#zaraswriting

Yet, amidst this cleansing ritual, you couldn’t shake the puzzling thought of why the guards had singled you out from the other young women within the household. Uraume, the overseer of palace affairs, had arrived alongside them, their presence looming over the proceedings with an air of mystery.

That morning, you were subjected to abuse in front of everyone at the central market, longing for someone to stand up for you. And someone did. They offered you an escape from that hellhole and into a world of luxury.

You weren’t going to complain now that you had accepted this new fate of yours.

“Ya’ got too many scars, girl,” remarked one of the elderly attendants, gently assisting you out of the steaming bath, her hands wrapping a towel around your shivering form. “Our powders will struggle to conceal ’em all. How did ya’ come by such marks?”

“From my foster family,” you murmured, gaze fixed upon your toes as if they held the weight of your past. The plush carpet beneath your feet offered a small comfort, a luxury unfamiliar to your upbringing.

Memories of their harsh discipline flooded back—the blistering gravel underfoot as punishment for daring to voice dissent. It was a brutal introduction to a world where obedience was paramount.

“A wretched lot,” the attendant muttered sympathetically.

Enveloped in a silk robe, she led you into a chamber shared by a cohort of women, a realm far removed from the confines of your previous abode. Here, space was ample—the expanse excessive, with beds lining the walls and a high ceiling adorned with a single chandelier.

As you entered, a symphony of pretty faces and inquisitive gazes greeted you. Women of all colours and shapes reclined luxuriously in plain robes, their hair intricately braided or cascading freely down their backs. Conversations paused, curiosity piqued by your arrival, as all eyes turned to welcome you into their midst.

Beneath the weight of their scrutinising stares, you found yourself shrinking. These women, draped in silk and adorned with jewels, were the king's favoured concubines, a fact repeatedly emphasised during your journey to the palace and even in the fragrant confines of the bathhouse.

Every instinct urged you to rebel, to refuse to be just another ornament in the king’s harem, but you understood the value placed on purity by the monarch.

Unfortunately, your innocence had been cruelly stolen from you by your foster father, leaving you tarnished in body and spirit. Lord Sukuna would have no use for a damaged flower in his garden of perfection.

In truth, you couldn’t even imagine an image of his face in your mind. His Lordship remained a mystery to those beyond the palace walls.

“Here ya’ are.” The attendant guided you to your bed. “That vanity there’s yours to use.” She gestured toward the communal area by the window, where two other young women were preparing themselves. “Once your hair dries, one of my girls will assist ya’ in preparin’ for your audience with His Lordship.” Her touch was gentle as she caressed your cheek. “Rest assured, dear, ya’ safe now.”

You attempted a smile, though the effort seemed Herculean amidst your weariness.

As the attendant departed, her scolding to the rowdy girls fading into the background, you nestled into the comforting embrace of your soft bedding, ignoring the hushed criticisms trailing in your wake.

She’s feeble.

Her hair lacks refinement.

The king would never entertain a lowly pauper.

She’ll be gone by tomorrow.

Their words, like venomous serpents, slithered through the air.

Amidst their degradation, you succumbed to exhaustion.

But your slumber was interrupted by the bustling commotion of handmaidens assembling around you.

Disoriented and scarcely given a moment to collect your thoughts, you found yourself swiftly escorted to the vanity, where the clamour of girls jostling for space filled the air.

They manipulated your locks, weaving intricate patterns into your hair, fashioning a crown braid atop your head while allowing the remaining tresses to cascade freely down your back.

Meanwhile, other attendants removed your robe, their hands moving with practised efficiency as they anointed your skin with fragrant oils, infusing it with the delicate essence of lavender.

Between the flurry of activity, the whispers of your fellow concubines hung in the air like a veil of awe and trepidation. Their eyes were drawn to the scars marring your skin, as they speculated about how the king would perceive your imperfections as repulsive.

Good.

You craved precisely that outcome.

If the king recoiled at your sight, it meant he wouldn’t desire you to bear his heir. If the tales circulating in the town about his monstrous nature held any truth, then he’d likely offer you death as a reprieve—and you’d welcome it with open arms.

Before facing the king, you stole a glance at your reflection, the final moments of solitude before your fate was decided. The powder concealed the imperfections of your skin, rendering it smooth and flawless. Your cheeks and lips bore a muted hue reminiscent of crushed cherries. Delicate white blossoms adorned your hair, woven into your braids by nimble fingers.

As you stood, the other women adorned you in a robe of silky fabric, its floral pattern draping over your form, cinched at the waist to accentuate your curves. Barefoot, you followed them out, the chill of the floor beneath your feet a stark contrast to the warmth of anticipation and trepidation swirling within you.

“Good luck, pauper,” taunted one of the concubines, her voice dripping with disdain, echoed by a cacophony of mocking laughter.

Palms clammy with nerves, you shifted your gaze to the opulence of the palace corridors. Adorned with countless chandeliers and swathes of velvet drapery, they offered a stark contrast to the blooming back garden. Memories of tending to the earth and nurturing life back at your foster family’s home flooded your mind.

“Quickly now,” one of the maids urged, her voice tinged with urgency. “His Lordship detests tardiness.”

“I apologise.” You hastened your steps to keep pace with the group of attendants.

She halted before a grand set of double doors, guarded by imposing sentinels clad in formidable armour. With a flick of her wrist, the guards swung the doors open. She gently nudged you forward, and only as you crossed the threshold did the doors seal shut behind you.

You blinked, adjusting to the dimness within, scanning the chamber until your gaze alighted upon a pair of crimson glimmers opposite you. “My Lord?” You inclined your head and took hesitant steps toward the source of those fiery eyes.

“Come closer,” his command echoed through the chamber, sending a shiver down your spine. The low resonance of His Highness Sukuna Ryomen’s voice was unexpectedly rich and velvety. You had envisioned a voice tinged with age, but instead, it possessed a rough texture that awoken something within you.

With hesitant steps, you approached until you stood at the edge of his bed, your fingertips grazing the diaphanous curtains that enveloped him in a cocoon of privacy.

“Closer,” he urged, coaxing you to unveil the enigma lying beyond the veil.

Swallowing the lump in your throat, you obeyed, parting the curtains and gracefully crawled onto the mattress. The silkiness of the sheets were a blatant contrast to the roughness of your foster house’s. A pang of guilt tugged at your conscience as you realized the irony of finding solace in this luxurious confinement of being his concubine.

“Enough.” His abrupt order halted your thoughts, drawing your attention back to the present moment.

As commanded, you obediently settled into your posture, folding your legs beneath you in the dimness. Within his shadowed realm, only the luminous crimson irises pierced through the gloom, studying you with an intensity that made your belly churn. Despite the curiosity burning within you, you restrained the impulse to voice your questions. Instead, you settled in the tranquillity that crowded the space between you.

“What is your name?” His inquiry cut through the hushed air.

“Y/N, my Lord.”

As your name slipped from your lips, he captured it delicately, repeating it like a sacred prayer. Each syllable danced on his tongue, imprinting itself upon the very essence of his being. In that moment, you observed a subtle shift—the shadows that had cloaked the chamber seemed to dissipate.

A soft, golden luminescence filtered through the parted curtains, cascading across half of Sukuna’s face.

You blinked in astonishment.

He appeared . . . young?

The age difference between you and him was not a chasm of decades, but rather a modest gap of no less than five years.

Physically, at least.

His appearance was striking, with locks of hair dyed a subdued pink hue, contrasting with a streak of darker shade beneath. His hair was styled into rugged spikes, lending an air of defiance. Intricate black markings adorned his features, tracing a path from his cheekbones down to his chin, while similar patterns wove across his strong shoulder, cascading over his defined pectoral muscles and sculpted abdomen.

As your eyes fell upon him, your heart quickened its pace, each beat a vicious drumming against your ribs. Gone was the expectation of a lord showing the signs of wisdom, with wrinkles upon his brow and a body marked by the passage of time. Instead, before you sat a vision of breathtaking beauty, defying your preconceived notions and leaving you breathless in awe.

With a graceful gesture, he swept aside the curtains, allowing them to unveil his entirety.

The same markings mirrored the other side of his face and cascaded down the length of his body, a mesmerising display of symmetry. Dark bands encircled his wrists, and his nails bore the same deep hue.

Poised against the headboard, he reclined with an air of effortless elegance, one knee raised as his elbow found a comfortable perch, while the other leg extended out. Though he was unclothed, a veil of silk sheets cloaked the lower half of his form.

“Remarkable,” you unknowingly whispered. Your hand clapped over your mouth. “I apologise, my Lord.”

Sukuna’s lips curved into a sinister grin, his flawless teeth gleaming in the golden light. While many would flee at the sight, you remained rooted in place, unable to tear your gaze away. A delicate flush spread across your cheeks, betraying the undeniable attraction simmering between your legs. He was absolutely divine, and the path of being his concubine suddenly didn’t seem so terrible.

Yet, the reality of sharing Sukuna with ten other women loomed over your thoughts like a shadow. The thought of him spreading his affections among so many others kindled a small flame of jealousy within you, mingled with confusion. Why hadn’t he impregnated at least one of them with the promise of an heir?

“Have you not been schooled in the art of lowering your gaze in the presence of nobility, Y/N?”

Your lashes fluttered as you registered your lapse in decorum, hastily averting your gaze. “Forgive me, my Lord, if my oversight has caused offence.” Surely, he wouldn’t punish you for a momentary lapse of admiration.

Would he?

A gentle touch beneath your chin guided your face upward. His fingers spread across your cheek, the warmth nearly forcing you to curve into his touch. Despite the temptation, your eyes remained obediently downward.

“Look at me.”

Your gaze lingered on him, tracing the delicate patterns etched over his cheek, the fiery hue of his irises, the elegant contour of his nose, and the soft curvature of his lips. Never before had you felt such a rousing desire towards any man. Yet fate had chosen to ensnare your heart with the one most forbidden to you.

“You bear a sadness that weighs heavily in your eyes,” he noted softly, his hand descending to the curve of your neck, his thumb caressing the frantic rhythm of your pulse. A low, melodic sound produced from his throat. “Tell me, my love, does the face before you stir fear within your heart?”

“It does not, my Lord. The fear of your appearance holds no dominion over me,” you declared with quiet resolve. “You’re quite . . . beautiful.”

Sukuna’s gaze sparked with a mixture of surprise and intrigue at your response.

Suppressing a nervous gulp, you silently reprimanded yourself for speaking so boldly to one of noble rank. Back in the confines of your former life, such defiance would have earned you swift punishment, yet here, in the presence of royalty, it could lead to your demise.

As you prepared to avert your gaze, ready to accept whatever consequences may come, Sukuna’s voice cut through the tense air before you could retreat.

“Don’t.”

In that moment, you found yourself questioning your instincts.

Why did you not cower in fear? Why did your body not tremble in the presence of a man who had slaughtered the lives of his enemies without hesitation? And most perplexing of all, how could you maintain unwavering eye contact with a figure of such formidable power?

“Remove your robe.” His grip remained firm around your throat, his thumb delicately tracing your pulse. “And do not stray your gaze elsewhere.”

“Yes, my Lord.” Your fingers loosened the fabric’s bindings, allowing it to cascade down your frame, and revealing the soft curvature of your form beneath. As it pooled around your lap, your breasts stood exposed to his scrutiny.

A shiver danced across your skin as his eyes traced the contours of your body, a faint smirk teasing his lips.

He brushed back strands of your hair, his touch trailing down your vertebrate. His eyes narrowed into thin slits, brows knitted together in contemplation, fingers repeatedly tracing the ridges of your scars.

“Turn around.”

The dreaded discovery that sent ripples of revulsion through the concubines had finally come to pass. Your scars lay exposed before the gaze of a powerful lord. Not only would he slit your throat, but also those of the maids who had tended to your needs, and perhaps even Uruame, who had brokered your purchase from the bastards responsible for your imperfections.

“Never before have I been compelled to repeat myself for a concubine.” His voice carried a lethal edge as he increased his grip around your throat. “Turn the fuck around.”

Your compliance came in slow, measured movements as you turned away, presenting your back to him in a gesture of submission. His hands gathered the strands of your hair, lifting them aside to reveal the raw truth etched into your skin. His fingers traced the jagged remnants of whip lashes, the seared imprints of cigars, and the cruel reminders of knife wounds inflicted by a foster father turned tormentor.

Silent tears traced a path down your cheeks, as you sat in a state of numbness, your gaze fixed upon the closed door of Sukuna’s chamber.

A tender sensation, soft and moist, grazed your back, prompting a reflexive twitch in your left shoulder.

Turning slightly, you beheld Sukuna pressing his lips against the scar that marred your shoulder blades.

“My Lord—”

“I did not ask you to speak,” he murmured over your skin, sending a tremor through your frame. “Rise onto your knees.”

Obeying his command, you ascended onto your knees, feeling the weight of his hands settle upon your waist. His lips trailed a path of reverence, bestowing kisses upon each mark that scarred your skin, from your marrow to your nape.

Your breath caught in a delicate dance of exhales, a whispered symphony escaping your parted lips. The wet caress of his tongue sent ripples of sensation coursing through your being.

His arm circled your waist, drawing you into the sanctuary of his embrace. A fleeting kiss graced the nape of your neck, followed by the suction of his lips upon the tender side of your neck. His soft hands possessively held the curve of your breasts, cradling their weight.

Your head reclined against his strong shoulder.

With his gaze fixed upon you, his lips glistened with a hint of moisture, while his crimson eyes locked onto your own human-like ones. You dared not divert your gaze as he previously ordered. His fingers pinched and pulled at your nipples, sending lightning strikes through your frame.

Unlike the non-consensual encounter of the past, there was no hint of agony; only a tantalising blend of pleasure that left you breathless, without a protest or helpless whimper. Instead, a sigh of pure rapture escaped your lips, encompassing your body in an embrace.

Sukuna’s gaze narrowed, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips as if he had stumbled upon a long-sought treasure.

His fingertips skated down your torso, gliding toward your centre. You captured your bottom lip between your teeth. Holding his gaze became a daunting challenge as he skillfully teased your sensitive nub, causing your breath to quicken and your chest to rise and fall with each exhilarating sensation.

Sukuna slid his middle finger into you. “You’re incredibly drawn, Sad Eyes,” he murmured, the endearment he had bestowed upon you almost provoking a smile. His lips grazed your ear as he continued. “Perhaps I should stretch you out”—he pushed in his ring finger, forcing a sharp gasp to tear from your throat and an involuntary arch of your body against his chest—“so that your cunt is able to welcome my cock.”

You stifled the knot rising in your throat as Sukuna plunged his fingers into you. Such profound bliss seemed inconceivable with mere digits alone.

“My Lord.” Your breath caught as he increased his tempo. “My—” Each thrust intensified the knot in your stomach, threatening to unravel you entirely. You teetered on the brink, dangerously close to staining his fingers with your release. A sharp gasp choked out of you as he struck a wondrous chord deep within. “Please, my Lord. I beg of you— I will soil your hand if you persist—” But your plea dissolved into a cry of ecstasy before you could utter another word.

Sukuna’s laughter danced teasingly in the hollow of your ear, leaving you utterly spellbound.

You were overheated, overstimulated, overridden by the explosive undoing from his fingers. Breathless and consumed by lust, your world spun as he seized your jaw and crushed his lips to yours.

In that electrifying moment, his tongue invaded your mouth, initially startling you, yet you surrendered to the rhythm.

Sukuna leaned back slightly after planting a tender peck on your lips. Exhaling softly, he threaded his fingers through your hair, his touch sending shivers down your spine. As his lips met yours once more, gentler this time, your hand ventured to trace the contours of his adorned chest.

“You are quite the vixen.” A playful glint danced in his eyes. “How valiant of you to seduce a lord into bestowing kisses upon his concubine.” A broad smile graced his lips, leaving you uncertain whether his words were playful jest or genuine admiration.

“Do you not bestow your kisses upon all your concubines, my Lord?”

“I do not pleasure their cunts, either.”

His speech carried the brashness of a tempest, a departure from the expected decorum one associated with royalty. Sukuna Ryomen defied conventions. It was a trait uncommon among lords, yet one that intrigued you deeply. His demeanour, both in battle and in the intimate confines of the bedchamber, lacked the softening. But you found yourself drawn to his unfiltered honesty, appreciating the absence of cryptic notions.

As you sat before him, considering your next words carefully, a surge of courage emboldened you to reveal your truth.

“My Lord,” you began, your voice quivering with uncertainty, “I . . . I am not pure.”

“Given the sounds you were drawing out,” he quipped with a chuckle, “I wouldn’t have surmised otherwise.” He assisted you in rising from where you rested against his chest, positioning you before him. Observing your solemn expression, he arched an eyebrow in curiosity. “Was your satisfaction not fulfilled?”

“Indeed, my Lord, it surpassed any expectation,” you confessed, worrying your lip as he sighed impatiently. “But I must disclose . . . I am not chaste.”

Sukuna’s response was subdued, save for the faint twitch in his jaw. He averted his gaze from yours momentarily, reaching for the decanter on his bedside table and pouring himself a measure of spirits.

“Speak,” he instructed, his tone clipped.

“It occurred before I reached maturity,” you murmured softly, your arms wrapped protectively around yourself. “My foster father—” Your words faltered as Sukuna raised a hand, a silent acknowledgment of his comprehension of your unspoken anguish.

“I need not hear more.” He swiftly consumed the crimson liquid in a single gulp. “You are dismissed for the night.”

“But my Lord’s desires remain unmet—”

“Leave,” he commanded, his tone final and unwavering.

With a gulp, you hastily gathered your robe around your form, delicately extricating yourself from his expansive bed.

Just as you thought to retreat, a firm hand seized your wrist, drawing you back into Sukuna’s embrace. His lips melded with yours in an intoxicating kiss, causing both your gazes to flutter open when he pulled away. A faint smirk played upon his lips as he adjusted the robe over your shoulder.

“Next time,” he murmured, plucking a flower from the adornments in your hair and placing it upon his bedside, “you shall grace my chambers without such distracting embellishments upon yourself.”

“As you wish, my Lord,” you replied with a respectful bow of your head, awaiting his dismissal until he gestured for you to depart with a casual wave of his hand.

In the shared chambers, your fellow concubines swirled around your bed, eager to hear of your inaugural encounter with Lord Sukuna.

Each girl shared their own vivid tales, painting scenes of ecstasy under the cloak of darkness, where the king’s touch invoked sensations akin to celestial bodies colliding, or where unfamiliar pleasures erased the boundaries of their throat—whatever that latter entailed.

Though a twinge of jealousy flickered within you, it was swiftly overshadowed by a swell of pride. The concubines pleasured Sukuna in darkness, the same darkness you had willingly entered, before his touch had set ablaze a world of gold for you.

They were merely beautiful means of physical gratification for their lord, devoid of the intimacy you shared—his fingers delving deep into your core. And never had any of them spoken of kisses exchanged. Sukuna had spoken true when you questioned if others received similar treatment.

But why you?

Why, after a mere span of ten hours within the palace walls, did you find yourself, dare you entertain the notion, as his favoured? What magic did you possess that drew him to you, and how had you managed to seduce his lips, his fingers, to meet yours in such an intimate embrace?

“Did he spend himself inside you?” one of the girls whispered, prodding your knee to rouse you from your silence.

“No.”

“Aye, he never does,” remarked a golden-haired girl with a resigned sigh. “He sees to it that we consume some berries afterward, claiming they prevent conception. Strange, isn’t it? Especially if he’s so eager for an heir.”

Another girl hushed her, leaning in with a conspiratorial tone. “Did he take you from behind? That’s his favoured position, you know. He’s had us all that way.”

You stumbled over your words, unsure how to respond.

“And did you savour his taste?” came the next question. “It’s quite rich in sodium—”

“Girls!” A booming voice echoed from the doorway of the bedroom, startling you and the other concubines into immediate attention. You caught sight of the elderly attendant who oversaw your care, hands planted firmly on her hips as she observed the chaotic scene before her.

With a disapproving huff, she pivoted sharply on her heel and departed, leaving a lingering sense of reprimand in her wake.

As the frenzied chatter about Sukuna’s body attributes gradually dissolved into the quietude of sleep, morning arrived with its routine of communal showerings.

Throughout the shared bath, you silently scrubbed away the remnants of the night, indulging your fellow concubines about your previous life in town.

Upon drying off and exiting the bathing chamber, you were met with an unexpected sight: a gathering of the girls clustered around your bed.

Navigating through the throng, you reached your space to discover a resplendent scarlet silk robe embroidered with intricate black floral patterns.

Gingerly lifting the note placed atop the fabric, you read Sukuna’s precise handwriting. Curious glances from the other concubines peered over your shoulders in anticipation.

No distracting embellishments, Sad Eyes.

“What does that mean?” a curious whisper floated through the air, followed by murmurs of intrigue from the other girls. “Why does he call you ‘sad eyes’?”

You clutched the letter to your chest, suppressing a grin as you ignored the questions, the mockery, and the jostling of bodies around you. Your attention was fixated on the magnificent robe gifted to you by His Lordship.

For the remainder of the evening, you slept without any interruptions, seeking to compensate for the countless nights spent battling insomnia within the confines of your foster home.

You observed with a keen eye that none of the other girls were ushered to Sukuna’s chambers; their time seemed to veer toward strolls in the back garden or spent in the dormitory, indulging in wine-fueled scandals about the palace staff, as was their custom.

As the clock struck eight in the evening, a troupe of maids entered the chamber bearing dinner trays. A wave of anticipation swept through the room as the other girls eagerly accepted their meals and accompanying pitchers of water. Your own stomach rumbled in hunger, awaiting your own turn.

But that moment never arrived.

Instead, the maid bypassed your bed entirely, moving on to the next. A surge of apprehension rippled through you as a handmaiden approached, guiding you away from the mattress and toward the vanity.

“What about my dinner?” you asked as the attendants groomed your hair.

“His Lordship has extended an invitation for you to dine with him tonight,” came the reply.

The room fell into a sudden hush.

Dine with him?

The notion sent a flurry of thoughts racing through your mind.

Before you could process further, you found yourself pulled upright, your garments removed to be replaced by the scarlet robe.

Envy flickered in the eyes of the other concubines as they observed, their resentment palpable as they stabbed at their food with exaggerated aggression. It wasn’t your doing that Sukuna had taken an unexpected interest in you.

With no adornments save for a dab of crushed cherry paste upon your lips, you were escorted to Sukuna’s chambers.

Once more, the imposing doors swung open, and you found yourself gently ushered into the chamber. As they sealed shut behind you, the room was flooded with light. Sukuna’s figure stared out at the moonlit gardens outside, clad in a billowing white silk robe.

“My Lord,” you greeted respectfully, inclining your head in deference.

“Draw near.”

Complying with his directive, you approached and stood at his side. His presence loomed over you, his stature commanding and formidable, capable of engulfing you entirely with a single embrace. Not that such thoughts dared to linger in your mind.

“Why is your face flushed?” he asked, his gaze penetrating.

You blinked, attempting to dismiss the telltale warmth creeping up your cheeks. “It’s nothing, my Lo—”

Before you could finish, Sukuna turned your chin towards him, his palm coming to rest against your forehead. A nervous swallow traced its way down your throat at his touch, his eyes trailing down your form, a knowing smirk tugging at the corners of his lips as they settled upon you in your robe.

“Thank you for your gracious gift,” you murmured, feeling the warmth rise to your cheeks.

His fingers trailed through your hair, a mischievous glimmer dancing in his eyes. “I anticipate nothing less than thoroughly enjoying the privilege of removing it off of you.”

You blushed deeper at his statement.

“Come now. I’ve brought a surprise for you.” He took your hand in his with a tug, guiding you towards a doorway. With a simple flick of his fingers, the door parted, revealing a dimly lit hallway beyond.

Your gaze widened in astonishment. “How did you do that, my Lord?”

“Do what?”

“You opened the door without laying a hand on it.”

Sukuna’s striking blood-coloured eyes cut to you. “There is much about me that will be unveiled in due course, my love. What you perceive is but a guise for my true nature.” His smile, oddly childlike, sent a chill down your spine.

