vivian

NSFW

♡ ྀིhes dominant in a very autorotational way, he wants you to be good for him, listen and obey. has turned on by it more than when you are a brat, especially loves making you do embarrassing or degrading things and not having to tell you twice.

♡ ྀིloves just sitting on a chair watching you masturbate bend over and spread your legs for him, he wont fuck you till you are spreading your hole for him and begging for that dick while looking at him all needy, it gets his dick so hard his zipper is holding on for its life his cock is pressed too tightly against his pants and he doesn't fuck you till it physically hurts him not to take it out, he's just watching you with a grin on his face till he finally unbuttons his shirt and pulls off his pants, his tie stays on.

♡ ྀིhe doesn't immediately slide it in he likes teasing you just rubbing the tip against your entrance having you beg for him to fuck you and he wont do it till you ask properly and scream it. He wants and loves to be needed in that way

♡ ྀིhis favorite position is stand and deliver, he loves watching your face as you get closer to finishing and looking at or squeezing your chest while it bounces.

♡ ྀིdoesnt whimper and is mostly silent but he grunts and moans more and more the closer he gets

♡ ྀིhe loves having you lay on your back, your head hanging off the edge of the bed, he slaps your face with his dick just to tease you because he knows you get embarrassed and flustered. commands you to stick your tongue out and you are expected to do as he says, he teases you by slapping your tonged a little and u can't even beg him to just fuck your throat because your tongue is already out so he loves just listening to your whining and nonsensical pleading before he finally slides it in.

♡ ྀིat first goes easy on your throat but loses control when he can see his length bulge and move in your throat so he is pinning down your wrists to the bed like his handles because your head is just too good RAHHH and also he grunts and praises you when you relax your jaw and splurges in your throat filling it with cum but pulls out just enough to cum on your face too. then grabs a fistfull of your hair semi gently just to lift your head enough to give u a spiderman kiss cus u are still upside down then he lets go of zou and forces zour legs open teasing zou for being so wet.

♡ ྀིhis favorite position to finger you in is having you sit in front of him, your back leaning on his chest head resting on his shoulders in front of a mirror with your legs open so he can watch your face and his fingers knuckles deep pumping in and out of your pussy while you grip his arm that he is fingering you with

♡ ྀིmarks you only in places that he can see and sometimes on the back of your neck while he's fucking you from behind so that when you go high jewelry shopping the seller sees it while clasping on a necklace and he watches their reaction with a smug grin on his face and he never tells you about it

♡ ྀིwhen he comes rom work in a good mood and sees you in the kitchen with an apron on he comes from behind you to hug you but he just ends up distracting you because he slides his hands under your apron to squeeze tour tummy and grind against you from the back his chest glued to your back, he nuzzles your neck and u tell him to stop bc its distracting but you both know that u don't want him to stop

♡ ྀིis extremely professional in public like he will NOT be clingy and doesn't want you to be overly clingy and wants you to be obedient and loves showing you off to his work buddies and at business parties but you occasionally get the courage to tease him by sliding your hand up his thigh under the table in public or if u are sitting opposite of each other you take off a heel and run your foot up his leg just a little and u see a micro expression in his face his lips twitch upwards just for a moment and he shuts his eyes before putting on a neutral expression and he acts like nothing is happening and keeps talking to others but looks at you with a knowing grin on his face that makes u shiver and you KNOW u fucked up when u get home.

♡ ྀིat home after teasing him he is so fucking rough with you i mean he's throwing you around pinning you to or against whatever surface is the closest and is pulling you by your hair saying shit like "you seriously thought you could tease me like that in public and i wouldn't do shit?" (he ever swears in front of you so u KNOWWWWW u fucked up) "where did all that bravery and courage go now hm?" "i just have to remind you of your place don't I?"

♡ ྀིone day when he was bruising your cervix in doggy style you heard him spit in his hand then slide a thumb in your ass and you screamed but he didn't stop fucking you and after a few minutes it started feeling good and from that day on stuff like that was happening on the regular

♡ ྀིisnt really an eater but that man can DJ like we in a club b i mean his fingers go ERE ERE LMAO that man would be a phenomenal DJ the way he's rubbing your clit with his fingers like u cant even make yourself feel that good, then after you finish his fingers are pumping deep inside of you till you squirt

♡ ྀིwill grab your jaw so hard if you are ever being a bitch and say sum like "say that again and ill send you out in public with cum leaking out of your ass and all clothes on you torn up" and u know he aint playing so u just look up at him and nod and say sorry

♡ ྀིhe wants to get you pregnant every time you go on a vacation together, he almost fucked you through the mattress at the 5 star bedroom, the rooms y'all stay at are like the Jade Mountain Resort St. Lucia (trust me look it up on tiktok) that man is fucking you everywhere, the bathtub, bed, pool, pinned against the wall, on the floor.

♡ ྀིhes usually not as feral and prefers just having sex in the bed but when you are on a vacation together he cant help himself he just HAS to fuck you

nsfw

hes gabbing and groping your chest all the time he claims he is just holding your heart

if you even looked at another mans direction he is fucking your guts out sooooo hard im talking bruising your cervix, turning you nonverbal while he rambles on about sum "haaah- n-oone could ever fuck this pussy the way i do right?"

hes really into pet play but not in a owner pet dynamic, more in a two puppies making love kinda way, he wants you both to wear puppy ears and he likes it when you put a muzzle on him if hes biting too hard but thats only for special occasion

would get all needy and subby when you arent paying attention to him and he would put on a show for you, im talking jerking off, playing with his nipples fingering his ass just to earn any attention from you.

wouldn't be into pegging cus it hurts but loooooooves vibrating butt plugs on both of you

wants to fuck you in the ass all the time he just loves all of your holes too much

when hes eating your pussy you deadass CANT control him, hes eating even after you nut, dragging that orgasm making sure your legs shake and wont stop till you are pulling on and gripping his hair and bucking your hips into him

loves thigh jobs but only when you are not even paying attention to him, playing games on your phone or just ignoring him till hes a whimpering needy mess

is so fucking loud i mean mas screaming his soul is leaving his body hes crying when he cums and the neighbors HATE you.

when you green out or pass out from any other substance he wraps your limp hand around his cock and fucks it like a flashlight while looking at your pretty face his tip brushing your lips and never tells you and cleans up after every time so u don't catch him

sometimes when you have plans for tomorrow he fucks you too hard and even when you say it hurts he is super sweet and talks you through it just so you cant walk the next day

loves being nasty af and would lick sweat off you

"Alchemical Pentagram Technique," he'd announced. "Roaring Grave for damage, Phantom Gate for escape. Semi-grade 1, first year. That combination usually means either trouble or talent. I haven't decided which one you are yet."

I hadn't answered. The cursed energy in my chest hummed the way it always had, a low current I'd learned to carry since I was six, the year I drew a pentagram in chalk across my bedroom floor and watched the wall come apart like wet paper.

Roaring Grave was the destructive half of my technique. I could trace a pentagram onto almost any surface, a wall, a ceiling, the flat of a door and, once the mark was complete, activate it with the proper hand sign and a command. The cursed energy fired in a straight line, a cannon bored clean through geometry. The sign had to be exact: both hands curled like horns, thumbs extended, the tips of my little fingers touching as they pointed in opposite directions. Get it wrong, and the pentagram sputtered uselessly. Get it right and whatever stood in the line of fire usually stopped standing. In enclosed spaces, it was devastating. Walls gave me something to pin things against, corners gave me angles, and tight spaces gave me traps. Out in the open, it was just a straight beam, and any curse with enough sense to dodge would. I'd been told to work around the weakness. I planned to make the world smaller instead.

Phantom Gate was the half that made people quiet. I could open two portals in the air or across almost any surface, and anything that entered one would exit through the other. The polite description was "a door." The accurate one lived in my file, underlined twice: if a portal closed while something was passing through, it closed on it. Clean sever. No cursed technique I'd heard of could put something like that back together.

It was why I was careful. It was also why people at headquarters shook my hand and then didn't stand too close. A semi-grade 1 at seventeen sounded impressive until they remembered the portals, and then it became something else entirely. A liability with a pulse. I'd made my peace with that. Mostly.

Gojo led me through the main building, past a hallway of shoji screens and vending machines, before sliding open a classroom door that smelled faintly of old tatami and chalk dust. Three faces turned toward me.

The pink-haired boy lit up immediately. "Oh! New student! I'm Itadori, wait, are you the one who's already semi-grade 1? That's so cool!"

The girl beside him leaned back in her chair, a hammer and several nails spread across her desk as though she'd been interrupted halfway through a ritual. She looked me up and down once, slowly and without the slightest hint of shame. "Kugisaki. Try not to be boring." She said it like she was doing me a favor.

The last one just nodded. "Fushiguro." Dark hair, dark circles, and a permanent expression that somehow managed to feel like a warning. He looked at Gojo, not me. "You said no more surprises this term."

"Where's the fun in that?" Gojo dropped into the seat at the front and put his feet on the desk. "She's yours now. Be nice."

Lunch was in the courtyard between the buildings, and I'd barely sat down with my rice when the second years found us. Or rather, when Panda announced his arrival.

"You must be the new first year." He dropped onto the bench across from me, heavy and easy, a contradiction in a school uniform that he wore as though he'd always worn one. "I'm Panda. That's Maki. And that's Inumaki."

Maki had a black, three-section staff propped against the bench and the expression of someone who'd already decided I wasn't worth her time. She nodded once before taking another bite of her onigiri. I couldn't help but admire her posture and presence. She needed no words spoken to intimidate me; that's for sure. I did my best to keep my face neutral. She nodded at me just enough to acknowledge my presence.

And then there was Inumaki.

His high collar was pulled up to his jaw, the seals dark against the skin around his mouth. He was quiet in a way that wasn't shy. It was practiced. Weaponized. Everyone talked around him and over him, and he seemed perfectly content to let them.

"Konbu," he said.

The word was familiar. I'd studied cursed speech before I ever set foot on this mountain, because a sorcerer who couldn't understand a cursed speech user's language was a sorcerer who would probably die standing next to one. Konbu:  meant hello; I assumed, so I repeated. Small words for a man whose words could kill.

"Konbu," I replied.

He stopped.

Just for a second, it was the pause of someone who'd been spoken to in his own language by a stranger and hadn't expected it. His head tilted, and he looked at me properly for the first time. Something flickered in his eyes before disappearing just as quickly.

Panda blinked between us. "Huh. First time seeing anyone understand him from the start. It took me weeks! I thought he was special needs at first."

Inumaki didn't seem bothered or offended by that, strangely. He was obviously introverted like Zenin and Fushiguro. But in his own way. He wasn't shy or stuck up at all. He just couldn't speak, and that didn't seem to bother him that much.

