KubbieKam

He’ll build you a new bedframe, buy new light fixtures, paint the house outside and in, and even does the electrical work when needed. Toji knew his way around houses and cars extremely well. It was how you two met actually. You had your hood popped in a parking lot and he, being the gentleman he is, stopped what he was doing to help. Now did the extremely buff, scarred face man with a heavy walk and scowling face look like a concerned gentleman ready to help you? Absolutely not! You clutched your pepper spray in your hand and did a nervous scan of the lot to see if anyone would be able to hear or see you if he caused you harm. 

“Car’s givin’ ya trouble, miss?” What you never expected was the soft tone his deep voice rumbled out. “Worked on’a few myself, can help if ya want.” The politeness from him caused your grip to loosen slightly on the pepper spray before you moved over to let him take a look. Even out in the fresh air, he could smell how good you smelled. Your afro is held up by a cute head wrap displaying your neck, your curls bouncy and full. 

“Thanks. I don’t really know what’s going on with it, just won’t start.” He gave you a hum of acknowledgment. Your warm brown hands tap at your sides every now and then when your painted nails weren’t mindlessly tapping on the car as you looked around and waited. After some minutes, he looked up and told you words you definitely didn’t understand. After three wide eyed, blank blinks you finally spoke, “ok, Sir! I don’t know what any of that means.”

The chuckle he let out was charming and caused your own lips to curl with a grin. “It means this won’t take ya ‘round the corner and back. My truck’s got a hitch on’it or I can call you a tow truck. Either way, it needs to be towed.” You noticed how through this time he always made sure you were comfortable before doing anything. Toji’s always been aware of how women feel and the dangers they face. The last thing he wants to do is come off as a threat in an already stressful time. 

After that day, you ran into each other often at the same store where your car broke down. Said store was also where you found out he struggled with differentiating between vegetables. He made the joke of, “if I ever cook for ya watch out because ya may eat boiled lettuce.” 

“Oh baby, trust me I would definitely be doing the cooking. Could always teach ya if you want tho’.”

From there is when you two started going on dates and within three years were engaged. Two years after you were walking down the aisle and to your new home that Toji insisted on building. Everyone assumed Toji dressed down because he didn’t have money, the truth was he just didn’t care for money. Not before he met you. He would only buy what he needed, never cared to buy flashy cars, and didn’t love designer clothes. What he did love was you. He loved giving you the world and anything your heart desired. He used to go to work because it was a necessity to survive, now his sole motivation is to take care of you.

He never cared how much you make or how much you spend, as long as you were satisfied and happy. He even dressed up when going out with you, but only ever then because you told him he couldn’t come behind you looking thrown away and unloved. That was all he needed to hear because not only did he want to stay glued to your side, he wanted to reflect the unwavering love his woman gave him. Toji never felt so at peace until he met you. You were perfectly fine with letting him be him. You never questioned his career choices, never looked down on him. You were understanding and only encouraged him to be the best he could.

“Long as your bills gettin’ paid, you’re doing good, hun.” Those words made his heart swell. Coming from an overbearing family that pressured him to be the richest in the room and own the most buildings, he never heard someone support his own wishes. He liked construction and mechanics. He had been working a mix of both since he graduated high school. Honestly, he did nothing else other than work. 

When you asked if he did anything for fun he replied, “used to gamble, but learned my lesson when I blew a check once. One time was all it took for me to know not to do it again. I still like it, just don’t participate.” That’s why now he lets you budget his gambling. Again, Toji is very aware and wouldn’t want to put you in a stressful situation. After all the bills are paid, groceries are bought, and money is set aside into savings, he lets you decide his allowance. Doesn’t matter if it’s fifty dollars or five hundred, hell even if it’s none, he’s responsible and only spends his allowance.

When he’s at the tracks, his coworkers will often joke that he needs another job because he never bets as much as them. “Not true. I just spend whatever my wife allows.” A roar of laughs echo before he sits up and stares them dead in the eyes, “I say sumn’ funny?” The playfulness quickly fell out the air when they remembered who they were laughing at. This was still the man they would rather not anger because they enjoyed not having a broken nose. Of course he hasn’t broken any noses since you scolded him about his behavior, but they didn’t need to know that he is terrified of disappointing his loving wife.

Toji was allowed to spend any amount of money he wanted but refused. “Self control is important. Gotta stay disciplined.” It’s not as if you hadn’t tried. The man works himself to the bones providing for you, he deserved to enjoy something. You even tried to convince him to upgrade his car or phone, something! But he will make sure you are not one of the women who end up complaining about their no good husband’s poor financial choices. His awareness was the exact reason you trusted him to not ruin your finances–you had plenty, but you also were not someone to push something that could turn into an addiction.

The real addiction that needed to be addressed was his splurges on you. Toji had much to learn when it came to you, but when he did…he locked in. Knotless braids cost how much? It doesn’t sound right but it’s also girly stuff and that’s always expensive, here’s his card. You need more makeup? He may not know why you can’t just put that powdery stuff from your eyes on your cheeks, but he’s swiping his card. He’s working on-site today but you want to get your nails done? All he asks is you get them a little sharp again so he can feel them against his skin. Of course you will need your lashes done. They accent those pretty brown eyes when you’re batting them at him for something he’s already going to say yes to.

He’s more on top of your selfcare than you. Every two weeks, a day before you actually went last to get maintenance, he’s asking, “need money for your beauty things, doll? Here.” Before you can even answer yes, no, if you even have an appointment, or if you even need to get anything done right now, a ping is coming to your phone notifying you of a money transfer. He felt very proud of this because he researched and found nails typically grow out within two weeks before a fill-in or new set is needed. He knew some things about your beauty things!!…or whatever you call them.

You’re coming up on your third year of marriage and you’re expecting soon. Things have almost got worse with what he spends on you. You don’t know it, but the money you give him for his fun has now gone to a separate savings account. You have a joint savings account and both of you have been pouring in even before the thought of a kid came up, but he can’t help but do more. He’s been pampering you even more! Anything that’s made for maternity comfort, anything that helps with cravings, anything that you even looked at. 

He’s spoiling you so well you almost consider getting pregnant again before even birthing this one. His rough hands feel like heaven on your sore, swollen feet. Your darker skin was shining from all the lotions and soothing oils he applied for you. He made sure to rub from the sole of your feet to the tips of your toes with one hand while the other massaged and gently rotated your ankle. He even attempted cooking but you told him it’s better for you and the baby if he stays out the kitchen after he destructively burnt your cute non-stick skillet. 

Toji of course listened because he will always listen to his wife.

Pixie's Flying🧚🏽‍♀️

Woowwww it's been a min huh? Anywaayss! My inbox is back open, blog back active, and Pixie's back to sprinkling sparkles! Feel free to stop by her sparkly blog! 👇🏽👇🏽👇🏽

Pixie's Masterlist!

Accepting new anon's! DM or inbox me about it. I'll make a new google form later.

Reblog, like, and comment!

⤷ public display of affection by @bugeater101

⤷ is it hot in here ? by @joyracha

⤷ let this be a secret by @jj-one

⤷ pretty when you cry by @channlust

⤷ the sweetest gift by @jj-one

⤷ film it by @jj-one

⤷ pornstar!jisung by @jj-one

⤷ let me blow your mind by @1nthedarknessofthenight

⤷ like a rockstar (3 parts) by @annyeongffs

⤷ case 143 by @leeknowlore

⤷ orgasm denial by @dreaming-medium

⤷ sweater weather by @cinhomi

⤷ deserving by @chvnnie

⤷ it's not yours, take it off by @cookiewrites

⤷ academic rivals by @hellavator-with-bangchan

⤷ she's my collar by @1nthedarknessofthenight

⤷ angels by @comet-falls

⤷ hentai by @comet-falls

⤷ bold (ft. lee know) by @hyunsvngs

⤷ movie date by @hyunsvngs

⤷ captain save-a-hoe by @hyunsvngs

⤷ 100% cotton by @prod-jeekies

⤷ caution: bus is departing by @prod-jeekies

⤷ bimbo!reader chronicles (ft. lee know) (5 parts) by @prod-jeekies

⤷ i want it (2 parts) by @dollracha

⤷ thighway to heaven by @bambizeld

⤷ perfect chemistry (5 parts) by @starlostjisung

⤷ drunken apologies by @ghostlyscripture

⤷ hypotheticals by @ghostlyscripture

⤷ my hot girlfriend series by @jj-one

⤷ inspire me, won't you ? by @lix-ables

⤷ pussy drunk jisung by @seungisms

⤷ slam down by @hanjisdoll

⤷ confident by @minniesmutt

⤷ desperate by @secretneverland

⤷ rent a boyfriend by @baby-yongbok

⤷ popularity contest by @pineapple-burgah

⤷ late night mess by @skzophreniic

⤷ advanced anatomy by @b4echo

author's note: please show some love to these authors !

⤷ n.er.d.y by @grungeham

⤷ nightlife by @bugeater101

⤷ if only I could please her by @bugeater101

⤷ pretty when you're angry (3 parts) by @lovecvrexx

⤷ noise complaint (ft. seungmin) by @midnite-fiction

⤷ deep conditioning by @kalisburnerphone

⤷ breeding kink by @dreaming-medium

⤷ fuckboy!chan by @skzophreniic

⤷ perv!boyfriend!chan by @seungisms

⤷ freak like me by @luvyeni

⤷ morning heat by @hyunniesamericano

⤷ mommy by @ybklix

⤷ felicity by @yourfavtangerine

⤷ sweetner by @channlust

⤷ his habits by @sourtae

⤷ blooming desire (3 parts) by @bibisbia

l⤷ hoodies by @chvnnie

⤷ non stop by @chvnnie

⤷ be quiet by @hyunsvngs

⤷ he's handsy by @bambizeld

⤷ sit by @fenya-scribbles

⤷ ribbon by @ghostlyscripture

⤷ five by @comet-falls

⤷ a love like this by @lix-ables

⤷ all mine by @skzdreamz

⤷ hidden in plain sight by @chrizzylikestorizzy

⤷ the revenge game by @sithskz

⤷ correct me, i dare you by @emmiesoverthemoon

⤷ ride by @chanifesto

⤷ smooth operator by @1nthedarknessofthenight

⤷ falling in love by @ghostintheclub

⤷ i wanna be yours by @hyunniesgirl

⤷ jawbreaker by @ysljoon

⤷ innocent, interrupted by @lovecvrexx

⤷ you could call me babe for the weekend (5 parts) by @starlostjisung

⤷ eyes on me by @stryscribbles

⤷ sweet like honey by @milkteabinniechan

⤷ take a seat by @pixie-felix

⤷ he's an eater by @channlust

⤷ manager by @elylyyy

⤷ double 0-7 by @sunboki

⤷ alpha by @dimthemoonstaytiny

⤷ the art of love by @lxvemaze

⤷ just the tip by @hyunniesamericano

⤷ ride my face by @hyunniesamericano

⤷ jealous by @lovecvrexx

⤷ tights by @yourfavtangerine

⤷ wrecked and ruined by @hanjinology

⤷ the knowing by @sithskz

⤷ moan for me by @channlust

⤷ andaz en mi cabeza by @kalisburnerphone

⤷ bed & breakfast by @midnite-fiction

⤷ quiet hours by @ghostintheclub

⤷ double knot by @dimthemoonstaytiny

❥ !!warnings!!: underlying mentions of sex trafficking and exploitation, some Stockholm syndrome

❥other warnings: sexual intercourse, oral (male receiving), riding, spitting, explicit/erotic dancing, pole dancing, nudity, exhibitionism, cigar smoking, provocative displays of dominance, degrading name calling

❥notice: Sweets is reader’s stripper name. Daddy Jung is what Hoseok is called because he’s a pimp, it’s like a title.

❥ word count: 5.6k

❥ song inspo: Who Hurt You - Daniel Caesar✨ [even tho we don’t stan him here🤥]

-author’s note: Yeahhhh, I haven’t been able to get over any of the members as a fine ass boss man and this song was getting to me, so here’s another one. Hope you enjoy!!!💗

——————————♡♡♡——————————

The night was busy. Fridays were always packed, especially with all different types of people, but you mainly hated dealing with the many weirdos that tried to get too much into your business or harass the hell out of you. Those kinds made your job so tiring and belittling. And then when it hit midnight, customers really wanted to act out in any way they could in the dark of the club. It was apart of your job to put up with them for the money, but, sometimes, you wanted a break from working the floor. Well, all of the time actually.

So you’re quite happy to hear your coworker, Coco, say that you were needed in Daddy Jung’s VIP section. You did not want to stay talking to the greasy ass man that kept yapping your ear off at the bar and trying to touch on you. You haven’t seen your pimp in a while either so you were ready to dip. Him asking for you was kind of serious; You figure that he is dealing with pent up frustration and doesn’t want to wait any longer.

You and Coco make an agreement on her taking over your customer for you since you have a much bigger duty to do at the moment. You don’t even tell the customer bye, immediately walking through the crowded club to the halls and taking a detour towards the back and up the stairs to the third floor. You’ve been this far up a couple of times, coming up here to dance for your pimp. The red carpeted floors, paintings of naked women on the walls, and those big, double doors at the end of the walkway taunt yet excite you—Daddy Jung’s VIP section.

A slightly gloomy feeling falls over your body as your stilettos come to a stop in front of the doors, because you hear more than one voice coming from inside the room. You smooth your hands over your loose wave wig and down your diamond-embezzled bikini top, over the waist jewelry, and matching bottoms. You’re jumpy and nervous, but you know that you need to look presentable, perfect. Especially if there are guests.

You knock.

“Come in,” a husky voice says from inside. Noticing that he didn’t ask for you to announce yourself, you know that he is expecting you.

Taking a deep breath, you reach for the silver handle and open the door, stepping into the chilled but cozy room. There’s soft music playing, and the room looks pretty lively as well with how bright the pink LED lights pour between the curtains in front of you, along with a hazy fog. You grab the velvet material after closing the door behind you and pull the curtains to the side, the entirety of the room coming into your line of sight. There’s a pole with a small stage surrounding it, a plush, ruby wrap-around couch that is positioned in front of the white and fluffy carpet, and an extra man sitting with your pimp.

Daddy Jung is sitting in his usual spot on the cushions, relaxed with one of his arms on the back of the couch and the other holding a lit cigar. His legs are spread, and he looks like the rich pimp he is with the unbuttoned silk shirt, black slacks, expensive shoes, and pretty jewelry wrapped around his neck and wrists. You don’t like that he didn’t address or introduce you to the man his attention is on. You’re guessing that you’re in the middle of a business exchange with how the unknown pimp is dressed up, too, looking about twenty years older than Daddy Jung and smoking a cigar with him.

You don’t say anything because it’s not your place to. You just pull the red curtain back and walk in as silently as you can to not disturb them. The music is loud enough for you to still hear, so you take your position on the small, glass stage, your hand clenching the cold pole. And you dance.

You’re soft and mild at first, sashaying around the pole, body rolling against the cold metal, rubbing your mostly bare skin over it to the R&B music leaving the speakers built into the walls. You hope that one of them is at least looking your way. You liked being watched while working the pole, but you and others were mainly treated as background noise in positions like this. You thought Daddy Jung wanted you to be his stress reliever tonight... It makes you a bit irritated that the middle aged man is stealing glances at you doing tricks on the pole instead of your boss who is more focused on that cigar. You keep your composure though, not wanting to bust your ass while you’re spinning around on the metal with your legs open into a split, using good core strength.

Your ears try to catch their conversation, but you’re still learning Daddy Jung’s first language, Korean, so it’s kind of hard to listen and translate in your head while shaking your ass to the music at the same time. You decide it’s best to give your pimp his privacy; he will pay attention to you soon, you hope.

Your legs go back to wrapping around the pole, this time circling your way up to the top of it, utilizing your hands and ankles to get you high. The twirl you do is graceful and executed perfectly. And so is the spin on the way down, sliding onto your thighs into a flawless split. When you glance across the room towards the men, you notice that the older one is still watching you intently while nursing his smoke. Even with the one and only Daddy Jung speaking to him. You want to laugh or tell him to fuck off, because you’re not in the mood to play the stupid game of chase with him like you do all your clients. He’s good looking for his age, but he’s not the man with your heart in his hand sitting a few feet away from him. You decide to still play along. Some attention was better than none.

You keep a sultry gaze on him as you bring your legs adorned in white lace stockings and garters slowly together, then move onto your knees so that your back is facing him. You know that he can see the Daddy Jung tattooed right above your tailbone and diamond thong. Your hands graze up your torso to untie the skimpy top from around your back and neck, peeling it away from your chest. A smirk jumps to your mouth when you remember some weirdo tugging on it earlier. At least Daddy Jung would be one of the first to see your breasts for tonight.

The diamond encrusted top is forgotten on the side of the stage as you stand up in a provocative way, arching your back and catching between your thighs with your fingers to caress them. You swear that you now feel more than the one set of eyes on your frame now. You’re right when you hear the middle aged pimp say something to yours that you can’t really understand. All you can catch are the words “I” and “see”. Maybe if your pimp wasn’t so busy all the time he could help you advance in learning the main language spoken around here.

You circle the pole with a pout at your thoughts until your name is called. By Daddy Jung. “Sweets.”

Your walk comes to a slow as you blink up to the other side of the room. Both of them are looking at you, actually at your exposed tits, then all over your body, and then your face. You barely spare a glance at the older pimp. You’re staring at your own for a bit too long as he brings the cigar up with ringed fingers and puffs on it. You forget how breathtaking he really is.

“C’mere,” your pimp orders as he blows the smoke from his mouth, his glare cutting through a gelled strand of stray hair over his left eye. You want to smile so hard considering that he wants you closer to him...

You slowly blink away from Daddy Jung and towards the new man. He’s watching you closely, too, but with more curiosity and what seems to be lust. You know you look good and everything, but you don’t actually want him to get you for the night... unless Daddy Jung wants that, you guess. Your hand slips away from the pole.

You step off the stage and confidently make your way to them, the heels of your stilettos digging into the plush, fluffy rug in the middle of the pink-lit room that leads to the couch. Daddy Jung’s face breaks out into one of the sexiest smirks you’ve ever seen as you strut your way towards them with a swing in your hips, keeping it cute.

Daddy Jung is even more breathtaking up close. His skin is a pretty, sun-kissed tan, and his eyes are so captivating beneath those dark eyebrows. You can’t forget the unique mole on his top lip either... He has been able to employ so many women just by his looks alone, just like he did you.

Your six inch pumps stop when you’re close enough, standing as poised as you can in front of him and what you assume to be another pimp trying to buy you for a fun night. You hope that you get to please your pimp before you leave with someone else and don’t get to dance for him for another few days.

Daddy Jung begins to speak to you in Korean, a bit slowly and motioning with the cigar in his hand to help with your comprehension of the foreign language. “Turn around, Sweets.” You think that it’s his deep and sexy voice or the smoking that makes you a bit shy, but then you realize why he’d told you to do that. If you could blush, your face would be as red as the couch is when you do what he says and turn around.

You sense Daddy Jung shift, leaning forward. One of his jeweled hands splays across the top of your ass before he hooks a finger into the string of your thong, pulling it aside and exposing you to the cold air of the room. No matter how many times he does this, you still get a bit insecure, but then you’re reminded that you don’t need to be when you hear the other pimp mumble something that sounds like interest. You guess that Daddy Jung tucks his cigar back between his lips, because you feel his other hand come up empty to hold your left cheek apart while he uses his thumb to spread your lower lips. You really can’t hold back the urge to clench when his fingers brush over both holes to show them off.

“Hmm,” the unknown man hums aloud, even more interested and invested in you now. “She is new?”

Daddy Jung puts the thin string of material back in its place over your privacy, patting your cheeks to get you to turn back around. You’re ecstatic when he pats his right leg and motions for you to sit down on his pretty thighs. Yes... And you slide right into his lap, his right arm swinging loosely around your waist.

“A couple of months new,” Daddy Jung answers, taking his cigar out from between his teeth and going back to smoking on it. You’re stuck on staring at the sharp line of his jaw and the way his mouth moves when he licks over his lips. “Foreign,” he adds. You’d learned that word quickly.

“I see,” the man looks you up and down, admiring the garters on your brown legs. He catches your eyes. “I’m Daddy Park. Sweets, right?”

Before you respond, you look at Daddy Jung, who’s already staring at the side of your face, for permission. He gives you a serious eyebrow tilt. “It’s Mr. Park, for you.”

You’re not surprised that your pimp won’t let you call another one by the Daddy title. It is honestly disrespectful to not refer to all pimps by it, but Daddy Jung did not like that shit. And what he said by you, went.

You take Daddy Jung’s permission and bow your head a bit at the other pimp, Mr. Park, with a smile. “It’s nice to meet you, Mr. Park. And it is Sweets,” you say, making sure you pronounce your words correctly.

He returns the smile, not blowing his head out over you blatantly disrespecting his title. He obviously wants to stay on your pimp’s good side. “So, why the name Sweets?”

The room goes quiet except for the R&B songs still playing in the background. Oh. He is still talking to you. You glance over at Daddy Jung, but he doesn’t say anything, continuing to finish his cigar. He’s letting you speak freely with the client.

You answer Mr. Park with a bat of your false eyelashes. “Because I taste sweet.”

Mr. Park raises a cocky eyebrow, and your professional instincts make you fake a laugh and give him a lip bite, presenting your body a bit more to him “nonchalantly” with an arch in your spine. He notices it and quickly glances down at your bare chest again. He wants you.

“I bet,” he says. Looking at him closer like this, he is very handsome. You probably wouldn’t have to fake anything with him if he gets past Daddy Jung. “You do look... tasty.”

You just give him another smile, seeing a cloud of smoke pass between you both. Your pimp is still blazing, but with how he clicks his tongue in a thinking tone, you know it’s time for you to stop talking now.

“She does look good, doesn’t she?” Daddy Jung questions, deciding that he’s done with his smoke session and then reaching to the empty spot next to the wrap around couch where a tiny glass table stands with an ashtray. He holds your waist so that you don’t fall off of his lap as he stubs the cigar out. He ends up tapping your butt cheek to get you to move anyways, maneuvering you to straddle his hips instead. His favorite position.

You hear Mr. Park clear his throat. “She does. I was interested in your other whores, but she is really... something.”

You tune out the beginning of a new conversation as you come eye to eye with Daddy Jung’s neck while you get comfortable around his waist. That damn Adam’s apple... the necklaces... his cologne... you want to bite his tan skin, kiss it. He won’t care. And Mr. Park will just see it as you being the whore you are, always loving on your pimp. So you have no shame when you press your hips closer to Daddy Jung’s and bend your head down to start kissing and sucking on the right side of his neck. The thought of him sliding his fingers over your cunt a few minutes ago crosses your mind, and you start thinking about them in you.

Please... don’t let this man buy me. Not for tonight. You want to cater to your own pimp, not someone else’s.

Your make out session with Daddy Jung’s now gloss-smudged neck is interrupted when your ears fix onto the Korean conversation being passed back and forth. One question makes you tense so much that you slightly pull away and look over at Mr. Park, because he’d asked:

“How much does she sell for?”

“50 to 75k. 200k if it involves sexual intercourse...” Daddy Jung responds. You feel his fingers lightly ghosting over your tramp stamp as you bring your hands to his shoulders. You’re sneaking your fingers down the exposed skin of his collarbone and upper chest. “She’s clean, of course. I’m the only one who’s been inside her raw...”

Mr. Park lets out a small chuckle. You think it’s because he doesn’t believe that, but it’s true. However, he was laughing because he was misunderstood. “I meant to have her—”

Daddy Jung barely lets him finish that sentence. “She’s not for sale.” The bite in his answer is disrespectful, the tone infuriated. The anger came quickly.

Mr. Park finally moves to put out the cigar he’s been lost attention to, stubbing it out next to your pimp’s and leaning forward on the couch as if he means business. You feel Daddy Jung’s tight grip at your hips. “I know that she’s your top whore and everything, but...” Mr. Park thinks deeply for a second. “...Millions. I’ll give you that much. Just for her.”

“I said that she’s not for sale.” Daddy Jung repeats a bit more sternly, remaining stubborn over you. You don’t know why Mr. Park would think your pimp would sell his top money maker. Well, it kind of surprises you, too. You’re worth a lot, yet Daddy Jung always makes it like this: impossible for anyone to actually have you.

Mr. Park shows that he is just as stubborn by begging to bargain. “You said that you’ve only been inside her unprotected... And how much would that be?”

“Priceless.”

“Hmm,” Mr. Park nods, sitting back but looking so salty and a bit disappointed. His eyes are raking over your form curled up on Daddy Jung, trying to think about what else he could do to get your pimp to sell you off. You don’t react when he says, “I’ll invest a billion won... Or in American dollars like you like. That’s a lot, you know?”

Your pimp doesn’t react either, ignoring the large amount that would be promised. He’s too busy trailing his hands over your half naked body to even look at Mr. Park. But he still gives the other pimp a piece of his mind.

“Are nine zeroes supposed to make me get on my knees and suck your dick for you as thanks for wanting her?”

Daddy Jung is so harsh with his words that you actually feel bad for the other pimp. Your pimp isn’t really fair at most times, and you knew that Mr. Park was frustrated. So you just send him a soft yet sad smile, though you couldn’t give two fucks about him not being able to buy you for sex. It’s all about selling them the fantasy that you or the other women want them indefinitely.

Mr. Park continues to fight for you though. “I do want her, and I am serious about the billion. She is new and barely touched; That is kind of hard to find around here.”

“Barely touched by other men,” Daddy Jung corrects him. “She sells highly under my name, because she’s mine. Shaped to my liking...” Daddy Jung looks away from your bare chest to pull on a thinking face. “Are you telling me that... you really think so lowly of me to believe I would sell my top bitch to you?”

“Not if I am giving you so much for her,” Mr. Park answers a bit slowly as if he knows he’s treading on thin ice with your pimp. He is. If he says something out of line, Daddy Jung will continue to bite him out. “I would think you to be smart if you took my offer.”

Well then.

The chuckle that erupts from Daddy Jung’s chest from below your finger tips is menacing and comical. Kind of dark. You’re not scared, but Mr. Park should be. The older man is quick to falter back with anxious eyes when your pimp stops laughing and just sits there and glares daggers at him. He should have shut up. Now Daddy Jung wants to play back.

