nerdystoner!jason | university au | smut | masterlist
synopsis: it’s your last year of university and jason todd has been in your classes, plotting on you. you’d promised yourself you’d make the most of this year, go to more parties, finally lose your virginity, and step out of your comfort zone, while jason steps into yours.
tags: college!au, angst, smoking, drinking, smut, reader is (was) a virgin. jealousy, bsfs!brother, grayson is in a frat. plottwist.
⟶ Summary | He is the heir to a powerful business empire. You are the daughter of a rival legacy just as formidable. When his brother’s past mistake threatens everything that he and his family have built with their blood, sweat, and tears, he is given one chance to hold onto his future—and you become his only way out.
A marriage arranged on paper. A deal meant to keep the peace. A molded appearance to show his worth. It should have been simple. But beneath the surface, not everything is as it seems. Because the secret of the heart wouldn’t be the only thing you are about to uncover.
⟶ Title | Carousel: 2025 version
⟶ Character | Yoongi x reader
⟶ Genre | CEO!Yoongi, Arranged Marriage!AU, Heirs!AU, Organized Crime!AU
⟶ Ratings & Warning | +18 / M for Mature; including: mutual pining, childhood friends turn business partners turn lovers, minor character death, grief, mention of family drama, may contain incorrect terms in matters involving business and law, graphic depiction of car accidents, alcohol consumption, mentions of pregnancy and miscarriages, usage of weapons (guns, knives, etc), mention of family drama, depiction of trauma, involves multiple explicit sex scenes, including: sexual tension, soft dom!Yoongi, lots of sex/dirty talk, more warnings will be added as I continue writing this.
⟶ Author's Note | I know that a lot of you have been here before. This is one of my oldest stories that I’ve ever published since writing fanfiction for BTS and especially Yoongi, and one that I am most proud of. This rewriting project has been planned for ages, so if you have previously read this story, you might notice some changes in the writing style, plot, and story details, but I’m hoping that you’ll have an even better experience reading this story again in its upgraded version. For new readers, welcome to my story! I hope you’ll enjoy the ride.
— status / current word count / total word count | ONGOING; latest update: Chapter 24 | Riddles - 142.484 words of n/a words
⟶ main masterlist | mailbox | feedback | ko-fi | patreon | series taglist
𝙳𝚒𝚜𝚌𝚕𝚊𝚒𝚖𝚎𝚛:
This story contains explicit and mature scenes that are prohibited for minors. To proceed further, make sure you are above the age of 18 to read and interact with the story. If you are caught to be a minor and openly interact with the story, you will be removed and blocked immediately.
wonder if you'll understand it's just a touch of your hand, behind a closed door.
pairing(s): carmen 'carmy' berzatto x fem reader | fem reader x original male character | the bear x fem reader
synopsis: friendship never came easy to carmen berzatto but when you entered his life that all changed, as you and carmy slowly grow into the world of adulthood things well within carmy’s control pull you apart. friendship doesn’t always last forever.
warning(s): angst | fluff | miscommunication | pining | semi-unrequited love | + more to come
Summary: Toji Fushiguro exudes one thing: Danger. But underneath all that roughness and toughness lies a soft, loving husband and an even softer father to a curious little toddler.
a/n: Finally! As per this post, I realised a master list would be very useful since I will focus more on this "series" of sorts. My plan is to continue with oneshots with Papa!Toji and after a couple more of them I have an idea that I think you guys are going to LOVE! Also I gave you a little sneak peak at my future plans below! ;)
₊˚⊹♡ Papa!Toji : The Episodes:
🫧Papa!Toji shaves with toddler!Megumi to surprise you
🎡Papa!Toji going to a theme park with Toddler!Megumi
🍎Farmers market run with Papa!Toji
🐾Papa!Toji goes to a shelter to surprise Toddler!Megumi
The morning stilled as a ray of warm light slipped through the shoji windows. Only the faint droplets of rain, lingering from last night's storm, pattered softly against the damp ground. Slow, controlled footsteps entered the washitsu and came to a sudden halt.
“What a pity,” the young Zenin master murmured to himself, his voice filled with disdain as he heard the news of your betrothal to Gojo Satoru.
Everyone had known of the courtship with your now-fiancé, including Naoya.
The blossoming union between you and Gojo Satoru had been anticipated from the very beginning, ever since the two of you met at Tokyo Jujutsu High. You and Naoya had known each other since childhood, as your clan held a respected position.
In clan gatherings, Naoya would often look for you, intrigued by the way you carried and presented yourself—like a swan, graced by the gods and goddesses themselves. In his mind’s eye, you were the embodiment of purity and innocence. Fit for a wife, a pretty little trinket to have by his side, a proper consort, Naoya thought.
You had paid no mind to the Zenin heir, though you would find yourself in mundane conversations he frequently initiated. This had only piqued his interest; his constant presence around you went unnoticed by members of his clan. Some may call it a ‘crush’, which he denied at every occasion. You had grown accustomed to his company, and his desire to pursue you had only grown stronger. He would ask about your hobbies, your preference in tea, clothing, and such—questions he wouldn’t bother asking if the person answering wasn’t you.
This is merely ambition disguised as affection, Naoya would remind himself. And yet he found himself in the gardens of the estate with you.
“It is hot out. It would be a shame if your skin burst into blisters,” he chided, observing you from behind, his stern voice barely concealing his concern.
“I am not as fragile as you think,” you replied coolly, carefully picking a white camellia from its shrub.
“Tsk. Stubborn woman,” Naoya grumbled under his breath.
Women are such a pain in the ass, he thought. You had become used to his brash comments, even going so far as to tolerate them, like many of his servants and clan members do. Why should you be any different?
“You know, you don’t have to be here,” you said, turning around to face him, a hint of annoyance in your tone.
“I choose to stay here. A woman like you shouldn’t be wandering alone in these gardens,” Naoya insisted, claiming it as ‘protection’.
“I do not need your protection, nor do I want it, Zenin,” you argued as you adjusted your kimono before leaving him.
Naoya watched as you left, his gaze never leaving your disappearing figure. He soaked in the fleeting exchange you two had shared, taking what was left of it, when approaching footsteps interrupted his clouded thoughts. The young Zenin master looked over his shoulder at the source of his disturbance, only to see a frightened, trembling servant bowing before him.
“Speak,” he urged, satisfaction flickering across his expression as the servant’s face drained of color.
“Naoya-sama—” the servant began, before being cut off by the young master.
“Tell the gardeners to grow more of these,” he commanded, toying with the white camellia he had picked up from the ground as he studied it with precision.
“Y-yes, master,” the servant answered, stumbling over her words.
Naoya noticed she was still standing there.
“What?” he asked, his voice filled with exasperation.
“Y-you have been requested by your f-father, master,” the servant managed, her gaze lowered as she fidgeted with her hands.
“I will be there,” he announced flatly, dismissing her.
The servant bowed once more before scrambling back to where she was needed. Naoya let out a drawn-out sigh, taking one last look at the garden before retreating to where his father was waiting.
a smau where the reader can’t commit to poor old sukuna THE SERIES
my masterlist TAGLIST CLOSED
part one: rejection
part two: twist
part three: who?
part four: “it’s simple”
part five: finally?
part six: after
part seven: liar
part eight: “is she?”
part nine: show me
part ten: “finally.”
part eleven: hehe
part twelve: uh oh
part thirteen: expressing
part fourteen: ending?
part.. oh, bonus part?: ???
from the last part: “tysm like seriously so very very freaking much for everyone who’s liked, reposted and comments on my posts and supported me since the beginning of my page i genuinely didn’t think id made it this far so again, thank you so much in following me to the end of my first smau series!🥹💕”
OH AND OFCC TYSMMMM for everyone who wanted to be on my taglist im so honored! :) taglist: @ilyoobin @wqsrs @nicolovesutoo @pepsicolacoochie @mxchiii @lunarevia @ichorstainedskin @chocolatluv3r @yujisdreamgirl @poetry-beauty-love-writez @mjustag1rl @unlimited-impressions @dadamanz28000 @ilovetoes
synopsis: you and megumi have known each other since jujutsu high and you’ve always had a thing for his mysterious demeanor. until one day you finally you were tired of waiting and you decided to start hanging out with him.. (because you were too nervous to ask him out, lol). couple years pass now you both are in college and you and megumi randomly decide to start talking.. like really talking but sometimes to you it feels like more of a friends with benefits then a talking stage. AND on top of that.. he’s hiding it? okay.. weird but you brush it off, until you confront him, finally…
warning: cursing, mostly fluff, suggestive, SH!!, slowish burn, smoking, sexual themes, violence, little cringe.
this is my first fan fic, especially series so.. pls enjoy
if you wanna be in the tag list comment! ♡ masterlist
*•.¸ chapters ¸.•* (wip)
the smau - (what this series is based off of)
chapter one - still mad?
chapter two - i hate you/the morning after
chapter three - ???
chapter four - ???
‘don’t steal my work i spend a lot of time on every single thing i make, i hardly have the brainpower to make it lol. no ai thank you.
JJK men as ancient Gods, Heroes and Warriors x F!Reader for my freaks <3
Pairings: Gojo x Reader, Suguru x Reader, Nanami x Reader, Toji x Reader, Sukuna x Reader, Satosugu
content/warnings: Historical AU, Ancient History, JJK men as historical figures, definitely heavy smut, how to tame a God/Warrior guide heh, I'll try to keep it historically accurate since im a history freak, this is my wet dream about fucking ancient Gods lmao
a/n: Since so many people loved Anubis!Geto, I decided to start a full historical series!
Want to read more historical works?
Check this collection ˗ˏˋ ꒰ ✉︎ ꒱ ˎˊ˗
dividers by @saradika-graphics
༄ Geto Suguru
⋆˙⟡ Anubis, Egyptian God of the Dead ꒰ The desert is cold at night. The West Bank of the Nile deadly silent, with a sand gripping your lifeless body. But you shall not fear death, as your mother would say. You shall not, because he will come and guide you to the afterlife. Anubis, God of the Dead, Lord of the Duat, Protector of the Desert, Jackal-Headed Lord, your – oh ꒱
༄ Gojo Satoru
⋆˙⟡ Roman Tyrant Julius Caesar ꒰ How ruthless a man he was. Rome's greatest general. The man of the hour. Caesar, his battle name was, but Gojo Satoru in heart. A tyrant, a beast, a genius himself, your... only hope. Because how could you get back your title as the Queen of Egypt, by not using the help of the Imperator himself? And how could you not predict for him to drop down to his knees so pitifully? ꒱
༄ Choso Kamo
⋆˙⟡ Hades, Greek God of the Underworld ꒰ How easy was it to have the mightiest, the most frightening and stern God wrapped around your finger? Easy, apparently, because Hades, God of the Underworld, a gloomy, lone figure, so powerful as the oldest one of the three brothers, was nothing but a whimpering mess for his dearest Goddess! ꒱
༄ Ryomen Sukuna
⋆˙⟡ Set, Egyptian God of Wars, Violence and Sands ꒰ How brute of a God he was. A monster, Lord of Upper Egypt, Harbinger of Chaos, God of Wars, tormenting the country with his power. An usurper. So what happens when a sweet girl comes up one day, claiming that she's the one meant to inherit the rule over Egypt? ꒱
༄ Toji Fushiguro
⋆˙⟡ Roman Gladiator ꒰ Every Roman citizen loved gladiatorial fights. Just not you. But when you finally decided to see one in the company of your husband, it turned out that one fighter in particular had set his eye on you. A beast, a brute, a butcher, with strong knees that could bend solely for his lady ꒱
༄ Nanami Kento
⋆˙⟡ Greek Hero Heracles ꒰ What's the easiest way to get rid of a tenacious man who desperately asks for your hand? Give him twelve impossible challenges, of course, in hopes he'll drop out before finishing them all. But... maybe underestimating the Olympian's greatest hero, the strongest demigod alive, Zeus's warrior, wasn't the greatest choice ꒱
༄ Satosugu
⋆˙⟡ Alexander the Great and Hephaestion ꒰ For Macedonian's, he was the King. In Asia, they called him Conqueror. Egyptians bestowed upon him the title of Pharaoh, and Greeks believed he was Zeus's offspring. But for his closest general, companion, lover... he was just Satoru. Suguru's most beloved golden boy ꒱
DO NOT COPY MY WORK, if anyone wants to get inspired please tag me
˗ˏˋ ꒰ ✉︎ ꒱ ˎˊ˗ want to join permanent taglist? sign up here ꨄ︎
Synopsis. In this season of The Bachelorette, 22 of Japan’s hottest bachelors vie for a chance for your hand…and between your legs. A plethora of eligible men from a buff personal trainer to a handsome lawyer, to a white-haired model with way too much charm—this might just be the steamiest season yet!
Pairings [SEPARATE] Higuruma x Reader, Gojo x Reader, Ino x Reader, Sukuna x Reader, Choso x Reader, Geto x Reader, Nanami x Reader, Toji x Reader
Content. MDNI, fem!reader, The Bachelorette AU, reality TV, interviews, confessionals, sIight pIot, one-on-one dates, rose ceremonies, máting presses, they’re FÉRAL, spítting, chokíng, manhandIing, sIight bréeding, tummy buIges, DlLF!Toji, semi pubIic (Ino), sIight exhíbitíonism, sIight bòndage (Higuruma), p talking, p sIapping, fuII neIsons, DÚMBIFlCATION, cervíx smooches, MMA fighter!Sukuna, HEADLOCKS, Gojo’s PÚSSYDRÚNK, babbIing, creampíes, cúmpIay, proposals, possessive!JJK men, showing off, surprise at the end, you get to actually choose, pet names, swéaring.
A/N. Those pics from Artemis II are making me saur emotional- also Happy Easter to everyone that celebrates!
♡ TOJI FUSHIGURO - First rose.
“Name? Toji Fushiguro. Age? Hah- who’re you to ask?” Even his introduction sounds like he’s sizing everyone in the studio up, a single unimpressed brow raised. In front of him Toji keeps his beefy arms crossed - both to stave off the awkwardness of speaking to a rolling camera, and to flex his biceps—just a little bit.
They were still filming the footage of their introductions - Toji hasn’t even entered that infamous mansion yet and somehow he finds his knee bouncing.
He doesn’t know whether he wants to (reluctantly) thank Shiu or throttle him for signing him up for this…bachelorette show. Is this what the youth was interested in these days?
Verdant eyes darting around the dimly-lit room, “I work as a personal trainer, among…many other things.”
A producer probes from one end, “And are you confident you’ll be picked, Fushiguro-san?”
“Confident?” He can’t help but crack a smile at that, “Please- who wouldn’t pick me? One night is all I need.”
A sudden hush falls over the studio—cameramen meeting eyes with each other, and producers who simply couldn’t see past the multi-million yen signs that were popping up in their vision. They’re rubbing their hand together, and urging the handsome man on the seat to continue speaking-
The producer that was more in charge of the B-roll footage speaks to Toji once more, “Now that’s certainly the way to enter this season, Fushiguro-san.” Flipping through the notes given on each condition, “And what else? Could you please tell the audience what you like to do for fun?”
“Hah…going to the gym, martial arts, taking care of my little one.” He scratches behind his neck.
“You have a child, Fushiguro-san?”
“Yeah, I have a son. Just six years old.” And he wonders just what booming sound effect they might add on into the background of this confession. He chuckles just thinking about it - how did Shiu convince him to come on here again? Well…he supposes it might also have something to do with you.
Toji’s eyes slide over deftly to the small screen at the back end of the room - just to get the contestants more familiar with you prior to your actual meeting at the mansion, they were replaying raw B-roll from your own introduction.
And Toji isn’t one to latch onto someone like that but- fuck, his eyes really couldn’t stop drifting over.
The curve of your smile. The way you’re looking behind you.
The way those lashes of your flutters just so—
He’s sure the cameras around him notice and hone in on the slight flickering of his peripherals, and he has to shake his head ever-so-slightly to stop himself from making a fool out of himself right here and now. “Yeah…” He rubs his roughened palms down his thighs, “Could you ah- repeat that last question?”
A few crew members chuckle. “Do you think that being a dad is going to hinder your chances in any way, Fushiguro-san?”
“Nah.” He leans back n’ tightens his crossed arms, scarred lips parting with a grin. “I’m a Fushiguro and I always get what I want—and I know what I want now.”
Eyes wafting over once more.
.
.
.
Most of the contestants still remained after the introduction phase - other than a few that were just plain rude, or the two-toned Zenin bastard that was kicked out for his outdated opinions. Upon entering the mansion, Toji Fushiguro had received your first impression rose that night - a signal to Toji that you’re keeping your eyes on him, and a signal to the 21 other men to up their damn game.
They were threatened, clearly.
Perhaps that’s why some of them were throwing disgruntled looks his way. Perhaps that’s why they ducked their heads whenever he passed, whispering behind their hands like high schoolers at a slumber party of some sort.
He’s witnessing this bizarreness as he trudges into the mansion’s vast kitchen. And honestly, Toji could almost laugh- but that’s before he’s catching a shred of what garbage they’re spouting.
“—heard production discussing that he’s a dad.”
That makes him pause.
Though Toji doesn’t let it show on his face, he keeps his hands working on his bottle of protein shake- and his ears turned in the direction of a bunch of stupid bastards that didn’t think they could be heard.
They shoot a few glances at him once more—“You really think she’s gonna fall for an older guy like that? I bet you it’s a pity rose-”
“It’s to get the ratings up, duh.” Another pipes up. “Everyone knows that in the end, she’s never going to go for the old guy.”
“A dad, at that.”
“Shouldn’t he be with his kid, instead?”
“I don’t think she even knows-”
“Probably too embarrassed to tell her-”
SLAM!
The protein shake bubbles over as Toji struggles not to grip it to bits- ultimately ending up banging it down on the marble counter. The group of men swivel their heads around as they realize that he might just have ended up hearing—not so geriatric now, huh?
And Toji feels his face twist into something akin to…a smile. Something welcoming, that you’d never catch dead on his face.
He’s looming one step towards them - just one step - when lo and behold you’re making your way into the kitchen. Baring such a beautiful smile at them all.
And who was Toji to pummel some ugly faces in when your gorgeous one was watching?
Instead, he’s taking you by the hand.
Not even a second glance at the stunned losers left behind- Toji’s dragging you to the quietest, most private room he can find in this house filled with bachelors. Ultimately—it ends up being his room, and the cameras and microphones can only catch snippets of his confession to you.
“There’s something you hafta know.” Comes out Toji’s usually-gruff tone, “I’m a dad.”
A pause.
And then your voice, “Dad? Like…zaddy?”
Beside himself, he laughs. “No. A dad—I have a son.” And by that excited look in your eyes - the way it piques your interest that this might just be the hottest DILF you’ve ever seen - he already knows that those other bastards are going to eat their words.
.
.
.
“S-so about that- ngh—” All the cameramen had been kicked out - just in time for Toji to let you grapple him onto the creaking bedsprings. Clamoring on top. Swallowing n’ sucking down as much of his thickened length between your legs as you could.
You’re feeling his incredible girth stretching you out- throwing your head back as far as it would go.
As you’re babbling and drooling on his sheer length, Toji clasps onto one side of your hips. He’s using but a fraction of his strength to bounce you towards him - in a figure-eight motion that could barely be completed given the sheer shakin’ of your thighs. Squeezed around him.
Rolling his sage-green eyes with rough laughter, he’s spreadin’ his meaty thighs and bucking up into you—the edge of his cock bulges even deeper inside. Deeper than you ever thought possible.
Deep enough that your stomach was displaying a slight bulge where he was pushing his erection against your walls. At least you could feel it like so…and the older man wastes no time before reaching up and pressing the front of his palm against it—feeling for that cylindrical outline. “So? Cheh- finish your sentences, doll.”
“I was just about to…” You pout- and he coos. How cute…
Before craning his head down and spitting between those jutted-out lips of yours. Toji looks up at you through the gaps in his shaggy black bangs, “Are those lips wet enough to finally enunciate your words or do I need to spit again?”
“I was saying—so about you being a father…” You’re trailing off - and there’s a glint in his eyes that lets you know that you’ve certainly caught his attention now. Shyly continuing on with the cockdrunken thought that’d been tumbling around your head, “This is definitely too soon- too forward, but um…have you ever thought about perhaps wanting…another…?”
You could barely meet his eyes- fuck.
Though he doesn’t seem to mind that. He’s wrapping his large hand around your neck and forcing you to look into his eyes either way, breathless. Stunned.
Something so charged between the two of you that it’s easily leaving you even wetter—staining the ridges n’ muscles of his abs with your slippery slick.
Toji leans in close enough that you think he’s about to kiss you. Before he suddenly stops - lips millimeters away from your own - and asks. “Who said you could stop, mama?”
Your eyes widen, “Wh-what—oh.”
And you hadn’t realized that in your tension for his response- you’d completely halted your bouncing hips. You’d completely let your cadence peter out.
And Toji Fushiguro couldn’t have that, now, could he? Especially not when he was…
Before you can even gather your thoughts, he’s arching his sculptured back against the comfy mattress. And fuck- you almost wish you had those cameras right about now—because the way his muscles rippled beneath you was heavenly to look at - Toji smirks like he knew exactly what you were thinking about.
That smug quirk of his lips turning into something far wider, something far more feral once he’s holding onto you from beneath and rut-rut-rutting his slick-sheened cock into you.
Hard hits. Dark brows furrowing in concentration.
Despite you being the one above, you’re completely at the mercy of his swollen cock.
At the mercy of his heavy balls plapping! against the forefront of your cunt. At the way he’s using one hand to keep you stable on top of his vicious pelvis, and the other to press down upon that one spot on your stomach where he could feel himself—Toji runs his calloused fingers across where his reddened tip was pokin’ into your cervix.
Bashing away - he smiles as he feels every single one. Every single bruise he’s pounding out into your deepest depths.
And you’re wracking with shivers on top of him once Toji presses down. “Like I said- who said you could stop?”
There it was again. “I-I mean—”
“If you want to be fucked pregnant, then you’ve gotta continue until those pretty legs of yours are begging you to stop.” Your jaw drops as he continues in his hoarse tone, “You’ve gotta need it.” He tap-taps on top of your core, where your poor innards were being absolutely molded to the thickness of his cock. Vein-covered and hot. “You’ve gotta hunger for it—”
And it doesn’t matter what he could say at this point - every single word was sending your mind spinning even further. “I am-” The globes of your ass stinging at the feeling of his contact-driven body beneath.
“Nuh uh. You’ve gotta work for it, girl—” Emphasized by pushing down on that spot of your tummy once more, “Arch your back.”
Whimpering, you can’t help but listen.
“Heeeeeh- good.” And as a reward, his free hand finds itself slitherin’ between your swollen folds. So sensitive that you’re damn-near sobbing- he teases out your cute clit and gives a few good pinches. “Now clench your pussy. Swerve your hips ‘round and ‘round.”
“L-like this?”
“Mhmmm. You’ve gotta keep on milkin’ my cock for every last drop m’gonna give-”
Your gaze drops between your legs, “I-”
“And then it doesn’t matter if m’shooting blanks—you’ve gotta milk me even more.” Something crazed in his eyes, he’s leaning into your kiss with a smile. Again and again; he’s splitting up the sweetest syrupy orifices inside you - and with only a few more sloppy slashes inside, you’re feeling your body get overcome by the waves of your high.
It fills you up with an initial warmth- from the tips of your toes and to the crown of your head.
Toji snickers as he fucks you through the soaring pleasure, making you feel as though you were on cloud nine. You’ve never known yourself to cum this easily with someone else before - and it’s only growing stronger and stronger inside of you given every thud-thud-thud against your cute g-spot.
Roverin’ his red, rounded tip and keeping it there—
You swear you feel his rock-hard cock start to bead out in even more pre- and perhaps something…even more?
“Follow all that n’ we’re not just going to win the season with an engagement…” Toji snickers to himself, palm massaging over the tummy bulge he was fucking into you. “But a baby, too.”
“O-oh…”You wondered how the producers were doing to explain away this.
♡ NANAMI KENTO - HEART RATE <3
“My name is Nanami Kento, I’m 27.” Such a deep, droning tone—one that immediately catches the attention of those watching, one that immediately sets the speakers slightly, sensually alight.
The camera pans upwards, up and up: revealing a firm torso, clad in such a smart suit. Sculptured core. Strong shoulders. Blond, slicked-back hair that glistened with a thin sheen of gel underneath the studio lights.
Nanami wonders what clips they’d be playing for his B-roll montage - something with the mock-business calls the producers made him act out, something with the sweet treats he bakes as a hobby, something with the long walks on the beach.
The entire process has been a whirlwind ever since Shoko signed him up- for a joke, mind you.
He never expected to actually see himself on trash- ahem, eccentric television.
And yet, here he was.
Hot around his collar as he sneaks a glance at a small screen to the side, replaying raw footage of the show—but most importantly, you. Nanami gulps.
“I’m looking for something serious.” He hopes he doesn’t sound as awkward as he feels, and the tips of his ears tingle once he’s looking away from the screen. “My friends signed me up for this show because they think I’m married to my work- hah. Perhaps I do tend to get caught up in it sometimes, but I really do hope to get married someday…to someone sweet, someone tender.” Nanami glimpses at your smile once more, “To someone I can come home to- not a physical house, but to someone I can leave my heart safe with.”
A producer whispers a question.
“Oh? What’s my position at work?” He repeats the question, before staring straight down the barrel of the camera, “CEO.”
.
.
After an early coupling—the producers couldn’t have anyone closed off too early, of course. Where was the fun in that?
And so came…the challenges.
Just a few days into mingling, the producers pulled you aside to let you know that you’d be taking part in the first challenge of the season: The Heart Rate challenge.
The rules were simple - you were subjected to three minutes of a striptease from each of the contestants, in whatever manner and outfit they chose. In the meantime, a heart rate monitor would be tracking your BPM to announce which contestant had raised your heartbeat the most with their performance.
Simple…right?
Not.
Not quite when there were 18 (a slight drop from the initial 22) of some of the hottest men baring you with their washboard abs- showing off their sculptured shoulders- shyly bringing themselves closer to you. And though it’d been a tie between a certain white-haired model and your favorite DILF (who’d promised he’d be the one to win), who would’ve guessed that calm, collected Nanami Kento would’ve been the one to catch your eye the most?
He was clunky in his moves, that was true, but the ultimate killing shot came towards the end of his somewhat-awkward routine—when Nanami had leaned in close- half-dressed in his suit, tie dangling ‘round his neck - he’d forgone any extravagant costume.
Closer and closer. You were sure he’d be kissing you before…he gently grasped your hand and pressed his lips to your inner wrist.
Right on the erogenous zone.
To you, at least, it hadn’t been a surprise when Nanami had won the heart rate challenge.
Toji’s jaw had dropped- the producers were loving this.
And your reward - a night at a getaway suite with no cameras - had ended up a little…
“N-ngh—” Your mouth gapes open on top of the silken pillowcase, spit leaking out at a dizzying rate. Back arching. Thighs clenching-
Nanami shoves a hand between your pretty legs n’ spreeeeads your pussylips apart for him to slip in easier. “Now now, my love…” His smoky breath rumbles beside your temple, head bowed into the crook of your neck. The blond man feels a single line of tears splash down your cheeks, and he’s running his flattened tongue up the salty liquid- “Has this pussy never been fucked by a gentleman before?”
Before you know it, the rugged hand at your core smacks! down on your puffy lips. And you whimper- “Shit, no—?”
“Oh, reeeeeeally?” Nanami’s sweet, sweet tone coos at you—and you’re given no warning before his beefy right arm wraps around your neck in a headlock. “I fear I could tell, darling.”
Just the slightest twitch of his grin- pressed against the clammy side of your neck.
It’s all you’re getting before Nanami’s reeling his toned back even further, even hungrier - he lets his reddened, bulbous tip throb-throb-throb at your first ring of muscle before shoving it all the way down to the bottom. All the way until your walls have gobbled him down to the hilt, and you’re gasping as you struggle to take him.
Spit drivelling. Fists clenching the pillowcase.
And so he waits.
Juuuuuust waits and watches his massively thickened length disappear between those pussylips of yours. Until you’re starting to whimper. Until you’re starting to perk your hips up impatiently-
And Nanami plasters you to his firm body- the weight of his hips leaning down upon yours. The muscles of his v-line digging into the globes of your ass. Pinning you down to the comfy mattress—he’s then languidly gliding his shaft in and out. In and out.
With the most lecherous squelches! Nanami starts off slow at first - looooong and languid…before then thrashin’ himself carnally inside. “Easy—easy there.” Raspy whispers in your ear, “When you take a cock this- hah, big you hafta take it slooooow, my love.”
Your legs twitch as he’s easing inside a few inches even deeper, probin’ that girthy top into the base of your cunt. “Sh-shit…”
“C’mon.” Nanami grumbles, “Breathe with me, my love- breathe.”
“Breathe?”
“Mhm—s’what you do when it’s hard to take.” He huffs, “Never been taught that by those other boys, hm? Never been made to stretch like thiiiiiis-” Just as long as he elongates his words, his knobbly fingertips scissor open your crevice slightly- making it even easier for him to slip in and out. “Never had this needy pussy fed- hah, until she’s full? My poor lady…Never had these spots over here-” You’re trembling as he swipes down tender orifices, “-stimulated, hm?”