Was he some sort of sorcerer? You’d only heard whispers of human anomalies lurking beneath the earth’s surface or sealed within vessels, but historical accounts weren't exactly your cup of tea.

“I ventured into town today,” he said.

“Oh.” You swallowed hard, recovering from his previous statement. “I hope it was a fruitful trip.”

“Indeed, quite fruitful.”

In the soft glow of the distant hallway, Sukuna’s face came into view, casting a spell of trepidation upon your heart. His features were drawn into a mask of stoicism, his eyes devoid of warmth, and his lips pressed into a firm line, jaw rigid with tension.

Parting the curtains, Sukuna drew you near, his arm sweeping out to reveal a horrifying sight: your foster father, bound to a chair with chains, wearing the cruel marks of torture.

His face marred by countless wounds, an eye absent, and teeth scattered at his feet. His dignity stripped away, his vulnerability laid bare in his nakedness, and his manhood amputated.

The sickening lurch in your stomach threatened to betray your composure. “F-Forgive my intrusion, my Lord, but is he . . . is he dead?”

Sukuna’s response was a gilded dagger from within his robe, its handle decorated with a jewel reminiscent of your own captivating eyes. Nestled within the hilt was the very flower he had plucked from your hair. Upon the blade, your name was inscribed.

“Do as you wish, my beloved,” he whispered, his voice stained with dark fascination, offering you the instrument of your foster father’s fate with a chilling sense of detachment.

You couldn’t possibly bring yourself to commit such a heinous act.

Despite the unspeakable cruelties inflicted upon you by the bastard, the idea of taking another’s life filled you with a trembling dread.

Yet, the itch to end the torment, to rid the world of such a vile presence, simmered just beneath the surface as you stood before him, his life slipping away.

A hand trailed down the back of your head, guiding your trembling fingers to grasp the dagger tightly.

Looking up, you met Sukuna’s gaze, his expression hollow, his features obscured by shadows. This was the face of the Devil that cursed his enemies on their knees and had them willingly submit to death.

With a push from behind, you stumbled forward, drawing closer to your step-father’s prone form.

Glancing back at Sukuna, you were met with an incongruously bright smile. Quite a twisted paradox, His Lordship.

Your step-father sat unconscious, the stench of his bodily fluids assaulting your senses. His wounds oozed with a sickening mixture of blood and pus, his laboured breaths the only indication of life remaining within him. The scene was painfully familiar, a mirror image of the torment you had endured countless times before.

But now, someone had intervened, offering you a chance at liberation, a chance to end the cycle of abuse once and for all.

You glanced back again.

Until Sukuna.

Your gaze reluctantly returned to the true embodiment of cruelty before you. With a steady hand, you raised your arm, wielding the dagger with purpose.

It found its mark in your foster-father’s chest, a chilling silence punctuated only by the sound of steel meeting flesh. Ignoring the strangled cry that erupted from him, you withdrew the blade, then drove it back into his heart.

Out.

In.

Out.

In.

His lifeblood painted your face and stained your pristine garments, mingling with the fabric in a macabre dance of crimson. To the untrained eye, it could easily be mistaken for a mere splash of vibrant colour upon your robe.

No one would dare suspect the truth.

No one would dare come near if they knew of your sin.

No one, except Sukuna.

Once the monster over your bed was consigned to the depths of hell, his guts spilling onto the floor around your bare feet, you allowed yourself a moment of grim satisfaction.

With a contemptuous snarl, you spat upon him, a visceral response to the years of degradation he had inflicted upon you for every misstep.

A comforting warmth touched your back.

Startled by the sudden contact, you tensed before easing at the sight of Sukuna’s faint smile.

As he reached to caress your cheek, you instinctively recoiled, lowering your gaze in deference.

“Forgive me, my Lord,” you murmured, “but I cannot permit you to spoil your hands with the blood of this man.”

Sukuna’s shoes entered your line of sight as he tilted your chin upward, his moon-white sleeve wiping away the traces of blood from your mouth and its vicinity. “You appear rather exquisite painted in blood, Sad Eyes. Perhaps I ought to designate you as my prized assassin instead of a mere concubine.”

“I beg your pardon, my Lord, but I cannot partake in killing . . . again.”

“You need not worry,” he whispered, his breath warm against your ear as he drew near. “I will defend you from any who cast their gaze upon you, let alone lay a hand upon your delicate form. Those who dare cross that line will face my wrath, their very existence extinguished before your eyes. Not a single tear shall stain your cheeks.” His lips brushed against yours. “From this moment forward, fear shall not reside within you. By my side, you shall command fear itself, my love.”

That night, Sukuna bathed you in the sanctuary of his chambers, washing away the traces of blood from your skin as you gazed at him with a sense of wonder. It wasn’t the superficial admiration the other concubines whispered about—it was a profound affection blossoming within you, nurtured by power and protection.

He draped you in the luxurious folds of one of his silk robes, summoning servants to prepare dinner. Seated upon his lap, he fed you spoonfuls of rice and chicken, even as your stomach protested its fullness. Soft kisses peppered your neck like a sweet dessert, culminating in one upon your lips before he reluctantly released you to retire to your dormitory.

In the ensuing weeks, Sukuna would consistently send a crafted robe ahead of each meeting—in the serene seclusion of his chambers, where the flickering candlelight cast shadows upon the walls as you dined together.

Over the course of these intimate dinners, he eagerly absorbed your musings, whether they revolved around the narratives of books discovered within the palace library or your adeptness with herbs and plants, nurtured by your profound knowledge.

On occasion, as the first light of dawn painted the sky with hues of pink and gold, Sukuna would summon you for a stroll in the haven of the back garden. Woven between the fragrant blooms, you’d dance about with childlike enthusiasm, identifying various flowers and tracing their lineage.

Ever the attentive listener, Sukuna trailed behind you, his gaze fixed upon your animated figure. He would only speak when you fell silent, demanding you to continue sharing the familial ties between apples, plums, and the roses they stemmed from.

Within the crevice of your soul, the once withered garden of affection had flourished into a lush wilderness, blossoming with untamed wildflowers and clouds that spelled out his name.

Sukuna inhabited your every waking thought, his intoxicating mouth that worshipped your body left you giggling in delight behind your hands.

Yet, each encounter with a fellow concubine, flushed and eager with tales of their rendezvous with him, felt like thorns piercing your tender heart. Jealousy, like ivy creeping upon stone, entwined itself around your every plagued thought. Your gaze often strayed to the bedside drawer where the dagger lay dormant. The mere mention of his physique by the other women tormented your soul relentlessly.

Why hadn’t Sukuna taken you as he had with every other concubine? You had grown accustomed to his presence, even eager to reciprocate the pleasure he gifted you every evening. You had offered yourself willingly, aching for the intimacy that would bind you even closer to him. But he had not claimed you in the same manner, not entered you fully, not seeded his legacy within you.

Did he question your worthiness? Did he see you merely as a transient pleasure? Were you destined to remain just a concubine, forever denied the honour of carrying his child?

“Why do you remain silent?” Sukuna asked, turning the pages of the book you had suggested to him; he was already half-way through.

You were seated snugly between his legs upon the bed, your back rested against his chest, fingers idly toying with the strands of your hair. “I find myself devoid of words this evening.”

“Hmm.” Sukuna took a leisurely sip of his drink before placing it aside. “Surely you can conjure something. You know well enough that I cannot endure your silence.”

With an exasperated sigh, you rolled your eyes. “Well, I apologise for failing to provide you with amusement, my Lord.”

Sukuna snapped the book shut.

You instinctively pressed your lips together, silently chiding yourself for the unintended sharpness in your voice.

With a heavy sigh, you resigned yourself to maintaining your composure, forcing yourself to take slow, steady breaths. Deep down, you believed that he wouldn’t inflict harm upon you or cast you out of his chambers. But the nagging thought chewed at you.

This was Sukuna Ryomen, and you . . . well, you were merely a shadow in comparison.

“If you crave my touch,” he breathed softly into your ear, “all you need to do is utter the request.”

With a determined resolve, you turned to face him, settling yourself upon his lap. Sukuna regarded you with a quirked eyebrow, a quiet acknowledgment of your unconventional audacity.

“I do crave your touch, my Lord,” you confessed, your voice a hushed plea, “but not only with your hands or lips. I long to feel you in a different manner.” Your gaze drifted down to his pelvis, the unspoken appetite evident in your eyes. “I crave that.”

Sukuna exhaled heavily, his gaze piercing as he addressed you. “So, you’ve been withholding your words simply because I haven’t fed you my cock?"

Heat rose to your cheeks at his blunt proclamation, though you had grown accustomed to his coarse mannerisms over time.

“Yes, my . . . Lord.” Your voice carried a mixture of embarrassment. “I’ve endured three long months of anticipation, patiently waiting to share in the pleasures enjoyed by your other consorts. Yet, with the arrival of autumn, I find myself still untouched by the experiences they so openly boast about.”

His lips curled into a smirk. “Are you asking me to bed you merely for the purpose of becoming a notch in your bragging rights?”

“Never, my Lord!” you protested vehemently, a hint of hurt flickering in your eyes. “I would never demean you with such vulgar talk in public. I’ve spun tales to the others, concealing the truth of our encounters. They remain oblivious to the pleasures you’ve granted me.” Your fingers traced the intricate markings on his chiselled abdominal muscles. “If my spoiled state displeases you, if I am deemed unworthy of your touch, pray, inform me now. Regardless, my sole wish is to fulfil His Lordship’s needs.”

Sukuna disentangled your hands from his chest, a gesture that caused a fissure to form within your heart, forcing your body to instinctively withdraw from his touch.

Just as you began to pull away, he swiftly encircled his arm around your waist, tugging you back onto his lap with a firm grip. Before you could utter a single word, his lips descended upon yours, silencing any protest with a passionate kiss.

With a purposeful touch, he skillfully divested you of your robe, revealing the curves of your form beneath. His hands, warm and adept, began to massage your supple breasts, kindling soft gasps from your lips. His own trailed a wet path downward, leaving a bridge of feverish kisses along the expanse of your throat, lingering over the rapid pulse beneath your skin.

As his lips found purchase on the tender flesh of your neck, his actions became more urgent, his touch more demanding. A pinch at your pebbled nipples sent a shiver of sensation coursing through you, followed by the heat of an open-mouthed kiss.

Your gaze drifted downwards, enchanted by the sight of his tongue encircling the sensitive spots, suckling on the swollen buds like a babe. Already, heat was building within the depths of your being, igniting a flame that spread between your legs.

Sukuna laid you back, relishing the delicate flavour of your lips as his fingers skillfully sought out your throbbing clit, stimulating it with unhurried circles.

With practised ease, he slipped two fingers inside you, quickening his rhythm without preamble. Your hand instinctively traced down to his chest, undoing the fastenings of his robe.

“Take it,” he whispered against your mouth, his breath mingling with yours. “Satisfy your lord, my love.”

Your fingers curled around his pulsating cock, the very object of desire that the other girls had passionately recounted. The knowledge of their previous intimacies with him only stoked the flames of envy within you, spurring you to intensify your ministrations.

With a surge of determination, you quickened the pace of your caresses, applying pressure with your thumb upon his sensitive tip while fondling his sacs.

Sukuna’s grin widened against your lips as he reciprocated with equal zeal, slipping a third finger into your slick heat until he was fully engulfed by your swollen core.

Together, you sailed upon the waves of raw carnal desire, locked in a lecherous race to reach your climax, each vying to be the first to cross the finish line—

Sukuna’s low, guttural moans resonated throughout the chamber.

You had achieved victory.

His essence spilled forth into your waiting hands, his cock convulsing with the intensity of his release. Moments later, you succumbed to your own climax, a soft cry escaping your lips.

With care, Sukuna withdrew his hand from your centre, and you instinctively examined your palm, noting the striking resemblance of his essence to your own.

You tentatively brought your fingers to your lips, savouring the taste of him.

“I did not instruct you to do that,” he growled, his gaze blazing as you tasted him. “But I suppose I’ll permit it.”

“It is salty,” you murmured, almost absentmindedly.

“Oh for fuck’s sake, are you women incapable of discussing anything besides my cock?” he exclaimed, frustration evident in his tone.

You couldn’t help but laugh, the tension dissipating as he cleaned his fingers with his tongue before tenderly cradling the back of your head, drawing you to sit upon his lap. Your laughter softened into chuckles, a smile playing upon your lips.

“Did I please you, my Lo—”

“Sukuna,” he interrupted firmly. “Only you may address me by my given name.”

“My L—”

“I command it.” His tone left no room for argument.

You affirmed your agreement with a nod.

He was Sukuna.

Your Sukuna.

“Very well, Sukuna.” You felt a subtle shift in the air between you. His chuckle rumbled softly. “Shall I turn around for you?”

“And why do you deem such an unnecessary act necessary?”

“Because—” You suppressed the urge to divulge the whispers of the other concubines regarding his favoured position. “Never mind. How would you prefer me to present myself to you?”

“As you are,” Sukuna answered, his grip tightening around himself. “How you managed to have me spend by your hand in under five minutes is a marvel beyond my comprehension.”

Internally, you gave yourself a congratulatory pat on the back.

“Now, my love,” he said, inclining his chin towards his erection, “will you do my cock the honour of sitting on it?”

Licking the grin of your lips, you nodded, rising to your knees. With nimble fingers, you positioned his hardened length at your entrance, gradually lowering yourself onto him.

A sharp intake of breath escaped Sukuna’s lips, his hands instinctively grasping your hips. You bit down on the inside of your cheek, enduring the initial sting of penetration. Perhaps every touch of his fingers had been a meticulous groundwork for this pinnacle moment.

As you settled into your seat upon him, you granted yourself a minute to acclimate to the sheer magnitude of him stretching and filling your tight, supple walls.

Sukuna tilted his head back, impatience evident in his eyes. “Will you begin moving at a pace befitting this century, Sad Eyes?”

“Just a moment,” you retorted, your tone tinged with irritation.

“Unfortunately, the sight of your leaking cunt is testing my patience,” he remarked, his gaze lingering provocatively on your flushed form.

Collecting yourself, you affirmed your resolve with a nod before subtly adjusting your position, and swaying your hips forward. His strong hands guided you, aiding your movements as you sought a rhythm. “Gods, you’re— You’re quite large. It’s rather discomforting.”

“Ah, where has the enthusiasm to please your lord vanished, my love?” His laughter echoes through the chamber as he leaned back, amused by your scowl. “I must confess, your defiance is perhaps your most alluring trait. It has crossed my mind more than once during moments of handling myself in the bath.”

Your brow furrowed in dismay.

It was evident that the other concubines possessed far greater expertise in pleasuring him than you ever could. All you could manage was to feign enthusiasm, your movements faltering and disjointed, as you struggled to produce even a fraction of the satisfaction they effortlessly blessed him with. His laughter, which wasn’t helping your cause, bore an uncanny resemblance to the mocking tones of the girls who had taunted you in the past.

You no longer wished to endure this charade.

You halted in your tracks, unable to muster the courage to meet his gaze, your eyes fixated instead on his throat. “It appears . . . that I may not be adequately versed in fulfilling your needs. I shall endeavour to educate myself further before making another attempt. For now, I request permission to retire for the evening, my Lord.”

Sukuna’s grip tightened as he seized your jaw, compelling you to meet his gaze. “You dare to defy my command to address me by my given name?” His smile remained wicked as he drew your face closer to his own. “Remember, my love, there is a boundary to which I tolerate your rebellion. Do not allow my affections to cloud your judgement. I remain your Lord, above all else. Do you understand?”

“Yes,” you managed to gasp out.

“Yes what?”

“Yes, Sukuna,” you replied, your voice trembling with uncertainty.

With a swift motion, he released your sore jaw, and before you could even consider easing the ache, his lips crashed against yours.

In that moment, control slipped from your grasp entirely. His hands gripped the flesh of your buttocks possessively, guiding your movements as he claimed you with a primal savageness that left you shaking in his embrace.

“Does it pain you, my beloved?” Sukuna growled, his fingers curling around your nape possessively. “Do you feel the strain of my cock as I breach your tender walls?”

You whimpered softly, your head nodding against the curve of his neck.

“Fear not, my darling. I will diligently train this cunt of yours to accommodate every inch of me, dusk, dawn, and twilight. Your throat, too, shall be honed to fulfil my every whim, wherever and whenever I demand.” With a swift motion, he tugged your hair, forcing you to meet his glare. “And should you dare to entertain thoughts of defiance with any other man beyond the confines of my chamber, rest assured, there will be consequences.”

“Sukuna,” was all you gasped, eyes rolling back as his tip probed the depths of your womb. His tongue traced the delicate curve of your throat before shoving into your mouth, drawing out your own to suckle on. In the heat of the moment, your hands roamed aimlessly, torn between grasping at his waist, clutching his shoulders, or caressing his cheeks.

“Oh, how I love the sight of your breasts greeting me in my face.” Sukuna tightened his hold on each of them with a deadly grasp, savouring the melodious cry that escaped your lips. He lowered his head and teethed each nipple, drawing it out and relishing in the masochism of your sharp nails clawing down his back. “Deeper, my darling. You alone hold the privilege of marking my flesh. Let my scars mirror yours.”

With caution, you shifted your hands to rest upon his firm pectoral muscles before you could accidentally claw out his spinal cord.

Sukuna’s touch drifted from your bruised breasts to cradle your face, guiding your gaze to meet his crimson one.

Encouraged by his comforting presence, you arched your hips forward with newfound confidence. His fingers swept through your hair, pushing it away as he offered reassuring nods.

Now, the reins rested firmly within your grasp.

“Fuck . . .” Leaning back against the headboard, he released soft sighs. Warm breaths escaped his parted lips as you continued increasing your ministrations. Your gaze momentarily flickered to your favourite book resting on his bedside table before returning to his face.

Suddenly seized by an impulse, you leaned forward to plant a tender kiss upon his lips, trailing upward to gently brush against his cheekbones, tracing the intricate markings lining his skin.

“What are you doing?” he asked.

“Someone must play the role of the tender one between us, Sukuna,” you answered, mirroring the attention he had given your scars during your initial encounter. With each kiss, you felt his eyes tracing your movements, following the path of your lips as they journeyed across his face, landing upon his nose or the pulse of his neck.

“My beloved,” Sukuna’s voice caressed your ears, drawing your focus entirely to him, “listen closely to my words.”

You halted your movements, a curious expression dancing in your eyes. “What troubles you?”

With a deliberate motion, he guided your hips forward, his gaze unwavering. “Throughout the night, I will fill your womb ceaselessly, and in mere weeks, you shall carry my legacy within you.” Your heart leaped into your throat, fluttering with an overwhelming rush of emotion. “Peril will shadow your every step. Those who oppose us will stop at nothing to eliminate your life and the life of our child. Do you comprehend the gravity of our situation?”

You blinked back the tears, resigning yourself to the inevitable.

“But I vow upon my honour, such an atrocity shall never come to pass. I will sever entire bloodlines if even a single strand of your precious hair were harmed.” His movements quickened as he thrusted into you.

Your grip tightened on his shoulders again, gasping for breath between erratic pants.

“At dawn’s light, all concubines shall be reassigned to palace duties. You need only point out those who have dared to trouble you, though their transgressions are already known to me.” His motions became more intense as he pressed you onto your back, pinning your arms above your head. “And when the sun graces the horizon, you, my beloved, shall be proclaimed as my queen.”

Your voice wailed through the chamber as you cried out his name, drowning in the waves of scorching pleasure never before experienced.

Instead of seeing celestial bodies colliding, your gaze met the deep crimson of his irises, those same eyes that had captivated you on that very first night.

“Sukuna . . . ”

With a smile mirroring his own, you tilted your head upward, silently beckoning him to seal the moment with a kiss. As he obliged, his cock pulsed within you, filling you with his warmth until every fibre of your being was tethered with his.

But he didn’t withdraw. Just as he had promised, he intended to keep you close throughout the night, to claim you as his own.

And in that moment, as you laid with him, you welcomed the dawn of a new chapter standing beside him, prepared to reign as Sukuna Ryomen’s queen.

And your mother had snagged him while working as a waitress in a minimum-wage strip club. Your relationship with her was strained at best, especially since your biological father showed no interest in fighting for custody. You were nothing more than a drunk accident. 

Growing up in a cramped trailer home, your parents believed in hands-on discipline, forgetting sometimes that you were just a child—noisy, curious, and prone to defiance. Their version of love left you feeling depressed, on edge, and struggling with social anxiety. 

Now, as an adult, you found yourself still living with your mother, as your scholarships barely covered your education expenses.

Maybe Satoru’s arrival was a blessing in disguise. If he married your mother, he could take her away to his mansion, leaving you in the relative comfort of your trailer home. You might even inherit the ancient Nissan with its surprisingly functional engine. 

 Oh, how you could relate to that car. 

Right now, Satoru was in the living room with your mom, chomping down on take-out steak and potatoes while she rambled on about her grand wedding plans. She insisted on having someone named Polly or Molly as the maid-of-honour instead of you—some stripper friend, apparently. But honestly, you weren't keen on being part of the wedding anyway.

In all honesty, you felt pity for Satoru. He was an idiot if he couldn’t see through your mother’s true intentions. You could blame it on the fact that he was in his late-thirties and a business big-shot who’d fuck anything in a tiny skirt. Or maybe, in some minuscule possibility, he actually loved your mom.

You scoffed at that idea. 

Your mom was as lovable as a bout of constipation before a crucial job interview.

Next to Satoru, a refined, too tall and too attractive, Brioni-suits-only, your mother looked like his maid. The drugs and the drinking had aged her fifty times her current age. She was more of a tenant, a sloppy, sex-driven roommate than someone who birthed you. Sometimes you’d catch yourself staring at her, wondering: Does she even deserve a funeral? 

Three knocks thudded against your door, and without waiting for an invitation, Satoru poked his head in. The man was anti-privacy at all times. You didn’t want to give the benefit of the doubt by blaming it on your tiny home, but common courtesy was a universal law. One that failed to apply to your mother and him. 

“Yes?” you asked, focused on writing out your lecture notes instead of giving him attention. 

A shadow casted over your table, two firm hands gripping either side of the edge. Satoru leaned down until his cheek was an inch from yours. He was also anti-spatial awareness. 

“Your dinner’s getting cold.” 

You avoided looking into his abnormally blue eyes, keeping your focus fixed on a single word on your paper. His breath brushed against your cheek, making your heart skip a beat.

You had to admit, he was one of the most attractive men you’d ever met when your mother first introduced you to him. Sometimes you even found yourself jealous that a man of his calibre was with a woman like her. And the bastard knew he was sexy, too. He’d stroll into the kitchen shirtless, his sweatpants hanging low on his hips, while you were having breakfast before school. Whenever you needed to use the bathroom, he’d casually step out with only a towel wrapped around his waist, his abs right in your face.

If your mom could snag Gojo Satoru, you were convinced Tom Hardy would be head over heels for you.

“Are you even listening?” Satoru’s playful tone turned serious.

“I'll eat when I feel like it,” you retorted, stomach rumbling. He let out a chuckle against your skin, goosebumps rising in response. Your gaze flicked to his bare ring finger, and a twisted part of you hoped it stayed that way. Your mother didn’t deserve happiness. She didn’t deserve Satoru. She’d bleed his pockets dry without a second thought.

“Got your earphones in or something?” Satoru tucked a strand of hair behind your ear. “Hey, Y/N?” he whispered directly into the canal, lips grazing your lobe.

“No.” You shifted uncomfortably, smoothing your hair back over your heated ear. His fingertips were calloused and rough against your skin. You hated how he sometimes made those damn tingles ripple on your back from a single smirk or a look. “They broke.” 

“Want me to buy you new ones?” 

“No, thank you.” You tilted your head away, not wanting him to catch your side profile. “If that’s all, you can leave. I’m sure my mother’s dying for your attention.”

“She’s in the bathroom,” he pointed out, “and I haven’t seen you all day. You’re not ignoring me, are you?”

Admittedly, you were. 