“Let me show you something, Mr. Park...” he begins. “Why your money is useless compared to my obedient bitch... Sweets.” You perk up at your name, ready to do whatever he tells you. “On your knees.”

You unlatch yourself from him and slide off of his lap and onto the floor. He’s already spreading his legs to give you room between them. You’re actually happy that Mr. Park ticked him off. Your mouth is watering when Daddy Jung says, “You know what to do...” because, yeah, you do.

Your hard nipples brush against the pricey material of his slacks as you slide your hands over his thighs and to the button, so excited that you can’t take your time. You don’t notice, but Daddy Jung looks down at you with admiration as you expose his hardening member to the air as fast as you can. His dick is like your favorite toy yet something so delicate at the same time. You’re his favorite for a reason.

Daddy Jung clenches his jaw at the first swipe of your tongue against his swollen head, and you feel the tightening in his thighs, a smirk growing on your face. Your pimp doesn’t care about your arrogance as you lick him to full length. You deserve to feel that pride. Especially when you teasingly take him down your throat for a few seconds and then pull away, a dopey look on your face as you break the spit webs connecting your lips to his dick with your tongue. He likes that shit.

What he doesn’t like is when you take your attention off of him. To flirt with Mr. Park. The only reason he’s not going flaccid is because it’s you playing in his lap. His anger gets stronger while he watches you fool around with the other pimp by batting your lashes at him with his dick down your throat. You’re too good at that “always please the clients” rule...

Daddy Jung’s moan gains your attention again, and he subtlety puts his hand under your chin to get you to make full eye contact with him. Your eyes are dilated, and you look so aroused. Oh, you’re good good. Again, why you’re number one around here.

Your pimp has to grip your chin harder this time to pull you off of him before he gets too into it. Mr. Park won’t be seeing all that... He just wanted to show him a little preview to rub it in his face.

“Such a good girl,” Daddy Jung praises, leaning forward to peck you on your puckered lips, squeezing your cheeks a bit more to get you to open your mouth. You obey. He puckers his own lips next to allow a glob of spit to slide out. Once it pools on your tongue, you swallow it all with a damn moan. Daddy Jung smirks at you as he leans back on the couch. “Cute.”

Mr. Park is quiet. Only because he wants that. Because he wants you. He’s jealous. And then when you stand back up at Daddy Jung’s tap on his leg, he’s analyzing how good you look and how gorgeous you are, all the exposed brown skin, the hoops in your ears, the stubborn sparkles on your lips from your now long gone gloss... Mr. Park can’t blame Daddy Jung. He, too, would not sell you for any amount of money in the world.

Mr. Park is one of many pimps that have come to Daddy Jung’s place of business and tried to buy you. They fail every time, simply because you are exclusively your pimp’s. He brings you out to make a joke of them, or even to show his greatest catch off. It’s sexy that he sees and treats you of such high importance. It gets you wet all the time.

“She is... she—“ Mr. Park clears his throat as you slide back into Daddy Jung’s lap. “Wow.”

“Mhm,” your pimp hums, nowhere near interested in the older pimp and instead fondling with your breasts again. He’s so hard beneath you. “She’s off the table,” he adds. It seems as if you will be leaving the room satisfied tonight.

You hear Mr. Park let out a chuckle, though you know he doesn’t think any of this is funny. You don’t care. You’re wrapping your arms around Daddy Jung’s neck and pushing yourself up on his erection. He is fucking you tonight.

“Shame... I really wanted her,” Mr. Park confesses.

“The line is already long,” Daddy Jung states. “And unmoving.”

“Understandable.”

“Good,” your pimp shrugs, tracing a line from your chest to the string of your thong. “Now... if you could excuse us? That’d be nice.”

The older pimp nods and bows his head respectfully, remaining professional and getting up from the couch. You can make out the sadness all over his face. “Of course. Thanks for having me, Jung.” Mr. Park sends you a petty wink. “Sweets.”

You don’t respond. You just watch him walk his way past the stage and out of the VIP room as Daddy Jung tells him one of his guards will escort him out of the building. Another one bites the dust.

Once the curtains are closed and the door sounds, your pimp tilts your head back towards him. “I should bend you over my damn lap.”

You bite your lip at the threat to which he glances down at. You want him to. You’re wetting up this thong so mine as well ruin it even more. “I... didn’t do anything, sir...”

“Yeah? You’re everything but sweet...” he says, hand dropping down to your neck to bring you closer. “Only thing sweet on you is my pussy. You’re evil...” Daddy Jung glances back and forth between both of your eyes, looking for any signs of objection but doesn’t find any. “Why were you fucking playing with him like that? Letting him think he’ll ever get the chance to fuck what’s mine?”

You just grin at him like you’re crazy, because you kind of are over this man that bought your life. He’s jealous, too, even though he’s the one that has you. You were just doing your job. “You’re the one always trying to sell me...”

“As bait to get them to leave me and my women alone,” Daddy Jung growls at your response, letting go of your neck to reach down and get your bottoms off. You lift up off of his lap to help get them past one of your heels. “I’d never sell you.”

“Not for a couple of millions,” you tease, your hands finding his hair as he pulls your waist closer to him like he’s mad.

“Not for anything,” he clarifies as he reaches down to line himself up with your heat. “You’re priceless to me.”

“Okay, Daddy Jung,” you respond, making sure to give him a bratty pout. “But I thought you wanted me to come and dance for you... so you could watch me? I worked on new moves for you.”

“You can practice them on my dick, Sweets.”

Your hands grab ahold of his wavy locks as he pushes all the way inside your warmth. His face is pressed up against your chest while you moan into his hair, rocking your hips to adjust. Daddy Jung’s ringed fingers dig into the meat of your tramp stamp as he starts fucking you on him.

“Daddy’s,” he groans possession against your neck, sucking over the ambrosial, brown skin. “Mine.”

“Y-Yes, yours.”

He gets his feel of you for a minute or two before he relaxes back to cool off, the hands on your nude body coaxing you to listen to his next order. “Show me.”

You can’t exactly treat his cock like it’s a pole no matter how thick and sturdy it is, but that doesn’t stop you from riding him like he is one, rotating and grinding your hips against him sensually to the music. His hands squeeze around your skilled torso as you keep balance with your hold on the spot between his neck and shoulder.

“Sexy ass,” Daddy Jung says before guiding your laced legs further apart so he can see more. He slides his fingers over your clit and drags his lips up to yours. You melt when his tongue slips inside.

You let him reign dominance over your mouth while he glides you up and down his dick the way he likes. You want to cry at how it feels so right and good with him. His scent, his touch... You want him all.

He bites your bottom lip and tugs it to get your attention. You pause your movement, sitting back on his lap with him still inside of you. Daddy Jung kisses your lips before you can question anything. You confusedly watch as he finishes undoing the first few buttons of his shirt, exposing more tan and perfect skin to your eyes.

You catch sight of his left pierced nipple, already planning on sucking on the bar, but something else catches your gaze when his long and blinged out fingers pull the silk shirt further away from his pectoral. Your eyes can’t believe the ink curving on the side of his rib cage in pretty lines and curls.

$WEET$

“Yours,” he says.

You blink fast and squint to make sure you’re not seeing things, and to be even more sure, you reach forward to brush over one of the dollar signs. It’s not coming off; The skin around it is raised and a bit pink. A real tattoo. A few days old.

“D-... Daddy Jung... I...?” You don’t know what to say to him about this. You weren’t expecting it, nor ever thought about it. The branding was for pimps’ women only, basically like an identification to indicate which woman belonged to whom. Your tattoo was given by force, but you’ve grown to embrace your pimp’s brand these past few months. No pimp would get a tattoo of any of his women’s name. Not only because they weren’t ours, but because women were bound to be tossed around from pimp to pimp, not subject to just one forever.

Daddy Jung had chosen to get your name on him. It looks so sexy, too. The dollar signs give it character, and the black, cursive font pulls everything together. You want to smile, but you don’t know what it means. His skin is free of any tattoos of any of his other women, your coworkers. You’re still confused looking at it.

“Yours,” Daddy Jung repeats, speaking in Korean slowly just in case you didn’t understand the first time. You glance up at him, moving your hand away from the tattoo and back to the sides of his face.

“Why...?”

He smiles as you peck over his lips, grabbing handfuls of your backside and pulling you closer. You’re fairly recent around here, so he doesn’t expect you to completely get it yet. “Only mine,” he tries.

You look back down at the tattoo. He traces yours on the skin of your lower back. You think you put two and two together then. “Oh.” You have a tattoo of his name, and you’re his. Now he has a tattoo of your name... so he is yours? You touch the ink again, but Daddy Jung grabs your hand to kiss the tips of your fingers.

“You’re Daddy’s favorite,” he states, to further get it through your head. He puts his palms back on your hips to make you start moving again, and you do, your mouth falling open in erotic noises. You feel different on his lap now because of the new piece of learned information. So you ride him until your legs are aching. Daddy Jung cums inside of you as an award for your great work for the day. You cum with your mouth to his ear and fingers in his locks. You don’t even want to get off of him when one of the bodyguards pops his head in to tell your pimp that he has somewhere to be.

“I will see you later, Sweets,” he says as he buttons his top up. You get another glimpse of the tattoo of your name before it’s covered. Maybe this also means you will see him more.

His slacks are zipped up next. You sit naked—except your heels—watching him from the side on the couch. He tilts your chin further up to focus on him. “You’ll go up to my room after you clean and dress. I don’t want any other man touching all up on you for the rest of the night.”

You nod when you make sense of his directions, leaning into his scorching touch. “Yes, Daddy Jung.”

He smiles and kisses your lips, using the arm he has behind you to pull you closer. “Good girl. But Daddy wants to watch you one more time on the pole before this meeting. Wanna see you dance naked with my cum dripping out of you.”

You get an excited glint in your eyes. At the word naked, you go to take off your heels to get your lace stockings off, but he stops you there, telling you to “keep them on” and “get your sexy ass on that pole...”

You’re walk to the stage is more thrilled than sexy. You’re just happy to be dancing for him. Alone. With his eyes on you the entire time again.

Daddy Jung sparks another cigar while you execute a tempting form with one of your legs up against the pole, your body perfectly aligned in the standing split as you spin around. His name easily visible in delicate cursive at the bottom of your spine reminds him that other clients and pimps can see it, too.

He pushes his thoughts to the side and sends you a smirk when he catches you wanting his full attention again, letting you know that he’s watching.

That’s the only tattoo of a pimp’s name you will ever get. He will make sure of it.

it had been a few months since you found out your boyfriend was spider-man.

a few months of processing. a few months of adjusting. a few months of realizing your academically gifted nerd was not only a secret superhero but also extremely smart in ways that made you want to file a complaint against the universe.

jisung designed his own suit and engineered half the tiny gadgets in his room from spare parts he borrowed from the university lab. and somehow still couldn’t remember where he left his airpods. somehow, you had also become his personal medic. he’d collapse onto your bed, half asleep, and let you clean him up, trusting you to handle it while he drifted off like nothing hurt.

you weren’t fully used to it—no one gets used to dating spider-man—but it wasn’t as crazy to you anymore. half the time he climbed through your window at 3 a.m. mumbling “baby i think the sewer mutant broke my rib” while you were brushing your teeth.

so yeah. you’d adjusted.

and not just to him. to the rest of it too.

weird robots weren’t rare anymore. property damage became so routine that your campus group chat now had a weekly “whose lecture hall did spider-man accidentally barricade this time?” poll. entire streets got blocked off because something exploded again. crime waves kept coming in bizarre batches. 

your city wasn’t the predictable, peaceful seoul you grew up with. everyone knew that now. and you knew it more than most.

most mornings, walking to your physics lecture felt like a coin toss.

maybe he’d be there. maybe he’d be dangling off a building three blocks away. maybe he’d be asleep on his couch with an ice pack taped to his ribs. you never knew, and weirdly, that stopped bothering you a while ago. you were used to it.

you pushed open the lecture hall doors and angled toward your usual row, already mentally preparing for the disappointment. it was fine if he wasn’t there. absolutely, totally fine. you’d sit. you’d take notes. you’d text him later something casual like hey did you survive today and he’d reply with a selfie from somewhere medically concerning.

then you looked up.

your seat. a familiar dusty backpack was dumped onto it as a territorial marker. there was an open notebook on the desk, half filled with notes. a pen between fingers. 

there he was.

jisung looked up at the exact same moment you did, and his face changed instantly. his eyes lit up. 

he scrambled immediately. fumbled with his stuff. yanked his bag off your chair, nearly dropped it, whispered a frantic sorry sorry like you’d caught him committing a crime instead of saving you a seat. you walked up the steps grinning to yourself.

you slid into the chair beside him, your tote landing at your feet.

he opened his mouth like he was about to say something. probably a lot of things. you could see it lining up behind his eyes already.

you didn’t give him the chance yet. you wrapped your arms around him, cheek pressing into his shoulder, like your body got there before your brain could remember all the reasons you were usually weird about PDA.

he froze for half a second.

then he let out a soft, surprised chuckle, sounding more pleased than he was trying to be, and slid his arm around you. he bent his head and pressed a kiss into your hair.

“i missed you too,” he said quietly.

“i didn’t know if you’d come,” you admitted.

he huffed a laugh under his breath. “y/n, i’m not skipping the lecture on curved spacetime.”

you pulled back just enough to look at him with a smile. “fair.”

you finally let go, tugging your notebook out of your tote. he watched you for a second longer than necessary, expression soft and a little guilty, then looked back down at his notes.

“you missed the last two,” you said, flipping to a fresh page. “we started lagrangians and generalized coordinates. it’s not forgiving if you fall behind.”

“yeah,” he said. “i noticed that when i realized my textbook notes just say ‘ask y/n’ with hearts beside it”

you glanced at him with your pen between your teeth. “wow. incredible study strategy.”

“hasn’t failed me yet,” he said, then hesitated. “but i do actually need help catching up.”

“mhm,” you said, uncapping your pen with your mouth. “we can do that tonight.”

he went quiet after that. 

you waited a beat, then another, before tilting your head. “…or is tonight full of duties?” 

he shook his head quickly. “no, no, tonight’s good. i was just thinking.”

you leaned your head into your hand and turned fully toward him, elbow on the armrest, giving him your complete and undivided attention.

he stalled immediately. his eyes flicked over your face like he forgot what language he spoke. the thin navy sweater you were wearing fit you in that unfair way that made you look so pretty and put together and completely distracting. his brain short-circuited.

he let out a small, nervous chuckle. you raised an eyebrow, amused.

he cleared his throat and tried again. “we just… haven’t really gotten to see each other much lately. like, properly. so i was wondering if you wanna go out tonight?”

“yes,” you said instantly. “we can go to that place near campus that only opens after eight, perfect for studying.”

he blinked. “no,” he said, laughing. “i mean, yes, eventually. but i meant like… dinner. somewhere nice.”

“oh,” you said, the word soft and surprised.

his smile turned teasing. “yeah. no textbooks. no laptops. just you and me.”

you swallowed, suddenly very aware of the way your heart had started beating faster. it had honestly been so long since you and jisung had gone out to dinner like that. not because he never wanted to—he had, especially in high school—but somewhere between university and spiderman duties bleeding into every corner of your time, your “dates” had turned into being together all the time instead. studying side by side. eating whatever was closest. 

“yes!” you blurted, a little too loud because the people in front of you turned around.

his eyes widened, amused. “yes?”

you nodded quickly, lowering your voice. “yes,” you mouthed.

his grin spread, bright and giddy, and he reached over, squeezing your hand once. you squeezed back, smiling down at your notes, trying and failing to focus as the lecture began.

mina was sprawled comfortably on your bed, shoes kicked off and your desk chair stolen for her bag. she always treated your place like a second home and showed up whenever she felt like it, especially because you had your own bathroom. you obviously didn’t mind. she was your best friend, and she always brought life into your room.

you tugged lightly at the hem of the top you just changed into.

mina looked up.

“oh my god,” she said. “you’re so hot i might actually bite you.”

you scrunched your nose. “thanks.”

the off shoulder white top was way nicer than anything you usually wore to class. paired with the black pleated skirt and boots. you’d bought the top for a conference months ago and then panicked last minute, convinced bare shoulders were somehow too much. only to show up and realize everyone else had theirs out like it was nothing. 

“yeah. he’s not surviving this.” she grinned, then tilted her head. “wait. are you matching?”

you blinked. “with him? i don’t know what he’s wearing.”

she rolled her eyes. “no. you. underneath.”

“oh,” you said, the realization hitting. you laughed. “oh. yes. of course i am.”

“good,” mina said, flopping back onto your bed. “because if this turns into anything like the last time seojun took me out…”

you groaned. “do not bring your feral boyfriend into my pre date nerves.”

she ignored you completely. “i’m serious. animal behavior. no decorum. zero shame. we were in public.”

you grabbed the nearest pillow and launched it at her. she laughed, muffled, tossing the pillow back at you.

then, one knock came. 

four more. a pause. another three.

mina blinked, sitting up. “who knocks like that,” she said flatly. “what a weirdo.”

“shut up.”

you crossed your room, palms suddenly warm, and reached for the door.

then you opened it.

jisug was there.

white button up, black tie. slacks sitting just right on his hips with a belt you absolutely noticed.

your brain lagged and so did his.

“you’re so beautiful, y/n,” he said softly, slipping out before he could stop it.

you smiled and stepped closer, one hand lifting to his jaw. you kissed him once, quick and warm. then he inhaled, lips parting, and he kissed you back. 

you pulled back. “hi.”

he smiled, a little dazed. “hi.” 

he brought his hand forward from behind his back.

the flowers came into view. small blue blooms tucked between red roses, dotted with tiny white buds. 

you gasped. “jisung.”

“too much?” he asked quickly. “i panicked a little. but it’s still romantic. i think.”

you laughed and kissed his cheek. “they’re perfect.”

you took the flowers from him carefully and stepped aside, already heading toward the counter to get a vase. he followed you in, watching you fuss with the stems. 

you filled the vase at your bathroom sink and set the flowers down on your desk, then paused.

you turned slowly. “jisung. these are very specific colors.”

he let out a quiet chuckle behind you.

before you could press him on it, mina wandered into the bathroom.

jisung groaned the second he saw her. “oh. of course you’re here.”

she snorted. “what a dick,” she said, then reached up and smacked the back of his head.

you laughed, watching them glare at each other, the bouquet bright on the counter and your heart feeling full.

“are you ready?” jisung asked, glancing at you.

you nodded, grabbing your bag and slipping your boots on. “yeah.”

mina waved a hand at both of you. “i’ll lock up, y/n” she said.

you both called goodbye at the same time and she shooed you out, laughing as the door closed behind you.

by the time dessert came out, the plates from dinner were long gone. you’d both been yapping nonstop. stories. jokes. tangents that spiraled into other tangents. a slice of cheesecake sat between you. you’d agreed to share it and immediately abandoned any sense of structure, forks crossing as you stole bites from opposite sides. 

at some point the conversations fizzled out. the noise of the restaurant softened into background hum. your fork hovered over the plate, then lowered without taking a bite.

you traced the edge of the plate with your fork. “do you ever think about what we’re supposed to do after we graduate?”

he blinked, surprised. 

then he leaned back in his chair, eyes flicking up toward the ceiling like the answer might be written there. “all the time.”

you looked up at him. “really.”

“yeah,” he said. “i try not to, but it sneaks up on me. like when i’m doing homework or… eating cheesecake.”

you smiled faintly.

he let out a quiet breath and shrugged a little, fingers absently nudging the edge of the plate. “i don’t really know what i want yet.”

you reached across the table without thinking, your fingers brushing the watch on his wrist. “that makes two of us.”

he tilted his head. “yeah?”

“i used to be so sure,” you admitted. “and now i’m studying all this stuff and realizing there’s so much out there.”

he leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table, eyes warm and earnest. “whatever you end up doing, you’re gonna be incredible at it. i know that.”

you smiled, the kind that crept in slowly and stayed. “don’t say that so confidently.”

he reached across the table anyway, fingers closing around yours like it was the most natural thing in the world. he lifted your hand, pressed a soft kiss to your knuckles.

“it’s true,” he said simply. “i know you.”

your chest warmed.

“do you think you’re gonna stay here?” he asked.

you glanced down at the plate again. at the smear of cheesecake. your mind did that thing it always did lately, flipping through images you never asked for. sirens echoing down main roads. buildings taped off. people whispering about moving somewhere quieter. safer. somewhere that didn’t make the news every other week.

everyone was thinking about leaving the city.

you’d heard it in lecture halls and cafés and half drunk conversations at parties. 

you took a breath.

“yeah,” you said. “i do.”

he stared at you, genuinely stunned. “you’re serious.”

you nodded. “i know it’s dangerous. I get first hand experience from you of telling me just how dangerous it is. i know it’s loud and unpredictable but this is my home.”

he shook his head a little, like he was trying to recalibrate. “most people can’t wait to get out.”

“i know,” you said. “that’s all anyone talks about.”

he looked down at your joined hands, thumb brushing over your knuckles.

“you don’t ever wish it was safer?” he asked.

“sometimes,” you admitted. “when it’s so loud outside at night i can’t sleep.”

he nodded slowly, still not looking up. 

you squeezed his hand, a little tighter. “but… you’re here.”

his thumb stilled.

“you’re here,” you said again, softer because you’re getting into the topic of his identity. “and you’re protecting it.”

“y/n—”

“i know you can’t just leave,” you said, rushing a little now, nerves creeping in. “so if you’re here, then i don’t want to be anywhere else. i don’t want a future that doesn’t include this city if it means it doesn’t include you.”

the restaurant noise faded completely for him. “are you being serious right now?”

you nodded. “completely.”

his eyes searched your face, like he was trying to find the joke. when he didn’t, his voice came out carefully. “are you saying you wanna stay because of me?”

“i’m saying i’m staying with you,” you said. “wherever that actually ends up being.”

he swallowed hard. “you’re saying that like it’s… long term.”

you laughed quietly, nerves and excitement tangled together. “is that scary?”

“a little,” he said honestly. then his mouth curved into a stunned smile. “but also kind of amazing.” he paused, then said it, half joking and half not at all. “are you saying you wanna spend the rest of your life with me?”

you didn’t hesitate. “yeah. i am.”

he squeezed your hand again, excitement bubbling through him now. “so like. hypothetically.”

“mhm.”

“someday,” he said, trying and failing to sound casual, “would you want to get married.”

you smiled so hard your cheeks hurt. 

his grin went wide and giddy. “really.”

“really.”

he let out a breath that sounded like he’d been holding it for years. “we used to joke about it all the time back in highschool. but i meant it.”

your chest tightened.

“i’m serious now,” he added quietly. “like… actually serious.”

you searched his face, then smiled, soft and steady. “me too.”

he hesitated, then laughed under his breath, nerves leaking through. “i’ll do it for real someday.”

you raised an eyebrow. “do what.”

“you know,” he said, cheeks warming. “proposing.”

“as long as you don’t do it during finals week.”

“i’d never.” he snorted. 

you smiled, warmth blooming in your chest. you finally picked up your fork again and took another bite of cheesecake. 

it tasted even sweeter than before.

you were starting to think the matching lingerie had definitely been the right call.

jisung’s door shut behind you with a soft click. his jacket was half-off his shoulders, but he hadn’t bothered with it before you were on him, pulling him in by the front of his shirt and kissing him like dinner had been a century ago. which, fair. your boyfriend was stupid hot. criminally unaware of it, too, which made him even hotter. 

his mouth crashed into yours as his dick jumped. he’d be lying if he said he’d hadn’t been semi bricked since he handed you those flowers three hours ago. his lips dragged slow across yours before returning hard again, like he couldn’t decide between savoring and starving. his hands found your waist fast, then moved down, pressing into the dip of your spine, dragging your hips flush to his with a low groan.

you reached for his tie without breaking the kiss, fingers curling into the loose knot. it was still done all neat from dinner, but that lasted maybe two more seconds. you tugged—harder than you meant to—and the soft whine that tore from him in response went straight to your core.

“y/n,” he breathed, lips brushing yours as his eyes flicked open just barely, “you’re unreal.”

you loosened the knot with one hand, sliding the silky fabric from his collar, your other hand already dragging down his chest, feeling the press of lean muscle under crisp cotton. you swear he was getting noticeably buffer by the day. you were starting to think all this neighborhood-saving, wall-crawling, car-lifting spidey business was doing you a favour. because every time he crashed through your window lately, that suit looked a little tighter.

he shrugged his jacket off with a bit too much urgency—nearly gotten stuck in one sleeve—and laughed against your mouth. 

you backed him up into his bedroom, both of you half-stumbling over the edge of the rug. his legs bumped the side of the bed, and you pressed forward until he dropped onto it with a soft oof, eyes wide, hair mussed already from your fingers. his chest rose and fell, the shirt a little wrinkled now, the top few buttons undone from your impatient hands.

“come here,” he murmured, voice hoarse.

you climbed into his lap without needing the invitation twice, hands braced on his shoulders, knees on either side of his hips, and his mouth found your throat instantly. warm lips dragged under your jaw, tongue dipping into the hollow behind your ear, and your fingers tangled in his hair like you’d been aching to touch him for hours.

you giggled as his nose nuzzled your neck like he was trying to live there, warm puffs of breath hitting just below your ear, and he groaned quietly when your fingers scraped his scalp just right. you were both straddling that gorgeous edge between desperation and softness, so tangled up in each other it was like you were breathing in sync. his lips brushed your jaw, your throat, lower, and then back up again like he couldn’t decide where to land.

“spidey,” you whispered, tugging at his hair gently to make him look at you.

he lifted his head immediately, flushed and glowing, hair sticking up in ridiculous directions, and he blinked at you. 

“yeah?” he said, and there was a smile curling at the edge of his mouth.

your fingers rested at the back of his neck, the other sliding to the open collar of his shirt. his tie still half-hanging, loosened by your earlier tug, and you glanced at it, then at him.

“i love you,” you said. it was probably the gazillionth time you said it to him since dinner. but it never lost its meaning.

“i love you too,” he said, without even hesitating. his smile deepened, gaze fixed on you like you were all he wanted to see. “so much, baby.”

his hand slipped under your top, fingers spreading wide against your back. he kissed you again like he was drinking you in. you moaned when he kissed you deeper, and he responded with a soft noise of his own, hips shifting under yours.