Inumaki's gaze turned back to his onigiri, and the brief connection we’d shared faded into the chatter around us, but I felt a warmth in my chest lingering from that moment. It was a faint reminder that in a world filled with curses, the real ones often hid behind our words, and Inumaki's silence was a mystery wrapped in layers of complexity.

Lunch rolled on, filled with casual banter and laughter, mostly from Itadori, who seemed to find joy in everything. Between bites, he swiped a piece of my rice ball and offered a bright grin. "So, what’s your curse? Can you destroy stuff? Fight curses? Let me guess, you're like a super bomb or something!"

I smiled, deliberately keeping my reply light. “Something like that. I can get a bit explosive if I need to.” It was a carefully vague answer, but enough to satisfy their curiosity.

Maki leaned forward, resting her chin on her hand. "Explosive is good, but can you survive the best of us? The curses here aren’t just trying to scare you. They’re trying to kill you."

An unspoken tension hovered in the air, but her scrutiny was more challenging than malicious. I straightened, meeting her gaze steadily. “I can handle myself. But I’m always looking to learn.”

“Good!” Itadori chirped, clearly unaware of the unspoken challenges that often laced casual conversations among jujutsu sorcerers. “We could definitely use more strong sorcerers. And maybe... you could help Inumaki here, too! He needs someone to show him the ropes, too!”

Inumaki looked up from his meal, slightly startled. “Ume,” he said, softer this time.

The other students laughed. “Ume means ‘plum,’” Panda explained, trying to mask how amused he was. “He’s calling you sweet. But don’t let it get to your head,” he added, shooting a playful glare at Inumaki.

It's second year; why would he need me, a new student, to show him around? I thought to myself when I realised Itadori was only teasing me a little.

“Sweet?” I echoed, feeling both flattered and warmed. “That’s nice of you, Inumaki.”

His cheeks turned slightly red, a reaction I hadn’t expected. The corners of his mouth curled into a barely-there smile, the kind that made you realize just how much effort he put into hiding his emotions.  Ofc the smile wasn't visible to me, his jacket covering the lower half of his face, but I could see the shape of his eyes change from grinning. “Sakana,” he said, which I understood as a compliment to make my fish.

“Fish? I can definitely cook fish!” I declared with a touch of cheer. “You’ll just have to show me how you want it prepared, though.”

Itumaki nodded, a slight glimmer of approval in his eyes.

As the conversation continued, I felt a shift, a subtle reshaping of our dynamic. Maki spoke less, seeming to assess the way I held my own among the others. It wasn’t long before the bell rang, cutting through the camaraderie, signaling the end of lunch and the need to prepare for classes.

“Everyone, with me,” Gojo announced as he stood, casually tossing his lunch trash aside. “We have a special class today. Break out your creative instincts!”

As we followed him into the classroom, my heart raced with anticipation. I knew Gojo’s classes could be both informative and chaotic. Even though he was goofy, I had a lot of respect for him.

“Everyone,” he said, turning to face us, “I want you all to think outside the box. Today’s special lesson is all about how to harness your techniques in unconventional ways.”

He clapped his hands together, a wide grin stretching across his face. "You’re given your cursed techniques, but how you use them? That’s where true power lies! Let’s see how you adapt!”

With brief instruction, Gojo divided us into pairs. My heart sank when I realized I was partnered with none other than Inumaki. I hardly knew the first thing about creating strategies around his cursed speech.

He looked at me and then to Gojo. “Katsu,” he said softly, his voice mingling with an underlying hint of encouragement.

“Yeah, we can do this,” I affirmed, my voice steady. “You lead, and I’ll support however I can.”

Inumaki nodded, the intensity of his dark eyes locking onto mine, a silent agreement forming.

Gojo began shouting commands, each one designed to make us act quickly and think creatively. "First challenge: you need to create a team attack. Something using your techniques together.”

The class erupted into chaotic practice as Itadori and Fushiguro attempted a combination attack based on their abilities, while Maki used her physical combat skills to practice with Panda’s brute strength. The room was filled with energy, with shouts and laughter colliding playfully, but my focus remained on Inumaki.

I knew his cursed speech could be dangerously effective, but how we were to coordinate was still a mystery. “You could say something quick to immobilize a target, and then I could fire a Roaring Grave at them while they’re stuck,” I suggested, trying to outline a plan.

He took a moment but nodded, seemingly gaining confidence. “Suzu,” he said, pointing at me, which translated roughly to ‘fast.’

“Right! Let’s work on that,” I encouraged, ready to turn his silent communication into something practical.

As we practiced, the room faded away, leaving just the two of us. Inumaki murmured commands, his voice steady as “Fugu” followed by “Sakana.” Then, with a nod, he stood before a wall, hand raised to outline his next command.

“Go!” I shouted, readying myself. As Inumaki’s cursed speech was only loud enough for the low-level curse to hear, I felt my own energy surge, harmonizing with his words, not like I could hear them. Inumaki’s command was precise; it held an authority that even made the air shake slightly.

The sight of him pulling down his jacket just enough to allow the words to travel to his target. That's the first time I could see his full face. He had interesting markings on either corner of his lips and one on his tongue; his features were mostly soft, but his bones were nicely structured. He kinda caught me off guard.

Quick eye contact almost shook me back to life.

I followed his lead, tracing the pentagram just in time as a creature conjured by his cursed speech became entangled in the command he had locked it in. My technique fired off without hesitation, a striking beam that shattered the target with ease.

The force of the attack surged back into the ground, a clear sign of our newfound synergy. “We did it!” I exclaimed, letting excitement fill my voice.

Inumaki met my gaze, relief mixed with exhilaration in his features. He raised his hands, letting out a small clapping gesture. “Yay,” he signed, the edges of his mouth lifting slightly, before he let the jacket bounce back over his lips.

After several rounds of perfecting our attack, Gojo stepped forward, arms crossed as he eyed us both with a bemused expression. “Remarkable! You’ve effectively combined techniques. I'm always impressed when someone uses communication wisely, especially with him.” He gestured to Inumaki, earning a glare from the other students.

“Don't let it get to your head, though!” Gojo added playfully, his tone light and teasing.

Inumaki pretended to roll his eyes, but I noticed the way he tucked his chin slightly, a silent laugh only I could catch. The two of us exchanged a glance, and it felt like an unspoken bond was forming between us amid the chaos of our surroundings.

As the class wound down, I spotted Maki leaning against the wall, observing us with arms crossed. Her expression softened slightly, though I didn't want to misread it.

“You’re better than I thought,” she admitted. “Inumaki isn’t easy to work with. You did well.”

A compliment. I smiled at her words, feeling a sense of camaraderie unfolding, one that also included Inumaki.

As we moved toward the end of the day, my thoughts fluttered back to the moments we’d shared in class. Inumaki’s flicks of emotions, the way his silence spoke volumes, and the warmth of acceptance I felt amongst them reminded me that bonds could bloom even in the hardest of circumstances.

Walking out of the building together, I glanced sideways at Inumaki, ready to speak, to break the barrier of silence between us once more. “What’s your favorite food?” It felt like a simple start, but also a genuine attempt to know him better.

Inumaki paused for a minute, his mouth twitching into a smile as he leaned closer to me. “Takoyaki,” he whispered, and despite the simplicity of his word, it held a weight of meaning like a slice of shared perspective in a world turned upside-down.

“I’ll have to make it for you then!” I responded enthusiastically. Yuji and I were definitely the light of this school. I thought to myself, wondering if Inumaki would be similar if he were able to talk freely.

With a flicker of amusement in his expression, he nodded again, and for a brief moment, it felt like we weren’t just fellow sorcerers navigating a dangerous path but two friends, perhaps something more/ bound by shared aspirations and the ferocious challenges that awaited us in the days to come.

As the evening sun set over the horizon of Tokyo, the weight of the world faded slightly, replaced by the lightness of hope and the anticipation of what lay ahead in our intertwined destinies.

Six months later…

The chaos of Shibuya was unlike anything I had ever seen. Sirens wailed, civilians screamed, and curses slithered through the alleys like living shadows. Inumaki’s voice boomed through the megaphone, his cursed speech rippling across the crowd. “Run.” The word carried weight, forcing both civilians and transfigured humans to scatter in unnatural obedience. For a moment, it felt like we had control.

But then the veil trembled. A sound like a grinding stone echoed overhead, and the sky itself seemed to split. Sukuna’s domain expanded, swallowing Dogenzaka in a suffocating red haze. The air burned, and the ground pulsed like flesh. I saw Inumaki caught in the blast radius, his arm severed in an instant, blood spraying across the pavement.

“Toge!” I screamed his name for the first time, my voice raw with terror. He staggered, frozen, as a transfigured human lunged toward him with jagged claws. Instinct overtook me. I grabbed him, dragging him by his remaining arm, abandoning the civilians as the veil twisted behind us. Their screams followed, but I couldn’t stop. I wouldn’t.

We stumbled into a narrow alley, the world collapsing around us. I tore off my jacket, wrapping it tightly around his wound, my hands slick with blood. His skin was cold, his eyes unfocused. I cupped his face, forcing him to meet my gaze. “Listen to me. Focus on my words, not the pain. We will get out of this. Do you hear me?”

The ground shook violently. From the shadows, the transfigured humans began to crawl, their bodies grotesque, limbs bending at impossible angles. Their faces were stretched masks of agony, mouths opening wider than humanly possible, whispering in unison:

I saw his lips part, and my hands sprinted to cover my ears. “Stay.” I saw his mouth move, but I didn't hear him. The transfigured humans obeyed, though.

I activated Phantom Gate, desperate to carve an escape. The portal opened, glowing faintly, but the shadows pressed against it, clawing to keep us inside. When one of them forced its way halfway through, I snapped the gate shut. The severed body collapsed, twitching, purple blood spilling across the ground. The smell of rot filled the air.

Toge’s voice rasped, weaker than I’d ever heard it. “Stop…” His cursed speech trembled, but it carried enough force to freeze the advancing horde for a heartbeat. His blood dripped onto the pavement, staining the glowing stripes of the Shibuya crossing that had somehow appeared beneath us. The intersection itself had become a cage, its white lines glowing like bars, trapping us in a prison of endless night.

Above, Sukuna’s laughter echoed, hollow and merciless. The veil tightened, crushing the air from our lungs. I realized then Shibuya was no longer part of Tokyo. It had been consumed, transformed into a nightmare realm where escape was impossible.

I held Toge tighter, his breath shallow against my shoulder. The shadows closed in, whispering, laughing, their voices merging into a single, deafening chorus. The last thing I saw before the darkness swallowed us was his eyes wide, terrified, yet still locked on mine, clinging to the promise I had made.

“Don't give up on me now.” I held his right hand in mine, praying he didn't die from blood loss. I knew what I had to do; I made a star motion with my hand, dragging it across the floor, and opened a phantom gate using all the remaining cursed energy in my body.

