yes, he is in fact serious. he wants you to look like his woman. because you are. 

“yeah. hurry up and get ready, we’re gonna be late if you keep gawking at them instead of putting ‘em on.” he rolls his eyes, but truth be told he finds this little love story quite adorable. suguru deserves it, and he just hopes you can fulfill this role without letting them all down. “look. suguru likes you a lot. please. don’t…end up on our kill list.”

you meet his eyes, remembering that gojo raised the alarms on toji and stood by suguru’s side more loyal than anyone. you just smile at him, nodding. even saving his life wasn’t a good enough excuse to let his guard down, and you were happy that suguru had him around. “you’re a great friend, satoru. i won’t disappoint you.” you promise, gathering the dress and accessories up and slipping back into the bathroom to complete your look. 

suguru is waiting for you when satoru pulls the car into the valet parking section outside of the event. he looks handsome—you’re convinced it’s effortless for him at this point. he wears a black tuxedo, complete with a matte black undershirt and a sleek black weapon tucked under his suit jacket. he tied all of his hair back for once, though his bangs and a few stubborn tendrils  frame his sharp featured face. he runs a hand through what he can as you step out. 

his eyes feast on you, starting at your slim ankles all prettily strapped into the shoes he picked out for you. then his eyes move up to your thick thighs and wide hips spreading under the dark silky fabric. the dips of your waist, the bulge of your breasts. he doesn’t know if this is a good idea anymore. taking you out looking like this was a sure way to cause trouble. your makeup was done subtle and stylish, your hair perfectly complimentary to all your best features. all he can do is shake his head and bite his lip like you had done the night you kissed. 

satoru gives the keys off to the valet driver and snorts at a speechless suguru. but he goes ahead inside to case the situation for his boss anyway—and to give him some time alone with you. maybe he’ll get a few words in eventually. 

“you’re breathtaking, my ebi girl.” he smiles, there’s no turning back from this now. “this event isn’t ready for you. there will be dangerous people inside, all of us camouflaging as successful and wealthy businessmen, not yakuza. don’t speak unless someone speaks to you. don’t leave my side, and don’t look anyone in the eye. i’ll keep you safe.” he promises, pulling you into his side. 

everyone in here was likely knee deep in illegal shit. you know suguru isn’t trying to scare you, he’s just trying to be honest with you; to include you in his life. so you obey his every order, clutching your glass of wine and letting the popular geto-sama lead you around to intermingle with other small clan heads and arms dealers, families of his workers and even some of his rivals. the cloak of public showings make it easy enough to blend in and not worry so much about physical retaliations here. 

suguru keeps his arm around your waist, getting handsier as the night goes on. you wonder if it’s just for show, to display you like his property just to keep other people away. his fingers toy with the slit on your dress, sliding his fingerprints over your thighs, calluses brushing smooth skin. whether this is just to parade around his successes or not, you’re melting into his touch anyway. 

“would you like to dance with me, darling?” he asks, his voice a deep timbre in your ear. the breath of his whisper ruffles your hair and sends goosebumps down your neck. you nod hastily, earning a chuckle that only makes that pool of liquid fire in your gut ripple with desire. suguru’s always intrigued you, tripped you up—but the way he can’t keep his hands off of you has you squirming for a different kind of dance as he leads you towards the ballroom floor. 

“ahhh there’s my little basket case. you remember me, don’t you doctor?” a deep voice booms ahead of you, catching your attention. suguru’s arm becomes a vise on your waist. you look away from him to see a familiar looking man. he was big and bulky like suguru, dark face tattoos with vermillion eyes. his hair was a pale pink—and you remember him. 

“you know sukuna?” suguru looks at you, absolutely betrayed. you furrow your brows—it wasn’t like that. you had to make sure he knows that, that you never lied to him. you just simply didn’t know that man you met was sukuna, the man that’s causing a majority of these issues for the man you’ve fallen for. 

“no—not like that—he bought me drinks that night at the bar.” you say quickly–pleadingly, and he matches that up to the story you told him. it makes enough sense that sukuna would celebrate his “victory” in a bar nearby as well—and the worry in your eyes claws at his heart. he knows you’re honest, knows you would have given yourself away at any mention of sukuna’s name if you truly were some half-spy of his. you are a lot of things, but an actress you were not. 

“bought drinks, became your shoulder to cry on, and then you disappeared. how sad to see where you went. finders keepers i guess—though, i have found you now!” he chortles, eyes lingering over your frame. his smile grows even wider at the way suguru holds you, fingers digging into your sides, trying to pull you behind him. 