When you returned from college, he stood there in his well-pressed suit, and a rush of conflicting emotions surged within you at the sight, forcing you to barricade yourself in your room for the rest of the afternoon and evening.

“What’s this, sweetheart?” He ran a hand over your arm covered with goosebumps. “You cold?” 

“Go away, Satoru.” You retreated in your chair and snatched your cardigan, wrapping it around yourself. Your hand sharply pointed at the door. “Now.” 

Satoru licked his lips, and unfolded to his six-foot-something height. “You know, I don’t appreciate your attitude. Especially if we’re going to be a family soon.”

“You’ll never be my family.” You pointed to the side. “And that woman isn’t my family either. So, just leave me alone, okay? Please.” Frustration ran through your fingers as you raked them through your hair. “Get out—”

“Not until I fix your perspective on me.” Satoru strode to the door and slammed it shut, locking it firmly. Your eyes widened in fear as you met his intense gaze. “I’ve been patient with you, baby. Really, I have. You mean something special to me, even if you don’t see it that way.”

“Satoru—“

“I’m not here to hurt you. I just want to talk. Sit down.” He gestured sternly to the chair. “Sit the fuck down.”

The edge in his voice compelled you to obey, perching nervously on the edge of the seat. Your phone sat in your pocket—a lifeline should things go south. Despite knowing him for a year, you still didn’t trust yourself alone with him.

Satoru settled on the bed, leaning forward with his hands clasped, giving off an aura of authority. It felt like being summoned to the principal's office. “What’s the problem here?”

“There’s no problem,” you insisted, stealing a glance at the door.

“Look at me,” Satoru demanded, his head cocked, drawing your gaze to his piercing sky-blue eyes. “You look at me when I’m talking to you. What’s the problem?”

“There's no—“

“There is a fucking problem when you’re hardly ever around the house. You’re up before dawn for breakfast, and then you stroll in at ten at night.” A dark intensity shadowed his eyes. “I know damn well your last class ends at five, so what the hell are you doing between those six hours?”

Your chin trembled. “Studying—”

“Don't you dare lie to me.”

“I’m not. I’m— I hang out with friends at the library and we study together—“

“Friends or a friend?”

This motherfucker.

Your fingers wrapped tightly around the armrest. But of course he knew you’d been seeing a boy from one of your lectures. You and Yuji had begun innocently enough, studying together, then sneaking kisses around campus, until it evolved into dates. Just last night, he popped the question, asking you to be his girlfriend. But all you could manage was an uncertain “I need time to think.” There was a nagging feeling in your mind, in your very core, that held you back from saying yes.

Satoru’s smirk deepened.

“Why do you care, anyway?” you hissed. “It’s none of your damn business. You’re not my dad.”

“Not yet.”

“You’ll never be my dad, Satoru. Get that through your thick skull and stop treating me like I’m some kind of kid.” Your breath hitched, growing louder as he shrugged off his blazer and started rolling up his sleeves.

“Back in my day, we had something called discipline. I know it might be a foreign concept to you—”

“Oh, I’m well acquainted with it.” In the heat of the moment, you lifted your shirt to reveal burn marks and belt scars on your skin. Quickly, you covered it back up. “Please, don’t tell my mom I showed you that.”

Satoru stared at the wounds now shielded by a thrifted sweater. Anyone would mark you with pity if they saw the canvas of torture on your back from breathing too loudly or leaving the lamp light on in the living room. Minor things that didn’t deserve major damage. 

“I won’t if you can keep a secret of mine, too.” 

You regarded him with hesitation but nodded nevertheless. 

Leaning closer, Satoru confessed, “I don't want to marry your mom.”

The shock was diminutive. Satoru wasn’t an idiot as you were beginning to assume he was. Obviously, a man of his stature could see straight through your mother’s wicked intentions. 

The million-dollar question was: “If you didn’t wanna marry her, why drag her along for six months? I mean, she’s a bitch, yes, but why go through all of that whining and nagging?” 

Satoru smiled at you.  

“What?” you asked. 

“You, Y/N,” he said. “You’re the reason why.” He grabbed the armrests and wheeled your chair close so that your legs were compressed between his. “The night I met your mother, she briefly showed me pictures of you. And I’ve never been the same since.” His hand laid gently on your cheek, thumb caressing over your left brow. “You had such sad eyes in all of them. I wanted to know the cause of what was hurting you. I felt this urge to take your pain away.” The next words were a soft caress on your scars. “Take you away.” 

You couldn’t allow yourself to breathe. “Satoru—”

“I know you’re scared.”

“Satoru, this isn’t— I don’t—”

“Hey, hey, hey. Eyes on me, baby.” He cupped both your cheeks now, lowering his head to look you in your eyes. “I’ve waited patiently, Y/N. Believe me, I have. I’ve seen the shit that woman’s done to you, said to you, says about you. You don’t belong here in this dump. You never did. Just because you’re bonded by blood doesn’t mean she’s your family.” Satoru glanced at the door, making sure your mother hadn't come out of the bathroom, then he pulled you from the chair onto his lap. You gripped his shoulders, stifling a yelp. “I'm going to take care of you now. You understand?”

“I can take care of myself.”

“I know you can, sweetheart. But I’m gonna do it anyway.” His smile was irresistible. “Starting with getting you some headphones.”

“You slept with her,” you muttered. “My mother. More than once.”

“Yeah? Eavesdropping through the walls?”

“They're paper-thin.”

Satoru’s hand twined around your nape. “If you think I put my dick in that woman, you’re wrong. Sure, she’s fucking needy, but I’ve got boundaries.” He raised his hands and wiggled his fingers. “These worked perfectly fine.” 

You noticed the thickness of his fingers, the size of his palm, which was larger than yours. “This is wrong, Satoru. You shouldn’t be doing this. We shouldn’t be doing this.” But you want to, you want to, you want to. You shut your thoughts and confined them to the back of your brain. “I don’t even like you that much. You’re kind of a dick.” 

Satoru laughed with his head dropping onto your shoulder. “Kind of?”

“A lot.” 

“Much better.” He drew back and placed his hand on your jaw, lifting it so he could look down at you with that signature air of superiority. Goosebumps prickled your skin once more. His gaze followed the path of your swallow down your throat before locking back onto your eyes. “What would you do if I kissed you?”

Instinctively, you licked your lips. “Like, right now?” 

“Next year.” 

You rolled your eyes at his sarcasm, glancing over at your locked bedroom door. What was taking your mother so long? Why wasn’t she loudly demanding Satoru’s attention while she shopped online with his card?

It annoyed you how Satoru put up with her self-centred behaviour just to stay close to you, always making sure you were okay when your mom could be a handful, though she was usually on her best behaviour when he was around.

You frowned, refocusing on him. “Just this once.” You placed your hands on his cheeks, feeling the smooth, pale beneath your fingertips. “After this, we can’t—”

Satoru interrupted you with a kiss, sinking his tongue deep into the crevice of your mouth. 

Struggling to match his intense rhythm, your movements felt awkward, your teeth clashing together as you fumbled to find a place for your hands on his broad frame. The boys you had kissed were slower, allowing you breathers in between, holding just onto your face or hands.

But Satoru . . . Satoru was different. He had you arched backward, supported only by his strong hands. Your arms clung tightly around his neck, fingers tangled in his soft, white hair. Then, as he lifted himself onto his feet, you wrapped your legs around his narrow waist, settling yourself onto the table.

He nipped at your lower lip, eliciting a gasp from you, and seized the moment to kiss you harder, faster, desperately. His hand slid up the front of your sweater, skimming the burn mark and moving up to caress your right breast. He pulled at your said stone-hard nipple, making you mewl from the pinching sensation. “Fuck, your tits are so soft. Give me a taste, baby.” 

“Satoru, wait—”

Too late. 

He swiftly lifted your sweater and drew a chair closer, placing himself directly in front of you. As your eyes locked, he leaned in, gently taking your nipple into his mouth. You bit back a gasp, feeling the intense pressure as he pulled the sensitive bud. Your head arched back as he continued to explore with his lips and teeth. 

When he finally pulled away, your nipples were left tingling and discoloured. He trailed kisses down your chest, moving to your soft stomach, and then he slipped his fingers into the waistband of your sweatpants. “Let me see your pussy.” 

“No.”

“Let me see it.” 

“No, Satoru. My mom—”

“Fuck her. Show me your pussy now.”

His crassness was going to be the death of you. You swallowed your anxiety, knowing your mother could knock on the door at any moment, and lifted your hips. He pulled down your sweatpants and spread your legs, a smirk playing across his face as he noticed the damp spot on your panties.

“It’s a natural reaction,” you mumbled. 

“Better be whenever you see me.” Satoru hoisted your legs onto his shoulders and gave a long lick to the spot. You slumped back against the wall, stomach rising and lifting as he continued lapping like a parched beast. “Let’s get these pretty panties off of you.” 

“Satoru, maybe we shouldn’t do this,” you said as you naturally pulled one leg out of your underwear, followed by the other, leaving you completely bare and ready for him. “This is wrong. We’re a decade apart in age for fucks sake. If anyone found out—if my mom found out— I can’t— I just don’t think it’s right for us to do this.”

Right? 

“No?” he questioned as he roughly parted your slick, glistening folds with his coarse thumbs. “Fuck me. Your pussy is even more perfect than in my dreams.” 

“Shit,” you whispered, exhaling deeply as he ran his tongue across the curve, collecting the beginning of your release. The tip of his tongue rapidly flicked your clit. You shifted restlessly, biting your lip to stifle the sounds escaping you. Instead, you let out muffled gasps and deep sighs, struggling to maintain control. 

“I’m gonna put in a finger now.” 

“What—?” 

Satoru pushed his middle finger into your entrance, hissing out through his teeth. “Oh, you’re tight. You’re so fucking tight.” He smiled at the fact and continued lapping at your throbbing pussy, sucking your swollen, reddish clit into his mouth. You banged a fist on the table, rattling the stationary on it. “One more.” 

His ring finger thrusted in, and you released the cries building up inside you. Fuck it, right? Your mother would just assume you’re watching a heartbreaking movie. 

Squelching sounds filled your bedroom from the vigorous pace of his thick, skilled fingers. You couldn’t make any more sounds with your fist, so you gripped his hair. Satoru’s chuckle was muffled as he expertly sucked you off, holding you down by your stomach. You weren’t going to be the same—

The lights of a car flashed across your bedroom walls. 

“She’s home,” said Satoru before diving back in. 

“She— She wasn’t in the bathroom?!” 

He shook his head and winked. 

“Where was she?” 

Satoru pulled away but continued exploring with his fingers and leaned over you. “I sent her shopping.” He scowled as he looked over his shoulder. “Surprised she’s home early. I didn’t even get to fuck you.” 

Your eyes widened. “You were going to?” 

He looked back, the long tendrils of his hair poking his eyes. “Tomorrow.” 

“We can’t do this ag—” 

“Satoru, I’m home!” your mother’s voice said in the background, followed by sounds of what was clearly an abundance of shopping bags. “I wanna do a fashion show for you.” 

You pulled in your smile when he rolled his eyes, head shaking. “You’re going to have to file for bankruptcy if you stay with her.” The pads of your soft fingers touched his jaw. “Don’t stay with her, Satoru. Don’t stay with her for me. I can tell you it isn’t—”

“Worth it?” He pushed his fingers deeper inside you, hitting the spot that had your eyes balling to the back of your head. “You’re worth every fucking penny, baby.” 

His words came out crushed, gritted, biting the delicate flesh of your throat. “Today, I fucked you with my mouth and fingers. Tomorrow, it’ll be my cock. For the rest of your life, you’ll take every inch of what I give you in your little cunt, in your pretty mouth, and in your tight ass without complaining you’re not worth it.” 

He curled his fingers tightly in the back of your hair. “Then, you’ll take my card and spend it on whatever the fuck you want—cars, an island, headphones, lingerie for sure—without complaining you’re not worth it.” His lips brushed over yours, voice lowered for your ears. “You will wear the diamond ring I give you. You will take my last name. You will be the mother of my children. You will be buried next to me. Because you’re fucking worth it, baby. You’ll always be.” 

You came with a cry crushed by his mouth, his fingers sliding out of you as he held your naked, sweaty body close to his chest. He laid you down on your bed and quickly covered you with a blanket, picking up your clothes and tossing them in your closet. As you watched him run his hands through his hair, fixing your chair and wiping your desk with one of your notebook papers, tsking at your lack of a tissue box. 

Just then, your mother knocked at your door, rattling your doorknob. “Y/N. Why the fuck is your door locked?” 

You stammered, brows raising at Satoru, who stood calmly against your closet door. “Uh, I was—I was masturbating!” 

“Jesus Christ,” your mother muttered. 

Satoru stifled his laugh behind his palm, head shaking at your ludicrous confession. 

“Yup. I’m naked, and there’s some hardcore porn playing on my laptop. So, don’t come in. It’s embarrassing.” You scrambled to sit up as Satoru made his way to your bed, removing the blanket away. “What are you doing?” He drew your legs apart and sunk down, licking the mess you’d made clean with his tongue. “Ah, fuck. Fuck, Sa—” You caught yourself before his name could slip. 

Your mother banged her fist on your door. “Would you keep it the fuck down? I don’t need the neighbors hearing you being a whore.”

You smiled down at him, and said, “Sorry,” to your mom. 

“Wrap it up. Have you seen Satoru anywhere?” 

You glanced down as he kissed your clit. “Nope.” 

“Fucking hell. Where the hell is he? Not picking up his phone . . . ” The sounds of her footsteps retreating made you breathe easier, falling back on your pillows. 

Satoru’s smirk appeared in your view, and he leaned down to kiss you with your juices coated on his soft, pink lips. “Can I sleep with you tonight, baby?” 

“But . . .” 

“I’ll let her know it was a work emergency.” 

You sighed, nodding, and made space for him on the side. He wrapped you up in his arms while you laid your head on his chest. “How are you going to get out of this?” 

“I don’t know yet.” 

When you woke up the next morning, Satoru wasn’t in your room. 

You stretched and groaned from the ache between your legs, fanning the bare spot with your hands. Your eyes glued to the table where your lecture notes were neatly tucked away in your binder. Except for the one he used to wipe the surface. You picked it up and smiled before locking it in your drawer. 

You’re worth it. 

The sentence echoed in your brain as a morning greeting. And suddenly starting another mundane day didn’t feel like shit anymore. You showered with Satoru’s body wash, imagining he was in front of you, those soft lips pulled up into an amused scowl. Your fingers instinctively pushed inside you, your back hitting the wall as you pumped them in and out of you, remembering last night's forbiddenness. 

Eventually, you stepped out to save on water bills and found your mother in the kitchen, brewing coffee. And they were two mugs—one being Satoru’s. He was here. Probably still in your mother’s bed, but he was here. 

Your mother didn’t bother greeting you and instead muttered, “Whore.” For a second, anxiety lashed at out from thinking she’d found out you were finger-fucked by her fiancé, but then you remembered the masturbation excuse you’d given her. 

Honestly, fuck her. You didn’t give a shit about feeling guilty. If anything, you wanted more. You wanted a lot. You wanted Satoru to fulfill your lewd desires, starting with leaving your pathetic excuse of a mother. You needed to separate yourself from her first by moving out. 

Once you were dressed for school, taking extra time to fix your make-up and hair, you stepped back into the kitchen and nearly stumbled from Satoru sitting on the stool next to yours. He glanced over his shoulder and winked. 

You gulped and entered the kitchen, preparing a cereal bowl and feeling his eyes tracking your back. Your ass, mostly. You knew this because you were wearing your tightest jeans with a blouse tucked in, giving him a full display of your curvy behind. 

Taking your cereal bowl, you sat next to him. Your mother was facing the stove, flipping flapjacks while focused on some drama episode on her phone. Next to you, Satoru lit a cigarette and the smoke wandered in front of your eyes. 

Your stool was suddenly scraped close to his. You suppressed your yelp and faced him—

Satoru gripped your jaw and crushed his lips to yours, the taste of bitter tar and minty toothpaste confusing your taste buds. You pushed him back and whipped your head towards your mother, just meters away, and unaware of what happened behind her back. 

Satoru chuckled under his breath as he took a long drag and blew the smoke in the opposite direction. “Eat.” 

Your insides were performing an acrobatic show from how attractive he looked in the morning. No shirt, as always, baggy sweats that contoured his thigh muscles and his prominent bulge when he was sitting. His snow-white hair was damp from a shower, poking his eyes that didn’t seem to leave your face. 

Right as you went for your first bite, Satoru curled his arm around your waist. You tried to push it away, but he persisted, staring straight ahead and enjoying his smoke. His fingers undid the button of your jeans and lowered down your zipper. 

“Satoru,” you mouthed as a warning. “We can’t.” 

He flicked a side-glance at you and leaned close to your ear. “Then next time don’t wear my body-wash.” His lips pressed below your earlobe, and easily, he slipped his fingers into your panties. “Fuck,” he breathed against your skin. “Wet already, baby?” 

You inched forward, biting your bottom lip, watching your mother stack the flapjacks onto the plate one by one. Satoru rubbed your clit in slow circles, chuckling again as his fingers parted your soaked folds. The excitement of the situation was turning you on, but so was the mingled fear. 

Satoru pulled out his finger just as your mother turned around and you pulled down your blouse to cover your unbutton jeans, shoving a spoonful of cereal into your mouth. 

“Jesus, eat like a human,” your mother commented, placing the plate of flapjacks onto the island. She turned back around to search the cabinets for syrup. 

You glared at Satoru as he licked his fingers clean. He grabbed your jaw and whispered against your lips, “I’m fucking you tonight,” before leaving the stool to pour himself a cup of coffee. 

You were a distracted mess during your lectures, shifting in your seat or rubbing your legs together whenever the thought of Satoru’s fingers or tongue or that mischievous smirk of his flashed before your eyes. You even rejected Yuji’s affections and assumed the guilt of his mopiness would eat you alive, but instead, you felt relieved. The countless hours you’d spend at the library to stay away from home were suddenly cut down as you found yourself taking the bus back home, temple resting against the cold window as Satoru’s promise this morning rang in your brain.

I’m fucking you tonight. 

You smiled. 

But your excitement was cut short when you found your mother on the living room couch, scrolling through her laptop, home for some goddamn reason. 

“You’re early,” she commented without acknowledging you with her eyes. 

You cleared your throat. “The library was closed for renovation. Where’s the fiancé?” 

“Why do you care?” 

You gulped. Hard. “Just wondering.” 

She rolled her eyes. “He’s at work.” 

Nodding, you entered your room and dropped everything. You stripped out of your clothes and clambered into your bed, hoping that sleep would tick away the time it’ll take for Satoru to return home. 

You closed your eyes and sucked in a deep breath before forcing yourself into sleep. 

But it didn’t come easy to you as you started vividly dreaming of Satoru’s smirking mouth on your sore pussy, sucking on your tender clit, the coarseness of his tongue shoving into your tight, tight hole. You felt his fingers trace circles over your nipples, pinching and pulling the sensitive buds, making you squeak. You moaned from the wet love-bites he left on your neck, soothing them with gentle kisses, his large, rough palms exploring the expanse of your stomach. 

And then you felt his lips on yours, felt his tongue push open your mouth and seek your tongue.  

He bit down on your bottom lip and you jerked. 

You jerked awake and met a pair of ocean-blue eyes glinting in the sliver of moonlight peeking from your curtains. He was here. Satoru was here. In your room, leaning over your body, with his lips glistening and your pre-cum coating his chin.

“Satoru . . .” You sucked in a sharp breath and pinched your arm to make sure this wasn’t some fantastical nightmare. 

But it was real. 

It was so real. 

“Did you know you moan my name in your sleep?” 

You glanced down at your bare pussy, at your panties thrown onto the floor. “Were you eating me out in my sleep?” 

“Mm-hmm.” 

“That’s— I mean, well—”

“Didn’t like it? I was only trying to wake you up.” He curled a strand of your hair around his finger. 

“No, I liked it. I thought I was dreaming.” 

“You dream of me eating you out?” Satoru pinched the side of your waist and your knee jabbed his ribs. He chuckled in the crook of your neck, kissing your racing pulse. “I’m gonna fuck you until you pass out, baby. Then I’ll continue fucking you in your dreams, too.” He drew his face back and you took it in your hands, raising your head and kissing his dirty, wet mouth. 

“Do it,” was all you whispered. 

Satoru yanked down your bra, freeing your breasts with a bounce. “I want to suck on them.” You nodded and laid a hand on the back of his head as he dived down to pull your left nipple into his mouth. He groaned and rubbed his clothed erection against your clit. 

You bit down on your tongue as he pulled your nipple with his teeth and freed it, marveling at your breast bouncing again. He gathered both cups in his hands and squeezed them, pressing his face in between. His tongue sloppily licked around your areola, dividing his mouth’s attention to either nipple, abusing them until they’re numb and coal hot. 

Satoru didn’t say a word as he rested back on his knees and lowered his sweatpants. Your breath hitched at the sight of his thick, long erection springing out into action. He gripped the base of it and rubbed up and down in slow motions. That was so not going to fit. 

“You know how long I’ve been between your legs?” he whispered. 

You shook your head. 

“An hour, baby. I was eating your little pussy out for an hour.” He leaned over you again and rubbed the hilt of his cock over your drenched folds. “I’ve never eaten anyone out before.” 

You blushed. “Oh.” 

Satoru smiled at your reaction and pushed his tip onto your clit, watching you squirm and cling to your bedsheets. “Condom or not?” 

“I take birth control.” 

He stopped immediately. An irritated scowl. “What? Why the fuck do you take birth control? Have you been fucking around.” 

“What? No. There’s a lot more uses for birth control than just, you know, birth control. I have a hormonal imbalance issue. It happened last year, so my doctor prescribed me the pill.” You stifle a smile as he breathes out a sigh of relief, dropping his forehead against yours. “Don’t worry, handsome. You’re my first.” 

“And I sure as fuck better be your last.” 

You kissed the tip of his nose. Satoru shook his head and grabbed his shaft, positioning it at your entrance. “My mother’s not home. Is she?” 

“She’s asleep.” 

Fuck. There was no doubt you were going to be loud. Satoru must’ve noticed your turmoil and lowered himself, saying, “Bite down on my shoulder if it hurts. Which it fucking will.” 

You nodded and curled your arms around his neck, widening your legs for him to settle in comfortably. The large tip of his cock pressed inside of you, making you shudder and tuck your lips inside. 

Satoru rolled his hips forward, inching more of himself inside, expanding your walls. “Fuck, baby. My cock’s not even half way in from how tight you are.” He rolled his hips forward again and your teeth clamped down on his skin. “Fuck, fuck. Okay, here we go, baby. Here we go.” He pushed in again and your back arched, feeling his tip tickle your womb. “That’s it, sweetheart. Breathe for me. Okay?” 

“Hurts,” you murmured, squeezing the soul out of his neck. 

“It’s not a walk in the park, that’s for sure.” Satoru curled one arm below your waist and lifted it, adding a pillow underneath. He started with slow ministrations, getting himself comfortable inside your quivering, cushioned walls. “Oh, fuck me, baby. I’ve been losing my mind to be inside of you.” His words served as a minor distraction from the stinging pain. “I stole one of your panties after you left for school, and wrapped it around my cock, jerking off until my dick was going to break. I’ve never come so hard in my life.” 

You tried at a giggle, combing your fingers down the back of his head. He pecked your jaw and pulled his hips back, only halfway out of you, before jamming back in. Your teeth met his skin again, a strained moan leaving you. Satoru continued this rhythm for a few minutes before bringing you up to sit on his lap. 

You drew back, head rolling back as you felt him so full and thick inside of you, surely poking past your damn stomach. Your small hands grabbed his shoulders as he gently bounced you on his cock. His hands rotated your hips back and forth, slowly and surely. 

“Look at these fucking tits bouncing in my face,” he whispered, enthralled by the sight of your breasts moving in tandem with his thrusts. “Such big fucking tits for such a little girl.” 

“I’m— I’m not a little girl, Satoru.” 