We either die now or die trying, I told myself before looking back at him, and without letting him react, I hugged his body and pulled him down through the gate with me. Not even a second later, I fell hard on my back, hitting the floor, Toge falling on me as well, his blood still pouring from where his limb used to be. We are at Jujutsu High, and I yell for Shoko’s help.

The sterile scent of disinfectant did little to mask the metallic tang of blood. It clung to the air, a grim reminder of the battle that had just concluded. I sat on a cold, metal stool, my gaze fixed on the figure lying on the examination table. Some poor, disfigured corpse of a transfigured human.

Shoko Ieiri, her brow furrowed in concentration, moved with efficient grace. The rhythmic hum of her medical equipment was a low counterpoint to the frantic beating of your own heart. Each sterile swab, each clip of a clamp, sent a ripple of anxiety through you. You wanted to ask, to demand updates, but the quiet intensity of Shoko’s focus held you captive. You knew she was the best, that Toge was in capable hands, yet the helplessness was a bitter pill to swallow.

A small sigh escaped your lips, barely audible. Shoko’s head tilted slightly; her eyes, sharp and perceptive, met yours for a fleeting moment. A small, almost imperceptible nod. It was enough. It said, I see you. I know you’re worried. Trust me. And you did. You trusted her, and you trusted him.

You shifted, trying to find a more comfortable position, your gaze drifting back to Inumaki. A faint smear of blood still marred his temple, a stark reminder of the danger he’d faced. You reached out, your fingers hovering just above his skin, a silent testament to the affection you held for him. The thought of him, so vulnerable, so dependent, made something ache deep within you. It was a tenderness you rarely allowed yourself to acknowledge, a quiet, unwavering love that had grown in the shared trenches of their dangerous lives.

“He’s stable,” Shoko’s voice, calm and measured, finally broke the silence.

A wave of relief washed over you, so potent it made your knees feel weak. You let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding. “Thank you, Shoko. Truly.”

The hospital room smelled like antiseptic and exhaustion. She offered a faint, tired smile as she peeled off her gloves. “That’s what I’m here for. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a patient to stitch up.”

You nodded, stepping back to give her space. You watched as she resumed her work, her hands steady and sure. Your eyes, however, remained fixed on Toge. The dull ache in your chest began to recede, replaced by a warmth that seeped into your bones. Soon, he would wake. And when he did, you would be there, a comforting presence, ready to remind him, in your own way, just how much he meant to you. The thought of his sleepy, perhaps slightly disoriented, smile was already enough to make your heart swell. This was your quiet victory, a moment of fragile peace, and you wouldn’t trade it for anything. To pass the time, all I could do was think of how everything was before the Shybuja incident.

“It feels like Toge and I have always understood each other, right from the very first moment we met. Back then, everyone else seemed to notice something between us, something unspoken, but to us it was just friendship. Day after day we’d head out on missions, watching each other’s backs. He was always so calm, so quick to act, even when things got dangerous. I remember thinking how smart he was, how steady, how much I trusted him.

At first, I worried I talked too much, that I might bore him. But he reassured me; he loved listening. His little responses, his silly language, the way he leaned on intonation and expressions to show his thoughts… it made me feel heard in a way I hadn’t before. We exchanged numbers early on, and soon we were texting constantly. He typed fast, relying on his phone to speak more clearly, since his cursed speech couldn’t reach me through the screen.

None of the other students knew how close we’d become. Well, except Maki; she had her suspicions. She’d catch him looking at me, and though she never said anything, her smirk told me she knew. I can still see that day off in the city, when I dragged him into a photo booth. We laughed, stuck out our tongues, teased each other, capturing little pieces of joy in those silly pictures.

In crowded streets, when no one from Jujutsu High was around, we’d walk with our pinkies intertwined, faces burning red, avoiding each other’s eyes. After missions, when he overused his cursed speech, he’d end up in the infirmary, and I’d sneak away to sit by his side, scolding him softly. When we sparred, he was careful, strategic, never wanting to hurt me. Just when I thought I had him, he’d slip in a word, freezing me in place, teasing me with that gentle grin. Around me, he only used simple, safe words words he was certain wouldn’t harm. And now, as I drift in sleep, these memories play like fragments of a dream… moments stitched together, warm and fleeting, as if I’m reliving them all over again.”

I snapped out of the daydreaming when he finally woke up a few hours later. I couldn't help it when I saw him sit up, the blanket sliding down from his shoulders and falling down over his hips. He sat there shirtless with bandages over his wound where his missing limb is supposed to be, the bandages only covering one side of his chest. In the moment, I couldn't help it; my eyes teared up, and I hugged him tightly, burying my face into his neck, not in a sexual way, no… This was much different. I was glad he was alive, but seeing him without an arm made me too emotional; I constantly blamed myself somehow, wishing I was in his place instead of him. And tears just started rolling down my cheeks, sliding down his shoulder and back. He hugged me back with one arm, wrapping it tightly around my waist; I was leaning over his bed just to hug him.

“Don't cry,” he said quietly, reassurance in his voice. His cursed speech took me by surprise, and I physically stopped crying. I released my grip on him, but he kept hugging me for a second too long before releasing as well.

“You can't just do that.” I laughed a little, finding it unfair how he can just calm me down so quickly with his cursed technique.

“I just did tho,” he said teasingly, and I bumped his shoulder in a fake annoyed way. He wiped away my tears, looking at my lips before his gaze fixated on my eyes.

His gaze dropped to the flat place under the sheet where his left arm should have been, and something in his face went carefully blank.

"Shake," he said. Yes. I'm here. Or yes, I know. With him the same word could mean three different mercies.

"You're at the school. Shoko saved you. I-" My voice cracked. I swallowed. "I pulled us out. I'm sorry it cost-"

He shook his head once, sharp. Lifted his right hand and signed, clumsy with the IV: not your fault.

I took the hand anyway. Held it too hard. His fingers were cold. I chafed them between mine until warmth came back, and he let me, eyes half-lidded, seals dark against pale skin above the pulled-down edge of a clean collar someone had left loose for the oxygen.

"I said your name," I whispered. "In the street. I'm sorry if-"

"Tuna mayo," he mouthed, almost soundless, and the absurdity of it punched a wet laugh out of me. It's fine. Relax. Stop spiraling.

I pressed my forehead to the back of his hand and stayed there until he fell asleep again.

…

Recovery was not cinematic…

It was the smell of antiseptic and the way he turned his shoulder to the wall the first time he tried to sit up, and the missing weight threw him. It was me learning to tie his shoes without making a production of it. It was Maki in the doorway with a bag of onigiri and a look that dared either of us to get sentimental. It was Panda reading mission reports aloud in a terrible dramatic voice until Toge threw a pillow at him with surprising accuracy for a man on painkillers.

It was the night I found him standing in the bathroom with the light off, staring at the empty sleeve of his yukata, and I did not turn the light on. I just stood behind him and hooked my chin over his good shoulder and breathed until his breathing matched mine.

"Okaka," he said once, very quietly- no, when I asked if he wanted me to leave.

So I didn't.

I made him takoyaki on a Thursday three weeks later, in the dorm kitchen that always smelled faintly of burnt soy sauce. I burned the first batch. The second came out lopsided. He sat on the counter in sweatpants and a high collar, feet swinging, and ate every piece with the solemnity of a man accepting a medal. When he finished, he touched two fingers to his lips and then to his heart, a gesture I had never seen him use on anyone else.

"Ume," he said.

I had to leave the room on the pretense of washing the pan so he wouldn't see my red face. The months after Shibuya rearranged the school like a hand stirring ash.

Gojo was gone, sealed, then worse, depending on which rumor you trusted on which day. Missions stacked. Graduations accelerated. I took grade assessments until the paper said Grade 1 and my hands still shook when I closed a gate too fast in training, remembering purple blood and the clean sound of a body coming apart.

Toge returned to the field before anyone thought he should. One arm, same eyes, collar high. He learned to brace a megaphone against his shoulder. He learned to write faster with his right hand than most people typed. On joint missions he would glance at me, and I would already be moving, pentagram half-traced, because we had built a language out of looks that did not require his throat at all.

I turned 18; he was a month shy of turning 19 in a safe house in Sendai with a paper crown Kugisaki had forced through the mail and a text from Itadori that was mostly stickers. Toge made me tea and signed happy birthday with flourishes so ridiculous I snorted rice out my nose. Later, when the others on the joint op had gone to their rooms, he pressed a small box into my hand. Inside: a silver chain with a tiny charm shaped like a five-pointed star.

No note. He didn't need one.

I wore it under my uniform every day after that. On bad nights I held it between my teeth, so I wouldn't say his name into the empty dark of my own room.

We almost said it once, really said it, on a rooftop in Kyoto after a special grade that had taken six hours and too much blood that wasn't ours. The city glittered below like someone had spilled a jewelry box. Toge's collar was damp with sweat. He had used his voice hard; I could hear the raw edge even in the little food-words.

He looked at me for a long time. Lifted his hand. Touched the star resting on my chest under my uniform with one careful finger.

I leaned in.

A window slammed open below us. Maki's voice, bored and loud: "If you two are done brooding, the window's closing and I'm not writing the report alone."

We jerked apart like teenagers. He signed something rude at the open air. I laughed too loudly. The moment folded itself away into the file of things we did not open.

I told myself there would be another rooftop.

There was. And another. And each time, duty or fear or the simple terror of what his mouth could do if he ever forgot himself against mine put a hand between us and pushed.

About 3 months have passed.

The nights grew longer. You learned the rhythm of his breathing when he slept, the way his fingers twitched against the sheets when he dreamed of curses. You learned how to read the tension in his shoulders and the way he signed with sharper movements when something had gone wrong. You learned how to sit beside him in silence until the silence itself felt like a conversation.

One night the mission went bad. You came back with blood on your collar that wasn’t yours. Toge met you at the door, took one look at you, and pulled you inside. He locked the door behind you, turned off the lights, and guided you to the narrow bed without a single word. Your heart was pounding in your chest you were sure he could hear it. You sat on the edge while he knelt in front of you, checking every cut and bruise with careful fingers. When he was satisfied that nothing needed stitches, he rested his forehead against your knee and stayed there, breathing slowly.

You reached down and touched the back of his neck. His skin was warm; your cold hand sent a shiver down his spine. He looked up. The collar of his jacket had slipped just enough to show the edge of the scar that ran from his throat across his collarbone all the way to where his lost limb used to be. You traced it with your thumb. He didn’t flinch. But he stood up, kissing the tips of his middle and pointer finger, then gently, briefly touching my forehead before saying goodnight and leaving.

did he really just… give me a goodnight kiss on the forehead without kissing me

Gojo was gone, sealed, then worse, depending on which rumor you trusted on which day. Missions stacked. Graduations accelerated. I took grade assessments until the paper said Grade 1 and my hands still shook when I closed a gate too fast in training, remembering purple blood and the clean sound of a body coming apart.