“god, you’re so pretty,” he whispered between kisses, voice breaking on the last word. his fingers threaded through your hair, then slid to your waist, holding you like he didn’t want to let go. “you always are. but tonight—fuck, y/n…”

you hummed against his mouth, tugging the tie the rest of the way off. he helped you with it, slipping it from around his neck and tossing it blindly toward the floor without ever taking his eyes off you.

“you like it?” you murmured, brushing your lips along his cheek, then back to his mouth. 

he groaned a little, pulling you tighter into his lap, and he nodded, like words weren’t even good enough. “i’ve been losing my mind since the second you opened the door. that top, your boots, i didn’t even know i had a thing for skirts and now i’m never gonna recover.”

you laughed, wrapping your arms tighter around his shoulders. 

you felt him breathe you in, his nose nudging your pulse point before he exhaled, voice barely audible. “god, i’m so in love with you.”

your hands found his hair again and he let you guide him, let you lean him back onto the bed, mouths never parting. he reached for your thighs again as you straddled him, both of you shifting on instinct, and you ground down onto him slowly, dragging a moan from his chest so sincere it made your head spin.

he threw his head back, throat exposed, the muscles of his neck flexing as he exhaled through gritted teeth. every time he did that, you had the urge to bite his adam’s apple which probably wasn’t standard behavior, but here you were. the sheer pressure of your body rolling against his cock had him panting already. every tiny shift of your hips made him harder, straining against the front of his slacks so painfully he couldn’t think straight.

you slowly began to unbutton the rest of his white shirt. the last few were still tucked into his slacks—neat, perfect, just like he was when he showed up at your door—but they didn’t stay that way. you tugged the last bit of fabric free from his waistband and spread the shirt open fully, your palms skimming down the now-exposed plane of his chest.

you stalled.

he looked so…different. not just hot. not just flushed and needy and panting under you with his chest rising in uneven, shivery breaths and sweat collecting along his collarbone. that part, yes. but it was more than that.

his shirt was open, collar spread beneath his shoulder blades, and the sleeves still cuffed neatly at his wrists. his slacks still sat on neatly his hips, belt still looped. he was just disheveled enough to hint at what you’d been doing. what you were about to do.

what a man.

“you’re looking at me weird,” he whispered, teasing and gentle.

you bit your lip. “just thinking.”

“about?”

you gave him a sly, secret smile, fingers grazing the dip of his stomach, feeling him tense under your touch. “how insanely hot you look right now.”

he laughed, warm and flustered and so in love.

but then your voice softened, lips brushing his jaw.

“and maybe…” another kiss, just under his ear. “…how i want this every day.” your nose bumped his. “how i want you.”

“you have me,” he echoed, voice rough.

then you smiled—just a little, like you couldn’t help it—and your hands slid up his chest again, over the sweat-warmed rise and fall of him. “but when you’re laying here, all dressed up with your shirt open like that…”

he swallowed hard.

“you look like you’re already my husband.”

he shuddered. visibly.

“holy fuck,” he whispered, head tilting back, mouth parted. “y/n.”

you kissed his throat, right where it bobbed with the way he swallowed again. “you do,” you whispered. “and i think i want to see you like this. every day. for years.”

he made a noise that wasn’t even a full word—more like a gasp fused with a groan—and his hips bucked up into you before he could stop them. you could feel the hard, desperate press of him through his slacks, right between your legs, throbbing hot against your still-laced center.

“baby, you can’t,” his eyes fluttered closed like he was trying not to completely unravel. “you can’t say shit like that while you’re still on top of me like this,”

“i’m just being honest,” you teased, rolling your hips the slightest bit, just to feel the way his breath hitched again. “i want you for good.”

he groaned, long and low, and gripped your hips like he was trying not to come from words alone.

“i’ve never been this turned on in my life,” he breathed. “you call me your husband again and i might not last.”

you leaned down, lips at the corner of his mouth.

“my husband,” you whispered, slow, savoring the sound. “han jisung.”

he whimpered.

and then his hands were at your back, fumbling but gentle. “can i take this off? please?”

you had no idea what he meant but you just nodded, dazed, ready for him to undress literally anything. 

he slid his hands beneath your nice top and eased it up, pausing once as it passed your shoulders, then tugging it gently off. he placed it neatly on the bedside table.

when he turned back to you, the sight knocked the breath out of him.

black lace. delicate, stunning, hugging every curve of your body and he didn’t even know you were wearing a set.

you reached down, and slid your skirt off your hips, letting it fall. 

he didn’t say anything at first. just stared like his brain was buffering.

his eyes dragged over your body like he didn’t know where to land. the black lace clung to your chest, your hips, soft and sheer in all the places that made his breath stutter. the kind of set that looked dainty at first glance—just a bra and panties, thin straps and delicate trim—but now, on you, it was dangerous.

then he moved and rolled you gently onto your back, hands never leaving your waist, lips brushing your shoulder as he shifted over you. he was on top, hovering, eyes dark and reverent, hair falling in front of his face as he looked down at you like you were all his.

“you wore this for me?”

you nodded, fingers brushing his jaw. 

“you’re so fucking perfect. i don’t wanna take it off—i really don’t.” his eyes dropped back to your chest, then lower, to the soft lace hugging your hips. 

his mouth trailed down your body like he was already mourning the loss of it. he kissed between the swell of your breasts, and his hands rose to the clasp of your bra. he undid it smoothly, reverently, and when it fell open—he sucked in a breath so sharp it cut the air.

“but i have to.”

you were completely bare to him now, chest rising, nipples flushed from the cool air, and he was already dipping down again, kissing between them first, then lower.

he kissed your ribs. your stomach. and when he reached the waistband of your panties—he looked up, eyes locked on yours as he hooked his fingers into the lace. he slid the fabric down your thighs, over your knees, down to your ankles. when he finally had them off, he tossed them aside and then he settled between your legs, eyes wide.

your legs were open, and your pussy glistened under the low lamplight, soaked from everything that had come before.

you gushed from the way he looked at you. literally. you could feel the slick build as his gaze settled between your legs, dark and awed. like the heat in his eyes alone could make you fall apart. 

“jisung,” you breathed. “please.”

his eyes shot up, like your voice alone dragged him from a trance. he blinked, cheeks flushed. 

“beg again,” he rasped.

you blinked down at him, breath catching. “please, jisung.”

he groaned and then he lowered his head, kissed your inner thigh, then again—closer, closer—until his mouth met your pussy with a soft kiss of his lips.

you gasped.

he kissed again, open and warm, then dragged his tongue through your folds in one long, unhurried lick that had your back arching off the mattress. he groaned again then he went back in, deeper this time, licking into you with hunger.

the taste of you was driving him crazy. when he moaned into your cunt again, it vibrated straight through your core.

“jisung—” you gasped, hips rolling against his face, hands flying to his hair as he buried himself deeper.

he started fucking you with his tongue. he reached up, hooked his arms around your thighs, and held you there. his mouth pressed flush to you, his nose nudging your clit just right every time he drove his tongue in, and you cried out, loud and high-pitched as your thighs closed instinctively around his head.

you knew you weren’t being quiet, but no one cared on his floor. you’d heard it all before—moans and thuds from behind paper-thin dorm walls coming from his floormates. 

if anything the thought that people might hear and know exactly what he was doing to you right now turned him on more. he groaned again at the sound of your cries, cock twitching hard in his slacks, aching to be inside you but too drunk on your taste to stop now.

he grinned against you. “you taste so fucking good,” he breathed, voice wrecked. “i could eat this pussy forever, baby.”

“jisung,” you gasped. “i’m gonna cum.”

your orgasm, curling up from your core and ripping through you. your back arched off the bed as your moan broke. he didn’t stop. not when you bucked against his mouth, not when your fingers clawed at his hair, not even when your legs trembled violently around his head.

“that’s it, baby,” he murmured against you, lips still brushing your clit, tongue gentler now and lapping strokes. “i’ve got you. just like that.”

you gasped, overstimulated, blissed-out, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes as your thighs twitched around his shoulders.

he kissed the inside of your thigh again—softer this time—and lifted his head just enough to see your face.

“you okay?” he whispered, voice so gentle, so sweet, as his hands rubbed slow circles into your hips. “still with me?”

you nodded, dazed, hair sticking to your cheek. “mhm. i’m good. so good.”

you were completely bare while he was still fully dressed, save for the open shirt like he’d forgotten about it completely.

but not for long.

he leaned back onto his knees, pulling his shirt the rest of the way off as you watched it fall down his shoulders. then his fingers went to his belt—unbuckling it slow, metal clicking—and your mouth went dry watching it come loose.

he looked down at you, eyes dark but soft. you nodded, eyes wide. you didn’t even have to think.

you saw that familiar heart-shaped smile—the one that made him look like your sweet boyfriend again for half a second before he leaned forward, gripped both your wrists, and brought them gently up over your head.

you blinked at him, heart jumping, but didn’t resist. 

“trust me, baby?” he whispered.

“yeah,” you breathed.

he kissed your forehead and raised his hand when you heard a thwip.

and suddenly webbing bound your wrists and stuck you to the headboard above you. 

you tugged once. no give.

he rubbed the back of his neck, a little sheepish, a little proud, eyes flicking between your wrists and your face. “uh. yeah. it’s… it’s not going anywhere,” he said, trying to sound casual and failing. there was a smile tugging at his mouth, the kind that said he knew exactly how that looked. “still okay?”

you swallowed, heat pooling low in your stomach, and nodded. “more than okay.”

his jaw clenched. his eyes dropped to your spread, glistening pussy and then back up to your bound wrists—your body laid out for him with nothing but want in your voice. he’d seen you naked more times than he could count but he’s still in awe every time.

you squirmed beneath him, wrists tugging uselessly against the webbing, your thighs rubbing together. “please,” you gasped, breath hitching. 

your voice cracked around it and it sent a shiver down his spine. 

“fuck, y/n,” he groaned, eyes blown. he was moved aside to shove his slacks down, boxers with them, cock springing free, already leaking at the tip from how worked up you’d made him. he reached blindly to the top drawer of his nightstand, pulled out a condom, tore it open, rolled it on fast with shaking hands.

and then he was back over you.

one hand gripped your thigh. the other slid along your waist. he lined himself up, the thick head of his cock sliding through your slick folds.

and he moaned, head dropping to your shoulder. you whimpered. you felt the pressure of him right at your entrance. 

he pushed in and your breath caught in your throat as the stretch filled you. your wrists tugged instinctively at the webbing, muscles clenching with the sheer pressure of him pressing into your soaked, needy cunt.

“fuck,” jisung groaned into your neck, hips rolling forward until he bottomed out, his cock buried to the hilt. “you feel so good,”

you whimpered, already fluttering around him, your legs wrapping instinctively around his waist.

he pulled back just enough to thrust again, slower this time, a deep drag that left you gasping, arching up to chase more.

then his eyes locked onto your bound wrists.

his mouth curled into something dark and smug.

“you like being pinned, baby?” he rasped, voice thick with arousal.

you nodded fast, barely managing a moan as he fucked up into you again, making the webbing above your head pull taut with every movement.

“yeah?” his voice was low and rough now. “webbed to the fucking bed frame like one of my enemies. my villains.” his lips brushed your ear. “do i need to put you in your place?”

you whimpered, completely undone. jisung might seem like your average nerd but boy could he talk in bed when he wanted to.

“yes, jisung, go faster, please,”

his rhythm changed instantly—thrusts harder now, faster, his body pressing into yours. your bound wrists held you still, helpless beneath him, but your thighs clenched around his waist, your cries getting higher, every time he hit that perfect spot deep inside you.

but even through it, his voice softened, turned sweet again through the grit of his thrusts.

“you’ll never be one of them,” he panted, pressing a kiss to your jaw, then your mouth. “you’re too good for this world, baby. you hear me?”

you nodded, overwhelmed. “yes, yes, jisung—”

“my good girl,” he whispered, kissing you again. “so pretty. so perfect. you’re all mine.”

you pressed your face into his shoulder, words tumbling out between breaths. “don’t stop, please. i think i’m gonna cum.”

he nodded, barely like even he couldn’t manage words anymore. he started to hyperventilate, breath coming hot and fast against your ear, chest shuddering with the effort of holding himself together even as your thighs gripped him tighter.

“let go, baby. just let go.” he whispered, barely audible, his lips brushing the shell of your ear. 

you did.

your back arched beneath him as the climax tore through you, your legs locking tight around him. a sound ripped from your throat, your teeth clenched against the intensity of it. he buried himself to the hilt and came hard, spilling into the condom with a guttural groan that sounded like it’d been ripped from his chest.

his whole body shook as he came, forehead falling to your shoulder, mouth open, breath stuttering hard against your skin. he rode it out slow, hips rocking with the aftershocks.

he kissed you, his lips warm against yours, not frantic anymore. your breaths were still uneven, shaky from how hard you’d both come, but slowly, it evened out. his chest rose and fell in time with yours, your skin still sticky with sweat, the smell of sex hanging in the air.

he pulled out gently, carefully, his hips rolling back. you winced just slightly at the sensitivity, the drag of him leaving your body completely. he sat up, still over you, as he reached down to remove the condom, tying it off and tossing it into the small trash bin beside his desk. 

and then—

“fuck,” jisung muttered suddenly, pulling back just enough to blink up at your wrists. “fuck, y/n.”

you tilted your head.

he looked guilty. slightly panicked. “i—uh. i forgot something. kinda important.”

“what.”

“i can’t undo your wrists.”

you stared at him.

“the webs kinda need to dissolve on their own.” 

“what?!”

he winced. “it’s fine! it’s totally fine! they’re biodegradable—it just takes like two hours max. maybe ninety minutes if your skin’s warm enough—uhh, don’t look at me like that—”

“jisung.”

“i’m kidding,” he laughed, already rolling off the bed and grabbing something from the drawer beside it. “i have solvent.” he held up a sleek, pen-sized sprayer and wiggled it in the air. “synthesized it myself. reactive to the silk structure. breaks the polymer tension and reverts it to liquid phase.”

you blinked up at him, wrists still stuck above your head as he’s running his mouth.

“…jisung.”

“yeah?”

“shut up.”

he grinned. “yes, ma’am.”

and then he leaned over and sprayed with a faint hiss. the webbing slackened instantly, and your arms dropped, finally free. he caught one of your hands gently before it hit the mattress.

“welcome back,” he said, pressing a kiss to your knuckles like a dramatic prince.

you chuckled, then reached for his wrist and tugged gently. you nudged him in the ribs, then crawled up slowly into his lap, making him sit back against the headboard. he let you move him, watching you with hungry, wide eyes, his chest still bare, his lips still pink from kissing every inch of you.

he was hard again. already.

his stamina must’ve been a side effect to getting bitten. somewhere in that genetic mutation, his sex drive had dialed itself as well as the rest of him. his cock was flushed and you hadn’t even touched him yet.

your hand slipped between you, fingers curling around the length of him, warm and sticky from before, and aligned the head below your entrance.

“y/n,” he gasped, voice sharp with urgency. “wait, wait, baby, i’m not wearing a condom—”

you froze.

“right,” you said, blinking.

“yeah,” he said, still breathless, already halfway to going cross-eyed from how good it felt to almost be there.

“i’ll get one,” he mumbled, reaching toward the drawer again.

but for some reason, you stopped him. you put your hand on his chest and gently pressed him back enough to stop his reach. you didn’t even know why you asked it until it came out.

“…do you want to try without it?”

he stilled like a statue. blinking up at you like the words didn’t register.

you tilted your head. “would you? if i let you?”

his mouth opened—then closed—then opened again. “we’ve never—”

“i know.”

“i—fuck,” he whispered. “that’s not something i get to decide. that’s you. it’s always your call, baby.”

your whole body heated at the way he said it like he’d rather explode than make a single move without your say. you knew exactly how much he wanted this. you could sense it. but still, he held back.

you looked at him, lips parted, voice soft.

“i mean…”

you bit your lower lip and smiled—small, teasing, like you weren’t about to change everything with a few words.

“i already told you i want to marry you someday.”

his breath caught.

you continued, sliding your hands up his chest, your voice dangerously sweet. “so what’s the big deal if we just act like it just for tonight?”

his eyes widened, color rising high in his cheeks. his hands squeezed your thighs once—tightly—and he let out a shaky exhale.

“you ever think about it?” you murmured, mouth brushing his, teasing but deliberate. “how it would feel?”

his hips jolted at your words.

and then you felt it—a sudden, thick heat between your thighs as he choked on a noise and rutted into you once without meaning to. his cock slid between your folds and left his own mess on you.

he went still.

“oh my god, fuck, y/n, i’m so sorry,” he blurted out, voice cracking as he pulled back instinctively, hands scrambling like he wasn’t sure whether to hold you or move. “i didn’t mean to.”

you looked down at him, then between your thighs. you smiled.

“well,” you said, almost sing-song, tilting your head at him like you hadn’t just fried every neuron in his body. “you already got your cum on me.” you dragged your nails lightly over his shoulders, down his chest. “might as well finish the job.”

his eyes snapped back to yours.

you leaned closer, your mouth ghosting along his cheek, warm breath right against his ear. “do you want to fuck me raw, spidey?”

he looked like he was barely hanging on.

“what if—” his voice cracked. he swallowed hard. “what if you get pregnant?”

your smile was slow. dangerous.

“then you better pull out,” you whispered. “you’ve got super control, don’t you, spidey?”

he groaned and grabbed your hips with both hands, tight but trembling. his restraint cracked, your teasing catching up to him all at once.

“fuck, just get on, y/n,” he muttered, voice wrecked.

you took it as a sign to sink down onto him slowly because everything was different now.

his breath left him in one harsh, stuttering exhale. 

you could feel everything. every twitch, every throb. the slick slide of your body around his cock. the stretch. the shock of skin to skin. he was deeper than you remembered. hotter. you can’t believe you’ve been fucking him for the last year with the goddamn latex.

he was panting beneath you, “i won’t last,” he whispered, voice hoarse.

you let out a soft whimper and buried your face in his neck, overwhelmed by sensation. your whole body was shaking from the sheer intensity. he turned his head to kiss your temple. his fingers rubbed slow, soothing circles into your spine, even while his cock twitched hard inside you.

the moment you shifted your hips experimentally, the sensation shot up your spine like lightning. he exhaled sharp through his teeth, hips twitching once, and you both stilled.

you could feel him twitching inside you, hard and hot and bare.

“jesus,” he said under his breath, voice fraying. “y/n, i—”

“what?” you asked, but it came out like a whine.

his grip tightened. “if you keep moving like that, i’m gonna bust a web.”

you snorted, then winced because laughing while you were still filled to the brim with him didn’t help the sensitivity. “jisung.”

“no, i’m serious. like i have no defenses right now. you’re my kryptonite.”

“and you call yourself a superhero.” you breathed, biting your lip. 

“technically, i’m enhanced, not a mutant,” he muttered, eyes glassy with focus as he watched the way your body squeezed around him. “but i’m about to have a very human problem in like, ten seconds, so please don’t—fuck, don’t clench like that—”

 “what, like this?” you echoed, tilting your head just slightly.

and then you did it again.

you tightened around him, and his entire body shuddered like you’d shorted a circuit. his hands clenched on your hips, hard enough to bruise, but he didn’t stop you.

“oh my god, y/n,” he gasped, hips jerking helplessly. “what the hell did i ever do to you?”

you leaned forward, mouth ghosting over his, and whispered, “you webbed me to your bed.”

“worth it,” he groaned.

you lifted your hips slowly, feeling every inch of him drag along your walls, sticky and hot, no condom to dull it. and when you sank back down—harder this time, deeper—your breath stuttered out and his head dropped back with a broken sound.

he looked wrecked beneath you. sweaty hair clinging to his forehead, throat exposed, jaw tight with restraint. you knew him well enough to know what that meant—he was close already, and he was trying to hold off for you.

you couldn’t help it. that knowledge alone made your thighs clench tighter around his waist, made your pussy flutter around him as you rocked again, slow and deliberate.

you rode him like you’d forgotten how to be cocky.

your nails bit into his chest for balance, head bowed, and the softest whine escaped your lips with every motion. “j-jisung…”

his hands came up to your waist again, sliding to your ass, gripping you tight as he tried to help guide you—lift you, drop you back down. “that’s it, baby. just like that. you’re doing so fucking good. you’re so tight around me,”

you lifted your head and looked at him again, eyes glazed, cheeks flushed, your lips parted like you wanted to speak but forgot how. you moved again, rolling your hips in slow, deep circles, grinding your clit against the base of him, and his cock throbbed inside you. his hands flew to your waist again, trying to hold you still.

“breed me,” you whispered.

he went still as stone.

you said it again, slower this time, just to make sure he really heard it.

“don’t tempt me.” he gritted his teeth. his hips jerked once. “don’t fucking tempt me like that.”

“breed me, jisung.”

“you don’t,” he hissed, trying to convince himself more than you. “you’re just, fuck, you’re close, you don’t know what you’re saying.”

“then pull out,” you challenged, looking him dead in the eyes. “go ahead. pull me off. if you can.”

he didn’t move.

didn’t even blink.

“this is some evil villain shit.” he breathed, forehead pressed to yours, voice shaking. 

“then stop being a hero and fill me.”

he snapped.

his grip shifted, his hips slammed up into you hard, and the sound that tore from his throat was primal. he gritted his teeth as your body squeezed him like a vice, riding high on the edge of orgasm already, and his voice was wrecked when he spoke.

“you want me to breed this pussy? want me to cum in you and fuck it deep, fill you up and make sure it stays?”

you gasped, whole body clenching again. “yes, jisung please,”

“you want to walk around dripping with me for days?” he growled, snapping his hips up again. “you want my cum leaking out of you, knowing i could’ve gotten you pregnant?”

your voice was a high-pitched cry now, barely coherent. “please, i want it,”

“fuck, i’m close,” he grunted, thrusts losing rhythm. “you’re gonna make me cum,”

he shoved up into you once, twice—then held you down on him, cock buried to the hilt, and came so hard he saw stars. he gasped your name, voice cracking as he pulsed inside you, hot and thick, ropes of cum filling you in slow, deep waves.

it was the first time you felt him cum inside you. the moment he spilled, you gasped. the warmth flooded you so hard it felt like it reached your stomach.

it sent you over the edge as well, your orgasm crashing through your body like a tidal wave. you could feel it inside you, his cock still twitching as it throbbed with the final pulses of release. 

you were still gasping, forehead pressed to his. 

“i love you.”

“i love you too,” jisung said, voice low, raw, and certain. “i fucking love you.”

you leaned into him instinctively, pressing your mouth to his, your kiss slow and tender, laced with heat and awe, his breath still ragged against your skin.

“fuck y/n…” he ran both hands down your back “i just came inside you.” he blinked like the full realization hit him now that the fog of orgasm had lifted. 

you smiled. “again?” you said. “it doesn’t matter now that the damage’s already done.”

“oh, fuck you,” jisung laughed before flipping you and pressing you into the mattress. you laughed, wrapping your arms around his neck. he kissed you hard, voice wrecked against your lips. “you’re evil.”

“you love me,” you whispered, smiling.

his eyes met yours.

“i always will.”

the sunlight crept in slow and soft, casting gentle lines across tangled sheets. your body ached. the scent of him was still on your skin.

but the space where he’d been was empty. cold.

you reached out anyway, hand brushing nothing but the imprint he left behind.

you lay there for a moment, blinking against the light, letting the quiet settle in your chest. the city outside was already awake. distant traffic. a muffled horn. the city always came first for him.

and then—

BANG

the window slammed open and a loud thud echoed through his bedroom.

you jumped. “son of a—”

and then you saw him.

jisung stood beside you, hair wild. there was a coffee in one hand, a dessert bag crumpled in the other, and a box clenched between his teeth. he was in his spider-man suit up to his neck. he looked like he’d just run five blocks, fought a guy, and then sprinted through traffic. which, knowing him, he probably had.

you squinted.

“…what’s in your mouth?”

he crossed the room fast, yanked it out of his teeth, and dropped it onto the mattress beside you.

you stared at the box.

it was the morning-after pill.

he flopped dramatically onto the mattress, groaning like he’d been stabbed. “i meant to be back before you woke up,” he huffed. “i had to swing, like, six blocks. the pharmacy didn’t open till seven. and then some guy tried to mug a woman outside the deli and he threw a fucking rock at me, and obviously i couldn’t just—ugh, why is the city so much?”

you launched yourself onto him, grabbing his face with both hands and kissing him stupid.

“ow, ow, baby, i’m still bruised—”

“you absolute idiot,” you laughed, forehead pressed to his. “you didn’t have to!”

“i love you,” he mumbled through a smile, eyes fluttering shut. “and i brought coffee.”

you rolled your eyes and flopped sideways onto his chest, grabbing the slightly smushed plan b box.

you pulled out the instructions, unfolded them with unnecessary drama, then cleared your throat.

“oooh,” you purred, fluttering your lashes. “levonorgestrel, 1.5 milligrams.” you glanced up at him and wiggled your brows.

jisung groaned. “please don’t dirty talk the plan b.”

but you were already flipping over the instructions, tongue between your teeth as you continued.

“should be taken within seventy-two hours after unprotected sex,” you whispered, emphasizing the words. “but the sooner, the most effective.”

his hand slid down his face.

“take one tablet by mouth as soon as possible,” you read, then opened wide and plopped it on your tongue, chasing it with a sip of the coffee. “there. clean-up crew’s arrived.” you tossed the wrapper in his garbage can and then stretched with a little satisfied hum, glancing over at him sprawled across the bed like he’d just fallen out of the sky.

which, honestly, wasn’t far from the truth. 

“alright, spider-boy. out of the suit, medic’s here. let’s see what damage that rock did.”

“just say you want me out of the suit.”

“Kia kaha!”

“KIA KAHA!”

Stay strong, and the rest will follow.

Silver. Silver rings on long, dexterous fingers, silver necklace around the neck that held his head way too high, and silver tongue in his mouth home to all kinds of sins… 

Ask anyone who that guy was, and they would grunt his name due to their raging urge to either kill him or fuck him.

It wasn’t the sheer thrill of breaking the rules that drove Chris to the convoluted world of crime. He let himself ride the waves of his bad decisions to see where it would eventually take him. He ended up crashing his surfboard into the shores of opioids, and he liked it there. Simple as that. No tragic backstory or anything. 

Not only was he great at what he did, but he also possessed exquisite mastery over the arts of the tongue. He could walk right off anything just by talking his way out of it, which made him the singular common denominator unifying their rival clans. He had haters just because he existed, and rightfully so, to be frank.