Shaking your head.
He audibly controls his breathing, urging you to do the same.
“Thought so. Now breathe in slooooow—” The blond man directs you- and when you’re taking too long to listen, he’s slammin’ his hand down on top of your cunt with another spank. “Yeah-” Once you’re listening to him after a few struggling seconds- “Yeah, you’ve got it. Take in a deep inhale f’me…”
Just as you do, your stomach contracting with the action, he’s mazin’ away a few more lewd inches - his palm skidding upwards to press down on your stomach. Feeling for himself as he pushes and pushes and pushes inside—“And then- fuck. Then exhale.” Nanami’s usually-steady tone almost…wavers as he says so.
“It feels so—mmm, good.” You’re babbling away as he slots inside. Almost as if your cunt was made for him, he’s lodging against every slick ridge, crevice, and bundle of nerves.
Hitting all the way at the very bottom.
He cracks a little smile, “And that’s how a gentleman fucks.”
Hiccuping, those torturous strokes of his made you wrack with primal shivers. “B-but I want it more-” Attempting to push yourself up onto your elbows, “I want it harder, Nanami-”
“Kento.”
Before you can babble out something questioning at his sudden interruption, you’re being shoved right back down onto the springy suite bed. The luxurious mattress engulfing you. The globular head of Nanami’s cock propels even deeper inside you.
He crushes his bicep even harder around your neck- cutting off your airway.
Even harder.
And you’re choking n’ sputtering - both on the stronghold he had on you, and on the thorough movements of his shaft shovelling inside. Eyes rolling to the back of your head as he lodges himself straight at the spongy door to your womb.
Nanami tugs you up to his firm front then, “Call me Kento when we fuck.” Something different in his tone now - something dark and barely held back. It’s as though he was gnawing down on his bottom lip to keep himself in check, he lets out a roughened grunt as he plants one hard stroke—one incredibly hard stroke. “And be careful what you wish for, darling.”
For a gentleman never denies his lady, right?
You whimper.
Steadying his hips, he’s somehow managing to stretch your delicate walls out to his shape. Somehow managing to rub n’ pinpoint the most sensitive areas with his flared ridges. Already locating where your sweetest spot was- Nanami inches his long cock backwards and bashes it right near your g-spot.
Harder and deeper. Harder and deeper. Again and again. Just so thorough that it feels as though his round, red tip was pushing into your very throat.
In just a few sloppy strokes, he’s mapped out your entire cunt.
And no matter how much you’re moanin’ and clawing at the headboard - attempting to pull yourself up as though you’re caught between fucking down to him and moving yourself away - Nanami merely has to tighten his beefy arm ‘round your neck and haaaaaul you right back down. Pressing you against his plush pecs.
“For m’not going to leave this cunt high n’ dry like those other boys-” He whispers in your ear, callused fingertips darting down your slippery crevice to pinch your clit. Those pearly white canines of his nip at the shell of your ear, “I’ll have you know that I’m a man, my love. I’m a gentleman.”
Tears welling up in your eyes, “A-and that means…?”
“And that means I’m going to treat you as this lady-” Rolling over your sweet nub - it sends sparks up your spine. “-deserves to be treated. I’m going to take you out to a nice- loooooong dinner. I’m going to fly you out anywhere your sweet heart desires, my love. I’m going to take you out shopping and- fuuuuck.” The irritated end of his shaft trickles out hot precum, “I’m going to let you try to max out my debit cards- ”
You catch his emphasis, “Try?”
He chuckles, “You sure can try. And then…” Before you’re left eagerly wondering what else he has to say- Nanami rests his cockhead against your g-spot inside.
And then he’s making your poor walls bulge with the sheer force of him digging in and in- such raw pleasure that it makes moans rip at your throat. He didn’t know where you were drooling more from at this point - your mouth or your cunt.
Nanami’s golden hair nearly curtains his gaze now, though that doesn’t shield you from the sheer intensity of it. “And only then am I going to fuck this pretty lady.” He plasters his reddening pelvis against the globes of your ass cheeks, “After such a long, hard day of being spoiled- best believe that m’gonna fuck her to sleep. Fuck orgasm after orgasm out of you.”
“A-and what about you?” You’re turning your head backwards to get a good look at the handsome man, “Aren’t you going to cum, Kento?”
“Oh, my love…” It was just so cute how fucked you were - how you still had your manners despite being so. The sweetest smile graces his face, “Having you cum ‘round my cock is my greatest pleasure.”
And then you’re cumming.
Oh- you can’t help it. Head throwing back into his collarbone. Hands grasping at his own- ones in a headlock around you.
Those zaps of electricity curl at your toes, heat taking over your body, and all it takes is a single glide—down the pulsating area of your g-spot for you to be thrown completely over the edge. Wave upon wave of euphoria floods your body until you feel numb- and through it all, Nanami’s slick-glossed cock was shoving into you at a rapid rate. “Please…” Your mouth waters at the perfect way that Nanami was fucking you through each peak, “Sh-shit, it feels so good-”
Vein-covered cock massaging you up and down, in and out.
Even the tiniest bumps of his prominent veins leave you seeing stars- twinges of pleasure exploding between your legs. Your body goes slightly limp during the crescendo of your high.
“Oh, don’t tap out just yet, my love.”
And something primal inside you twitches at the sound of calm, cool, collected Nanami Kento’s voice like this- before you’re feeling his buff arms pull you right back to him.
“Because this is just the beginning-” He presses a soft kiss to your temple, “-isn’t it, my love?”
♡ GETO SUGURU - One-on-one.
“Hm? Oh, who doesn’t like long walks on the beach?” Geto laughs something deep and rich- unabashed. Blowing his knee-length hair out of his face, some of those Stygian strands get tucked delicately behind one ear. “My name is Geto Suguru, I’m 28, and I’m a professional masseuse.”
Geto’s murky amethyst eyes stare down the camera.
He already knows he’s got them captivated.
He crosses his legs, hands intertwining on top of them. Geto’s smile was utterly feline towards the lens, “And don’t take this the wrong way, but…” When his best friend had jokingly suggested joining this show- he didn’t think that it’d be so fucking fun. “-I’ve never had to chase anyone in my life.”
Geto feels the temperature in the studio drop a few degrees.
A producer stutters, “Y-you aren’t serious…are you, Geto-san?”
“Dead serious.”
He might get his scenes cut out and edited together to paint him as the villain- he doesn’t care. Because it was true—really.
All the confessions, the letters, the sneaking glances down the street. It wasn’t a lie that Geto Suguru never had trouble with the ladies and gentlemen and everyone in-between - to the point where he’s almost grown bored of it. But—you?
He’s seen the raw footage of you on the screens around, and he can’t deny that he was damn intrigued.
You were a challenge. You were someone that made his heart race- and oh, wasn’t that a strange feeling?
“So it’s nice that the roles are flipped for once.” He continues, flashing that infamous smile - breaking a few hearts, or so he’s sure they’ll make it seem so in production later - at the camera once more. He knows how these shows go…“At least, for now.”
.
.
.
“Fuck, Suguru-” Dreamy mewl echoing out in the enclosed space, bouncing off those polished wooden walls. It sounded even louder in the production-made massage room - like music in Geto’s ears.
Geto’s expert hands slide down your body, coated in a sheen of oil.
It smears down your skin—illuminating the spots that he touched. Which seemed quite fitting, in your opinion, as wherever Geto’s fingers traced seemed to leave you alight - his thumb digs into one particularly stubborn knot on your right calf and you shiver.
“Tell me if it gets too much, gorgeous.”
“I will.” You just barely manage out.
The numbers had dropped down to 15, and it’d been time for the one-on-one dates. After your getaway with the blond man, Geto had been the first to whisk you away from the mansion once more—and needless to say that production was having a lot of fun with his profession as a masseuse. The best in Tokyo, actually.
Clients travelled far and wide for an appointment with him - and you’re beginning to understand why.
With you spread face-forward on the smooth table, with your arms crossed in front of you- lips cracking gently open with a sigh once his rugged fingers touch on just one spot—
“R-right there.” On your inner thighs. Too aware of the cameras surrounding you two, you still can’t keep the pleasure out of your voice.
And Geto shifts aside the towel on your otherwise-naked body - shooting a content smile at the camera as they don’t get to see - to rub up on that specific spot once more. “Here?”
Biting on your lower lip, you’re nodding your head. “There.”
Bit by bit. Press by press; he’s inching up the plane of your right leg - kneading and unravelling those knots you didn’t even know you have. He massaged you so well that you could moan. And just as Geto’s fingertips are about to become so blissful that you might have to ask him to pause - not for you, but for the cameras - he speaks. “You’re very tense here, I can tell you don’t let yourself rest.” The crowns of his thumbs rolling circles at your inner thigh, “You have so many knots here- if you want, I could…nevermind.”
And you’re looking over your shoulder at him with an anticipating gaze. “What was that, Suguru?”
“It’s stupid.” He shrugs sheepishly- though the glint in his eyes was telling you a whole different story. “It’s just…there’s this other type of massage that I never actually offer- but it might help you…unravel your body a bit more. But forget about it-”
“Let’s do it.”
And his lips quirk upwards.
And you knew what he was inferring- you fucking knew it. Which is exactly why you’re holding back a slight smirk as it takes Geto Suguru exactly 1 minute and 30 seconds to kick the camera crew out.
Then less than that to hoist himself up onto the massage table as well, to tug his baggy pants down, n’ have you bouncing on his cock.
Spit leaking down one side of your lips as you’re crashing your mouth against his pretty, puckered one- moaning straight into the hot, open-mouthed kiss as Geto’s thick cock swabs inwards. He was just about eight inches, and decorated with so many veins—he might just be stretching you out in ways you never thought were possible to feel before.
The plumpness of his cockhead, the zig-zagged patterns of his veins.
Geto didn’t just have his size going for him- he manages to curve his incredible length just perfectly inside your tight channel. Targeting your sweet spot within mere moments of finding himself between your legs—“Oh-ohhhh.” Crackling out from the back of your throat, “S-Suguru, that feels sho good.”
“Sho good, huh?” You feel his grin against your own mouth, “Don’t tell me you’re that cockdrunk already, gorgeous? And I haven’t even used my fingers on you, yet…”
Before you know it, he’s reaching up his mean left hand- letting it smush your cheeks together. You’re sure that that makes you create such a lewd expression upon your features, but Geto merely beams down at you as though you were the most beautiful creature he’s ever set his eyes upon.
Amethyst peripherals murky with something indiscernible. “C’mon- can you say something without slurring? Can you count from one till ten?”
Crossly- you couldn’t believe his sheer audacity right now. “Of course I can count until—ngh.” Only to be cut off with a thorough slash of his rounded cockhead- you feel it throbbing right against the spongy layer of your cervix.
Gluing himself even deeper with a few wads of his sploshin’ sap. He cracks a smirk, “That’s not the way you count till ten.”
Your mouth gapes.
And Geto takes his long, lingering time to lean closer and spit straight between your stunned lips - before using that left hand of his to close your mouth. “You’ll catch flies, gorgeous.” He titters to himself. The massage table creak-creak-creaks with each thrust of his - and his pace was something thorough and lingering.
Geto knew that his mushroomy tip felt good - and he was using it to his advantage. Not a single hammer of his hips was without reason—he was making sure to massage all the inner linings of your walls - every nook and hidden crevice - before he’s emptying out dollop after dollop of pre at the very bottom of your pussy. Giggling to himself at the way you’re utterly ruined on his long, long length- “Yeah- fuck, yeah. My poor baby can’t even speak?”
Your g-spot, however…he merely teases. Lightly grazing his flared tip near that treasure trove of nerve ends, but never quite hitting it. Again and again.
The velvety walls ‘round that spot quiver with need.
“But can she at least remember her own name?” He echoes. And throughout it all, you’re mindlessly attempting to angle your hips further into his- the ruthless man grabs onto a handful of your hair with his right hand. Jerking your face to look into his own, “I said- can she at least remember her own name?”
You hiss at the searing burn—
“Tell me your name, my cockdrunk girl.”
“Suguru- fuck.” Barely even registering the question - you doubt you could even hear him by this point.
Merely babbling away expletives at the way he’s fucking his cock up even more rudely—he’s poundin’ and poundin’ up into you in sloppy, structured hits. Deep. And Geto peers up into your dazed pupils whilst he fucks you - whatever he’s seeing there makes him smile, “Suguru? Heh- you think that’s your name, gorgeous?”
Mouth gaping, “I-I mean…”
“Well, you’re not technically wrong.” He hums- more to himself than anything.
And by now he’s rammin’ his length away into you at such a pace that the pap-pap-papping sounds were nearly louder than your own mewls. The sheer pressure of the strokes leaving you limp. Tenderly, you’re pushing your face into the sweaty crook of his neck- only for Geto to pull you back once more with the vicious restraint he has on you.
Making you stare into his ravenous gaze, “Look at me when m’speaking, gorgeous- you might be fucked stupid but you’ve gotta remember your manners, right?” Taking your cutesy whimpers as an affirmation, “And you might not be Geto Suguru but…how about Mrs. Geto Suguru?”
Shockwaves of pleasure cascade down your spine.
“Yeah- yeah, you like that?” Snickering to himself - who’d have thought you’d be such a romantic? He was, too…not that he was fucking you like it.
Geto was fucking you rough and hard- bruisin’ his rotund girth at the back of your pussy. He was leaving his mark for anyone else that came after - let them know that he’d been the one to make you feel so good. “I can take your last name, too, if you’d like.”
You’re breathless, “You- you really want to win—”
“Oh? So you can speak.” He speaks with slight amusement, “And, gorgeous- I really want to make you mine.” His tip bulges even bigger at the feeling of you clamping down- shit, it feels so good that he has to gnaw down on his bottom lip to keep from making any embarrassing noises. Panting out again, “Mrs. Geto Suguru.”
“Fuck-” You’re bouncing down onto his gluttonous cock.
“Mrs. Geto Suguru-”
“Please-”
“Mrs. Geto Suguru—” The pretty man smiles to himself as he’s finally - finally - pressin’ down on the button of your g-spot. Watching as your thighs quake, watching as your eyes spin to the back of your head. “Cum on my cock, Mrs. Geto Suguru.”
KNOCK! KNOCK! KNOCK!
Who the hell doesn’t wait after knocking?
Surely part of the producers’ ploy; both your heads snap in the direction of the massage room door to see a flash of auburn hair—followed almost immediately by the door slamming closed once the intruder registers what he’s witnessing. And a familiar skater boy’s voice emanating through the slim wooden panel, “S-sorry–!”
You and Geto can do nothing but look at one another.
You’re sure the rest of the contestants would be hearing about this very…very soon.
Though Geto doesn’t look perturbed in the slightest. And he’s the first to move-
He’s the first to flip your positions around so that you’re splaying your back against the massage table now. His toned body hovering over you, he doesn’t waste a second before swatting- yes, swatting aside your trembly thighs n’ swivelling his length inside once more.
Long, luxurious slides down the narrow channel of your cunt.
You’re taking his strokes with a moan, “Suguru—y-you’re not bothered by- ngh, that in the slightest?”
“Why would I be?” He answers. And with that said, his soft fingertips snake between your legs- pinching that swollen clit of yours. “In fact…”
Just the slightest roll of his thumb - and you’re already feeling pleasure wreak havoc on your body. Then he’s pressing, then he’s tugging- then he’s alternating between teasing and pulling and massaging your needy nub over and over in ways that drive you wild. Spelling out what you’re piecing together to be his name—
Geto was about to show you what a masseuse could truly do.
“-how about we step up that volume, Mrs. Geto Suguru?”
♡ CHOSO KAMO - Fan-favorite.
“I-I’m Choso Kamo, I’m 29, and…um, I honestly don’t know why I’m here.” The dark-haired man beneath the spotlight fidgets with his thumbs, lips barely moving as he attempts to continue the introduction that he’s surely fucked up by now. “My little brother submitted an application on my behalf because he thought that The Bachelorette would be p-perfect for me to find someone and…um…yeah…”
The producers look at each other. Eventually, one of them calls out—“So is she?”
Choso startles- almost as if he didn’t expect to be addressed. Almost as if he didn’t expect himself to be perceived at all. “Well…”
And his eyes drift towards the small screen behind the camera - one that had been playing B-roll footage of you so that the contestants could get more familiar prior to the actual meetings. Oh. It’s strange how as soon as his gaze latches onto you, his eyes can’t seem to find any other purpose but to linger.
Choso’s shoulders raise up to his ears- as if to cover the faint blush that was creeping onto them. “Yeah…” He whispers, “Yeah, she’s just beautiful.”
And it’s all quiet on-set for a second—nothing sounding out but the mechanical hum of the lens as it zooms in on the flush he can’t deny. Choso jumps back a bit as he realizes just what they’d been focusing on, and he’s flickering his eyes uncertainly towards the cameraman behind it- “Are those things always going to be on?”
The other man nods, deadpan.
“Oh.” Choso gulps, “W-well I made sure my little brothers won’t be watching this season- but for the erm…Tiktaks? For the Tiktak edits they’re sure to get, could you make sure you get my good side, please?”
A producer asks, “And just for your brothers- if you could say something to them now, what would you say?”
And he gets a slightly determined smile upon his pretty, pretty face. “Your big brother’s going to win.”
.
.
.
“So…bachelors, as you may know, this week’s Rose Ceremony is going to be like no other- because tonight we’re introducing the infamous golden rose—” A hush falls over the set. The host turns and blinds you and the lined-up contestants with his smile - one of those contestants being your future husband, perhaps.
You’re nodding back at him with a confidence you hoped your expression falsified.
And he turns back to the camera, “Tonight, whoever you choose to hand the golden rose to-” An impression rose just like the others before it, only this time it’d been sprayed gold and held a weight far heavier than just the paint. “-is who you’re going to be going on a three-day romantic getaway, with a honeymoon suite to boot—! No cameras.”
Twisting the rose nervously in your hands, your mind still whirled with names. So many handsome men. So many eligible bachelors- fuck, how were you ever going to choose?
“But…there’s a catch.”
12 contestants - and you - snap their heads over to the slyly beaming host.
He claps his hands in satisfaction, “You won’t be the one choosing your getaway partner.” Your jaw drops- and the host continues into the greedy lens—“It’ll be all of the world that’s been voting, day in and day out, throughout this week to pair up just who they want to see more of. Just who they think will be the perfect match for you…”
“Oh goodness.” You feel something - excitement, anticipation, fear - shoot through your blood vessels.
And looking straight at you, the host pulls out a glossy envelope from his suit jacket. You’re eyeing it as though it was a ticking bomb - and he merely waffles at the camera some more. “And our viewers have chosen: your romantic companion, your getaway partner, the man you’ll be sharing a bed with is—” The words hang in the air for a few more seconds, perhaps minutes, perhaps what feels like hours. “Choso Kamo.”
.
.
.
“Shit…” Choso’s jaw drops, pupils turned into the cutest lil’ hearts and peering right up at you—as you lower yourself down onto him.
His sensitive, twitching shaft disappears between your pussylips, and one hand of his immediately darts upwards to clasp at the side of your waist. Even just touching you like this…fuck, it sends bursts of electricity shooting from the tips of his fingers and up to his frazzled brain- then right back down again to his rock-hard cock.
He doesn’t think he’s been harder in his entire life.
Choso’s letting out a rugged moan as he fits inside your dripping wet cunt with a sluuuuurp! Pretty brown eyes rolling to the back of his skull- he’s shocked once he flutters them open to find that you’ve leaned yourself closer to him.
“O-oh, god…” Words barely a whisper.
One of your hands softly cupping the side of his face, “Something wrong, baby? Would you like to stop?”
“No.” The answer explodes out of him faster than he can control, and before you can register it - before he himself can register it - Choso’s quickly pressing both hands deeper against your hips to keep you from leaving. Even though there didn’t seem to be any immediate urgency of that- he doesn’t let up for a single second.
Digging his nails into your flesh- he’ll apologize for that later. Planting his feet on the soft mattress.
He slams you down to pin that hot, wet cunt of yours against his pelvis - until your clit caresses his happy trail—such a primal scratch down where you were most sensitive. And his body moves before his damn mind as Choso’s swabbin’ his cock inwards-
Not with any specific rhyme nor reason in mind.
Nothing but the primal urge to fill you up - to chase that heavenly squeeze of your walls. They’re spreadin’ apart juuuuust wide enough to gulp down his inches, and then when he’s reeling his hips back you’re clamping down until the man’s held hostage- gladly.
Shit- his lower lip trembles at the feeling. This was like nothing he’s ever felt before- and he hasn’t—
“You’re a virgin, Choso?” Your sweet, sweet hum breaks through the haze of his lust- just about the only thing he hears past the papping! of his hips arching up into yours.
And the man below you blinks up in confusion for a few seconds- long lashes dotted with tears. Before the smile upon your face makes him realize that his muddled brain - all your pussy’s fault - might have just said those last thoughts out loud…
You’re coming to the same realization he is. And you’re cooing down at him- pushing aside the sweat-dampened curls of his bangs. “Awww, pussydrunk already, baby?”
“M-mhm…” He’s nodding languidly.
“Tha’s alright.” You tut, “You’re doing so well for your first time- oh.”
Almost as if jinxing it - though that really wasn’t your fault, he was barely holding himself together as is - he throws his head back n’ lets his aching cockhead dribble out a few wads of…cum. Just from that. Just a few ivory beads of sap that glue to the veeeeery back of your pussy, making Choso lose his mind every time he’s gliding down your cervix and feeling his mess splosh ‘round inside you.
A singular line of cum leaks out of you, and Choso shivers as he catches it. “S-sorry, baby, I didn’t mean to-”
“Nothing to apologize about.” You’re cutting him off with a smile, meeting his thrusts by grinding your cunt down to meet his cock. “You’re still doing so well, baby…fuck, look how much you’re cumming.” And with that said- Choso thinks he sees the pearly gates themselves open up once you’re spreadin’ aside your thighs—just the slightest bit.
But Choso Kamo takes one look between your naked, shivering legs and moans.
Your pussy was just drenched in his cum - absolutely drenched. He hadn’t even recognized that he’d been cumming so much until he’s taking a peek, and he’s watching a few velvety ribbons of seed run down either side of your legs - creating a sheen that smears n’ spreads the more you’re meeting his cadence with your own. Skin against skin.
He’s letting out a ruined whimper—and you’re pushing down on his chiselled chest with a snicker. “See that, baby? You’ve been- hah, holding back for so long.” Even the slightest sound of your voice is enough to make his overstimulated cock spark with pleasure- he’s sure he empties out a few more droplets of cum. “How long have you been wanting to fuck me?”
Choso startles- eyes darting up to meet your expression. Damn that smile of yours. “I-I don’t know what you’re…”
“Oh, c’mon—” Teasing him. Putting pressure on his toned body, you’re now fully letting him recline- it was just so fun how much in awe Choso was…especially when you’re taking control instead.
Almost as if he was being thrown further and further into dreamland with every sloppy drag of your cunt - swallowing him up from his round, blushin’ tip and aaaaall the way to his hilt. His heavy balls, tightening as though he wanted to cum again. “With the way you’re grabbing me? With the way you’re- hah, rutting up to me?” Shoving between his pecs once more—“Down, boy.”
He whimpers.
“How long have you been wanting to fuck me, Cho?” Your lips twitch with amusement- he looks torn between sobbing in pleasure and sobbing in embarrassment. “It’s alright…I won’t judge-”
“Always—” Choso finally echoes out with a sudden squeeze of your velvety pussylips.
Practically wrenching the answer out of him- he laughs out something hollow at the back of his throat. “I’ve a-always wanted to…ngh.” The pointed edge of his tip draaaaags down your cervix, and he’s shivering as he recognizes just where your womb was. If only he could…“Ever since I first met you, I-I’m ashamed to admit but I’ve always wanted to stuff myself between those gorgeous legs.”
You’re giggling scandalously at his admission.
But Choso wasn’t done just yet-
Soon enough, he’s using the firm hold upon your hips to increase n’ increase his pace. Grabbing you firmly and burrowing his cum-soaked tip deeply between your folds- “I’ve wanted to know what she’d feel like wrapped around my cock.” Almost on cue, he’s throbbing between your legs- even harder. “Wanted to know how she tasted-”
“Don’t tell me you’re…”
And without a second thought, one hand lifts off your body - for the briefest split-second - to swipe at your sopping slit. Catching a few droplets of your mess and bringing it up to his lips to suck.
He moans at the taste of you, “Wanted to know how she’d take me. Wanted to feel her get stuffed-” Choso grumbles, and you’re vying to catch up with his needy pace - utterly needy. “Wanted to fill her up so much that every other man afterwards w-would be able to feel me…”
And then he’s trailing off, a harsh blush flooding his pretty features.
“B-but that’s just stupid-”
“Why’s that stupid?” He looks up at you in shock- only to find that you’re already beaming. “How would you know if you don’t try? Heh.”
“I think m’gonna cum again.”
♡ RYOMEN SUKUNA - BOMBSHELL!
“These losers aren’t going to know what fuckin’ hit them.” Sukuna scoffs, crossing those beefy arms in front of him. Unlike the introductions for the other contestants, he had…his t-shirt off. For what reason, you might ask?
Well, you’d go unanswered.
Even the producers were unsure just what had compelled their latest bombshell to display his chiselled front. But that didn’t stop them from keeping the cameras rolling- already knowing that audiences were going to go wild for the pink-haired, foul-mouthed addition to your roster. “Name’s Ryomen Sukuna- remember that. Age doesn’t matter. Occupation’s professional MMA fighter.”
He gestures to those scarred ears of his, as most fighters don like medals.
Behind him, there’s cues for footage of his uproarious and successful MMA career - particularly one clip of him winning the title of UFC light heavyweight champion last year - to be added in post-production. And he cocks his head to the side with a chuckle, “Best know that I’ve never lost a match before- and I don’t plan to change that anytime soon. I bet those losers at the mansion- and my pretty lady are going to be damn excited to see me.”
There’s a cue card for him to talk about his hobbies.
“Haaah…” All that boring shit- he wonders who gets off to small-talk on a show like this. “Boxing. Lifting. Meditation. Cardio- many different types of it.”
One producer pipes up, “And why that part about remembering your name, Sukuna-san? Could you clarify that for the viewers?”
“Heh-” Sukuna leers something sinful, crimson eyes flickering over to the small screen of your own footage. It was some B-roll of your own introduction interview, muted for the moment yet he thinks he could almost hear your soft chuckle in his ears- playing on repeat over and fucking over. “Because my future wife’s gonna be moaning it soon enough.”
Someone drops a boom pole.
There’s a cut in filming called out. He knows they won’t be editing that out.
.
.
.
“H-haaaah, now that’s just unfair.”
Toes curling. Your back arching deeply into Sukuna’s sculptured front- it was almost Herculean how he flexed and tensed his abs to show off…particularly when it came to ramming his hips up into yours. Out of all of the contestants, Sukuna was the only one to put you in a full nelson.
“Heh- what’s unfair?” Sukuna’s deep trundle makes your body erupt in shivers- the smugness was practically seeping into every syllable. “Isn’t the bombshell supposed to mess up this pussy- whoops, I mean…season?”
“You’re messing up nothing but my peace that’s for sure…” You’re grumbling back at him - slightly nervous to meet his crimson eyes.
Though you’d have been foolish to think that the MMA fighter wouldn’t catch that- he’s grasping the edge of your chin with a single hand. Tugging your face behind to look at him. All of it in just a few seconds. And Sukuna raises one pink brow as he smirks, “Look me in the eyes when you’re saying something like that, brat.”
“Y-you’re messing up nothing but my peace—” You’re just barely managing to stammer out - Sukuna was savage with his thrusts. And they’re only seeming to grow even faster as you’re answering, as though he wanted to see you struggle n’ choke around his thick cock.
Around that pierced head of his.
The frigidness of his metallic Prince Albert runs down the sides of your walls - and he’s purposefully stopping right before where your g-spot was pulsing. “That’s not what this cunt’s telling me.”
And without any warning, he’s reaching one hand down and smacking! the swollen top of your pussylips.
“Isn’t that right, my pretty girlie?”
Not talking to you—he’s talking to your cunt now.
Dragging the fatness of his thumb - that greedy edge - vertically down your sopping slit. He collects the wetness that leaks out of you, “My wet girlie—yer a lot more honest than this one here, hm?”
You shiver as he slams his rugged palm down on your cunt once more.
How’d you even get here?
Right now, the contestants had been weaned and weeded out until only your very favorites had remained…and then there was Sukuna. It was just today that the bombshell MMA fighter had been introduced to the mansion, and for the short amount of time he’d gotten here- he’d already started seven fights, triggered an emergency meeting, and had enough time to whisk you away on a one-on-one date that had ultimately ended up like…this.
Your legs hooked behind your head. Your back arching against the mattress of your beach cabin—the waves rolled softly outside.
The only thing separating you from it were the semi-sheer curtains of the cabin, swaying softly in the balmy breeze. What a romantic date the producers had set up- for an utterly unromantic man.