Toge returned to the field before anyone thought he should. One arm, same eyes, collar high. He learned to brace a megaphone against his shoulder. He learned to write faster with his right hand than most people typed. On joint missions he would glance at me, and I would already be moving, pentagram half-traced, because we had built a language out of looks that did not require his throat at all.

We did not talk about the alley.

We talked about grocery lists. About which vending machine on the third floor ate coins. About the cat that lived behind the old storage shed and refused to be named. At night, sometimes, if a mission ran long and we got back after the trains had stopped, he would fall asleep on the common-room sofa with his head tipped toward my shoulder, and I would sit very still and memorize the weight of him and tell myself friendship could look like this and be enough. It was not enough. I knew that the way I knew the exact angle of a Roaring Grave. I just refused to fire.

Months passed, and it was his 19th birthday; Yuji gave him a big box of assorted onigiri flavors: konbu, okaka, ume, and more because he knows how much Toge loves them. He’d also add a goofy handwritten card with doodles. From Megumi, he got a nice high-quality scarf, not something flashy. Gumi tried being nonchalant about it, so he only wrote " Happy Birthday " on it. From Panda, a goofy “speech-friendly” megaphone decorated with stickers. He’d always make Toge laugh.

I watched the others give him gifts; they all spoiled him a little since they all felt bad for him because of his arm, but no one wanted to talk about it. Maki was away somewhere with Yuta, and I decided not to give him a present yet. We all chatted for a while before, one by one, Magumi, Yuji, and Panda all left; it was just Toge and me, and we were heading back, my gift bag still in my hand. We talked for a while before we reached the same photobooth we used oh so long ago. It was dark outside, and the streets were quiet, so we decided to just sit inside and chat since there weren't any benches anywhere near.

“I uh- got you something as well…” I said, my cheeks turning flush as I looked at the bag. I pulled out a small jewelry box. He looked at me and smiled under his jacket, opening the box with one hand. Inside were two matching bracelets, one with a cute monkey covering its mouth and another with a monkey covering its ears.

“It's us! Looks just like you and me when you use your cursed speech.” oh im such an idiot. This is surely too much, I thought to myself. His expression was unreadable for a moment, then he handed it to me, gesturing that I needed to put it on for him. I lifted up his sleeve just enough and tied the bracelet into place, my fingers brushing against his warm skin. I was sure I looked dumb from how red and hot my face was getting, but when I looked up, he seemed even more flustered.

I put on my own bracelet before speaking again. “There is also a note inside.” he tilted his head slightly in amusement before digging in and pulling it out. It's a note i hand crafted, i drew us holding each other, pinkies on one side and on the other a note.

In that moment, I slipped a coin in the machine to capture a picture of his reactions while he reads it.

“Toge,

I’ve been holding these feelings for a year and a half now, and honestly, it’s embarrassing how much space you take up in my thoughts. Every time you tilt your head, every quiet word you say, even just “konbu”, it stays with me longer than it should.

You probably don’t realize how much your presence calms me. Even when you’re silent, it feels like you’re saying more than anyone else ever could. “

*zzzzt pop!* the machine clicked, his face turning a shade of pink

“I catch myself looking for your eyes in a crowd, and when they meet mine, I feel like I’ve already said everything I wanted to.

I know you don’t speak much, but I’ve learned to listen in other ways, the way your shoulders relax when you’re comfortable, the way your eyes soften when you’re amused. Those little things mean the world to me.”

*zzzzt pop!*  another picture this time of him glancing at me his face red. It caught me off guard, and my heart skipped a beat

“So here it is, clumsy and maybe too much: I like you. More than I should, more than I can hide. And if you’ll let me, I’d like to stay by your side, even if all I ever hear from you is “ume” or “takoyaki.” Because for me, that’s enough.

Yours, always a little nervous but always sincere.”

I could hear his heart pounding in his chest; his head snapped to look at me, an embarrassed expression on his face. He unzipped his jacket just below his neck, the lower half of his face finally showing again, and I felt my body heat up. For a moment I worried if he did not feel the same way; did I seriously ruin everything?

“I- I- got the bracelet a few months ago, I tho-”  before I could finish my sentence, his words cut through mine.

“Kiss me,” he demanded like it was his right to breathe. His cursed speech coursed through my body, and I leaned forward to kiss him, but his lips crashed against mine harder and faster. It was just a smooch at first, then his hand cupped my cheek, sliding a strand of hair behind my ear, his tongue gliding over my lips before it entered my mouth. It felt so good; I could melt under his touch, and he broke the kiss, and I gasped as my life support had just been unplugged.

“Touch me.” his voice sounded needy, and his eyes looked hazy; my hands almost flew to his chest, exploring his waist and sides over his baggy, thin jacket, before traveling up and wrapping around his neck and pulling him into a kiss.

He was panting and gasping for air between kisses, a trail of saliva connecting our mouths whenever he broke it. “I- breaks kiss wanted this for so long ngh-” and before I could blink, he was back to devouring my mouth; he leaned forward more, getting closer to me, forcing my back to meet the wall.

My back hit the photo booth wall with a soft thud, the narrow space suddenly feeling even smaller as Toge pressed his entire body against mine. His hands were everywhere at once, cupping my face, sliding down my sides, gripping my waist with desperate fingers that trembled against my jacket groping and focusing on my chest.

"Mmmph—" The sound escaped him between kisses, needy and broken. His tongue pushed deeper into my mouth, exploring every inch like he was starving for the taste of me. I could feel his heart hammering against my chest, matching the frantic rhythm of my own.

His hands found the zipper of my jacket and yanked it down roughly, the metal teeth parting with a sharp sound that echoed in the empty street outside. Cool night air hit my skin as he shoved the fabric off my shoulders, his palms immediately finding the warmth beneath my shirt.

"Fuck-" he whimpered against my lips, the word muffled but desperate. His fingers traced the band of my bra before slipping underneath, cupping my breast with a shaky hand. His thumb brushed over my nipple, and I gasped into his mouth, arching into his touch.

The machine whirred and clicked again, capturing another moment; his face buried in my neck, teeth grazing the sensitive skin there while his hand worked under my shirt. I could feel him hard against my thigh, the thick length of him pressing insistently through his pants as he rocked his hips forward, almost like they were bucking on their own.

"Please-" The word came out broken, almost a sob. His hand found my ass, gripping hard enough to leave marks as he pulled me closer. "I need-fuck, I need ahh you so bad-" His cursed speech didn't really work when he was panting, whimpering, and stuttering between his words.

His mouth moved down my throat, sucking and biting at the skin there. Each whimper that escaped him sent vibrations through my body, making my thighs press together with need. I could feel how wet I was already, the ache between my legs growing more insistent with every desperate sound he made.

"Take it off," he commanded, his voice rough with need. The cursed speech hit me like a wave, and my hands moved without thought, yanking my shirt over my head. My bra followed, and the cool air made my nipples tighten instantly.

Toge's eyes looked hazy with need, his breath coming in short, shaky gasps. "Beautiful," he whispered, almost reverent, before his mouth descended on my breast. His tongue circled my nipple before he sucked it between his lips, the wet heat of his mouth making me cry out.

"Ah—!" The sound echoed in the small space. His teeth grazed the sensitive peak, and I threaded my fingers through his hair, holding him there as he switched to the other breast, giving it the same desperate attention. My face was red from embarrassment. Him being so shamelessly himself and focusing on my chest.

His hand worked at my skirt, fingers fumbling with the button in his urgency. The side zipper came down, and he shoved the fabric down my hips along with my underwear, leaving me bare from the waist down. The photo booth felt even smaller now, the air thick with the scent of our arousal.

"Look-," he breathed, his voice cracking with want. His fingers traced through my folds, finding me soaked and ready. "So wet for me—fuck—"

Two fingers pushed inside me without warning, curling to find that spot that made my knees buckle. I had to grab his shoulders to stay upright as he pumped them in and out, his thumb circling my clit with practiced precision. He couldn't help but smirk to himself; something about having you clinging to his shoulders and your knees shaking made him feel so masculine.

"Toge—please—" I gasped, my hips rocking against his hand. He added a third finger, stretching me open, and the wet sounds of his fingers working inside me filled the small space. We could surely be heard by anyone passing by, and the thrill of that was pumping adrenaline through  our veins.

He pulled his fingers free and brought them to his mouth, sucking them clean with a desperate moan. The sight of him tasting me made my pussy clench around nothing, aching to be filled. The markings on his cheeks and tongue looked so sweet i leaned closer to his face and licked his cheek and corner of his mouth, before he pushed the length of his tongue in my mouth, making me taste his saliva.

"Need to be inside you," he panted, his hand working frantically at his own pants. His cock sprang free, thick and hard; it was darker than the rest of him, thicker at the base, narrowing down slightly at his purple-pink-toned tip the head already glistening with precum. He wrapped his hand around the base, stroking once, twice, before pressing the tip against my entrance.

The first thrust was slow, deliberate, letting me feel every inch as he pushed inside. My walls stretched around him, the burn mixing with pleasure as he filled me completely. When his hips met mine, he stayed still for a moment, both of us breathing hard.

"So tight-," he whimpered, his forehead pressed against mine. "Feels so haahh- fucking good—"

Then he started moving, pulling almost all the way out before slamming back in. Each thrust drove me back against the wall, the photo booth shaking with the force of it. His hands gripped my thighs, lifting me slightly so he could get deeper, the angle making stars burst behind my eyes.

"Harder—" I begged, and he gave it to me, his hips snapping forward with desperate urgency. The wet sounds of his cock sliding in and out of my soaked pussy mixed with his whimpers and my moans, creating a symphony of need. I wrapped my legs around his hips, and he held me up and pinned me to the wall with one hand on my ass.

"Can't—fuck—can't hold back-" he gasped, his rhythm becoming erratic. It was the first time having sex for both of us, so neither could last very long, the sensation completely overwhelming our brains, making us sex drunk. "Come for me please- n-eed ah- to feel you"

He lovered his head just for a moment to grab the necklace around my neck and hold it between his teeth to bite back moans while staring deep into my eyes.

The pressure built fast, my orgasm crashing over me like a wave. My pussy clenched around his cock, pulsing and squeezing as pleasure ripped through me. Toge buried his face in my neck, his own release following seconds later as he filled me with hot cum, his whole body shaking with the force of it.

I moaned his name over and over again, earning him a satisfied expression. My arms were clinging to his neck and shoulders as I scratched his back while my hips were shaking from the orgasm.

We stayed like that for a moment, him still inside me, both of us panting and trembling. The photo booth was quiet except for our breathing and the distant hum of the street outside.

Toge pulled back just enough to look at me, his eyes soft and sated. He pressed a gentle kiss to my lips, so different from the desperate hunger from before.