“i don’t care where we are, sukuna. i will turn you into rat food if you come near her again.” he says, a vein popping out along his temple. his voice is threatening, terrifying even if you didn’t trust him like you do. he took your word at face value, even though he’s been burned before. his trust means more than anything. 

sukuna scoffs. “that enamored with the little surgeon huh? maybe i’ll give her plenty of surgeries to show my affections.” 

geto snarls, putting an arm across  you to keep you from following. “try me. i’ll give her your head to show her mine.” he pushes the side of his jacket aside to show the cute little 9mm he had stuffed away. your back straightens at the prospect of violence, but you fight the urge to interrupt. these were already warring gangs, you couldn’t undermine geto’s authority. 

sukuna just looks down, smirking at the threat and mockingly putting his hands up in surrender. the smirk doesn’t die down, only spreads wider until he’s the image of the cheshire cat. “we’ll tango later…dance with my little surgeon until i get her back.” he winks at you, causing even you to scowl his way. choso watches him go, looking ready to pounce as soon as suguru utters the command. but satoru’s the one to smile and encourage both choso and suguru to settle down lest everyone start asking questions. if satoru didn’t know how possessive suguru already was—if sukuna hadn’t already played into those insecurities, he’d offer to dance with you. instead, he just nudges suguru’s back once the music swings into a melodic jazzy swing. 

he turns to you, his muscles still rigid with rage. you can tell by the stiff way he holds your other intertwined hands out, that same tight grip on your waist remaining. his jaw feathers, and your heart pangs with concern. you know you two aren’t anything official, but he had to know how you felt, right? after all these months spent learning about one another—he’s your sole friend. he’s given you a chance to feel your purpose, to practice your craft and save lives. lives of men that were funny like satoru, kind men like choso and nanami, young men with lives to live and families to go home to. you would never walk away from him. not for fear, not for money, not for anything. so you clench his hand back and push him into stepping with you to the music. 

“suguru,” you breathe out, his darkened honey gaze bores into your soul anyway, making you breathless beyond that. you just meet his eyes with your soft adoration, pulling and pushing him into the dance moves as he tries to calm down, “he’s trying to get in your head. don’t let him.” 

“he wants you,” he replies instead, shaking his head a little–the image of an angry bull. you swear if you look hard enough, you could see smoke circles forming from his exhales, “i won’t let that happen. you’re mine.” he rasps, finally stepping and moving into you on his own. 

“i don’t remember you asking,” you smirk, knowing it may not exactly be the right time to provoke him–but it seems like your taunting doesn’t affect him. you’ve known it since you shared that kiss, and probably even before then. you’re his, and he is yours. 

“good thing i picked the perfect dress to take off of you tonight to prove it, then.” he muses, eyes dancing over your body. it nearly fills him with rage again–that sukuna got to see you looking this fucking good. it’s meant only for him. his hands wander to your hips, pulling you into his. your hands brace on his chest, pretty little bedroom eyes just pleading for him to get you out of here. 

“if i let you,” you chirp oh so cheekily he can’t wait until the party is over. he smirks at your words, eyeing your fidgety hands on his collared shirt. you know it’s inappropriate, you know there’s other people wondering why the two of you touch each other like you’ll never get the chance to again. but the usual shame or panic isn’t there to cloud your thoughts. you just burn with the sweltering need for him, and you know this is as clear as your mind has ever been. 

geto motions for gojo to lean in. “have choso bring the car. we’re heading home early.” he orders, never once looking away from you. you feel naked already from the way he devours you, and you can’t bring yourself to pretend you don’t love it. satoru smirks, but nods and goes to pass along the message as commanded. 

“i want you to remember your bold attitude here,” he says, only amusement lacing his tone. he’s bred a million plans for you in his head already, and waiting for the car is only making him more creative. “you’ll be too brainless to do it later, ebi.” he promises, threading his fingers in yours and pulling you towards the exit. 

you feel pretty brainless already, if you’re honest with yourself. it’s like it floated right out of your head the moment he looked at you like a predator eyes his prey. but you comply easily as if obeying him was written in your very dna. 

he prides himself on his restraint to not take you in the car—rationalizing that your first time together needs to be special. he needs to have the room to do what he needs to do to you. there will be time in the future for nasty sex in the car, if tonight goes right. 

you think you should be rewarded for your patience as well, thighs clamped together to avoid rubbing them together the entire ride back to his estate. it’s even worse as he tries to look composed, thanking choso for driving the two of you back home—politely asking that his men entertain themselves elsewhere for the evening, suggesting the business house in the inner city. choso gives him an awkward nod, clearly pretending not to notice the obscene way suguru grabs your ass as you walk into his house. you only giggle as the door closes behind him, but your laughter is cut short when he knits his fingers in the hair above your neck, pulling your head back gently enough. you gasp meekly and it just makes the predator in him purr. 