Or so he was fucking you like it.
Thank goodness you’d left the cameras behind, though your glaring disappearance was nothing if not scandalous. There goes your reputation…you ponder. This might’ve been the fastest that you’ve gotten into bed with any one of them. And you know he’s bad news, you know you shouldn’t like him so much- you know that out of all those eligible bachelors, Sukuna was going to be the most dangerous for your heart (and between those legs of yours).
But you just couldn’t help yourself.
You’re leaning your head back against his firm collarbones- mewls falling from your lips at an incredible rate.
Sukuna’s veering his hips back and rub-rub-rubbing his flared tip around the area of your g-spot—but never directly upon it. Frustration makes your brows furrow, and you’re just about to bounce your hips down when-
“Ah ah—now what do you think you’re trying to do, woman?”
Just then you’re being pinned right back down with a sudden thwack! of his fingertips. Hard and fast. They’re lingering over your pussylips for just a few seconds, before reachin’ in-between and pinching your cute nub.
And as you’re shaking in his arms - “Did ya think that after so much back-talk you’d suddenly get to play nice?” Sukuna titters to himself, mean lips pressed up against your temple—it would’ve been a sweet gesture…but this was Sukuna you’re dealing with. “Ryomen Sukuna never plays nice.”
“P-please—” Had this been any other time, then you might’ve been embarrassed by just how much he managed to shatter you with his fast, hard-hitting strokes.
Your thighs are flapping lewdly open, and he’s teasin’ your clit even harder with his fingers. Though he still narrowly manages to avoid your damn g-spot—“Wh-what do I have to do to- ngh, get you to hit that spot?”
He acts confused, “What spot?”
“That spot-”
“Hah? I don’t know any spots-”
“H-here…” Rounding your hips down - in something that halfway-resembled a figure-eight. It’s the closest you’re getting to Sukuna grazing your g-spot: the lightest touch of his crowned, throbbing tip. Swollen enough to stretch apart your walls like none other. He’s barely slipping past that orifice with his vein-covered shaft, and it’s already enough to make you moan—
“And who said you deserve that, brat?”
Crossly, “Me- I said that.”
He laughs deeply in disbelief, “Hear that, pussy?” Slapping that cunt of yours once more, “The audacity- it doesn’t matter if I wasn’t the one ta say you deserve this. After all, who does this pussy really belong to?”
Starting to babble out some answer-
Before yet another spankin’ leaves your folds feeling raw - and your eardrums echoing with the dampened noise once more.
It’s all the answer that Sukuna needs.
He nods as though he’s just been handed the answers to the universe, “See- see—did ya hear what she said?” This time, he’s asking you. And you’re barely given the opportunity to answer between his roughened thrusts, “She said that she’s really mine. She’s always- hah, been mine.”
You’re shivering, “A-always…”
“And she wants you to beg for your orgasm.”
That being said, Sukuna reaches down and clasps your neck with his thick digits. Choking you- choking your moans, he’s wrenching such primal noises out of you through the combination of the pressure on your airway, and the pressure between your legs.
Shovelling his thiiiick cock over and over-
“C’mon, my spoiled brat—” Sukuna chuckles, “Beg-” Between thorough thwacks! of his rotund cockhead hitting your cervix. You always have said that Sukuna was so big it feels as though he had two cocks…“Beg, girl, beg—”
“P-please.”
“Tch, you can do better than that.”
The only thing you’re left to do - after so many battering rams of him bottoming out - is to meet his gaze with your teary one. Your bottom lip trembling with sobs, “Please, hit my g-spot.”
“What was that?” He leans in. Smile utterly mocking.
And though your stomach churns, you can do nothing but repeat, “P-please hit my g-spot…please let me cum.” At the very least, now he was letting you swerve your hips back into his - “Please make my- your…pussy feel good.”
And it’s that last sentence that deals the final blow.
“Damn right.”
Because in the next breath you take, Sukuna arcs his pelvis deeply and thuds his drippin’ wet cockhead against your g-spot. Just the slightest push. Just the smallest pressure. And yet, it’s still enough for you to throw your head back and cum—
“Fuh-fuck…” It takes you by surprise - sure, you’d been feeling a few zaps n’ whips of something at the pit of your stomach, but you didn’t expect for Sukuna to actually make you cum so easily. It almost leaves you shy.
For he levers his thick cock backwards, balls twitching eagerly once he pushes his entire length inside. Inside and inside. Fucking you through every single wave - Sukuna’s cold piercing targets your g-spot exactly at the moments where you felt the dopamine in your body surge, and the stark contrast in temperature is only making you even dizzier.
Even needier to feel him.
And he certainly wasn’t leaving you wanting for long- soon enough, Sukuna’s poundin’ away at your sweetest spots so hard that it stings both your slamming skin. His was red and swelling with the print of your hips on his hips.
Yours were barely able to keep up-
Just as you feel the hot flashes of your high bate, Sukuna’s pulling you close and whispering—“Knew that hadn’t changed…” And he’s gesturing to the way you’d - in the heat of your moment - intertwined your fingers with his. Without you even realizing. “Heh, those losers are going to be so pissed when they find out.”
When they find out what you and the producers already know…That Ryomen Sukuna was your ex-boyfriend.
♡ INO TAKUMA - Group date.
“My name is Ino Takuma, I’m 23.” Ino’s pushing back his dark-colored beanie, exposing tufts of cute caramel hair- “And I’m a professional skater.”
“Professional skater?” A producer urges him, “Tell the audience more.”
“W-well, I’ve been skating for a while now, and…” The sheer amount of focus being put on him makes him blush, fingers fighting the urge to pull down his beanie - entirely over his face - once more. Goddammit—Ino watches every season of this show, he can’t deny - trash television was his thing. Saturday nights with a facemask on, phone turned off, volume turned up. So when one drunken night out with his friends meant that he ended up applying for it…he didn’t think he’d actually get in.
It’d been like navigating through thick fog- so many cameras, and boom poles, and acting suave (somewhat) for his introduction footage. It almost made him dizzy. “You might have seen me ‘round in a few competitions…some competitions…the Olympics…”
“The Olympics-”
“Yeah.” He fiddles with the hemline of his beanie awkwardly.
“And did you win a medal, Ino-kun?”
Ino smiles because he knows that it’d been plastered across every headline and sports magazine - there’s no need for him to clarify. Though he does it for the clicks anyways, “I did. First place.”
Excited whispers spread around the studio.
The skater shuffles once more beneath those harsh white lights- this time more out of embarrassment than anything. The cameras roll eagerly, following every movement, and a producer probes at his silence—“And does this mean you’ll be aiming for first place to win her heart, too?”
He chuckles nervously, “I won’t be aiming for it.” Scratching behind his neck, he cocks his head up and catches sight of the B-roll footage they were playing of you on one screen. “I’ll be first.”
.
.
.
Okay, so maybe his introduction was a little overconfident…but wasn’t everyone’s?
Ino Takuma has watched many a dating shows in his twenty-something years, alright; which means he’s gotten used to the pompous one-liners, the nonchalance that everyone attempts to show, the self-assurance—he’s just never wondered what happens when that self-assurance simply…doesn’t produce results.
Which- alright, alright…that’s not to say that he hasn’t produced any results.
As more and more of the contestants dwindled away, Ino still found himself (somehow mercifully) still on the show. And he’s had a handful of good conversations with you, along with a few bonding moments.
It’s just- how come that long-haired masseuse managed to get you into his arms - and on his cock…he’s ashamed to admit he actually saw when he’d walked in on the two of you - all on this show?! Ino didn’t even know that sort of thing was allowed here…
And he feels foolish admitting it but he’s grown to really, really care about you. So thinking about you with some other guy like that pink-haired bombshell or the CEO or whatever—it was starting to make him tick.
Which is why he’s jumping to drag you away from the others at the next group date.
This time, the producers had arranged an indoor skating park date, perhaps to make up for the fact that he hasn’t gotten a one-on-one date yet.
And as you’re a little wobbly on that new board, Ino’s using his expertise to teach you, to hold your hand, to gently direct you around the park—and eventually let you direct him out of sight of the cameras.
Soon enough, you’re pushing him against the wall of the restroom on-site - vast and clean, and spacious enough for you to push him into one of the stalls. “I’ve seen the way you’ve been eyeing me.” Leaning up on your tip-toes to whisper in his ear, “We’ve gotta be quick, though.”
He thinks those might just be the best words he’s ever heard.
You’re turning around and placing both palms on one plastic wall of the stall. Panties in your pocket. Smirk something delicious.
And it takes just a few sloppy strokes between those pretty cunt lips of yours for Ino to become utterly gone—
He’s pussydrunk already.
Mahogany eyes criss-crossing. Weakening in the knees.
The skater holds onto either side of your hips as though to guide the way you’re fuckin’ back into him- but really he’s gripping onto you for dear life. To stop himself from collapsing onto his knees on this damn washroom floor. To stop himself from making a complete and utter fool of himself - the curve of your hips is the lifeline he can’t let go of.
And yet another wretched moan leaves this throat when you’re veering your hips down to his base and clenching-
“Taku, baby…” Your giggle comes out unfiltered, harmonizing with the sinful sound he’s just let out. “You’ve got to be quiet, otherwise they’re going to find us- cameras and all.”
He lets out a slight whimper at the thought, “I w-wouldn’t want you to be exposed because of me like that.”
“Mhm—” Just as soon as Ino’s agreeing to be quiet- you’re gently suctioning your cunt down until his hilt - coating your gooey slick along all his inches - and he’s letting out a euphoric noise. Even louder than before. And you’re just looking over your shoulder with a grin, “Now, what did I say about being quiet, Taku?”
Sounding as though he was on the verge of tears, “I-I can’t help myself, sweetness.” Tone husky. Octaves higher. His poor hips stutter out a singular thrust, and even that seems too much for the skater boy to handle- he reaches up to tug down his beanie. “It just feels so good…maybe m’just not deserving of your cunt- ngh.”
“Awww, don’t say that, baby.”
With a resounding squelch! you’re letting Ino pull out - and instead of telling him to tuck himself back into his pants, as he might’ve expected, you’re gesturing for him to seat himself down on the closed, clean toilet.
Straddling his slender hips and kissin’ his blushing tip to your entrance.
It doesn’t take long for you to siiiiiink yourself down onto him—he might not have been the thickest, but Ino was a length that you swear you could feel at your very throat. And he was actually the perfect girthiness to stretch apart your walls enough that tears prick behind your eyelids- but still smooth n’ slim enough for you to immediately start up an urgent pace. Quick.
Up and down. Up and down.
Ino’s shaft had a particularly prominent vein going down his middle that made you shiver - it was in the perfect position to massage your puckered, pulsing g-spot. You could feel the squiggly line of it practically emblazon against your wet walls.
Your hamstrings keening at the stretch - and Ino was, too.
At least…until you’re tugging out the damp panties you’d kept in your pocket this entire time. And the next moment that Ino’s letting his maw ajar with a sudden moan- you’re quickly stuffin’ his mouth full with the lacy fabric.
Smirking, “See? Isn’t that a lot better, Taku?”
First, Ino’s eyes go wide—then he’s blushing as he registers just what you’d put in his mouth. Then he’s letting those dilated pupils roll aaaaall the way to the back of his head at the feeling of your cunt lavishing out looooong, luxurious thrusts. Squeezed tight around his cock.
He throbs even harder inside of you, “Mmmpf- ngh—sh-sho…can’t even-” Muffled.
“Shhh, you don’t have to say a thing.” You’re reassuring him, pushing back his beanie- there. Those chocolate-brown eyes of his were so pretty. You’re witnessing him tear up - and you weren’t sure whether that was because of the sudden blockage in his airway, or because it just felt so good—you had a sneaking suspicion that it was the latter. “Just be good f’me and fuck up to me, okay?”
“M-mhm.” He’s nodding obediently.
Because it might’ve been him teaching you how to skate out there- but in here…he was all yours.
He was at your beck and call. At the mercy of your bounces-
You’re telling him to go easier on your poor cervix - and though it takes every single shred of will within him to do so - he’s listening to you without fuss. You’re telling him to speed up, and he’s gladly bashin’ away his eager cock inside of you until the skin of his pelvis feels raw…
You’re telling him that someone might be inside the bathroom, too, and he’s too gone on your pussy to even compute—
“Taku.” Stern tone. Serious eyes- despite the fact that your pussy wasn’t letting up for a single second. You’re grabbing directly by the throat - something his cock twitches at - and bringing him up to face you. “Someone’s in here, okay?”
He feels goosebumps go down his spine, “Mmmps- schtawp?”
You giggle, “No…no, we don’t need to stop.” And perhaps in the next few seconds you’d suggest that you two should slow down, instead. Perhaps you’d suggest cockwarming until whoever was inside (and Ino could hear the other person’s voice as they splashed water on their face) left.
But instead you’re merely leaning in- grasping one of his strong arms and guiding it beneath you. You’re directing Ino to cup his fattened base, “This way it’ll be quieter.” Whispering to him, “In fact—how about we see just how quiet you can get, huh?”
And his maw unhinges - drool dripping down each side - and those gorgeous eyes of his nearly bulge out of their skull.
“Of course this bombshell’s gonna blow this whole season up-” Gojo didn’t need to try to make everyone opposite the camera faun - it was practically what he was made for.
One of the tallest in the show. One of the flashiest.
One of the most famous - there wasn’t a soul who’d walked past the billboards in Tokyo that hadn’t already seen Gojo Satoru’s dazzling smile, or peaked traitorously at a blown-up picture of his abs on numerous billboards.
Brands were practically clawing for him—just as much as the ladies and gents were. But that’s exactly why he was here - wouldn’t it be fun to be the chaser for once? Besides, his agent had told him that if he behaved himself, then he might just end up boosting his career to heights never seen before. This season had been a hit so far- but of course, what was a hit without Gojo Satoru?
Pretending to flip his hair over one shoulder, Gojo’s posing with all the best angles for the lens. “I mean- no offense, but have you seen me?”
And on anyone, such confidence would have been seen as a turn-off, a red flag, perhaps even compensation for something lacking. No one should be this confident.
Except Gojo Satoru, of course.
And he smiles like he knows it- rows of pearly white teeth flashin’ in the direction of the camera. “Oh, I guess I really should introduce myself, huh?” He sighs, “I’m Toru, I’m 28. And I’m the man of your dreams~!”
A producer whispers something to him.
“I’m also a model.” Gojo adds, “High-fashion. Editorial. Digimon ads- you name it. I don’t consider myself a romantic, nor someone that really needs love but…” His eyes drift to the B-roll footage they were playing of you on some small screen in the back, getting the contestants more familiar before they actually joined you in the mansion. “-who knows? Maybe things can change.”
Dimples pop out when he smiles.
No one should be this handsome.
He winks.
Except Gojo Satoru, of course.
.
.
.
Gojo Satoru was sent to the mansion to wreak havoc.
And wreak havoc, he did.
In the four hours and forty-five minutes that he’d been here, he’d interrupted your rose ceremony and thrown out the rose that you’d been about to give poor Usami—and taken it for himself. Not a shred of apology, he’d tucked it straight into his button-up pocket and winked at you.
Leaving the other man to whirl around at the producers that simply shrugged. Who was to say what Gojo Satoru did?
And you can’t deny it…that charm of his was irresistible.
You were sure that the viewers were loving this- in even less time, he’d picked a fight with Sukuna because of the long-standing rivalry between the two - something the producers had likely known just to stir the pot even more. According to what the skater boy had whispered in your ear, it was because the two had been battling it out for the title of TC Candler’s #1 Most Handsome Man for the last few years now.
One year it’d be Sukuna. Next it’d be Gojo.
The next they’d get absolutely washed by Zayn Malik and would have to lick their wounds and battle it out over second place.
It all left you a little dizzy, if you’re being honest.
And sure enough- after a hectic few hours of introduction between the new bombshell and the rest of the contestants - during which you’d seen more fists flying than small talk - Gojo finally managed to pull you away for a chit-chat.
He stuck his tongue out at the other men as he dragged you by hand, pulling you into the cosy gazebo outside—the one with the creeping vines up its pillars, and shutters for if you wanted privacy. Speaking of, it gave you way…way too much privacy…
And soon enough he’s pulling you into his arms, you’re crashing your lips into his in a searing kiss.
Having kicked the camera men outside, they could only see just the faintest shadows of the two of you inside - before Gojo’s dragging you down to the fucking floor like an animal—helping you tear through your panties n’ sticking his fat cock inside.
The crown of his reddened tip was burning hot, streaming out precum that sticks to your inner thighs in heavenly layers- he’s sucking in a breath as he fits his first inch inside. “Oh.” Maw dropping breathlessly - you think that perhaps for the first time in his twenty-eight years, Gojo Satoru shuts himself up. Low. “Oh.”
Clammy head falling to the crook of your neck. White bangs sticking against the side of your throat.
He lets out a sensual few groans that seem to almost cling onto your skin - just like how his muscular body was right now. Long limbs nearly collapsing on top of you as Gojo’s stutterin’ his gleaming shaft inside a few more inches—“Oh- ohhhh, fuck. Do you h-hear that?” Voice cracking towards the end of that sentence.
“Hear what?” Your brows furrow.
And Gojo’s snowy brows knit even deeper - more confused than you by what you seemingly couldn’t hear—how could you not hear it? “You- you seriously don’t…?” And those toned hips of his reel a few inches backwards, draggin’ the zig-zagging lines of his veins along your tightened channel- ever-so-slightly before thundering back in. “Hear it- now?” He asks, strangely out-of-breath. The pupils in his ice-blue eyes blown wide. The breaths emanating deeply from his chest.
Though his sheer desperation only leaves you more confused, “I…”
“You s-still don’t hear it—?”
As if he’s trying to prove his point, he’s grabbing ahold of one side of your hips- the manicured nails upon his left hand digging into your clammy flesh. Thrusts growing more emboldened. Gojo’s connecting his body with yours until he doesn’t know where his starts and yours ends—gripping onto every inch of you like adhesive coats your body.
His eyes lazily fail at keeping shut every time you’re clampin’ your tight pussy around him. A thin trickle of perspiration lines the side of his face, and once he’s finally able to veer his gaze to meet yours- you’re swearing that it’s as though his pupils have suddenly turned into hearts.
Something dazed and drunken in his gaze, “Can you…”
Barely able to finish his thought let alone his sentence.
“The only thing m’hearing right now is that you’re- fuck-” Gasping between the roughening and roughening rams of his hips—he pistons his swollen cock inside until your walls are bulging at the size of him. Swerving n’ swerving it into every single sweet spot inside you.
Almost as though Gojo didn’t even need to try - he’s discovering your g-spot after only a few more determined strokes. And just the sheer force of him pinpointing that cute lil’ bundle of nerves - whacking it - makes your thighs squeeeeeze around his waist. It makes your pussylips get crushed together under the sheer pressure of movement, letting out an audible squelch!
“That.”
Blinking through your tears, “What?”
“That-”
Gojo’s so excited that he’s running out of breath - almost as if he’d just run an entire marathon, and would run at least five more just to experience this again.
His red-hot tip smears aside your walls, scouring your insides like a hidden maze. You feel the exact moment that he’s bottoming out his long, entire length at the very back of your cunt—“There…” A thin ribbon of drool glides down the side of Gojo’s mouth, tone almost in tears.
He flinches-
The raw softness of your womb- it was almost too much. Gojo reaches his right hand down to spreeead open your pretty pussylips, opening you up like lotus petals for him, then rolling his thumb down on your neglected clit.
You’re moaning at the sparks of carnal pleasure wracking through you - and Gojo himself grins at the music: your gorgeous noises, the sound of the night, the way your cunt’s lettin’ out the most lecherous squelches as he eases his cock in and out.
“There- right then.” Gojo finally - finally - husks out after one particularly loud slurp! Looking up at him, only to feel a jolt go through you at something primal shifting beneath his gaze. “Can you hear her say my name?”
“Her…?” Dazedly asking, “Do you mean me—?”
“No.” Gojo stubbornly answers, “I mean her-”
And before you know it, he’s honing out a few more strikes at your poor g-spot. Until you were sure it’s bruised enough with the round circumference of his length - hard and fast.
It’s enough to make you bellow out a few more hoarse noises—before Gojo himself is letting go of your waist to clasp his slender fingers around your neck. The cold sensation of them sending thrills down your spine, he’s teasingly tightening his hold as he bores deep into your eyes with his nearly-glowing ones.
“Shush, sweetheart.” Gojo admonishes softly, “Let me show you- hear her?” And it’s only after a few seconds you’re realizing that…her really meant your sopping wet pussy. Namely the lewd noises that you’re creating from it- just that wet. “Hear the way she’s whimpering? And mewling? And yowling?”
You yourself were struggling to get a single word out when he’s holding onto you like that. “Y-yes—”
“Well all that pretty noise is her…” He trails off, listening to a few more syllables of your pussy. “-screaming my name.”
Jaw dropping. “Your…”
“Mhm.”
Thin fingertips leaving marks.
He continues, “She’s been beggin’ for me to fuck her ever since- hah, ever since I got here.” And without a single warning, he’s toying with your clit and ultimately pinching it. “I know she’s been thinking about me—hah, shirtless. I know she’s been thinking about being under me, over me-” An almost wolfish expression taking over his face, “All on my face until I can’t breathe-”
“S-Satoru—!”
“Oh yeah, that’s exactly how your pussy’s saying it.”
You’re smacking Gojo’s bicep for that, and he merely chuckles.
“I’m just saying~” The motions of his thumb then start taking a more…interesting turn. And you have to tilt your head down to get a proper look at what he was doing - Gojo’s moving so fast that his digits were nearly nothing but frenzied, feverish blur between your legs. “That’s exactly…”
He himself couldn’t keep up.
Just too enraptured by the swervin’ and swoopin’ movements—the way his fingers had to quirk just right when he’s spelling out a repeated S-A-T-O-R-U.
S-A-T-O-R-U.
S-A-T-O-R-U.
S-A-T-O-R-U.
Both in Japanese and English.
Looking up at you through his curtained white bangs, “What’s that spell—?”
“Satoru—” It would’ve tumbled out of your mouth regardless of whether he asked or not, and you’re sure he knows.
“Exactly.” He responds.
You look on in gaped speechlessness as he flashes you that award-winning grin. The last thing you’re seeing before your high floods you in bursts- nothing like the torrential waves of dopamine, or the hills or relaxation that’d pass by you during your other highs.
This one was taking you over.
This one was zapping every atom of your being and leaving it charged.
“Sh-shit, Toru—” Hiccuping, your nails drag red, red lines down the plane of his shoulders. They’re standing out stark, and you’re hit with the strange feeling that he’d be the type to show them off during his next photoshoot - “It feels so good, Toru-”
“Heh, you’re welcome.”
Babbling out stupidly- the way he elongated every single peak left your mind heated. “Y-you could at least pretend to have some humility.”
“Humility? Don’t know her.” He winks, “You’re my only gal, sweetheart.”
Grumbling, “I better be…”
“Now why’d you hafta go and say something so cute…” You’re still seeing white from the pure shockwaves of your high- “Because that’s only gonna make me cum.” When Gojo himself throws his head back and cums inside. Loooooong and deep slashes at the back of your cunt, he draws numerous lines of white that dribble all the way down your channel then.
Ending up frothed between your shiverin’ legs.
The glistening layers of it smear n’ make your entangled bodies slip.
Jostling you even further, making you feel the splashin’ of his clingy sap inside you. More and more. More and more and more—no matter how many wads Gojo’s fucking inside- he just can’t seem to get enough of you—
“Because no one else can fuck you like Gojo Satoru can.”
Just the seven previous men and this bombshell left in the mansion.
Who would you even pick at this rate?
♡ HIGURUMA HIROMI - One-on-one.
“My name is Higuruma Hiromi, I’m 33.” Deep voice. Deeper eyes. There was a certain handsomeness to Higuruma that made it hard to look away - perhaps it was the dark features - that nose, the intelligent twinkle behind his eyes.
Perhaps it was the fact that he was dressed to the nines in his smart, black suit.
Or perhaps it was that air of confidence around him - nothing of the outward flashiness that most of the other contestants boasted. Something quieter. Something that had the edges of his pouty lips quirking, as though he already knows he’s won this season…he just won’t admit it yet.
For the viewers’ experience, of course.
He cocks his head slightly to the side and sighs, “I’m an attorney at my own law firm. I enjoy long baths and even longer debates, I’m looking for someone that can indulge me in both of these things.”
“And why are you here, Higuruma-san?”
“Because some interns of mine thought that it’d be funny to sign me up.” He chuckles softly to himself, “They’re mad- of course, perhaps I’m more mad to actually be here.”
“In the long run, Higuruma-san?”
“Ah…” He takes the time to think, eyes drifting over to the screen replaying footage of you - he’s already heard some of the other men gossiping amongst themselves in the waiting room about just how beautiful you are. And he hates to admit it when someone’s right, but he can’t deny it—they were fucking right. “I guess I’m looking for my wife.”
His eyes never miss yours on the screen.
The producer probes once more, camera angles shifting to accommodate for his intense staring match. “And do you think that you’ll find that?”
“I think I already might have.”
.
.
.
The audience had been curious about the hotshot lawyer from Tokyo.
“H-Hiromi, I’m ngh- cumming again…”
And so had you.
It’s been a string of more one-on-one dates that the producers had arranged prior to the finale where you had to choose…your future husband. Fuck- at this point you were wondering whether you couldn’t just have them all. And though the dark-haired lawyer had made it this far, he hadn’t featured in too many of the episodes—that is, until a recent edit of his B-roll footage had gone absolutely viral online - quite to the distaste of one particular white-haired model.
Clips of him laid back in a bathtub - suit still on. Clips of him slamming his gavel down.
And so, of course, they’d rushed to bring the two of you together to raise viewership—lo and behold you found yourself sneaking off to the couples’ suite after a romantic spa date. Escaping all the cameras - shutting those hungry lenses behind the door - it didn’t take long for the man to corner you against the rose petal-covered bed and bend you into the meanest mating press that you’ve ever even heard of.
Though Higuruma might’ve seemed all cool and composed on the outside- he was drilling his rock-hard cock into you like a fucking madman.
Thick and throbbing. Thrust after thrust after thrust-
“Fuck—” He snarls something primal from the back of his throat, prominent Adam’s apple bobbing. Hoarse, sensual grunts leave him after every battering ram.
His skin was still damp from all the hours prior- when you’d been riding Higuruma’s face silly.
And even now, you could see the slight sheen of slick clinging onto his handsome features. Without thinking twice, you’re reaching up and swipin’ away some of the remnant excess, which immediately makes him snap his head down with a low trundle. “Fuck, don’t act so sweet, sugar.”
You huff, “M’not acting-”
Before you’re immediately getting cut off by the slam! of his round, reddened tip on your cervix. Barely reeling from the sheer pressure of it- before Higuruma reaches somewhere above your head - at the clothes that you’d discarded hours prior at the start of the night - and produces his favorite black tie.
You’re blinking up at him in slight confusion.
To which he doesn’t say much - he doesn’t say anything at all, really. Without a single word, Higuruma loops the soft silk of the tie around your wrists, and he’s tightening it into a knot that your muddled mind barely computes—tying you up.
It’s too late once you’re realizing- no matter how much you tug, you’re left unable to move. At your sultry mercy before the man - exactly how you wanted to be.
“S’not handcuffs, but it’ll have to do.” He mutters to himself.
“And why would you want me in handcuffs?”
“Because act sweet t’me one more time and you’ll be walking out of this suite pregnant, angel.” And you can’t believe it—the ever-eloquent Higuruma Hiromi was slurrin’ and babbling because of your cunt. “Why else?”
“O-oh…”
You snark back, “And what if I want that?”
“Well, you don’t deserve that.” He counters, “You’re a guilty girl.”
Squirming- he runs a long finger of his down the crevice of your pussylips. Just the very tip of it teasin’ in-between, uuuup and down, uuuup and down until you’re restless. And you can’t even do anything because of the ruthless restraints that he’d tied around your wrists.
“G-guilty for…?”
Higuruma doesn’t answer instantly.
He’s curling his dominant hand around the ribbons of fabric that were decorating your hands.
Cold fingers grazing your own- you’re just about wondering what Higuruma was about to do right then and there. But just then, he’s tightening his hold and draaaagging your body down.
As though you weighed nothing.
Higuruma’s hidden biceps bulge ever-so-slightly as he’s manhandling you down, down, down—onto his thickened cock. The silken bedsheets bunch up around your waist, and the bedsprings creak at the way you’re being thrown about like a ragdoll-
This rough angle makes his globular tip maze even deeper inside of you- burrowing a circular bruise at the very bottom of your pussy. And you’re gasping—you’d be clawing at Higuruma’s handsome back had it not been for this damn tie.
Almost as though sensing your desperation, the man looming before you huffs out in laughter. It fans your face in a scorching breeze - you think you can feel the smoke and need in his breath. The addiction to white-knuckling your cuffs and hauling you down after every thrust pushes you up, up, upwards- “Count one: seduction”
“S-seduction?” Your eyes damn-near bulge out of your skull.
“Count two: temptation of a working attorney.” He lists off. The slightest smile lifts up the edges of his lips, “Count three: temptation of a working judge.”