"Mine," he whispered against my mouth, and I could feel the truth of it in every fiber of my being.

We scrambled back into our clothes the instant footsteps echoed down the hall. I snatched the gift bag and the freshly printed photo strips, while he grabbed my hand, and together we bolted out of the booth like two reckless kids caught red‑handed; the furious security guard lumbering after us, hurling curses at our generation as we laughed breathlessly into the night.

The air smelled of pine and damp earth, that particular scent that only came when summer finally settled in, and the world slowed down. You breathed it in deep, letting the tension of finals week drain from her shoulders with each exhale. Four exams, three all-nighters, and one near breakdown in the campus library bathroom later, you had earned this.

This simple thing, a walk, music in her ears blasting through the earbuds, the sun painting the sky in watercolors as it began its slow descent.

Your sneakers crunched against the gravel path, familiar and grounding. You walked this trail a hundred times since moving to this town for university, though never this late in the evening. Usually she came in the mornings, when the light filtered green through the canopy, and joggers nodded hello as they passed. But today had been about reclaiming time, about doing things differently.

You tugged your earbuds out as you reached the bench near the old oak tree, wanting to hear the wind moving through the leaves. The sound was softer than you remembered, gentler. Everything felt softer today, like the world had decided to meet her halfway.

People spend too much time indoors, you thought, watching two kids in the distance chase a ball across an open field, talking about some what you assumed were ghost stories. Their laughter carried, thin and bright, before fading into the growing stillness.

The disappearances had made people nervous, of course. The news cycled through the same stories every few weeks. Someone gone, someone never found, someone's last known location being a park or a trail or a quiet street. But she didn't believe the rumors. The kids in her neighborhood whispered about creatures in the woods, about tall figures that took in the lost and broken and turned them into something worse. She'd heard the stories passed around like campfire tales, meant to thrill and chill in equal measure.

Ghosts weren't real. Monsters weren't real. People just left sometimes; that was all. Cheating spouses, disenchanted teenagers, adults who couldn't face their own reflection anymore. The world was full of quiet exits and Irish goodbyes.

You stood and kept walking, letting your feet carry you deeper along the path. The gravel gave way to packed earth, then to something softer, less defined. You didn't notice at first; you were too caught up in the sky, in that impossible blend of purple and orange and deep, creeping blue. The colors bled into each other like wet paint, and you paused, pulling her earbuds out again to savor the silence.

That's when she saw him.

Movement in your peripheral vision, just beyond the treeline. You turned your head, and there he was, tall, dressed in a gray hoodie with the hood pulled low. A mask covered his face, strange and blue, catching the dying light, the black eyes on the mask being the only somewhat human-looking feature on it, the rest completely smooth and blue.

Your heart stuttered, just for a moment. But then you noticed the brown hair peeking out from beneath the hood, the casual slope of his shoulders.

Probably one of the older kids, she thought. Trying to scare the younger ones. Testing out a costume for some party or perhaps just trying to scare the kids off of the basketball court.

You looked around and realized, with a small jolt, that you wandered. The path had narrowed, and the sounds of the park the kids, the distant traffic, the normalcy of it all had fallen away completely. You were in unfamiliar territory, standing on a trail you didn't recognize, with the sun bleeding out behind him and this masked stranger walking directly toward you.

You decided not to make it a thing. Smiling light, playful, the kind of smile you gave nervous students before presentations.

"Did I time-travel or something?" you asked, your voice carrying through the quiet. "Is it Halloween already?"

The words hung in the air, soft and bright. You obviously weren't mocking him, just... easing the tension. Letting him know you weren't afraid, that you saw him as human.

He didn't respond...

.

..

...

He kept walking, steady and unhurried, his footsteps barely audible on the soft ground. The mask gave nothing away: no expression, no movement, just that strange blue surface reflecting the dying light.

Jeez, tough crowd, she thought. Maybe he didn't hear me.

Whatever. It was best to mind your own business anyway. You pulled your earbuds back in, letting the music fill your ears. You were listening to the new remix that just came out on YouTube, Pop Culture by Madeon, and stepped to the side to pass him.

Your shoulders almost brushed. You caught a whiff of something metallic, like old pennies, and then you were past him, walking forward, the path opening up ahead.

You took a step, music still blasting. Then another.

And then the pain hit.

It exploded through your ankle, sharp and hot and so sudden that your breath caught in your throat. You looked down, and your mind struggled to process what you were seeing. A hand. Dark gray. Claws actual claws digging into her flesh, puncturing skin, drawing blood that welled up dark and red against your ankle.

You didn't have time to scream.

The hand yanked, and you felt yourself falling forward, the world tilting, the ground rushing up to meet you. Your palms hit first, gravel biting into your skin, and then your head connected with the ground, so hard and violent you swore u could feel your brain in your skull shake, and the pain became a white flash behind your eyes.

The music was still playing in your ears, tinny and distant despite being on full volume, like it was coming from somewhere far away.

You tried to push yourself up, but your arms felt weak, disconnected. You could feel blood trickling down your forehead, warm and sticky, and something else, something cold, wrapping around your good ankle, dragging you backward across the ground.

The gravel scraped against your stomach, your ribs, your breasts. Your tank top rode up, and you felt the sharp bite of stones against your bare skin. You tried to kick, to twist, to find something to hold onto, but your body wasn't listening. Your vision was going gray at the edges, the world narrowing to a tunnel of pain and confusion.

This isn't happening, u thought. This isn't real.

But it was. The hand on your ankle was real, the claws were real, and the figure looming over you, tall, silent, blue-masked, was real.

He didn't say anything. He just dragged u, steady and methodical, off the path and into the trees. The branches scraped at your arms, your face, your exposed skin. You heard fabric tear, felt the cold air on your stomach where your shirt had ripped.

You opened your mouth to scream, a scary primal screech escaping your lips.

The music in your ears shifted to the next song, Last Friday Night by Katy Parry, and the absurdity of it almost made u laugh. U were being dragged into the woods by a masked creature, and your iPod was playing a pop song.

Your fingers found the edge of a rock, and you tried to hold on, tried to anchor yourself, but the creature's grip was inhumanly strong. The rock slipped from your grasp, and u felt your nails break as they scraped against the ground.

No. No, no, no.

The stories came flooding back. The tall creature in the woods. The people who went missing. The kids who whispered about murderers raised from the broken and unwanted, but your head also felt like it was gonna explode from the potential concussion you just got, and the loud music made it hard to think.

You had never believed. You had always thought it was just stories, just fear, just people looking for explanations in the dark.

The man stopped dragging you and knelt beside you, his head tilting as if studying you. The mask was close now, close enough that she could see the texture of it. Beneath the hood, she caught a glimpse of what looked like empty eye sockets.

Then he roughly yanked the earbuds out of your ears, throwing them aside. "Jesus fucking Christ, no wonder you couldn't hear me sneak up on you," He said with a chuckle. His voice sounded nothing like you imagined; he had a deep voice, but he sounded pretty young. Like he was in his twenties, with the strength he had, you were sure he was older.

"Why did you smile at me?" His voice was low, rough, like he hadn't spoken in years.

Your head was pounding; you couldn't think of anything to say at the moment, your leg still bleeding and your whole stomach and chest covered in bruises and scratches from being dragged across the ground, your shirt torn apart; the cotton had no chance against the rough ground. Your chest was practically exposed, your bra offering the only cover left, barely hanging on your shoulders, the straps all torn and worn down.

"Are you deaf or something? I guess I'll just have to check your ears too when we get back."

What the fuck is he talking about???

You thought to yourself that when you suddenly pushed him back, he didn't move an inch, but you took off trying to run. The moment you applied weight on your injured and twisted ankle, you fell down. You gathered all the strength in your body to at least crawl away from him, and you screamed for help.

"HELP, PLEASE AN-YONE HELP ME," you stuttered out, praying that someone would hear you, when you heard a chuckle behind you.

"HELP HER, SHE NEEDS HELP. HURRY UP, COME ONNN." He placed his hands close to his mouth and yelled out, mocking you.

"Oh wait... There is no one here to hear you except me... what a shame,"

he said as you heard him walking closer to you, his feet hitting the gravel beneath.

"No, NO GET AWAY FROM ME,"

you said as he flipped you over on your back. You kicked him with your good foot, but he caught it.

"Ohhh, faisty, don't make me break this one too, tho it would be fun fixing it up."

u watched him almost contemplate if he should break it or not, then he suddenly snapped your shin against his knee.

"Better safe than sorry,"

He said to himself as you screamed in agonizing pain, tears falling down your cheeks as you watched your foot disfigured with the internal broken bones, and he just threw you over his shoulder.

"Don't cry too much, you don't wanna get me hard right now."

the fuck?

You felt his hand on your ass as he carried you over his shoulder before you passed out from the pain being too much from your earlier head injury, now that adrenaline is starting to die down a little.

.

....

The overhead light was way too bright; the bluish hue was similar to the ones in a hospital. Your eyes were still shut; your nose scrunched up as you smelled the strong scent; the room smelled like bleach, isopropyl alcohol, quaternary ammonium compounds, and phenolic disinfectants. Your eyelids fluttered as your eyes adjusted to the light, the haziness slowly turning clear.

You try to rub your eyes, but your hands are tied behind your back. Your body jerks a little, and you look around the room. It looks like a mix of a normal hospital room and the dentist's office. You look down at your legs; they are already in casts, the right ankle that he dug his claws in, and the left shin that he broke. The room has no windows, but there are multiple ACs and air fresheners. The whole room looks extremely clean, too clean. The smell of cleaning chemicals and disinfectant is starting to make your head hurt when you finally notice you aren't in your normal clothes.

You are in a white hospital gown, and u can see that there is nothing underneath. rope is tied over your nightgown around your chest and waist, tying your legs together to the dentist chair. Your wrists are tied behind your back, numb from your weight applying pressure on them for however many hours you were passed out. The gown is so simple, no structure to it, yet your body's shape is visible since the thick rope was cinching the loose thin fabric to your body. Your bra is gone; your nipples are hard from the cold room poking the fabric. He had changed your clothes.

The thought hit you like a slap, and you felt a surge of fear, violation, confusion, all tangled together. You tried to sit up, and the world tilted, the walls swaying. Your head throbbed, and you tried raising a hand to your forehead. Your body just jerked since your hands were still tied behind your back. Sudden pain shot through your wrists from the rope. You heard the sound of a door handle moving behind you. You can't even look back since you are tied down. You can feel your heart almost beat out of your ribcage.

"Oh, you are awake, good, good."

U watch the man that took you forcefully from the park sit down in front of you on a medical stool this time wearing a tight black turtleneck, baggy white pants that are tight around his ankles, and a white physician’s coat.