“They got Jake.”

Now imagine the absolute field day the aforementioned bitter foes had when they heard the shit hit the fan for Crown Street.

Jake. The resident troublemaker aggressively looking up to his mentor and way too impatient for his own good. His sworn protégé. This was the umpteenth time an emergency meeting was taking place to come up with a strategy dedicated to saving his ass.

“What are our options? Give it to us straight,” boss man Oliver demanded from their lawyer.

“Jake has priors. This doesn’t look good,” Johnnie stated bluntly. “If he talks, this time around he’s getting locked up for at least ten years with no chance of parole, if not a life sentence.”

Chris held his head between his hands, utterly frustrated and internally cursing Jake’s ass off for not being more careful. For not being more patient. For having this stupid compulsion to prove himself.

To whom, bro, we all fucking know what you’re capable of!

“Is there nothing we can do?” Chris appealed emphatically. “I’m not gonna let the kid rot in that hellhole.”

Johnnie leaned back in his chair and looked him dead in his eyes, albeit with a defeated expression.

“Hypothetically speaking, if someone else with no priors on paper owns up to it, I can negotiate a deal for as little as five years.” 

“How the fuck is five years little?!” Oliver yelled while slamming his fist on the circular ebony table.

“Under these circumstances, it actually is. You’re lucky we’re not trying to dodge a death penalty here,” Johnnie declared. “All you gotta do is find someone to take the rep. Play nice, and they can get out on parole in a year or so.”

Fascinating thing, loyalty. Things that would never even pop up in your wildest dreams, it would make you do without blinking an eye. What was there to even think about when you knew someone’s fate was lying in your hands? 

Especially if that someone meant the world to you.

“I’ll confess to it.”

“Chris. No.”

“What’s the alternative, huh? He’ll get jumped before 3 p.m. on his first day,” Chris countered immediately. “Johnnie’s always had our back. If this is the lesser of the two evils, I’ll do it. He says I can be out in a year.”

“But what if you can’t?” Oliver implored him to see reason. “This is jail time we’re talking about, mate, not fucking community service.”

He didn’t even have to say anything. One look into his eyes, and Oliver knew what that meant. Once he set his mind to something, it was impossible to talk Chris out of it no matter how obvious the end result was. He was one of those people who had to experience things firsthand, either to brag an ‘I told you so’ or to finally acknowledge what a horrendous mistake he had made.

“You already know I’m well-versed in the arts of surviving, brother.”

That very sentence he formed ended up being the one he had to serve. Luckily for him, it at least had a full stop at the end although it ran on for several pages. He didn’t care. Anything to protect one of his own.

Stay strong.

Kia Kaha.

I will prevent disease whenever I can, for prevention is preferable to cure.

That was the oath you had taken. Well, you had to because apparently some guy named Hippocrates was extremely triggered by the concept of perjury some centuries ago. So either swear to it and make the unbreakable vow, or rip your fucking diploma in half. That piece of paper had cost you a whole lot of money with a good deal of your sanity in the process, so no, thank you very much.

It wasn’t the sheer nobility of the profession that drove you to become a doctor. If the design of the human body and mind had fascinated you this much, why not make a career out of getting super intrigued by the total length of an average adult human’s blood vessels? Out of all the places you could have picked, you took a job at a maximum security prison as the chief attending physician because, hey, multiple birds with one stone.

I will remember that I remain a member of society, with special obligations to all my fellow human beings, those sound of mind and body as well as the infirm.

Nobody told you to take on the challenge of serving the most ‘infirm’ crowd available, but you did it anyway. What better setting to practice your craft than a correctional facility after all?

“I’m leaving. Will you be home by dinner?”

“We’ll see.”

Not even a ‘Have a good first day, sweetheart’. Fuck that, not even a curt ‘Good luck’.

The awkward tension between you and your husband wasn’t always palpable enough to cut with a knife. Not that anything specific happened to cause that, but somewhere along the way, something indeed snapped, and you started growing apart day by day. Maybe it was the unbearable heaviness of the mundane, coloring your entire marriage in the bleakest shade of gray. The affection? Gone. The desire? Gone. You were nothing more than two roommates at this point because you didn’t feel like doing anything for him anymore. Why bother when it was one-sided? Why bother getting a gift for someone, imagining how happy it was going to make them when they couldn’t even care less? Why get upset when they didn’t react exactly in the way you pictured they would? No one put a gun to your head to get the said gift in the first place, which meant they didn’t owe you shit, did they?

When it was your spouse in question, it felt like he did. For wasting years of your life, trapping you in a loveless birdcage if not for anything else. Cue the unsolicited commentary and advice from the spectators of your life.

“Why do you keep doing this to yourself?”

“Get a divorce.”

“You can’t fix him. Just walk away.”

How fucking easy it was to tell someone to make a drastic change in their life in a split second… Would you stop drinking coffee just because someone told you to? Fuck no. You had to believe it wasn’t doing you any good anymore. Everyone’s tolerance to change was different, after all; some welcomed it with open arms, and some avoided it like the plague. In any case, only when you felt confident about your eventual decision, only when you felt ready, then and only then would you make the change. 

Because nobody was going to go through the consequences on your behalf if shit went south, nor were they going to take the blame for your prospective unhappiness with the outcome.

I will not be ashamed to say “I know not”...

It was fine. Your marital bed, which was empty most nights, was not your place of work. Breaking an oath within the confines of your suffocation was not going to harm anyone.

Other than yourself.

Inmate 8MS3HF92. 

That was Chris’ name for the past ten months. Nothing that could humanize him, merely letters and numbers. Another statistic to quote in recidivism reports maybe. 

The only time he would be reminded of his identity was when his prison family addressed him—they were the circle of people showing him the ins and outs of navigating the hell simulator with as little damage and as much profit as possible. To all the guards, to the warden, to everybody else, he was just ‘inmate’.

Not for long, though.

He had only one instruction. Do not beef no matter what and survive, and that was exactly what he had been doing. His itinerary was quite straightforward—he was going to endure this for two more months, go up against the parole committee, be super charming, then get the hell out. He was probably going to return here within his first hour as a free man for beating the shit out of Jake, though.

If he had the balls to press charges against his Yoda, that is.

Chris took particular, not to mention excessive pride in the way he operated. Getting your own hands dirty was for amateurs. If he wanted something, he would talk his way into it. If he detected a threat, he would orchestrate the subtlest of feuds to have someone else get rid of it on his behalf. Obviously, ‘on his behalf’ did not mean that you would do it in full awareness that this was in his best interests. He would pitch it to you in such a manner that you’d have no choice but to believe the threat was actually posed to you.

Prison was like a gangster’s LinkedIn. The most lucrative connections they could possibly have were right under his nose—of course he wasn’t going to waste the opportunity to bring in more business to Crown Street. After several rounds of meet and greets within his first month, he had successfully outlined the entire food chain and finally located where the drug ops ran from. Getting himself assigned to any other place was unequivocally out of the question.

“Work detail assignments. Fang, you’re working in the kitchen.”

What a pleasant surprise! Everybody, act shocked.

Smooth talking gets you only so far, of course. Put this man in a room full of his hardcore fans, and he would still manage to make a few enemies. That was both the curse and the blessing of being a charmer. If you didn’t annoy the fuck out of somebody for no reason, then you were doing it wrong.

…which was exactly why the closer his freedom date approached, the more intolerant his fatemates became. That was the tradition of this place. You’d go through the hazing when you were about to graduate, not during the first week of school.

“Fang. A word,” Andrei beckoned him towards the storage shelves right before lunch service.

It was of utmost importance for Chris to stay in the head honcho’s good graces until his hearing. The past ten months had been a very trying test of willpower for having to constantly repress the urge to jump this motherfucker, and patience was not exactly his strong suit. He wiped his hands on his apron and followed suit behind him.

“What’s up, boss?”

“We were expecting a little delivery from the commissary two days ago,” he snarled at him, piercing holes into his forehead with his ice-blue eyes. “What the fuck is up with that, pretty boy?”

“Yeah, about that,” Chris scratched his nape with a look feigning an apology like he was oh so sorry. “We’re experiencing a little hiccup. Should come in no later than Friday, though.”

“That’s not what we agreed upon.”

“I know, but I’m also leaning on other people here. I can’t exactly go out to personally bring in your heroin now, can I?”

Andrei cornered him against a wall and slammed both his hands on either side of him. As if Chris was some white-collar criminal only in here because his lawyer dropped the ball on his tax evasion case. Everybody with common sense would know it took a bit more than that to intimidate Fang.

“Your whore ass gets on my last fucking nerve, you know,” he flashed his half-rotten teeth. “Maybe your goddamn smug face needs some work done, huh?”

“If you think I need work done, you clearly haven’t looked in a mirror recently.”

So much for holding it together…

It was like a blackout that lasted for only two seconds. The words just jumped out of his lips before he could catch them in the air. The loud sound of glass crashing alerted the two guards on the floor, prompting them to dash towards the kitchen. 

“Break it off! Break it off now!!!”

Chris might have managed to dodge getting his throat ripped, but a large piece of glass still made its way to his chest area, cutting a wound open below his left collarbone. A couple of centimeters more to the south, and he would have secured an early parole in a goddamn pine box. He was immediately escorted to the infirmary to get patched up, which he found fucking hysterical. There couldn’t be anything more ironic than nursing someone back to health just so they could rot some more. He was anxiously shaking his legs while sitting on that gurney for someone to appear, washcloth still pressed on the bleeding wound and annoyed out of his mind.

“Yo doc, can we get this shit over with already?” he yelled towards the back of the room. “I kinda need to be somewhere right now.”

“Please excuse the tardiness to your schedule, Your Majesty. We’re a little shorthanded around here.”

Whoa…

Chris briefly wondered whether he actually died of blood loss on the kitchen floor because why the fuck else was he seeing an angel clad in white, not to mention in this soul-sucker den?

“Who the fuc—? I–I mean…”

“It’s fine, I’ve been called worse,” you responded without looking away from the incident report in your hands, then met his eyes at long last. “I’m the new chief attending physician. Pleasure to make your acquaintance, Inmate 8MS3HF92 that got jumped in the kitchen.”

“Pretty name, huh? It’s French,” he quickly gathered his wits and grinned in response, “but they call me Fang for short.”

“Fang,” you snorted at the juvenile-sounding moniker. “Because you didn’t get your wisdom teeth out, or…?”

“It’s because you should let the sleeping wolves lie, beautiful.”

You knew what you were getting yourself into when you started working here, and your contract with Hippocrates included one thing in its essence: Help the sick and do no harm. In that particular moment, however, you crassly fistbumped him for blessing you with this Olympian eye candy shamelessly flirting with you for a change. Yes, this was an inmate in front of you, but all your suppressed urges could register was a pair of thick forearms adorned with bulging veins, long fingers pressing on his wound, and thighs spread wide almost invitingly. Telling you… To come closer… Then get on your knees… And then…

Well, if you were anywhere else but a prison, that is.

“Take it off, please.”

Chris felt a hard kick in his chest when you uttered those words, unable to register your request and just looking at you blankly with lips parted in surprise.

“Your top,” you pointed your pen at his wound, “so that I can examine the injury.”

“RIGHT! Of course.”

He removed the clothing as told, but never in your entire professional life did you have to contain something so primitive threatening to rear its head inside you. You bitchslapped your lizard brain pretty hard to remind yourself once again that this was a goddamn patient you had to attend to, not some man you were trying to pick up at a bar.

If only you knew that you weren’t actually alone in this struggle. 

Your perfume… It was November, but you smelled like summer. Chris didn’t have much to hold onto, but you smelled like hope. Your latex-clad hands were running all over his chest, and he didn’t give a fuck that it was on his wound. His touch starvation was at such dangerous levels that trying to control the erection growing between his legs was harder than refraining from murdering motherfuckers in this place. To top it all off, the angel before him looking like that? 

It was an enigma how he managed not to cum in his pants right then and there.

You finished stitching his wound in complete silence as he watched you with his lips slightly parted, and only when you informed him you were done was he able to come back to reality.

“Come back next week, okay?”

And once he managed to snap out of it, Chris instantly wore his other personality on his sleeve as a knee-jerk reaction.

“Say you’re gonna miss me, and I can come back tomorrow,” he smugly grinned. You eyed him from head to toe with brows furrowed in confusion.

“To get your stitches removed, Fang,” you scoffed. “You can go back to your easy bake oven now.”

So you weren’t easily charmed. No matter. He happened to fucking love the chase.

Chris left the infirmary that day with a stupid smile glued to his lips, full-on launching the crescent craters adorning his cheeks and secretly hoping you found dimples attractive in a man. 

One borrowed touch was all it took. He found himself counting down the days to get his stitches removed instead of his parole hearing. All of a sudden, the walls weren’t closing in on him as much anymore. His breathing was still a little irregular, but seemingly for different reasons rather than the humidity crawling in the stone walls.

He was having trouble sleeping no matter how much he forced himself to because his mind just wouldn’t shut up about you. If only… If only he could fall asleep, maybe he could see you one more time.

One day. Three days. Five days. And finally back to the infirmary again. 

God, if that didn’t feel longer than the time he had served thus far…

“Hey, doc!”

You looked up at the unusually chirpy voice that most certainly did not belong to the dismal backdrop of this place. It was the stitches man that looked more like a sculpture with a little chip on it.

“Feeling good today, are we?” you brightly smiled at him at the expense of giving him a mild heart attack while wearing your gloves to check the healing of his scar. “Did you get some good news?”

Chris actually had a snarky comment ready to go, but as soon as your hand brushed against his, he felt a sudden jolt and completely forgot what he was going to say.

“Fish tacos… for lunch.”

You couldn’t help but heartily laugh at the unexpected answer, effectively stopping his heart for about three seconds.

“I take it you’re very easy to please, Fang.”

Yes. Fucking yes. Just let me borrow your lips once, and I’ll die the happiest man.

As you got to work with a pair of tweezers to remove his stitches, Chris watched you completely awestruck as if he was appreciating a piece of fine art, right-click-saving everything he could observe about you into his mind. Your brows that creased whenever you were focused on something, your beautiful lips you licked every now and then, your hair that looked like it was made of pure silk, your skin that most certainly felt like velvet to the touch…

God, you’re like a queen.

“All done,” you smiled again, apparently adamant to kill him before he could even walk out of that door, and got up from the stool in front of him. “Don’t run around with scissors, okay?” 

“Thank you.” 

The gratitude was pretty much redundant since this was your job. You were literally on payroll to take care of people, but it still made your heart swell because the stitches man was the first person ever to thank you for your services.

“I uh… I’ll see you around. I guess…” he stared at his feet by the door somewhat abashed.

“I hope not. That would mean you injured yourself again,” you giggled and gently squeezed his shoulder. “Stay out of trouble.”

Oh, I don’t think so, my queen.

That night, Chris tossed and turned in his bed for what felt like hours to him. The first unprotected touch you shared without a layer of latex between his skin and yours burned like hell on his shoulder. If only… If only he could fall asleep, maybe he could see you one more time.

But he didn’t actually have to wait for that when you were all that he could see whenever he closed his eyes. So he did. He manifested you right next to him on his bed, and his hand moved inside his pants as if it had a mind of its own. 

There you were. Your attention completely on him, your tongue glazing your lips every now and then. Why were you licking them, though? Was it because you also felt your throat getting dry? Was it because you also wanted to press them against his?

Fuck, I’d kill to feel those lips on me.

Your face. The way the corners of your mouth curled when you smiled at him. The way you slightly squinted your eyes when you were focused. Was that what you looked like when you were turned on, too?

I want you. God, I want you bad.

Your poise. The way you carried yourself. Firm steps, determined voice, quite obviously not taking shit from anyone. Grace materialized. A literal queen. His queen that he wanted to dedicate his entire life to.

I wanna be the floor you walk on. Fucking step on me, christ!

Just your sheer beauty. The way you oozed sexiness without revealing any piece of skin. The way you moved. The way you knew exactly what you were doing. Did you also know what exactly pleased you? Did you know all the things he was willing to do just to please you?

“FUCK!”

Chris didn’t even care about the hefty mess he made on himself as he arched on that god-awful mattress. The convulsions rippling throughout his body as he came were a different kind of intense. Up until that moment in his life, he had climaxed infinity times either with the assistance of third parties or all by himself, sometimes manifesting as an unimpressive shiver and some other times mind-numbingly hard.

But not once, never once, did it feel like surrendering his soul to someone.

If it is given me to save a life, all thanks. But it may also be within my power to take a life; this awesome responsibility must be faced with great humbleness and awareness of my own frailty. 

Above all, I must not play at God.

Chris wasn’t aware of what the Hippocratic oath entailed, nor did he have to take it. Ergo, he was free to ‘play at god’ all he wanted whenever the fuck he saw fit. Like when he overheard the Irish circle indulging in a little locker room talk as he was watching TV with his own entourage.

“Have you seen the doctor chick yet?”

“Complete cumdump material. You just know she likes it dirty, sassy-ass bitch.”

Every time Chris felt the onset of a rampage coming on, his mind would switch to autopilot and give him a singular command—fucking remove yourself from the environment if you want to see that parole committee. Yet the loud, sleazy waves of laughter blasting right behind him triggered him so hard that it took the willpower of a temple full of monks not to scatter this O’Connell lowlife’s brains out. God knows he came this fucking close to doing it, and he actually would if he wasn’t repeating the same thing to himself over and over again like a lunatic’s mantra.

Hold it. For her.

For her.

For her.

For her.

For her.

For her.

He could live with burning his parole chances, but not with not seeing you for an entire month if he went to the hole. He clenched his teeth to the brink of cracking them to put a leash around his urges and jumped to his feet.

“Where are you going?” Noah asked him.

“To hit the weights, mate. I’ll catch you later.”

Technically, he didn’t lie. He was indeed going to the gym, but not necessarily because his body craved that post-workout dopamine release. It was two in the afternoon, which meant someone was in the middle of some deadlifting.

“Paco!” he opened his arms like he was greeting a friend coming back from active duty. “There’s my main man.” 

“What’s good, Fang?”

“Can’t complain. Can’t complain,” he walked behind the bench. “Here, let me spot you.”

Chris lent a hand with the presses as if that was the sole purpose of his visit all along and put the weights back in their place once Paco’s loud grunt punctuated the set. He offered a towel to the man sweating like he had been doing soilwork under the scorching sun, then kneeled beside him, speaking in a hushed tone like he was about to reveal top-secret information.

“Listen, you know you’re my brother, right?”

“Damn straight, man. Ride or die.”

“Something came to my attention, so I thought I’d let you know,” Chris glanced over the gym door and turned his attention back to Paco again. “You and I both know the guards didn’t just have an epiphany one day with all that sawdust they have for a brain. Someone ratted you out about the phone thing.”

“And if I find out which son of a bitch…” Paco almost ripped the towel to shreds, but when he saw the knowing grin on Chris’ face, his fury suddenly vanished. “No shit, you know.”

Chris slowly nodded.

“You didn’t hear it from me, but a little bird told me O’Connell cut a deal with the guards,” he tsked in disapproval. “Shit, we all believed it, but turns out he let them beat the shit out of him in exchange for keeping the phone for himself.”

“That MOTHERFUCKER…”

…and score. Now all he needed to do was pour some gas on the fire and start roasting his marshmallows over the magnificent arson he had just committed.

“Everyone is talking on the DL that he is out to colonize your outside resources, mate. I’d put a burner on his ass before he could even plan to do something if I were you,” Chris placed his hand on Paco’s shoulder and gave it a firm squeeze. “You know where to go to take back what’s yours. Find me if you need anything, yeah?”

“I owe you one, bro. I won’t forget this.”

Poof! That easy. It was astounding how none of these dumbasses knew how to burn sugar as brain fuel, so nobody ever questioned anything. In Chris’ defense, it took a lot of actual snitching for the ploys to work. Trust needed to be earned first; respect naturally followed. Now he could just sit back, relax, and watch the altercations unfold as the tension between the parties escalated through the roof. 

Because he never got his own hands dirty. And now that this little wrinkle was ironed out, he could channel all his attention to the only thing that mattered.

You.

Chris’ only chance of catching a glimpse of you was to come to you in the infirmary. It wasn’t the fucking yard—of course the guards would never let him leave the wing unless he absolutely needed medical attention, so he needed to get a little creative to put on successful performances. If that meant cutting open some wounds to get some stitches, so be it. If it took standing in front of the ventilation grates right after a freezing-ass shower, so be it. You were worth risking pneumonia, infections, even fucking death. If you’d smile at him just once, he was going to be cured and reach immortality anyway.

“Does it hurt when I press here?” you gently sank your fingertips into his chest after listening to his breathing.

“I can’t tell. Do it again.”

“You realize this is a medical examination, Fang, not foreplay.”

“Says you,” Chris mischievously smiled. “You’re very much getting to second base with me right now.”

You applied pressure to the area right under his jawline sharper than your scalpels to check for swelling, then grabbed a throat swab for a strep test.

“Open wide.”

“Shouldn’t I be telling you that?”

“Bang…”

“Yeesh! Pulling out the government name and everything,” he raised his hands in surrender. “Don’t be mad, I’ll behave.”

You got your sample for a throat culture and went back to the back of the room to properly label it. Chris sat there in silence for some time and spoke with a soft voice that almost didn’t belong to him.

“I don’t know why the fuck you care this much, but I’m grateful that you do, you know?”

“It’s my job to care,” you responded without looking at him.

“I know, but…” he trailed off and took a moment to find the proper words. “Nobody else ever cared about me unless I was useful to them. You’re the first.”

Unless your eyes were deceiving you, when you looked up at him, you saw something glinting in his gaze in a faint shade of pink, terribly reminiscent of yearning. It was just a glance. It was nothing. It didn’t mean anything.

But it still made something thump really hard in your chest.

He slowly got up to his feet, approached you with careful steps, and placed a chaste kiss on your cheek, releasing one butterfly after another in the pit of your stomach with each second he lingered there.

“I owe you my life,” he gently brushed his fingers on your skin before heading back to his wing again. “Thought you should know.”

This was Chris’ third time in the infirmary within a span of two weeks. How the heck this man even functioned in a cartel while hurting himself this much was appalling, really. 

Maybe he didn’t, and that was what landed his ass in prison in the first place.

“What is it this time, Fang? Tripped on a flat surface?”

“I figured you’d like to see your favorite inmate,” his face lit up like a Christmas tree at your sight. “Is that so bad?”

“Yeah, that’s not a thing, and don’t say that ever again,” you furrowed your brows, mildly nauseated. “What do you have for me today?”

Chris spread his legs wide to show you the cut on his inner thigh, blood oozing from it now dried.

“I wasn’t being careful with the knives during kitchen duty. Gotta be fast to feed so many people on time and whatnot.”

You put on your latex gloves, the supply of which was frequently used for Chris nowadays, and examined the wound closely.

“Looks like a clean cut, but you’ll need stitches again,” you observed, then retorted while preparing the suture. “Just bring a pattern or something next time so I can tattoo it on you. At least it’ll look pretty. Drop your pants.”

Chris was tremendously lucky you were facing away from him as he gulped that thickly, experiencing a sudden case of cottonmouth. He knew the remedy to that was hidden between your lips, of course, but that was neither here nor there, and certainly not to be brought up right that second. On any other Tuesday, he was the most shameless motherfucker that ever walked this earth, but at that moment, he was somehow feeling extremely self-conscious about putting himself on display for you.

His rabid heartbeat was about to choke him to death.

You pulled a stool right in front of him to get to work, your instruments neatly placed on the surface right next to you. When you locked your eyes on your target, you got momentarily furious at yourself for wondering whether his thighs were always this sculpted or if he shaped them out during his time here. Heaving a deep sigh, you penetrated his skin with a needle to proceed with stitching his wound, but that wasn’t when he hissed. 

That sharp inhale manifested itself when you placed your hand on his inner thigh.

“Am I hurting you?” you looked up at him questioningly.

“Nothing I can’t endure.”

Fucking RICH!

Of course he was going to lie his ass off. He wasn’t about to confess to your fucking beautiful face how he was barely enduring the lack of your lips on his on a daily basis. How it made him go so crazy that he was constantly on the brink of killing someone. How that contact just now went straight to the synapse connected to his X-rated inner mind theater and prompted a chain reaction reaching all the way down to his cock. One slip, and you were going to notice it. You were not supposed to notice it. Not yet. Not yet. NOT before he laid the groundwork first!

“A little pussy of you to gasp at a little needle when you’re in a fucking prison, don’t you think?” you broke into a taunting smirk.

“You usually swear this much?” he chortled in slight surprise at your commentary.

“Helps you gangstas check yourselves around me,” you replied with a firm voice, your eyes still glued to his thigh. “Doesn’t seem to work on you that much, though. You keep showing up here like this is a restaurant.”

“So what? Is it a crime to want to be tended to?” he responded with a knowing grin. “I like it when you take care of me. I don’t think that’s grounds for violating my parole chances.”

Like you were the one to talk. You wished you could help the smile he elicited out of you as if you were two people flirting over drinks at the aforementioned restaurant.

Fucking charmer.

“Don’t you think we got a little more than a Hippocratic relationship going on here, doc?”

His words landed like a nuclear bomb in your office, and Chris noticed that pause in your movements even though it didn’t take any longer than two nanoseconds. A sign. The sign he had been looking for all this time. To prove to himself he wasn’t delusional. It was true, wasn’t it? It was true, and this was the indisputable evidence.

“You shudder when you touch me,” he turned it up a notch.

“Bang, stop.”

“Exactly. I make your heart stop, don’t I?” he scooted just the tiniest bit closer. “You know it’s true.”

His voice turned deeper all of a sudden like he was trying to get a message across. It didn’t matter whether that message was in a glass bottle floating its way into obscurity without a proper address attached to it. Extremely lucky for him and to your endless misfortune, however, it indeed made its way to the intended addressee.

“Sorry to burst your bubble, but I’m married,” you looked away in panic.

His face dropped ever so slightly, barely noticeable to the naked eye. 

You were… 

Married?

But… But that didn’t necessarily mean anything. Otherwise, why would you spend all this time with him, alone for that matter, running your hands all over him and getting fucking goosebumps because of it? Your playing house thing was just a formality, wasn’t it? You had only stated an unprompted fact. Like how it was Tuesday and the weather was bleak and there was tapioca pudding for lunch. That wasn’t an invitation for him to make himself scarce. Otherwise you would tell him to. Otherwise you would yell at him. Otherwise you would strike him in the face instead of getting heart palpitations like what the FUCK?!