“You’re the-”
He sighs as though this was just another day in the court for him - though if this was the type of court he led, you’d be showing up for jury duty everyday. “Count four: perjury.”
“Perjury?” You gape, “When have I ever lied to the court?”
Higuruma cocks his head, “And when you told me you weren’t acting sweet?” That rounded tip of his lingers where your g-spot was, “I know how filthy you are, angel, no need to put on an act…”
“I—fuck, please…”
“Count five: greed.” Higuruma finally ends off, and you’re probing into his darkened eyes for clarification. “You seriously think you deserve to be fucked pregnant by me, sugar?”
“Y-yes…” You’re barely able to mumble out.
And he merely scoffs out a
And he scoffs out a slightly mean bout of laughter, as if he’d expected for you to say that. Oh, how he’d expected you to say that. But instead of responding to that directly, Higuruma’s openin’ up your sopping wet pussylips.
The hand between your legs bears your stuffed entrance for him to examine. Those intelligent eyes of his twinkle as he’s taking in the plushness of your swollen folds, the way your hole leaked even when stuffed to the brim with his fat cock - struggling to take him, yet still yearning for more. And most of all…he’s admiring the way your cute clit twitches- “Count one…” Higuruma announces with no warning—and even less of a warning is given before he’s planting a solid spank on your clit. “Guilty.” Even harder than he might’ve done with that gavel of his.
You’re surging up on the bed due to the sheer shockwaves coursing through you. “Fuck- fuck, you’re just-”
“Count two—”
“Shit-”
Barely giving you the time to compute before his hand comes slammin’ down once more. “Guilty.”
Tears stream down your cheeks, “Hiromi, I’m going to cum-”
“Count three-” And it wasn’t like he couldn’t hear you - he just refused to respond until his judicial duties were completed. Higuruma was a man of the law, after all. And surely it was that discipline that led him to spank your cunt two more times, “Guilty. Count four- guilty.”
Your thighs were shaking with your impeding high, “I-I’m seriously going to-”
“Count five-” The fifth, final punishment. “-guilty.”
And you’re crashing against the waves of your high - it feels as if you’re floating on air. On clouds. On the white-hot pleasure that Higuruma was fucking into you.
His pace doesn’t falter for a single second. The plush edge of his shaft probin’ into you in and in and in—Higuruma knows exactly which nerve-filled spots you wanted him to push. Exactly where they were. And he doesn’t do so immediately…but once he’s glissading his lengthy cock inside your cunt, he sure does press his pointed tip hard into wherever he can reach.
Not quite agonizingly teasing, but not quite giving your guilty self what you wanted.
Somewhere along the way, you’re feeling his gooey white sap fill you up as well. He lets out a choked-up groan as he floods the lining of your cervix- “Guilty…haaaaah, on all counts.” The sheer volume of him forms a little puddle there, “And I sentence you to…”
“Y-yes…?”
“Hmmm—” He pretends to think, though the lewd humor in his tone told you that Higuruma already knew. The full stop at the end of his duties- he thwacks! his palm down upon your cunt once more, “How about five more rounds? One for each count- hah.”
You’re letting your head fall to the side, where the curtains of the suite were just barely cracked to reveal pinkish-yellow lighting filtering inside. It was morning.
You weren’t making it out alive for the rest of the season.
So, viewers, who's getting the last rose as your husband?
TOJI
NANAMI
GETO
CHOSO
SUKUNA
INO
GOJO
HIGURUMA
Voting ended onApr 7
A/N. MAYHAPS have a special treat for whoever wins. Can you tell my best friend made me watch Single's Inferno with her-
content. mean!ot5 x fem!reader smut squirt dirty talk humiliation sex toys degradation kink orgasm denial overstimulation
the girls are mean to y/n :((
It had been five days since Yoonchae had missed training due to a fever.
The first day, you handled it fine.
But as the days went by, it became unbearable. Yoonchae made the hours in the studio more enjoyable. You laughed together during breaks, helped each other with steps you couldn't get right, shared food.
You realized that without her, you were really getting bored.
So, to pass the time, you had chosen the worst possible option: you started bothering the other members.
With Megan, you discovered you could get under her skin with very little. During warm-up, you positioned yourself to stretch right in front of her. Your ass centimeters from her face.
With Sophia, you waited for the perfect moment. You knew she always entered the locker room at the same time, so you made sure you were changing your shirt just as the door opened. When you turned around, her cheeks were flushed.
With Dani, you were more direct. During a break, you sat on her lap without asking. As if it were the most natural thing in the world. Your legs on either side of her hips, your chest against her chest, your face so close to hers you could feel her warm breath on your lips.
With Lara, you called her over to help you stretch. She placed her hands on your back and pressed, which led you to "accidentally" let out a loud moan right near her ear.
With Manon, you were less discreet, leaning on her more than necessary during dances, complaining you were doing it wrong just to repeat it over and over and over again.
That morning, after all that, the five of them had had enough.
When you looked up, the five of them were around you, their gazes fixed on you.
"What?" you asked, uninterested.
No one answered. Sophia walked toward you. Each step echoed on the wooden floor, each step made you step back until your back hit the mirror.
Her hand lifted. Her fingers grabbed your chin, lifted your face, forced you to look her in the eyes.
"Today it ends," she said. "Today you learn to behave."
And before you could answer, the others were already on you.
Dani stood up. She walked to the soundboard and grabbed something: a pink silicone dildo, of considerable size, with a round base and a remote control that she held in her other hand.
"You see this?" Sophia said, taking the dildo from Dani's hands. "This is going to be inside you for the whole training session."
"No—"
"And you're not going to take it out," Sophia continued, as if you hadn't interrupted her. "No matter how hard it is. No matter how much you want to. You don't take it out until we tell you to."
"Why are you doing this?" you asked, your voice trembling.
"Because we love you," Manon said from behind, and her voice was soft, almost tender, which made it worse. "And because little bitches need to be taught who's in charge."
Sophia knelt between your legs and with a quick motion pulled down your shorts along with your underwear. The tip of the dildo brushed your entrance. You felt your body tense up.
"Relax," Sophia said. "If you get nervous, it'll hurt more."
"Soph-Sophia, it won't fit—"
"We'll see."
She pushed. The head of the dildo entered slowly, and you felt it stretch you, fill you, open you. It was big. Not enormous, but big enough that you felt every centimeter.
"Like that," Sophia said, and pushed it all the way in.
The moan that escaped you was muffled against your arm. The dildo was inside you, warming up with your body, and you could feel it move slightly with every breath.
"Now," Dani said, and brought the remote control to your face. "Here's what's going to happen. During training, this remote is going to be with us. And if we get bored, or if you misbehave, or if we feel like it, we're going to turn it on."
"No—"
"Yes," Megan said, and her fingers squeezed your wrists again. "And you're not taking it out until we tell you, understand?"
"Why are you so mean?"
"We're not mean, my love," Lara said, stroking your cheek. "But bad girls have to receive their punishments, don't they?"
You didn't answer. Because you knew she was right. You had misbehaved. You were a bad girl.
"We know you can handle this," Manon said, patting your thigh, which made you moan.
Sophia pulled up your underwear, adjusting the fabric over your crotch, over the dildo that was still inside you. The pressure was constant, a warm presence you couldn't ignore. Then she pulled up your pants, buttoned them, adjusted the zipper.
"Done," she said, and stood up. "Let's go. Training starts in 10 minutes."
They helped you stand up. Your legs were trembling, and you could feel the dildo moving inside you with every step. You couldn't walk straight. You couldn't think straight.
A few minutes later, everyone was in training. Sohey was setting the rhythm while the music played at full volume. But you couldn't concentrate. Every time you raised your arms, you felt the dildo shift. Every time you turned, you felt the silicone head press against your most sensitive spot. Every time you jumped, you felt the weight of the toy pull downward, your inner walls contracting around it to keep it from falling out.
"Y/n," Grant said, stopping the music. "What's wrong with you today? You've been unfocused the whole training session."
"Nothing," you replied, feeling sweat run down your back, feeling the dildo move inside you with every word.
"Don't lie to me. You're breathing like you ran a marathon. Didn't Yoonchae get you sick? Do you want to go rest?"
"I'm tired, but I'm fine, I swear," you lied.
"Well, snap out of it. Again. From the top."
The music started again. This time, before you could take the first step, you felt a buzz. Low at first, barely perceptible, but growing. The dildo was vibrating inside you. Your legs buckled, your knees knocked together, and you had to brace yourself against the wall to keep from falling.
"Y/n," the choreographer said, and this time his voice had an edge. "Are you sure you're okay?"
"Yes," you managed to say, your voice broken. "I just got dizzy."
The choreographer looked at you for a moment. His eyes ran over your trembling body, your sweaty face, your hands gripping the wall.
"You're not okay, Y/n. I don't want you to overdo it," he said. "That's it for today. See you tomorrow."
He grabbed his backpack, his sheet music, and left the studio without looking back. The assistants followed him. The lights went out one by one. And the studio fell silent.
Except for the six of you.
Then your knees hit the floor. The impact was dull, and the dildo shifted inside you, pushing deeper, and a broken moan escaped your lips. Your fingers spread against the wood, and you felt your nails scrape the surface as your body shook.
The orgasm hit like a wave. You felt your back arch, your head fall back, your mouth open in a scream that didn't come out because you had no air. Hot liquid burst from you, soaking through your leggings, dripping down your thighs, forming a puddle on the wooden floor that spread slowly.
"Please," you sobbed, your voice broken. "Please, no more."
"No more?" Megan said, amusement in her voice. "We've only just started."
"I can't," you moaned, the word cut off when another spasm shook you.
"Of course you can," Manon said, crouching down to your level. "You've been doing it all day."
Tears ran down your cheeks. You couldn't see well. Your vision was blurry, and you could barely make out the figures of the others around you.
Sophia's hand grabbed your hair, pulled back, arching your back. Her mouth was near your ear, her warm breath against your skin.
"You see this?" she said, and she moved your head down, forcing you to look at the puddle you had made on the floor. "You see the mess you made? The whole studio smells like you."
"I'm sorry—"
She let go of your hair. Your head fell forward, your forehead resting on the wet floor. Your arms couldn't hold you anymore. The dildo still vibrating inside you, liquid dripping down your thighs, tears falling on the wood.
"Please," you begged. "Can I take it out now? I learned my lesson. I won't bother you anymore. I swear. I won't do anything. Just let me—"
"No," Sophia cut in.
"Why?" you sobbed. "You already punished me. I understood."
"Because you didn't learn anything," Lara said. "Because if we let you take it out now, tomorrow you'll be the same."
"That's not true—"
"Yes, it is," Manon said, her voice soft, almost tender. "Yoonchae is gone for a few days and you're already acting like a slut."
"Please—"
"The only way for you to learn," Dani said, still kneeling in front of you, "is for you to feel it. To really feel it."
The dildo increased in intensity again. The vibration was stronger now, deeper, and you could feel each pulse bringing you closer to the edge again. Your inner walls contracted around the silicone, and you couldn't do anything to stop it.
"Again," you moaned, the tears not stopping. "I'm going to again…"
The studio filled with the wet sound of your body falling apart, your muffled moans, the low laughs of the others.
"Like that," Megan said. "God, you're so beautiful."
"I'm all yours," you sobbed, the words coming out before you could think them. "All yours. Whatever you want. Anything. But please, now—"
"Not yet," Manon said, and her fingers ran down your back, down your spine, resting on your ass. "You still have a long way to go."
"I can't—"
"You can."
Sophia knelt in front of you. Her hand went down to your crotch, found the base of the dildo through your soaked leggings, and pressed. The toy shifted inside you, the vibration went up another level, and a moan you didn't want to make escaped your mouth.
"Did you hear that?" Sophia said, her eyes not leaving yours. "Did you hear how you moaned when I touched you? That's not someone who wants it to stop. That's someone who wants more."
"That's not true—"
"Shut up."
She let you go. She stood up. She walked to the remote control that Dani had left on the soundboard, and turned it off. The vibration stopped abruptly. The silence was deafening.
"Come on," Sophia said, walking back to you with a floor rag. "Clean that up, and you can take it out, and we'll go to sleep."
You took it with trembling hands, pressed it to the floor, and started wiping.
But when you were cleaning, your body reacted again. Your inner walls contracted around the dildo, your clit pulsed, and a new stream of hot liquid burst from you, soaking the floor you had just cleaned.
"Again," Megan said, letting out a laugh. "She soaked everything again."
"I didn't mean to," you sobbed, the tears not stopping.
"Clean," Sophia said sternly, giving Megan a slap on the back of the neck that shut her up instantly.
You cleaned again. The rag absorbed the liquid, but every time you wiped, every time you moved to do it right, the vibrator went deeper, triggering another orgasm, leaving the rag completely wet along with the wooden floor.
"I can't take it anymore," you moaned, and threw the rag to the floor. "Please, I can't take it anymore. Please, I'll behave…"
The girls looked at each other. Dani was the first to move. She had a weakness for you.
"That's enough," she said, and knelt back down beside you. "There, there, there."
She grabbed you by the arms, helped you sit up. Her hand found the waistband of your leggings, pulled them down along with your underwear, and the dildo fell to the floor with a wet sound. The vibration had stopped, but your body was still trembling.
"Shh," Dani said, her arms wrapping around you as she kissed the top of your head. "Shh, it's over. It's done."
"I'm so sorry," you sobbed, and you clung to her. "I swear I won't be a bad girl anymore, a-and—"
"It's okay, baby," Sophia said, and knelt in front of you. Her hand found your face, wiped your tears with her thumb. "It's over. That's enough. You learned your lesson."
synopsis: You ran from your arranged marriage in a torn white wedding dress, desperate to escape the cruel lord your family sold you to. By midnight, you’re on your knees in front of the village butcher, begging for shelter.
Toji Fushiguro doesn’t help runaways.
But when you blurt out that he’s your husband in front of the biggest gossips in town, suddenly the whole village believes you’re his. Now you’re trapped in a fake marriage with the terrifying butcher — a massive, rough, possessive man who has decided that if you’re going to call yourself his wife… he’s going to make it very, very real.
pairing: butcher!toji fushiguro x runaway bride!reader
mdni | warnings: smut, first time, size kink, breeding kink, creampie, cum play, rough sex, possessive/jealous Toji, dirty talk, spanking, manhandling, strength kink, overstimulation, oral (f receiving), fingering, spitting, multiple orgasms, multiple positions, fake marriage
word count: 14.8k
a/n: im kinda obsessed with this ngl... also lmk if your enjoying these longer fics!
The great hall of your family estate felt more like a tomb than a place of celebration.
Thick beams of dark oak loomed overhead, and the air was heavy with the greasy smell of over-roasted venison, spilled sour wine, and your father’s desperation. Two massive iron chandeliers flickered with dying candles, casting long, distorted shadows that danced across the walls. Servants had long since been dismissed, leaving only the three of you: your father, Lord Kato, and you — the silent prize being traded away.
Your father slumped in his carved high-backed chair, cheeks bloated and flushed deep red from too much drink. His once-fine tunic was stained with grease and wine. With a trembling hand, he slid the sealed parchment across the table. The wax bore your family’s broken crest.
“She’s untouched,” he slurred, trying and failing to sound proud. “Barely nineteen summers. Fertile. She’ll give you strong sons, I swear it. Obedient when properly disciplined. This marriage settles every debt between our houses — the gold, the eastern lands, the failed harvests… all of it wiped clean.”
Lord Kato sat across from him like a spider in human skin. Tall and unnaturally pale, with sharp cheekbones and eyes the color of frozen ink. His lips curled into a thin, cruel smile as he let his gaze crawl over your body without shame. He studied the swell of your breasts beneath your gown, the narrow dip of your waist, the way your hands clenched into fists at your sides. The way you trembled.
He took a slow sip of wine, then spoke, voice smooth and cold as winter steel.
“She’ll do nicely. The ceremony will take place tomorrow night at my estate. I expect her delivered in the finest white lace and silk… and nothing beneath it.” His smile widened, revealing teeth that seemed too sharp. “I want easy access the moment the guests leave. I’ve waited long enough for my new bride.”
You stood motionless in the center of the hall, heart pounding so violently you could hear it in your ears. Your skin crawled as if his eyes were already peeling the gown from your body. Nausea twisted in your stomach. This man had already buried three wives. Whispers spoke of bruises, broken bones, and screams that echoed through his halls at night. And now your own father was selling you to him for coin and land.
No one asked if you agreed.
No one asked what you wanted.
No one ever had.
You kept your face blank, eyes lowered like the obedient daughter they expected, while inside your mind screamed.
Later that night, when the household finally fell into drunken slumber and the torches burned low, you moved.
You had planned this in secret for weeks. A plain dark wool cloak stolen from the stables. A small bundle of hard bread, dried cheese, and a waterskin. Soft leather shoes you hoped would last. But the most valuable thing you owned was the wedding gown itself. You had decided to wear the half-finished white dress during your escape — the expensive satin and delicate lace might fetch enough coins in a distant village to buy you passage far away from here. It was risky, but you had nothing else of real value.
You slipped out through the narrow servant’s entrance at the back of the kitchens, the heavy door groaning softly behind you like a warning. The moment your feet touched the cold, dew-soaked grass, terror and fragile hope surged through you in equal measure.
You ran.
The forest swallowed you whole.
Ancient trees loomed like silent judges, their branches clawing at your white gown as if trying to drag you back. The delicate satin — still only half-finished, with pins and loose threads — snagged mercilessly on thorns. You heard fabric tearing again and again: sharp rips that sounded far too loud in the darkness. The long lace veil caught on a low limb and nearly yanked you off your feet; you tore it free with shaking hands, leaving half of it fluttering behind you like a surrendered flag. Mud and wet leaves caked your bare feet. Sharp stones and roots sliced into your soles until every step left bloody prints in the dirt. The cold night air burned your lungs. Sweat soaked your back and chest despite the chill, making the torn gown cling obscenely to your skin. Your legs screamed with exhaustion after only an hour, but fear kept you moving. Behind you, distant shouts echoed through the trees — your father’s guards, torches flickering like angry fireflies. Dogs barked. They were coming.
You pushed harder.
Branches whipped your face, leaving stinging cuts across your cheeks. Your hair fell loose from its elegant pins, wild and tangled. Tears streamed down your face, mixing with blood and dirt. Every shadow looked like a man ready to grab you. Every snap of a twig made your heart seize. You ran until your vision blurred and your chest felt like it would burst. You ran until the shouts grew fainter and the trees finally began to thin.
Hours had passed. The moon hung high and merciless overhead, bathing the world in cold silver light. Your legs trembled violently as you stumbled out of the treeline onto a wide, muddy road. In the distance, warm golden lantern light glowed between clusters of simple wooden buildings. A village.
You nearly collapsed with relief.
The main street was deserted, shutters closed tight against the night. Only one building still showed signs of life. Warm light spilled from its open front door onto the dirt road, carrying with it the thick, metallic scent of fresh blood and raw meat. A weathered wooden sign creaked overhead in the cold breeze:
Fushiguro Meat Co.
You limped toward it, every cut and bruise screaming.
A massive man stood under the wooden awning, illuminated by the lantern light. He was enormous — broad as a barn door, easily over six feet tall, with shoulders and arms so thick with muscle they looked carved from stone. He wore a blood-streaked leather apron tied low on his narrow hips. Beneath it, a simple white tank clung to his sweat-slicked chest, the thin fabric molded to heavy slabs of muscle and dark, scattered scars. His black hair was damp and messy, strands falling across his forehead. A deep, jagged scar twisted the corner of his mouth, giving his face a permanent, dangerous smirk even when he wasn’t smiling.
Thick veins stood out on his forearms as he slowly wiped a long, wicked boning knife clean on the edge of his apron. The blade gleamed.
He looked like violence given human shape — raw, brutal, and utterly terrifying.
You didn’t know his name. You didn’t know anything about him except that he was the only soul still awake, and you were completely out of options.
Your legs gave out the final few steps. You dropped hard to your knees in the cold dirt right in front of him, the torn white satin of your ruined wedding gown pooling around you like spilled milk mixed with blood and mud. Your chest heaved. Fresh tears cut clean tracks down your filthy cheeks.
“Please—” Your voice came out cracked and hoarse, barely more than a whisper. “Hide me. Just for one night. My family… they sold me to Lord Kato to settle their debts. He’s going to break me. Hurt me in ways I can’t even speak of. I’ll do anything you ask — scrub floors until my hands bleed, haul carcasses, sleep in the cold room with the meat, be your servant, your cleaner… anything. Just please… don’t let them take me back.”
You bowed your head, trembling, and clutched desperately at the bloody hem of his apron with both hands, staining your fingers red.
The man stopped moving. He looked down at you slowly, sharp green eyes narrowing as they took in every detail: your torn and filthy wedding dress, the cuts on your face and feet, the desperate tears, the way you knelt before him like a supplicant before a god of slaughter.
He flicked the long knife shut with a loud, metallic click that echoed in the quiet street.
“Not my problem, princess,” he rumbled. His voice was deep, low, and rough — like gravel being dragged across stone. There was no pity in it. “I don’t hide runaways. Go beg somewhere else before you bring trouble to my shop.”
You stayed on your knees, fingers still twisted tight in the bloody hem of his apron. Tears kept falling, mixing with the dirt on your cheeks. “Please… I have nowhere else. They’ll find me by morning. Lord Kato will—”
Footsteps. Soft, quick, coming from the narrow alley beside the butcher shop.
Three women emerged into the lantern light, their shawls pulled tight against the night chill, each carrying a small lantern. They stopped short at the sight of you kneeling in your ruined white gown in front of the massive butcher.
“Gods above,” the tallest one gasped. “Is that a wedding dress? Child, what in the world happened to you?”
The women hurried closer, lanterns swinging. Warm golden light spilled over your torn satin, the mud-caked hem, the blood from his apron smeared across your bodice and hands. One of the younger women pressed a hand to her mouth. “She’s bleeding… and look at her feet!”
You looked down at yourself — the once-beautiful dress now filthy and shredded — then up at the stranger towering over you. His green eyes were narrowed in clear irritation, jaw clenched like he was seconds away from shoving you into the street and bolting the door.
A wild, desperate plan came to your mind.
You pushed yourself up on shaky legs, ignoring the sharp pain in your cut feet. Before he could step away, you grabbed his large, calloused hand with both of yours, clinging desperately. His palm was warm, rough, and still faintly sticky with dried blood.
Turning to the three women with the most exhausted yet radiant smile you could force, you announced clearly:
“This is my husband.”
The words rang in the quiet night air.
The women froze.
You kept going, voice trembling but determined. “We were married in secret this evening. My family didn’t approve — they tried to sell me off to a cruel lord to settle their debts. So I ran away through the forest to reach him. The dress… it got ruined on the way, but I’m here now. I’m exactly where I belong.”
Silence stretched for a heartbeat.
Then the women erupted.
“The butcher got married?!” the tallest one exclaimed, eyes wide. “Toji Fushiguro actually took a wife? I never thought I’d live to see the day!”
One of the younger women clapped her hands together, beaming. “Look at her, even all torn up she’s lovely! Brave thing, running through the woods in the middle of the night just to get to her husband.”
The third woman laughed warmly. “We’ll bring fresh bread and some stew first thing in the morning for you newlyweds. Can’t have Toji’s new wife going hungry on her first day here!”
Toji.
So that was his name. Toji Fushiguro.
You felt the man — Toji — stiffen beside you. His massive hand twitched hard in your grip, muscles flexing like he was fighting the urge to rip free and deny everything. His sharp green eyes burned into the side of your face, dark with fury and silent threat. But the women were watching excitedly. The whole village would know the story by sunrise if he contradicted you now.
You squeezed his hand tighter, nails digging into his skin in a silent, desperate plea. Please. Just play along.
Toji’s scarred jaw flexed. A low, dangerous growl rumbled deep in his chest. For one terrifying second you thought he might expose you.
Then, in the flattest, most reluctant voice you had ever heard, he grunted:
“…Yeah. She’s mine now. Wife.”
The women squealed with delight. They offered more congratulations, promised gifts for the “newlyweds,” and finally bustled away down the dark street, lanterns bobbing and their voices already carrying the juicy news.
The moment their footsteps faded, Toji’s grip turned bruising. He yanked you forward so hard you stumbled against his broad, solid chest, then dragged you roughly through the open door of the butcher shop. The heavy oak door slammed shut behind you with a resounding thud that rattled the walls.
Inside, the air was thick and heavy — cold iron, raw meat, woodsmoke, and the faint metallic tang of fresh blood. A single lantern burned low on the wooden counter, casting long, flickering shadows over heavy chopping blocks, hanging meat hooks, and rows of sharp knives.
Toji spun you around and shoved your back against the closed door. One thick, powerful forearm braced beside your head, completely caging you in. His massive body loomed over yours, heat rolling off him in waves. The scent of blood, sweat, and raw masculinity filled your lungs.
His green eyes were dark with fury… and something much darker, much hungrier.
“What the fuck was that?” he snarled, voice low and lethal. “You just told half the goddamn village you’re my wife. You got any idea what you’ve done, little runaway?”
Your heart slammed against your ribs. You could feel the hard press of his chest against yours, the sheer size of him making you feel tiny and trapped.
“It was the only way,” you whispered, breathing fast. “They would’ve dragged me back to Lord Kato by morning if they knew the truth. Now they think I belong to you. No one will question it. Please… just let me stay the night. I’ll disappear at dawn, I swear it.”
Toji stared down at you for a long, heavy moment. His scarred mouth twisted into a slow, dangerous smirk. His free hand came up and gripped your chin firmly, tilting your face up so you had no choice but to meet his intense green eyes.
“Disappear?” he growled, thumb pressing hard into your jaw. “Too late for that, princess. You just tied yourself to me in front of witnesses.”
He leaned in closer, so close his breath ghosted hot across your lips. His voice dropped even lower, rough and full of promise.
“You owe me now. Big time.”
His gaze dragged slowly down your body — over the torn white lace barely clinging to your curves, the bloodstains, the way your chest heaved with fear and adrenaline. He just held you there, pinned against the door, letting the heavy tension coil tighter and tighter between you.
“Upstairs,” he finally ordered, voice like gravel. “Now. We’re gonna have a long talk about what you just got yourself into.”
Toji didn’t give you time to argue.
His massive hand clamped around your upper arm like a steel band and he hauled you away from the door. You stumbled after him on aching, bleeding feet as he dragged you through the back of the shop. The scent of raw meat grew thicker near the cold room, but he turned toward a narrow wooden staircase tucked behind a heavy curtain.
“Move,” he growled when you hesitated at the bottom step.
You climbed. Each step sent fresh pain shooting up your legs, but you bit your lip and kept going. Toji followed close behind, his heavy boots loud on the old wood, one hand still gripping your arm so you couldn’t possibly run.
The stairs opened directly into a small, sparse apartment above the butcher shop. It was surprisingly clean for a man who spent his days covered in blood. A single main room served as both living space and kitchen — a sturdy wooden table with two chairs, a stone hearth with dying embers, a few shelves holding jars of preserved meat and dried herbs. A narrow hallway led to what you assumed were the bedroom and washroom. Moonlight spilled through two small windows, painting everything in cool silver.
Toji kicked the door at the top of the stairs shut behind him and finally released your arm. You immediately backed up a few steps, the torn hem of your wedding dress whispering across the floorboards.
He folded his thick arms across his broad chest, blood-stained apron still tied around his waist, and stared at you like you were a problem he was deciding how to carve up.
“Start talking,” he said flatly. “And don’t leave anything out. Who the fuck are you, why is a lord hunting you, and why the hell did you decide to drag me into your mess?”
You swallowed hard, still catching your breath. You introduced yourself by name, then continued quietly, “My family is in debt. Deep debt. They sold me to Lord Kato yesterday to settle it. He’s a cruel man. Three wives before me, and none of them lasted long. He told my father in front of me what he plans to do on our wedding night.” Your voice cracked. “I couldn’t stay. I ran in the only thing of value I had — this dress. I thought maybe I could sell it in a village for enough coin to disappear.”
Toji’s green eyes flicked over the ruined white lace clinging to your body — torn, muddy, bloodstained. He let out a low, humorless snort.
“And instead of keeping your mouth shut and hiding somewhere quiet, you decided the best plan was to announce to the biggest gossips in the village that you’re married to the local butcher.” He took one heavy step closer. “You realize what you’ve done?”
You nodded quickly. “They won’t hand me over now. Not if they think I belong to you. The whole village will protect the butcher’s wife… right?”
Toji laughed — a short, dark sound that sent a shiver down your spine.
“Protect?” He shook his head. “You just painted a target on my back too, princess. Lord Kato isn’t the type to let his property run off. When he comes looking — and he will come looking — he’s going to hear all about how the village butcher stole his bride.”
He dragged a large hand down his face, clearly pissed off, but there was something else in his expression now. A glint of dark amusement. Maybe even reluctant interest.
“You’re either the bravest idiot I’ve ever met… or the most cunning.”
You stood there trembling in the middle of his living room, arms wrapped around yourself. The torn bodice of the dress had slipped dangerously low on your shoulders, but you didn’t dare fix it.