"Why don't we start by you telling me how you are feeling"

His voice is deep; it reminds you of those old Hollywood movies, his accent a mix of a British and an Australian accent. The fluorescent lights overhead sputter and buzz, their flicker casting shadows that twitch across the sterile walls. The chair’s wheels scrape against the white tile, a shrill drag that echoes like nails across bone. He glides toward a table raised too high for your eyes, its surface hidden, its secrets deliberately kept from you.

His masked face tilts down, intent, unblinking, as though the instruments before him whisper instructions only he can hear. Then comes the sound: the slow stretch of black rubber sliding over his hands. The gloves squeal against his skin, a grotesque squeak that pierces the silence, like flesh resisting its own confinement.

The room holds its breath. Every sound is magnified, every movement deliberate, and you realize the silence isn’t empty at all; it’s waiting.

"Well, for starters, I'm fucking scared-"

Before you can finish your sentence, he backhands you across the face, and you wince in pain, your eyes tearing up but not falling.

"Speak to your doctor with respect."

ow

He starts cleaning the tools, the sound of metal clicking, disinfectant spray the only noise in the room. “Tell me what you are feeling,” he says, voice calm, clinical, as though he hadn’t just backhanded you across the face. You taste copper on your tongue, but you swallow it down, forcing words past trembling lips.

“Well… my head hurts really badly… and the leg you broke, and the ankle you grabbed… and my stomach hurts…”

Your voice is quiet, almost ashamed, trembling like you’re on the verge of crying. That’s what makes him lean in closer. That’s what makes his eyes gleam behind the mask.

He thrives on it the way you sound like a lamb cornered in a slaughterhouse. His gloved fingers flex, the squeak of rubber sharp in the silence, and he tilts his head as though savoring the music of your fear.

“Good,”

he murmurs, not to comfort but to catalogue. He scribbles something on a clipboard you can’t see, each scratch of the pen deliberate, like he’s recording a specimen’s reaction. Then he sets the pen down with surgical precision and reaches for something on the too-high table. You can’t see what it is, only hear the faint metallic rattle as instruments shift.

The silence stretches, broken only by the hum of the lights and the pounding of your own pulse. He doesn’t look at you yet. He wants you to imagine what’s coming. He wants the dread to bloom before the pain.

“I won’t be giving you any painkillers,”

he says, voice steady, almost bored, as though this is routine.

“I need you to be fully aware of how your body feels at all times and describe it in great detail.”

His eyes gleam behind the mask, clinical and detached.

“You had a concussion when you hit your head against the ground earlier, when I pulled you down. That’s partially why I tied you down. You need rest to recover… and I know you would try to run away, even with your leg broken and ankle twisted.”

The silence that follows is suffocating. The fluorescent lights buzz overhead, their flicker casting shadows that twitch across the walls. You can hear your own pulse hammering in your ears, louder than his voice, louder than the hum of the room.

Then he turns back to you, his movements deliberate, slow, like a predator savoring the moment before striking.

“I can’t just stand here and do nothing though,”

he says, almost cheerfully.

“I don’t want to be bored. So I thought of fixing the cavity you have on your lower incisors. And maybe getting you some pretty braces while I’m at it. Of course… no anesthesia.”

He drags the chair closer, the wheels shrieking against the tile. The sound is sharp, invasive, like metal scraping bone. He sets down a tray, and though you can’t see everything on it, you hear the metallic clatter of instruments shifting pliers, drills, hooks. The noises alone make your stomach twist.

He pulls on his gloves again, the squeak of rubber against skin echoing in the silence.

“You’ll thank me later,”

he whispers, leaning close enough that you can smell the sterile tang of disinfectant mixed with something faintly rotten.

“I want to hear every detail. Every nerve, every ache, every scream. That’s the only way I’ll know I’m doing my job right.”

His hand hovers over your mouth, fingers flexing, as though testing the air before claiming it. He doesn’t rush. He wants you to imagine the drill biting into enamel, the cold steel prying at your teeth. He wants the fear to bloom before the pain begins.

The silence stretches again, broken only by the hum of the lights and the faint drip of water somewhere in the room. He tilts his head, studying you like a specimen pinned under glass. Then, with a sudden snap, he picks up a mirror and angles it toward your mouth. The reflection of your trembling lips and bloodshot eyes makes him chuckle softly.

“You look perfect,”

he says.

“Perfect for my work. So pretty, so delicate; even while I'm working and focused on your teeth, I need you to look at me the whole time. I wanna watch your eyes as I work." You freeze. You don’t know if you should speak or stay silent. What would I even say? The words stumble out of you, barely audible: “Um… am I supposed to look at your mask?”

His head tilts sharply.

“Speak up, little lamb.”

Your throat tightens, dry and raw, but you force the words out louder this time.

“Am I supposed to look at your mask the whole time?”

You glance away, bracing for the sting of another slap.

For a moment, there is only silence. The fluorescent lights buzz overhead, the sound filling the void like a swarm of insects. Then he chuckles softly.

“How rude of me,”

he says, fingers tugging at the straps of his mask.

The blue fabric peels away, and what lies beneath makes your stomach lurch. His skin is gray, stretched too tightly over bone. Black, eyeless sockets gape where eyes should be, yet somehow they see you. Pointed ears jut out unnaturally, twitching like they’re listening to your heartbeat. His hair is brown, soft, slightly overgrown, but it only makes the horror worse a grotesque attempt at normalcy. And then you realize: his eyes aren’t gone. They’re there, fully black, swallowing the whites, swallowing the pupils, swallowing everything.

He leans closer, the rubber of his gloves squeaking as he flexes his fingers.

“Better,” he whispers.

“Now you can see me properly. Now I can see you.”

The silence thickens, pressing against your chest. He doesn’t move right away. He lets you drown in the sight of him, lets the dread bloom until it feels unbearable. Then, with deliberate slowness, he picks up a dental drill. The whirring begins, shrill and sharp, echoing through the room like a swarm of angry bees.

“You’ll keep your eyes on me,” he says, voice calm, almost tender.

“If you look away, I’ll know. And if you cry, I’ll know. Every twitch, every tremor, every sound you make it’s all mine.”

He takes time to put on a teal face mask that just covers his nose and mouth. The drill hums louder, closer, until you can feel the vibration in your teeth. He doesn’t touch you yet. He wants you to imagine it first. He wants the fear to carve deeper than the pain ever could.

The drill's high-pitched whine fills the sterile room like a living thing, vibrating through your bones and making your jaw clench involuntarily. The masked figure looms over you, his surgical mask stained with old blood, eyes gleaming with predatory hunger as he watches your mouth stretch wider around his gloved thumb.

"That's it, keep it open," he murmurs, voice thick with arousal.

His thumb presses deeper, sliding over your tongue, forcing your jaw to its limit until your lips crack at the corners. The latex tastes bitter, clinical, but beneath it you feel the heat of his finger probing, stretching, owning the wet heat of your mouth.

You are strapped to the dental chair, wrists bound in leather restraints, eyes wide with terror and something darker, arousal.

Cruel smile twisting Jack's lips, he withdraws his thumb slowly, strings of saliva stretching between your mouth and his glove, then brings the drill closer. The bit spins inches from your face, the sound drilling into your skull. He doesn't wait for permission. The drill bites into your central incisor with a sickening crunch, enamel shattering, the vibration shooting straight through your nerves. Pain explodes white-hot, but beneath it something twisted blooms, your body betraying you, heat pooling between your legs as he works deeper, the drill's whine mixing with your choked gasps.

Blood and tooth dust spray across his mask. He leans in, breathing heavily, the animalistic sound rumbling from his chest again. His free hand slides down your chest, pinching your nipple through thin fabric, twisting hard enough to make you arch. "Scream for me," he hisses, pushing the drill further into the nerve. "Let me hear how much you love this."

The high‑speed handpiece whirs to life, its diamond bur cutting smoothly into the softened enamel. The vibration resonates through your jaw, a dull ache radiating outward. He pauses only to irrigate the site, a fine mist of water cooling the tooth as the assistant’s suction evacuates the mixture of saliva, blood, and powdered enamel. The taste is metallic, acrid, impossible to ignore.

Without anesthesia, you feel like you are going to pass out from the pain; your arms still tied behind your back want to grip his wrist so badly, but they are restrained. Your scream and whining are like music to his ears. Your sobs get whinier and whinier as you realize there is no use to screaming your lungs out. It's not like he is going to stop.

He adjusts the LED overhead lamp, angling it so the beam illuminates the cavity without blinding your eyes. The mirror flashes briefly as he checks the margins, then he swaps tools in a slow, deliberate motion, exchanging the bur for a spoon excavator to remove the last fragments of decayed dentin. Each scrape is precise, methodical, leaving behind a clean, dry surface.

You don't know what he's thinking, and you can't see his lips curve into a smirk under his mask, but you see his eyes crease as he smiles to himself in a satisfied smirk.

"The euphoria from working on a pretty face like yours makes me feel like I'm back in college," He says casually while simultaneously working.

The air syringe hisses, drying the tooth completely before he applies the bonding agent. A faint chemical scent rises, sharp and sterile. He cures it with a blue light, the glow reflecting strangely in his pupil‑less eyes. You sense his gaze fixed on you, though it’s impossible to tell where he’s looking.

Composite resin is layered into the cavity, each increment hardened with the curing light. He sculpts the surface with a plastic instrument, restoring the tooth’s natural contour. Finally, the slow‑speed handpiece hums as he polishes the filling, smoothing it until it blends seamlessly with the enamel.

"The way you look at me almost makes me feel bad about everything I did to you... almost"

The procedure is nearly complete, yet the silence between you feels heavier than the sound of the drill. You glance at his face, empty eyes, unblinking, and though no words are spoken, you feel his attention pressing down on you as tangibly as the weight of the chair.

"Your cuteness distracts me way too much. I get a sudden urge to pinch your nipples when you look at me so adorable like that." he takes his gaze off your eyes and continues talking while working.

He says it so casually, but your face turns a beat red color.

“You know, oral health is inseparable from the body’s greater design. I saw that truth early, when others were still fumbling with textbooks. At nineteen, I was already years ahead, devouring knowledge faster than my peers could comprehend. While they struggled with lectures, I consumed entire libraries, dissected every diagram, memorized every system.

It was never enough. Dentistry was only the beginning a doorway into the human machine. I studied relentlessly, night after night, until the silence itself seemed to whisper secrets of anatomy and decay. My hands grew steady, my mind sharper, my hunger insatiable.

They called me gifted. I called myself chosen. I was not content to mend teeth; I sought dominion over the body itself. Every lesson, every experiment, every sleepless hour carved me into something greater. And when the world looked away, I stepped beyond the boundaries they set.

Yes, that's probably what got me sacrificed, killed, and turned into this in the first place, but...