“you have any limits, ebi?” he raises a brow, his other hand coming to caress your face, thick thumb swiping over your bottom lip. you swallow, feeling every nerve in your body spark against his touch. you shake your head no–maybe foolishly, maybe you’ll regret it, but you don’t want him to hold back. you want to feel the full force of his desire too. 

“good,” he approves, hungrily kissing you. his injuries have fully healed, range of motion fully intact. no grunts of pain or ache in his muscles could keep him from claiming you now. you feel him consume you, his hand curls in your hair to maintain full control. the tips of your fingers tingle as your grab onto his broad shoulders, fully trusting him with the weight of your body. his lips are slightly chapped, scraping your soft ones and making your stomach do backflips. he pulls away after nearly a minute, letting you heave a breath into your lungs as he nips down your jaw, laving his tongue over every hurt. each one sends a pulse of power through your body, making two heartbeats as your core aches for him. his thumb and forefinger grip your chin and turn your face away so his lips and teeth and tongue can find the sweet spot on your neck—and it doesn’t take him long. you’re squealing out his name as he sucks marks into your precious neck, not caring how badly it bruises. he hopes it does—wants everyone to be very clear on the fact you belong to him. your hands slip to his chest, shoving at his jacket. he pulls away long enough to let it fall off his arms, collecting in a heap on the floor. he also unstraps his weapon and discards it on the table, pulling you back into him as soon as he’s done. 

“jump,” he orders, those wondrous hands scooping at your thighs once you do just that. you wrap your arms around his neck, admiring how beautiful he is this close. sharp and angular features that somehow maintained a subtle softness, full lips and eyes as warm as an early autumn afternoon despite how dark and cloudy they are when they look at you. he’s perfect, and you can’t keep yourself from kissing him again as he walks with you. he blindly follows the curves of his hallways, your heels falling off from all the movement. your lips move desperately, trying to tell him all the things you’ll eventually work up the nerve to say—and he can feel it. he can feel how much you want him, how long you’ve felt this way. he’s got you against the door of his bedroom, hiking your dress up to expose the pretty matching black thong you put on all on your own. he smirks devilishly. “cute little thing—planning to get fucked this whole time?” he raises a brow and you only answer with a smile and weak nod. 

he just growls in return, diving back towards you to nip and lick over your collarbone, grinding his growing bulge against the thinly veiled layer over your cunt. you clench around nothing, letting out a needy whine at his teasing. “suguru—”

“i know, poor girl,” he chuckles against your skin, trailing his kisses to the swells of your breast that your dress so provocatively revealed for him. he slips the thin spaghetti straps down your shoulders, using the slack to yank the chest of the gown down entirely, exposing your tits to the warm summer air. “i’ve got just what you need, don’t worry,” he groans, thumbing over the pebbled buds with lust blown pupils. you wiggle against the door, desperate for every flick to your nipple, every swipe of his clothed cock over your soaked panties. he leans down to kiss your sensitive chest, kneading the other. just the angle of his hips kept you pinned against the door, lips suckling on your pert nipple. you knew from the look that formed next that he was only sympathetic to you for the way he’d be satisfying your needs–and his own. everything happens so quickly. your tits jiggle as you land on your back, plush bed swallowing you up as he uses your ankles to drag you to the edge–just to show how easy it is for a man his size to manhandle you. 