“I’ll leave at first light,” you promised again, softer this time. “I won’t cause you any more trouble. Just… let me stay until sunrise. Please, Toji.”
Hearing his name from your lips made his eyes narrow.
“Don’t,” he warned. “You don’t get to say my name like we’re actually married.”
He turned away from you and walked over to the small hearth. He crouched down, added two fresh logs, and stoked the fire back to life with practiced efficiency. The warm orange glow slowly filled the room, chasing away some of the chill.
When he stood again, he looked even bigger in the firelight — shoulders impossibly wide, muscles shifting under the thin tank top, the scar at his mouth pulling as he scowled.
“Sit,” he ordered, nodding toward one of the wooden chairs at the table. “You’re bleeding all over my floor.”
You obeyed, lowering yourself carefully onto the chair. The moment you sat, exhaustion crashed into you like a wave. Your feet throbbed. Every cut and bruise ached. You were filthy, terrified, and running on nothing but fear and adrenaline.
Toji disappeared down the short hallway and returned a minute later with a metal basin, a clean rag, and a small jar. He set the basin on the floor in front of you, then dropped into the chair across the table, watching you with those sharp green eyes.
“Clean your feet,” he said gruffly. “I’m not carrying you around if they get infected.”
You dipped the rag into the water and started wiping away the mud and blood as carefully as you could. The silence stretched between you, thick and heavy. The fire crackled. Outside, the village was completely quiet.
Toji leaned back in his chair, arms crossed again, studying you like livestock.
“You really think this marriage story is gonna hold?” he asked after a long minute. “Village folk love to talk. By noon tomorrow everyone’s gonna want to meet my mysterious bride.”
You kept your eyes on your injured feet. “I just need a day or two to figure out where to go next. I can… I can work. I’m not useless. I can clean, cook, help in the shop—”
Toji’s low chuckle cut you off.
“You? Working in a butcher shop?” He shook his head. “You look like you’ve never touched anything bloodier than a sewing needle in your life.”
He watched you struggle to clean a deep cut on your sole for another moment before he made an irritated sound and leaned forward.
“Give me your foot.”
You hesitated.
“Now,” he growled.
You slowly lifted your leg. Toji took your ankle in his huge, rough hand — surprisingly gentle despite the calluses and dried blood on his fingers. He pulled the basin closer and started cleaning your wounds himself with careful, efficient movements.
The contrast was jarring: this terrifying mountain of a man, covered in someone else’s blood, carefully tending to your torn-up feet.
“You’re staying the night,” he said quietly, not looking up from his work. “Not because I’m kind. Because if I throw you out now, those three hens will ask questions I don’t feel like answering. Tomorrow we figure out what the hell to do with you.”
He finished cleaning one foot and moved to the other. His thumb brushed accidentally over a sensitive spot and you hissed softly.
Toji’s eyes flicked up to your face for a second, something unreadable flashing across his expression.
“After that…” He set your foot down carefully and leaned back again, voice dropping into a low, dangerous rumble. “You’re gonna start paying off the trouble you just caused me.”
He didn’t explain what that meant.
But the way he was looking at you — slow, heavy, possessive — made heat crawl up your neck despite the fear.
Toji held your gaze for another long moment before he finally released your ankle. He pushed the basin aside with his boot and stood, towering over you once more. The firelight danced across the hard lines of his face, catching on the jagged scar at the corner of his mouth.
“Stay there,” he muttered.
He disappeared into the back room again. You heard the sound of water splashing, then heavy footsteps returning. When he came back, he carried a thick wool blanket and a tin cup. He set the cup in front of you — it was filled with cool water — and dropped the blanket over the back of your chair.
“Drink,” he ordered. “You look half-dead.”
You obeyed without thinking, your hands still trembling slightly as you lifted the cup. The water was clean and cold, soothing your raw throat. Toji watched you drink the entire thing, arms crossed, before he spoke again.
You lowered the empty cup. “Thank you… for the water. And for cleaning my feet.”
He made a dismissive sound in the back of his throat, like thanks made him uncomfortable. Then he leaned against the edge of the table, close enough that his thigh nearly brushed your arm.
“You really thought this through?” he asked, voice low. “Running in a fancy white dress, announcing yourself as my wife in front of the nosiest women in the village… What’s your actual plan once the sun comes up?”
You stared down at your bandaged feet. “I didn’t have time for a real plan. I just knew I couldn’t let them marry me off to that monster. I thought if I could get far enough away, maybe sell the dress, I could buy passage on a cart or a boat. Start over somewhere no one knows me.”
Toji exhaled through his nose, almost a laugh but darker. “Selling that dress would’ve gotten you robbed or worse before you even reached the next town. You’re lucky you only made it as far as my doorstep.”
Silence settled again, broken only by the crackling fire. You pulled the blanket tighter around your shoulders, suddenly aware of how exposed you still were — the torn bodice of the wedding gown hanging loosely, the lace ripped in several places, dirt and dried blood streaked across your skin.
Toji’s eyes drifted over you again, slower this time. They lingered on the curve of your shoulder where the dress had slipped, the rise and fall of your chest, the way the white fabric clung to your thighs.
“You look ridiculous,” he said bluntly. “Like a bride who lost a fight with a pack of wolves.”
Despite everything, a tiny, tired smile tugged at your lips. “That’s… not far from the truth.”
He pushed off the table and walked over to a wooden chest in the corner. He rummaged inside and pulled out a large, worn linen shirt — clearly one of his. It looked big enough to reach your knees.
“Here.” He tossed it to you. “Can’t have you walking around my place looking like that. Change. There’s a washroom down the hall if you want to clean up more.”
You clutched the shirt to your chest. “Thank you.”
“Don’t thank me yet,” he warned. “You’re still in my house. Still wearing that damn dress that’s going to bring trouble to my door.”
He turned his back to give you a moment of privacy, busying himself by adding another log to the fire. You quickly stood, wincing at the pain in your feet, and slipped behind the partial wall that separated the washroom. You peeled off the ruined wedding dress with shaking hands, letting the torn fabric pool at your feet. The cool air kissed your bare skin as you pulled Toji’s shirt over your head. It smelled faintly of smoke, soap, and something unmistakably masculine. The hem fell halfway down your thighs.
When you stepped back out, Toji turned around. His eyes darkened the moment they landed on you in his shirt.
“Better,” he grunted, though his voice sounded rougher than before.
He gestured toward the narrow hallway. “Bedroom’s at the end. Only one bed. You take it tonight. I’ll sleep out here.”
You hesitated. “I can sleep on the floor. I’ve already caused enough—”
“Don’t argue,” he cut you off. “My house, my rules. Get some sleep. You look like you’re about to fall over.”
You walked carefully down the short hall, every step still painful. The bedroom was small and simple like the rest of the apartment — a large wooden bed with thick blankets, a single chair, and a window overlooking the dark village street. You climbed onto the bed, pulling the covers over yourself.
Toji appeared in the doorway a minute later, leaning one broad shoulder against the frame. The firelight from the main room silhouetted his massive form.
“Door stays open,” he said. “And don’t even think about sneaking out in the middle of the night. If I have to chase you down, I won’t be in a generous mood.”
You nodded, sinking deeper into the mattress. Exhaustion was pulling at you hard now, but sleep still felt far away with him standing there watching you.
“Toji…” you whispered.
He raised an eyebrow.
“Thank you,” you said again, softer. “For not throwing me out.”
His expression didn’t soften, but something in his eyes shifted. He pushed off the doorframe and turned to leave.
“Get some sleep, runaway,” he muttered. “You’re gonna need it.”
He left the door wide open. You heard him moving around in the main room — the creak of the wooden chair as he sat down, the quiet clink of a cup. The fire continued to crackle.
You lay there in his bed, wrapped in his shirt, the weight of everything that had happened pressing down on you. The fake marriage. The village women who now believed you were his wife. Lord Kato still out there searching. And the terrifying, strangely careful butcher who had just tended to your wounds and given you his bed.
Sleep finally claimed you, but even in your dreams you could still feel the heavy weight of Toji’s gaze on your skin.
You woke to the sound of knocking.
It was loud, cheerful, and relentless — three sharp raps on the shop door downstairs, followed by muffled feminine voices. Sunlight streamed through the small bedroom window, warm and golden. For a brief, disoriented moment you forgot where you were. Then everything crashed back: the forest, the blood-stained butcher, the lie you’d told.
You sat up quickly. Toji’s oversized linen shirt had ridden up your thighs during the night. Your feet still ached, but the bandages held firm. You heard heavy footsteps downstairs, then Toji’s low, irritated growl as he opened the door.
“Morning!” a cheerful woman’s voice called up. “We brought breakfast for the newlyweds! Fresh bread, stew, and honey cakes. Don’t tell us you’re still in bed on your wedding night!”
Another woman giggled. “We’re dying to meet your bride properly!”
Toji’s heavy footsteps came up the stairs. He appeared in the bedroom doorway, looking imposing in the daylight. He wore a clean black tunic stretched tight across his chest, the same blood-stained apron tied around his waist. His hair was messy, jaw set with clear annoyance.
“They’re here,” he said flatly. “Three of them. Loaded with food.”
Your stomach twisted. “What do we do?”
Toji’s green eyes dragged over you — bare legs, wearing nothing but his shirt. Something dark flickered across his face.
“You sold us as newlyweds,” he reminded you, voice low. “So act like it. Smile. Look happy. Keep the story straight.”
He stepped closer and tugged the hem of the shirt down your thighs possessively. “There’s a spare skirt and blouse in the chest. Change. Quickly.”
You moved fast, wincing at the pain in your feet. Toji turned his back while you dressed in the simple dark green skirt and cream blouse. They were a little loose but far more practical.
When you were ready, Toji gave you one last look and jerked his head toward the stairs. “Downstairs. Remember — you’re my wife.”
The three women had already let themselves into the front of the shop. They had laid out a generous spread on the wooden counter: warm bread, a pot of hearty stew, honey cakes, and spiced cider. The moment you appeared behind Toji, their faces lit up.
“Oh, here she is!” the tallest, round-faced woman exclaimed. “Look at you, dear. Much better than last night. I’m Mrs. Sato, by the way! My husband runs the bakery just down the street.” She gestured to the other two. “This is Mira and little Hana.”
The younger women smiled warmly.
“You clean up beautifully,” Mira said. “You already have that newlywed glow!”
You felt heat rise in your cheeks. Toji’s large hand settled heavily on your lower back, warm and claiming.
“Thank you,” you said, offering a shy smile. “You’re all so kind. I’m sorry for how I looked last night… the journey through the forest was harder than I expected.”
Mrs. Sato waved her hand. “No apologies needed! Running away from a bad match to be with the man you love? It’s the most romantic thing to happen in this village in years.”
Toji grunted, his thumb slowly stroking your spine. “Wasn’t exactly planned,” he said dryly. “But here we are.”
The women laughed and chattered while you helped serve the food. They asked how you met, how long you’d been secretly courting, and whether you planned to stay in the village. You answered carefully, sticking close to the story. Toji added short, gruff confirmations, never moving far from your side.
Just as the women were gathering their empty baskets to leave, a loud, sharp knock echoed through the shop.
Knock. Knock. Knock.
This knock was different — heavy, authoritative, and impatient.
Toji’s hand tensed on your back. His expression hardened instantly.
Mrs. Sato glanced toward the door, curious. “Are you expecting more visitors already?”
Toji didn’t answer. He moved toward the door, positioning himself so his broad frame blocked most of the view inside. You stayed behind the counter, heart suddenly hammering.
He opened the door.
Two armed men stood outside, wearing the dark crimson and gold colors of Lord Kato’s household. Swords hung at their hips. Their eyes scanned the interior of the shop coldly.
“We’re searching for a missing girl,” the taller guard announced. “Runaway bride. White wedding dress. She fled the lord’s estate last night. Anyone matching that description come through here?”
The air in the shop grew thick. Mrs. Sato and the other two women turned to look at you with wide eyes, then back at the guards.
Toji’s voice was calm but ice-cold. “No one like that here.”
The second guard tried to peer past him. “Mind if we take a look inside?”
You stayed frozen behind the counter, heart hammering. Before Toji could answer, Mrs. Sato stepped forward with the confidence of someone who had gossiped through every scandal the village had ever seen.
“Oh, for heaven’s sake,” she said brightly, waving a hand. “You boys are wasting your time. That right there is Toji Fushiguro — our butcher for the last fifteen years. We’ve known him since he was a surly teenager dragging whole pigs through these doors!”
Mira immediately jumped in, nodding eagerly. “And he has a wife! They’ve been happily married for two whole years now. We were at their quiet little wedding ourselves. Very romantic.”
Hana clapped her hands together dramatically. “Yes! They’re the sweetest couple. Toji can barely keep his hands off her even when he’s covered in blood. Always canoodling right outside the shop like they’re still courting!”
Mrs. Sato leaned toward the guards like she was sharing precious village lore. “Honestly, if some runaway noble girl in a fancy white dress had shown up here last night, the entire village would’ve known before sunrise. This dear girl has been living above the shop for ages. Helps Toji with the accounts and everything. She’s no fugitive — she’s the butcher’s wife, plain and simple.”
Toji finally moved. He reached back with one thick arm, caught you around the waist, and pulled you forward against his side in one smooth motion. His grip was firm and possessive, his large hand resting heavily on your hip as he held you close.
The guards blinked, clearly thrown by the united front.
The taller one squinted at you. “But the missing girl was wearing a white wedding dress…”
Mira let out a theatrical laugh. “Plenty of white dresses in the world! Our girl here has been wearing plain village clothes for years. Look at her — does she look like some pampered noble who ran away last night?”
Hana nodded vigorously. “Exactly! She even makes the best meat pies in the village. We’d know if she was some lord’s bride.”
The two guards exchanged uncertain glances. Between Toji’s intimidating size, the three women’s absolute certainty, and the perfectly domestic scene in front of them, their suspicion melted away.
The shorter guard cleared his throat. “Seems like a false lead, then. Sorry to bother you folks.”
The taller one gave a reluctant nod. “Apologies for the intrusion. If you hear anything about a girl in a white dress, send word to the lord’s estate.”
Mrs. Sato smiled sweetly. “Of course, dears. Safe travels back!”
The guards turned and walked off down the street without another word.
The moment the door clicked shut, Mrs. Sato burst into laughter and fanned herself. “Well! That was more excitement than we usually get before noon.”
Mira winked at you. “Don’t worry, love. We’ve got your back. No one’s taking the butcher’s wife anywhere.”
Hana grinned. “We’ll spread the word. The whole village will keep an eye out.”
Toji gave them a short, gruff nod. “Appreciate it.”
The women gathered their empty baskets, still buzzing, and finally left with more promises of future visits and gifts.
The shop fell quiet again, morning sunlight streaming peacefully through the windows.
Toji slowly turned to face you. His hand was still on your waist, heavy and warm. For a long moment he just studied you, green eyes dark and intense.
“You’re damn lucky those three are the nosiest women alive,” he muttered. “They just sold that story better than we could’ve.”
He stepped closer, backing you gently against the counter. His voice dropped low, rough around the edges.
“So the whole village’s got our back it seems.” His thumb brushed slowly over your hip bone. “This lie keeps growing. Whole village thinks you’re mine now.”
His gaze dropped to your lips for a heartbeat before returning to your eyes.
“So tell me, runaway… how long do you plan on playing my wife? And how far are you willing to go to make everyone believe it?”
You swallowed, suddenly very aware of how close he was. The counter pressed into your lower back, and Toji’s broad body blocked out most of the morning light. His hand remained heavy on your hip, thumb still tracing slow, absent circles that made your skin prickle beneath the thin blouse.
“I… I don’t know,” you admitted, voice barely above a whisper. “I didn’t think past getting away from Lord Kato. I just wanted to survive the night.”
Toji hummed, low and thoughtful. He tilted his head slightly, studying your face like he was trying to decide whether you were worth the growing headache you’d brought him.
“Surviving isn’t enough anymore,” he said. “Not after this morning. Those guards will report back. When they don’t find you, Kato will send more men. Maybe even come himself.” His fingers flexed on your hip. “And the whole village now believes you’re mine. If the story breaks, they’ll look like fools. They won’t forgive that easily.”
You met his eyes, heart thudding. “Then what do we do?”
For a moment he didn’t answer. Instead he reached up with his free hand and brushed a stray lock of hair behind your ear, the gesture surprisingly gentle for someone so rough-looking. His calloused fingertips lingered against the side of your neck.
“We lean into it,” he finally said. “Hard. You stay. You act like my wife in public — every smile, every touch, every time someone knocks on that door. No slipping up. No running off when it gets hard.”
He leaned in a fraction closer, voice dropping. “And in private… we figure out the real terms.”
Your breath caught. “Real terms?”
Toji’s scarred mouth curved into a slow, dangerous half-smirk. “You cost me peace and quiet, runaway. You cost me the simple life where nobody bothered me. So you’re going to start paying me back.”
He didn’t elaborate, but the heat in his green eyes made it very clear what kind of payment he had in mind.
“I won’t force you,” he continued, surprising you. “Door’s right there. You can still walk out and take your chances on the road. But if you stay…” His hand slid from your hip to the small of your back, pulling you flush against him. “Then you’re mine until this blows over. Or longer. Depends how good you are at pretending.”
The solid wall of his chest pressed against you, warm and unyielding. You could smell faint traces of smoke, soap, and the metallic hint of blood that never quite left him. Your hands came up instinctively, resting lightly on his abdomen.
“I’m not pretending right now,” you whispered.
Toji’s eyes darkened. For a second you thought he might kiss you — really kiss you — but he held back, letting the tension stretch until it was almost unbearable.
“Good,” he murmured. “Because the village expects a devoted wife. They’ll be watching. Bringing food. Asking questions. Asking when we’re going to have little butchers running around.”
Your face burned. Toji chuckled, deep and rough, clearly enjoying your reaction.
“Don’t worry. We’ll give them a good show.” He finally stepped back, giving you room to breathe again, though his hand lingered on your waist a moment longer. “For now, help me open the shop. Act natural. If anyone else comes asking, you know what to say.”
You nodded, still flushed.
As he turned to start his morning routine — sharpening knives, hanging fresh cuts, preparing the counter — you moved to help where you could. Every time you passed near him, his hand would brush your lower back or arm — small, deliberate touches that looked casual to anyone watching but felt heavy with intent.
By midday, a few villagers had already stopped by “just to say hello” and congratulate the newlyweds. Each time, Toji played his part perfectly — gruff, possessive, pulling you close with an ease that made the performance feel dangerously real.
An older man dropped off a small basket of eggs and clapped Toji on the back. “Didn’t think I’d live to see you settle down, Fushiguro. She must be something special.”
Toji’s arm tightened around your waist as he gave a low grunt. “She is.” His fingers flexed against your side, warm through the fabric of your blouse. You leaned into him instinctively, playing along, and felt the solid wall of muscle beneath his tunic.
A young mother came next with her toddler in tow, offering a jar of preserved berries. She smiled at you brightly. “You two look so good together. How long have you been hiding her from us, Toji?”
“Long enough,” he answered, voice rough but carrying a hint of smugness. He pressed a slow, deliberate kiss to the top of your head right in front of her. The casual affection made your stomach flutter.
By early afternoon the steady trickle of visitors finally slowed. Toji flipped the shop sign to “Closed for the Day” and locked the front door with a heavy click. The sudden silence felt louder than all the chatter combined.
You let out a shaky breath and leaned against the counter, arms wrapped around yourself. “They really believe it. All of them.”
Toji wiped his hands on a rag, watching you from across the room. He tossed the rag aside and stalked toward you, slow and deliberate.
Gods, he was huge.
Up close like this, in the quiet afternoon light, the sheer size of him hit you all over again. Broad shoulders that seemed to stretch the fabric of his black tunic, thick arms corded with muscle from years of hauling heavy carcasses, a powerful chest that rose and fell steadily. The jagged scar at the corner of his mouth only made him more striking — dangerous, rough, and strangely, undeniably attractive. Those sharp green eyes pinned you in place, intimidating as ever, yet there was something magnetic about the way he moved. Like a predator who knew exactly how much power he held and chose not to use it… yet.
He stopped right in front of you, so close you had to tilt your head back to meet his gaze. One large hand came up to cup your chin, thumb brushing along your jaw.
“You’re handling this better than I expected,” he said quietly.
You felt your pulse quicken under his touch. “I feel like I’m going to faint every time someone looks at me.”
His thumb stroked slowly over your skin. “You’re not fainting. You’re standing here in my shop, wearing my clothes, letting me touch you like you belong to me.” His voice dropped lower. “Looks pretty convincing from where I’m standing.”
The air between you thickened. You could smell the faint mix of blood, woodsmoke, and clean sweat that clung to him. His sheer physical presence was overwhelming — the heat rolling off his massive frame, the way his broad chest nearly brushed against you with every breath.
“What happens when the guards come back?” you asked, voice softer than you intended.
Toji’s expression darkened. “Then we give them the same show. Or I handle it my way.” His hand slid from your chin to the back of your neck, fingers threading gently into your hair. “But right now? Shop’s closed. No more visitors. No more pretending for a little while.”
He didn’t move away. Neither did you.
Instead, you found yourself leaning into his touch, exhaustion and adrenaline twisting into something warmer, heavier. Your hands rose to rest on his chest, feeling the hard, solid muscle beneath your palms.
“Toji…” you started, unsure what you even wanted to say.
He cut you off with a low sound. “Careful. You keep saying my name like that and I might start believing this marriage is real myself.”
His grip on the back of your neck tightened just slightly — not painful, but enough to remind you how easily he could pull you in. His green eyes dropped to your mouth, lingering this time, dark with hunger.
“You still haven’t answered my question from earlier,” he murmured. “How far are you willing to go, runaway?”
The shop was quiet except for the distant sounds of village life outside. No one was watching now. It was just the two of you, the weight of the lie, and the growing, electric heat between you.
You wet your lips, heart racing.
“I’m still here,” you whispered. “That should tell you something.”
Toji’s scarred mouth curved into a slow, hungry smirk.
“Yeah,” he said, voice rough. “It does.”
The silence that followed felt heavier than before. The shop was quiet now, the afternoon light cutting sharp lines across the wooden floor and the rows of knives hanging on the wall. Toji didn’t step back. He stayed right there, towering over you, one hand still gripping the back of your neck while the other rested heavy on your hip.
He really was massive up close.
Broad shoulders that strained his tunic, thick arms veined and scarred from years of brutal work, a chest so solid it looked like it could take a hit from a horse and keep going. The scar at the corner of his mouth gave his face a permanent edge, dangerous and rough. Yet there was something about the way he looked at you — intense green eyes, half-lidded, focused — that made your stomach tighten in a way that had nothing to do with fear.
Toji noticed you staring.
“Eyes up here,” he muttered, but the corner of his scarred mouth twitched like he was amused. “You keep looking at me like that and I’m gonna get the wrong idea.”
You swallowed. “I’ve never been this close to someone like you.”
“Someone like me,” he repeated, almost mocking. He leaned in a little more, voice dropping low. “Big, ugly butcher covered in blood half the time?”
You shook your head. “Not ugly.”
The words slipped out before you could stop them. Toji paused, eyes narrowing slightly like he was trying to decide if you were lying. Then he let out a short, rough breath.
His thumb brushed slowly along the side of your neck, calloused and warm. You could feel the strength in his hand, how easily he could tighten his grip if he wanted. The contrast between that raw power and the way he was holding back made the air feel thick.
“You’re playing a dangerous game,” he said quietly. His gaze dropped to your mouth for a second before flicking back up. “I’m not a patient man, runaway. And I’m definitely not a gentle one.”
Your hands were still pressed against his chest. Under your palms, his muscles were firm and warm, shifting slightly with each breath. You didn’t pull away.
“I know,” you whispered.
Toji’s jaw flexed. For a moment his control looked strained — shoulders tense, fingers pressing harder into your skin. He leaned down until his face was inches from yours, close enough that you could feel the heat of his breath.
“If you stay,” he said, voice low and deliberate, “this stops being fake whenever I say it does. Behind this door, you won’t be playing a role. You’ll be in my bed. Under me. Taking what I give you.” His thumb dragged across your lower lip. “And you’ll moan my name like you mean it.”
Your breath caught.
Toji held your gaze for another long second, then slowly released you. He stepped back, rolling one shoulder like he needed to shake off the tension. The sudden space felt colder than it should have.
“But not right now,” he added gruffly. “You’re still half-dead on your feet and I’ve got work to finish before the meat spoils.”
He turned toward the back counter and picked up his sharpening stone. The steady scrape of metal filled the shop as he worked on one of his larger knives. You stayed by the front counter, watching the way his back and arms moved — powerful, efficient, every motion reminding you exactly what kind of man had just offered to claim you.
Every so often he glanced over at you, eyes dark and unreadable.
The silence between you wasn’t uncomfortable. It was charged. Heavy with everything neither of you was saying out loud.
After a while, Toji spoke without looking up from his work.
“You hungry?”
You blinked, surprised by the sudden normal question. “A little.”
He jerked his head toward the stairs. “There’s leftover stew from this morning in the pot upstairs. Heat it up if you want. Or stay down here. Doesn’t matter to me.”
You hesitated, then moved to help him organize the counter instead. Every time you passed close by, his arm would brush yours — deliberate, not accidental. Small reminders that the tension hadn’t gone anywhere.
The afternoon stretched on like that. Quiet work. Occasional glances. The weight of his presence never really leaving you.
By the time the sun had fully set and the village outside grew dark and quiet, the tension between you had only thickened. Lanterns flickered in distant windows, but inside the butcher shop everything felt hushed and intimate.
Toji locked the front door with a heavy click and killed most of the lanterns, leaving only a single low one burning near the stairs. The warm glow followed you both upstairs, casting long shadows across the wooden beams.
He grabbed a spare blanket from the chest and headed for the worn couch against the far wall without a word. The piece of furniture looked comically small beneath his massive frame as he tossed the blanket over it. Then he reached back and pulled his tunic off in one smooth motion.
Your mouth went dry.
Firelight danced over his bare back and shoulders — thick slabs of muscle shifting under scarred skin, powerful arms flexing as he folded the tunic. His waist tapered into a sharp V, disappearing beneath the waistband of his trousers. Every inch of him looked hard, battle-worn, and undeniably masculine. The sight made something low in your belly tighten.
You stood frozen in the bedroom doorway.
“Wait,” you said, voice barely louder than a whisper.
Toji glanced over his shoulder, one dark brow raised. The movement made the muscles in his chest and abdomen flex visibly.
You twisted your fingers in the hem of your blouse, cheeks already burning.
“You don’t have to sleep on the couch,” you offered shyly. “The bed is… big enough for both of us. I don’t mind sharing.”
The silence that followed was deafening.
Toji slowly turned around to face you fully. The low firelight carved deep shadows across his torso, highlighting every ridge of muscle, every old scar, the faint trail of dark hair disappearing into his trousers. He looked even bigger like this — raw power barely contained, green eyes locked on you with dangerous intensity.
He took one slow step closer, then another.
“Careful what you offer me, runaway,” he said, voice low and gravel-rough. “I’m not the type to hold back.”
You swallowed hard but didn’t back away.
“I just… it doesn’t feel right making you sleep on that tiny thing after everything,” you murmured, eyes flicking involuntarily down his bare chest before snapping back up. “We’re supposed to be married. At least to everyone else.”
Toji stopped just inches away from you. The heat radiating from his body wrapped around you like a cloak. You could smell him — smoke, clean sweat, and that faint metallic trace that always clung to his skin. His sheer size made you feel small and fragile in comparison.
He tilted his head, studying you like prey.
“You offering to share my bed isn’t about being polite,” he murmured. “If I get in that bed with you, I’m not staying on my side. I’ll pull you against me. I’ll have my hands all over that soft little body. And if you keep looking at me with those wide, needy eyes…”
He leaned down, lips brushing the shell of your ear as he spoke.
“I won’t be able to stop myself from spreading those pretty thighs and finding out exactly how wet pretending to be my wife has made you.”
Your breath hitched sharply. Heat flooded your face and pooled between your legs. You pressed your thighs together instinctively, but Toji noticed — of course he did. A dark, satisfied sound rumbled in his chest.
He pulled back just enough to look at your face again, eyes heavy-lidded and hungry.
“I’m not gentle,” he continued, voice dropping even lower. “I fuck hard. I take what I want. And right now, I want to ruin that shy little runaway who dropped to her knees at my door and turned my whole life upside down.”
His hand came up, knuckles lightly dragging down the side of your neck, over your racing pulse, then lower until they brushed the neckline of your blouse. Not quite touching skin, but close enough to make you shiver.
“So think very carefully before you offer again,” he warned. “Because once I’m in that bed, the only pretending left will be how long you can keep quiet while I’m buried inside you.”
The air felt too thick to breathe.
Toji’s scarred mouth curved into a slow, predatory smirk as he watched the effect his words had on you.
“Still want to share a bed with me… wife?”
Toji’s words hung heavy in the air.
You didn’t answer with words.
You looked up at him, heart hammering so hard you could feel it in your throat, and gave a small, shy nod.
That was all it took.