He gripped the back of your hair. “You’re my girl. Understood?” You hissed as he pulled at your scalp, then crushed his mouth against yours. The bed beneath you creaked too loud, and if your mother woke up, asking what the fuck was happening, you wouldn’t have the power to lie. 

Satoru laid you back and grabbed your ankles, pushing your legs up. He rutted into you like a madman, heavy balls slapping against your ass, the sweat clinging to the tendrils of his white hair falling like raindrops on your face, trailing down to your chest where you squeezed your breasts. “Yes, fuck, fuck, fuck. Play with your nipples, baby.” 

He watched you pinch and pull and dig your nail into the soft flesh. You felt his dick twitch, and somehow, maybe, grew larger—you didn’t know anything that was happening.

“You’re mine,” he whispered, grabbing your headboard with his left hand and his right hand wrapping around your throat. “Your pussy, your tits, your ass, your mouth—they all belong to me, baby. You belong to me. Do you understand?” He ruthlessly slammed into, making you choke out a breathless scream. 

“Mine.” Thrust. “All.” Thrust. “Fucking.” Thrust. “Mine.” 

You passed out. 

Satoru chuckled as your eyes fell shut, and released his hand around your neck. He planted his palms beside your head and slowed down his vicious pace, giving your sweaty face small kisses. “God, you’re so beautiful. I could watch you sleep for hours.” And he had on multiple occasions, but that was a secret he wouldn’t clue you in on. “Just a little more, sweetheart.” 

He continued to work his cock inside of you, and in a matter of minutes, his warm release filled your sore hole. Satoru pulled out and pried your legs apart, watching his come leak out of you with a smug smile. He eyed you still sleeping and scoffed a chuckle. “Missed out on the best part.” 

Grabbing one of your t-shirts from the closet, Satoru cleaned you between your legs and your body, sneaking a kiss on each nipple. He lowered himself at your side and pulled up at the sheets to cover both your bodies. Satoru kept you glued to his chest, massaging your scalp, down to your bare ass. His eyes closed slowly, very slowly, and then he was joining you in dreamland. 

You woke up on a hard surface. 

A sharp hiss pushed out through your teeth as you shifted a leg. You lower half felt like someone had stuck a thousand needles in there. To relieve pain, you laid still and took deep breaths, trying to remember what happened last night when your orgasm knocked you out cold. 

You were definitely cleaned up, and desperately needed to pee as the mobility in your lower region began to sink in, but something strong was belted around your body. Slowly, you turned your cheek back to find Satoru, sound asleep, with his face buried in the crook of your neck. A smile spread to your lips and you allowed yourself to relax for a couple of minutes, listening to the sounds of his subtle breathing and how they tickled your skin. 

BANG! BANG! BANG! 

You jolted from the violent raps on your door, followed by your mother’s grating voice. 

“Y/N! Why the fuck is your door locked again? And don’t say your masturbating, or else I’ll break that fucking phone of yours into pieces!” she shouted from the other side. Satoru stirred behind you, pulling you closer to his chest, and still, somehow, very much asleep. “Get your ass out of bed right now.” 

“Just give me a minute,” you said, muttering curses at her. “Satoru.” You pat his arm. “Satoru, wake up. My mom’s outside.” 

“Hmm.” 

“Have you seen Satoru?” your mother suddenly asked, and your heart stuttered. “His car’s parked outside, but he isn’t home. Did he go out for a run?” 

“I-I don’t know.” You removed his arm from your waist, giving you space to turn yourself around and gently slap his cheek. “Satoru, wake up. My mom’s right outside the door.” 

“What?” he whined out loud in his sleep. 

Oh, shit. 

“Is there someone in your room?” Your mother started to rattle your door knob. “Open this fucking door, Y/N!” 

“Mom— I—” 

“Open this door!” 

Satoru groaned from the early morning racket and at last opened his eyes, sitting up straight. He saw the franticness on your face, the fresh tears in your eyes, then at the door that was being violently shook. “Fucking bitch.” He got out of bed, naked as hell, and before you could claw him back to you, he unlocked the door. “You ruined our fucking sleep.” 

“What the fuck?” Your mother screeched, staggering back and hitting the wall behind her. She glanced back at you, sitting on your bed, with your bed sheet pulled up to cover your chest. “You— You—”

“Look, I’m gonna make this simple for you, sweetheart.” Satoru nonchalantly scratched the back of his head. “I’m not making you my wife. Easy as that.” He pointed his thumb back at you. “She’s my wife. Well, she’ll soon be my wife after I take her out of this dump you call a home.” 

Your mother had no other emotion but unadulterated rage, a furious bull who just caught sight of the red marks on your necks. She shoved past Satoru and inside your room. 

“Mom, please. I-I can explain— I—” You cornered into your bed as she raised her hand to slap your soul out of you—

“Agh!” 

You opened your tightly squeezed eyes and found your mother crashing to her knees with Satoru gripping her wrist and yanking her away from your bed. He released her and turned to you, cupping your crying face in his hands, brushing his thumbs over your eyes. He nodded, and though you weren’t sure what he was trying to say, you somehow just knew. So, you nodded back. 

Satoru handed you your clothes from the floor while he watched your mother curse you from where she sat on the ground, clutched to her bruised wrist, screaming about horrible, horrible things she’d do to you. “Changed, baby?” he asked back at you. 

“Yes.” 

“Good. Pack your shit.” 

You passed a look at your monstrous mother and tipped your chin up. 

As you packed your necessities in your bag, Satoru kept a watch on her, giving you smiles whenever you passed by him. You had to force him to wear his boxers because frankly, you didn’t want your mother ogling something that was yours. 

“I’m gonna go get my stuff,” Satoru said, placing a hand on the top of your head. “You’ll be okay?” 

You nodded. “Don’t take too long.” 

Satoru kissed your forehead and exited the room, leaving just you and your mother, who was still on the floor with her wrist in her hold. 

“He’ll break you,” she muttered, eyes half-asleep. “You think you’re the most important thing to him in the world right now, but believe me, girl, I’ve seen a thousand men like him at the club, and he’s the worst of them.” Her laughter echoed inside your brain, making you recoil from where you sat at the edge of your bed. “He made you promises, didn’t he? Yeah, well, spoiler alert. They’re empty. Like you’re fucking head. You're just a shell for him to finish inside.” 

“Don’t project your insecurities on me,” you snapped back. She narrowed her eyes on you. “What, he never finished in you, let alone fuck you? Is that it?” A newfound hatred took root in you and caused you to stand and make your way over to her. “He can’t break something that’s already broken. And I may not be the most important thing to him right now, or ever, but I’d rather be with someone who doesn’t extinguish their cheap cigarettes on me.” 

Your mother’s eyes loosened their restraints and lowered to her lap in shame. She exhaled heavily and tucked her knees up to her chest, looking so small, so easy to crush. 

But she was your mother whether you liked it or not. The only time you wanted to see her hurt was in your brain and right now. If any other bastard had laid his hand on her for no reason, you would’ve killed him. What Satoru did to her wrist was out of self-defense—his first instinct was to protect you from her abuse. 

You didn’t feel guilty seeing her this way. 

“Where will you go?” she asked quietly. 

“None of your business.” You glanced around your small room, and the outside where everything was, indeed, a fucking dump. “But I’ll send you money every now and then to keep surviving. Does that work with you?” 

Your mother’s pride didn’t produce a response. 

Crouching down, you brushed the strands from her face and cupped her cheek. She looked weaker, almost corpse-like from all those drugs she consumed at the strip-club. “Since you couldn’t take care of me, at least take care of yourself, Mom.” You leaned in and placed a chaste kiss on her forehead. 

Feeling somewhat of a closure, you stood up with your large duffel bag, and closed the bedroom door behind you. 

Satoru stood leaning against the wall beside your door with a soft smile. You reflected back and he pulled in for a hug, pecking your crown. “They’re not empty promises,” he whispered, lifting your chin up. “And you’re not fucking broken.” 

You nodded, lifting on your toes to kiss him. “Let’s go home, Satoru.” 

“Let’s go home, baby.” 

“Thank you." You forced a smile at the woman, your patience waning as the mayor's birthday party stretched on. It was almost the end of the night, and your feet were protesting from traipsing around in flats. All you craved at that moment was your bed, pronto.

The woman and her husband attempted to capture Sukuna's lukewarm attention through political discussions and expressing gratitude for the illegal artillery shipments from your husband's syndicate. They made no effort to acknowledge your existence by his side.

Your hand rested on your belly, a mere eight months into your pregnancy—a new personal record. The first time you conceived, Sukuna demanded an heir, and you willingly agreed, knowing that the child would provide some distraction in the expansive estate that felt like a cage. Unfortunately, at the two-month mark, you experienced a miscarriage.

Feeling Sukuna's knuckles lightly tapping your back, you straightened your posture momentarily, only to slouch again almost instantly. It was futile. The discomfort of your swollen and cramped belly made it nearly impossible to maintain a poised demeanor in the midst of the party.

Disobeying Sukuna meant facing inevitable death, a fact well understood in his dangerous domain, and you had never dared to challenge that.

"Let's go," Sukuna said, cutting through the incessant chatter of the couple. He didn't grasp your hand, only your fragile wrist, a gesture you didn't mind. Yours was not a typical love; he, Sukuna Ryomen, a most feared monster in the criminal underworld, and you, a sacrificial lamb, a trophy collected three years ago, a means to his heir.

"I'm sorry," you whispered as you exited the venue, heading towards the limousine surrounded by fifteen armed guards under Sukuna's command. "I'm so sorry—"

"Get in the car." He held the door open for you, signaling his guards to disperse and take their positions in the Jeeps parked behind.

Silencing yourself, you cautiously settled into the back seat, and Sukuna joined you, slamming the door with force. His anger was discernible, and the memory of that night, losing your second unborn child to a kidnapping, plagued your dreams. You were uncertain if the nightmares were about Sukuna's wrath upon finding you or the horrors his enemies inflicted on you during your 48-hour captivity.

Sukuna noticed your struggle with the seatbelt and contorted his body toward you. Your fingers released their grip on the belt, allowing him to pull it taut and secure it snugly around your midsection. Click. He withdrew, distancing himself from your face that had been mere inches away.

“Tedious fucking party, anyway,” Sukuna grumbled, his left ankle casually perched on his right kneecap. He always adopted a specific posture, his elbow leaning against something, cheek resting on his knuckles, and his narrow eyes a rich brown that could almost pass for a deep shade of red. He exuded an unrelenting air of intimidation.

"I agree," you unintentionally voiced your thoughts, earning a sidelong glance from him. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to."

His attention barely lingered on you as the car roared to life. You breathed a sigh of relief, stretching out your legs and leaning your head back against the seat's shoulder. Your palm absentmindedly traced circles on your belly. Goosebumps peppered your skin from the frigidness in the car, stirring an involuntary shudder.

"Turn on the heater," Sukuna ordered the driver in his smooth, languid baritone.

"Yes, sir."

As warmth gradually surrounded the backseat, you hummed a small "Thank you" and closed your eyes, enjoying a few moments of peace.

Disorientation clouded your senses, and you dispelled it by rubbing your eyes and using your knuckles to prop yourself against the headboard. A couple of contractions ripped through your gut, causing you to groan and hiss through gritted teeth.

The enormous room was devoid of Sukuna, its black silk sheets hinting at the luxury covering you. The fireplace casted a warm glow, and a soft, dim golden light spilled from the lamp onto the floor.

In the first year of your marriage and pregnancy, your bedroom was located three doors away. You were tended to by on-site nurses and doctors, surrounded by an entourage of maids for company. Days were spent aimlessly wandering the estate, occasionally crossing paths with one of Sukuna's mistresses, their curious smirks evident as they exited his room.

The second year brought a subtle shift. You still slept alone, but now there was a surprising addition of joining Sukuna for dinner. Positioned diagonally from him, an air of restrained silence hung above your head. Yet, between the utensils clattering and quiet chewing, Sukuna's glances toward you and your five-month-old belly revealed your anticipation for the impending arrival of your child.

One of your maids had been instructed to lure you into a private conversation in the back garden, and before you could react, a group of men clad in black drugged you and forcibly removed you from the cage, which in that cruel moment felt like a sanctuary.

Most details of the monstrosities forced upon you in that warehouse have been compressed by your mind—the merciless physical and sexual assault endured for hours. They callously bragged that raping Sukuna's Ryomen's wife was a personal victory, cackling like bloodthirsty hyenas as you bled from your legs. In the thick of your suffering, you lost your second child in a pool of your own sweat and feces.

When Sukuna discovered you, when he annihilated every man along with their bloodlines, you were left as a mere shell of a woman, practically lifeless. You've existed as a walking corpse for quite some time now. Following that dreadful night, you attempted every conceivable means to end your own life—drowning, leaping out of windows, creating a makeshift noose from bed sheets and tying them around balcony railings, teetering on the edge—but every attempt proved useless. Sukuna consistently interfered at the last minute, sweeping in and enveloping you in his arms as you wept until unconsciousness claimed you for days.

Therapy provided some relief, as did the medications. Sukuna heightened security measures tenfold, keeping only those workers who served during his father and grandfather's reigns. He moved your belongings into his bedroom, sleeping by your side with a gun beneath his pillow. There were times when you would doze off in the library while reading, only to wake up in his room.

Two years seemed like an eternity in the slow process of healing, both physically and mentally, from the torment that had befallen you. Stepping into the garden was a reminder of the progress you had made, yet the hope that blossomed in your womb now filled you with a different kind of fear.

You needed your baby. Even if it meant risking your own life during childbirth. The only thing that mattered was the precious life you carried within you, and as long as your baby took that first breath, you'd welcome death with open arms.

Sukuna's bedroom door creaked open, revealing his presence.

Mink-colored tendrils of hair obscured his eyes, disheveled from their usual spiked stance. The stark white of his dress shirt was marred by the unmistakable stains of someone else's blood, and a gun dangled casually from his grasp. In the subdued lighting, his facial markings, inked tattoos designed to mask the scars of his tormented childhood, appeared more ominous than ever.

Without acknowledging your ogling, he briskly entered his bathroom.

You slipped back under the covers, pulling the comforter up to your chin, soothing the sharp twinges in your belly. The rhythmic sounds of his shower served as a background melody. Sukuna took an eternity to freshen up, nearly two hours passing before the door finally creaked open. You had kept a close eye on it, lost in your own world and trying to ignore the persistent contractions. No complaints, though – you were at the eight-month mark, and this baby was determined to make its entrance into the world.

Draped in a sleek black silk robe, Sukuna strolled toward his side of the bed, his eyes locking onto yours. "Why are you still awake?" He tilted his head as if studying an unfamiliar creature. He always regarded you with a curious interest, unearthing some new revelations about you.

"Cramps," you whispered in the dimness, even though the first rays of morning sun began to seep through the curtains.

Sukuna strolled to his side of the bed, lifting the comforter to settle down. "Do you take any medication for it?"

You shook your head. "I don't want to take any risks."

"So you're just going to endure the night with a migraine?"

Your husband seemed oblivious to the concept of cramps. He hadn't bothered to educate himself about your pregnancy or even familiarize himself with basic menstrual cycle terminology. You hesitated to bring attention to his title and position, but he was, after all, born from a woman.

How could he not know?

"Answer me," Sukuna demanded, fixing you with a cold, indifferent gaze. How could two simple words carry such a heavy, intimidating weight? Your entire body shuddered, and you swore you felt your child kick in response to his attitude, causing you to clench your teeth.

"Cramps . . . are something women experience during their period and pregnancy. They're sharp, unpredictable pains in your gut and back," you explained, finding a position that eased the cramps and calmed your baby. "It's worse when you're pregnant—like someone attached a taser to your body without a switch to turn it off."

Sukuna's brow furrowed, and he seemed pissed off as if he held a vendetta against cramps. "Will it have any consequence on the baby?"

You were really trying to be patient. “The baby is the reason why.” 

He ran his hands wearily down his face, casting a stern gaze at the ceiling, his breath quickening. "Is there any way to relieve the pain? Besides medication?"

“Well,” you said slowly, “when I first started menstruating, my mother used to place a warm rubber bottle on my stomach.” The recollection of nights spent groaning, tossing, and turning with your hand clutching your stomach brought a smile. After her passing in high school, you found yourself managing the household, dealing with your drug-addicted father, and taking care of yourself all on your own.

"Come here."

Startled, you shifted your focus to your husband, who raised the comforter like a makeshift tent with one arm. "You don't have to—"

"Come here."

With caution, you edged closer, lying flat and holding your breath. Sukuna propped himself up on one elbow, resting his temple on his knuckles while adjusting the blanket up to your neck. His left hand glided up your sweater and settled on your swollen belly.

An immediate sense of relaxation cocooned you, your eyes closing as warmth radiated from his palm onto your skin. The sensation passed through to your child, who quit kicking within seconds, seemingly recognizing their father's touch. It dawned on you that Sukuna hadn't touched you since you conceived, and you hadn't realized the volume of your misery and longing until this moment.

"Feeling better?"

"Mm-hmm." You nestled your face close to his neck. All you managed to whisper, your voice tinged with brokenness, was, "Please, don't let go."

Sukuna responded only with silence.

You'd woken up screaming bloody-mary.

The security team and maids hurried into the bedroom, their eyes widening at the sight of blood staining your clothes and darkening the black sheets. In a swift response, the doctor and her team of nurses rushed in while Uraume, Sukuna's trusted aide, calmly called for your husband from a corner of the room.

In the heat of your excruciating screams, five nurses attempted to guide your breathing and encourage you to follow a pattern. Guards carefully lifted you into a sitting position, and Uraume decisively cleared the room of all men. The doctor swiftly removed your sweatpants and panties, covering your lower region with a sheet, and instructing you to push.

Your body felt numb, your eyes rolling to the back of your head, and a black vignette closing in on your vision. Your head swayed left and right, on the verge of dropping if not for Uraume's unwavering support. Despite the intensity of your grip, they held steady, their only reaction being a stream of muttered curses amid the chaotic scene.

"I can't—Uraume—"

"You will, Mrs. Sukuna. You have come this far. Giving up now is not an option."

"I don't want to die," you whispered akin to a prayer.

"You won't," they softly replied. "He won't allow it."

Uraume, a silent figure from the past, now stood by your side, offering support and encouragement. The connection with them had been minimal, limited to the formalities of a marital contract signing. They had simply muttered, “He’s not half as evil as they say,” to you before packing up the papers and leaving you in the room with Sukuna.

The room buzzed with affirmations, reassuring you that they could see the baby's head and urging you to push with each breath.

The sound of the baby's cries stirred you awake.

You snapped to attention at the sweet, reassuring sound, realizing that your baby was close to arrival—alive and ready to face the world. Following two heartbreaking miscarriages and the pain endured as Sukuna's wife, the bearer of his lost children, you were finally on the cusp of welcoming motherhood.

"Two more pushes!" The doctor's voice cut through the air.

"AGH!" A guttural growl escaped your throat as you grappled with the harsh sensations. Your body trembled, and waves of fiery discomfort overflowed through your core as you exerted yourself to bring your baby into the world.

"Come on," Uraume whispered. "You can do this, Mrs. Ryomen."

You let out a powerful cry and strained with effort, bringing forth new life. The baby and you were crying at the exact wavelength, competing against who could be louder. The nurses and attendants, familiar faces from your previous pregnancies, clasped their hands in prayer for a safe delivery. Tears of relief streamed down your face as you pushed for your own well-being.

"Blanket!" the doctor urgently called out, prompting a nurse to rush over with a soft cream blanket. "Push!"

With a final, determined push, the weight lifted suddenly.

The slippery sensation of delivering the child and the immediate release of pressure left you slumping against Uraume's shoulder. As they laid you down, the doctor directed the staff to tend to you while the baby's cries filled the air.

The doctor approached through your hazy sight and gently laid your newborn on your chest. Overwhelmed with emotion, you showered your baby with kisses, tears of joy streaming down your face. Your little one was here. They were finally here.

"Congratulations, Mrs. Ryomen," the doctor announced as the cries of your newborn gradually faded into the background. "It's a girl."

You drifted into unconsciousness.

The soft cadence of Sukuna's voice filtered through the foggy boundaries of sleep, causing you to slowly come back to life.

“Why is this brat refusing to sleep?” you heard your husband grumbling.

With a laborious effort, you rubbed your eyes, summoning the strength to lift your head from the comfort of the pillow. The scene unfolded before you—Sukuna, the most feared criminal, pacing at the foot of his bed, cradling your crying newborn daughter in his arms, unsure of how to handle his little foe.

"What do you want? Food? You don’t have any teeth yet, little miscreant."

"Sukuna . . ." you whispered, a gentle plea for attention.

Your husband's gaze snapped in your direction, relief washing over his features as he realized you were conscious. "Thank fuck." Moving swiftly, he approached and took a seat at the edge of the bed.

His brown-reddish eyes lingered on the delicate scene unfolding before him—the intertwining of your index finger with your daughter's tiny, rattling fist. A calming magic seemed to stem from your touch, instantly soothing the cries to soft sniffles.

"Already playing favorites, I see," he remarked with a teasing tone, a wry smile on his lips.

"I have to feed her." Your voice was hoarse from the relentless screaming during the delivery. A series of deadly wheezes followed when you coughed, frightening your baby once more. Her cries started again, blending with the impatient curses of her father.

He gently placed her in the cradle, his strength used to prop you up against the headboard. The room carried the scent of coconut soap, your body freshly washed, the sheets beneath you brand-new. You were also dressed in a new set of panties and a nursing bra.

"Are you sure you have enough nutrients in your body to feed her?" Sukuna asked, holding your baby girl as you unclipped the front left cup. Rather than wasting your breath on a response, you focused on helping your daughter latch onto your nipple.

You winced once she caught it, then melted back as she started drinking. “I’m fine,” you finally answered. “Body . . . hurts.”

"No shit. You pushed an eight pound baby out of you." Despite the crude sarcasm in his tone, Sukuna tenderly caressed his knuckles over his daughter's cheek.

"Did you want . . . a girl?"

"Why do you ask?"

"I'm sorry," you mumbled, adjusting your baby onto your lap. "I assumed you'd prefer a boy as an heir."

"I'm not my father," he declared, putting an end to the conversation. "She's got your eyes."

Your daughter gazed up at you with a curiosity remarkably similar to yours. You smiled down at her, grateful she had made it. Grateful that Sukuna wasn't throwing a tantrum over the gender of your child but instead cupping the top of his baby girl's head and brushing his thumb across her forehead.

“You got a name for her?” Sukuna asked.

“Yes, but we can brainstorm if you don’t—”

“You carried the child, you birthed her, you will name her. Whatever it is, I agree.”

Something dead stirred inside your chest. Swallowing hard, you shared the chosen name, "Nobara."

He nodded in approval, and as he pronounced her name, Nobara responded with a wailing cry. "Her tantrums will be the fucking death of me." Sukuna took her into his arms again.

"Support the back of her head and rub her back. She needs to be burped," you advised.

He grunted but followed your instructions. Moments later, a tiny burp from Nobara made you chuckle, earning a slight eye roll and a hint of a smile from him.

"I'll take the next few weeks off to help you recover from the aftermath and the stitches," he announced, rising and walking towards his work desk, where he settled into a large leather chair, cradling your newborn.

You nodded appreciatively, easing yourself down.

"Oh, before I forget," Sukuna mentioned as you settled into bed, "I've arranged a new doctor for you."

“Did you fire the last one?”

“I fired at her, yes.”

Your eyes widened. "What? Why would you—? What?"

He shrugged, cradling the back of your newborn's head. "She suggested an additional stitch for you. Said it would make things 'tighter' down there for me."

Your face flushed. “So . . . you killed her?”

"Yes," he confirmed, his gaze fixed on you with those penetrating eyes, "I don't need a mere doctor questioning whether I'd still enjoy having sex with my wife after she gave birth to our child."

“But . . . you have mistresses. Don’t you?”

He lifted a brow. “I had mistresses up until . . . ”

Up until the kidnapping.

Sukuna never spoke of the crime after he’d saved you. Instead, he expressed his commitment through actions: sleeping beside you, teaching you how to handle a handgun, keeping a protective arm around your waist at social gatherings. Occasionally, you swore you felt him run his fingers through your hair as you slept.