That was the moment I ceased being a student. That was the moment I became something else entirely. A dentist, yes… but also a scholar of flesh, a master of hidden truths. My origin is not in classrooms or clinics; it is in obsession, in the relentless pursuit of knowledge that others feared to touch. And from that obsession, a new kind of doctor was born.”

He was rambling a lot, but you understood most of it. The part about sacrifice and all that confused you, but it would explain his weird gray skin and the rest of his unusual appearance. He obviously didn't want to give any other details, so remembering the slap you got earlier, you decided to "bite your tongue" and just not ask questions.

His gloved hands move with deliberate precision, the faint hum of the overhead lamp casting a sterile glow across your open mouth. He leans forward, eyes narrowed in concentration, as the fine tip of his instrument smooths the last contour of the filling. Each motion is an economical scrape, check, adjust until the surface feels seamless beneath the probe.

The air smells faintly of antiseptic and powdered gloves. The suction tube whispers softly, pulling away any trace of debris. He pauses, tilts his head slightly, and inspects the cavity with a mirror angled just so, ensuring no shadow hides imperfection. His brow furrows for a moment, then relaxes as he finds the work satisfactory.

Without words, he swaps tools, polishing the filling until it gleams with a muted sheen, blending into the natural enamel. The sound is a low, steady whir, like a distant machine, but his movements remain calm and controlled. His shoulders stay squared, posture steady, betraying years of practiced repetition.

Finally, he withdraws, setting the instruments neatly back onto the tray. The silence lingers, broken only by the faint click of metal against metal. He removes his gloves with a crisp snap, the task complete, leaving behind no trace of the cavity, only the quiet assurance of work well done.

Without a word, he reaches behind your back, untying your hands. The sudden rush of blood flow after hours of numbness is overwhelming and like ticklish torture, but you still push through and fight back, trying to push, punch, and scratch.

He slams you down against the headrest with brutal force. Your head feels like your skull cracks against the padded vinyl, pain exploding behind your eyes. His free hand punches the control panel, and the dental chair drops flat in one sickening lurch. Your spine hits the horizontal surface hard, the straps around your hips and calves biting into flesh as your legs stay pinned.

You thrash instantly, arms swinging wild. Your fingers claw at his forearm through the loose white coat, and the sudden contact with solid, corded muscle makes your stomach flip. You didn't expect him to be so muscular under the baggy coat. I mean, it was obvious he was fit, but it kinda catches you off guard.

He grunts, then uses his other hand to slam your wrist back down. The latex of his glove squeaks against your skin. You don't hesitate. Teeth still raw and throbbing from the drill, you lunge forward and sink them into the meat of his forearm.

He hisses through clenched teeth, a sharp grunt of pain that turns into a dark, throaty laugh. Blood wells up around your bite, hot and metallic on your tongue. He doesn't pull away. Instead, he leans into it, pressing his arm deeper into your mouth so your teeth tear deeper. "That's it," he growls, voice thick with twisted arousal. "Bite harder. Make it hurt."

Your jaw aches from the pressure, but you clamp down until you feel the give of muscle and the wet rush of blood. The taste floods your mouth—copper and salt. He laughs again, low and breathless, the sound vibrating through his chest as he grinds his hips against the edge of the chair. The bulge in his scrubs is unmistakable, thick and heavy, pressing against your thigh.

"Fuck, you're making me hard," he snarls, yanking his arm free only to shove two blood-slick fingers between your lips. He forces them deep, past your tongue, until you gag around the intrusion. "Suck. Taste what you did to me." His other hand tips the thin fabric of the hospital gown open. He palms your breast roughly, squeezing until bruises bloom under his grip. A pathetic, choked, painful whimper escapes your lips, your whole jaw and teeth aching from how hard you bit into his forearm moments ago.

He pulls his fingers from your mouth, strings of saliva and blood stretching between them. Then he grabs your throat, squeezing just enough to make your vision spark. "Keep fighting," he hisses, pressing his cock against your hip through his scrubs. "I want to feel you struggle while I fuck you open."

Ugly, wet noises tear from your throat as his palm presses harder against your windpipe. Your face flushes a deep, mottled red, veins standing out along your neck while your lungs claw for air that only trickles past his fingers. He isn’t crushing your windpipe flat just enough to make every breath a fight, just enough to let him feel the frantic throb of your pulse hammering against his skin. Each desperate, rattling inhale vibrates straight into his palm and straight down to his cock, already straining thick and heavy against the front of his scrubs.

He leans over the dental chair, eyes half-lidded with sick delight, watching the way your chest heaves and your bound thighs twitch against the leather straps. Only your lower body is secured ankles, calves, and spread knees locked tight so your upper half can still writhe and claw at the armrests. The contrast makes him groan low in his throat.

"Feel that?" he murmurs, voice velvet and venom. His thumb strokes the frantic pulse point under your jaw.

"Every little struggle… right here. God, you’re so loud inside." He rocks his hips forward, grinding the rigid line of his erection against the side of the chair, letting you feel how hard your choking is making him.

With his free hand, he reaches for a stainless-steel tray. Metal clinks. He lifts a clear oxygen mask connected to nothing but a hand pump—pure theater. He dangles it above your face, taunting you. He is just toying with you, teasing you as if you aren't on the verge of passing out. Then sets it aside. Instead, he picks up a dental mirror, its cool surface sliding down your sternum, over your stomach, lower, until the rounded edge presses against your clit. He circles it slowly, clinically, while his other palm never eases the pressure on your throat.

Your vision sparks at the edges. Your pulse slams against his fingers like it’s trying to escape. He watches, rapt, cardiophile hunger sharpening every line of his attractive, cruel face.

"Keep fighting," he whispers. "I want to feel every beat."

Gloved hand clamps over your mouth before you can scream. The cold steel table bites into your bare back as he forces your thighs wider with his hips, the rough fabric of his scrubs scraping your skin. He leans in close, empty sockets inches from your face, breath hot against your cheek.

"Mine, every noise you make is mine," he growls, voice low and shaking with hunger. His free hand pins both your wrists above your head. You thrash, but he only laughs, low and dark, pressing his hard cock against your bare cunt through his pants.

"Keep fighting. Makes me want you more."

He rips the thin sheet away, exposing you completely. His fingers dig into your thigh, bruising, spreading you open with one motion, untying your restraints. Two thick digits shove inside your pussy without warning, curling hard, pumping rough and fast.

"So wet already. You like being taken, don’t you?"

You bite at his palm; he snarls, yanks your head back by the hair, and slams his cock free. Thick, veined, leaking, he drags the head up and down your slit, smearing precum over your clit before driving in deep with one brutal thrust. Your walls stretch around him, the burn sharp, his hips snapping forward again and again, fucking you hard into the table.

The pain is almost unbearable; it feels like he's ripping you apart in such a delicate, sensitive area. Your vocal cords react before you can even think. You let out a high-pitched, prey-like scream. Then bite your lower lip so hard, trying to cope with the pain.

"Scream for me," he hisses, hand tightening around your throat now, squeezing just enough to make your vision blur.

"I want to feel every fucking sound you make while I ruin this cunt."

His pace is vicious, obsessive, every stroke claiming, marking, owning. He bites down on your shoulder, teeth sinking in, sucking hard enough to leave dark marks as he pounds deeper, faster, lost in the need to break you and keep you forever.

Jack’s chest rumbles with a low, rolling purr the second your body jerks beneath him. The sound vibrates through his ribs and straight into your skin as he pins your wrists harder. His hips grind forward, the thick, leaking head of his cock dragging through your slick folds before he slams inside again, burying every inch in one savage thrust.

"Perfect little mutt," he snarls against your ear, teeth bared. Those sharp, dog-like canines catch the shell of your ear, then sink lower, nibbling and scraping along your throat. Each tiny bite is possessive, marking, claiming. His purr grows louder, rougher, almost feral as he fucks you harder, the wet slap of skin on skin echoing off the sterile walls.

He releases one wrist only to fist your hair, yanking your head back so he can mouth at your pulse point. His tongue drags over the frantic beat, tasting your fear and arousal. "My perfect little puppy," he growls, voice thick with obsession. "Mine to break. Mine to keep."

His free hand slides down, fingers finding your clit and rubbing rough, relentless circles while his cock pistons deep. Every thrust forces a choked sound from your throat; he drinks them in, moaning louder, hips snapping faster. The chair creaks under the force. He bites down on your shoulder again, teeth piercing just enough to draw pinpricks of blood, then licks the marks clean with a hungry groan.

"Good girl," he pants, voice shaking. "Take it. Take every fucking inch like the perfect prey you are." His pace turns brutal, animalistic, driven by pure instinct. He doesn’t slow, doesn’t stop, just keeps fucking, moaning, biting, claiming you deeper with every thrust until the world narrows to nothing but his cock, his teeth, and the relentless rhythm of your body surrendering beneath him.

Jack feels the slick heat coating his cock as your body betrays you, pussy clenching and dripping around every brutal thrust. A low, broken moan rips from his throat when he senses how wet you’ve gotten, how your walls flutter and suck him deeper despite the way you shake your head.

"Fuck… look at you," he pants, voice cracking with need.

"Getting so fucking wet for the monster who’s ruining you." His hips snap harder, the wet squelch of your cunt taking him, filling the room. Every drag of his thick shaft makes your clit throb, the pain melting into something hotter, filthier.

He leans down, both of his long, slick tongues slithering out at once. They force past your lips, twisting together as they invade your mouth, stroking your tongue, the roof of your mouth, the back of your throat. The dual invasion is overwhelming, obscene. A desperate whimper vibrates through him as his sensitive tongues taste you, feel every tiny movement, every choked sound. The sensation makes his cock jerk inside you, leaking hot pre-cum against your cervix.

"Mmmph—fuck, your mouth… so warm," he moans into the kiss, tongues curling and thrusting like he’s fucking your throat with them.

His hips stutter, rhythm growing sloppy as the pleasure from his tongues shoots straight to his balls. He’s getting needier, breath hitching, but he never stops pounding into you, never stops claiming.

One tongue slides deeper, curling around yours while the other laps at the drool spilling from the corner of your mouth. He groans, hips grinding in tight circles, grinding his pubic bone against your swollen clit.

"Taste how nasty I am," he whimpers, voice thick and shaking.

"I want you to love every filthy thing I do to you. Want you addicted to my cocks and my tongues and the way I break you open."

His thrusts turn frantic, desperate, the table rattling beneath you. He’s moaning openly now, high and needy, tongues still fucking your mouth while his cock slams into your dripping cunt. Every time you clench around him, he shudders, whimpering against your lips, rutting harder, chasing the moment you finally stop fighting and start begging for more.

The cold steel armrests pressed into your skin, a stark contrast to the heat radiating from his body as he stood between your legs, his black void-like eyes locked onto yours. You could feel the sticky, tar-like substance from his eyes dripping onto your bare chest, each droplet a testament to his intense gaze.