Toji’s control snapped. A low, almost feral sound rumbled in his chest as he moved. In one fluid motion he scooped you up, one thick arm under your knees and the other around your back, lifting you like you weighed nothing. Your breath caught at how easily he carried you — his biceps flexing hard against your body, the heat of his bare chest pressing into your side.
He carried you the few steps to the bed and laid you down on your back with surprising care, but the look in his eyes was anything but gentle. The mattress dipped deeply under his weight as he climbed over you, caging you in completely with his massive frame. His broad shoulders blocked out most of the firelight, leaving you in shadow beneath him.
“You a virgin?” he asked, voice low and rough, green eyes searching yours like he was looking for any hesitation.
You nodded again, cheeks burning with embarrassment.
“Fuck,” he breathed, the word almost reverent. His gaze darkened as it dragged slowly down your body. “Gonna have to take my time with you then. Can’t wreck this tight little virgin cunt on the first thrust.”
He kissed you deeply, tongue claiming your mouth in slow, filthy strokes while his rough hands explored every inch of you. He took his time peeling your clothes off — first tugging your blouse over your head, then sliding your skirt down your legs, and finally hooking his fingers into your soaked panties and dragging them off. When you were completely naked beneath him, he sat back on his heels and just stared, drinking in every inch of your exposed body like a man who’d been starving for weeks.
“So fucking small,” he muttered, almost to himself. His large hands ran up your thighs, thumbs brushing the sensitive skin on the inside, then spread your legs wide open. “Look at this pretty virgin pussy… already glistening and I’ve barely touched you.”
The cool air hit your wet folds and you shivered. Toji’s eyes were locked between your legs, dark and hungry, as if he couldn’t believe what he was seeing.
He lowered himself between your spread thighs like a man on a mission. The first slow, hot drag of his tongue from your entrance all the way up to your clit made your entire body jolt. Toji groaned deeply at your taste, the sound vibrating straight through you.
“Sweet as hell,” he rasped, voice thick with lust. “Could eat this pussy for hours.”
Then he devoured you.
His tongue worked in slow, broad strokes, licking every inch of your soaked folds before focusing on your swollen clit. He sucked the sensitive bud into his hot mouth, flicking it rapidly with the tip of his tongue while two thick fingers teased your entrance, circling and pressing but not pushing in yet. When you started whimpering and rolling your hips, he finally pushed one thick finger inside you — careful, but relentless.
“So goddamn tight,” he growled against your pussy, the vibration making your toes curl. “This little hole is gonna fight my cock the whole way in.”
He curled his finger slowly, searching, until he found that spongy spot that made your back arch. He rubbed it firmly while sucking harder on your clit. The wet, obscene sounds of his mouth and fingers filled the quiet bedroom — slick, filthy, and loud. Your thighs started trembling around his head as pleasure coiled tighter and tighter in your belly.
“Toji— oh gods—”
He didn’t let up. He ate you out like he was starving for it — messy, hungry, and completely focused on pulling every sound out of you. He added a second finger, stretching you open carefully, scissoring them while his tongue flicked fast and firm over your clit. The pressure built unbearably fast.
Your orgasm crashed over you without warning. Your back arched clean off the bed as you came hard on his face with a broken, sobbing cry of his name. Your walls clamped down around his fingers, pulsing wildly.
Toji licked you through every wave, slow and thorough, drawing out every last tremor until you were twitching and oversensitive, whimpering softly. Only then did he pull back. His chin and lips were shiny with your slick. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, eyes dark and satisfied as he looked up at your flushed, panting face.
Then he shoved his trousers down.
His cock sprang free — thick, heavy, veined, and longer than anything you’d ever imagined. The flushed head was already leaking steadily.
“See this?” he said, stroking himself slowly. “This is gonna stretch you wide open, baby. But I’ll make it fit.”
He climbed back over you, pushing your legs up and folding your knees toward your chest. The position left you completely exposed. He rubbed the fat head of his cock up and down your drenched folds, coating himself in your wetness, teasing your clit with every pass.
“Deep breaths,” he warned. “Gonna go slow.”
He pushed in.
The stretch was intense. You gasped sharply, a high-pitched whimper escaping you as just the thick head popped inside. “Ah—! Toji… it’s so big…”
Toji groaned, jaw clenched tight as he fought the urge to slam forward. “Fuck— so tight,” he hissed. “Relax for me, baby. Let me in.”
You whimpered softly, fingers clutching at his shoulders. “It burns… but— ah— don’t stop…”
He worked himself in inch by slow, careful inch. Every time you tensed, he stopped, leaning down to kiss your neck or suck on your tits until you loosened again. Sweat beaded on his forehead from the restraint.
Halfway in, you let out a shaky moan, eyes fluttering. “Oh gods… I can feel you so deep already…”
Toji looked down at the bulge already forming in your lower belly. “Shit… look at that,” he groaned, pressing a big hand over the swell. “My cock’s barely halfway and I can already see it inside you.”
When he finally bottomed out, hips flush against your ass, you felt so full you could barely breathe. A broken whimper left your lips. “T-Toji… you’re all the way in… I feel so full…”
Toji stayed still, buried to the hilt, letting you adjust while he kissed you slow and deep. “Good girl,” he praised, voice strained. “Taking every inch of my cock on your first time. Such a perfect little wife.”
When your whimpers turned into soft, needy moans, he started moving — slow, deep rolls of his hips at first. The wet drag of his thick cock against your walls made you cry out.
“Feel that?” he growled. “Feel how deep I am? Gonna breed this cunt so full tonight.”
“Ah—! Yes… I feel it,” you moaned, voice trembling. “It’s so deep… Toji—!”
His pace gradually picked up. The bed started creaking rhythmically as he fucked you harder, deeper. Your tits bounced with every thrust. You couldn’t stop the desperate sounds spilling from your mouth.
“Gonna fill you up,” he panted. “Pump this tight womb full of my cum until it takes. Want you walking around the village with my kid growing inside you. Everyone’s gonna know exactly who fucked you first.”
The filthy words sent you spiraling. “Please— Toji— I’m gonna—!” You came hard around his cock, walls fluttering and squeezing him like a vice as you screamed his name, “Toji—! Ahh—!”
Toji snarled and fucked you through it, pace turning brutal. The wet slap of skin on skin echoed loudly.
“Fuck— gonna cum,” he groaned. “Gonna breed you— take it all—”
You whimpered and moaned beneath him, voice hoarse, “Cum inside me… please— fill me up—!”
He slammed in deep one final time and came with a long, guttural moan. Thick, hot ropes of cum flooded your pussy, pulse after heavy pulse. There was so much it leaked out around his cock despite how tightly you were stretched around him. Toji kept grinding deep, pushing every drop into your womb, hand pressing down on the bulge in your belly like he wanted to keep it all inside you.
You let out a soft, overwhelmed whimper at the feeling of being so full of him.
He stayed buried inside you for a long moment, chest heaving against yours, both of you slick with sweat.
Then he leaned down, kissed you slow and possessive, and murmured against your lips:
“This cunt belongs to me.”
Toji stayed inside you for a while longer, gently grinding and kissing your neck, before he finally pulled out with a low groan. A thick trickle of his cum leaked from your abused hole onto the sheets. He looked down at the mess with dark satisfaction, then rolled onto his back and pulled you against his chest.
“Rest now,” he said quietly, voice rough but surprisingly gentle as he wrapped a heavy arm around you. “You’ve had a long day, runaway. Close your eyes.”
He pressed one last kiss to the top of your head, his large hand resting possessively on your lower belly.
“Go to sleep.”
-
You woke up to warmth.
A heavy, solid arm was draped across your waist, pinning you to a broad chest. Toji’s body was curled around yours from behind, one thick thigh wedged between your legs. His breathing was slow and deep, but the moment you shifted even slightly, his grip tightened possessively.
The room was still dim, early morning light just beginning to creep through the small window. Your body ached — a deep, satisfying soreness between your thighs, faint bruises on your hips from his fingers, and the unmistakable sticky warmth of his cum still leaking out of you.
You tried to move again, but Toji’s low, sleepy growl stopped you.
“Stay,” he muttered against the back of your neck, voice rough with sleep. His hand slid down to cup your lower belly, pressing lightly. “Not done holding you yet.”
Heat rushed to your face. You stayed still, letting him pull you tighter against him. His cock — already half-hard again — rested heavy against your ass.
After a few quiet minutes, Toji sighed and finally loosened his grip. He rolled you onto your back so he could look down at you. His hair was messy, eyes still heavy-lidded, but the smirk on his scarred mouth was fully awake.
“Morning,” he said, voice gravelly. His hand stayed on your stomach, thumb stroking slow circles. “How’re you feeling?”
You shifted, wincing a little at the soreness. “Full… and sore,” you admitted softly.
Toji’s smirk widened into something darker, more satisfied. He leaned down and kissed you — slow and lazy at first, then deeper, tongue sliding against yours. When he pulled back, he dragged his hand lower, fingers brushing through the mess between your thighs.
“Still leaking my cum,” he murmured, almost proud. “Good.”
He pushed two thick fingers back inside you, slow and careful, fucking his dried cum deeper. You whimpered, hips twitching.
“Toji—”
“Shh,” he soothed, kissing your temple. “Not fucking you again right now. You’re too sore.” He kept his fingers inside you anyway, lazy and possessive. “Just keeping you full.”
You stayed like that for a while — his fingers buried inside you, his mouth brushing lazy kisses along your neck and shoulder. The morning was quiet except for the occasional creak of the bed and your soft sounds.
Eventually he pulled his fingers out, brought them to his mouth, and licked them clean while watching your face.
“Breakfast,” he said simply. “Then we open the shop.”
He got up first, completely naked and shameless. You couldn’t stop yourself from staring at the powerful lines of his back, the flex of his ass and thighs as he moved. He caught you looking and chuckled.
“Keep staring like that and I will bend you over the table downstairs,” he warned.
You quickly looked away, cheeks burning.
He tossed you one of his clean shirts and a fresh skirt. While you dressed, he pulled on his usual trousers and tank top, tying his blood-stained apron around his waist.
Before you left the bedroom, he caught your wrist and pulled you close one more time. His hand cupped your jaw, thumb brushing your bottom lip.
“Last night wasn’t pretend,” he said quietly, eyes serious. “Not for me. You’re mine. Understand?”
You swallowed and whispered, “I understand.”
He kissed you again — hard, claiming — then rested his forehead against yours for a second.
“Good.”
He led you downstairs, his hand firm on your lower back the entire way.
The village was waking up outside. And for the first time since you’d run away, you didn’t feel like running anymore.
Toji unlocked the front door and flipped the sign while you tied on a clean apron. The morning air carried the smell of fresh bread from Mrs. Sato’s bakery and the distant clang of the blacksmith’s hammer. A few early customers began drifting toward the shop.
The first hour passed in a surprisingly calm rhythm. You helped weigh portions, wrap cuts of meat in clean paper, and hand them over with a shy smile. Toji stayed close the whole time — sometimes reaching past you for a knife, sometimes resting a hand on your waist as he moved behind you. Every touch felt deliberate, like he was marking his territory even when no one was watching.
Then the bell above the door rang again.
A tall, sun-tanned man with kind eyes and an easy, friendly smile stepped inside. He looked to be in his late twenties, with the strong build of someone who spent his days working the fields. He greeted Toji with a familiar nod.
“Morning, Fushiguro. The usual shoulder cut, please.” His gaze shifted to you behind the counter and softened with genuine interest. “You must be the new wife everyone’s been talking about. I’m Haru. I run the big farm past the mill.”
You returned his smile politely. “Nice to meet you, Haru.”
He watched as you carefully wrapped his order, your hands still a little clumsy with the butcher paper. “It’s good to see a new face around here,” he said warmly. “You seem really kind. Gentle. The kind of person who makes a place feel brighter just by being in it.” He rubbed the back of his neck, almost shyly. “If you ever need anything — extra vegetables from the farm, help carrying something heavy, or just someone to talk to when things get quiet — my door’s always open. Wouldn’t want you feeling lonely so soon after moving in.”
You tilted your head, completely oblivious to any hidden meaning, and gave him a grateful smile. “That’s very kind of you. Thank you. I’ll keep that in mind.”
Before you could say anything else, the air behind you changed.
Toji’s large hand settled heavily on your hip, fingers digging in with clear possession as he pulled you back firmly against his chest. His other arm slid around your waist, locking you in place.
“She won’t be needing anything,” Toji said, his voice low and dangerously even. “I take care of my wife.”
Haru blinked, the friendly smile faltering as he finally registered the tension rolling off the butcher. “Of course. I was just… being neighborly.”
Toji’s grip on your hip tightened. “Neighborly is saying hello. The rest sounded like something else.”
The silence that followed was thick and uncomfortable. Haru swallowed hard, quickly paid for his meat, and muttered a polite goodbye before leaving without another word. The door swung shut behind him with a soft jingle.
The second he was gone, Toji spun you around and backed you against the counter. His green eyes were dark, jaw clenched tight with barely-contained jealousy. One big hand came up to cup your jaw, thumb pressing lightly against your bottom lip.
“You really didn’t notice?” he muttered, voice rough.
You shook your head, genuinely confused. “He was just being nice…”
Toji let out a short, irritated breath and leaned in closer, forehead almost touching yours. “He wasn’t just being nice. He was testing the waters. Seeing if my wife might be open to something else. Offering you a soft place to land if you ever got tired of me.”
His other hand slid under your skirt, fingers brushing between your thighs and finding you still slick from the night before. You gasped softly as he pushed two thick fingers inside you without warning, curling them slowly.
“Toji—”
“Mine,” he growled quietly against your ear, pumping his fingers in a lazy rhythm. “This pussy is mine. You are mine. I don’t want you smiling so sweetly at other men. Understand?”
You whimpered, clutching his shoulders as pleasure sparked through your still-sensitive body. “I understand…”
He kissed you then — hard, possessive, and hungry — while his fingers continued their slow, deliberate strokes. When he finally pulled back, his eyes were still dark with jealousy.
“Next time someone talks to you like that,” he said, voice low, “you let me handle it.”
He reluctantly withdrew his fingers, straightened your skirt, and stepped back like nothing had happened. But the tension in his shoulders and the dark look in his eyes remained.
“Back to work,” he said gruffly, still clearly worked up.
You nodded, legs shaky, heart racing, and turned back to the counter.
The rest of the morning passed with Toji staying even closer than before — a constant, heavy, possessive presence at your side. Every time another customer entered, his hand found your waist or lower back, silently reminding everyone (and you) exactly who you belonged to.
The rest of the morning dragged on with the same heavy tension.
Every time a male customer stepped through the door, Toji’s demeanor shifted. His hand would find your waist, your hip, or the small of your back — a silent, unmistakable claim. He answered questions in short, clipped tones and watched the men with sharp, warning eyes. You tried to focus on wrapping orders and smiling politely, but the constant possessiveness was becoming impossible to ignore.
By early afternoon, when the shop finally quieted again, you couldn’t hold it in anymore.
You turned to him while he was wiping down the counter.
“Toji,” you said softly, “you’re being too much.”
He paused, setting the rag down slowly. When he looked at you, his green eyes had gone dark.
“Too much?” he repeated, voice low and deceptively calm.
You swallowed but stood your ground. “Yes. The constant touching, the glaring at every man who even looks at me... They’re just customers.”
Toji stared at you for a long, heavy beat. Then he slowly walked around the counter, backing you up until your hips hit the edge. He caged you in with his massive frame, one hand braced beside you on the wood, the other coming up to grip your chin, forcing you to meet his eyes.
“You think I’m being too possessive?” he murmured, thumb brushing your bottom lip. “Tell me something, wife… What kind of husband would I be if I let other men think they can have access to what’s mine?”
His voice was rough, low, and dangerous. “If I smiled and stepped aside while they flirted with you? While they offered you help and soft words like they had any right to you?”
He leaned in closer, breath hot against your ear. “I’d be a fucking joke. A weak man who doesn’t know how to protect what belongs to him. And I’m not weak.”
His free hand slid under your skirt without warning, fingers pushing between your thighs. You were bare underneath. The moment his calloused fingertips brushed your folds, he groaned softly — low and rough — when he found you already wet again.
“Already soaked,” he muttered, voice thick with satisfaction. “Complaining about me being too possessive, but your pussy is dripping the second I touch you.”
“Toji—” you whimpered, hips twitching as two thick fingers pushed inside you in one smooth motion. The stretch made you gasp, your walls still tender and sensitive from the night before.
He curled his fingers slowly, deliberately, stroking that spongy spot deep inside you while his thumb found your swollen clit and rubbed tight, firm circles. His mouth latched onto your neck, sucking hard enough to leave another mark, teeth grazing your skin as he worked you open.
You moaned, loud and broken, clutching desperately at his broad shoulders. Your legs trembled around his wrist as pleasure sparked hot and fast through your body.
“You can tell me I’m too much,” he growled against your throat, biting down lightly before soothing the sting with his tongue. “But we both know the truth. You like it when I act like this. You like knowing no one else can touch you. You like being mine.”
His fingers pumped faster, curling with every thrust, the wet, obscene sounds of your arousal filling the quiet shop. Your hips rolled against his hand instinctively, chasing the pleasure even as your thighs shook.
“Ah— Toji… please—” you moaned, voice cracking. Your head fell back, exposing more of your neck to him. He took full advantage, sucking and biting along your skin while his fingers drove deeper, faster.
You were right there — teetering on the edge, muscles tightening around his thick fingers — when he suddenly pulled his hand away completely.
You let out a desperate, needy whine, hips chasing his fingers uselessly. Your core throbbed, aching and empty.
“Toji…!” you whimpered, voice hoarse and frustrated, eyes glassy with unshed tears of need. “Please— I was so close…”
Toji smirked, dark and satisfied, eyes gleaming with lust as he watched you squirm. He brought his glistening fingers up between you, holding them in front of your face so you could see how wet they were — coated in your slick right up to his knuckles.
“Open,” he ordered, voice low and commanding.
You obeyed instantly, parting your lips. He pushed his fingers into your mouth, letting you taste yourself as you sucked them clean, tongue swirling around them obediently. His green eyes darkened further, pupils blown wide as he watched you.
“Good girl,” he murmured, voice rough with arousal. “Look at you… so fucking eager. Whining because I stopped, sucking my fingers like you’d do anything for my cock right now.”
He pulled his fingers free with a wet pop and leaned in, kissing you deeply, tasting you on your own tongue. When he pulled back, his breath was ragged.
“You can complain about me being possessive all you want,” he said, voice dark and low, “but your body doesn’t lie. This pussy knows exactly who it belongs to.”
He suddenly lifted you onto the counter with ease, as if you weighed nothing. The wood was cool against the backs of your thighs as he shoved your skirt all the way up to your waist in one rough motion, baring your dripping pussy completely. He stepped between your spread thighs, his broad body forcing your legs wider apart until your knees were nearly touching your shoulders.
His hands gripped your hips hard enough to bruise, fingers digging deep into your soft flesh with unmistakable ownership. With his other hand, he freed his cock — thick, heavy, and already throbbing. The veined shaft glistened as he stroked himself once, slowly, eyes locked on your exposed, glistening cunt.
“Since you think I’m too possessive,” he said, voice rough and dangerous, “I’m going to remind you exactly why I am.”
He rubbed the fat, leaking head of his cock up and down your soaked folds, coating every thick inch in your slick. He teased your swollen clit with every slow pass, tapping it lightly until your hips jerked and you let out a needy whimper.
“Toji… please—”
Without another word, he pushed in with one deep, powerful thrust.
You cried out sharply, back arching hard off the counter as the thick head forced its way inside, stretching you wide open. The sudden, overwhelming fullness stole your breath. Toji groaned deeply, burying himself to the hilt in one smooth stroke, his hips flush against your ass.
“Fuck… still so tight,” he growled, voice strained with pleasure. “Even after I filled you last night. This greedy little cunt keeps sucking me in like it doesn’t want to let go.”
He didn’t give you any time to adjust. He started fucking you hard and deep, the heavy wooden counter creaking loudly under the force of every brutal thrust. Your moans echoed shamelessly through the empty shop as he claimed you right there in the middle of the day.
“Mine,” he snarled against your neck, biting down hard enough to leave another dark mark. “Say it.”
“I’m yours— ah— Toji—!” you moaned, voice breaking as your legs wrapped tightly around his waist, heels digging into his lower back.
He fucked you even harder, hips snapping forward with powerful, punishing strokes. The wet slap of skin against skin filled the room, loud and filthy. One of his big hands reached between your bodies, his thumb finding your swollen clit and rubbing fast, tight circles.
“That’s right,” he panted, breath hot against your ear. “My wife. My pussy. No one else gets to look at you the way I do. No one else gets to touch you. No one else even gets to fucking think about you.”
Your moans grew louder and more desperate, your walls fluttering around his thick cock with every deep thrust. The counter shook beneath you. Your tits bounced wildly inside your blouse with the force of his movements.
He suddenly leaned back slightly, gripping your thighs and spreading you even wider as he drove into you. The new angle made him hit even deeper, the bulge in your lower belly becoming visible with every thrust.
“Look at that,” he groaned, eyes fixed on the spot where his cock disappeared inside you. “You’re taking me so fucking deep. This tight cunt was made for my cock.”
You cried out, nails digging into his shoulders as pleasure coiled tighter and tighter inside you. “Toji—! It’s too deep— ahh—!”
“You can take it,” he growled, fucking you harder. “You’re going to take everything I give you.”
Your orgasm crashed over you without warning — fast, violent, and overwhelming. Your walls clenched hard around his cock, fluttering and squeezing as waves of intense pleasure tore through your body. You screamed his name, thighs shaking violently around his waist.
Toji snarled like a beast, his rhythm turning erratic and savage as he fucked you through your climax. He kept pounding into you, chasing his own release, hips slamming against yours with wet, filthy sounds.
But he didn’t cum.
Instead, he suddenly slowed his thrusts, grinding deep and slow, keeping you right on the edge of overstimulation. His breathing was ragged, sweat glistening on his chest and neck.
He leaned down, capturing your mouth in a messy, possessive kiss while still buried deep inside you.
“You’re not done yet,” he murmured against your lips, voice dark and full of promise. “We’re nowhere near finished.”
Before you could catch your breath, Toji pulled out of you with a wet, obscene sound. You whimpered at the sudden emptiness, your pussy clenching around nothing, already missing the thick stretch of him. But he didn’t give you any time to protest.
In one swift, powerful motion, he flipped you over onto your stomach across the counter. Your chest pressed against the cool, smooth surface, your cheek resting on the wood as he yanked your hips back and up, forcing your ass high in the air. Your skirt was still bunched uselessly around your waist, leaving you completely exposed — bent over like a whore in the middle of his shop.
Toji kicked your legs wider apart with his foot, then pressed one large hand firmly between your shoulder blades, pinning you down hard against the counter.
“Fuck, look at you,” he growled, voice thick with raw lust. “Bent over my counter like a proper little wife. Ass up, pussy dripping for me.”
He spread your ass cheeks wide with both hands, exposing your swollen, abused pussy completely. Without any warning, he spat directly onto your folds — a thick, warm glob of saliva landing right on your clit and dripping down. You gasped sharply at the filthy sensation, your hips twitching.
Toji groaned at the sight and used two thick fingers to rub his spit into your pussy, mixing it with your own slick, pushing it inside you. Then he brought his palm down hard on your ass with a loud, resounding smack.
The sharp sting bloomed hot across your skin. You cried out, jolting forward on the counter.
“Stay still,” he ordered, voice rough. He smacked the other cheek even harder, watching the way your flesh jiggled and turned pink under his hand. “This ass is mine too. Every fucking inch of you is mine.”
You moaned helplessly, pushing back against him despite the sting. Toji lined up the thick head of his cock again and thrust back inside you in one brutal, deep stroke.
The new angle made him feel impossibly bigger, reaching even deeper. You moaned loudly, fingers scrambling for purchase on the smooth wooden counter as he immediately started fucking you hard and fast.
The counter creaked loudly under the force of his powerful thrusts. Each snap of his hips drove his thick cock impossibly deep, the wet slap of skin against skin echoing through the empty shop. Toji’s hands gripped your hips in a bruising hold, pulling you back onto his cock with every stroke like he was using you.
“Fuck— this pussy feels even better like this,” he groaned, voice rough and strained. He smacked your ass again, harder this time, watching the way your flesh rippled red under his palm. “So fucking wet. You like being bent over and used like this, don’t you?”
“Yes— ah— Toji—!” you moaned, cheek pressed against the cool counter, eyes fluttering shut. Every brutal thrust made your breasts press harder into the wood, your sensitive nipples dragging against it.
Toji reached forward and fisted a hand in your hair, pulling your head back slightly as he fucked you even harder. His hips slammed against your ass with wet, filthy sounds. He spat on your pussy again, right where his thick cock was stretching you open, and used his thumb to rub the saliva into your swollen clit.
“Such a messy little wife,” he panted, smacking your ass repeatedly between thrusts — sharp, stinging slaps that made you clench tighter around him. “Dripping all over my counter. Taking my cock so deep like you were made for it. Look at this greedy cunt swallowing every inch.”
Your moans turned into broken sobs of pleasure. The combination of his brutal pace, the stinging heat on your ass, and the filthy words pushed you right to the edge again.
Toji leaned over you, his broad chest pressing against your back, his breath hot and ragged against your ear as he kept pounding into you without mercy.
“Tell me who this pussy belongs to,” he growled, smacking your ass one more time, hard enough to make you yelp.
“You—! It belongs to you— Toji—!” you cried out, voice hoarse and desperate.
He snarled in satisfaction and fucked you even harder, the counter shaking beneath you. His hand slipped between your legs again, rubbing your clit fast and rough.
You came with a broken scream, your walls clamping down hard around his thick cock, thighs shaking violently as intense pleasure tore through you.
Toji groaned loudly as your orgasm triggered his own. He slammed in deep one final time and came hard, flooding your pussy with thick, hot spurts of cum. He kept grinding into you slowly, pushing every drop as deep as possible, his hips pressed tight against your reddened ass.
For a long moment, the only sounds in the shop were your heavy breathing and the faint drip of his cum leaking out of you onto the floor.
Toji stayed buried inside you, leaning over your back and kissing the back of your neck possessively.
“Still think I’m being too possessive?” he murmured against your skin, voice dark and satisfied.
You could only whimper in response, too overwhelmed to form words. Your body was trembling, pressed against the counter, pussy still fluttering weakly around his thick cock. Every small shift made you feel the mess he’d left inside you — warm, sticky, and so full it was leaking down your thighs.
Toji let out a low, rumbling sound of approval. He stayed deep for a long moment, grinding slow and lazy, pushing his cum even deeper as if he couldn’t stand the thought of any of it escaping. His large hand smoothed over the reddened skin of your ass where he’d spanked you, almost soothing now, before giving one last firm squeeze.
“Answer me,” he said quietly, lips brushing the shell of your ear.
“…No,” you breathed, voice hoarse and shaky. “I don’t.”
He hummed, clearly pleased. He finally pulled out slowly, watching with dark eyes as a thick trail of his cum dripped from your abused hole onto the floor. The sight made him groan softly.
“Fuck, that’s a pretty sight,” he muttered. He used two fingers to push some of the leaking cum back inside you, then straightened your skirt with surprising care.
Toji helped you stand on shaky legs, turning you to face him. He cupped your jaw with one hand, thumb brushing your flushed cheek as he studied your expression — eyes glassy, lips swollen, hair messy.
“You’re going to feel me for the rest of the day,” he said, voice low. “Every step. Every time you move. I want you thinking about who fucked you over this counter.”
He leaned in and kissed you — slower this time, but still deep and possessive. When he pulled back, his forehead rested against yours for a brief second.
“Clean yourself up a little,” he told you, pressing one last kiss to your temple. “We’ve still got half a day left.”
Toji stepped back, tucking himself away and adjusting his apron like nothing had happened, though the dark, satisfied glint in his eyes remained.
You stood there on unsteady legs, heart still racing, feeling the unmistakable warmth of his cum slowly leaking down your inner thighs.
And somehow, you couldn’t find it in yourself to complain.
a/n: aren't the old hags kinda iconic? lmk what you think and if you'd be interested in a part two! likes and reblogs appreciated!!
synopsis: post shibuya leaves yuji a hollow shell of the sunshine boy he used to be, grief carving through him until his perception of love begins to warp. trapped between constant arguments over your safety and the unbearable fear of losing him, you’re left pleading for him to let you in—until he drops to his knees all marred skin and tears, and you’re left searching through the wreckage for the heart buried beneath the curse.
content warnings: yuji itadori x fem reader, smut, p in v, heavy angst, arguments, hurt/comfort, post shibuya arc, sorcerer au, jujutsu college au, yuji + reader attend jujutsu college, guilt, grief, self-blame, emotional breakdowns, lots of praise + reassurance, soft/sensual smut, emotional, possessive/protective yuji, crying, happy ending (i promise). word count 6k, reblogs are appreciated!
The rain pours relentlessly, carving jagged lines into the pavement while thunder growls somewhere in the distance, low and violent. Lightning flashes close enough to bleach the world white for half a second before everything sinks back into muted gray again, the sky completely drained of color.