"I wouldn't mind if you did," you admitted, a voice inside contradicting your words. "Given what my body has been through, I would find myself repulsive for pleasure, too. I understand if you feel disgusted."

Sukuna halted the gentle strokes on your daughter's back and straightened up. "What the fuck did you just say?"

An icy shiver ran through you, momentarily numbing the pain. "I-I just assumed—"

"You know, you make a lot of assumptions about me, wife. It gets under my fucking skin that you'd ever believe I could raise a hand on you. Day and night, every hour and minute, even now, in your presence, my mind is consumed with ways to kill the fear that's taken root in you.” He was infuriated yet vulnerable, with Nobara sleeping peacefully on his shoulder. “Everyone I’ve ever met has done nothing but fear me like I’m a curse on their soul, and while I’m flattered of the monster they’ve painted me out to be, I refuse to let my wife and daughter see me in that light. Do I make myself clear?"

You . . . nodded. 

“And for your information, I had mistresses up until I married you.”

You took in a sharp breath, processing the confession. "But those women—"

"Spies," he clarified, his voice low and steady. "They operate undercover in my clubs, keeping an eye out for potential threats. I haven't fucked anyone since the day I put that ring on your finger." He offered a small, almost imperceptible apology to your baby for cursing.

"Oh."

All you ever heard were twisted stories about the Sukuna Ryomen, a young man who, against all odds, slaughtered his own father to ascend the throne of the underworld criminal realm. Whispers spoke of a chilling childhood, where a mother's desperate attempt to suffocate her son in his sleep. The scars etched into his skin, concealed beneath a tapestry of dark markings, bore witness to the brutal initiation rites inflicted by vengeful uncles. In his domain, everyone prayed to see him buried six feet under.

Which is why you felt sympathy for your husband. He was lonely. Too lonely. Despite all the riches and influence surrounding him, he was stuck in a fortress where danger lurked around every corner. He had no friends, no one he could truly confide in—except perhaps Uraume. Opening up about his emotions wasn't in his nature. He kept the tough exterior, convinced that being a monster, a curse, was the only path to earning respect and recognition.

But just now, when had cut himself open in front of you and bled a human color, he was Sukuna. Your husband. The one who just became a father. A man wrapped in a comfortable robe with his hair combed down and his skin clean of dirt and blood as he held his daughter, as he gazed at you like you two were the only people meant fighting for in his treacherous world.

Sukuna noticed your silence, tuned in to your steady breaths, and lowered his lashes. "You'll ask me to touch you. Not just for the sake of having another child but for your own pleasure. If I'm not around and you need me, you will call, and I'll rush home. If this little brat gives you any trouble, I'll handle it. Hell, maybe I'll let her in on a bit of the family business for a head start."

"No," you murmured, absorbing everything he'd just said. "Not now. I want her to enjoy a proper childhood."

"Is that a demand?" Sukuna tilted his head slightly, another method of asserting authority. Yet, after all he'd shared about dropping everything for you, about making love to you, the fear in you started to dissolve bit by bit.

"Yes," you affirmed. "It's a demand."

A small smirk played on Sukuna's lips as he rose from his spot, circled the bed, and settled down beside you, with Nobara resting peacefully on his chest. Summoning all your strength, you turned to run your fingers over your baby's soft cheek and tiny, parted lips.

“She sleeps like you, Mr. Ryomen.”

“Sukuna,” he corrected, his arm covering his eyes as he breathed with a slightly open mouth. “My wife will call me Sukuna.”

Teasingly, you asked, “Is that a demand, Sukuna?”

His arm shifted low, and his reddish-brown eyes softened, stealing your breath. “Only from my wife and daughter.”

You smiled, closing your eyes. “Goodnight, Sukuna.”

In response, he wrapped his strong arm around you, pulling you close to his side, his two girls snuggled against his body.

In the beginning, you knew you didn't belong in the hell Sukuna ruled. Your father's mistakes, pilfering drug shipments and peddling them locally, had sealed both his fate and yours. With thoughts of fleeing the disgrace your father brought upon your family, you had started packing, desperate to escape the clutches of your old man.

The following night, Sukuna and his henchmen barged into your cramped apartment, wreaking havoc on every piece of furniture. Rocking in the corner of your room, Sukuna casted his shadow over you like the God of Death, bathed in your father’s blood.

Crouching down to your eye level, he tipped your chin up, leaving a splotch of blood. He used the collar of your sweater to wipe it away. In a hushed confession, you revealed the hidden drugs under the sink and floorboards, along with your father's buyer list folded in the cereal boxes. Sukuna grinned and ordered his underlings to retrieve the concealed items. Then, the chilling question hung in the air: "Are you going to kill me, too?"

"I'm tempted," Sukuna replied, "but not to kill you." His gaze fixated on your left hand, and he raised it, studying your ring finger. "You will pay for your father's crimes with your life." He held your hand in front of your face. "You will take my last name." His smirk widened, revealing perfect teeth. "Isn't that the cruelest form of death, love?"

Unconsciousness claimed you then, but after seven years of marriage, enduring unimaginable hardships, and finally welcoming a baby into the world, your answer was clear. The true torment wasn't caused by the man you once perceived as a monster but rather by his enemies.

"How am I supposed to know if Mr. Munchkin wants more tea? He's a fucking stuffed toy. Can't talk, you know?"

"Sukuna," you warned, perched on the armrest while busy crocheting baby socks for your little one on the way.

Nobara, wielding a rubber, squeaky hammer, stood up from her seat, giving her father a bonk on the head each time he let out a curse. And you often heard the squeak of the hammer around the house.

Nobara's tiara was slightly askew, frustration evident in her curled lips and bared teeth. She was growing increasingly irritated with her father's lack of understanding about the rules of her tea party. "Mr. Munchkin wants tea, Papa. Give him tea! Give him tea! Give him—"

"Fine, I surrender. Here, you little bastard. Take the whole fu—damn pot." He shoved the plastic teapot towards Mr. Munchkin, a well-loved cat stuffed toy you had gifted Nobara on her last birthday. "Happy?"

"Cup," she insisted, pointing at the tea cup in front of Mr. Munchkin.

Sukuna sighed and poured the water from the kettle into the pink plastic cup.

"Me too," Nobara added, settling back in her kiddie chair. Sukuna had barely taken his seat before she had him on the floor. "Hurry!"

"May I pour for the other toys first, Your Highness?"

"Not toys. Friends."

Sukuna shot you a helpless glare, eliciting a chuckle from you. He filled the table with tea, and Nobara, holding her small cup, clinked it with her father's, followed by her collection of stuffed animals. Sukuna reluctantly mimicked the gesture. Instead of sipping the tea, he downed it like a shot.

“Papa!”

“Sukuna, come on.”

There wasn’t any winning with his girls.

Sukuna reluctantly poured himself another cup, sipping it with an air of royalty that mirrored a princess. Despite his resistance to the make-believe tea party, you couldn't ignore the genuine affection he showed toward his daughter. He would nod attentively when one of the stuffed animals "spoke," laughed along with Nobara, and even beautified himself with a glittering tiara, a feathered pink scarf, and deep purple-painted nails.

Sukuna was, without a doubt, a fantastic father. It came as no surprise that Nobara's first word was 'Brat.'

That night, you kissed your daughter goodnight and tucked her into her bed. Sukuna joked that he’d spent every last bit of his wealth decorating the brat’s room, filling it with the latest toys, and stacking her closet with whatever clothes she laid her finger or eyes on. She was truly the princess of her father’s heart.

"She's asleep," you informed him.

"I'll give her a kiss in a minute. Just need to finish this," Sukuna replied, pouring over his documents.

Letting out a sigh, you shuffled over, rolled back his chair, and settled onto his lap. He continued reading as you wrapped your arms around his neck, resting your cheek on his shoulder, peering at him through your lashes.

"I want you," you murmured.

Sukuna paused, lowering his gaze to meet your cheeky smile. "Later."

"It's late."

"I have to finish—" He halted as you began kissing his neck, moving up to his jaw and cheeks, tracing the contours of his face tattoos.

"Please, Sukuna," you whispered near his ear.

How could he refuse you anything when you appeared so stunning, radiating with the joy of expecting another child in your four-month-old belly?

“Take off your robe and get on the bed. Spread your legs for me.” He gave your ass a little smack as you happily skipped away, shedding your clothes and clearing the bed to settle in. With a grin, you opened your legs, propping yourself up on your elbows.

Sukuna stood up from his seat, loosening his robe as he did. He sighed, watching the moisture forming between your legs. Pregnancy seemed to heighten your lusts, and Sukuna was always ready to fulfill your needs.

“What pretty, wet cunt,” he whispered softly, leaning in to kiss your chest, trailing down to your stomach, your hips, your calling clit. 

Over the years, you realized Sukuna enjoyed pleasuring you more than the opposite. He feasted on you like a starved man, whether it happened in the back of the limo, in a guest room during a party, or just minutes before a crucial meeting in his office. He insisted it was his way of relaxing, often pleading with you to spend a full hour on his face as he ate you out and drank every drop of your release. It had turned into a daily routine for him. And for you.

“Oh, Sukuna, yes, yes. Right there—ah!” Your back arched off the mattress when his tongue drove into your hole, flicking and exploring your clamping walls. His mouth was latched to your pussy, sucking it in, his cheeks hollowing rapidly. Your fingers tightened in his hair, hips voluntarily grating against his face, his sharp nose rubbing over your swollen clit. 

Sukuna drew back as you came down with a muted cry behind your hand and lapped at the flow of your juices pouring out of you. His lips shone as he leaned over and gently kissed you, allowing you to taste yourself from his tongue. “If I don’t fuck you now, I will die.” 

“Hurry, then.” 

Sukuna pushed himself inside you, and that first wave of pleasure hit you so strongly that you sank your nails in his back and cried out heavenwards. He groaned and grunted, thrusts growing speed, his plump balls smacking against your ass. You loved that he fucked harder, faster, driving you to the brink of ruination. 

After you'd healed from Nobara's birth, he would always make sure to get at least ten orgasms from you. From midnight to early morning, he'd fuck you in every possible position. But his favorite was always missionary, where he could have his eyes on you, writhing and whimpering beneath him, telling him it’s too much, he's too thick, all while using your heels to draw him in even closer.

Sukuna curled his arm around your waist and sat you up on his lap, thrusting up into you as you coiled yourself around his neck. “Oh, fuck, fuck, fuck. Your cunt was made for me, love. Your cunt was fucking made for me.” His hand threaded to the back of your head, grasping your hair and drawing your face back so you were looking him in the eyes without wavering, without bowing your head. He needed to know you didn’t fear him when he fucked you like this. It was an unspoken check-in, and when you smiled drunkenly, only then did he let you return to embracing him. 

“Are you close?” you whispered. 

“Not yet. I want to come in your ass.” 

You shivered despite how scalding and sweaty your bodies were. “Do it.” 

“Yeah?” 

You nodded. “Please.” 

Sukuna dragged you off his cock so you could get on all-fours, raising your ass up for him. He’s only ever been in your sacred spot a handful of times but never finished himself inside it. It appeared that tonight you were both a little extra spellbound.

Mounting himself behind you, Sukuna unfurled your ass and spit on his fingers, stroking the puckered hole. He gathered the creamy liquid dripping out of your pussy to lubricate the spot. His middle finger stretched you out, followed by his ring fingers, pushing in and out until he knew for sure you were prepared for him. 

Sukuna’s steel-hard cock pushed into your tiny hole. The sight of it expanding to swallow his girthy size almost made him come right there and then. He started to move in sluggish movement, grabbing onto your waist. His hips cruised, brushing against your ass, making you impatient and push yourself back. 

“Understood.” He chuckled and dug his nails into your skin, dragging out to the tip and shoving himself inside. Your face pressed into your pillows, crying and trembling as he abused your asshole non-stop. “You’re taking me so well, my love. Oh, fuck, fuck.” He rutted into you like a beast, claiming your body, rubbing your clit from the front, spanking your ass, brandishing you over and over again. 

You both snapped in unison. 

Sukuna sagged over your spine as he bucked in every last bit of his sloppy seed. His lips kissed your shoulder blades, holding you up by one arm. Gently, he pulled out, his cock growing floppy until you flipped onto your back, hair sticking to your sweaty, flushed face, belly slightly swollen, your tits larger in size, his release mingled with yours seeping out from your holes. 

“Fuck, I love you,” he whispered, cupping your face like he didn’t just fuck your soul out of you. That smirk you’d come to love appeared on his lips. You reciprocated back, stretching out your arms so he could lean down and kiss you sweetly on the lips and cheeks and toss in a praise or two for what a good girl you were as he slid into you again, slower and more intimate with his game. “I fucking love you, Y/N.” 

He epitomised mercilessness, an ominous force. A vile creature, insatiable for bloodshed, whose dominion rose atop a mountain of vanquished enemies. With a mere gesture, he could lay waste to entire lands; with a mere inclination of his head, shatter bones like brittle twigs. A fleeting gaze held too long invited swift death as he tore out throats without remorse. The unnatural power coursing within him was a burden to his psyche, yet a boon to his physical prowess. So long as his subjects quivered in dread, offering obeisance at his feet, yielding without question, he would ensure their safety.

Uraume delivered a kick to the assassin's face, sending the last of his teeth flying. “Enough with the fabrications. Speak the truth. Who hired you?”

“T-There was no name,” he whimpered, cradling his bruised face. “But he claimed she once dwelled within these walls, a concubine of His Lordship.”

Sukuna arched an eyebrow, skeptical.

“Most concubines were reassigned as palace servants months ago,” Uraume interjected. “The remainder were eliminated by His Lordship's orders. None of them would dare linger beyond the palace walls.”

“It may have been her brother—though I cannot be certain! Whoever he was, he harboured a deep thirst for vengeance.” The assassin let out a startled cry as Uraume strode past him, heading towards the throne.

Kneeling before Sukuna, they awaited his command.

Sukuna, idly resting his cheek on his knuckles, lowered his hand and gestured through the air. With a swift motion, the spy's body tore asunder, each half flying to opposite ends of the chamber. “Summon the families of the slain concubines.”

“As you wish, my Lord. It shall be arranged by nightfall,” Uraume replied.

“Tomorrow morning will suffice. I intend to spend the remainder of this night with my wife.”

Sukuna rose from his throne, his regal robe flowing around him as he straightened its sleeves.

“Her Ladyship is nearing the hour of delivery,” Uraume noted. "Shall I summon the physician?”

Sukuna’s glare bore into his loyal confidant. “That should have been arranged moons past.”

With a deferential nod, Uraume bowed. “Forgive my oversight, my Lord. I shall soon ensure the healer's attendance.”

He waved a dismissive hand as he descended the dais. “See to it. And have this mess tidied. Dinner shall be served in my quarters within the hour.”

“Yes, my Lord.”

Sukuna strode out of the grand throne room. Subjects halted in their tracks, heads bowing low in deference as he passed by, their voices muted in respectful acknowledgement of their sovereign's presence. Only once he turned the corner did they dare to resume their activities.

Inside his chambers, Sukuna waved a hand, parting the wall to reveal the entrance to a hidden room. There, you lay serenely upon the bed, your gaze fixed upon the ceiling, one hand tenderly cradling your burgeoning belly.

At the sound of his approach, your head lifted, and you greeted him with a quizzical tilt of your head.

“Sukuna?”

A faint smirk played upon his lips as Sukuna settled beside you, his touch gentle as his hand caressed the curve of your stomach.

“Has everything been resolved?” you asked, peering up at him. “For once, you're not drenched in blood.”

Sukuna exhaled heavily, cupping your cheek before pressing a kiss to your forehead. “Do you recall the vow I made to you on the night we conceived?”

How could you possibly forget?

No servant dared cast an admiring glance upon his wife, for fear of losing their sight. Those who dared to whisper even the faintest rumour about you had their tongues severed as a warning to others. Every morsel of food and sip of drink intended for your delicate lips underwent Sukuna's personal scrutiny, for he would allow no poison to touch you. Despite your protests and concerns, he reassured you of his immunity to toxins, claiming his blood flowed with an otherworldly power, not bound by mortal frailties. Any questions into the nature of his mysterious abilities were silenced by filling your mouth with a spoonful of nutritions.

That was the one question forbidden by Sukuna.

Yet despite the unanswered enigmas shrouding your husband, you pledged your unwavering love to him. He was not merely your husband; he was your sovereign, your protector, and soon, the father of your unborn child. With no other in this world, you clung to him as your sole anchor.

Each night, he reminded you of his undying devotion, promising to pursue you even beyond the veil of death, across the cycles of existence. For you, he would defy even the divine, should they dare to intervene. You belonged in his domain. You belonged with him.

“My handmaids think it’s a boy,” you murmured, fingers tracing the intricate patterns on his wrist. “They claim boys kick the most, citing it as natural male behaviour—aggression, they say.” As if on cue, the baby stirred within you, a kick rippling through your belly.

“A true reflection of his father, no doubt,” he remarked with a laugh. “Though, I have my doubts about it being a boy.”

You blinked, considering his words. Sukuna's intuition often surpassed that of mere mortals. A grin tugged at your lips. “Could it be a girl, then? Oh, how I would love a daughter. Yet, a son would be just as precious, wouldn’t he? Especially in royal circles where the preference for a male heir runs deep.”

“Perhaps I ought to curtail your visits to our neighbouring kingdoms if they continue to fill your head with such nonsensical notions,” Sukuna clipped out.

Suppressing a giggle, you countered, “Regardless of speculation, I prefer the gender to remain a surprise.”

“It’s a trifling concern,” Sukuna murmured, his hand moving in gentle circles across your swelling abdomen. “I care not for the gender of our child. Should it be a son, then so be it, I suppose. If it’s a daughter, I’ll rid my kingdom of every male soul, regardless of age. I’ll compel whatever god there is to craft the perfect husband for her. None of those wretches outside will befit her.” He laid a hand on your stomach, a tender smile gracing his lips. “Isn't that so, my little dove?”

You couldn’t help but sigh at his oversight. “My heart, what part of 'I want the gender to be a surprise' did you fail to grasp?”

Sukuna's expression remained impassive. “Speaking purely hypothetically, of course.”

Frustration brewed within you, though it dissipated instantly as you beheld his striking face. Your lips melded with his in a drawn-out kiss until the sudden movement of your unborn child interrupted the moment. “Swear to me you'll refrain from indulging in bloodshed and conflict until our hypothetical daughter comes of age.”

“I cherish you above all else, but that vow is one I cannot uphold.”

“Sukuna . . .”

“This realm teeters on the brink of chaos, my love. Without intervention, it will crumble to ash.” He brushed a lock of hair from your brow. “Tonight's events were but a glimpse into the shadows that surround us. You and our hypothetical daughter are the very heartbeat of my existence. Understand that my presence here is necessitated by . . . bloodshed and conflict.”

You sighed into a helpless smile as you propped yourself up against the headboard. “Come here, you gargantuan child.” Sukuna nestled his head against your chest, his hand resting on your swollen belly to soothe the restless movements of your child. You pressed a kiss to the top of his head, your fingers threading through his thick locks. “Will you ever find peace?”

“I find it when I am with you,” he whispered.

“What if I were not—“

His head shot up. “Don't even entertain such thoughts, or I'll confine you to this room until dawn breaks.”

You rolled your eyes, a smirk playing at the corner of your lips. “Oh, spare me the theatrics. Can you blame me? Being with a child does strange things to a woman. Just last week, I found myself in tears over a wilting flower.”

“My foolish woman, we are in the depths of winter,” he pointed out with a chuckle.

“It was an indoor plant,” you grumbled.

Sukuna buried his face in the curve of your neck, his warm breath tickling you. “You are utterly ridiculous.”

“You married this ridiculousness.” You felt his smile against your flesh, which soon turned into a trail of soft kisses along your collarbone and up to your jaw. “Can we return to our own bed now?”

“Not just yet,” he replied, reclining back and drawing your head to rest upon his chest. “Close your eyes. I'll wake you for dinner.”

You nestled closer to his warmth, contentment spreading through you like a soft caress. “As you wish, my stubborn husband.”

In a handful of days, your hypothetical daughter transformed into flesh and blood, her cries echoing through the palace as Maki entered the world.

Sukuna’s vigilance was split between safeguarding his beloved queen and their precious newborn princess, while relentlessly pursuing the malevolent siblings of one of his slain concubines who had orchestrated the assassination attempt on his family.

Whispers of the king's insatiable thirst for vengeance spread like wildfire among the populace, especially after witnessing the gruesome spectacle of the siblings' heads displayed in the bustling market square by the hand of Uraume, a chilling proclamation of Sukuna's wrath.

But as the bundle of joy was placed in his arms, swathed in the finest silk, the laws of his duties as a ruler dissipated like mist in the morning sun.

In that moment, all that existed was the delicate perfection of his daughter. His gaze fixated on Maki’s tiny features: the pursed lips, the struggle of her eyes to glimpse the world, the wisps of dark hair crowning her head, and the miniature hands that scarcely encircled Sukuna’s finger. Never before had anything held such sway over him as his wife and newborn daughter.

Overwhelmed by emotion, he sank into a nearby seat, the gravity of his responsibilities momentarily forgotten. Conditioned to never betray emotion, he found himself gasping for breath, tears withheld, as he cradled the precious life entrusted to his care.

Responsibility pressed upon him like an iron crown. In the corridors of his mind, ancestral expectations whispered. He was to sire an heir, a son to carry on his legacy. But fate, in its capricious dance, had blessed him with a daughter instead.

Sukuna’s overprotective instincts kicked into overdrive.

You were weary from the labour of birth and the demands of Maki’s nursing. Rested in peaceful slumber, Sukuna found himself adrift in a sea of uncertainty. What was the appropriate course of action? How should he cleanse the babe? Engage in playful antics to soothe her cries? Such simple tasks bewildered him, for his nights were consumed by the burdens of ruling and his days by the watchful eye over his weakened wife.

He couldn't bear the thought of anyone else tending to his daughter. The handmaids, no matter how loyal they seemed, were met with suspicion. Only Uruame was strictly ordered to partake in the sacred rituals of nappy changes and soothing Maki’s cries.

As months turned into a full year, every detail was meticulously attended to, from the softest silk robes to the most enchanting toys, all chosen with the utmost care. Sukuna spared no expense in creating a haven for his daughter, a chamber dedicated solely to her.

In his eyes, she was a priceless jewel to be cherished and protected at all costs.

“Say ‘Papa’. Look here, watch my mouth. ‘Pa. Pa.’ Now you try.” He sat upright, gently bouncing Maki on his knee. Despite her tender age of one, he was resolute that her inaugural word should be a tribute to his role in her life. “Come now, little dove.”

Maki erupted into a fit of giggles, responding with a string of incomprehensible babble instead.

“Spoilt brat,” he muttered under his breath.

“My Lord, forgive the intrusion upon your moment with the princess. But we must address our pressing matter,” Uraume interjected, sweeping an arm towards the little servant boy who remained prostrate before Sukuna. “Young Okkotsu, you know well that laying a hand on the princess is forbidden. Regardless of any permission granted by Her Ladyship, you are strictly forbidden from any interaction with either of them.”

“I beg your pardon, Your Majesty. I’ve only just begun my duties in the palace kitchen. I assure you, it won't happen again,” the dark haired boy stammered.

Sukuna rose from his throne, his gaze piercing as he paced down the dais, encircling the young man. “What say you, my dove? Shall we sever his fingers for sullying your cheek?”

Yuta’s breath hitched in fear.

He halted in front of him, Maki nestled against his chest, her laughter tinkling like delicate bells. “Seems we have a consensus—”

“Sukuna!”

The throne room doors swung open, revealing you striding in, your robe billowing behind you, and your hair tousled from the rush of searching for your husband and daughter.

“Seven days without meals,” Sukuna declared.

Uraume seized the boy, dragging him across the carpet, but you intervened, halting their advance.

Instead, you knelt down to the child’s eye level, inspecting him for any harm. Sukuna’s displeasure simmered. He detested your softness toward the servants, loathed your belief that a hint of compassion wouldn't poison their loyalty. You possessed the skill to wield a dagger against a true threat, yet kneeling for a commoner was unforgivable in his eyes.