“Doesn’t take a genius to conclude it’s not a disgustingly happy one,” he commented in a stoic voice, completely contrary to the violently raging storm inside him turning everything to dust. “Is it because he works so late? Doesn’t cherish you like you should be?”

“It’s none of your business.”

He continued examining your face while you kept stitching him up as if the answer was written there somewhere. Because it was. It always was. 

Nothing told the truth like someone’s averted eyes.

“Or is it because he’s out a little too much? He doesn’t come home for dinner anymore?”

Fuck.

You involuntarily flinched. Of course you did—everyone would when you pressed salt on the wound.

“So that’s why,” he tilted his head and continued, more pleased than he should have been. “Why do you even put up with that when he’s out fucking someone, calling her all sorts of vile things? Do you still let him go down on you with that mouth when he comes home?”

“Maybe it worked out for the best that I don’t need to worry about anyone going down on me with that mouth,” you hysterically laughed in response and handed him the antiseptic, trying to brush away the interrogation over your failing marriage. “Hold this.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It fucking means you need to know the taste of something to crave it. Christ,” you mumbled through your clenched teeth, then heaved a deep sigh to calm yourself. “This should heal nicely.”

His eyes widened upon your words as if you had just told him he was getting out the next day. 

“Wait, so you… Like, you’ve never…”

As you were putting your instruments away, you put on an applause-worthy performance, acting like you weren’t even slightly aware of your face burning up to the tip of your ears. Chris, on the other hand, was trapped between feeling somewhat endeared versus some type of weird relief.

And extremely turned on thinking about the noises he would have you make if he dropped to his knees for you right about now.

“Fuck me, you really don’t know what it’s like to get your pussy licked, do you?” he started laughing in earnest.

As much as you were annoyed out of your mind, you didn’t answer and returned to the stool to clean around the wound in silence since nothing intelligible was going to come out of your mouth anyway. So what if no one ever went down on you? What was so funny about it? It most certainly didn’t warrant mocking to the extent of bullying. Would you throw a maniacal laughing fit right at his stupidly gorgeous face if he told you he never got his dick sucked? Where the fuck were his manners? What were you even doing looking for manners from an inmate?

Yet even though his question was rhetorical, he kept pressing for a reaction out of you.

“It’s fucking phenomenal. Nothing quite like it,” he continued his verbal torture. “Especially when you have someone eating your pussy like they’re gonna fucking die if you don’t cum in their mouth. It takes a woman like you to induce that kind of appetite.”

“How would you know how it feels?” you loudly scoffed to ignore the buzzing sensation below your waist. “Do you have a secret clit I don’t know about?”

“I fucking wish, but I have references instead,” he discreetly licked his lips. “They would tell you all about the first-degree murders I committed with my tongue. I can give you their numbers if you wanna confirm.”

He was adamantly painting you this tantalizing picture and forcing you to look at it, infesting your mind with the image of himself between your legs. Slowly killing you with curiosity so that you would snap and find out for yourself if it was really the kind of infernal experience he was making it out to be.

And unfortunately for you, it was fucking working.

“But you’re not terribly upset with me, are you?” he faked a pout which quickly turned into a smirk again. “Because this doesn’t bother you as much as you believe it should.”

You were wondering whether Chris had somehow managed to install wires in your mind, shamelessly narrating your own thoughts back at you. Your heart almost stopped when he touched the stray strands of hair right in the intersection of your nape and your ear.

“See? Why else would you close your eyes when I touch you?”

He placed his hand on your cheek, concerningly warm to the touch courtesy of his relentless flustering attempts. You knew what your rational reaction was supposed to be, and you were desperately looking for the whereabouts of your sanity to fucking act on it, but…

But…

You found yourself leaning into his touch instead, not a shred of courage present in your soul to open your eyes and look at him. You heard a soft rustling sound, then a source of heat approaching your way, and then…

A kiss.

So soft but unbearably intense. So warm but sending jolts down your spine. So tender but lethally passionate. Asking for permission to stay a while longer, begging you to please please not send him away, and it was gaining speed like a plane was about to take off with his fingers getting tangled in your hair. His tongue clashing with yours, your lips consuming his, pairs of hands trying to find their way to the other’s face.

If you didn’t take the last exit right about now, you were fucking doomed.

“No!” you pulled away from him hurriedly as if someone had electrocuted you, panting hard to catch your breath. “Go. We’re done here.” 

“Are we?” he flashed an unconvinced smile.

“You don’t have to come in every time you sneeze. Just… Grow a pair and learn to be fucking careful,” you quickly made your way to your desk to occupy yourself with filling out patient forms.

“I would hold that thought if I were you,” he got up to his feet to make his way back. “This is a prison after all. The only place worse than here would be the third circle of hell.” 

Right before he left, he stopped right behind your chair, leaned in, and breathily whispered.

“When I come in to get my stitches removed,” he placed the softest of kisses on your ear, “we’ll pick this up where we left off.”

Chris was perfectly aware playing doctor with you was not a sustainable plan at all. He had to find a way to position himself around you strategically so he wouldn’t have to remind you of his existence every five minutes. 

And he had to do it fast before he inflicted fucking permanent damage on himself.

“An idea, boss,” he nonchalantly uttered one night, bouncing a ball against the cell wall. “Don’t you think it would be more lucrative if I was in the infirmary instead? It’s literally the stash of this entire fucking prison. Kitchen just ain’t it anymore.” 

“That’s out of the blue,” Noah creased his brows. “Where did that come from?”

“Out of the blue? Have you missed the memo on our feud with the Vices? They want my ass on sight,” he turned serious all of a sudden. “If I’m out of the wing, at least I won’t have to constantly look over my shoulder. It’s either this or I’ll have to hide in the hole, and I’d like to avoid solitary if I can, thank you very much.”

Chris liked to think that he was smarter than most, if not all people, but there was something he wasn’t quite able to conceal from Noah, a family man to two beautiful girls. He could read anyone like the damn book in his hands, and Chris should have known those hawk-like observational skills were a byproduct of being a father, not a veteran gangbanger.

“And you swear this has nothing to do with the doctor lady?” 

He continued with his reading as if he hadn’t said what he just said, stunning Chris hard enough to lose the ability to form coherent sentences.

“It’s… I’m… N–Not rea—”

“Fang,” he immediately stopped Chris before he could even attempt what was sure to be a convincing argument. “Fake it to whoever the fuck else you want. Not to one of your own.”

Chris briefly contemplated whether there was any chance at all that he didn’t have to confess to it. He was either going to get ruthlessly mocked for being so stupidly vulnerable, or get a good beating for having too much time on his hands to waste on teenage crushes. What was even the point of denial anyway? Noah had already caught on to his less-than-pure motives. 

His fingers inadvertently touched the wolf tattoo on his inner left arm, and he heaved a sigh so filled with yearning that it colored the stone walls into an even bleaker shade of gray.

“She seeped through me, mate,” he sighed with a broken smile. “She lives under my skin like a fucking tattoo.”

But that night, Chris learned that when you shared a moment of honesty with decent men, sometimes all you got in return was a comforting pat on the shoulder.

“Looks like you grabbed the tiger by the tail this time, brother,” Noah solemnly spoke while pointing at his ink. “Or in your case, a goddamn wolf.”

The guards’ voices echoed in the narrow hallways to announce lights out. As Chris clasped his hands under his nape to spend yet another night staring at the ceiling, Noah put his book under the tremendously uncomfortable pillow and got under the sheets.

“Don’t get your hopes up,” he whispered to his right once the guards passed by, “but I’ll see what I can do.”

“Fucking seriously?!”

“I said don’t get your hopes up,” a loud hiss bounced off the walls. “Try to get some sleep.”

“You know I can’t.”

“Insomnia going strong?”

“When did it ever not?”

“You never know,” Noah turned to his side and pulled his blanket up. “Maybe you should try counting doctors so she’ll come visit you in your dreams.”

Chris wished it worked that way, but even the slightest possibility of seeing you was enough to curl his lips into a smile.

“Fang? What are you doing here?”

It had been a while since you last saw Chris, which meant some banter exchange over whatever klutzery he dabbled in this time was long overdue. Much to your surprise, however, he not only looked very much in one piece for once but also responded with an uncharacteristically straight face.

“Shift in work detail. I’ll be working here from now on.”

No dimple charms cranked up to the maximum. No attempt to aggressively hit on you. A paranoid thought crept up in your head, debating whether someone saw you during… that, and he got reprimanded for it. Otherwise, why would he abruptly distance himself from you?

Why did the stench of disappointment raid the room all of a sudden?

“Doing what?” you kept an equally ‘professional’ composure.

“Helping you?” he shrugged. “Did you forget the day we first met?” 

He was referring to your annoyed greeting when he visited your royal chambers for the first time, and his heart melted a little when you averted your eyes from him. Maybe you’d never stopped thinking about it either. You called him Your Majesty that day, and Chris kept replaying those words in his mind all day, every day ever since then. It wasn’t… It wasn’t what you said but how you said it. Just the thought of being your king, living his life to serve his queen, loving her, cherishing her, pleasing her, and protecting her from all harm in the world…

If only you knew how much he was willing to give up just for a shred of that…

“How you snapped at me because you were shorthanded around here?” he jogged your memory. “Just dump whatever menial labor and paperwork you have on me. I know how to read.”

His originally planned maneuver was to be less aggressive in his advances towards you. He’d figured just being close to you would be enough to keep him pacified for the time being, and he could work his way up from there. Find that rift in your defenses to slowly pour himself into you. Sure, it could take some time, but he was willing to wait it out so that he cou—

Day 3 of breathing the same air as you, and he was on the brink of having to check into a fucking psych ward already.

It was as if you owned the leash to his rotten soul, and he was getting antsier by the minute that someone was going to notice his biggest weakness was carelessly walking around out in the open like that. He had never felt like this before about anything or anyone, having trouble breathing because of some invisible weight constantly pressing on his chest. He didn’t doubt his affection for you for one second, but the more he saw you, the more he heard your voice, the more he was exposed to you in some way, the more the one emotion he didn’t know he could feel started flowing through the cracks of that stone he had for a heart.

The unmitigated shame of how ferociously he was lusting after you. 

One look at you, and he was about to faint. One whiff of your scent, and he was pushed to the limits of his self-restraint. He was thoroughly consumed with the urge to kiss you, to touch you, to hold you in his arms, to taste the salt on your skin… God, he would fucking die if you moaned his name. He would lose whatever remained of his sanity if you said you wanted him back. He knew you deserved pure-white love, and he could never give you that with all the stains he bore, but he could rewrite everything you thought you knew about euphoria. He could make you soar to the heights you never thought were possible. He could love you so hard that you would hear his devotion to you coursing through your veins. He could if you let him.

And he could swear he felt it the day he kissed you. He could feel in his heart of hearts that you wanted to.

If you weren’t the slightest bit interested in him, then you should have immediately pulled out the rejection card, but you didn’t. You didn’t. You kissed him back. For quite a bit. If that didn’t mean your marital status didn’t mean jack shit to you, then what did? Why would it even matter when you were so obviously unhappy anyway? He could make you happy. 

He could make you so happy if you let him.

Five days. Seven days. Nine days. Veiled glances. Stolen touches. Your scent in passerby winds. Craving. Denying. Pretending. Yearning. 

Yearning. 

Yearning.

He forced it to the absolute limit of his patience. Honest. 

But a man in love was just the politically correct way to say a deranged maniac.

“Need a hand with that?” he made his way to the desk you were standing in front of.

“Felt lonely by the file cabinet?” you quipped with a little smirk as you kept labeling documents. 

“Yes.”

You just wanted to bounce snark off of each other to end the tiring day on a somewhat lighthearted note, however lighthearted it could be in a place like this, but the unexpected solemnity in his voice caught you off guard. You stopped trying to cram a piece of paper in a sheet protector and looked at him. 

Chris had been too quiet lately. His eyes were clouded with something akin to sorrow, and it didn’t suit him at all. The only thing fit for that face was crescent moons and the dimples that chipped away at his dangerousness.

Your chest was about to collapse for how hard invisible hands were wringing your heart.

“Did… something happen?” you quietly asked.

“What do you mean?”

“You’re a bit aloof,” you channeled your attention to the papers again. “Like… there’s something wrong.”

“No, everything’s fine.”

You knew he was lying, but you weren’t sure why. Was it just because he didn’t feel like talking to you, or was he…?

He wasn’t trying to shelter you from worrying or anything, was he?

“Are you expecting any visitors?” you attempted to change the topic. “It’s visiting day tomorrow.”

“Not really.”

“Not even your colleagues are coming to see you?” 

“I think you’d also agree that would be playing tic-tac-toe with landmines,” he spoke with an utterly straight face, heaving a longing sigh right after. “It’s not like I can ask for a conjugal visit with my standing, so…”

It felt like you shoved a finger in a socket when he suddenly brought it up. Did that…? Did that mean…?

“You… have a girlfriend outside?” your lips rendered the question before you could press ‘abort’.

“Would you be jealous if I did?” he responded with another question mark, eyes glued to the papers in his hand, but he was so damn amused that he couldn’t help his devilish smile.

“Tsch, why would I be?” you sneered, horribly failing to veil your interest in that minuscule piece of information. “You said you can’t ask for it with your standing, so I assumed there is someone you could ask for if your standing was good.”

When he finally looked up, Chris saw just how deep the creases were between your brows, shoving paper after paper into sheet protectors. Your jaw was slightly clenched, your nostrils were flared, and you were exhaling a bit too loudly from your nose.

Oh, god, you were jealous.

You were jealous. 

Of him!

He was so happy that he thought he was going to die from heart failure right then and there.

“Or I’m just saying shit to test your reaction,” he uttered in a voice filled with the mirth you were used to. 

Only when you saw how smugly he was grinning to himself did you realize how busted you were. You suddenly felt the need to drink a gallon of water all by yourself to put out the fire your embarrassment set on your cheeks.

Why were you this disturbed by the mental image of him with another woman anyway?

“Would you come to the visiting days if we were married?” he nonchalantly asked.

“Who wouldn’t visit their loved ones?” you put on a fantastically convincing performance through your small panic fit.

“Would you ask for a conjugal visit with me?” he continued his questioning, hands still busy with sorting out documents like this was some regular conversation topic over tea, but his smile was slowly fading.

Even a man of his composure had his limits because he was a goddamn human being. A human being with needs taking over his sanity. He wanted to be held. He wanted to be kissed. He wanted to hear sweet nothings in his ear from the woman who committed arson on his soul.

He wanted to be the first to know her taste and keep going until he passed out from fatigue.

“Well, uh… Er erhm, it’s–it’s important for the family ties to—” 

“Fuck the family ties,” he interrupted, visibly annoyed. “I’m asking if you would want to be with me.”

You finally locked eyes. That gaze held so much meaning that you were concerned he was going to hear how you were whimpering inside.

“Yes, I would,” you answered with calm resolve.

“Would you…?”

He took a moment to look for the right words, staring at the papers again. He was turning into this gigantic puppy right before you with how nervous he was, and it was tightening your chest even more.

“Would you miss me enough to…” he acted like how thickly he swallowed was no big deal at all, “...want to touch me?”

Your blood pressure hit berserk levels, but at the same time just why the fuck was he this endearing?

“It’s… only n–natural that… I would miss my husband,” you shrugged it off. “I mean, wouldn’t you want to sleep with me?”

Chris stole a glance from the clock on the wall to call his time of death.

Were you even aware what kind of a fucked up sentence you had just formed?! Him. Sleeping with you. Wouldn’t he want to sleep with… with you? You needed to stop. You needed to fucking cut it out before he dropped to his knees and beg you to crawl into his ribcage.

“You can earn up to forty hours here on good behavior,” he spoke with odd tranquility as if your sheer beauty alone wasn’t burying him alive. “But if we’re alone in the same room for that long, I assure you we’re not sleeping.”

We’re not. Not “we wouldn’t”, he said we’re not. Like you weren’t even talking hypothetically anymore. Like you were actually in that private room with him.

Even a gallon of water couldn’t save you now because the fire had jumped to the highway of your body, and your embarrassment was rapidly morphing into shame. Even shame wasn’t enough to contain this insanity possessing you, mind and heart alike, because something always always burned much more brightly and fiercely than that.

Lust.

“It may not be forty hours, but we’re still alone in the same room for that long, don’t you think?” you carefully stacked the sheet protectors into the red folder in front of you and loudly locked the clip. “Every day, for that matter.”

The chill that licked his spine when he held your gaze made him shudder. Your eyes had fully darkened, and you were looking at him almost daringly. You weren’t smiling, but the way your tongue discreetly swiped across your lips was simply diabolical. You weren’t touching him, but you were choking him to death. You weren’t kissing him, but you were taking his breath away.

He was about to go clinically insane if he hadn’t already.

“Are you…” he narrowed his eyes, fully aware he might be taking his last breath any minute now, “trying to tell me something?”

“No, nothing,” you shrugged, feigning ignorance. 

Oh, please. He knew you meant something. He knew you meant exactly that, but it was driving him up a wall that you just wouldn’t confirm it.

“If we’re not sleeping, then what?” you asked as casually as you could manage, pulling up a new sheet protector. “Do you wanna play checkers or something instead?” 

You sly little minx…

He knew full well that you were trying to get him to say things to you. You weren’t looking at him, just filing away with your attention fully on the documents in your hands, and this was the first time Chris felt jealous of goddamn paper. You were still faintly smiling, though. Why were you smiling? Why were you smiling if your intention was not to drive him crazy, huh? 

God, he was trying. He was really trying to control his urges, but you… 

You were fucking enabling him. 

“Oh, I want to play alright.”

He put down the papers in his hands and slowly walked behind you. Your eyes followed him as he moved, your breath hitching in your throat. You really should have been sitting down instead of standing because your knees were about to give way any second now.

“But being away from you that long, locked up in here… I’m a literal caged animal, you know,” he stood right behind you and put his hands on the desk, trapping your body under him. “I’m so touch-starved, it’s killing me.”

He gently touched the strands of stray hairs on your nape again, knowing damn well what it did to you. Your eyes fluttered close feeling his body that close to you. Close enough to forfeit all control over your reins.

You would kill to feel him closer than your veins.

“Touch me once, and you’ll be lucky if I don’t rip your clothes off,” he whispered into your ear, his voice slowly changing colors as he kept talking. “I’m that feral over you.”

You were getting so wet that the weak ass support your morals were standing on was about to collapse. One move, and you would be resting your head on his shoulder, perfectly putting your neck on display for him to kiss.

“It’s cute that you think I won’t rip your clothes off first,” you reciprocated his serve.

He let out a heavy exhale, growing a lot more excited than he’d be able to control. He had no idea where that courage came from, but… No, actually he did. It came from you flirting back. It came from how you couldn’t keep your eyes open when he was close to you. 

It came from the fact that he knew you belonged with him, and you fucking knew it, too.

He put his hands on your waist, subtly pressing himself against you. You almost let out a moan when you felt how huge he was on your ass. Maybe you didn’t need to be locked up within stone walls to feel how touch-starved you also were. You were touch-starved every minute of every day, wishing the man you were developing dangerous cravings for would just jump the gun, when even the one you were legally bound to wouldn’t. You tried talking yourself out of it. You tried so hard, but him…

Him…

“I’d be offended if you didn’t,” he placed a chaste kiss on your neck, “but what kind of a man am I if I don’t take care of my girl first?”

My girl. Take care of. Words you had never heard before. Words you had never heard even in hypothetical contexts, and he was declaring them into your ear like they were martial law.

“She spends all those nights alone in our bed. Touching herself, thinking of the nights I devoured her. Maybe more than once on the nights she misses me a little too much,” he ran his hands up your sides, dangerous enough to make your heart stop. “Which is why, when I finally get in bed with her again, she orders, and I do. That’s why I exist. Anything she wants.”

“Anything?”

“Anything.”

You imagined it. You imagined missing Chris in your bed. You imagined curling up in his remaining clothes to still feel his scent on the tip of your nose. You imagined cumming to that scent. You imagined sending your cum-soaked panties to him as a souvenir. Maybe he could cum on it and send it back to you, and that would be how you wrote love letters to each other.

You imagined a man crazy enough to go to prison for you and asked you to wait for him, but you didn’t have to imagine being in love with him.

“What if all I want is just to tease you?” you leaned into him a measure so you could properly feel his hardness. “Can you handle not getting your release in your caged animal state?”

“If it pleases you,” he reached for your chest and cupped your breasts, “who the fuck am I to say no?”

The breath you let out was so sharp, there was no way you could plead ignorance anymore. He knew you wanted him. You knew you wanted him. And you wanted him to hold you tighter. Harder.

In a chokehold.

“But aren’t you frustrated?” you asked him in a whisper.

Still heavily breathing down your neck, his hands slid down again, this time all the way under the skirt of your dress. Fuck, your thighs were so soft. It was fine if you didn’t let him do anything else; he could make do with just kissing them for hours.

“Frustrate me more if you like it,” he spoke in whispers, but each word came out like a threatening hiss, each one written with kisses on your neck. “I have a thing for that.”

You couldn’t help how hard you swallowed.

His hands were sliding up your thighs now, exploring the neighborhood of the castle he actually wanted to reside in. Every time he got a bit too close to your pussy, you were clenching so hard that he could feel it right on his tip as if you were both naked.

You wanted him, too, he knew. You wanted him, too, and he was forcing himself to remember how to be a gentleman about it because all he could think of was how he wanted you in the worst ways.

“You’re… okay with only taking care of me?” you slightly turned your head to your left.

“Okay with it?” he chuckled, melting you with the caramel notes of his subdued laughter. “You’re my fucking everything. That’s the sole purpose of my entire life.”

You were in complete disbelief over what his mere words were inducing in you, appalled that you would even consider something like this. This beautiful demon with that silver tongue of his… You were trying. You were trying to remind yourself that there were obligations that you needed to fulfill. Professional ones. Marital ones. Both of which were draining the fucking life out of you.

Both of which were making it next to impossible to resist him. 

“Then what if…?” you gulped, breathing unstable. “What if all I want you to do is…?”

He knew exactly what you meant just from the way you couldn’t verbalize it. You were giving him a terrible case of cuteness aggression, making him want to drown you in kisses.

“Then that’s all I’ll do for those forty hours,” he promised, tone nonchalant but intent heavier than your own wedding vows. “I’ll spend it all eating your pussy.”

“Chris…”

Chris. You called him Chris. Not Fang. Not inmate. The one thing, the only thing that he was being deprived of just so he would forget he was a human.

“This is all your fault,” he finally dared to cross the line, very very gently caressing your pussy no matter how hidden it was from him under layers of fabric. “You have this… grip on me.”

And he had this grip on you. 

The softest kisses on your neck. Kisses on your cheek. You were ending his life even though all you did was just exist, and he was afraid to open his eyes and look at you.

“I told you to let the sleeping wolves lie, but what do you do instead?” he pressed his head on your shoulder. “You walk into the den barefoot. You lie down right next to the wolf itself.”

“Then why doesn’t it kill me?” 

He smiled to himself, placing a very soft kiss on your temple as if his intentions were as pure as they could ever be. 

“Loyalty,” he sighed in defeat. “To its master.”

His whispers in your ear felt like they were blasting from loudspeakers, sending an immediate shockwave to your core. Even a woman of your poise had her limits because you were a human being after all. A human being with needs that weren’t catered to for what seemed like forever taking over her sanity, and if you didn’t take the last exit right about now, you were fucking doomed.

“I know what you’re thinking,” he reached for the waistband of your underwear, “but you need to say it first.”

The exit was collapsing along with all your defenses against him. You were just headed towards the cliff you were going to drive off of. You knew you were.

But you stopped caring.

“Chris…”

Chris. You called him Chris. Not Fang. Not inmate. The only thing reminding him that he was a man, but if he couldn’t breathe the same air as the woman he would burn this world down for, he was nothing.

“Say it,” he caressed the soft flesh of your mound, unable to move an inch more. “Say it, and I’m yours.”

Fuck the exit. 

You slammed on the gas pedal with all your might and drove past it, leaving a trail of dust clouds behind you. 

You turned around and dove right into his lips headfirst. He immediately grabbed your waist and sat you down on the desk, kissing every piece of bare skin within his line of sight. You wrapped your legs around his waist, holding onto him tight. He was burning up under your touch. He dragged the bust of your dress down and kissed all over your chest, filling his lungs with as much of your sweet scent as he could. God, how much he had longed for this. This. This. This was the very thing, the only thing that kept him alive. 

“Touch me, Chris.”

JUST WHAT THE HELL WAS YOUR PROBLEM, HUH?!

You grabbed his hand and placed it on your thighs again, asking him to make a move. His eyes widened in disbelief, still unsure if he was allowed to do what he was losing his damn mind over, but when you made him grope you hard, he finally took the fucking hint. He spread your legs as wide as he could and dropped to his knees, groaning like he was in pain just because he was this close to the meaning of his life.

Everything had boiled down to this moment.

He hooked his fingers behind your underwear and slid it to the side, repeating to himself over and over again that he was not a goddamn animal as he stared at your mouthwatering wetness. But maybe he was a little. Weren’t all human beings animals after all? Animals ruled by their instincts. And his instincts were goading him into claiming you for himself for the longest damn time. No, not to own you. Just to mark you. So that he’d know who to eviscerate if they dared to breathe the same fucking air as you.

He buried his head between your legs, and your entire life flashed before your eyes.

A ball of pure fire had formed in your loins, and with each lick on your soaked folds, a chunk of it was being cannonballed into your veins. You were spiking a lethal fever with acute onset lust, delirious with the intensity of the pleasure this man was inducing in your body. Those full, gorgeous lips wrapped around your clit, lazily sucking on you, obscene sounds bouncing off the stone walls every time he slurped on your cunt… It was impossible to stay sane. It was impossible to go on with your life as the woman you were five minutes ago. You put one hand on his head, caressing his hair as he worked his magic, and with each loving stroke, Chris was falling irretrievably in love with you.

You wanted to wreck this prison to the ground when the siren went off in the distance signaling headcount. 

He immediately jumped to his feet, as frustrated as you were for not being able to give you your happy ending, and helped you fix yourself in case a guard would drop by your office. 

“Looks like you got your wish, but I dare you to frustrate me more next time,” he stole a kiss from your lips and made his way back extremely reluctantly. “You owe me forty hours, and I’m gonna collect every… single… one.”