he had a violent need to claim you—almost blinding now that sukuna had challenged him for you. he had to fuck all those thoughts away, couldn’t risk you even wondering what life with anyone other than him was like. your thong is tucked into the pocket of his dress pants, thighs spread and pinned by his warm and rough palms. your legs dangle over the edge of the bed and his shoulders, cunt glistening and on display for him. your inner thighs are coated with the same slick, and he smirks at how he was able to make you drool like this with hardly any work. his fingers swipe at your lips, dipping inside your little entrance to collect some of the sweet arousal. you gasp at the sensation of his fat fingers—two at once. he pumps them once, twice, before he leaves you empty again. you nearly whine, hearing him slurp the juice off of his fingers. it’s so lewd you can’t help but writhe for his touch, earning a groan in return. you’re like heaven to a man like him, the sweet honey in between your legs has him leaning in for a fresher taste, licking a thick stripe over your entire cunt with his flattened tongue. he groans again, shaking his head. you’re irresistible. he can’t believe how cute you sound as he plays with you, your little whines of disappointment make his cock throb. he leans up, the thumb of his other hand pulling back your hood so he could spit on your swollen clit, so needy for his attention. you gasp loud, legs trying to close as he sets into rubbing fast, torturous circles over your bundle. he slaps the inside of your thigh. 

“none of that, little girl. daddy’s trying to make you feel good.” he chuckles, inserting his still-wet digits into your puckered hole yet again. you gasp at the light slap—your back arching completely as he finger fucks you, watching you open and close your mouth as you try to cope with the intense pleasure coursing through your blood. it’s unfathomable. you pull at your own hair, toy with your own chest, grinding your hips down for an even greater high. he knows it won’t take you long—and that’s even better. he’s one step closer to fitting you around his cock–shaping you into his perfect pussy. but he needed to watch you cum, needed you to coat his tongue, needed every piece of you to be his. your sounds, your faces, your body—your mind. he needed it more than air. 

his fingers curl into the spongy spot inside of you, his thumb matching pace on your clit. you feel like you’re flying—like the sun above you warms your entire body as his fingers make quick work of you. in just a few minutes, you’re moaning loud and cumming on his thick digits. 

he lets no time pass, leaning in face-first to smother himself in your taste. you jerk with sensitivity–but when you reflexively try to close your legs this time, he doesn’t stop you. he welcomes the warm crushing force of your thighs against his ears as he laps at your core. if he thought your wetness was sweet, your cum is pure nectar. he’ll never tire of this, kneeling before the bed he will share with you and feasting on your gorgeous cunt—everything that led him here, to this moment, it was worth it and he would do it a million times over if it ended this way every time, arms looped around your legs to hug them even closer.

his tongue is just as fat as his fingers, forcing you to moan out as he breaches your hole for a second time. he just wants to savor every drop, taking his precious time milking your pleasure. your chanting and whining only makes his tongue slower, dragging against your insides before he finally moves it to flick your sensitive clit. you nearly scream out, having begged for his attention until he sucked your bundle into his mouth and scraped his teeth against it, brown eyes tracking every scrunch of your nose and eye roll of pleasure.

it feels like someone is pulling you apart from the inside and cumming in his mouth is the only way to fix it. you finally reach for a fistful of his black locks, yanking on his hair tie until it snaps and hair falls around him like a halo. you snap too, body shivering into him as he sensually eats at you. he relishes your little squeals and whines of overstimulation, chuckling into your pussy when you try to shove his head away. your chest is heaving, your eyes glossy in a blissful daze, lips glossy and swollen from how you’ve been gnawing at them. oh he has to absolutely ruin you. 

“so sweet, i got carried away…” he muses, pushing you to your side with a gentle pressure on your thigh. you catch his hint even in your brainless state, turning fully to your knees–balancing on wobbly arms as you throw your ass in the air for him, baring that sensitive cunt to the air and his animalistic stare. “you are mine, i hope you know that by now ebi.” 

he spreads your ass cheeks, watching himself guide his fat mushroom tip to your hole, twinkling with amusement at the way you clench down before he’s even impaled you with his wide shaft and leaky tan tip. he wonders if he should be careful, inching into you slowly to draw out your anticipation—and maybe there will be time for that later, for now, plunging his cock balls deep wins out. he wants to hear that nasty high pitched moan you cry out with, needs to feel your pretty pink pussy choke down on him at the sudden impact, needs to see his nuts slap against your ass with the pace he sets. he’s only satisfied when he sees you reaching out for the sheets in front of you, desperately trying to ground yourself to reality and escape his brutal pounding. 

the room gets hotter, heavy breaths and lewd moans are the language of love between the two of you—the rough smack of his pelvis and balls fit in the mix as a melody. he reaches forward, making handles of your hips to keep you from subconsciously crawling away. “tell me doctor, is that your cervix i feel stopping me?” 

you couldn’t answer, the connections between your brain and mouth butchered and his cock was the cleaver. he’s so big, so wide that you can feel him in your throat, every added touch to your body was just kindling for the fire. he has no mercy, thrusting into you like he was trying to get inside your womb. your skin is nothing but goosebumps, the way he caresses your insides have your arms fully giving up. you flop onto your face, his large palm sliding up your back and into your hair like before. it holds you steady, his other hand gripping your hip for leverage. your moans turn broken, his grunts of pleasure like music to your ears. 