“Ensure that he is provided with all his meals,” you reiterated to Uraume. Sukuna’s confidant glanced back at him, but you held his gaze unwaveringly. “I stand as his equal, Uraume. If I decree that you must feed this boy, then you will do so without question.”

Sukuna shot you a glare, a flicker of admiration hidden within the depths of his eyes. Your defiance had always allured him, even as he enforced reminders of your place. Yet, your role as his queen, bearing him a healthy child, and resolute acceptance had softened the edges of his once cold heart.

His crimson gaze shifted back to Uraume, a silent command passed between them. With a single nod, the debate concluded, and Uraume ushered the boy out of the throne room, the guards sealing the doors behind them.

You strode toward Sukuna, gathering Maki into your arms, cradling her gently. “How can you be so harsh to a child?”

“And how can you permit a commoner to lay hands upon our daughter?” Sukuna retorted.

“I did what any compassionate person would do. That child was simply curious, my heart. I couldn't just turn a blind eye.”

Sukuna’s fists tightened. “Compassion has its place, but not at the risk of our daughter’s safety. She is our most precious treasure, not to be touched by just anyone.”

You sighed. His overbearing nature suffocated you sometimes. “She’s also a child, Suku. She deserves to know kindness, not just the confines of your paranoia.”

“Paranoia, you call it? You dare undermine my efforts to protect our daughter?” Sukuna’s eyes blazed with fury. “I will not have her exposed to the dangers of this world, especially not by the likes of some—some servant. That also happens to be a boy.”

You held your ground. “I understand your concerns, but she cannot grow up in isolation. She needs friends, freedom, and experiences beyond these palace walls.”

He scoffed. “I will not subject her to such frivolities. She will learn strength, resilience, and loyalty—qualities befitting a ruler, not weakness.”

Your heart ached at his words, knowing the wounds that had shaped his beliefs. “And what of her happiness, Suku? Will you deny her that, too?”

“Her happiness lies in her safety, in the certainty that no harm shall befall her. I will not compromise on that, no matter the cost.”

Your hand trembled as you reached out. “Maki is not just a creature of your realm, my heart. She is our daughter, born of both our blood. She deserves to experience the richness of human connection.”

Sukuna’s expression hardened, his features carved from stone. “Human connection? Do not presume to lecture me on such trivial matters. I am no mere mortal to be swayed by sentimentality. You speak of frailty, woman. I am the embodiment of power.”

“And yet, you chose to bind your fate with a mortal. Do you not find irony in that?”

Sukuna turned away, his silhouette casting a shadow over you.

You swallowed the lump in your throat, realising the futility of your arguments. “Very well, Sukuna. But remember this . . . a cage, no matter how gilded, is still a prison. And one day, she will yearn to spread her wings and soar beyond your grasp.”

He laughed, but the sound sent shivers down your spine instead of bringing comfort.

“Foolishness seems to be your forte, my love,” he sneered. He turned, his eyes burning with a heat that licked against your skin, as if the very oxygen had caught fire.

You found yourself inching backward, heart pounding with fear.

“Do you truly believe this palace is a prison after all I've sacrificed?" His voice rose, filling the chamber with its thunderous echo. “After enduring your relentless disobedience, after granting you the gift of our daughter, you dare to question my intentions?”

His form seemed to physically swell with anger, towering over you like a wrathful titan.

“If you find my protection stifling, then leave!” he spat. “But know this, wife, you will never escape my reach, for as long as you draw breath, you belong with me.”

“Suku . . .” Your breath caught in your throat as your husband’s face contorted, a grotesque abnormality sprouting from his right eye. Flesh twisted and warped, resembling a charred mass, obscuring his cheek. With horror, you watched as two slanted eyes formed, including a third, ominous orb below his left eye, and a strangled gasp escaped your lips.

“What was it that I asked of you during our initial meeting?” A rough, primal growl rolled through the chamber, like a beast stirring in the dark. The robe around him stretched out, a pair of formidable arms tearing out from his sides. The room quaked under his power, setting off Maki's frightened wails.

“Sukuna, cease this madness at once!” you cried out.

With a sudden burst of energy, his robe tore apart, exposing a mouth that seemed to slither its tongue across his torso. A shudder of horror ran through you, and Maki's cries grew, mirroring your own inner turmoil.

Desperately, you begged for Sukuna to regain control over his monstrous form, but his colossal hand seized your chin, forcing you to meet his gaze—gazes. “Tell me, my love, does the face before you stir fear within your heart?”

The question he had asked in the past had you answer swiftly. He was not only your husband, but also a father to your newborn daughter. He was your protector, your stronghold. You would love him even if his body bore scars, just as he loved the ones marring your back.

“It does not, Sukuna. The fear of your appearance holds no dominion over me.” Your hand found its place over his chest, where his heart pounded at an inhumane speed. “You are beautiful.”

“Papa,” Maki whimpered.

You tore your eyes from your husband and at your crying daughter who kept repeating her first ever word.

Sukuna’s hand slipped from your chin and reached for Maki, but his eyelids drooped, and his body swayed unsteadily.

“Su—”

Before his name could escape your lips, he collapsed with a resounding thud, sending shockwaves through your body and causing Maki to freeze. Both of you watched in horror as your protector lay unconscious on the ground.

Sukuna’s eyes felt like boulders had been placed on them, lifting up and down for a minute straight.

A familiar touch was brushing through his hair, caressing his cheek and the side of his neck, then back to his hair. A kiss laid at the corner of his mouth, and like a fable princess, he was woken from his slumber.

Your worried face came into view. The curtains around your bed were drawn, allowing only a sliver of light to shine on his wife’s face. “My heart . . . are you feeling better?”

His hand pressed firm at the nape of your neck, drawing you close until your face was buried in the hollow of his throat. He shut his eyes, though it did little to quiet the riot in his chest.

He had let his temper slip.

He ought to have held his tongue, silenced you with a kiss, humored your plea for a simple life—for your daughter’s sake, if not his own.

But he hadn’t.

And for that, he could never forgive himself.

Worse still, he could not recall your expression when you first laid eyes upon the thing he became, the thing he had kept hidden save for battles.

“I owe you an apology.” In all the months of your marriage, he had never once needed to say it. He had been careful, always ensuring you remained at ease, that you would speak to him without hesitation. “I offer it now, with all my heart, beloved.”

You swallowed hard. “I was frightened for you.”

For you. Not by you. Sukuna pressed his teeth briefly into his lower lip, then, without ceremony, gathered you into his arms.

Your quiet sobs trembled against his skin as he pressed a series of unhurried kisses to your temple.

“The Ryomen bloodline was damned in my great-great-grandfather’s time. We were wrath and ruin incarnate, unrepentant in our nature. The gods, in their infinite wisdom, believed a curse might quell us—some cruel trick of flesh meant to break our line. Instead, it only honed the beast within. My grandfather, my father, and now I . . . we were made for destruction. Trained for it.”

You leaned back, studying the face of a man who called himself a curse and found, beneath all his thunder, something painfully, unmistakably human.

“You are not your father. Nor the men before him,” you said. “Perhaps your heart does not beat like mine, but that does not mean it does not know kindness. I have seen you with our daughter, Sukuna. Whatever you think yourself to be, I know the truth: you are a man. And you are mine. No matter what shape you take, I know my Sukuna would never harm us.”

“Never,” he swore.

A small smile ghosted your lips as you kissed him twice. “I love every piece of you. You are the love of my life, Sukuna Ryomen. So do not dare take yourself from me. From her.”

“Never,” he said again. “Gods, I wouldn’t dare. You are the very reason I wake with purpose. How could I—” His lips met yours, a fleeting press as if to confirm you were not some cruel illusion. He gathered you close before shifting you beneath him, trailing kisses along the elegant line of your throat, your collarbones, your shoulders.

Then, with great reluctance, he paused. “And our Maki? She is safe, yes?”

“Quite. Uraume is tending to her in her chambers.” You brushed a knuckle across his cheek. “Tell me, did you happen to catch her first word?”

Sukuna blinked.

The question unsettled him, not because he knew the answer but because he did not. His mind, a tumult of devotion and regret, had been wholly occupied—by you, by the mere movement of your lips, by the reminder of his child’s cries. That he had missed such a moment . . . he loathed himself for it.

“What . . . what was it?”

You tapped his lips twice. “Pa. Pa.”

His breath caught. “Papa? She said ‘papa’?”

“Indeed. A grievous betrayal, I must say. Nine months of suffering, only for my own daughter to spurn me at the first opportunity.”

Sukuna pressed a hand to his chest, as though to steady the heart he barely acknowledged as his own. “And she recognized me? Even as I was?”

You tilted your head, amused by his astonishment. “You are her father, Suku, in whatever shape or form. It is this she knows.” You patted his chest, punctuating the thought.

He exhaled, forehead resting against yours. The world quieted, and together, your thoughts turned to Maki—your little dove, safe and sleeping. “I swear to you, my anger will never rule me again.”

“Darling, we are bound to argue.” You laughed softly, though he remained grave. “Only, do try to contain yourself in front of Maki. That is all I ask.”

“And so it shall be.”

You drew him close, allowing his head to rest against you as your fingers idly traced the line of his spine.

“Question,” you murmured.

“Speak.”

“If anger is not the sole catalyst, is there some means by which you might exert control over your cursed form?”

“Yes. I am capable of it,” Sukuna replied, lifting his head to regard you. “I have merely refrained from doing so for some time, which is why the shift rendered me unconscious. Though, I have summoned it on occasion for interrogations.”

You tilted your head in feigned indifference. “Interesting.”

“What is?”

“That extra set of mouth on your stomach.”

He studied you for a long moment, suspicion flickering behind his eyes. “My love—”

“No.” You cut in swiftly. “I assure you, whatever it is you’re about to suggest, I wasn’t thinking it.” A pause. “Not in that way.” Another pause. “And even if I were, it is hardly any concern of yours.”

He raised a brow. “It is my body.”

You pursed your lips, choosing instead to focus on some distant point in the room, as if that might shield you from the heat creeping up your neck.

Unmoved, Sukuna reached out, turning your face back toward him with a single finger. “Are you asking me to bed you in my cursed form?”

“N—”

“Do not lie to me.”

A long, measured sigh escaped you. “I would hardly phrase it that way.”

“But you would phrase it.”

“I am merely suggesting that it might be worth exploring.” You met his gaze with a touch of defiance he claimed to find irritating. “It is, after all, a part of you.”

A smirk played at his lips, and you refused to indulge him with a reaction.

“Well,” he drawled, stretching as though the mere thought of exertion exhausted him, “once I have gathered sufficient strength, your body shall be my first conquest. How does that sound?”

“I suppose I can endure the wait,” you said. “A few weeks isn’t too long.”

“Weeks?” Sukuna laughed in your face. “My love, I shall be in perfect condition by tomorrow morning.” His hand found its way between your thighs, fingers pressing against your sensitive spot with an unmistakable intent. “Tonight, however, I believe some preparation is in order. After all, I do expect you to accommodate both my cocks.”

Your eyes widened. “They come in a pair?”

He grinned, quite pleased with himself. “One for your cunt, one for your ass.”

You exhaled, considering the sheer audacity of the man before you, and the undeniable thrill that curled in your stomach. “In that case, I’ll see to it that Maki is well-fed early. It would be a terrible shame to be interrupted.”

A low chuckle rumbled from him as he pulled you into a kiss, his hands making quick work of your robe. Whatever lay ahead tomorrow, he was clearly intent on ensuring you were well prepared.

Maki caught a snowflake in her gloved hands, wriggling in Sukuna’s arms. He watched her, entertained, noting the red flush of her cheeks and the way the sun deepened the warm brown of her eyes. Their morning walks were a ritual—one he maintained while you rested.

She frowned as the snowflake vanished.

Sukuna’s patience with the elements was already thin, but this was outright betrayal. Useless, transient things. Could they not amuse his daughter for more than a breath? With a sigh that could have toppled lesser men, he strode to a pile of snow, scooped up a handful, and set about rectifying nature’s failure. If the heavens were incapable of producing a snowflake that lasted, then he would simply make one himself.

“Papa!” Maki’s delighted cry rang out as he presented his creation. She accepted it without hesitation, and immediately began gnawing on it.

Sukuna watched with equal parts pride and dismay. The girl had a warrior’s spirit, that much was clear, but she also had the terrible habit of treating everything as a potential meal.

“Not for eating,” he informed her, plucking the half-destroyed snowflake from her grip. She scowled at him, the beginnings of a royal tantrum brewing. “What?”

Maki made a noise of protest, reaching for her prize.

Sukuna merely held it out of her reach, watching as she squirmed in his arms like an enraged kitten. He huffed out a laugh, shifting her higher on his hip. “A fine little tyrant you’ll be,” he muttered, tapping her nose. “We’ll work on your taste in delicacies.”

Maki, evidently unimpressed with his wisdom, grabbed a fistful of his sleeve and gave it a mighty tug, glaring at him with all the righteous fury of a child denied.

He grinned. “Oh? You wish to challenge me?”

Her answer was immediate.

She seized his thumb and bit down, leaving a damp little mark on his skin.

Sukuna stared.

Then, after a long, considering pause, he laughed. A rare, unguarded sound, loud enough to shake the winter air. He had crushed civilizations beneath his heel, laid waste to entire bloodlines, and yet here he was, utterly conquered by a girl no taller than his thigh.

Still chuckling, he cradled her closer and pressed another kiss to her cheek in surrender.

“Very well, my sweet dove,” he said. “You win this round.”

Once inside the castle, they dusted off the snow and made their way to his chambers, where you lay beneath layers of fur blankets. As always, Maki would sleep between you both—an arrangement that suited Sukuna just fine. He had long since ensured that no unwelcome presence could enter without, well, ceasing to exist. The barrier fell away with a flick of his fingers as he stepped inside.

Depositing Maki onto the bed, he made quick work of stripping away her winter layers, leaving her in nothing but her nappy. With a wave of his hand, her nightgown rose from the drawer and landed neatly in his palm. Dressing her took little effort, though he prolonged the process with a series of affectionate kisses, which she suffered through with all the dignity of a girl accustomed to her father’s nonsense.

As he changed, he watched her roll onto her stomach and crawl towards you, small hands grasping at the blankets with single-minded determination.

“Mama. Mama.”

You stirred, your body already attuned to the sound of your daughter’s voice. Eyes half-lidded with sleep, you caught sight of her clambering up onto your chest, utterly undeterred by the fact that you had only just woken.

“Hello, my love,” you murmured, shifting her onto your stomach and pressing a kiss to her chilled cheeks. She let out a contented sigh, curling against you as if you were a hearthfire made just for her.

“And how was your morning stroll with Papa?”

Maki gave a tiny hum of acknowledgment before answering, her loyalty evident in the single word she deemed worth saying. “Papa.”

Sukuna smirked. A satisfactory report, indeed. “It was divine as always.”

You lifted your gaze to find him standing in nothing but his indecently loose undergarments, bare-chested and utterly self-assured. The sight did little to temper your appetite. “Good morning, my heart.”

He kissed you first, then the crown of your daughter’s head, as though bestowing a blessing upon his two greatest treasures. “I’m calling Uraume to take her to the nursery so I may have you to myself.”

“You’ll hear no objections from me,” you replied, adjusting your daughter in your arms. “Take her quickly.”

Pleased with your good sense, Sukuna kissed you again before striding out to summon his ever-loyal attendant. Meanwhile, you turned your attention to the tiny creature in your arms, her watchful eyes a precise scarlet mirror of her father’s.

“Nine months I carried you,” you whispered, “and you dare arrive looking just like your papa?” You sighed, dramatic and aggrieved, before pressing a kiss to her downy head. “Ah, but you are perfect, so I suppose I’ll allow it.”

Eventually, Uraume appeared, and carried off the sleeping princess to her nursery two doors down.

You scarcely had time to adjust your gown before Sukuna returned, giving you no chance at modesty before he was upon you, pressing you into the sheets and claiming your lips with his.

Not that you intended to complain.

Then, with a shift as effortless as the turning of a tide, he revealed himself.

His form unfurled, expanding beyond mortal proportions, a presence too great to be contained. Limbs stretched, muscle realigned, skin carved anew by dark markings that wound across his chest, his four arms, his throat. A second mouth curled into a grin at his stomach.

Magnificent. Terrifying. Yours.

Your lips parted, but no words dared forth.

Sukuna tilted his head. “What is the matter, my empress?” His voice was layered now, each syllable resonating with something beyond human. A deity speaking down to the thing that had dared summon it. “This is what you wanted, is it not?”

You swallowed hard. You had asked for this. Had traced curious fingers over his skin, whispered your intrigue, allowed the thought to take root before you could stop it.

And now Sukuna had answered.

Fingers tangled in your hair, tilting your face upward as his lips met yours. The force of it stole the breath from your lungs, sent your hands pressing against the hard plane of his chest. A second set of hands gripped your waist, pulling you forward, caging you against him.

Against all of him.

“Gods,” you whispered as the tongue on his stomach unfurled and gave a long lick to your chest.

“Sukuna Ryomen,” he corrected.

Your eyes wandered down to the tongue slowly swirling around your left nipple. Sukuna’s hand gripped your jaw and forced you to look back at him. His fingers dipped into your mouth, and like muscle memory, you sucked on the digits. He pulled them out, and using his bottom set of hands, he spread your legs out and wide.

A quiet exhale left you as he pushed his fingers inside of you. Your hands cupped his face, thumb grazing over the protruded pair of right eyes that closed at your touch. His palm cupped the back of your head and lifted your face so that your soft lips met his in a chaste kiss. Your arms locked around his neck, fingers threading through the back of his hair.

A low, guttural hum reverberated in his throat. His upper hands anchored you close, one splayed across your lower back, the other curling around your thigh, prying you open as though he were unfolding something sacred.

“You take to my touch as though you were born for it,” he murmured against your mouth. “As though your body remembers me before memory itself.”

Your breath stuttered as his fingers moved within you. Still, you held his face in your palms, exploring the markings. The harsh planes of his jaw, the impossible symmetry of his two mouths, the second set of eyes that shuttered so easily beneath your gentlest caress. He was carved from myth and sin, but melted under your hands like something entirely human.

“Sukuna,” you whispered.

He gave a low exhale. “I have slaughtered men for far less than hearing my name fall from trembling lips,” he said. “And yet . . . I would hear it again, from you.”

When your lips failed you, he slipped his fingers back into your mouth—those same fingers slick from your heat—and your tongue obeyed before thought could catch it. He chuckled then, a sound deep and sharp as a temple bell at dusk.

Grunting, he pulled back just enough to press his forehead to yours. “Let the heavens weep and the earth tremble,” he whispered. “For I shall have you, entire and eternal. Mine, now and beyond the grave.”

With one swift movement, the thick, burning press of his cock jolted you. Your spine arched as he filled you in a single thrust. His lower arms gripped your thighs and pinned you open around him, while his upper pair cradled your back and the side of your face, guiding your expression toward him.

“You were made for this,” he rasped into your mouth. “Every breath . . . every tremble.”

Your hands clung to his shoulders, his skin hot beneath your palms, taut over muscle that flexed with every grind of his hips. You felt him in every inch of you—filling, stretching, splitting you open until it felt like your very form had reshaped around his. And still, he demanded more.

You bit down on his shoulder to keep from crying out, but he only chuckled darkly. “No need for silence,” he said. “Let them hear you. Let the palace walls remember how a king takes his queen.”

One of his lower hands slipped up to press firmly against your lower belly, right where the thickest part of him struck. “Do you feel that, my love?” he whispered. “That is where I live now.”

You barely had time to catch your breath before you felt it. His second length. Thick and merciless, pressing against the stretched slick of your entrance just beneath the first. Your breath caught in your throat, and your nails dug into his flesh as your body tensed instinctively.

Sukuna didn’t stop.

He leaned down, one of his lower mouths brushing hot against your collarbone, licking the sweat from your skin as he murmured, “Relax for me, beloved. You can take it.”

The second cock pushed in slowly, stretching you beyond anything you thought you could endure. You cried out—half-pain, half-bliss—as the pressure bloomed into heat, into fullness, into something sacred and obscene all at once. He groaned low in his chest, the sound shaking through both of you.

“There,” he hissed, panting against your neck, all four of his hands tightening around you. “Look how well you take me. All of me. My perfect little vessel.”

Your eyes rolled back as he bottomed out. Both leaking cocks buried deep, pulsing inside you, so full you could barely breathe. And still, he held you as though you were something fragile, something precious, even as he claimed you like a conqueror razing his last battlefield.

Then he began to move.

Just mellow enough for you to feel the shift of both shafts grinding inside you in perfect, devastating sync. Your moans came broken and high, no longer intelligible, lost in the rhythm of his hips and the burning heat licking up your spine. His lower arms gripped your waist tight, keeping you moored as he started fucking you in earnest, the slap of skin against skin echoing through the chamber like a drumbeat of war.

“Mine,” he gritted out, thrusting harder. “Do you feel what you do to me? How tightly you hold me—how you pull me deeper every time I try to leave?”

You couldn’t answer. You could only hold on. Your arms wrapped tight around his neck, your body shaking with every thrust, the stretch now tipping into unbearable pleasure. Each stroke stroked places inside you that nothing else ever could. You weren’t making love. You weren’t just being fucked. You were being filled, over and over, until your mind blanked and your soul cried out his name.

“Sukuna!” You gasped, legs trembling as the heat inside you built to something unspeakable. “I—I can’t—”

“Yes, you can,” he snarled. “You will. You’ll come on both my cocks, and I’ll feel every flutter, every shiver of that sweet cunt. Come for me, little queen. Now.”

You did.

Your release tore through you like fire through silk. You screamed his name, body locking around him, every muscle tightening as your climax rippled through you like a storm. Sukuna groaned, and slammed into you once more, burying both cocks to the hilt as he came, filling you to the brim, warmth spilling inside you like a brand you’d wear for days.

He didn’t pull out or move any further. He only held you, chest heaving, lips brushing your temple as your bodies slowly came down from the frenzy.

His voice, when it returned, was hoarse. “You were born to bear me,” he said. “To carry my heat. My name. My legacy.” One of his hands cupped your face, tilting it upward. “You are not merely my queen. You are the altar on which I ruin myself.”

The bathwater shimmered gold beneath the candlelight, laced with perfumed oils and herbs that clung to your skin in fragrant warmth. You rested with your back nestled against Sukuna’s chest, your body languid, limbs heavy from pleasure and exhaustion. His cursed form, coiled with rippling muscles, dwarfed yours.

He sat in the steaming bath with you between his legs, two of his arms holding you close, the other two gently tending to you: one pouring warm water down your spine, the other cradling a soft cloth that moved tenderly along the curve of your shoulder.

You sighed, head lolling back against his collarbone. “You’re gentle with me now,” you muttered, eyes closed. “Whatever happened to the terrifying King of Curses?”

“Still here,” Sukuna rumbled, voice low and deep in your ear. “He’s simply been conquered by a very small woman with a lovely mouth, and an impossibly sharp tongue.”

A soft laugh rose from your throat. “Careful, my love. That same small woman carried your daughter, endured your tempers, and let you fuck her until she couldn’t walk. You’d do well to show some worship.”

“I am washing your feet.” He nipped your earlobe. “If that is not worship, I do not know what is.”

You opened one eye to look down, watching his massive hand curl around your ankle. The cloth moved in slow circles across the arch of your foot. He handled you like fine porcelain, despite the monstrous claws at the end of each finger.

“I was frightened earlier,” you said quietly, the words slipping from you like ripples in the bath.

Sukuna stilled. The cloth paused. The second set of eyes blinked shut. “I lost control,” he admitted, the gravel in his voice softened by guilt. “There was no excuse for the way I behaved.”

You turned your head to look at him, cupping one side of his jaw, brushing your thumb beneath the lower pair of eyes that closed instantly at your touch. “And I love you—all of you—but I need you here. For her. For me.”