The only thing that seems to cut through the deafening silence is the sound of footsteps splashing through puddles on the walk back toward the shared hideout, an abandoned building you and Yuji have been calling home for the time being.
You trail behind him quietly, eyes fixed on the broad line of his back beneath his rain-soaked jacket. The orange fabric clings to him, damp and worn thin, outlining every shift of muscle underneath, the muscles in his back rippling as rain trickles down the expanse of him. Even now, angry and closed off, he feels painfully familiar.
You can still smell him through the rain, something sweet and citrusy, green tea mixed with something warmer, deeper. A scent you only ever catch properly with your face buried in the crook of his neck, tangled together beneath blankets while his calloused hands hold yours tightly against his beating heart, fingers tapping absentmindedly against his chest.
It feels like a memory you’re walking through.
A smell that transports you back into his arms, back to when things were simple.
This walk feels endless.
And you’re stuck watching him unravel, all while his back is turned toward you, refusing to look at you.
Please, just turn around and face me.
It’s the only thought that seems to ring endlessly through your skull.
His fists clench and unclench over and over again, fingers stretching taut before curling shut hard enough to make his knuckles pale. His shoulders are tense, rigid, but there’s something shaky beneath it all. He’s angry, exhausted, but underneath it, he’s trembling.
It’s rare seeing him like this.
A few steps behind him, your hair hangs damp and frizzed from the storm, eyeliner smeared beneath your eyes from rain or tears. You’d bet on tears.
Your chest aches with that awful kind of melancholy that settles deep between your ribs and refuses to leave, pulsing there in a dull, persistent ache.
You’ve been arguing for nearly fifteen minutes now. The rain softened it for a while, drowned the words out enough to pretend things weren’t splintering apart between you. But the closer you get to being alone with him, hidden away from everything else, the more that fragile pause begins to feel like it might snap.
And he still won’t stop clenching his fists.
Over and over.
Clenching. Unclenching. Clenching again.
“Can you fucking quit that, please?”
His footsteps stop immediately.
The sudden silence twists something ugly in your stomach.
His head tilts slightly, almost like he’s trying to understand why you even spoke in the first place. Rain drips from the strands of pink hair hanging in his face, sliding down the sharp line of his jaw.
“Why do you care?” he spits, voice low and rough, stripped completely of the warmth that usually accompanies his words. One scarred hand drags through his soaked hair, pushing it back shakily. “Why should I stop doing something you don’t like when you never listen to what I want?”
The words hit your lungs hard, knocking the breath out of you. You feel it in the way your heart responds to him, rattling violently inside your chest at the way he disregards you so easily.
Hot tears, warm against the cold rain pouring down your face, begin to prickle your vision, frustration tightening painfully in your throat as you scrape desperate words out.
“Can we just—”
“Just stop.”
He cuts you off immediately, tone clipped of any emotion. His voice sounds like static buffering through a speaker, completely unrecognizable in its morphed sound.
Your body goes still for a moment, frozen there in the rain.
It takes a second too long for you to remember how to move again. His words lodge themselves into the valves of your heart, pressing painfully against something already fragile, your heart beating too rapidly yet somehow feeling painfully still. For a fleeting second, you think his tone alone might be enough to stop it entirely.
You and him used to never fight.
Before Shibuya. Before this world stole pieces of Yuji until there was barely anything left untouched. Before he was doomed.
Before this society ripped pieces of his humanity out one by one. Before being a vessel became a death sentence hanging over his head. Before his life was valued by the higher-ups only when he was useful to them, a puppet forced to dance in a world that would discard him the second he stopped serving a purpose.
He’s still kind. Still loving. Still the boy who holds doors open for strangers, cries over movies, and kisses your forehead absentmindedly when he thinks you’re asleep.
But he’s lost hope. Lost passion.
He exists because he has to.
Because Jujutsu society has its claws buried straight through his beating heart, and if he dares to squirm, to defy it, that same heart will still and grow cold.
As silly as it was, he reminded you of Fluttershy.
You remember how quickly he intertwined himself with you, how he understood you in a way no one else ever could. You remember the foggy night spent in his dorm, legs pressed against the wall, a flimsy magazine discarded between the two of you while you passed around a bag of sour candy, neither of you able to sleep.
You remember when Yuji started talking.
About his home life. His old school. Friendships long gone. His grandfather.
And you remember the way his voice cracked ever so slightly over the word.
The way he tried to hide it.
The way he finished everything off with a bright laugh and an almost nostalgic tone.
“Y’know, I always wanted to be a firefighter.”
The lamp cast his face in a hazy glow as he toyed with the end of your jacket, a nervous habit of his, always needing something to fidget with. He let his head rest against the wall, a soft sigh slipping from his lips.
“If I wasn’t a jujutsu sorcerer, I think that’s what I’d do. I could fulfill my grandfather’s wish that way.”
Ever since that night, you saw through the cheerful facade.
You saw the way it was beginning to crack, slowly, carefully, like a neglected porcelain doll left untouched for too long, revealing the rot he tried so desperately to bury beneath all the good.
He just wants to be good.
But sadness has stolen him from himself.
And now there’s something heavy living inside him, something worn painfully thin by the endless need for others. It feels like there isn’t a single organ in his body functioning for himself anymore. Everything inside him beats in the name of someone else.
The rusted handle to the underground bunker creaks as his large hand wraps around it.
For a moment, petty and irrational, you think he’ll slam it in your face and disappear from you completely.
You lose your breath waiting for it, eyes blinking shut for half a second, a decision you regret immediately.
Because when you open them again, the door is being held open by his fingers stretched wide, palm steady as he waits.
“Come,” he urges, voice barely above a whisper.
You oblige, following him inside.
The air changes immediately, drier, heavier, strained with tension. Floorboards creak beneath your shared weight. His pace quickens while you linger near the now-closed door, nerves buzzing beneath your skin in a strange, bittersweet way.
You feel fifteen again.
Staring at the back of the boy you loved, heart hammering violently in your chest as you tried to gather the courage to say the not-so-secret secret lodged at the tip of your tongue.
You feel small again.
Struck by love, Halted by nerves.
Hopelessly in love with the loud boy who smiled too easily and held your hand like it was second nature.
Except now, you’re standing in front of another version of that sunshine boy, one where things are no longer trapped beneath a golden haze.
A nervous laugh escapes you anyway.
You decide that instead of withering away in silence, you’ll play it off.
“Yuu, c’mon, let’s just drop thi—”
His feet stop abruptly, shoes scraping against the floor as he steadies himself. The sharp inhale he takes leaves him rough around the edges, exhaled out like gravel, shaky and uneven.
He turns around.
Fully facing you.
And his expression is something you know will torment you for the rest of your life.
You see it all at once.
The sullen expression. Lips drawn tight. Eyes wide for only a moment before narrowing into slits.
His gaze is empty in a way that makes your stomach twist. Desolate and vacant.
Like something alien has taken hold of him.
Oh.
Right.
It did.
“Why can’t you just listen to me?” he raises his voice, rough and cracking at the edges. “If you would’ve just listened instead of being so careless—”
His words are harsh, stinging like cigarette burns pressed into skin, ash ground into a table.
Everything he says is cold.
yet your eyes catch it the way his lips wobble at the very end, knowing he’s the one about to break.
The faint twitch at the end of his sentence, like his body is betraying him, something in him still reaching for you even while he does everything he can to push you away.
You catch it for only a second.
But you see it because you always see him.
Every version of him.
Even the ugly parts he tries to bury far away from you.
Just like you catch the way regret flickers across his face the second the words leave him.
Your lips part instinctively before pressing shut again.
His eyes lock onto your mouth almost immediately.
Glossy. Lower lip trembling, That familiar expression he’s memorized too well.
The same one you wear whenever you’re trying not to fall apart.
The same softness he’s traced with his lips and tongue, soft pecks dissolving into scattered makeouts.
It’s something he knows.
And for one selfish moment, you wish he’d stop fighting with you.
You wish he’d pull you close, warmth vibrating between your bodies.
You wish he’d kiss you hard enough to bruise your lips, hard enough to taste the salt lingering there, hard enough to taste your tears.
But you’re not going to shrink yourself for him.
You’re not going to sit here, and stay quiet, he needs to understand that you aren’t going to quit him.
You scoff, voice crying out, every word sounding like a plea. A desperate, ever-clinging, hopeless plea. He can hear it lingering on the edge of your voice, hear the way it trembles despite how hard you try to bury it beneath anger.
Shame you’re both pleading for the opposite.
“Careless? How is me wanting to fight being careless when everyone else I love is throwing their lives out on the line and I’m supposed to stay back because you love your girlfriend a little too much?”
You find your eyes refusing to meet his as you scream it.
The last line drags a jagged hole straight through his skull.
Dumbfounded, he’s left lost in the words you seethe through such pretty lips. Lips he now knows can leave behind a stinging, bloodied bite in their wake, all bitten tongue and swallowed frustration.
He opens his mouth, closes it again.
Stumbles over whatever defense he was about to spit back.
Confrontation has never been something he likes.
Especially not like this.
Not with you.
His love.
He’s used to yelling, to fighting, to blood splitting marred skin and bones aching until they feel like they’ll break, but this?
This sick, twisting feeling in his chest whenever the person he loves looks at him with tears staining their cheeks and hurt spilling from their mouth.
It’s something he doesn’t think he can survive.
Something that hurts more than any curse he’s ever fought.
Something entirely different, a feeling so foreign he isn’t sure he could even describe it.
Something that can only be felt.
Consumed.
Lately, life has been forcing him to confront too many things all at once.
Things he’d rather avoid.
Grief.
Fear.
Guilt.
An endless cycle repeating itself, pressing against the awful realization that loving someone means knowing exactly where to hurt them.
You don’t let him get another breath out before exhaling cruelly, words sharp with irritation but laced with something softer beneath it.
For half a second, you sit there studying the hopeless, contorted expression stretched across his face with something almost sympathetic.
A martyr wrapped in broad shoulders and bruised hands, so desperate to be your knight that sometimes he forgets how to just be your lover.
You’re both human.
Your life does not hold more value than his, despite what he tells himself, despite the way he twists himself apart trying to shield you from dangers you knowingly signed up for.
“I want to stop fighting with you,” your voice comes quieter now, exhaustion bleeding into your tone.
“I’m tired and done, Yuji.”
Yuji’s mouth falters.
His gaze drops to the floor, jaw tight enough to grind his teeth, aching beneath the pressure before he finally looks back up.
He wants to run over and hug you.
To cradle your head, or let you cradle his, to intertwine so deeply your hearts beat in sync.
He also wants to walk away.
To curse you, to say something so cruel it would make you stop loving him entirely, something hateful enough to finally sever yourself from the hopelessness he drags behind him, to let him go and stay safe.
But more than any of that, he wants to protect you so badly he thinks he’d willingly let you despise his very existence if it meant you stayed alive.
Even if you were the one dragging the sword through his heart, twisting until it carved through the very organ keeping him alive. Even through every sharp pang of hurt, every mistake lodged deep within him, he knows he’d still remember the sound of your voice calling out to him, clinging to it long after pain begins to blacken his vision.
He’d do all of it if it meant you survived.
He thinks somewhat bitterly, maybe this was the heartbreak Gojo-sensei was talking about.
“There’s no curse more twisted than love.”
Gojo had said it so often it became engraved into the walls of his memory, imprinted so deeply he could hear it even now. But there’s a difference between simply knowing something and understanding it.
Yuji had never understood what Gojo meant by those words until now.
Standing here with you.
There should really be a rule written in stone somewhere.
Mapped across jagged rock that says you will always fall in love, and it will always feel like your throat is being cut open. And even as scarlet red pours from your mouth and severed flesh, you’ll still cling to that last breath, fighting to keep your eyes open, desperate to see them one last time, gasping out a confession meant only for them.
Loving someone is a weakness.
And weakness is a fault, something jujutsu sorcerers aren’t allowed to have.
See, jujutsu sorcerers aren’t meant to love.
They aren’t human.
Not really.
They’re simply born to be strong, forced to bear any and every burden alone.
They’re made to absorb the emotions of others, it’s their job to notice and fix it. It’s their job to lose sense of self, buried in the carcass of a curse who’s only a mangled mix of everyone’s pathetic suffering in life, the polluted decay swallowing a body of water whole.
They aren’t allowed to be selfish, or greedy, only good, only strong.
Maybe that’s why he’s failing so badly at this whole sorcerer thing.
Because when it comes to you, Yuji has always been selfish.
Always.
Ever since the moment he saw your smile.
The way your eyes caught sunlight, tiny flecks trapped inside your irises, making them shine in a way he couldn’t stop staring at.
The way he could never get enough of your voice, always hanging onto every word with something embarrassingly intoxicated written all over his face. Waiting for excuses just to hear you talk again. Sitting there looking at you for too long, too soft, too enamored with everything you are.
Oh fuck.
The inhale that leaves him is sharp and involuntary, his chest seizing tightly, burning his throat and making it hard to even breathe.
He struggles to stop the tears cresting over his lash line, fingers turning bone white where they curl tightly into themselves, fighting against the sting burning behind his eyes.
He takes a few slow breaths, trying to regain his composure.
When he finally looks at you again, his eyes are red-rimmed, lashes low, expression tinged with softness, but still, the shadows on his face contort with anguish.
“Because I’m trying to protect you,” he says quietly.
His voice is so quiet it almost sounds broken.
So painfully restrained.
You feel wound impossibly tight, muscles weak, exhaustion dragging heavily through your bones. Your head throbs with a sharp, pulsating ache at your temple.
All you want to do is cry. All your body calls for is the rush of his skin against yours, aching with the simple want of needing to be engulfed by his muscled arms, to be held by him, humming with contentment, wanting to curl inward into the cavity of his chest, and bloom anew from his soul, to sprout and flourish, to become one with him.
It feels like a sickness, a spreading poison that roots itself in your heart. Love is a sickness, causing you to always want someone no matter how frayed things are, to crave them even in the cruelest moments, it’s always blindly loving them.
Even when they stand in front of you, ripping themselves apart with blunt fingers, all because they care, all because of their love for you.
Love is cruel in the way it lingers, the way it blinds even the clearest judgment.
You find the courage, or maybe it’s the blind rage pooling into your veins, the overwhelming need that overpowers it, to spill your truth at his feet and pray he’s gentle.
“You never let me protect you, though,” you say softly, sadness bleeding into every word. “What about you, Yuji? Someone has to care about you when you’re too busy taking care of everyone else.”
His features strain, skin stretched as his jaw tightens, teeth grinding together for a mere second as the expression settles.
The sharp click of his tongue comes next, frustration flickering across his face before something close to regret settles in, his gaze dropping to the floor. His expression falls flat into something almost helpless, lips turned into a soft pout, brows scrunching together before relaxing again, bottom lip wobbling slightly.
His voice comes out hoarse, emotion spilling through the cracks in every word.
“Every second you spend with me…” he swallows hard, throat tightening, “every single second you’re around me, you’re in danger.”
His fingers dig hard into his clenched fist. Nails burrowing into flesh until skin breaks beneath the pressure, velvet blooming steadily as it drips from his scarred hand.
He doesn’t seem to notice.
You watch helplessly as tears finally spill over, clinging to his lashes, droplets morphing into tiny specks of glitter in the dim light, hazel eyes boring such a somber gaze before slipping down his cheeks.
His hands drag harshly against his face, rough palms scraping skin hard enough to redden it, smearing metallic blood and salty tears together, only aggravating lingering injuries.
Ugly, matted purples blooming beneath skin.
Forceful swipes of his palm against his face continue, the tears continuing until he’s a complete, blubbering mess, grief cracking through him so violently it’s intrusive to witness.
He finally yells, the words tearing from somewhere so deep inside him that it causes your skin to erupt in goosebumps, making you physically flinch away. You’ve never heard him yell with this much pain and sorrow embedded into every word, so raw it feels as though both your soul and his are cracking beneath the weight of it all.
“It’s because of me!” he shouts, voice wavering. “It’s my fault. Everyone is dead!”
“It’s because of us,” you cut in, voice louder than his in a way that surprises even yourself.
Your tone lowers as you repeat yourself.
“It’s because of us.”
He looks up.
Bottom lip trembling into something pitiful, brown eyes wide and glassy as he blinks back tears.
“No,” he says, voice hoarse. “Me. It’s because of me, y/n.”
His breathing turns uneven.
“I ate the goddamn finger,” he chokes out. “I started all of this. It’s my fault Gojo-sensei is gone. My fault Kugisaki got hurt. Nanami—”
He fractures.
Breaking apart completely now.
His knees buckle beneath him as another sob tears free, rough hands desperately wiping at tears that won’t stop falling, his entire face crumpling beneath the unbearable weight of grief he’s been carrying alone for far too long.
You rush over, moving before you even realize it, pure instinct guiding your every step as you catch him in your arms, pulling him close. He folds into you immediately, his body giving out as ragged sobs wrench from his throat, hiccups catching between uneven breaths, the wet sound of him trying and failing to pull himself together.
He feels fragile. You can tell from the way he shakes, from the way his knees finally knock against the cold wooden floor.
You go down with him without hesitation, cradling him there, fingers trembling despite how gently they comb through petal-pink strands, nails lightly scratching at his scalp, trying to soothe him, to quiet the storm inside him the way a lullaby might.
Your hand eases toward his jaw, careful, soft, coaxing his tear-streaked face upward.
You blink back your own tears.
Not now.
You need to stay strong for him.
“Yuji,” you murmur gently.
He looks up at you, pupils dilating at the sound of your voice, your fingers still cradling his jaw, skittering softly across flushed skin.
“I begged Gojo to save you,” you whisper, your voice catching despite yourself. “That day, I faltered, not you. I kept you alive knowing what it could mean, knowing what it might cause.” Your voice shakes, quieter now, thick with honesty. “I let my feelings cloud my judgment. I listened to my heart instead of my head, and maybe… maybe that will always be my fault.”
Your thumb strokes slow circles against the warmth of his cheek.
“But I don’t regret it.” Your voice steadies, firmer this time. “I don’t regret keeping you alive, Yuji. Not for a second.”
He stares at you, frozen.
“So when I say it’s my fault, I mean it.” Your breath catches. “It’s mine to carry, my burden to bear… but I know you.” A small, shaky laugh escapes you, fond despite the nauseous pang curling in your chest. “And I know you won’t let me carry something like that alone.”
Your forehead nearly brushes his.
“So let it be ours.”
The word fills the space between you.
“Ours to survive. Ours to grieve. Ours to carry.”
Your fingers tighten ever so slightly against his jaw, afraid he’ll disappear if your touch slips away.
“So let me, Yuji Itadori,” you whisper, your voice cracking at the edges of every word. “Stop pushing me away because somewhere along the line, you convinced yourself you’re just a cog in some cruel machine.”
Your brows draw together, pinching tightly as tears finally slip free.
“You’re not.” Your voice turns impossibly kind. “You’ve never been just that. You’re kind even after everything. You keep trying even when everyone is against you. You constantly carry the wants and needs of others with you, even when you’re breaking.” Your thumb brushes beneath his eye again. “You’re so much more than what suffering has convinced you you’re worth.”
Yuji only blinks at you. He finds it hard to breathe in this moment, all the air trapped in his lungs. His mouth parts silently before shutting again.
“You really…” His voice cracks, rough from crying. “You really mean that?”
You nod immediately.
“Always.”
“Let me be your hope,” you whisper. “And you can be my forgiveness.”
Your thumb smooths over heated, damp skin, tender and patient.
“And I’ll forgive you too. Again and again, if that’s what it takes.”
Something inside him caves.
He surges forward, crashing his lips against yours, asking for permission with every clumsy plea of his mouth against yours, begging for forgiveness in the only way he knows how, in a way words can’t replace. His lips taste of salt from smeared tears, and there’s blood streaked across the pads of your fingertips where they rest against his injured face.
His breath is warm against your lips as more tears begin to well in his eyes.
“I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry, baby. I’m sorry for yelling and pushing you away, and I’m sorry I’m constantly throwing myself into danger—”
He starts to hiccup, tripping over his own words and sobs, his breath uneven and broken between apologies.
“Shh, shh, it’s okay, it’s okay, really, Yuu.”
He lets his forehead rest against yours, his hands slowly crawling toward your own, cradling where your palms are splayed across his cheeks.
“No, it’s not,” he says, his voice trembling. “I made you feel weak when you’re not. It’s my insecurities I pushed onto you… my fear of losing you that made me push you away.”
He’s a pathetic mess of tears when he leans in again, muttering sorry over and over in quiet, hushed whispers while your reassurances melt softly into his feverish skin. He swallows the unbearable heaviness of it with a searing kiss.
Your bodies slot together, limbs tangling as you fall back against the floor, his hand cradling the back of your head while you lie beneath him.
The kiss turns heated, messy in the way only something starved can be. When you finally pull away, breathless, you whisper, “I’m going to enter the Culling Games. I’m gonna fight beside you. You can’t stop me.”
He hovers above you now, golden-brown irises fixed on yours, your shared gaze melting into something soft, something hauntingly intimate. He laughs quietly, the sound making your heart flutter, cheeks dusted pink despite everything.
“Yeah, I know,” he murmurs, almost defeated, though there’s fondness buried beneath it.
“But…” A small grin pulls at his lips, canines glinting pearly white in the dim light, “I’m still gonna do everything I can to protect you.”
You smile as his head falls against your shoulder, pink strands of hair wisping against your skin and softly tickling you. His hands are warm where they settle against your waist, large palms engulfing your frame as though he can anchor himself here, tied only to you.
“Just this is okay… right?” he asks quietly, his face buried in the scent of your shampoo, slow kisses scattered against your neck as you exhale shakily. His hands grow restless against your skin, fingers kneading gently before he lifts his head again, eyes blown wide with devotion, still shining from crying.
“Can I make it up to you?” he asks, voice breathy, hesitant in a way that only speaks to your heart.
“Yes, please… I’ve missed you so much…” Your voice dips at the memory of the past week spent alone, the arguments, the self-blame, how badly you longed for him while he kept himself hidden away from you.
His hand reaches up, thumb brushing loose strands of hair away from your eyes before he presses a soft kiss against your temple.
“I know, I know, baby. I missed you so bad too,” he says quietly, huffing out a small, sheepish laugh, guilt still lingering in his expression.
“Man… I’m such a dumbass.”
You laugh softly, pulling him in for another kiss, desperate to lose yourself in him, to bury the sadness somewhere between his warmth and the way his fingers dig into the plush of your flesh.
His hands are quick but careful, and with every kiss and touch there’s always a quiet check-in following, “Is this okay?” or “Do you like this?” You nod, your skin tingling with need as his fingers skate down toward your inner thigh, his touch featherlight.
Then he’s spreading you open for him, fingers kneading the plushness of your thighs, bunching your skirt up at the waist with one large hand while the other tugs your tights down, careful not to rip them in the process.
The cool air hits your exposed pussy, already glistening with need, the fabric of your cotton panties turned sheer against you. His breath hitches. “Jeez, baby… you’re really wet. Is this because of me?”
It sounds teasing, but you know it isn’t.
His eyes widen, nerves flickering through him as he swallows. You grin and lightly smack the side of his head.
“Don’t be mean, Yuji.”
His face goes blank for a second before realization hits.
A sharp, bright grin spreads across his face as he hovers above yours, the scar on his lip caught in the moonlight spilling through the window. Pink strands of hair tickle your skin, his lashes brushing softly against you as he kisses your nose, your cheek, your eyebrow, your eyelids—murmuring a soft “sorry” over and over until the words dissolve into kisses.
His hand finds yours, fingers threading together against the floor. You feel the way his grip flexes. He glances up at you for a split second, a small wobbly smile breaking across his face, warm amber eyes glowing like the last flicker beneath ash, faint traces of orange burning in the dark. He chews lightly on his lower lip, teeth pressing into the skin, leaving faint marks against chapped flesh.
“S’okay,” he says softly, almost to himself.
“I’ve got you.”
You feel him then, the sticky tip of his cock tracing your folds, his pants and boxers pushed down just enough to free himself. “Just the tip, okay? I’ll be slow. Gentle.”
His hand brushes sweat-slick strands from your forehead, his deep, bark-colored eyes fixed on you, studying every shift in your expression, drinking in the way your body reacts, intent on your pleasure.
You suck in a sharp breath as he pushes in, half of him easing inside you, the first stretch making your body tense before slowly melting around him. He savors the way you cling to him while he rocks his hips, pushing the rest of his length into you.
He tries to keep himself together, but the way you take him—soft gummy walls warm and tight gripping around him, sucking him in inch by inch—has him faltering fast.
His head drops into your neck, soft groans leaving his throat, words abandoning him completely as he presses closer, hips nudging deeper until the tip of him grazes your cervix and steals your breath.
Instinctively, he keeps pressing into your cunt, hips meeting yours in a relentless rhythm, as the rush of pleasure builds alone, He rocks into your greedy heat, his thrusts slowing, your fingertips dancing around his jaw, ghosting over warm skin as he keeps unwavering eye contact with you—eyes honey-brown, soft in their focused, devoted gaze.
His lips find yours, and suddenly the air he just breathed is filling your lungs—what keeps him alive now yours to take in. His breath is warm against your tongue, sweet and unsteady as his mouth melts into yours, kissing you with a desperation that pulls his whole body into you.
Your hands leave his face, sliding into the soft pink at the nape of his neck, gripping, pulling him closer until there’s no space left between you at all, bodies collapsing into one another, everything blurring at the edges as souls claw at the confines of skin and muscle, desperate to merge and become one.
His hips rock in and out of you, soft squelching sounds filling the room. The friction builds as his pace quickens, and your nails dig into his tanned skin, flush against the broad expanse of his back. The scars littering his skin form constellations beneath your touch, long red scratches drawn across taut muscle. He breaks the kiss with a sharp gasp at the sensation, only for his lips to find yours again immediately, kissing you feverishly, teeth catching your bottom lip just enough to sting.
Your hips are locked around his waist, molded to his body, clinging to him with quiet desperation. His lips are puffy and flushed red, messy with spit as he trails kisses down your exposed neck and collarbone. One hand bunches the fabric of your shirt, fingers ghosting across your back before undoing the clasp of your bra with practiced ease.
His hands settle at your waist as he glances up at you, flushed and beautiful, utterly wrecked with desire.
Petal-pink hair falls messy around his face, pushed back just enough to reveal his forehead, the jagged scar through his eyebrow more prominent now. His cheeks burn red, hazel eyes glossed over and warm.
He’s asking for permission, and you nod.
His lips close around your nipple, tongue circling your areola, making you squirm beneath him from the feel of him inside you and the wet heat of his mouth. Soft nips follow, each one soothed by the slow sweep of his tongue.
He sinks deeper into you, burying himself in your warmth. His head lifts, strands of hair falling around him like a halo, his lip caught harshly between his teeth, hard enough to bruise. He fights back the urge to spill inside you, desperate to see your face twist with pleasure when he finally brings you to release.
His thrusts grow slower, his thumb rubbing steady circles against your clit as he continues to fill you. Your legs tighten around him as you moan his name in drawn-out, breathless whines. Yuji looks close to whining too, overwhelmed by the way your body orbits his.
“Shit, baby, gonna cum, she feels so good. You feel so good.”
“Come on, baby, come for me. I wanna cum with you.”
You nod, hair damp with sweat, hands buried in his hair as you tug at soft strands. Your body trembles, warmth coiling tighter in your stomach as your cunt flutters around him. Your hips roll, chasing the feeling, your body buzzing at the edges until the tightness in your stomach snaps, his final sharp thrust pushing you past the brink as a rush of ecstasy washes over you.
“Yuji,” you gasp, cursing. “Pull out.”
His head spins with pleasure, barely holding himself together. “I know, I know, shit.” He pulls out with a soft plop sound, spilling his milky white seed across your lower stomach and inner thighs, his cock coated in the shared release.
He steadies himself, head tilted slightly as his hair falls with the movement. He looks completely awe-struck, eyes dazed and blown wide with adoration.
His lips part at the sight of you, legs sticky with his kids, skirt bunched at your waist, skin flushed, hair clinging to your sweat-slick face, chest rising and falling unevenly. He’s staring, cock already hard again.
“You’re so beautiful. So pretty. My gorgeous girl.”
His words come out like hushed confessions, etching themselves into the hollow of your ribs. His fawn-like eyes blink slowly as his thumbs rub soothing circles into your skin. He leans down, pressing soft, tender kisses across you, murmuring soft I love yous against your flesh until the words lay to rest in your beating heart.
masterlist - kofi - emergency commission info!
note: i fear my writing in this is horrible plz stick with me. . this fic sat in my drafts for two months because i was scared to post and kept wanting to rewrite and change stuff </3 divider creds @/mieluno
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Summary: When Sebastian first broke her heart at Hogwarts, Y/N swore off becoming attached to anyone ever again. Now, years later, Sebastian is a professional Quidditch player and she's a renowned physician. When Sebastian breaks his wrist during a match, he turns to her for help. Though she's the one who can mend his broken body, he's determined to mend her heart.
Themes: One-sided enemies to lovers; eventual smut
Your first thought as you closed the door to your flat was that the fall air had finally caught a chill. It was a quiet morning for London, the kind that stood in stark contrast in what laid before you that day. More patients. More lost cases. More ones that everyone claimed were impossible to solve until they met you.