He might not have seen the ending of the movie, but Chris was still on cloud nine that he was there to catch the trailers. He skipped dinner that evening so that your taste on his tongue wouldn’t be laced with anything else, but with every passing hour, his euphoric high was receding, leaving that void to be filled with something else. Something ugly.

Something urgent.

“Hey, I gotta ask you something,” Chris approached Jack after dinner, “but Noah cannot know about it, deal?”

“Is everything okay, mate?” Jack looked at his former bunkmate with concern.

“Does Liv still do custom work?”

Jack’s face changed all of a sudden, half-surprised, half-entertained.

“Bullet or blade?” he grinned.

“Yes,” Chris replied curtly, compulsively checking the gate for Noah. “I have a job for her, but it’s not a message. She has to make it look like an accident.”

This story has a part 2, and I'm about 60% done with it. You can vote for which installment you'd like to read next here.

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Nevertheless, the end result is all the same to Toji. 

Even a rash decision like you eloping with Sukuna couldn’t stop Toji now—though it would complicate things should he make good on his promise to put a bullet in Sukuna if necessary. 

But until that time comes, Toji will continue playing his cards slow and steady.

Good things come to those who wait right?

The delicate balance of events, taking his time over the last 3 months, had proven necessary.

Your fate wasn’t just in his hands alone after all. It also—

“THE FUCK DID YOU JUST DO WOMAN!?”

Severing Toji’s thoughts, Sukuna's voice thundered from inside of the condo, his ire penetrating every word like a dagger.

Retreating back inside, the balcony door is left wide open in your wake as your voices echo into the night. 

Toji is sure the whole fuckin’ neighborhood hears your fight at this point.

“RECIPROCIATING ENERGY, RYO! YOU WANNA DOG ME THE FUCK OUT!? THEN YOU SHOULDN’T MIND PLAYING FETCH!”  

Toji chuckles, you may not be an assassin, but your slick ass mouth certainly could fire enough shots to be deemed a deadly weapon—something he has first hand knowledge of thanks to your last encounter.

In the past, Toji often wondered how Yuji—despite having a front-row seat to your and Sukuna’s constant bickering—remained such a cheerful, boisterous kid.

“GODDAMN IT! Crazy ass woman, that’s ¥3,500,000 you just fucked away!”    

However, it wasn’t until recently that Toji discovered the noise-canceling headphones you bought for Yuji—the kind designed for babies at loud events—shielding him from his parents' arguments, keeping him blissfully unaware.

“OH LIKE YOU FUCKED AWAY OUR FUTURE BY GETTING ANOTHER WOMAN PREGNANT…THEN HAD THE FUCKING AUDACITY TO SUGGEST BOTH OF US LIVE WITH YOU IN ITALY LIKE WE’RE GODDAMN SISTERWIVES?!”

Toji muses. With him, those headphones will become unnecessary. 

He’d never give you the need to have an argument like this with him.

Precisely because he’d never even look at another woman again if he had you.

Toji wants nothing outside of you as his wife.

He also knows it’s what you want too, deep down—even if you haven’t admitted it to yourself yet.

You were so close to doing so last time though, admitting it to both yourself and to Toji—tsk, but you ran.

Exactly two weeks had passed since then though, and in that time he’s barely seen you. 

You’ve been dodging him.

Groceries delivered to your door and your mail brought up by the concierge. 

The only interactions between you two as of late are those fake-polite, rushed smiles—the kind you give someone you’d rather not talk to when you just so happen to cross paths. 

Not that any of his run-ins with you ever just so happen. 

Of course, you have no clue the building’s security cameras are synced to his phone.

But the most unforgivable part? 

You miss playdates. 

Fuck—after all those weeks of letting Megumi and Yuji play together like the brothers they’d soon become too.

Toji’s patience has nearly reached its limits, but he knows you just need time to catch up to what he can plainly see coming.

To what is inevitable. 

You damn near fell for him right then and there that night.

Toji takes you not informing Sukuna of what happened last time Toji saw you as a good sign.

Sukuna would have tried to kill Toji himself had you told. 

Although it's a given that Sukuna will catch on eventually, Toji expects it will be far too late by then to do anything about what’s already been set in motion.

Chain-smoking, Toji flicks away a cigarette butt only to light another as his thoughts effortlessly drift back to that decisive encounter two weeks ago.

⟡

Toji returned home late that night to The Nursery. One hand kneaded the knots in the back of his neck while the other braced against the wall, steadying himself as he kicked off his oxfords in the entryway—half-laced and haphazard, just like his thoughts.

Exhaling hard, he cursed. His age was showing. 

A younger version of him wouldn’t have even yawned at that hour—even after being up for nearly two days straight. 

Yet, with the organization in disarray, Toji felt the weariness of pointless conflict. Especially since he’d been given the “honor” of playing a glorified elderly caretaker for the big boss in the form of a bodyguard. 

Who would’ve thought the assassination of an executive—overseas, in Italy no less—could stir so much shit back in Japan?

But three months in and zero results to show, outside involvement had been officially ruled out. 

The inner organization subsequently appeared weakened.

Power struggles had begun to boil, and the internal war Toji had long dreaded was no longer hypothetical.

It was imminent.

While others took this opportunity to curry favor or stage power plays, Toji only sees it for what it is—a pain in the ass.

All it amounted to was wasted hours that could’ve been spent making you his.

Toji missed your presence, your laugh.

You no longer flinched when he got too close, when his shoulder would brush against yours or when his hand would press against the small of your back in passing.

You saw him as dependable, even dare he say—gentle. 

The kind of man who could be a good father and husband.

Toji snorted.

Well, better than Sukuna at any damn rate and that’s all that really mattered.

Yet those interactions were brief when you’d pick up or drop off Yuji from a playdate. 

You never lingered too long though and Toji couldn’t risk keeping you and having Sukuna catch on and retaliate again—fucking you just to prove a point. 

Even though Toji knew you were on birth control from tracking the pharmacy deliveries—the thought of you accidentally having Sukuna’s kid again before his own makes his blood boil. 

Nevertheless, Toji made plans to see you that night. 

Well—his own plans. You didn’t know about them yet.  

Toji knew for a fact that Sukuna had been suddenly occupied that night—his contact had given him those assurances, and he expected you to be alone with the kids.

What Toji didn’t anticipate though was to see you in his condo when he walked through the hallway and into the living room.

Like some kinda divine intervention delivered you to him personally. 

Sarcastically blowing a kiss to the sky, Toji would give the credit to whatever God that wanted it.

A sight for sore eyes, you instantly energized Toji, grounding something restless in him. He took his time loosening his tie as he made his way towards you, savoring the view: you fast asleep on the sofa with Megumi and Yuji nestled against you.

His chest warmed at the sight of Megumi’s tiny fist curled tightly around the fabric of your dress—even in sleep, he couldn’t bear to let you go. Toji exhaled slow, chest tight with something damn near primal—because the kid wasn’t the only one who felt that way.

The soft glow of the TV flickered, playing My Neighbor Totoro on a low volume and casting a comforting light around the dimly lit room.

How sweet—did you all stay up as long as you could waiting for ‘daddy’ to come home? 

His vision so close to being reality, he could taste it.

Close enough to really get a good look at you, Toji’s eyes roamed over your relaxed features, taking in all the little details. Your slightly disheveled hair and smudged makeup only added to your allure somehow. 

Although, too done up for just a playdate. It was clear to Toji you were meant to be somewhere else that night before Sukuna had been preoccupied. 

The elegant black plunge-neck gown you wore elevated your soft curves in all the right ways. Especially in your sleep as the silky straps slipped off your shoulders, seductively baring most of your breasts and the diamond-drop necklace nestled between them. 

Well, they would be barred—if not for the two boys snuggled against your chest covering them up, the tiny milk rings on their mouths evidence of their satisfaction.

Heh, so even Megumi had gotten a sip directly from your sweet tits before him? 

Lucky little bastard.

Not that Toji hadn’t tried your milk before, well—indirectly. 

After Megumi’s mother passed, he’d refused formula, surviving off of hospital donations. But when the nanny mentioned a hospital shortage, you offered your extra supply without a second thought. You already were already dumping a wasteful amount thanks to Yuji’s hearty appetite, your overactive mommy milkers had plenty to spare.

Toji’s freezer was overflowing with bags of your sweet overstock. 

Too damn kind for your own good, ma.

Admittedly, the more Toji thought of your selfless donation, the harder the brick-like urge hit him to taste the creamy delicacy. 

And like the fiend he is, Toji was hooked from the first drip of bottle-warmed breast milk onto his tongue. Toji had to suppress a deep groan from gurgling up his throat at the taste. 

A good thing Megumi’s nanny walked in when she did or he’d have been tempted to down the whole damn bottle.

After that Toji made a habit out of “testing” Megumi’s bottles, always indulging in a few stolen sips. He reasoned it’s better to put on his tongue than waste a single precious drop on his forearm.

But soon, Toji would fix that. 

He’d gorge on his fill—directly from the source.

Tearing his gaze away from your chest, Toji’s eyes trailed lower, lingering on your fleshy hips exposed by the high-cut slits of your dress. The airy fabric bunched between your legs, inguinal crease exposed and tempting him as it revealed damn near everything but your pussy lips.

Toji couldn’t confirm back at the grocery store, but you definitely did not have panties on that night.

Still… The idea of you dressing up like a doll in something expensive—looking as fuckin’ drop dead gorgeous as you did—just to sit across from that smug bastard Sukuna, left Toji’s jaw clenching.

Especially when you got yourself all dolled up and went through all that effort for a man who didn’t even bother to show.

Toji didn’t need to hear the soft sniffs woven between your shallow snores to know you’d been crying. The faint darkness under your eyes, the puffiness in your cheeks were fresh. He’d know as he’d memorized every detail of how you looked over these past few months.

But fuck Sukuna, because now you were on his sofa, waiting for him.

Feeling a wave of conflicting emotions overtake him, Toji was unsure if he wanted to palm the heavy chub forming in his slacks at your disheveled state or snap a photo of you to commemorate the moment of just how perfect you looked holding the kids, like you were Megumi’s mother too.

Heh, a video would probably be best… he could jerk off later…two birds, one stone…

Eh, on second thought, maybe he could even slightly nudge Megumi's head out of the way and get a full glimpse of those fat puffy areolas of yours.

“She’s so pretty, isn’t she?”

A heavy, yet feminine voice oozed with amusement from the shadows. With her comes a proverbial storm cloud raining over the erotic yet wholesome image of you Toji had formed in his mind.

Nevertheless, Toji’s no top assassin for nothing—his gun spun out and leveled, silencer in place, before the tall, raven-haired woman’s words even finished echoing down the hall.

Toji gritted—The Nursery whore you befriended.

Fuck, she’d been in here the entire time and he hadn’t noticed.

If she were anyone else, Toji would have thought he’d been getting rusty…

Tsk—why did you have to go and make fucking friends with a bitch like her?

“I hate to admit it, but I see the appeal—I mean, if you aren’t being too picky, I suppose.”

Your friend simpered.

Clad in a lacquer-tight red mini-dress, she clicked across the hardwood, matte-black nails raised in mock surrender—her heels and haughty strut a loud declaration of audacity, disrespect, and complete disregard for Toji’s home.

“Easy tiger…wouldn’t want to wake their precious sleep, no?” 

Toji didn’t lower the gun. He didn’t even speak.

Not intimidated in the least, your friend sauntered closer, hips swaying deliberately. 

Defiantly, she leaned, centering the barrel perfectly between her tits. There’s a sick glint in her eyes like she gets off on the sensation of death pressed against her sternum.

“Go ahead, Fushiguro. I dare you.”

With no fear she grabbed Toji’s wrist, slowly dragging the barrel beneath her chin.

The stare down is intense.

Fucking crazy ass bitch belongs in a padded cell.

Yet Toji was the one with everything to lose and after what seemed like ages he finally broke the silence, gritting the words out as not to wake you.

“Are you fucking stupid? I told you to stay the fuck away from me…. and her.” 

His head tipped to you, and your friend’s eyes narrowed with venom.

“I know I don’t need to remind you, Fushiguro—but I can go anywhere in this building I damn well please.”

Anger flashes in Toji’s eyes. If looks could kill, Toji surely would have repainted the living room with her blood.

“Ha! Don’t tell me you're serious! Oh, puh-lease Fushigro!”

Snorting the woman eyed Toji like he’s a sulking child prone to theatrics.

“C’mon. I was just checking in on our little mama, hm? Poor thing got stood up after all. Then had to come n’ play nanny after yours had a lil ‘accident’—but you wouldn’t know anything about that right, hm?”

Ignoring her annoying ass prattling, Toji muttered a string of curses before reholstering his pistol with a reluctant clink.

Your friend simply giggled, unceremoniously dropping onto the sofa beside you—nestling into the spot that should have been his.

Fuckin’ bitch.

Toji couldn’t stand the way she looked at you.

Like she was deciding what kind of game she’d play with you as you stirred in your sleep.

This is why Toji warned you not to make friends here… and of all the whores in this building too.

Not that you know who she really is—she plays a role well, when she wants.

Anxious, Toji’s other hand twitched at his side. 

Although his gun is lowered, his killer instincts are still gnawing at him to ‘neutralize the threat’. 

It wouldn’t take but a moment to slide the blade from his pocket and chuck it straight between her eyes while the bitch dared to brush your baby hairs back with mock affection. 

Toji wouldn’t miss, yet wouldn’t dare risk it while you were so close.

"Touch her again and I’ll take your fucking hand off—that’s a promise."

Toji’s protectful gaze shifted to you,then to the boys—both still asleep and cuddled into your warmth like tiny animals burrowed-in for safety.

Your friend didn’t respond, only leaned back and exhaled a dreamy little sigh, letting her hand drift dangerously close to Yuji now. 

Toji sneered, a loophole since he clearly told her not to touch you, yet before Toji can say more, that’s when you finally began to stir.

Call it mother’s intuition at a sign of danger or whatever the fuck, but Toji was thankful for it nonetheless as the woman pulled back with a frown.

A haze of exhaustion clouded your features, but you still identified Toji through your disorientation, blinking your sleep away.

“F-F-Fushiguro… you’re—*yawns* back?”

Toji didn’t answer immediately, simultaneously realizing he still had the pistol in his hand and holstering it behind his back in a swift fluid motion.

“Yeah, ma. I’m home.” 

Toji’s reply is clipped but he’s focused on suppressing the scowl on his face before you realize something is wrong.

“I—I’m sorry. I know it must be a bit of a shock to see us here, but I scheduled a playdate with the nanny last minute so, me and Su—um, well…uh, so I could go out. But then she cut her hand and had to rush to the hospital…”

Toji tensed watching  you fumble over your explanation, catching yourself before you mentioned Sukuna—why?

“—and I came to help!”

Interjecting with a bright smile that Toji saw straight through, your friend plucked Yuji out of your arms, bouncing him on her knee. 

“Couldn’t let her handle this all alone after the night she’s had, so I came to help with lil’ Yu-Yu!”

Toji watched as Yuji squirms, fussing as he’s clearly not a fan of the nickname given to him either. Smart kid.

You, on the other hand, were too frazzled to notice—cheeks burning as you finally registered just how exposed you were. Tugging your dress down and smoothing your hair in flustered strokes, you multitasked with as much grace as you could, all while gently rocking Megumi to keep him from waking.

“What a horrible accident, all that blood too! Although nothing Ji-Ji would ever bat an eye at.”

Nothing that bitch would fuckin’ bat an eye at either, but Toji couldn’t be concerned with that when he could practically see the phantom question marks pop over your head as a revelation sinks in. 

“Oh, um…but you two know each other?” 

Your attempts to ask casually might have fooled less astute individuals but your true question is obvious. 

Motherfucker.

Given his less-than-stellar reputation around The Nursery, Toji could already picture the conclusions you were jumping to. 

“I didn’t realize…”

Your friend's smarmy smile made Toji’s skin crawl.

“Who, Ji-Ji?” 

She cooed obnoxiously at Toji in the same sickly sweet tone she used with Yuji. 

“We go way back.”

Your friend flipped her long raven hair and laughed.

“We practically grew up together! Didn’t we, Ji-Ji?”

If Toji’s jaw got any tighter his teeth might’ve cracked.

“Yeah—sumthin’ like that.”

Toji wanted to leave it there and not elaborate—truthfully there was nothing to even elaborate on—but the way you looked between them, he knew you likely assumed the worst.

Fuck…there’s no getting around this now.

“Tch, she’s the big boss’s daughter.” 

Toji revealed as his eyes meet yours. 

Damn—he should have warned you when you told him about her at the grocery store. 

Yet he thought it was too suspicious and couldn’t risk you misinterpreting it as him being controlling—what with your uber controlled relationship with Sukuna completely on his terms. 

And given how you reacted to him paying for your groceries? Toji didn’t need to be a rocket scientist to know he would have crashed and burned that landing.

“Illegitimate daughter—yet still a legitimate pain in my ass after all these years.” 

Toji’s voice stays flat, offering no affection for your friend—now revealed to be the boss’s daughter. Toji knew she had no designs on him other than to be a nuisance, so he didn’t bother sparing her feelings. 

His focus stayed on you, watching as your brows knitted, struggling to process the flood of information hitting all at once.

“Oh, don’t be like that Ji-Ji, we used to be so close before I moved to Italy!”

She winked, but Toji ignored it, outwardly unmoved but inside he was raging.

She was simply toying with you for sport—no other reason for her to be here.  

Ultimately he didn’t fuckin’ care whose daughter she was or how long he’d known her for—if she tried to stand in his way when it came to you, he’d deal with her. 

“Psh, ya n’ haven’t seen or heard from ya in fuckin’ years…”

Toji scoffed, making his way to the bar cart on the other side of the room. He needed to occupy his hands with something, less he did something explosive like actually put a bullet in the yakuza slut’s skull.

“Aw, don’t act like a stranger now. It's only been two years and we recently reconnected, haven't  we?”

Glass clinking against wood and the sound of dark liquor pouring were the only answers she received as Toji downed the fiery substance like medicine. 

That much is true—Toji had known her for years, and it'd been two years since she’s been away—but their relationship was nothing like she was inferring it to be. 

There weren’t many kids actually a part of the yakuza and not coddled in traditional homes or outside of The Nursery. Of course they knew each other. Honestly as both the bosses’ daughter and being completely batshit herself, Toji kept his distance from her unless absolutely necessary—even as a child. 

An awkward silence ensued, the accusation lingering thickly as all eyes in the room were on Toji.

The tension was palpable, but Toji simply swirled a newly poured glass of whiskey, smelling it briefly before chugging it down and pouring another. 

Toji’s only viable answer was a non-answer—he wouldn’t fall into her trap.

“Huh… a yakuza boss' daughter…”

After a few minutes, you found your voice and attempted to ease the strain saturating the room, your attention back on your friend.

“Well, I guess that also explains why the other women here now avoid me entirely since they’ve seen me with you.”

‘Yeah cause she’s the most fucking insane of the bunch.’ Toji wants to say, but he was well aware of the catch-22 he was in. 

There wasn’t much he could get away with at the moment without looking even more guilty for knowing her and not mentioning it, especially since you’d probably try to play it off as none of your business. 

Presently, this is the only moment in Toji’s long life of sin he has ever rued his slutty reputation. 

“Power has its privileges, my love~!”

Your friend sing-songed, and she looked as if she was about to launch into a particularly annoying self-serving monologue before a loud ding interrupted her.

Yuji continued to squirm in her arms as she rummaged through her matching red clutch until she found her phone.

“Ah ha! That’s my fiancé texting me! He sent a car for me—he just can’t stay away”

Likewise Toji, in considering himself your future husband, couldn’t keep his eyes from you. Not paying the boss's daughter any mind as he took note of the way your face crumbled at the mention of fiancé. 

Fiancé…ya gotta be fucking kidding. 

“Oh, sweetheart…” 

She noticed it too—your friend’s condensing comfort confirming Toji’s suspicions.

Consequently, Toji forced himself to ease up on the empty glass of whiskey he held, lest he crush it under his grip—because then he knew.

So is that what the hell tonight was supposed to be about—you being all dolled up?

Did that motherfucker Sukuna actually propose to you?

Or did the asshole simply promise you he’d marry you—stringing you along again and throwing just enough scraps—to state you…to keep you imprisoned in his orbit.

Fiancé or husband though—it didn’t fuckin’ matter. 

Sukuna could slap any title he wanted on you—you’d still be Toji’s in the end.

“Now, now. Don’t be sad, angel. You’ll find the right one meant for you—we all do eventually. You know, I’d think you’d fare better with a nice salaryman than a yakuza.”

It was crystal fucking clear the bitch was patronizing you, yet you still tried to give your ‘friend’ a genuine smile.

Shit, you must be particularly hard-up for company if you’re willing to humor a bitch like her. 

The boss’s daughter always loved her games and how blatantly tactless she could be once one of her cards had been revealed. 

But she wasn’t sitting at a table where she could win here. 

Toji wasn’t about to let anyone else dictate how this would play out when it came to you.

Right then, Yuji began to cry in full force and Toji moved before you could, lifting Megumi into his arms and clearing the way without a word—forcing your friend’s hand.

Your friend rolled her eyes at Yuji's tantrum, plopping him back into your lap and brushing off her palms as if he left something on her.

It’s clear the boss's daughter has zero maternal bones in her body the way Yuji quiets once he’s back in your arms where he belonged. 

“Welp, off I go! He has a bit of a temper and hates when I keep him waiting, ya know~ciao bella!”

She blew a kiss to the room and sauntered out like a queen off to better things than toiling around with mere subjects.

The door slammed shut behind her.

In her absence the leftover tension clung to the air like humidity. Toji cursed the heavy revelations she stirred up and left for the two of you to choke on.

Your friend who you now know to be the illegitimate daughter of a yakuza boss—also Toji’s childhood acquaintance. 

And Sukuna’s proposal… or just the promise of one? 

Fuck.

How did the perfect situation Toji walk into turn into this mess?! He didn’t think Sukuna would be so desperate to keep you as to propose.

Your sigh caught Toji’s attention.

Tsk, Toji resents them both—your “friend” for toying with you and Sukuna for building up your hopes to something he could never be for you—something that Toji could fulfill so much better.

“You know…She’s..She’s been kind overall, even if she can be a lot.”

Your gaze stayed fixed on the door, shoulders slumping under the weight of not only being stood up but mocked.

It pissed Toji off—so he said the only thing he could. He’s not good with words, but he could at least give you honesty.

“She’s a cunt.”

You quickly shot Toji an admonishing look as if you were about to tell him to ‘watch his mouth in front of the kids’, yet you relaxed once you realized both kids were knocked out again. 

“Yeah, but I can’t deny she’s looked after me, getting those other women off my back without expecting anything in return—”

Mama, you had no fuckin’ idea what she expects. But Toji kept that to himself for now.

“Fuck her, ma.”

You rolled your eyes, continuing.

“—and while it hurts to hear, she’s right about Sukuna.”

“Yeah? Well, fuck him too.”

You snorted sharply at that, no longer able to hide your amusement at Toji’s overt bluntness.

“Ha! Now, that’s no good either—how do you think I got stuck with him in the first damn place, Fushiguro?”

Toji couldn’t stop the devilish grin that formed at seeing a bit of your fire return. 

“It’s Toji, ma...”

You threw him some side eye before conceding with a small laugh—bright and genuine, and for a brief moment it looked as if you had another slick comeback prepared, but then your face fell back somber. 

Truly, Toji was hanging on by a fuckin’ thread not going on a suicide mission to take down the whole damn organization. None of them deserved to even know you.

“I don’t know, everything has been so different since becoming a mom—I’m different.”

Confiding in Toji, you softly smooth down Yuji’s hair.

“Perhaps if I looked that good in a mini dress again…I used to wear stuff like that all the time, but Sukuna thinks it's too revealing now…even this dress he’d probably think is too much.”

You trailed off, and there was a beat of silence before Toji spoke, he’d been successful at calming himself about your supposed engagement, but your admission of Sukuna and that whore making you insecure when you were so fucking perfect was making him murderous.

“Look at me.”

The authority in his voice startled you but Toji didn’t regret it, he needed to ensure you heard him on this.

“Ya look fuckin’ beautiful tonight, mama. Better than any woman in this building, all of fuckin’ Tokyo. Motherhood, when y’er meant to be one, when y’er good at it—is sexy on it’s own…”

Toji paused, and the weight of his smolder made you shift in your seat.

“...and y’er damned good at it ma.”

Your eyes widen and a deep flush sweeps over your body. 

Toji almost thought he said the wrong thing again until your smile returned as you lightly chewed your lip—unable to mumble out anything but a small ‘thanks’ before quickly shifting your focus to check if Yuji needed a diaper change.

Toji’s chest puffed in pride. For all his scheming, in the moment he simply spoke his truth. 

If anything you should be wearing less—well, if he had any say in it you’d be wearing nothing at all right now.

“Heh ya know mama, you doll up real nice. Be a real shame to take it all off without having dinner first…” 

Toji casually stepped forward, looming over you until you were forced to look away from Yuji and up at him.

“So how bout it? I’ll cook.”

You looked at Toji like he sprouted two more heads.

“You? Cook?!”

You were looking at him like you didn’t think he could even boil water.

“Wouldn’t be the worst thing I’ve ever done.. ‘sides you deserve it, eh?”

Toji loves how your eyes sparkled, even if you tried to reign it in after a few moments.

Just say yes.

“Tsk, I know this isn’t the night ya wanted but… y’er the only other person I trust with Gumi. This is just my way of sayin’ thanks.”

Toji rubbed the back of his neck, trying to play it cool—but when your face lit up, unabashed this time, he couldn't help but grin too.

“Well, okay, yeah I am a bit hungry now that you mention it…but I’m at least supervising! I’m not sure if I trust you just yet in the kitchen, Fushiguro.”

“Ya got it and—it’s Toji, ma.”

The decision was quick—Toji would cook dinner, and you’dl finally make good on your promise of matcha brownies.

As much as he hated the boss’s daughter barging in, Toji couldn’t deny that her interruption left you more willing to stay—more open to letting him salvage the night.Rough beginnings to be sure, but Toji wasn’t about to let this opportunity for a ‘first date’ pass nonetheless.

“Ya can put Yuji in Megumi’s crib. Plenty room.”