Your breath hitched as he thrust into you, his cock filling you completely, stretching you in ways you never thought possible. Your moans echoed in the room, a mix of pleasure and pain, as he set a relentless pace, his hips slapping against yours. You could feel the desperation in his thrusts, each one more frantic than the last, as if he was trying to consume you, to merge you into one being.

Your hands gripped the armrests, knuckles turning white, as you tried to hold on, to keep from being swept away by the tidal wave of sensation. Your body moved in sync with his, your hips lifting to meet his thrusts, your inner walls clenching around him, trying to keep him deep inside you.

He leaned down, capturing your mouth in a fierce kiss. His tongue invaded your mouth, mimicking the motion of his cock, fucking you with the same desperation. You could taste yourself on him, a heady mix of sweat and sex and something darker, something uniquely him. You moaned into his mouth, your body writhing beneath him, your nails digging into his back, leaving red half-moons in his skin.

He broke the kiss, his breath coming in ragged gasps. "You feel so good, ohhhh fuck- haaahhh.... so- tight," he groaned, his voice a low rumble in his chest.

"I could fuck you like this forever." His eyes never left yours, his gaze intense, almost feral.

"But I have conditions," he continued, his voice taking on a darker edge.

"I want to make you feel this good, every day. But in return, I get to torture you, to tease you, to make you beg for my touch."

His hips stuttered, his cock twitching inside you as he said the words. You could feel his pleasure, his need, his desperation. It was intoxicating, addictive. You found yourself nodding, your body arching into his, seeking more of his touch, more of his pleasure. "I don't- no more," you whispered, your voice hoarse from moaning; it was hard to think.

He smiled, a slow, predatory smile that sent a shiver down your spine. "I won't stop," he promised, his hips moving again, his cock sliding in and out of you with a steady, relentless rhythm. "I'll make you feel so good, so many times, in so many ways. But you'll have to earn it. I can't wait to make you perfect, alter your anatomy in ways you didn't know were possible." his thrusts' rhythm turned more irregular. "You'll have to earn every touch, every kiss, every thrust, oh even thinking about getting to hurt you over and over again just to keep fixing you up makes me want to cum haaahhh-."

You could feel your orgasm building, your body tensing, your breath coming in short, sharp gasps. You leaned back, your head resting against the headrest, your eyes fluttering closed as the pleasure became too much. He took advantage of your position, his mouth latching onto your neck, his teeth scraping against your skin, marking you.

"Look at me," he commanded, his voice a dark growl. Your eyes snapped open, meeting his gaze. "I want to see you come apart," he said, his hips moving faster, his thrusts becoming more erratic. "I want to see the pleasure on your face, to know that I'm the one giving it to you."

You could feel it, the wave of pleasure crashing over you, pulling you under. Your body convulsed, your inner walls clenching around him, milking him, pulling him deeper. You cried out, your voice echoing in the room, cries of pleasure and surrender.

click click

Then suddenly he stopped pulling out completely, squeezing your twisted ankle just enough for the sharp pain to travel to your brain, then he released. You whinced and cried out in pain, not sure if it's from your ankle or your denied orgasm.

wh- why would he stop?? You thought to yourself, trying to catch your breath

"I can't wait to condition your brain to loving and being aroused by pain"

He said as he placed a kiss on your forehead and taking a wipe to wipe away the black tear like substace from his face and the droplets that fell down on your chest.

"starting today ill cliker train you till you stupid little mutt brain learns how to be a good patient and take the pain i bless you with"

nsfw

grabs you from behind and grinds against you groping your chest wrapping his arms around you from behind, his baggy robes rubbing against you while he wears nothing underneath

would definitely be clingy enough to always ask you to sit in his lap but he would end up getting hard every single time and kinda shamefully letting you feel his love and neediness for you between his legs press up and poke you

hes the type to have slow hard passionate emotionally charged sex that speeds up, gets sloppier and nastier as you two get more comfortable and shameless around each other.

loves missionary and placing a palm on your chest to feel your heart beat while hes ramming into you. bro definitely has cardiophilia imo and he starts whimpering louder and his hips start loosing rhythm and start moving more on their own when hes able to feel your heartbeat whether that be with his palm on your chest, lightly squeezing your throat of holding down your wrist.

loves tits more than ass for sure

while you are having sex you are the only one moaning in the beginning because hes doing good at holding back but as he gets closer u can hear grunts escape his lips and he only gets loud right when hes about to finish unable to suppress his moans but even then he buries his face in your neck to muffle his noises, letting you feel the heat from his body, breath on your neck and vibration of his muffled voice travel through your throat

his face is so close to your neck, so close, close enough to feel his breath on your skin sending shivers down your spine, close enough to feel the heat radiating from his body, close enough to hear when he opens his mought.

And then you feel it, his open lips press against the skin on your neck under your jawline, the wet sensation sending jolts through your body his tongue gliding against your skin like it’s trying to penetrate it. The movement getting faster he opens his mouth more and more almost like he’s trying to get a mouth full then u feel it. His teeth resting on your skin for a second. Not digging in but just resting there before u feel slight pressure, u whince thinking it would stop but it doesn’t, it quickly gets worse the pain now growing stronger rapidly making you shut your eyes and scream trying to push his head away with your hands but he grabs your wrists pinning them next to your head, now fully biting down on your flesh the pain almost unbearable, u hear the sound of skin breaking so so close to your ear it’s impossible to ignore, the sensation of your blood spilling filling his mouth as he fully bites down, grinding his teeth struggling to rip off the skin. U can’t stop screaming begging him to stop u cry and fight back but before u know it he jerks his head to the side, ripping off the remaining skin tha was holding your flesh. He looks down at you and u look up at him. The bottom part of his face completely covered in blood then you see it. A chunk of your flesh between his top and bottom teeth.

The pain is so strong and the smirk on his face grows as the ringing in your ears gets louder. It’s impossible to focus on anything. Your body pumping so much adrenaline fighting to mask the unbearable sensation of pain fighting back against passing out. All u can look at is his satisfied face as his jaw starts to move, chewing on the raw bloody flesh of your skin your own blood dripping from his teeth to his lips traveling down his chin dropping to your cheek. You watch his Adam’s apple move as he swallows. The metallic taste of your blood coating the inside of his throat the heat traveling down his stomach. The sensation overwhelming for him too. He never felt the bliss of letting his animalistic tendencies take over his mind before. U were his first but he couldn’t get enough of it. Before you knew it his mouth was back glued to your open bleeding wound licking away and sucking the blood that’s pouring out. U cried out “why” “Jack why would you do this” you sobbed and he pulled away to look at your beautiful face.

“I couldn’t help it sweets im sorry” he wiped away your tears with his gray hands holding, cupping your face. “Awwwwh baby im sorry you know I didn’t mean to” he said as he licked your tears from your temples and cheeks before squeezing your cheeks to make your lips pout to kiss you. His lips were so sweet against yours for a split second the warmth was so comforting before you felt the taste of your own blood on his tongue as he pushed it inside your mouth. “NghHh sweets fucckkk” u could hear him moan into your lips he was completely lost in his senses. “I need it right now baby I know your neck hurts but I- I promise I’ll be gentle okay?” he said after pulling away cupping your face making sure you are looking at his face. All you could see was his black empty eyesockets that sometimes made the hair on the back of your neck stand. His features were so handsome but his sharp rows of teeth, the gray skin, empty black eyesockets, the black goo dripping down his cheeks similar to tears, the long black tongue. It was all so horrifying yet so beautiful.

“Jack please stop- I know you’ll get carried away-“

“I won’t baby I promise! Please I need it right now-“

he was pinning you down to the bed on your back sitting on top of you before he straightened his back his hands traveling down your body up and down your waist before he unzipped your hoodie lifting up your shirt and playing with your chest. A whimper escaped your lips and u could see him grinning to himself

“I promise I’ll be so good I’ll make sure you can take it I won’t push you too far I promise! I won’t take more than u can give”

U could feel his erection strained against his sweatpants pressing down onto you before he got between your legs

“n-no! p-please if u take another bite I know you won’t be able to stop” you sobbed he released your wrists and u wiped away your tears that keep pouring down. “looking at you in this state makes me want to keep u like this forever… I think i should bully you more often” he said as he got lower again to lick your whole face with his monsterous tongue. He pushed two fingers into your mouth while licking your cheeks pressing down onto your tongue with his pointer and middle finger making you gag, he can’t help but let out a chuckle. “the sounds u make are so pathetic it’s driving me crazy I swear you are doing it on purpose”

“n-im not! i told you I don’t want this-“ “oh is that so? tell me if I shoved my fingers down your panties would your cunt be wet?”

“I-“ you stared at him for a moment, he was just “lookin” down at you legitimately waiting for an answer. U tried to say something, anything but you kept choking on your words. Before u could react u felt his hand travel down quickly slinging underneath your pajama and underwear band his fingers traveling between your folds feeling the sleek wetness of your cunt. You placed your hands on his chest trying to push him away but it’s like pushing a wall.

“Awwww would u look at that” his tone was almost mocking his facial expression too. “my sweets cunt is soaked! Tsk! Tsk! I knew you were being so helpless and cute on purpose to bait me into doing this to you!” his fingers started moving up and down your clit applying just enough pressure. Your body suddenly felt 10x hotter than before it felt like the rooms temperature was rising. U swear your heart was gonna beat out of your chest

You tried to protest a few words escaping your mouth u whined and pleaded to him to stop but it only drove him further. “you knew all about my habits and u let me get this close to you in the first place. this is all your fault whore so quit whining and let me enjoy this” he pressed his lips against yours biting on the flesh of your lower lip enough to break the delicate skin. He sucked on it a little before u could hear him purr and press his whole body against yours while continuously rubbing your clit. U were close to your climax when he stopped suddenly edging you once and u whined.

“wow so which one is it is it no! no jack no! stop playing with my dripping wet cunt! or do u whine when i stop? make up your mind I won’t judge you for being a whore for me” tears started rolling down your cheeks again and all u could do is hiccup and whimper choking on your words and turning into a needy mess “baby im sorry for saying tha I don’t know why I said that im so sorry” he hugged you wrapping his free arms around you before pulling you close then flipping you making you sit in his lap in cowgirl position

“but if u wanna cum you have to dryhump me okay?” you were embarrassed at first but his hands traveled to your hips guiding them to move back and forth chasing friction “ohhh shit- y-yeah like that just like that” he said as u picked up the pace on your own he just wrapped his arms around your waist hurrying his nose into your neck inhaling your scent before pulling down your tanktop to reveal more of your cleavage to bite down on your chest breaking skin once more and sucking on it leaving bloody teeth marks and a hickey. He tried swallowing the whimpers that creeped up his throat but he’d end up choking on them making him sound needier “n-ngh shit- this feels really good right?”