Fixing other people was your talent. Broken bones, ill-shapened hearts, even fractured skulls. You had spent your years after Hogwarts honing the skill. It was difficult, as no one with ancient magic had dared to truly dive into medicine before (unless you counted the “experiments” Isidora had conducted, but you believed her motivations to be somewhat selfish). You had studied medicine at St. Mungo’s, dedicated yourself to the craft of typical magical medicine, before you even thought about so much as trying to use ancient magic on other people. But, when you finally did dare, after many sleepless nights of practice, to use it on a patient, the results were astounding. No one had ever seen Skele-gro work on such a desperate case. It was significantly less painful, and significantly more effective.
Letters begging for an interview filled your mail box. Your requests for appointments exploded overnight. You were invited to countless conferences, more than you could even hope to reasonably attend. The medical world praised you as the next great mind, someone who could fix any medical malady.
So why couldn’t you manage to fix yourself? You had asked yourself that question as you pulled yourself from your bed that morning. It lingered like bitter coffee in your mouth as you brushed your teeth. It even dared to follow you out onto the street now, as you began your morning commute. It was typical, this feeling. It was one that haunted your every morning, regardless of how it began. The only way you had learned to tune it out was to throw yourself into the day, full force, and do your best to ignore it.
The flat you shared with Ominis was on the opposite side of the city from the hospital. After all the hoopla regarding your ancient magic techniques, he had declared that some separation from your work may be healthy for you. You thought that was wishful thinking. When you first moved into the flat, you found it was quaint, a bit rough around the edges. You certainly could have afforded something more modern, more sleek at that point in your career. But truth be told, while you would never admit it to Ominis, you had come to call the place home. The buttercup yellow walls of the living room warmed something in your soul; you found the evergreen of your small bedroom apt for nights spent in contemplation; the deep blue of the study soothed you during sleepless nights spent reading. It was so unlike the sterile environment you haunted during the day, that you couldn’t help but learn to love it.
You left that place now, the cobblestones greeting your feet with each footfall against pavement. Aparating from your front door certainly would have been faster, but you liked your morning walk towards the next public floo network stop. It helped you sharpen your thoughts into something useful.
The street lights were just beginning to flicker out when you reached the dilapidated department store front that marked the entrance to St. Mungo’s. When you were younger, you always thought it was a bit strange, the juxtaposition between the greatest magical hospital in the world and its run-down surroundings. As you matured, it began to make sense - a run down exterior made a perfect disguise for something you wanted to keep prying eyes away from.
You had taken the silent advice the building offered to heart. When the interest in you had arose back at Hogwarts, alongside the rumors that inevitably followed when someone became a little too powerful, a little too popular, you beat them to the chase by responding with an icy exterior. How could someone hurt you with claims of you being an “utter bitch” when they were justified? You had learned early on that not providing a reaction to those that wanted to get a rise out of you was the best way to stop their plans in their tracks.
You used the same method when you reached that level of fame in the medical field, and it seemed to work. People learned not to criticize you since they knew it would be met with little regard. The issue was, however, that it had seeped into other parts of your life. You couldn’t hold a romantic relationship together for all hope. You struggled letting romantic paterners in, giving them any emotional intimacy. You also struggled with friends on that front, with gentle chides about your attitude being a constant from Poppy, Ominis, and Natty. While you did have some motivation to change, as you certainly didn’t want to spend your whole life alone, it seemed of little importance now. You had greater things to focus your attention on.
The halls of St. Mungo’s seemed a bit more charged today, despite it being 6 am in the morning. As you made your way towards your office, your gaze kept snagging on small groups of nurses, and even physicians, huddled and whispering. You caught echoes of “quidditch player” and “bad fall” through the stone halls, until the heavy wooden door of your office finally greeted you. You never had really paid much attention to the hospital gossip, and today wasn’t any different. Inside your office, your sole focus was going to be your work.
The moment you stepped inside your office, you began peeling away at your layers, tossing your woolen coat onto the chair in the corner. Your scarf followed next, and finally your hat. It was still too warm outside to necessitate gloves, which you were grateful for.
When you finally sat down at your desk, you noticed the pile up of parchment from the weekend. Strange, given the influx typically only began later Monday morning than this. Regardless, you began picking your way through the notes, cataloging which patients you would be seeing that day, until your hands froze on a specific letter.
The paper was weightier than most, and the massive wax seal that donned it certainly didn’t help. There, the president of the hospital initials were pressed out. You had only received a handful of letters from him before. The first had been praising what an asset you were to the hospital when you first rose to notoriety. The rest had been regarding high profile patients, with words of false encouragement saying that he was certain you’d be able to help them. The finally veiled threat of “you better fix them or it will be an embarrassment” always managed to hide behind those words. You always tried to ignore them.
Today, however, it wasn’t any of the president’s words that caught your eye. It was the name of the patient you would be treating: Sebastian Sallow.
Sebastian Sallow. Sebastian Fucking Sallow. The boy who had managed to shatter your heart into a million pieces when you were only 16. The boy who was the original inspiration for your icy exterior, the one who convinced you that your heart was better off hidden beneath your sleeve rather than worn upon it.
And you were expected to fix him now. The irony of it all wasn’t lost on the small part of you that found this all hilarious, but the rest of you was seething.
“What did that idiot manage to get himself into now?” You mumbled under your breath, to no one in particular. As you picked up the next letter, which happened to be his patient profile, you found your questions answered.
You had known that after Hogwarts Sebastian chose to pursue a career in professional quidditch. If the tabloids were to be believed at all, he apparently was a very skilled beater, one that had quickly risen through the ranks to become the star of the Scottish National Quidditch Team. You had never paid much attention to quidditch past your school years, but it didn’t really matter. Regardless of how much skill Sebastian had, the tabloids choose to focus on him for additional reasons: mainly, his dating life. He was constantly praised as the Wizarding World’s most eligible bachelor, one whose skill in quidditch could only be matched by his reported wits, charms, and dashing good looks. His relationships were often strewn about the front cover of the typical rumor mill suspects, to the point where you found yourself actively avoiding the magazine aisle at book stores.
The whole thing made you sick. Perhaps part of it was that you were jealous that you had never been the object of his affection, but you would never admit that willing to anyone, not even your closest friends. Instead, you used your falling out as friends as cover for the true reasons he had wounded you so badly.
And now you were expected to treat him. You forced yourself a few deep breaths to clear your head. Regardless of your emotions regarding him, Sebastian was your patient, and you had an obligation to help him. You had to make sure you were on the top of your game, as the letter from the hospital president so kindly reminded you of. You began to pour through his chart, beginning to understand what laid before you.
Sebastian had broken his wrist during the team’s last game against Luxemburg on Saturday. Despite the painful angle it had in photos, apparently the idiot had continued to play until his team had achieved its victory. The unclean break and continued pressure he had put on it by continuing to play had created a swollen mess that apparently no potion had managed to fully fix. It was up to you to get his wrist back into shape before the playoffs for the Quidditch World Cup started in a few weeks. It all seemed easy enough. When you looked up at the clock again, you realized it was time to head to his appointment. At least you would be able to get this over first thing, rather than stew over it the whole day.
As you stood, you pulled the white coat off the back of your chair and slipped it onto your arms. Sebastian’s file was the next thing you picked up, along with your personal medical kit. A part of you knew that fixing his wrist was far from the greatest challenge that awaited you today.
When you stepped out of your office, the clock had neared 7, and the hospital was slowly on its way to becoming packed. You slipped into the stream of people, heading towards the elevator that would take you up to the 5th floor, the one reserved for the most important medical guests. You always thought it a bit silly that there was an entire floor intended for that purpose; it's not like there was always a long list of other patients who needed to get into St. Mungo’s, with issues just as valid, if not more important than those of the famous wizards you had to treat. Still, this was your job, and when your boss instructed you to treat someone, you did as told.
When the elevator doors finally opened and you stepped out into the hall, you began counting the doors until you found the one you were looking for. 312 peered into view from around a corner, and in front of it you stood, subconsciously straightening out your white coat and scrubs with your free hand. As you ran a hand down your hair, smoothing the braid you had pulled into that morning, you realized what you were doing and promptly stopped. You had never cared to groom yourself before meeting any other patient before. Sebastian Sallow would be no different.
As you finally rasped your knuckles softly against the door, you heard a brief shuffle then a deep voice responded, “Come in.”
The doorknob felt cold in your hand as you turned it, opening the door to find Sebastian seated on the bench opposite the examination table. His posture was relaxed, one knee tossed over his lap and his hands resting against it - the one wrapped obviously enlarged compared to the other. But it wasn’t just his seemingly calming composure that struck you as odd - it was the large smile that graced his freckled face, pointed at you of all people. You couldn’t but furrow your brow a bit as you finally stepped into the room, closing the door behind you.
Mentally, you reminded yourself of your purpose here, and did your best to speak with a clinical, detached tone. “Good morning. I read your file just before coming, but would you mind recounting what happened to me again?” You said, as you placed your kit and the file down on the desk, popping the lid to the kit with a practiced movement.
“What, no small talk first? No ‘it's good to see you Sebastian, my best friend from school who I haven’t spoken to in years’? No, ‘I’ve missed you Sebastian’, or ‘you look significantly more handsome than you did in school’, or ‘I like your new hair’?” You turned to him, the confusion written on your face meeting his still happy expression.
You truly studied him then, finding that the changes hit you like a freight train. Sebastian was no longer a lanky, tall boy shrouded in black and green robes. In his place sat a man, one with the same wavy chestnut hair, but better maintained, a sharp jawline, and wider shoulders. Days of quidditch practice out in the sun had deepened his complexation and added to the constellation of freckles that danced across his cheeks. His hands were even larger too.
You swallowed. You breathed. You regained your composure.
“This is a medical appointment, Sebastian. I’m not here to catch up,” his face fell slightly at the statement, like a puppy denied a treat, “I’m here to treat your injury. Now, would you like to recount what happened?”
Finally, he complied. “Fine, I took a bludger to the wrist, and because I was an idiot hopped up on adrenaline, I continued to use it, thinking that it was just a sprain. Obviously, it's not, which is why I’m here, in front of you now.”
You walked over at that point, picking up his wrist with both of your hands. “Thank you for that recount. Now, would you like to remove the dressing, or should I?”
“I always prefer when the lady does the undressing for me. I feel like it adds excitement to the mood.” You rolled your eyes in response, beginning to remove the bandage with a bit more force than you would use typically. Clearly, Sebastian would not be deterred that easily.
When it was finally off, you studied his wrist, turning it over in your hand. It had taken on a bit of a purple sheen, the swelling quite obvious. You brushed your thumb over the side, being met with the feeling of shattered bone.
You tried your best not to focus on the static electricity that had reached for your fingertips when you first touched him. You were sure it was nothing; perhaps that idiot had been rubbing his feet on the floor before you came thinking it would be funny to shock you. It was the sort of harmless prank he would have concocted when you were teens. Seemed still in line with his character now.
“Well, I have some good and bad news. The good news is that I believe I can fix it. The issue is that it may burn for a few days afterwards. You should be able to use it immediately, but our bones don’t love being pressed back into place after a break of this severity. Does that sound okay?”
Sebastian nodded, meeting your eyes as you looked at him from consent. You did your best not to hold his gaze for too long. Those brown orbs had always been your greatest weakness when it came to him. “Well, that’s what I came to you for, so do whatever you want to me, doc.” He flashed another smile in your direction.
You turned before he could see the blush you felt creeping up your cheeks, quickly pulling out your wand and swapping the handle cover out for the one in your kit that let you more easily work on finer details. You grabbed the rolling stool that sat under the desk with your foot, and positioned it in front of him before taking a seat. “Alright, then I’m going to ask you to sit straight with your legs uncrossed. Place your wrist down on your lap then.” Sebastian compiled, this time without a witty remark. While not significant, it did feel like progress. Perhaps this appointment was survivable.
Once you had adjusted his wrist a bit, you closed your eyes, and began. After so long, the process felt routine. You reached out with your magic to feel for the different pieces that had scattered in his wrist. You worked through the puzzle in your mind, pushing the pieces together until they fit once again. Finally, you imagined the pieces fusing together, restoring his wrist back to its proper form. You could hear Sebastian’s breathing becoming slightly louder, just beyond the periphery of your focus. When you had finally finished the process after a few minutes, you opened your eyes to find a bead of sweat upon Sebastian’s temple, and him gripping the bench with his uninjured hand. You diverted your eyes quickly, looking to his injured wrist for yet another inspection. The swelling had gone down significantly, and it had returned to a normal color.
“Go ahead and flex it for me?” You nearly whispered, hesitant to break the silence that had fallen over the room. He did as instructed, and you let out a sigh of relief you didn’t know you were holding. “Well, it looks like it's been successfully healed. If it still hurts in 5 days, make an appointment to come back.”
You dropped his wrist and quickly stood, taking the wand handle off and closing your kit with a sharp snap. You wheeled the chair back under the desk, before collecting your things one again and making a beeline to the door, barely looking at him.
“Good day, Sebastian.”
“I- Y/N… Wait!” You paused with your hand resting upon the door handle, the desperation tangible in his voice. “Can… Can we at least talk?”
“About what?” You turned to look at him, tilting your head slightly to the side. There was absolutely no way in hell that you were going to admit to him that a small part of you wanted the same thing. A small part of you had always wanted to confront him, demanding to know why he had left you drowning and deceived all those years ago, after all of the loyalty you had shown him. Part of you wanted to demand answers, wanted to understand why he had stopped speaking to you and had started spending all his time with her instead.
But even now, you didn’t. You were a professional, not a foolish love sick teenager.
Sebastian sat there with his mouth upon for a moment, as if even he had forgotten what he wanted to say. “About… About everything that happened. About us, Y/N. I just want an opportunity to explain.”
“There’s no need. It's in the past.” You felt the prickle of the lie as it left your tongue. “Good day, Sebastian. I hope your wrist repair is satisfactory.” You quickly dashed out the door, leaving it to close by itself in your wake, leaving him sitting there in quiet surprise.
Rating: Explicit 18+ MDNI
Word count: ~2,800
Tags: reader insert, female reader, shameless smut, explicit sexual content, marriage, husband and wife, workplace sex, auror MC, auror Sebastian, jealous Sebastian, p in v, oral sex, no beta
Summary: You and your husband, Sebastian Sallow, are both Aurors for the Ministry of Magic. When the new hire fails to realize you're married, he shows interest in you, drawing jealousy from your husband.
Notes: No idea what this is -- just a tiny dose of some shameless workplace smut. 💖
Read below the cut.
The Auror Division of the Ministry of Magic is quiet this morning. Sebastian Sallow sits at his desk, twirling his wand in one hand while his nose is buried in a spellbook. His brow furrows as he considers the spell theories on the page while his partner, Everett Clopton, scribbles notes at the desk across from him. The pair continue in relaxed silence until the department door swings open.
Dennis Dimford, head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, strides in followed by another man Sebastian doesn’t recognize.
“Sir,” Sebastian greets his boss with a nod.
“Morning, Sallow,” Dennis greets. “I want you to meet Theo Pemberley, our newest agent.”
Sebastian sizes up the new Auror, who looks to be about the same age, maybe a tad younger. He’s tall and handsome with dark hair and rich, brown eyes.
“Welcome,” Sebastian says politely as he extends a hand. “Pleased to have you aboard.”
“Great to be here,” Theo replies before he moves to greet Everett.
“You’ll meet the rest of the department later,” Dennis says. “Some of the other Aurors are out on assignment.”
It’s no more than twenty minutes later that you and your partner, Fiona McIntyre, return to the office, fresh off the takedown of a small poaching ring.
Theo notices you immediately. He watches as Dennis commends you and Fiona for your arrests before you fall into conversation with Sebastian at his desk. Fiona eyes Theo in amusement before she crosses the room to introduce herself to him, where he stands next to Everett.
“Who is that?” Theo asks, his stare lingering on you.
“Who?”
“Talking to Sebastian.”
Fiona blinks at him. “You mean Everett hasn’t told you?” she asks.
“Told me what?”
Fiona catches Everett’s eye before the corners of her lips threaten to tug upward in a discreet smirk. “Oh, nothing,” she says quickly. “I just thought someone would’ve introduced you to our best officer.”
“Hey, what about me?” Everett demands, drawing an eyeroll from Fiona.
“Come on, I’ll introduce you,” she says to Theo, who follows her in earnest toward Sebastian’s desk. “Oi, this is-”
“Theo,” Theo cuts in with far too much gusto, his hand extended toward you eagerly. You smile kindly and shake it, offering him your first name. Neither of you notice the scowl that has settled across Sebastian’s features as he gazes up at you. “I hear you’re the best officer here,” Theo continues. He beams at you, his tall frame exuding confidence, but you detect the desire glinting in his eyes.
“Don’t let Sebastian hear you say that,” you joke, sneaking a glance at Sebastian who narrows his eyes at you.
“Ah, a little friendly competition is good,” Theo laughs much too loudly. “Best if we can all keep each other on our toes.” His eyes meet yours. “I’d love to give you a run for your money.”
“I bet you would,” you muse before Dennis interrupts to debrief your recent assignment.
By lunch time, Sebastian has sternly decided he doesn’t like Theo, who has spent the entire morning chatting you up in an attempt to impress you. He tells you about his time in America, where he “single-handedly shut down a notorious trafficking ring,” and he swears he was top of his class at Durmstrang, where he was also captain of his quidditch team. He even motions you over to his desk, where he has displayed a framed photo of himself holding a silver trophy.
You can practically see a vein protruding from Sebastian’s neck in irritation. It makes you want to keel over with laughter. Instead, you wait until your colleagues prepare to head out to grab lunch.
“Aren’t you coming?” Theo asks when he notices you still at your desk.
“Not this time,” you answer apologetically. “Sebastian and I have some case logs to file. We’ve been neglecting them for weeks.”
Fiona shoots you a knowing smile, which you choose to ignore. Meanwhile, Theo continues to frown at you.
“Oh, come on,” he pleads. “A department lunch outing wouldn’t be right without its best officer. Besides, isn’t the entire point for us all to get to know each other better? I’d like to get to know you.”
You can hear Sebastian crack his knuckles beneath his desk.
“Next time, I promise,” you say.
You and Sebastian watch as the group files out the door. Once it snaps shut, you turn to look at Sebastian, who sits at the desk next to yours. You snort at his miffed expression.
“Jealousy doesn’t look good on you, Seb,” you tease. It’s an outright lie. Because jealousy actually looks quite good on him, and it’s making you grateful to have the office to yourselves.
“I’m not jealous!” Sebastian insists, drawing another laugh from you. He leans back in his chair, his long legs outstretched while he pouts at you with crossed arms. “Besides, you’re the one indulging that prat’s pitiful attempts at flirting.”
“I am not indulging him!” you laugh incredulously. “Sebastian, I haven’t done anything to indicate any interest in him. Don’t be delusional.”
“You could have told him you’re married,” Sebastian points out.
“It’s not my fault he made assumptions,” you retort.
“No, but you could have shut him down the second he latched on to you.”
“Oh, come on,” you laugh. “What did you want me to do, Seb, introduce myself with, ‘Hello, nice to meet you. I’m married, so please piss off?’”
“No, but you could have mentioned you’re Mrs. Sallow. Or you could wear your ring.”
“You don’t wear yours.”
Sebastian huffs and you smirk in triumph. Though the two of you have been married for two years, you made a mutual agreement not to wear your wedding rings while on the job, for the sake of each other’s safety.
Sebastian’s annoyed state is comical above all else, but it’s also endearing. You get it. You can’t say you’ve never been triggered by the pretty girls who eye your husband in passing, the ones who giggle and blush in hopes of drawing his attention. You want to hex them all the way to Marunweem.
But deep down, you and your husband have a mutual understanding that the two of you will always be the same kindred spirits you’ve been since the day you met.
Still, you can’t help but stoke the flames, just a little.
“Seb, relax. Remember our agreement? You can’t keep a level head at work when you’re jealous of the new hire,” you tease.
“I’m not jealous!” Sebastian insists again. “I just don’t want some prat thinking he can move in on my wife.”
“He’s harmless,” you assure. “Besides, he isn’t here right now, is he? No one is.”
Sebastian’s eyes don’t soften, but they change; shifting from dark aggravation to dark desire. It’s not the first time the two of you have taken advantage of an empty office.
Sebastian stands, his desk chair scraping audibly across the marble floor before he steps toward you. He spins your desk chair around so that you’re facing him, his tall frame looming over you. Placing one hand on each arm of the chair, he slowly leans forward, bending at the waist until his face is an inch from yours.
“I’m going to remind you of your last name… Mrs. Sallow,” he says with malicious eyes.
You think he’s going to press a kiss to your lips but instead he finds the sensitive patch of your neck. Your eyes fall shut and your shoulders relax immediately.
His lips apply more pressure to your flesh but his hands are gentle as they graze the curves of your waistline. You can feel goosebumps peppering your arms when Sebastian sinks to his knees in front of you. He holds your gaze as he runs his tongue over his bottom lip.
“Sebastian-” you start, but he’s already bunching your skirt up, his lips pressing a trail of kisses from the tops of your knees to your thighs. You shift in your seat.
Sebastian’s mouth ghosts over your covered entrance, choosing to instead kiss the crease of your thigh. You chew your bottom lip in anticipation.
“Still thinking about that oaf Theo?” Sebastian asks.
You huff in annoyance. “Sebastian, I only just met him. I couldn’t care less about him.”
“Seems like you enjoyed the attention from him.”
“Seems like you’re still mental.”
“I’ll show you mental.”
Sebastian edges a finger into the crotch of your panties to pull them aside and you hold your breath. It releases when you feel his tongue dart across your clit. He sucks gently against it until he holds his tongue there, applying wet pressure that forces a moan from you.
The chair creaks as you push your hips forward. Sebastian hums in approval.
“Any doubts of who your husband is now?” he asks.
“N-no,” you pant, desperate for more. Sebastian barks a laugh, his breath sending vibrations across your cunt that make your thigh muscles tense.
“Like that?”
“Sebastian, please-”
His tongue flattens and rolls against your clit and you choke on a moan. Your hands end up in his hair, the pads of your fingertips pressing into his scalp in a subconscious plea for more, more, more.
Sebastian obliges you. His tongue drags, pulls, presses and prods until your back is arching and your hips are lifting off the chair. He uses one arm to hold you down, pinning your thigh to the chair as you squirm beneath him with labored breaths.
His tongue drags searing patterns over your clit until he uses it to spell out S-A-L-L-O-W. You're none the wiser, but he smirks against your glistening flesh.
When you finally break, you whimper. Sebastian’s tongue sends a jolt through your nerve endings. It folds you in half, doubling you over as the ripples pulse across your cunt. Sebastian continues, his hands holding you down as his tongue works you through your release until you finally crumple backward in the chair, breathless and flushed.
Sebastian sits back on his heels to admire his work.
“That better be all for me,” he says as he eyes your soaked entrance. He presses one final swift kiss to your clit, forcing you to inhale sharply from the sensitivity, before he returns to his feet. “Doubt Theo would know what to do with all that anyway.”
“Sebastian, shut up about Theo and fuck me,” you snap. It draws a long, pitchy cackle from him.
“That’s better,” he coos, his eyes cloudy with arousal. He extends a hand to help you to your feet before his arms snake around your waist. “Ready to come again for me soon?” he murmurs in your ear as his erection presses against your stomach. Your core clenches as if it’s ready to welcome his cock.
“Please.”
Sebastian leans in for a long, slow kiss. It dredges up the filthiest thoughts inside your mind until you’re fisting the front of his shirt in desperation.
Your hands begin to unfasten his belt but he stops you, his eyes indicating he has something else in mind. He backs you away from your desk, guiding you backward until you realize he’s steering you to Theo’s.
“You’re evil,” you muse when your thighs meet the edge of the desk.
“It’s his own fault,” Sebastian notes. “This is as close as he’s getting to my wife.”
He lifts you onto the desk, your legs dangling from the ledge as he stands between them. He peels your panties down and pushes your skirt back up before he removes his own trousers. His cock is so hard, it looks damn near painful to you.
You reach for Sebastian to drape your arms around his neck as he steps closer to kiss you again. Your legs wrap around his torso and you can feel his cock prodding against your thigh. Sebastian guides it to your folds and smirks at the anticipation in your eyes.
“What’s got you all wet, darling?” he teases. You narrow your eyes at him and he nudges the tip of his cock inside of you. He pauses to watch your arousal pool around his shaft until he sinks further inside to the hilt. You moan in his ear. He thrusts into you with a slow and steady rhythm first, holding you close until he can feel your walls squeezing around him.
“Lay back,” he orders. “I want to remember this sight.”
You obey, resting back on your elbows for support as you watch Sebastian pull back to glide the tip of his drenched cock over your clit. He teases you with it until his own resolve breaks and he pushes himself back inside your cunt. His hands snap to your hips to hold you in place while he rocks, his cock prodding through your plush walls until you can feel the familiar, delicious pressure swelling.
The desk scrapes over the floor and you’re grateful Theo has yet to add much to it, the framed photo of him and his trophy the only decor on the desktop. Sebastian slams into you until the frame topples over. The sound of its clatter is quickly replaced by the sounds of your slick union.
“You’re so fucking good,” Sebastian groans. “Can’t believe I get to call you my wife.” He juts his hips for emphasis over the last word, his cock driving upward into the sensitive, spongy spot that makes your walls threaten to release. It feels so good your elbows give out, leaving you flat on your back, your legs hooked around Sebastian as he remains determined to ruin you.
You clench your cunt as you toe the edge of your peak, Sebastian’s name spilling from your lips amid a string of obscenities. Your nails dig into the top of the wood desk until the strain inside your walls snaps, igniting your hard climax. Your walls throb around Sebastian’s cock while you cry out, panting and gasping over the sensation rippling through your core.
Sebastian swears loudly as the sight of you submitting to your orgasm consumes him, igniting a twitch across his cock until he’s spilling inside you. He continues to thrust through his groans and grunts until he can watch himself pour from your entrance.
“Fucking hell,” he growls as he eyes the aftermath. Meanwhile, you remain on your back, your legs now swinging from the edge of the desktop as your husband admires your fucked out form.
The desktop suddenly feels cool and you sit up, your post-orgasm haze making your vision hazy until the room tilts into clear view.
“Alright?” Sebastian asks. You can’t help but shoot him a look and he smirks. “Thought so.”
You roll your eyes at him as you stand and fix your clothing while Sebastian fiddles with the buckle of his belt.
“You’re blowing this Theo thing way out of proportion,” you note as you smooth the fabric of your skirt.
“Maybe,” Sebastian says with a shrug, his hands casually stuffed in his pockets as he strides toward his desk. He leans against the edge of it, arms folded across his chest as he smirks. “But it was worth it.”
“Except now we’ve missed lunch,” you whine.
“We can get you something from the food cart in the lobby,” Sebastian says just as your colleagues return to the office, chatting animatedly and none the wiser to your activities – except Fiona, who wiggles her eyebrows at you in accusation. You shrug at her as Theo heads straight toward you.
“Get all your work done?” he asks.
“Definitely got some work done,” Sebastian quips from his chair. You shoot him a stern look and he flashes his canines at you.
“How was your lunch?” you ask Theo politely.
“Brilliant,” he replies. “Would have been better if you’d come along.”
You open your mouth to reply when Fiona calls, “Oi! Sallow!” from across the room.
“What?” you and Sebastian both answer in unison.
Theo blinks at you, his eyes darting back and forth between you and Sebastian in surprise.
“Wait,” he says. “Sallow? Your last name is Sallow too?”
“Aye, it is,” Sebastian answers for you. He rises slowly and deliberately to his feet, resting a gentle hand on your shoulder. “Now if you’ll excuse me, my wife and I are going to grab something to eat.”
He takes your hand and leads you toward the door as Theo watches with wide eyes and an open jaw.
in another life, i would make you stay a gojo satoru (fix it) series
pairing ⸺ reincarnated!gojo x reincarnated!reader
summary ⸺ you are a sorcerer, married to your husband who bears the burden of being the strongest. firsthand, you watch the love of your life fall apart, the world burdening him until, finally, he dies at the hand of sukuna. as you watch him through the broadcast, you blankly volunteer to be nextand you die, praying to whatever merciful god out there that, in another life, you and satoru get the happy ending you both deserved—
until you wake up from your dream, gasping.why the hell was your dream so vivid? you were some sort of magician? with a smoking HOT husband? and why the fuck does the guy that's ten minutes late to the first day of lectures look EXACTLY like him?
warnings ⸺eventual smut fluff and angst (the holy trinity), hurt/comfort, reincarnation fic, basically you and gojo have a miserable life in canon and get reincarnated into a modern au where i fix everything and give you the romcom you deserve, canon typical violence, jjk manga spoilers, mentions of blood and injury, major character death, fem reader implied
masterlist
01 ⸺ What a Weird Fucking Dream
the first day of your semester is precendeted by a very odd dream involving sorcerers and a hot ass husband. which you then see in lecture (3.7k)
02 ⸺ Note to Self: Don't Call Random Guys your Husband (soon!)