“can’t answer?” he hums, eyes flickering over the mess that he’s made of you, the puddle you’re becoming in his sheets. he’s dreamed of this for months, since he’s met you perhaps if he’s entirely honest with himself. your sounds go from whines and moans to crying and screaming, legs starting to shake too. you’re already so sensitive, having experienced his mouth and fingers already. you don’t even have control of your body anymore, shaking your head as you hurdle to the finish line—especially as he slaps your ass just to see his handprint blister in your skin. “how precious. who’s my fucked out little girl?” 

“oh daddy—” you shiver, clamping down on him hard enough to tell him what was about to happen. he beams at your acceptance and use of the nickname, pulling your face out of the covers to hear you wail properly. in fact he balls up that grip and tugs your back to him—your body jelly enough to be compliant, only whines and sniffling in confusion. he never stops fucking your sex as your back meets his chest, his large hand snaking around to clutch your throat gently—more of a comfort than a threat. his other hand was the real danger, sliding around your hip to pinch and roll your abused pearl and send you sprawling over the finish line. you see stars at the position change, his punishing pace unfaltering. he wanted to see your gorgeous face, your makeup ruined as promised. lipstick smudged and mascara running down your cheeks—you were the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen. he presses a kiss to your shoulder, and you finally release. you make him twitch inside you as your head falls back on his own shoulder.

it was a white hot sensation you can’t say that you’ve ever experienced before despite your previous sexual partners and your own pleasures. this was different, this was all-consuming bliss, much more than just a simple orgasm. he broke you down, read you like a book, and destroyed you just for him to rebuild. you feel like you shatter around his length, his pretty cock collecting your high as you cry and jerk and moan with heavy breaths. you didn’t think it could get better—but the sudden rush of warmth flooding your pussy makes you convulse a little again—earning a chuckle from the man that did this to you. 

he holds you up against him, the muscles of his body moving and flexing against your body. he fucks into a slower rut, still pushing his seed further so you had to keep it all. everyone would know who you belong to that way, that’s for sure. 

you can’t bring yourself to care, floating in the middle of a pleasure ocean. there’s no brain in your head to think with, only preoccupied with his warmth and strength keeping you supported while you catch your breath. you don’t even know if you have control over your own body, feeling akin to a slinky toy. he presses another kiss to your shoulder, his broad hand splayed over your stomach. “you take me so well, ebi,” he purrs, rubbing over your lower stomach, where all of his children sat. “rest now, isha girl. let me take care of everything else.” he assures, another kiss to your cheekbone, every touch so contrary to the roughness he handled you with before. it makes your eyes droop, the exhaustion claiming your muscles without you putting up any fight to stop it. 

suguru thinks you fell asleep before your head ever hit the pillow, but he wipes up any spillage and tucks you under the covers anyway. he gets a bottle of water just in case you wake up thirsty, the fleeting wonder of if he did too much crossing his mind. he just needed you to feel how desperately he feels for you. he has to make sure that this bed is the only one you’ll sleep in for the rest of your days. 

you’re still conscious, though only in the most basic way. you can feel his arms wrap around you, and a smile tugs on your lips as he peppers your face and neck with affectionate kisses even without knowing you could feel them. “i hear your voice in my head. or, heard, perhaps. but before i met you—there was a haunting female voice that pushed me to keep going. i’d never heard anything like it. you, it was you. you told me to keep fighting,” he says, his voice a deep baritoned whisper. you know he’s not much for romantic speeches, but here he is, pouring out his heart to you. “you sirened me into finding you. i’m not sure how you did that—but you saved me, ebi. in more ways than one. i’ll spend the rest of my life making sure you know that. just stay here. don’t let anyone take you from me.” 

“after that i won’ be able to walk anywhere anyway.” you slur, a little giggle spilling out of your parted lips. his cheeks dust a light pink once he realizes that you heard all of that, but it only encourages him to nibble your ear and kiss your cheek with as much sweetness as he can muster. 

“go to sleep—or do you need more dick?” 