You nodded, adjusted Yuji in your arms, and followed Toji into the hall. Toji slowed to your pace, matching your small strides so you could keep up. There was something wholly familiar about you both walking like this to Megumi’s room, and an intense flash of deja vu triggered in his mind.

He’s in a house. It’s homey, well lived in. 

The air smells of simple comforts like miso and laundry softener. 

Megumi and Yuji are clonked out on the floor. The cushy living room rug being an impromptu bed as the two caused utter mayhem until they tired themselves out.

You step past Toji as you bend down to pick up Megumi and in turn he holds Yuji, a large protective hand on his back. Somehow it’s too easy to have love for the boisterous little boy who has all the best parts of you.

Walking into the children’s bedroom there’s a lone crib there. Too big for any of the boys but it's not meant for them.

There’s another baby, already tucked away asleep.

Toji steps closer to get a better look...

The vision ended there, leaving him standing in front of Megumi’s crib—empty.

Toji closed his eyes, trying to hold on to the sight, yet the last remnants were gone and he’s ushered back into reality. You brushed past him, laying Yuji in Megumi’s crib. Swaddling Yuji’s sides with the blanket, you plant a kiss on the forehead. His tiny fists twitched once, then went slack—out like a light. 

Following your lead, Toji places Megumi on the opposite end,Yet to no surprise to Toji, Megumi's small face scrunches in protest, a fuss well on its way to starting.

Shit kid usually has a pacifier or something when he sleeps, huh?

Toji turned to a nearby nightstand but to his surprise, you were already on it.

“Shhh, baby... I know.” Murmuring sweetly, you brushed the spikey hairs from Megumi’s face. “...rest easy now.”

The floor creaked as Toji leaned in to appraise the gentle way you rubbed soothing circles on Megumi’s back, pacified, but your touch quickly sank him into a peaceful slumber before it was no longer needed.Toji hummed, pleased, and he placed Megumi’s binky into the crib. A simple, routine motion—until your fingers gently curled around his wrist.

The contact was only meant to steady yourself as you leaned to kiss Megumi’s temple, but to Toji, it was anything but insignificant.

His arm tingled under your soft grip, the faintest brush of your thumb skating across the inside of his wrist. It was unconscious. Familiar. The kind of touch given by someone who expected you to be there—who didn’t doubt your presence.

And fuck, maybe that’s what undoes him most.

You didn’t even realize what you did. He stayed silent, struck dumb as your hand slipped away, returning to the crib to tuck Megumi’s blanket tighter under his chin like nothing happened. But Toji was still reeling, the heat of your touch lingering like a brand.

“There! All tucked in… g’nite, sweet babies,” 

Your voice was full of warmth as you turned around, only to collide into Toji’s chest.

He hadn’t moved. Not an inch since your hand left his.

“Oh, I’m—”

The apology faltered on your tongue when you realized just how close the two of you were—so close you had to tilt your chin up to meet his eyes. 

Your gaze, wide and shimmering with caution. Not quite matching the way your lips part instinctively like your body already made a decision your brain scrambled to rationalize.

The air hummed between you both, a current of electricity that had every nerve in Toji coiled tight. They screamed at him to pounce, because goddamn if he didn’t want to kiss you—slide his tongue into the depths of your mouth and finally taste you. To make you gag on every last bit of longing he’s been holding in all this time.

His instincts told him you’d let him too. 

Did you both share the same dreamy domesticated deja vu? 

Did you think of him and Megumi as yours already?

Close enough to smell you, the sweet intoxicating florals of your perfumed scent swirled around his senses, tempting him like a siren call.

If Toji took one step forward, he could pin you between the crib.

Be that as it may, Toji’s astute perception also alerted him to how desperately you grasped the railing of the crib. Terrified of your own desires, your knuckles bulging from how tight you gripped the wood.

Look at you so eager, and yet so nervous. 

It practically oozed out of every pore. 

Toji practically salivated at the circumstance—he had you where he wanted you for so long now.

You gasped, involuntarily moving forward to press against his hulking frame as his hand slid over your waist. 

Toji moved down—

—right past you to turn on the baby monitor attached to the side of the crib.

Grabbing the receiver in the holster next to it, Toji stood up, putting enough space between you so your lungs could start functioning again. 

Tsk, you weren’t quite there yet though.

Toji was completely, as evidenced by his cock—half hard in his pant and throbbing—all while warring with his mind that decided at the last minute you weren’t ready.

You had to want it more.

There would be no misunderstandings, no turning back when Toji finally kissed you.

“Well, let’s get t’cookin’ then. Ya like yakiniku, ma?”

The sheer amount of bashful bewilderment radiating off of you made Toji smirk. He lets you marinate in the aftermath as he quickly leaves the room. He didn’t look back, but knew you started to follow by the pap pap pap sounds of your feet trailing behind him. 

“Uh-I, um gotta go—go and get the ingredients for the brownies!”

Your announcement came as soon as the two of you were back in the living room, and didn’t wait for his acknowledgement before you booked it out of the door. 

Toji waved you off, chuckling as he entered his kitchen.

If you’d hadn’t just put Yuji down, Toji would almost bet your embarrassment wouldn’t let you return. He was sure his casual reaction threw you for a loop. It took every bit of restraint he had to behave, but Toji was playing the long game.

By the time you came back, composure settled and ingredients in hand, Toji was already deep into prepping dinner, the entire ensemble atop the island in the middle of the kitchen.

“You actually own an apron?”

Toji didn’t look up, but a cheeky grin pulled at the rough scar on his lip. It wasn’t really anything fancy, just a simple white canvas material, folded in half and wrapped around Toji’s muscled waist. 

“Well it ain’t a skirt, mama.”

Toji threw you one too causing you to giggle softly.

“Multiple at that!?”

Toji knows your eyes on him, but remains focused on the task in front of him. Having you observe him with interest like the many times he observed you honestly thrilled him—to be the object of your study for once. 

You gazed at his arms, bulky, bare, as he discarded his suit jacket, pushing his sleeves up to his elbows. A sweep of dark inks snakes up his forearms—coiling waves and windbars rippled when he flexes. The color is rich, old-school and bold with no outlines—just intricate patterns branded on his skin like the stories they tell are in his very blood. Toji feels they are at least, so it only affirms your assumed appreciation of his appearance.

Toji lets you linger, savoring the moment. No need to ruin it by making you self-conscious about just how hard you’re staring at him now.

Nah, better to keep it casual for now.

“Might not look like it mama, but I know my way around a kitchen at least when it comes t’meat. If ya cut it right, hard to fuck up yakiniku—even for me.”

Toji produced an impressive slab of beef from the fridge, eliciting an amazed ‘woah’ from your side of the kitchen. The cooking knife he held shone sharply, almost as much as the marbling on the meat itself.

Truthfully, Toji couldn’t remember how long it’d been since he even cut meat for someone, let alone cooked. Still, the motions came back like second nature.

Drawing the knife. Diagonial strokes. Quick, uniform and methodical.

Under his knife, the wagyu seemed to melt off for Toji, who laid the tender cuts out in a circle formation on a platter already filled with cabbage, mushroom and pumpkin chunks. 

Toji was already anticipating how good it would sizzle once it hit the pan, and your awes were palpitable.

“Wait..hello?! Do you moonlight as an Iron Chef or something?”

Toji barked with laughter and showing off extravagantly, he flipped the last slice of meat onto the plate, and you couldn’t help but clap in amusement.

Toji is an assassin afterall, of course he’d be good with knives—but that didn’t mean he still wasn’t going to showboat a little, and he gave you a wink for your applause..

“You’re full of surprises, Fushiguro.”

“—Toji, mama,” Toji corrects without thinking. It's second nature now. 

You’d made your way to his side of the island, Toji’s tattoos and skills with a knife dazzling you like a lure. Your bodies were almost touching again as Toji turned, towering over you for the second time that night. A soft, humming charge of anticipation that seemed to radiate from you, growing stronger with each inch he leaned in. 

You’re trapped in the flame of his aura again but this time there's more calm about you. 

Your hand on the counter supports rather than braces.

Your chin tipped back, your eyes locking with his.

Look at you… coy, inviting. Irresistible. 

Still not enough.

“Pass the shoyu, ma?”

The relaxed request snaps you out of your daze. 

“O-Of course!”

Nearly knocking over the bottle in your haste, you practically toss it at him before scurrying back to your bag at the far end of the island. 

The brownie ingredients rustle as you dig furiously through them, looking everywhere but at Toji. 

“Thanks, mama,” Toji grinned, catching the bottle with ease. 

For all the fire and sass you have in you, you’re pretty soft under the surface. He likes seeing that part, the innocence you try to keep hidden. The very opposite of the man he just can’t wrap his mind around believing you’re with.

Sukuna’s no saint—you had to know he killed men. 

But Toji? He’s lost count. 

And he wondered—how much of him could you actually accept if you really knew him? 

What he’s done.

What he’s yet to do, just to have you.

Would you hate him for it?

“But don’t let the setup fool ya, ma. I ain’t no cook. Just…when ya grow up workin’ in a butcher shop, you pick up a thing or two about meat. I had to learn how to prep bodies for disposal before I learned how to take ‘em out.”

Toji poured the soy sauce into the marinade, sneaking a glance at you over his shoulder. 

Your brow lifts, unconvinced. 

“Uh-huh.”

Toji was baiting you with his yakuza affiliations—and you were taking it, just like he knew you would.

“Nah, ya know I’m fuckin’ with you, mama,” 

His grin still plastered on his scarred lips.

“C’mon, what’s the look for, ma? We kept it all separate. No mixing people with the food…” 

Toji paused but you didn't interject. You listened, and like a sponge you soaked up every dark little drip of his past he fed you under the guise of his jokes.

“…but when ya work in a butcher shop, no one questions bloody bags in the dumpster.”

Your eyes rolled as you shook your head, but Toji caught a twitch of a smile. 

You weren’t squeamish. Good. 

“I guess it was too much to hope you’d just taken a cooking class.” 

Although you could take a joke well, your sighs betrayed you were clearly unimpressed.

“You yakuza men…”

That hits a nerve.

Yakuza men.

You just compared them. You had to have—what other yakuza did you know but Sukuna?

Toji knew what he was doing. Dangling the most unsavory parts of himself with a grin, just to see if you’d flinch.

So maybe he deserved that.

But hearing it out loud—having it confirmed that you might see him the same way you see Sukuna—hit like a bullet between the ribs.

Yeah, Toji is a yakuza through and through—never tried to be anything else.

But he’s not Sukuna.

And the idea of you thinking he was?

That’s the one thing he can’t stomach.

Not when he’s clawing so desperately for something different.

Something better with you.

“Gumi will get real cookin’ lessons when he’s older though.” 

Toji tossed the words out like they’re nothing, but the implication is obvious.

“Wanna give the kid a shot at least. Hard, though…when this is the safest place for ‘em.”

That might’ve been the most honest thing he’d ever said to you, and it spilled out before he could even dress it up with his usual bullshit. 

Toji knew you didn’t want this life Yuji either—but kids like them don’t just inherit yakuza legacies, they get swallowed by them.

Yet with you, for some reason Toji saw the blocks lifted and pathforward to end the cycle of chaos. 

He’d always be tied to yakuza, but his kid? 

Gumi could be normal—especially, with you as his mom.

“And what about Megumi’s mother? Is it not safe with her?”

Toji froze.

It was a reasonable question given the turn of conversation, but it unexpectedly sliced through Toji all the same. 

For once, he was the one to look away. No clever quip, no smirk to hide behind. 

Toji crouched low, reaching into the cupboard beneath the counter to retrieve the portable grill.

“She’s dead.”

Zero pleasantries cushioned his words, so your shock and the subsequent sounds of spilled ingredients weren’t surprising to Toji who rummaged deep in the cabinets.

You scrambled to grab a rag, mumbling something about being sorry and not meaning to pry.

But Toji barely listened, craving a cigarette he couldn’t have with you and the kids around, so he’d settle for another whiskey instead. When he stood, your eyes found him instantly—soft and full of concern. 

He didn’t deserve your sympathy, but like hell if he didn’t crave it all the same.

Thank fuck you were still on the other side of the island, because this time? 

Toji wouldn’t have resisted. He’d have kissed you.

The aching for what he’s lost and what he then hungered for slammed together like a 6 car pile up. He knew he had to keep it cool before every piece of fragmented emotion in his life scattered across the kitchen.

“Don’t worry about it. Just childbirth complications. No one’s fault—you know the risks.”

The words came out easily, but they tasted like rust on Toji’s tongue as he set the grill on the kitchen table.

The silence that followed the intense revelation wasn’t cold—but it was still a bit awkward nonetheless. 

For once, Toji was off his game. 

Floundering in the weight of shit he didn’t usually let in. 

Unforgiven emotions seem to crawl out whenever you’re near.

But you stayed. 

You cleaned up the milk. 

You didn’t run—even though Toji knew you probably considered it over a dozen times by then.

And that fucking had to mean something, he knows it does.

Thankfully, the kitchen is a more forgiving environment and it wasn't long before a homey routine took over, softening the aftermath of your conversation. 

Flicking on the grill, the iron hummed as flames licked across metal. Toji finished setting the table, but his eyes stayed on you. Cocoa and matcha thickened the air as you turned on the oven, moving gracefully as if this kitchen was your own.

You hypnotized Toji, your hips swaying to the beat of your hum, lost in some tune only you could hear.

You were oblivious to how much of your bare back you were showing him, the thin fabric clinging to your waist and pulling taut over your ass when you leaned over the counter.

His gaze followed the curve of your spine, more hungry for your tender flesh to be on his tongue than any rare cut of meat he could have prepared, and Toji carelessly fell back into the well-practiced pattern of watching you when you didn’t know he was looking. 

“Here...”

Heh, or maybe you did that time?

You finally broke the silence, extending the mixing spoon behind you without turning around. 

“...come and taste it. Tell me if it’s too sweet.”

Toji didn’t bother with any damn spoon though, closing the distance, his broad chest brushed against the bare skin of your back. 

With a sharp inhale, you immediately straightened, yet Toji remained unfazed as he leaned over you. 

Peering into the dark thick mixture, Toji didn’t hesitate to slide two fingers knuckle-deep into the mixing bowl.The languid yet intentional swirl of his digits scooped up the batter in one steady flick, like he was  well familiar with stirring up something else that could be just as sticky and sweet.

Careful to collect every last drop, Toji brought the batter to his lips and devoured it completely.

“Mmmmm.”

Toji lets out a low, drawn-out groan that rumbles deep from his chest, the sound warm and heavy as it fans down the back of your neck—making you squirm. And if the way your thighs instinctively press together is any indication, that heat is pooling in your pussy too.

The taste is utter perfection.

But instead of saying so, he let the gluttonous slurps and wet, lewd smacks of him so crudely polishing his fingers clean fill the air between you—each obscene sound making it harder for you to stay still.

From his angle, Toji had a perfect view of your chest, watching the supple jiggle of your pretty mommy tits when a shiver rolled through you.

Toji couldn’t wait to eat you just as nasty, and he imagined that you must be thinking about it too the way you bullied the brownie batter with flustered, over-eager whisks.

“So I take all of that means you like it then, hm Fushiguro?” 

Your sass was back, quicker than usual, yet you still didn’t dare look at him.

Still embarrassed, huh?

“...It’s Toji…”

Toji smirked, quickly dipping his pinky as you tried to bat his hand away, but he managed to grab some regardless, popping it into his mouth as he dodged the hand towel you threw at him.

He chuckled. Although he enjoyed the taste, Toji would’ve rather had you straddling his face right then, letting him lick your creamy pussy batter straight from the source.

But your delectable desert would do for now. Toji wants the tension to keep piling, to wind you tighter until you finally pop.

It’ll be worth the wait.

“Oi!”

Toji’s brow quivered as you spun around to face him.

“You never gave me an answer. No complaining once it’s done if you don’t like it—”

But your scolding fizzled as you closed the distance, noticing the mess all over his face.

“Tsk, oh look at you!”

Huffing, you march towards him.

“You’ve got more batter around your mouth than in it, ya know?”

Toji shrugged, the dark smear of batter still glistening over his scar in the light as the corner of his lips twitched in amusement.

There’s no second guessing in your demeanor as you stand toe-to-toe with him. 

“Seriously—what are you, an infant? Jeez, even Yuji’s not this messy!”

Toji let you scold him. He wants this part too—having someone care about him enough to nag.

But then you did something neither of you expected.

You wet your thumb on your tongue and leaned in, swiftly swiping across his lips and still without thinking, you brought your thumb to your lips to quickly lick it clean.

“There! I—”

The words died in your throat.

Toji reveled in the way the realization flickered across your face, syncing perfectly with the sharp hitch of your breath the moment it dawned on you.

For once, you were the one who crossed the line.

Not only did you step into his territory, but you groomed him so intimately without even realizing.

Yeah, there it fucking is.

The initiative Toji was looking for. When you’d be the one to willingly wander a little too close to the edge, not knowing he was waiting in the shadows to pull you all the way in. 

Toji is glad he’s waited until this moment to tear you apart.

Ding!

The motherfucking rice cooker timer. 

“Ah! R-Rice is ready, and I should really get these in the oven, you whispered quickly, and while Toji didn’t stop you, he did track every step you took.

Oh you’ve unleashed him now, mama.

Toji’s jaw tightened, pulse hammering.

He’d been patient. He’d laid his traps. 

But that night? That was where the chase ended.

It wasn’t a matter of if you’d be his. 

It was a matter of when you’d stop pretending you weren’t already.

However, the least he could do was give you the courtesy of a meal. 

You’d need your stamina for how hard he was about to fuck you. 

Sleeves rolled to his elbows, tongs in hand, Toji’s forearms flexed as he worked the grill. The first round of marinated meat and vegetables gently sizzled on the tabletop flame.

“Ooh, that smells so good even from here!” 

Your voice gets closer as you make your way back to the table, taking the seat across from him.

The kitchen table is made for four, but with the grill and accompaniments taking over, it was the perfect size for two. Toji was thankful he never bothered with trifling things like a table cloth, which meant he could see everything beneath the smooth crystal top.

The moment you sat down, the high-slit dress revealed your thighs. Despite how you innocuously tried to equalize the hem back into place your attempted modesty did nothing but ensure Toji’s appetite was no longer for the food.

Toji manspread into his seat further and your eyes deliberately avoided looking at the impressive bulge resting shamelessly between his manspread legs.

He wasn’t even hard. 

With a nervous laugh, you started with small talk, trying to look anywhere but at Toji’s cock.

Toji knew you were trying to act like this was normal. 

Like this was just a casual dinner between neighbors. 

But the sparks, the chemistry brewing between the two of you when finally alone was more than just an elephant in the room—it might as well have been  Godzilla.

“Ya want some whiskey, mama? Goes well with meat… all kinds, ya know.”

Your eyes flicker upward as you shift, placing the napkin in your lap—more for a last ditch attempt at attempted modesty than manners, but Toji didn’t hide the way his eyes lingered on your thighs nonetheless.

“I wish.” 

Your sigh is weary.

“But strong stuff means dumping milk, and with how much these boys eat…I can have a little sake though,if you’ve got it.”

Good. Toji hoped it would loosen you up again. He wouldn’t let you slip away next time.

“Coming right up—anything or my #1 supplier.”

“Fushiguro—when you say it like that, you make it sound like a drug deal!”

Thankfully this time there's a playful mirth in your tone.

Oh your milk? Might as well be a drug—it’s like straight crack to Toji. 

You didn’t need to know that though, so Toji only reminded you for the hundredth time to call him ‘Toji’ as he chuckled, sharing in your amusement for an entirely different reason.  

Retrieving the sake, Toji poured you a generous cup and slid a piece of grilled wagyu onto your plate, standing close like a chef awaiting judgment.

“G’on try it, ma. Lemme how I did, eh? Shouldn’t kill ya.”

You nodded, a coy smile on your lips as you picked up the wagyu with the chopsticks, balking only when Toji told you the nama tamago, raw egg, on the side wasn’t meant for the grill but to dip the meat in.  

Skepticism took over your face until you brought it to your lips for the first bite—the rich creaminess of the egg cooled and balanced the umami of the meat perfectly—and your eyes instantly closed as you savored it.

“Mmmmm.”

Your moan made Toji grip the tongs tighter. 

Fuck.

That wasn’t the way he imagined first making you moan for the first time, but he’d take it. You’d soon be moaning even more deliciously for him once he had you the way he really wanted you.

“Good?”

You nodded obliviously, mouth full and humming in approval.

Feeling confident, Toji brandished a fanged smile. “Heh, wit ya moanin’ like that I bet it is—knew you’d like it raw.”

You nearly choked, coughing into your napkin as a bit of sauce dribbled from your chin. 

You shot him a glare.

“Don’t ruin dinner.”

Ruin dinner? Toji?

What was with you? 

As much as Toji enjoyed the chase—he’d follow you right into hell if you led him there—he was beginning to tire of your hot and cold act.

“What, like Sukuna did?”  

Toji returned to his seat across from you. 

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

You went quiet at that.

Toji had no intentions of hurting your feelings nor did he want to mention Sukuna again for comparisons, but he did want you to get a little perspective on what actually ruined the night.

“You’re right…We were supposed to be celebrating our engagement, but here I am having dinner with another man.”

The chopsticks cracked in Toji’s hand. He deduced as much, but it still felt like a slap in the face hearing you confirm it aloud.

“Not only did Sukuna stand me up, I think…”

Delaying, you locked eyes with Toji. He could tell you were coming to terms with the words you were about to say.

“I think he might be cheating on me.”

Toji asked plainly.

“And if he is?”

Of course, Toji didn't realize just how loaded the question was until he said it. He meant it as ‘would you stay’, yet it has so many deeper indications, he felt your walls start to go up again.

“Then he’d be like every other man I know.”

Toji frowned at you lumping him in with Sukuna again—are you not past this already? Perhaps he had to take a stronger hand with you.

“Do ya not know me then ma?”

You blink at Toji before your face crunched-up in sarcastic disbelief.

“Ha! C’mon now Fushiguro, I know you’ve slept with more than half the women in this building. You’re hardly one to value monogamous relationships.”

Toji clicked his tongue, scoffing.

“Well, sure as fuck not someone else’s.”

“That much is obvious.” 

Your eyes alighted with challenge as you dared to meet his own, the implications clear. 

Touche.

Toji stewed as you returned to the meal in silence. His fingers curled tight around the edges of the table. It wasn’t rage stirring in his chest—just a swell of emotion he couldn’t easily name. 

Frustration, maybe. Restlessness. 

He wasn’t used to being provoked like this.

Never has he been so desperate for someone to understand him—not even his late wife, back when things were simpler. She never challenged him, never pushed. She accepted what he gave her at face value, took his truths as they came. 

But you? You couldn’t. Not when you’d be damaged so badly by Sukuna.

It frustrated Toji as much as it turned him on. 

But the gloves were off now.

You needed to know who he was and what he could give you.

“But I haven’t slept with her—that’s what you really wanted to know tho, right ma?”

Toji’s scarred lip upturns triumphantly when your eyes snapped to him. Your face says it all. 

Bingo.

“That’s…”

You started in a rush, but slowed your words, choosing them carefully.

“That’s…really none of my business.”

Bullshit. 

Toji huffed.

“So ya just care so much ‘bout the rest of the women here then, the ones who hate you?”

You bristled as your eyes flashed with indignation. 

“Look, Fushiguro… not everyone is lyin’. With your rap sheet, someone could claim you slept with half of Tokyo last week and I would be inclined to believe them.”

Your words had more bite to them this time, but Toji heard enough of your arguing with Sukuna to know when you were baiting an argument. 

Toji was no pushover, but he’d show you he could handle ya without all the screamin’, well screaming from fighting at least.

“Sure, okay ma, n’while they might have been telling the truth in the past, they would be lyin’ now. I haven’t slept with anyone in… months.”

You looked more than skeptical at Toji’s admission.

“Months?”

“Exactly 3 months, if ya wanna be technical, mama.”

Toji chuckled. He could see you do the math in your head that ‘3 months’ was how long you’ve been neighbors.

You rolled your eyes, grabbing another piece of meat off the grill.

“Again, that has nothing to do with me…”

Toji didn’t miss a beat. 

“And if it did?” 

The new look on Toji’s face was absolutely predatory in its lust. He saw your breath stutter as his fingers reached yours on the table. 

Toji stopped just short of touching you. 

“If it did have something—everything to do with ya…then what, ma?”

You didn’t pull away, but as you looked up to him, the look in your eyes was painful. Like he was the one who’d been causing all your hurt—when all he wants to do is give you everything.

“I-...it’s just—what are we doing here?”

Your voice was low this time, like you spent so much time arguing with Sukuna, you forgot how to have conflict any other way. 

“Having a nice dinner that ya deserved tonight.”

Toji responded easily, but you were clearly done with games, pulling your hand away and placing it into your lap.

“That’s not what—look Fushiguro. I’m not sleeping with you.”

Toji’s chopsticks were ruined but that didn’t stop him from reaching over bare handed to pick a piece of meat off the grill and pop it into his mouth, smug.

“Did I ask ya to?” 

Your brow furrowed, but your anger was defused, more exasperated than anything.

“You always are…well, suggesting it, in so many words.”

Toji couldn’t argue that. He was and he made that obvious enough to you. 

But you weren’t the perfect picture of innocence yourself. You wouldn’t be sitting across from him right now if you were.

Either way, Toji is fed up with the cat and mouse tonight. 

You wanted him to be that guy? Alright then. 

If you needed another reality check, he’d give it to you—one you couldn’t deny.

Leaning forward Toji looked you dead in the eye.

“Ya know how many times I coulda fucked you already tonight ma? If all I really wanted was to wet my dick?”

Toji had to dig deep not to laugh then. The look you gave him like was like he was out of his fucking mind and had grown another head.

Toji didn’t say it to make you feel like a conquest though, he said it because it was true. 

Toji could tell you were seething, fixing to launch into an argument again so he grabbed you for real this time. Anchored in place, Toji wound his hold tight enough around your wrist he felt your pulse race under his fingers.

“All this time—ya honestly think that's all I want?”

You gasped. He could tell you weren’t expecting him to follow up with that. 

Toji could see your brain trying to process it all before you follow up with—

“What do you want then?”

Toji answered immediately, his hand left your wrist to interlace his fingers with yours. 

“A wife.”

An answer that clearly caught you off guard, your face unreadable—though after a few moments, you simply shook your head.