His lower arms folded around your middle. “I am not proud of what I became. Of how quickly I gave in to that part of myself.”

“You don’t need to be proud. You just need to do better,” you said gently, letting your forehead rest against his jaw. “Start by coming on a picnic.”

He grunted. “A king does not picnic.”

“A father does. And I happen to think our little Maki would quite enjoy it now that spring’s almost here.”

“She eats grass.”

“She does not.”

“She tried.”

You sighed, smiling. “Let her try. Let her taste snow, and crawl in the dirt, and pull flowers apart petal by petal. She’ll never know the world if all she sees are the iron walls of your protection.”

Sukuna’s fingers brushed up your side, the tongue at his stomach giving a sleepy little twitch against your spine. “A picnic,” he repeated.

You nodded against him. “A simple one. Just us. No guards. No nobles. Just a blanket, some honeyed rice cakes, and a daughter who insists on throwing half her food at you.”

He let out a long, reluctant exhale. “Very well.”

“Really?” You blinked up at him.

His crimson eyes softened. “I said I would do better. This is me . . . beginning.”

You smiled then, and pressed a kiss to his jaw. “Then we’ll go tomorrow. Near the east garden.”

“You will wear that green robe I like.”

“I’ll wear nothing at all if it means you’ll behave.”

A low growl rumbled from his chest, but he only kissed the top of your head.

You nestled deeper into his arms as he resumed bathing you, the water gently lapping against your skin, his monstrous form relaxed for the first time that day.

In that moment, the kingdom could burn, and he wouldn’t care.

Because here, in the bath, with his queen safe in his arms, and the promise of a daughter’s laughter tomorrow, Sukuna Ryomen finally knew what it meant to be at peace.

And he knew it. That was the most infuriating, panty-drenching part of it all. He knew you watched him. He knew everyone looked. He’d catch your eye sometimes as you walked to your figure drawing class, and his work would slow. Eyes so dark they were almost black would lift from the floor and perform a slow, lazy, insulting appraisal. From your messy braid down to your paint-stained sneakers, and then, invariably, back up again, lingering on your chest, your mouth. Then, then, he’d smirk. That goddamn scar at the corner of his lip would pull, and he’d give you this look that said, I know exactly what you’re thinking, and you can’t have it.

It was a challenge. And you had never been good at backing down from one.

Class let out, the chatter of your classmates fading behind you as you purposely lagged, fiddling with the straps on your portfolio case. You waited until the hallway was mostly empty, save for the distant squeak-thump of his mop. He was working his way down from the north end, which meant he’d pass his closet soon.

Your heart was doing a stupid, frantic drum solo against your ribs. Get a grip. He’s just a man. A man built like a fucking god, with hands big enough to palm your entire head, but just a man.

He was just rounding the corner, pushing his big grey bucket.

You took a breath, plastered on your most convincing naïve expression, and walked right up to him. “Excuse me, sir?”

He stopped, leaning on the mop handle with a raised brow.

“Hi,” you tried again, injecting a note of breathless worry. “I know this is a long shot, but I think I might have lost an earring in this hallway yesterday. A little silver hoop? It was my grandmother’s.”

A total, bald-faced lie. All your jewelry came from third-rate thrift stores.

Toji looked at you. He looked at the floor he’d just mopped. He looked back at you. That god-awful, sexy-as-hell smirk spread across his face. “Your grandmother’s, huh?” His voice was a deep, gravelly rumble. It vibrated right through your bones.

“Yes,” you said. “It’s just—I was right here when I noticed it was gone. I thought maybe . . .” You gestured vaguely toward the scarred wooden door of his supply closet, tucked into an alcove just behind him. “Maybe it got swept up? Or it’s in your dustpan?”

He let out a low, mocking chuckle. “You wanna dig through my trash, Picasso?”

“I just want to find my earring,” you insisted, stepping a little closer. You could smell the bleach and cigarette smoke from his clothes. It made your knees weak. “Could I just look? Really quick? In the closet?” You tried to edge around him, to get to the door, to lock you inside and fuck your brains out. “You can totally come inside, too.”

Toji shifted his weight to completely block your path. “No.”

You blinked. “No?”

“No.” He leaned in a fraction, dropping his voice. The smirk was gone, replaced by a look of bored annoyance. “I’m not gettin’ fired ‘cause some bored college brat wants to play hide-and-seek in my closet. Piss off.”

He turned his back to you—a clear, brutal dismissal—and went back to his mopping.

You stood there for a solid ten seconds, your face burning. Humiliation warred with a sudden, sharp spike of rage. Oh, he was an asshole. A smug, arrogant, infuriatingly hot asshole.

For the next week, every time he saw you, that smirk became more tongue-in-cheek than your hot-headed temper would’ve preferred. He liked that he’d gotten under your skin.

Fine. You could play, too.

Your next plan was a classic “accidental” physical contact.

You waited by the main stairwell, a full, scalding-hot latte in your hand, pretending to read a text. You knew he passed this way at 11:50 a.m. to clean the second-floor lounge. You heard the jangle of his keys.

His whistling turned the corner, and you startled, lurching forward, stumbling right into his path.

“Oh, no!” You’d intended to spill the coffee on him. Just a little. Enough to make him stop and help him clean it up.

You underestimated him.

In one fluid motion, he dropped the trash bag he was carrying, his left hand shot out and clamped around your wrist, stopping your momentum, while his right hand grabbed the latte cup from yours, perfectly level. Not a single drop spilled.

You were left frozen, your wrist caught in his iron grip, his body a breath away. His reflexes were supernatural.

He looked at the coffee. “You’re gonna break your neck pullin’ shit like this.” The grip on your wrist was tight. You could feel the calloused ridges of his palm.

“I—I tripped,” you stammered.

“Bullshit,” he hissed, eyes dropping to your mouth. He leaned in, and for a heart-stopping second, you thought he was going to kiss you. “You’re tryin’ too hard, Picasso. It’s pathetic.” He shoved the latte cup back into your chest, making you grab it or drop it. He released your wrist, picked up his bag, and stalked past you up the stairs without a second glance.

You were left shaking, your skin tingling where he’d touched you, your frustration warring with a new, terrifying level of arousal. “One more time, Y/N. One more fucking time.”

That Thursday, you waited until the arts building was nearly empty. You “forgot” your portfolio in your 5 p.m. sculpture class, knowing he cleaned that wing around 7 p.m. You slipped back in, your footsteps resonating in the empty hall.

You found him in your classroom, wiping down the clay-dusted tables.

“Working late?” you asked, trying to sound casual.

He kept wiping. “Looks like it.”

You walked further into the room, perching on a clean stool. “Must get lonely, cleaning up after everyone all by yourself.” You let your voice drop, adding a purr you hoped sounded seductive and not, you know, desperate.

He stopped and dropped the rag into his bucket with a wet plop. He turned, slowly, arms crossed over his massive chest, the muscles in his forearms flexing.

“What do you want, Y/N?” he asked. He used your name. Your actual name.

Your stomach did a backflip. He knows my name. “Forgot my portfolio,” you mumbled, gesturing to where it was clearly leaning against the wall by the door, not where you were.

He looked at the portfolio. Looked at your innocent smile. And then he started walking.

He didn’t stop until he was right in front of you, caging you in, his legs bracketing the stool. You had to crane your neck to look up at him. He was so, so big. He put one hand on the table behind you, leaning in. “You’re a real piece of work,” he murmured, eyes fixed on your mouth. “All this charade for me? A janitor?”

“I like a clean man who works with his hands,” you whispered.

This is it. This is it. This is it. This is it.

And then he pushed off, straightening up.

Goddamn it!

“Don’t you have some rich frat boy with a trust fund to bother?” he said, voice laced with cutting scorn. “I’ve got actual work to do. Get your shit and get out.”

He turned his back on you. Again.

This time, you didn’t say anything. The humiliation was so total, it felt like a slap. “Fuck you, Toji.” You snatched your portfolio and fled, your eyes stinging. You weren’t just frustrated anymore. You were done. You were done being his goddamn chew toy.

For five days, you actually meant it. You took the long way to your classes to avoid the atrium. You skipped your usual coffee run. You actively avoided him, nursing your wounded pride and telling yourself you were over it. You were not going to be that girl, chasing some asshole janitor who clearly thought you were a joke.

Then, on Friday, your plan for dignified distance went to shit.

You were in the painting studio late, trying to finish a midterm project. Most people had cleared out, but Satoru—a lanky, silver-haired sculpture major who had been unsubtly crushing on you for weeks—had stayed behind, “working” on his own stuff but mostly just finding excuses to talk to you.

“The way you’re using blues here is really evocative,” he was saying, leaning over your canvas. “It’s, like, super melancholic. Like my eyes.”

“Thanks,” you muttered, forcing a smile. “Just trying to pass.”

You were cleaning your brushes when the familiar jangle of keys chimed. Your entire body went rigid.

Oh, you have got to be kidding me.

Toji pushed the door open. He was in his usual grey uniform, holding a trash bag. He stopped dead in the doorway, his eyes landing on you, then flicking to Satoru, who was standing way too close.

And just like that, all your resolve to be done evaporated, replaced by a hot, petty, vindictive rage. A slow, brilliant, genuine-looking smile spread across your face. But it wasn’t for Toji.

“Gee. You really think so, Satoru?” You reached out and placed your hand on his forearm, tracing a little circle with your thumb. “I was worried it was all just mud.”

His face lit up. “Nah, not at all, Y/N. It’s got this . . . this raw energy.”

“Raw,” you repeated. You could feel Toji’s glare boring into your spine. “I like raw.”

You didn’t look at him. You kept your eyes locked on Satoru, laughing at something he said, leaning in a little closer. You could hear Toji moving around the room, slamming trash cans with more force than necessary, the thwack of him yanking the paper towel dispenser just a little too hard.

He was pissed. And it felt amazing.

He moved to the corner where the empty paint cans and solvent jars were kept. He was grabbing them, shoving them into his heavy-duty trash bag.

“So, I was thinking,” Satoru started, “if you’re not busy tonight, maybe you could come over to—”

CRASH!

You both jumped. A large, half-full can of burnt umber paint had slipped from Toji’s grasp. It hit the concrete floor and splattered, sending a thick, sludgy arc of brown paint across the floor, just inches from your backpack.

There was a dead, ringing silence.

Satoru looked confused. “Whoa. You okay, man?”

Toji didn’t look at him. He was staring at the mess, his jaw tight. Then, slowly, he lifted his head, his dark eyes locking directly onto yours. The anger in them was so potent it was almost sexual.

“Slip of the hand.” He straightened up, wiping his hands on a rag on his belt, but his gaze never left yours. “You.”

Your stomach did a backflip.

“Closet. Now,” he commanded. “Get the yellow sign and the spill kit. The big red bucket.”

Your heart suddenly started hammering a hole through your chest.

Satoru, oblivious to the reason, stepped forward. “Uh, I can go get it. Where’s the closet?”

Toji didn’t even blink in the boy’s direction. His eyes were on you, and on you alone. A dark, possessive, furious look. He wasn’t asking you to clean. He wasn’t asking for help.

He was telling you to come.

A slow, hot fire lit in your belly, burning away the last of your humiliation. This was it. The game had just changed. The thought sent a vicious, thrilling jolt right between your legs. He was jealous. The smug, arrogant, dismissive bastard was actually, visibly jealous. He’d rejected you, humiliated you, and treated you like a gnat, but he couldn’t stand seeing you touch someone else.

“No, it’s fine,” you said, your voice surprisingly light. You pulled your hand away from Satoru’s arm, already moving. “I know where it is.”

“Do you want me to wait?” he asked.

You didn’t give him an answer. You walked out of the classroom, every nerve in your body screaming, before your feet ran down the memorized path to his closet.

The door was unlocked as you yanked it back, plunging into the cramped space. The only light was the bulb hanging above. How conventional.

A minute of anticipation had passed before Toji entered, swallowing the tiny size of the room. It was barely big enough for the two of you, the shelves packed with cleaning supplies, the industrial sink, and a row of mops. You were trapped between him and a wall of paper towel dispensers.

“Find it?” he asked.

You weren’t going to be meek. Not this time. Not after all that. “Find what? Your self-control?” you challenged. “‘Oh no, Picasso, I tipped a bucket of paint in hopes you’d slip and fall on my cock.’ Yeah, well, that’s not happening, asshole. You lost your chance.”

He braced a hand on the shelf above your head, caging you in. That dark, predatory look was back, replacing the annoyance. “Didn’t like seeing your hands all over him.”

Holy. Shit. He admitted it. “Satoru?” you baited. “He’s so sweet. He was just about to ask me to come over to his place—”

“Shut up,” he snapped.

“You were jealous.” The victory tasted like copper on your tongue. You dared to poke a finger into the hard muscle of his chest. “After all that absolute bullshit about me being ‘pathetic’, you were jealous.”

“And you think you’re so fuckin’ smart?” he rasped, his other hand coming up to grab your chin, his thumb brushing your bottom lip. “You think you’ve won something?”

“I know I have,” you whispered.

“You don’t know shit.” His thumb pressed harder, parting your lips. “Except how to run that pretty mouth.”

You smiled. “Then make it stop.”

His mouth crashed down on yours.

His lips were unforgiving, and he tasted like . . . him. He didn’t ask for permission when he shoved his tongue into your mouth, tangling with yours in a heated dance. You whimpered, your knees buckling, and you gripped his shirt, kissing him back with all the pent-up, frustrated lust you’d been hoarding for weeks.

He kissed you like he hated you. He kissed you like he wanted to eat you alive. And you loved it.

He broke the kiss only to trail his wet, open mouth down your jaw, to the soft, sensitive skin of your neck. He bit down hard enough to make you gasp, sucking a dark bruise onto your skin.

Your head pushed back against the shelf, bottles digging into your spine.

His hand left your chin, sliding down your body, over your breast, squeezing hard. You cried out, your nipple pebble-hard against his palm. “Fuck, yeah,” he grunted, his hand moving lower, grabbing the hem of your t-shirt. He ripped it, one-handed, shoving the torn fabric up to your chin. Your bra was suddenly on display. “Cute.” He didn’t bother with the clasp. His fingers hooked under the center and pulled. The delicate lace shredded with a satisfying tear. Your tits spilled free.

“Fuck me,” he breathed, his gaze devouring you. He lowered his head and latched onto your right nipple, teeth grazing the tender flesh.

A cry ripped from your throat. You fisted your hands in his messy hair, your hips instinctively thrusting against him. “Oh, fuck, Toji—”

“That’s it, baby,” he growled, switching to the other breast, sucking and biting, driving you insane. “Keep makin’ those noises.” His other hand was at your jeans, popping the button, yanking the zipper down. “You came here soaked, didn’t you?” His hand slid under the waistband, fingers diving right into your panties. All those rejections had just been foreplay. “Knew it.” He shoved two fingers inside you, stretching you, making you see stars.

“Please,” you sobbed, the last of your bravado gone, replaced by desperate need. “Please, just fuck me.”

“Beggin’ again?” He smirked against your skin, but he was fumbling with his own belt. The clink of the buckle, the rasp of his zipper—it was the best sound you’d ever heard. He shoved your jeans and panties down your thighs, not caring when they snagged on your ankle. You were naked from the waist down, pinned against a shelf in a janitor’s closet, and you’d never been happier.

He reached into his pants and freed himself.

Your breath hitched. You’d imagined it a million times. You drew it in your sketchbook like a perverted creep. But the reality was so much more. He was huge. Thick, long, and angrily veined, slick with pre-cum. It was terrifying. It was beautiful. It was a need.

“This what you wanted, right?” he taunted. He grabbed your hips, his palms branding your skin, and positioned you. “You wanted the janitor? Well, you got him, baby.” He spat on his hand, rubbing the spit down his length, before lining himself up with your soaking entrance. The blunt, hot head of his cock pressed against your folds.

He thrusted without a warning.

“Toji!”

It was a sharp, splitting pain that was immediately swallowed by an incredible, overwhelming fullness. He was massive. He was tearing you apart. He paused, buried just past the head, letting you take him. You panted, tears pricking your eyes, clinging to his shoulders like a lifeline.

“Fuck,” he growled, his forehead pressed against yours. “Take it.” He slammed into you, all the way to the hilt, ramming your back against the metal shelf so hard it rattled. A strangled cry burst from your lips. He was buried deep, so deep you felt him hit your cervix.

You sobbed, half in pain, half in pure, ecstatic pleasure.

“Yeah, that’s right.” He pulled back almost all the way before ramming into you again. And again.

Thud. Thud. Thud.

Toji set a punishing pace. There was nothing gentle about it. He was fucking you. Fucking you senseless. He held your hips in a vice grip, his knuckles white, lifting you slightly with each powerful thrust to angle his cock deeper, grinding against your clit.

“Open your eyes,” he commanded.

You forced your heavy lids open. He was watching you, his dark eyes burning, his face a mask of unadulterated lust. The scar by his mouth was pulled taut.

“Watch me fuck your tight, wet pussy,” he panted, his hips slamming into yours. “Watch as you take my cock.”

You watched. You watched his thick, veined cock disappear inside you, watched it pull back, slick with your juices, before plunging back in. The sound was obscene—a wet, slapping thwack that filled the tiny closet, accented by your moans and his animalistic grunts.

“You like it rough, don’t you?” he rasped, one hand releasing your hip to grab your hair, yanking your head back. “Like being treated like a little slut.”

“Yes,” you sobbed, the admission torn from you. “Yes, fuck, Toji—harder!”

“That’s my girl.”

He fucked you harder, faster. The pleasure was building, a tight, screaming coil low in your belly. It was too much. The shelf was scraping your back raw, your legs were shaking violently, but you didn’t care. You clawed at his back, trying to pull him impossibly closer.

“I’m close,” you gasped, your vision spotting. “I’m . . .”

“Not yet.” He pulled out almost completely, and you cried out at the loss, but before you could protest, he grabbed your left ankle, yanking your leg up, hooking it over his arm. He slammed back into you at the new, deeper angle.

Your scream was soundless. It shattered you. The pleasure was agonizing, blinding. He hit your insides with every brutal, pile-driving thrust. You felt your orgasm coming, a runaway train.

He rammed into you one last time, a guttural groan ripping from his chest, and you felt him pulse, the scalding hot ropes of his come flooding you. Your body convulsed around him, your walls clenching, milking him as your orgasm ripped through you, a wave of white-hot, paralyzing pleasure that made you cry his name over and over.

For a long minute, there was no sound but your ragged, sobbing breaths and his harsh panting. He stayed buried inside you, his heavy weight pinning you to the wall, his face buried in your torn shirt. You could feel his heart hammering against your chest.

Finally, he woke from the high, pulling out of you slowly. The sound was a wet schloop. You felt his release trickle down your inner thigh, and your legs gave out.

He caught you before you could slide to the floor, his arms like steel bands around you. He didn’t say anything, and set you back on your feet. You were a mess. Your hair was a bird’s nest, your mouth was bruised, your neck was marked, your tits were bare, and you were covered in sweat and his fluids.

You looked at him. His face was flushed red, full-lips swollen, dark eyes satisfied from the aftermath. He reached past you, grabbed a thick wad of brown paper towels from a dispenser, and pushed it at your chest.

“Clean yourself up.” He turned, zipping up his pants as you numbly tried to wipe the stickiness from your thighs, your hands shaking too hard to be effective.

Toji pulled the door open, the bright hallway light flooding in, making you wince. He glanced both ways. Empty. He looked back at you, one last time, his gaze raking over your naked, trembling body, still clutching the paper towels.

“Get out of my closet,” he bit out. “And don’t you dare go to that fucker’s house. I mean it.”

“Oh?” A slow, wicked smile curved your lips. You hooked your thumbs into the belt loops of your jeans, dragging the denim up over your hips, scraping the fabric deliciously against your still-damp, throbbing cunt. Your panties were a lost cause, probably a soaked, torn scrap on his floor. “And what’s the incentive to obey, hm? If it’s another round with that godlike cock of yours trying to split me in two, I might just be persuaded to stay.”

You snatched his jacket from the hook by the door, sliding your bare arms into the sleeves. It enveloped you, reeking of him. God, you were definitely going to touch yourself tonight wearing this.

“Go.” He was terrified of what he’d do—what he’d let you make him do—if you stayed one second longer.

“I’m going, I’m going.” You sauntered past him, stopping right at the threshold to rise onto your toes. His eyes widened as you pressed your lips to the white scar at the corner of his lips. You tasted the salt of his skin, and then, a flick of your tongue right over the damaged flesh. “Was I worth it, darling?” you whispered.

He gave you a ghost of a smirk. His hand came up, not to nudge, but to strike.

SMACK!

The open-palmed impact on your ass-cheek echoed in the hallway. God, it was perfect.

The door slammed shut behind you, the sound of the deadbolt clicking into place an angry, final punctuation.

A laugh bubbled from your chest, the sting on your ass already fading to a delicious throb. He thought that door could stop you? He thought he was in control? That fucking idiot. You’d gotten exactly what you want.

A shadow carved through the lantern light. Tall and wide as a mast, black waves whipping wild around a face carved by violence, and a crooked scar splitting the corner of his lips while his eyes glinted a feral green. 

Toji Zenin, captain of Dead Man’s Choir, stood with his coat hung open over a sweaty chest, belt already half-unbuckled like he’d been expecting trouble.

The grin that split his face was pure depravity. “Well, fuck me sideways with a kraken’s tentacle.” His baritone was gravelly and groggy. “Look what the tide dragged in. A pretty little fish.” He stopped dead when he smelled you. “And she’s in heat.”

You curled tighter in the quagmire, shaking, arms crossed over your bare breasts, tail tucked as best it could. “P-please! I—I didn’t mean to surface. The moon—agh, it hurts—”

“Oh, it hurts, does it?” Toji crouched. One massive hand grabbed the net and yanked it tight, spreading your tail fins wide. The action exposed the soft, swollen slit hidden where scales met smooth skin—glistening with clear ivory nectar that smelled like moonlit tide pools. “Look at that cunt droolin’ all over me deck. Half-crescent got ya bad, huh? Bet yer insides are burnin’ for cock.”

You whimpered, face flaming with shame. Your body betrayed you instantly as more fluid welled, a visible pearl of it sliding down your tail. 

The pirates hooted. 

Toji’s pupils blew wide. “Eyes off, dogs!” he snarled without looking up. “This one’s mine. Touch her, and I’ll feed ya to the sharks.”

He hauled the entire net over his shoulder, your tail flopping, scales scraping against the wood, and kicked open the cabin door to his chambers. The space reeked of leather, smoke, and human male. A massive iron-bound tub sat in the corner, already sloshing with fresh seawater someone had pumped up from the sea. 

Toji dumped you straight into it.

The water hit your tail like cool clemency, but it did nothing for the fire raging in your core. He cut the net away with a curved blade, but left your wrists tied in the severed ropes, lashing them to rings bolted to the tub’s rim. You were half-submerged, upper body arched back against the rim, breasts heaving, tail twitching helplessly.

Toji stripped without ceremony. Coat. Shirt. Trousers. His cock sprang free, thicker than any merman you’d visited, corded with dark veins, the crown already leaking. It was obscene against his scarred abdomen, long enough to make your eyes widen in fresh panic.

“Never seen a mermaid before,” he muttered, stepping into the tub, water lapping his thighs. “Heard yer kind sing when ya come. Let’s see if that’s true.”

Rough palms slid up your tail, spreading the fins. Two thick fingers shoved straight into your vent without warning. You cried out, back bowing, the stretch scorching and perfect all at once. He curled them immediately, discovering the ridged spot inside that clouded your vision. 

“Fuckin’ tight,” he growled, pumping hard. “Yer pretty cunt’s tryin’ to suck me fingers dry. Shy little thing, but yer body’s a whore, ain’t it?”

“N-no—ah! Please, Captain—” Your voice cracked as fresh tears spilled down your flushed cheeks. But your hips—your tail base—rolled shamelessly into his hand, chasing the pressure. The half-moon magic had you helpless; every thrust of his fingers sent sparks up your spine, making your scales flash a varicolored pink.