“hm, tempting–” you snicker and he grabs a handful of your ass from where you lay as the little spoon. you yelp and fall into a fit of giggles, putting an even broader smile on his face. his eyes only sparkle with amusement as you turn to him. “but i don think i can take it right now,” you coo, clearly drifting in subspace. you lean up to kiss his lips, short, but sweet. “you go to sleep too, mister mob man.” 

he does chuckle with that, shaking his head and running his fingers through your hair until light snores confirm that this time, you are asleep. 

morning light spills through the curtains, casting her spotlight on the two of you tangled up in one another in bed. your hair is a wreck—his isn’t faring much better—but you’ve never slept better. with his warm frame dwarfing yours, the rhythm of his breathing lulling you into a peace that kept you unconscious until his phone started to ring. 

he groans out his annoyance, arms tightening around you for a moment as if he was just as devastated at the thought of moving as you are. but he is an important man, and knows more than likely that this is an important phone call. so he detangles himself from you and answers the phone with a raspy morning voice that has your heart beating in your pussy. 

‘woah—slow down, satoru. what happened?” his face turns into a hard slab of rage, eyes narrowing as he listens to what sounds like a frantic gojo. he runs a frustrated hand through his hair, heaving a deep breath. “i’ll be there in ten minutes.” his icy anger bites through enough that you don’t sit up to console him, but as he hangs up and turns to you, his eyes are soft and warm yet again. 

“duty calls?” you pout, cuddling into the covers to replace his missing warmth. he nods, leaning in to cup both of your cheeks in his hands. 

“yes, i’ve some business to take care of. i’ll be back in no time, trust me. the fact i have a beautiful woman naked in my bed will be a wonderful motivator.” he smiles softly, tilting your head back so he could place a loving kiss on your lips. “there’s water on the table if you get thirsty, darling.” he notes that look of concern in your eyes and pushes a stray lock of hair out of the way. the back of his knuckles brush over your cheekbone, and there’s a gentleness in his ochre gaze that puts you at ease. “don’t worry my isha. nothing can keep me from you now.” 

you nod, leaning in to give him another kiss just in case. your heart pounds with a new kind of anxiety as he slips from the sheets to get dressed, one that clutches at your heart in places it never did before. you can’t lose him. you don’t even know if you can handle seeing him hurt anymore. life has surely changed drastically from months ago—and now you get to trade in your nervous and self-deprecating anxiety for the kind of torturing worry that only having a yakuza lover can give. you’re no longer an anxious doctor—no, you’re the concerned girlfriend, waiting on suguru to return.

morning light spills through the curtains, casting her spotlight on the two of you tangled up in one another in bed. your hair is a wreck—his isn’t faring much better—but you’ve never slept better. with his warm frame dwarfing yours, the rhythm of his breathing lulling you into a peace that kept you unconscious until his phone started to ring. 

he groans out his annoyance, arms tightening around you for a moment as if he was just as devastated at the thought of moving as you are. but he is an important man, and knows more than likely that this is an important phone call. so he detangles himself from you and answers the phone with a raspy morning voice that has your heart beating in your pussy. 

‘woah—slow down, satoru. what happened?” his face turns into a hard slab of rage, eyes narrowing as he listens to what sounds like a frantic gojo. he runs a frustrated hand through his hair, heaving a deep breath. “i’ll be there in ten minutes.” his icy anger bites through enough that you don’t sit up to console him, but as he hangs up and turns to you, his eyes are soft and warm yet again. 

“duty calls?” you pout, cuddling into the covers to replace his missing warmth. he nods, leaning in to cup both of your cheeks in his hands. 

“yes, i’ve some business to take care of. i’ll be back in no time, trust me. the fact i have a beautiful woman naked in my bed will be a wonderful motivator.” he smiles softly, tilting your head back so he could place a loving kiss on your lips. “there’s water on the table if you get thirsty, darling.” he notes that look of concern in your eyes and pushes a stray lock of hair out of the way. the back of his knuckles brush over your cheekbone, and there’s a gentleness in his ochre gaze that puts you at ease. “don’t worry my isha. nothing can keep me from you now.” 

you nod, leaning in to give him another kiss just in case. your heart pounds with a new kind of anxiety as he slips from the sheets to get dressed, one that clutches at your heart in places it never did before. you can’t lose him. you don’t even know if you can handle seeing him hurt anymore. life has surely changed drastically from months ago—and now you get to trade in your nervous and self-deprecating anxiety for the kind of torturing worry that only having a yakuza lover can give. you’re no longer an anxious doctor—no, you’re the concerned girlfriend, waiting on suguru to return.