“I’m getting married to Sukuna.”

You said it with such an air of finality—or were you just testing him?

Toji tried not to be mad at you. And he wasn’t. Not exactly.

It wasn’t your fault. Not when you were just holding on to the only guarantee you had left.

Maybe Toji was wrong—perhaps it was too early to lay his cards out on the table like that.

But Toji didn’t have the luxury of time with how things were going down in the organization.

Your overthinking is apparent as you seemed to be fighting an internal battle with yourself.

Fighting him, fighting Sukuna too. 

But Toji wasn’t the enemy here.

Your hand still in his grasp, Toji ghosted over the indent on your ring finger. You had been wearing it for a while now if the tan surrounding the deep impression in your skin told him anything.

“Then why did ya take off y’er ring before ya came over?”

The look Toji gave you was piercing and from the way your eyes widened in horror, you likely hadn’t even realized you weren’t even wearing it. 

Abruptly, you snatched your hand back as you rose from the table, nails splayed across the glass top to steady yourself before collecting your plate. 

“Are you finished? It’s getting late, you cooked, I’ll do the dishes and… I’ll head out.”

You’d both barely ate.

Definitely running.

Toji got up but you stopped him before he could make a move towards you. 

“Go.. just go clean up, okay? Take a shower Fushiguro, there’s still blood on your collar after all.”

Toji's head turned to the distant mirror on the wall. 

Two specks? Fuck, he forgot about that. 

Not prepared to see you just yet upon walking into his apartment. You’d seen it there all this time though and didn’t say anything…?

An unfamiliar moisture slicked Toji’s palms. Not even the first time he killed a man did he feel this anxious.

He did need a shower—a cold one, to cool off. 

Maybe jack off too since he had just talked his way out of pussy tonight.

Or did he? 

Regardless, he needed to regroup. Plan B for a dinner date went to shit…but he wasn’t done with you yet.

Toji kept his shower quick—he’d rather skip it entirely if you weren’t gonna be in it with him. But if following your orders proves he could listen, like a good husband would, then so be it.

Still, he didn’t want you gone before he saw you again. You owed him dessert—and one way or another, Toji was determined to get his piece of you tonight.

Yet despite all his trained instincts, panic gripped Toji when his own thoughts grew too loud—so loud he couldn't hear the subtle sounds of you still moving through his condo. It wasn’t until he finally exited the bathroom did the small clink of dishes in the sink cut through the silence was he sure you were still here.

With your back to him, it took little effort for Toji to slip behind you—quiet as a shadow as he approached.

You crouched low on your knees, reaching for an open cabinet where you were debating where to put the pot in your hands.

Toji crouched close behind you, his heady voice tickling your ears.

“Ya can just toss it in there, ma.”

With a cry, you jumped up too quickly, dropping the dish and losing your own balance in the process, but Toji was already anticipating this reaction. Reflexes quick as ever, Toji caught you, brawny hands around your waist.

His fingers splayed wide across your ribs, holding firm as the backs of his thumbs brushed just beneath the swell of your chest. Your tits hung heavy over the ledge of his knuckles, and Toji had to force himself not to slide his hands up just a little bit more—he was dying to feel how deep his fingers would sink into your jiggly mommy milkers if he squeezed them.

“Wha– Fushiguro! You scared the shi– oop, daylights out of me!”

“To-ji, ma.”

Toji lingered over the syllables, simmering in dark seduction as he hunched over you with his muscular arms taut like bars to cage you in at the sink. 

Not even bothering to towel off completely, his slick raven strands stuck to his temples, its wetness shining under the kitchen lights. Water droplets were still rolling off of him, and Toji was amused by the way your gaze helplessly followed one slowly trailing down his tatted collarbone.

His upper body was on full display, and it was clear you were in awe of his sleeved tatts connecting across his chest—culminating in elaborate breastplates. Twin dragons dance over the hard plane of his chest, scales gleaming dangerously. Toji tattoos wrap around him boldly like armor, or rather chains, collaring him to his yakuza affiliations. 

There was a small swell in your throat as your eyes continued lower, far further than the drop of water skimming down his torso. Toji followed how your eyes lingered on the ridges of his abs and traced the sharp V cut lines until they disappeared into the waistband of his grey sweats —shamlessly worn far too low on his hips. 

Toji was never one for modesty, and he knew what he was doing, what effect his body has on women, and he was pleased to confirm you weren't immune. Although never in any of those times had he been so turned on by someone eyefucking him as he was then.

Towering with a dark predatory glare, he knew he was close enough for you to feel the steam still rolling from his body.

“Time t’pay up, ma,”

The threats in his words weren’t ones of violence, his lecherous intentions clear. 

“Three months is a long time t’owe a yakuza. But I’d wait longer for ya…even if y’er killin’ me here.”

You bit your lip, eyes narrowed in a way that said you want to be annoyed. But Toji’s seen that look too many times.  You were trying to keep your footing—still pretending.

“T-Toji, stop playin’, move. I gotta finish these dishes.”

You tried to brush him aside but Toji didn’t budge—nothing but muscles, heat and cocky defiance filling every inch of space between you.

As far as he was concerned, Toji hadn’t even begun to play with you yet.

“Dessert first, mamas.”

You arched a brow at him with a small laugh. 

“Y-You’re doing the most. T-They’re right there.”

Your hand gestured lazily toward the cooling tray of matcha brownies on the counter, just within arms reach. 

Toji didn’t even glance over. He was too busy watching the way your mouth curved when you tease him. 

You actually thought you were still in control, that there was still an escape option—it was fuckin’ adorable.

“C’mon chef, present y’er dish, ya?”

The brief staredown ended in a dramatic sigh as you conceded. It was pure entertainment for Toji how you forcibly stretched yourself to the side, unwilling to turn at all with him over you lest you push yourself right onto him. 

You slid the pan between the two of you like a shield,brownies already cut into neat little squares. 12 in total, the dark brownies had a greenish hue to them dusted in powdered sugar. You presented them with a smug little look that says, here you go, clearly hoping it’d force some space between the two of you. 

But Toji didn’t budge—not even a little. 

Instead, he hums confidently, pressing the pan’s edges flush between your bodies with a grin that was all teeth and dark promises.

“Nah. Feed me.”

He opened his mouth wide, lolling out with an ‘ah’ sound.

“You’re ridiculous.”

“I’m starvin’, actually. Someone ended dinner early before I got t’eat.”

Rolling your eyes with a huff, one hand braced the pan between your bodies as you plucked out a brownie square with the other, bringing the sweet treat close to Toji’s mouth. 

Toji leaned in slowly, savoring the stubborn little pout tugging at your lips from having to feed him as much as the bite itself. His leg slipped between yours, not pushing in yet, just enough so you’d feel the promise of tension winding tight between your thighs. 

Toji’s eyes stay locked on yours, unblinking—drinking in every flicker of your lashes, every labored breath you took beneath the weight of his presence. He felt the tremor in your hand as he took the first taste, mouth enveloping the treat like he was tasting something decadent and forbidden.

His lips dragged against your fingertips, tongue curling to greedily lap at the lingering sweetness as he chewed.

Toji smirked to himself looking at your frozen state—like you’ve forgotten how to breathe, let alone resist.

About fuckin’ time too.

“Mmm…” 

His groans rubbled deep in his chest when he took the last bite of brownie from your trembling hand.

“Fuckin’ delicious mama.”

Sniggers erupted from Toji as you attempted to snatch your hand back, but his fingers caught your wrist mid-flight and you yelped.

“Aht-aht,” 

Murmuring, grip was tight and unyielding as he dragged your hand back toward his mouth. 

“We ain’t done yet. Look at this dirty lil’ hand, ma.”

And before you can protest that it was Toji’s fault your hand was covered in fudge and crumbs—Toji’s thick tongue slid over your palm.

Wet and hot, the bumpy texture drug over the dips of your hand, curling into the creases like Toji was trying to memorize the shape of you with his mouth. His tongue snakes down to your wrist then licked his way back up and over your palm—tracing each knuckle and suckling at the space between your fingers with lewd, open-mouthed kisses.

You gasped, thighs clenching salaciously around his thigh that had now wedged itself right up against your cunt.

When Toji was deemed himself done cleaning your fingers his eyes didn’t miss a beat, zeroing in on your lips—still looking famished for more. An insatiable hunger in him that could only be filled by devouring every part of you. 

Toji dipped in closer—so close that the water still clinging to his bangs began to drip.

“A-Ah, step back—you're getting me all wet!”

You jerked in surprise when a few cold droplets hit you, pan tilting like it would spill as a few brownies tumbled out of place. 

“Heh, is that right, mamas?”

You squeaked upon realizing your phrasing. Toji just looks all the more devilishly smug and determined. He took the pan from your hands and tossed it on the counter.

“Well then mama—”

Toji’s eyes cascaded down the low halter of your dress, spying the crumbs that had tumbled down to collect between the swells of your breasts. The fudgy matcha stuck to your skin, along with more water droplets from Toji’s hair, making more of a mess Toji took delight in having to clean up for you.

“—let’s just see how wet she can get, hm?”

Not giving you a chance to object then, his arms left the counter to wrap around you. Groping your hips, his errant hands sunk into the sides of your high slits, eagerly landscaping across your flesh until he’s palming your bare ass cheeks apart. 

Toji’s touch rendering you defenseless, your legs followed, opening wider to grind against his brawny thigh. Toji was pleased to find you pantiless like he thought—he could feel the soft squish of your fatma leaking, already soaking through his sweats.

Lowering to your chest, your scent hit him all over again, that warm vanilla mix he’s come to crave as he dragged his tongue through the valley of your breasts. Toji lost himself, chasing the taste of sugar and salt on your skin.

It was like music to Toji’s ears when you sighed, crying out as you arched to press yourself deeper into his mouth that worshipped the tender uncovered skin on the side of your breast like a sinner saved. 

Eye level with your nipples, he pulled back only to savor the beads of milk pebbling through your thin silk dress, stimulated by your arousal.  

Heh, you got wet for him in more ways than one. How good of your body to prepare him another meal.

He had to get you outta this dress first though. On a mission, Toji traced the stripe up the curve of your breast right up to your throat. Your fingers twisted into his damp hair, spurring him on with the green light he’d desperately been seeking for months.

“How could ya ever think y’er anything but fuckin’ perfect?”

Toji growls ragged against your neck. The comment was more for himself than you. He didn’t expect you to say anything right then anyway by how nicely you were quivering against him.

All Toji wanted to hear from you were your moans.

“You know, ma…” 

Releasing one of your cheeks, his hand greedily palmed its way higher to cup the soft swell of your leaky tit. Toji’s thumb possessively swirled over your aroused nipple through the thin silk of your dress, now clinging like plastic to the wet lil nub, flicking it just enough to make your knees go weak and your thighs tighten around his own as you hump against him.

“I still don’t think you’re showin’ enough skin f’er my tastes...”

Leaving your breast, his thumb skated over to the seam of your dress, teasing the skin up to your shoulders before it hooked beneath the fabric strap to slide it down.

Your breath stuttered, hands leaving his hair to frame his face now millimeters away from yours.

“Wait, F-Fush-ii—”

Molded against him, your dress hung perilously off your body, silk catching on every curve as Toji dragged the second strap down slowly—exposing more of you with every inch.

“It’s Toji,”

He breathed huskily onto the shell of your ear.

“C’mon, be a good lil wifey f’er me, mamas…” 

Nibbling from your earlobe down your neck, Toji’s feral lust boils to its peak at the thought of you finally uttering his name out of your lips.

 “...and say it for me, yeah?”

His hot breath teased at your pulse, Toji gently planted a kiss before, slightly breaking skin and you cry out as he slurps at your skin until a bruise that, if you couldn’t see you sure as fuck would feel the next day, formed..

When Toji pulled back, he couldn’t tell if you were hesitating, or just too dazed to speak. Hips now eagerly reciprocating against his thigh, a trail of slick glued his soaked sweats to his skin.

Shit. 

Looking at you lose yourself in pleasure just from his thigh, his cock throbbed angrily. Toji was quick to move, digging his fingers back into your hips as he hiked your leg over his hip, repositioning you so your sloppy lil pussy could then rut obscenely against the very stiff protrusion in his sweatpants. 

The elicited pleasure-filled moans from you both, echoed off the tile as you very shamelessly dry humped in the middle of the kitchen against the sink.

Sweet fuck—everything feels good with you. Toji imagined fucking you for so long he’d thought he’d long have you bent over the counter, shoving all of his many inches into you as soon as he got the chance that night. Instead he was rubbing his cock on you like some fuckin’ horny loser ass teenager.

But Toji would bust right in his sweats soon if he didn't stop. Your eyes were already shut, lip bitten up in concentration and focusing all your efforts on getting off. 

With a string of curses, Toji pulled away, propping you up on the sink and crouching on his knees between your spread legs, ruined silk fabric barely hiding your pussy from him.

His eyes rolled back at the scent of you. Your pheromones were potent and Toji licked his lips in anticipation.

Dry humping wouldn’t be enough if he had to prep you to take him.

But first…

“Say it, mama.”

You shivered, whining sweetly through shallow breaths, hands braced on either side of the sink to keep from collapsing. Still dazed, still aching, your hips kept rocking toward him, chasing release even as he denied you—until Toji wrapped his arms around your thighs and tilted you closer to his mouth.

“Say my name...then I swear I’ll make you feel so good you won’t stop fuckin’ screamin’ it.”

You nodded dumbly. So sweetly did your perfect lips part to say the two syllables he'd been dying to hear for the last 3 months. 

“Pleaseee To—”

Click.

The door opened.

“Hello? You home? Fushiguro-san?!”

Toji froze as he heard the nanny in the entry way.

You gotta be fuckin’ kiddin’.

So much for being at the fuckin’ hospital, spry old cockblockin’ bat.

And just like that, like a cold bucket of water doused on your form, you instantly snapped out of Toji’s trance. Reluctantly, Toji lets you untangle yourself from him, sparing you modesty then in the meantime. 

He’d send the nanny on her way and then you both could get back to it.

Toji hid the absolute look of displeasure that threatened his features at the annoyance of being interrupted, feigning as much concern as he could muster as the nanny walked into the kitchen, hand all bandaged up.

“There you are! Oh and Fushiguro-san too!”

The sweet old woman didn’t seem to question Toji’s state of undress or why half your dress was wet. 

Toji knows she’s walked into him doing worse before. 

“Heard ya had an accident, thought ya be at the hospital still.”

The nanny explained how she unexpectedly ran into the organization's head doctor. They had done a house call for one of the pregnant women here who then suggested the doctor take the nanny to their office in Shinjuku to get patched up rather than spend hours in the ER.

Toji repressed an eye roll. Great. Just his fuckin’ luck.

Yet his mood only fully turned sour once you announced how late it was and that you needed to be heading back. Before he could even stop you, the nanny thanked you, saying she would head over with you to grab more milk for Megumi.

He was so close too. 

Not all for naught though, the main plans were still on track. Moving pieces that would soon settle all into place, as long as he could keep certain players in check, he had failed in doing so multiple times that night though. 

⟡

A sharp trill cuts through the fog of Toji’s thoughts.

This time it’s Sukuna's phone that is blowing up. Calls Toji knew he wouldn’t be able to ignore as the ringing abruptly ends your dispute. 

No other noise is heard from inside your apartment.

Riiiiing…

Riiiiing…

Sukuna growls.

“Don’t—”

Toji still can’t see you from outside, but the defeat cracking in your voice is unmistakable. 

“Don’t answer it. Ryo, please. Stay just here with us, with me?”

There’s a long pause, long enough for the persistent ringing to seem like a metronome to the exact moments that everything you were trying to hold onto would either crumble or be secured.

“I-I don’t even care you got some woman pregnant—I…shit I mean, of course I-I fucking do, I’m fucking livid! It’s just… we can figure it out—but only if you stay in Japan. Don’t go to Italy, they don’t need you like we do… Yuji and I need you here.”

Motherfucker.

All that time in the shadows, watching, waiting. 

All that delicate orchestration—

And you still gave Sukuna a choice.

Despite everything Toij’s done over the past few months, all that’s been set in motion.

Everything still comes down to Sukuna.

God, you’d stay tangled with a man who never deserved you, a man who you don’t really love, simply because you’re too good of a woman not to try for the sake of your son—because maybe if Sukuna used even half of his determination for power and control to care for his family, he might be deserving of you both.

Toji knows he doesn’t have a perfect vision of what love is supposed to look like.

But this surely isn’t fucking it.

Fuck if your loyalty isn’t something holy though.

All of his senses honed, Toji’s mind is ready to pivot to a number of contingency plans at the drop of a hat, many that end with Sukuna’s blood painting the walls like he’s imagined doing many times previously. 

However, when heavy footsteps clack across the marble flooring followed by the sound of the front door slamming shut, a decisive finality echoes through the silence, and Toji finally exhales.

You offered Sukuna your entire world—and the bastard still didn’t choose you.

He left you. 

Something Toji vows to never do.

Toji wants to race over to your door, hell he’d jump over the balcony to get to you. But all that becomes unnecessary as you step outside onto your balcony again. 

Barefoot and clearly not dressed for the chilly night air, you cross your arms tight—like if you hold yourself together hard enough, you won’t crack open completely—too lost in your thoughts to register the cold or even notice Toji watching you. He’s not even hiding this time.

Your gaze is solely locked on the sleek Mercedes idling on the curb, and it's not long before Sukuna appears, barking orders over the phone as he strides to meet Uraume who exits the drivers side, bowing low at his approach before opening the rear passenger door.

Yet just as Toji is about to claim victory, Sukuna pauses. 

Sukuna’s hand clutches aggressively on the roof of the vehicle while the phone temporarily falls away from his ear. Toji’s eyes narrow as yours fill with specks of foolish hope—like you think he’d actually reconsidered that quickly and turn around. 

But Toji knows better, this is no change of heart.

Toji can’t see Sukuna’s face, but he knows the gears are turning, contemplating what's before him and behind him.

Fucking bastard, get in the damn car.

Mere moments seem like an eternity to an assassin's eye who analyzes every detail of the scene before him in painful slow motion. Toji’s lungs burn with the need for a breath he doesn’t dare take as his fingers twitch anxiously around the cigarette in his hand.

Time finally resumes when Sukuna relents, swiftly entering and resuming his conversation. 

Not sparing you a backwards glance as Uraume closes the door.

Toji waits for you to react, scream, shout after the car that quickly zooms off into the night—but you don’t.

You just stand there. 

Empty.

Utterly defeated.

Toji hates seeing you like this. That’s not who you are.

Not the sharp-tongued girl who once shoved Yuji into his arms without even asking, not the woman who walked into a building full of vipers like you owned the damn place, who didn’t let anything slide, couldn’t be bought—and who for damn sure was anything but an easy fucking lay.

Giving you space to process, Toji simply watches you.

And you? 

Where’s your head after all of this? 

Well, you can’t remember a time you felt more unsure about where the fuck your life is going. 

Even more than when you first told Sukuna, technically your employer at the time, that you were pregnant. 

He’d never given you any promises of love or devotion, from the beginning, but he did say he’d take care of you. 

Sukuna promised you wouldn’t have to worry about anything.

Yet all you find yourself doing lately is worrying.

Fuck this.

No sooner do you resolve those thoughts than the cold hits you all at once, carving sharp trails down your cheeks and dragging you back to reality. The ache in your chest threatens to pull you into despair. You shiver, breath catching—only then realizing how hard you’ve been crying.

A flicker of light catches your eye—the soft glow of a cigarette, its ember burning steady in the dark, drawing your gaze to Toji’s silhouette waiting silently in the shadows.

He’s staring at you intently—no doubt had been witness to the spectacle you just made of yourself, but his eyes hold none of the pity nor the resentment you expect after how you’d just ghosted him over the past two weeks after nearly fucking him in his kitchen. 

The only thing you see is curiosity on his features, like he’s looking to you to give him the next play.

“Ma… ya alright?”

The ball, as it had always been, is in your court. 

You sigh. 

No, you weren’t. You were tired.

Tired of fighting and tired of feeling isolated. 

Tired of giving everything and it still not being enough.

All to raise a well-adjusted non-criminal child—something you are doing all by yourself even with his father around. 

You just wanted something that felt good. 

Something you didn’t have to fight for, that came easy.

You simply shrug in response to Toji, wiping your tears away.Although his presence now is oddly comforting, you still didn’t want to cry in front of him. This wasn’t his burden, and you’d unfairly flirted with the idea of giving into his many advances—even if you’d only really recently started believing in his sincerity. 

It wouldn’t be fair to lean on him now, now that you’d didn’t know where to turn. Especially, when you knew what he wanted.

Honestly, you had no idea if you even had the capacity to give that much in a relationship to anyone anymore—much less than if he still wants it with you.

And yet all things considering, the very last thing you want right now is to be alone. 

“Um, but I could be okay—if you still have some of that whiskey for me that is?” 

You take stock of Toji, who looks particularly cunning draped in shadows and cigarette smoke. Wholly unable to read him now when he’d been so transparent with you before. More anxiety builds as you don’t know what to do in the moment but ramble on.

“I-I have a lot of milk saved for Megumi so, um, I mean, I won’t fall short if I have to dump for a few days. I just need something stronger than sake this time ya know?”

Outwardly stoic, inside Toji is fucking buzzing as he tries to retain his cool but this moment is like the sun coming up after the longest fucking night in the world.

He doesn’t mean to make you spiral but he’s fighting the urge to let out a victorious warcry.

“It’s got y’er name on it mama, c’mon over. Bring the kiddo too, o’course.”

Relief is all over your face when he does speak and you spare Toji a timid smile. 

“I’ll just be a few minutes, okay?”

Toji tips his head in acknowledgement.

“I’ll be here whenever y’er ready, ma.”

You nod, hanging back before going inside, bouncing once on your heels and lightly chewing your lip as you stare right at Toji. 

“Thanks…ah, I…um, I really appreciate you being here for me... Toji.”

Toji billows out the last of the smoke as he exhales, flicking the dead filter over the balcony edge.

“Don’t mention it, ma. Anything ya need. I got ya. Always.”

Cheeks flushed as you nod, the door slides shut behind you a second later, leaving the balcony empty.

The grin Toji wears is wider than a Cheshire cat and his heart-pounds with a feral thrill of a hunter who’d been chasing at the heels of his prey that finally lay at his feet at long last. 

Satisfaction uncoils through him more than the smoke coiling in his lungs. Your voice still lingers in the air, and he’s replaying it in his head.

‘...Toji.’

You said his name.

You finally said his fucking name and it sounded better anything he’s ever heard in his life coming off that sassy lil tongue of yours.  

Just like that, everything locks into place as the weight of the longing in his chest dissolves.

Toji laughs. It’s lighthearted, almost carefree—but there’s a wild edge beneath it, a jagged undertone that’s just a bit too sharp to be sane.

It was bad enough you’d given Sukuna such a heartfelt ultimatum that if he were anything other than the cruel ice king he is he’d have broken. When Sukuna wavered to get in the car after walking out—that should have been the easy part, and yet that was the real test.  

Toji thought she had fucked it all up for him again.

From the balcony’s tall height and the glare of the streetlights bouncing off the shiny black Mercedes, it was difficult to see anything other than Sukuna and Uraume in the dim street lighting. 

Yet, Toji’s keen assassin eyes catch it without trouble—a pale, feminine hand reaching from the depths of the black sedan. 

Your friend.

Her matte black nails flicked towards Sukuna in a flirty, beckoning gesture.

The big boss’s illegitimate daughter and Sukuna’s other woman—Yorzu. 

He’d told her to leave this alone. That was taken care of. 

Sukuna would be meeting her in the mountains before leaving for Italy.

Yet, her overwhelming jealousy and blindness for Sukuna’s affections makes her too reckless. 

She couldn’t just stay in the shadows where she belonged. 

She had to befriend you. 

Had to mock you with her delusions of being pseudo engaged to Sukuna and make you think he was cheating on you.

Just like she had to show up tonight when she was supposed to be hiding away from any ‘assination’ attempts. 

Toji knew Sukuna’s pause was out of surprise, and Sukuna wasn’t stupid.

Bitch just put their entire plan in jeopardy had Sukuna put two and two together right then.

Yet at the end of the day, Sukuna’s choices alone would only serve to prove the ultimate twist of the knife for you. It didn’t matter what the truth was, the reality still is he left you.

It’s the ultimate proof of why Sukuna doesn’t deserve you—and you didn’t need to see Yorozu in the car to know that.

Those two crazy fucks were better suited for each other anyway—who else but a sociopathic bitch would rip a 200 year old organization apart and cause a fucking internal war all for an equally bloodthirsty, psychopathic asshole.

Not that Toji feels bad for keeping all this from you necessarily, he considers it sparing you—just as he’d spared you the day he first met and fell for you.

Yorozu wasn’t happy about that, but ultimately as long as the path for Sukuna was clear, she didn’t care how Toji got you out of the way. 

*ding-dong*

Right on time.

Cracking his neck, Toji makes his way to the door where you are waiting for him.

Fate had already destined your life to be in his hands—who gives a fuck about how it all exactly played out?

Yorozu thinks she’s using him to steal your story, but your ending was never with Sukuna.

Toji knows the endgame was always meant to be with him.

Opening the door, Toji spies you, a nappy bag in one arm andYuji in the other. A tired small smile on your face.

You never looked more ready for him to swoop in.

And if anyone tries to rewrite his ending?

Well, fuck em’.

Toji will gladly rip out the pages. 

Fuck a pen, he’ll start the next chapter with a bullet. 

“Welcome back, mama.”

©𝐛𝐥𝐤𝐤𝐢𝐳𝐳𝐚𝐭 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟓. 𝐝𝐨 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐚𝐥 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤𝐬 𝐨𝐫 𝐠𝐟𝐱, 𝐝𝐨 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐬𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐞.

⟢ end credits: please comment, like and reblog and lmk what you think! I'd really appreciate the feedback as this fic has been my baby working on it.

p4, the final chapter next! toji about to fuck you six ways from sunday jchsdfchjsd. i already has 9k worth of notes, dialogue, chucks of written smut, etc to incorporate to tie everything together. so just know i won't have to start from scratch there but because of me shifting gears to kinktober (with the goal of finishing it finally this year lmfao), im planning on releasing p4 on or before Toji's bday this year. however, if you want more yandere in the meantime there is hannibal!nanami and invisible man!gojo to look forward to next month!! xx, kali.