Toji added a third finger, scissoring you open, thumb grinding the swollen pearl above your opening. A moan tore out of you, unmistakably a siren’s note. The water in the tub glowed where your tears hit it, turning to tiny pearls that sank like stars.

“That’s it. Sing for me.” He pulled his fingers free and lined up that monstrous cock. The blunt head kissed your entry, smearing your nectar. “Fill ya till yer belly swells with pirate seed.”

He thrusted.

The stretch was barbaric. Your walls quivered and clamped, trying to push him out and pull him deeper at the same time. You screamed in vicious pain and bone-shattering pleasure as he bottomed out. Water sloshed over the rim and onto his chamber’s wooden floorboards. Your tail thrashed between his legs; he pinned it with his left muscular thigh, right hand gripping your hip hard enough to bruise, the other fisting your hair to yank your head back.

“Look at ya,” he groaned. “Tits bouncin’, cunt squelchin’, scales glowin’ like a cheap whore’s lantern. Yer terrified, but yer milkin’ me cock like yer born for it.”

The heat had turned every thrust into lightning. Your first orgasm hit violently, spasms that made your hole spray pearlescent fluid mingled with seawater. Your song spilled out, high and sweet, echoing off the cabin walls. 

Toji growled like a man stabbed. “Sing louder!” He fucked you through it, ferocious, ruthless, water splashing everywhere. Then he flipped you as easily as breathing, your belly against the edge, tail raised high, and drove back in from behind. The new angle punched deeper. 

“Need the whole crew to hear ya moanin’ my name,” he snarled into your ear, teeth grazing your throat. “Toji. Say it.”

“T-Toji—!” you wailed. 

“Captain,” he corrected, slapping your rear hard to make the scales rattle. “Say it proper while I wreck ya.”

“Cap—Captain Toji!”

He rewarded you by reaching around and rubbing your pearl in hallucinating circles. Your second climax ripped through you harder than the first; your tail coiled around his waist like a living rope, scales flashing blinding light. The tub water turned milky with your endless stream of nectar. 

Toji’s tempo fractured. “Gonna come—” He buried himself to the hilt and flooded you. Searing, viscous spurts of his release painted your insides, so much so that it trickled out in white rivulets. He kept thrusting through it, grinding deep, making sure every drop remained.

When he finally pulled out, you collapsed forward. Your tail floated limp as you cried soft, hiccuping sobs, but your body’s thirst wasn’t quenched. 

Toji cut your wrists free, then pulled you into the water with him, your back to his chest, his cock hard again against your marrow. One big hand cupped your breast, the other petting your abused entrance. 

“Rest while ya can,” he whispered. “Half-moon lasts three more weeks. And I ain’t lettin’ a prize like you go.” He nipped your ear. “Next time I’ll make ya ride me while the crew listens through the door. Let ‘em hear what a good little fish sounds like when she comes on a pirate’s cock.”

You were frightened, satiated, yet looking forward to his dark promise, and the half-crescent moon outside the chamber’s window seemed to laugh with him.

The sea had given you to the devil.

And the devil intended to keep you.

One incautious step, and the world betrayed you. 

A cry escaped your lips as you plummeted underground, graceful even in alarm, as ferns and dirt rushed past. Your lantern tumbled away, its flame sputtering out. 

WHOOSH! 

Impact, but not the bone-shattering sort you feared. Instead, you found yourself ensnared in something expansive: a web of unimaginable scale, strands viscous as a ship’s rope yet glowing like the finest Venetian silk. They clung to your skirts, your arms, your waist, binding you fast in a cradle of silver threads that swayed gently in the below-ground gloom.

You struggled with urgency. “Unhand me, you infernal contraption!” you hissed, though the web had no ears. That cage of fashion tightened around your waist, restricted your breath and made every twist a trial. The chamber around you was a cavern of roots and rock, lit by a murky brilliance that painted everything in ethereal blues and greens. 

And there, at the web’s centre, something stirred.

He descended with grace, eight limbs moving in harmony—four powerful arms crossed over a broad, tattooed chest, four legs (jointed and armoured like a spider’s, yet scaled to a man’s formidable height) carrying him down the strands without a sound. His hair was a shock of rosewood pink, and his crimson eyes—four of them, goodness—fixed upon you with the jest of a cat discovering a particularly fine mouse. Markings like ancient runes adorned his skin, raven and intricate, and his mouth curved into a smile that revealed sharp teeth. 

The spider-hybrid of the woods, Sukuna Ryomen. He was real. And he wore no coat nor cravat, leaving the sculpted planes of his torso scandalously exposed.

“Well, well,” he drawled a rich, velvety baritone with the decorum of high society. Yet, it was hemmed with something ancient and bestial, as though the very woods had taught him elocution. “What dainty little morsel has the forest delivered onto me this eve? A lady of quality, by the cut of that gown. Pray, do cease your delightful squirming. You shall only ensnare yourself further, and I should hate to see such an exquisite creature ruined before I have properly admired it.”

You stilled, lifting your chin with all the dignity a woman bound in spider silk could muster. Your cheeks burned, but your tongue remained sharp as a hatpin. “Admired? Ha! You presume a great deal. I am no trinket for your perusal, nor have I any intention of remaining your guest. Release me at once, or I shall— Well, I shall scream until the very birds flee the canopy above.”

Sukuna’s chuckle thundered through the web, sending shiverings along the strands that brushed your skin like a lover’s breath. Two of his arms unfolded, long fingers—clawed ever so delicately at the tips—tracing the space near your shoulder without quite touching. The other two remained folded, while his four legs moved, circling you slowly, the web creaking softly under his weight. 

“Scream, would you? How delightfully dramatic. I rather think the woods would swallow the sound, much as they have swallowed you. And as for release, that would rather spoil the sport, would it not?” He leaned closer, one scarlet eye narrowing in mock solemnity. “Tell me, little moth, what possessed a creature so delicately bred to wander these depths? Seeking adventure, or merely fleeing the tedium of balls and betrothals?” 

Oh, goodness. 

He was arrogance incarnate, this eight-limbed enigma, yet there was an intelligence in his gaze that made your heart thump traitorously. “I sought knowledge, not captivity,” you replied, forcing your voice to remain controlled. “Rumours of a beast in these woods, though I see now the tales failed to capture your . . . singular classiness. Or is it customary among your kind to greet visitors with bondage and banter?”

Another laugh. “How prettily you flatter, even whilst trussed like a Christmas goose. Most ladies of your station would faint dead away by now. I confess, it intrigues me. Perhaps I shall keep you a while longer.” One clawed hand brushed a stray curl from your cheek, the touch feather-light, nearly courteous. “Or merely unravel that infuriating corset and see what lies beneath all that propriety.”

Four arms bolted beside you like the bars of the most luxurious cage. You could do little more than meet his gaze and retort, “By all means, unravel away. But do not expect me to surrender so easily. I am made of sterner stuff than your flimsy threads would suggest.”

A fiendish smile curled Sukuna’s lips as one of his clawed hands rose. “A challenge, little moth? How utterly delicious. Let us see how long that sterling composure lasts when I lay you bare.”

With a flick, he drew your corset downward in a stroke. The whalebone parted like butter under a hot knife, the laces snapping free. The bodice sagged open, falling away in ruined halves to dangle from the web’s strands, and oh—the rush of cool air against your skin was nothing short of indecent relief. 

You drew in a deep, grateful lungful, your bosom rising and falling freely for the first time since dawn, the thin cotton of your brassiere the only barrier left.

Sukuna’s eyes darkened with unmistakable hunger. “There now,” he purred. “Those full, glorious breasts of yours are quite the vision. I wager no powdered gentleman in his starched suit ever made your blood run quite so hot, did he?” 

A mortified flush spread down your throat and across the swell of your breasts. You were baffled by the insistent discomfort blooming low in your gut, the way your body betrayed you for this acidic creature rather than any eligible lord who had ever bowed over your gloved hand. “You are insufferable,” you whispered.

“Yet your body weeps for me already, I suspect,” he finished with a dark chuckle, leaning in so his breath ghosted warm over your collarbone. “Do not trouble yourself to deny it, my dear. I can smell how your most private places have grown eager. Now, let us dispense with this last scrap of modesty.”

Another gash of his claw, and the brassiere gave way altogether.

Your breasts spilled free at last, bouncing softly with the motion of the web. Sukuna wasted no time. Two of his hands cupped them at first, talons circling the stiff peaks of your nipples with infuriating slowness, while the other two gripped your waist, holding you as he lowered his head. His tongue rolled out to lave an aching bud, drawing it into his mouth with a suction that made your back arch and a soft, mortified moan escape your lips.

“Marvellous,” he whispered. “I could devote hours to them until you are quite beside yourself, watching you writhe while I lavish every inch of this magnificent bosom.” He switched to the other breast, teeth grazing the sensitive flesh before soothing it with his tongue, all while his fingers kneaded and rolled the neglected peak between claw-tipped digits, sending sparks of pleasure-pain forthright to your core.

No gentleman had ever spoken to you thus, let alone touched you with such shameless expertise. And yet, as Sukuna’s mouth worshipped your breasts—licking, sucking, nipping until they glistened with his saliva and your nipples pulsated with need—you could only whimper, lost to the sinful thrill of it all.

“Such responsive little berries,” he spoke against your skin. “They harden so eagerly for me, do they not?” 

Before you could summon a retort, two additional strands of silk shot forth from the web above. They coiled about your wrists with strength, drawing your arms upward and pinning them securely on either side of your head. The position left you deliciously exposed, your bosom thrust forward, heaving with each ragged breath.

At the same moment, his lower limbs hooked beneath your knees, parting your thighs wide, while the others anchored your ankles firmly to the web’s strands. With another strike of his claws, the fine fabric of your dress and all beneath it fell away in ruins to leave you entirely bare before him. There, between your spread thighs, your nectar had already begun to gather, like the sweetest honey upon the petals of a forbidden bloom. 

“Much better,” Sukuna purred, four eyes gleaming with approval. His gazes dropped, drinking in the sight with undisguised hunger. A single nail extended, tracing the inside of your thigh before collecting a glistening drop of your arousal upon its tip. He brought it to his lips, tongue darting out to taste you with an appreciative hiss. 

He groaned. “The very woods themselves have ripened you for me.”

“You cannot—those claws—they are far too sharp!” you protested. “They would tear me asunder. I should die of it, I am certain.”

His chuckle came from his chest, eyes narrowing with amusement. “Ever the practical human. Very well, then. No claws for that most delicate of feasts.” With a flick, he withdrew the offending talon, and in its place came the heat of his tongue. He dragged it slowly up the seam of your sex, savouring every drop of you before delving deeper. The sensation was devastating: long, languid strokes that parted your folds and circled the sore pearl at your centre, followed by the sudden, profane thrust of his tongue inside you.

You cried out, wrists straining uselessly against the bonds, ankles stapled wide as he devoured you with single-minded vehemence. Sukuna feasted as though you were the rarest delicacy, his mouth sealing over your most intimate place, tongue plunging and curling while two of his hands returned to your breasts, tormenting your nipples in perfect tandem with every lap of his tongue.

The cavern reverberated with your helpless moans and the vulgar sounds of his hunger, the web shaking underneath you as pleasure curled tighter and tighter in your gut.

Sukuna’s tongue continued its ruthless invasion upon you, the appendage far longer and more devious than any mortal man’s could ever be. It extended, delving deep into your fluttering passage while the wide, flat tip of it curled and stroked within, coaxing forth waves of your release. At the same moment, his lips closed around your swollen bead, sending lightning racing up your spine.

You cried out the most indecent of sonatas, tears of overwhelming sensation gathering at the corners of your eyes. The pleasure was too keen, exquisite, and yet you could not bear for him to stop.

“Gods above,” Sukuna growled against your reddened folds. His four eyes lifted to drink in the sight of you—cheeks flush, bosom upheaving, every inch of your skin glowing with a delicate sheen of labour. “This cunt of yours is clenching around my tongue as though it were starved for a proper ravishing.” One of his hands left your breast to trace a claw lightly along your inner thigh, never quite breaking skin. “I am merely preparing you, my little moth, readying this untouched passage for the far greater intrusion to come.” 

Another broken cry tore from your throat as his tongue extended even further, probing against the hidden, sensitive spot deep within while his mouth continued its suction upon your pearl. “Please—I cannot!” 

The words dissolved into a helpless sob of rapture as he redoubled his efforts. 

Sukuna merely laughed against your sex. “You can, and you shall, little moth. Cry for me.” 

The pleasure crested like a tidal wave, your entire body drawing taut. Your vision blurred with tears, a sob rising in your throat—“Oh, heavens, I am—” 

And then he withdrew entirely.

The sudden absence was a cruelty beyond measure. Your eyes flew open, wide with outrage, and the words burst from you in a voice scratchy yet blazing with the fire of a lady pushed past all etiquette. “You insufferable, wicked demon!” You fought against the webs that still held you fast. “How dare you leave me teetering upon the very brink? Release me this instant, or I swear I shall find a way to strangle you with your own silk!”

Sukuna threw back his head and laughed, thoroughly delighted by your fruitless squabbling. “There she is,” he said. “I knew fire lurked beneath that façade.”

With a lazy flick of two clawed hands, the silken strands binding your wrists and ankles disbanded into shimmering threads that floated away like dandelion seeds. He caught you effortlessly in all four arms before you could even slump, lowering you with surprising gentleness onto the centre of the web. The strands cradled you like the finest featherbed, cool beneath your bare skin.

You lay there, watching him rise above you. Sukuna’s lower body moved, the chitinous plating that armoured his spider-like abdomen parting with an organic click. 

What emerged robbed the breath from your lungs.

His manhood stood proud and intimidating, stout and girthy, flushed a deep red that matched the colour of his eyes. It was monstrous in proportion, the broad head already beading with arousal. The sight of it sent a flutter through your core, your inner walls grasping with helpless want even as trepidation raced down your spine. It would split you open, and yet your mouth watered at the mere thought of it.

Sukuna wrapped one large hand around his shaft, stroking himself slowly from root to tip. The sight was lewd and mesmerizing; his four eyes never left your face as he worked himself, thumb sweeping over the flushed head with each pass.

You pushed yourself up onto your elbows, unwilling to surrender the last shred of defiance. “Look at you, stroking that grotesque thing as though it could ever fit. You think you can break me with it? Come and try. I am no tender debutante to faint at the first sight of a real man—or monster, as the case may be.” A mirthful smirk curved at your mouth. “But know this: if you leave me wanting again, I shall make you regret it.”

“Well, well. Let us see if your cunt sings the same tune once I have stretched you wide.” Sukuna’s grin widened, his hand still moving in hypnotic strokes. “Touch it. Take this grotesqueness in your hands and bring it to your mouth. I would feel those lips upon me before I claim what is mine.”

You hesitated, but the fascination proved stronger than fear. Slowly, you reached out. Your fingers wrapped as best they could around the girthy base. It was scorching hot, velvet-sheathed sword, far too wide for one hand alone; you required both, and even then, they barely met. You turned your face away at first, cheeks boiling with revolt, yet your gaze kept wafting back, enchanted by the bizarre, spongy ridges that lined the underside—raised and pulsing like living silk.

Curiously, your fingertips traced them, exploring the texture with feather-light strokes. 

Sukuna hissed in pleasure. “Ah, you have found them,” he stated. “Those, my dear, are where my seed gathers. A spider’s gift, if you will. They shall throb against your cunt when I bury myself deep, flooding you until you overflow.”

For one wild, delirious instant, your mind wandered: could a human even carry such a creature’s eggs? The ludicrous thought of your belly bulging with his spawn nearly made you laugh aloud at the ridiculousness of it. What nonsense. You were no broodmare for woodland monsters, no matter how your body carried the brightest torch for him.

Sukuna clearly read the trace of your thoughts upon your face. “Enough wool-gathering, love.” He guided the heavy length of his manhood with his hand until the head patted your cheek twice, leaving a faint glistening trail upon your skin. “Kiss it. Show me that mouth knows how to worship as well as it scolds.”

You lifted your chin, eyes narrowing in one last spark of rebellion. “You presume a great deal, creature. I am no common doxy to be ordered around . . .” The words faltered under his carnivorous gaze, under the heat of him pressed to your cheek. With a defeated huff, you leaned in and pressed a single, chaste kiss to the tip, tasting the salt of his arousal.

Sukuna groaned in approval.

It was clear at once that no more than that small kiss would ever fit. The shaft itself was as thick as a young tree limb, elephantine in its proportions. You dragged your tongue along the underside, tracing those porous ridges that had so fascinated you. You followed with the gentle suckling of your lips around the side of the head, tongue swirling where you could reach, while your fingers stroked what your mouth could not encompass.

Sukuna’s four arms braced around you, two of them threading gently through your hair to hold you close without forcing, the others stroking your shoulders or the curve of your waist. “You are doing beautifully,” he spoke with fractured pleasure. 

You whimpered around him, the taste of him scattering your marbles, your neglected desire pulsing between your thighs as you continued your eager attentions. 

Sukuna’s patience, it seemed, had reached its limit. “Enough of your sweet worship, little moth.” With a low growl of carnal need, he drew you away from his manhood. One of his powerful hands threaded through your hair as he guided you back against the silken cradle of the web.

“I would feel your cunt now.” He dragged his length slowly down the centre of your body, tracing a sweltering path between your breasts, over the plane of your belly, until the head nestled against the slick seam of your sex. “What is your name?” 

“What?” 

“You haven’t given me your name.” 

“Why does it matter?” you breathed. “This will be but once an ephemeral indulgence spun between us. Thereafter, we need never see each other again.”

Sukuna’s lips curled into a smirk, his multiple eyes glowing with amusement as he dominated you, fangs glinting like lustrous obsidian. “I am about to mate with you, little moth,” he said. “A union of this criterion deserves the courtesy of a name I can speak against your throat while I claim every inch of you.”

You met his gaze with a short-winded laugh. “Spiders do not mate for life, in any case. Their dances are brief, driven by instinct and nothing more.”

“Good thing I am only half a spider, then.”

You swallowed hard, the web nestling you like a lover’s embrace while his existence consumed every sense. If a name was the final thread he required before he buried himself inside you, then you would surrender it. “Then know me as Y/N.”

“Y/N . . .” The name rolled from his tongue like a dark incantation. Two arms wrapped firmly around your waist, drawing you flush against him, while the other two caged you in. “Well, Y/N. Would you do me the honour of consuming me once I’ve ruined this lovely cunt?” You clutched at those powerful arms, fingers digging into the corded muscle and tattooed skin, heart thrashing like a caged bird. “After all, female spiders are rather famous for devouring their mates.”

Your eyes met his—a quartet of scarlet depths burning with hunger—and gave the sharpest nod.

That was all the consent he required.

In one tumultuous thrust, he drove forward, sheathing himself to the hilt in a single, inexorable motion. The stretch was an instantaneous and overwhelming burn that tore a scream from your throat. The sound echoed upward through the cavern and out into the forbidden woods, startling a flock of birds into flight.

Tears spilled down your cheeks, born of stupefaction and the fullness that bordered on discomfort. Sukuna stilled at once, buried impossibly deep, as two clawed thumbs brushed the tears away. 

“Easy, little moth,” he soothed. “Breathe for me.” He began to move then, withdrawing only to press forward again in long strokes that dragged those ridges along your inner walls. The burn relieved by degrees, replaced by molten pleasure that made your toes curl. 

One set of hands returned to your breasts, pinching your nipples. “This tight valley of yours is already becoming a river for me, is it not? Embracing my cock, milking every ridge as though it were made to be filled by a creature. Gods, I shall ruin you for any mortal man who might dare come after.”

Your head fell back against the web, a chorus of moans slipping from your lips. And with every thrust, you felt yourself opening further, surrendering more completely to the critter who had claimed you wholly. 

Sukuna’s pace quickened, his strong hips snapping forward with greater and greater urgency. Each thrust drove deeper, harder, the bumps along his cock dragging against you with friction as he rutted into your cunt like a beast possessed.

A hand pressed against your lower abdomen. “Do you feel that, my sweet moth?” His baritone dripped with dark delight. “Look how my cock contours the very shape of your belly from within. I am stretching this cunt so wide it bears the imprint of me alone.” He angled his hips and slammed forward with particular brutality, the crown breaching the entrance to your womb itself. 

Your eyes rolled back into your head, a scream ripping from your throat as religious pleasure consumed you. Drool slipped helplessly from the corner of your parted lips, your mind going blissfully blank while your full breasts bounced wildly. 

Sukuna gathered you up into the cradle of his arms, two locking securely around your waist and back while the others supported your spread thighs. Your own arms flew around his neck, clinging to the muscle as he fucked up into you with unrelenting strength, gravity driving you down onto his immense cock with every upward snap of his hips.

“Please!” you sobbed. “Faster— Agh! Please, give me more. I beg you!”

Sukuna laughed triumphantly, his breath fanning against your ear as he pounded into you without mercy. “I am going to fill you until your womb overflows with my essence, until it takes root deep inside.” His thrusts grew even more savage. “You will swell with my offspring, while these perfect breasts grow heavy with milk for them. I will breed you thoroughly, again and again, until your body forgets any other claim but mine. Would you like that, little moth? To be bred by a creature’s cock?”

Sukuna’s words ignited something feral within you, an unabashed hunger that wrecked your restraint. “Yes— Oh god, yes! I want it.”

Sukuna’s four eyes flashed, a barbaric grin splitting his lips. “Then it is what you shall receive.” 

For the next hour, he claimed you without respite, as he turned you from one position to the next with effortless strength.

His long tongue invaded your mouth in a sloppy, devouring kiss. The muscle stirred against yours, then pushed deeper, shoving down your throat until you gagged wetly around it. All the while, his knot began to swell at the base of his cock, locking him inside your cunt. 

He flipped you, turning you onto your knees with your buttocks raised high, face pressed into the strands. Two of his arms gripped your hips, the other two on either side of your head as he mounted you from behind. Your breasts swayed heavily beneath you with every thrust, and still he never withdrew, the knot chafing against your sweet spot until you were screaming his name.

He hauled you upright, pressing your back to his chest. Powerful arms hooked beneath your knees, spreading your legs pervertedly wide while the others enveloped around your waist. Suspended in the air, you could only cling to his neck and wail as he drove up into you. The knot was fully ballooned now, ensuring not a single drop of his seed could escape.

By the time he had softened, you were boneless, trembling, your mind still floating somewhere between the stars and the grotto. Sukuna gathered you close at once with such benevolence that belied the creature who had just bred you. Palms cradled your back and waist, and stroked damp strands of hair from your cheek. The last traced soothing circles along the curve of your belly—rounded from the volume of his essence he had pumped into your womb.

“Easy now, my brave moth,” he murmured, tucking a strand of her hair behind your ear. “You were magnificent. Rest upon me, love. Let me tend to you as you deserve.”

From the very strands of the web itself, he drew fresh silk and began to weave. In moments, he had fashioned for you a short wrap dress of the finest, most airy spider-silk, light as chiffon yet modestly concealing. It draped across your shoulders and bosom, crossing at the front in a simple, elegant knot that left your legs bare to mid-thigh. It felt like wearing a cloud with his scent. 

He settled you atop him then, guiding you to lie fully upon the spectrum of his chest. Your legs draped over his lower spider limbs, your cheek pressed to the beat of his heart, arms circling his neck as though you could not bear even an inch of separation. His hands rested possessively upon the small of your back, stroking the length of your spine.

You sighed, nuzzling closer into the heat of his skin. “You are a miserable, miserable creature,” you whispered, voice hoarse from screams and gagging and endless pleas. But that smile never left your face. “Sukuna Ryomen.” 

He pressed a surprisingly gentle kiss to your temple, then another to the bridge of your nose. “Do you feel satisfied with the promise I planted there, little moth?”

Your core clenched from the question, but it was soothed at once by his hands caressing your back. “Satisfied . . . and wonderfully sore,” you admitted, pressing a soft kiss to the centre of his chest. “I fear I shall ache for days, and yet I find I do not mind it in the slightest.”

“Good.” He cradled you more securely against him. “For I mean to keep you here, cocooned in my web and my arms, until the woods themselves forget you were ever anything but mine.”