creepy perverted roommate könig who always stares at you and makes offhanded dirty jokes that are just statements about what he wants to do to you.
rough grubby hands sniffing through your laundry and pawing at his bulge as he takes a deep breath from your underwear.
taking multiple "showers" a day just to relieve the ache on his swollen red cock, leaving him leaky and extra sensitive. cock too hard and heavy to even stand upright.
going out of his way to hold your waist when walking pass even though the hallway is big enough, and rubbing his hard on against the plump of your ass when he needs to get something from the cabinet as you’re washing dishes.
vs.
shy freak reader who’s equally as depraved.
stealing his shirts and boxers to sleep in and purposely wearing them in front of him, apologizing for the mix up then handing him his boxers stained with slick.
rubbing your hands against his chest and back when you sit beside him on the couch. grinding against him as you watch a movie together, your slick heat obviously showing how bare you are underneath the nightgown.
purposely eating popsicles on the living room couch as you watch tv, your tank top showing your pudgy belly as your shorts ride up. your cute underwear visible as you coyly lick at the popsicle.
watching him stare at you before ending up with your legs over his shoulders as he fucks you into the couch. wet sloppy kisses sharing the taste of the sweet popsicle as he pumps you full of cum.
It’s no secret that Satoru loves watching you squirm—hips writhing, tears glistening, legs twitching. He adores those high pitched sounds you make when you’re overwhelmed, delicate hands trying to push him away when he fucks you a little too deep.
So now he wonders…
How loud would you scream if he added some toys to the mix?
“No, no, no-“ you’re begging, tummy tensing and hips bucking as Satoru brings the wand back up to your already overstimulated clit. “I can’t, Toru!”
“Oh, come on, angel-“ he rolls his hips, smooching your cervix with his leaky tip to make you squeal. “You’re not tapping out already, are you?” he mocks you, turning the vibrations back on-
“Fuck!” you’re crying, legs kicking and hands smacking Satoru’s abs in an attempt to save yourself from another tortuous orgasm. “Too much- I c-can’tttt-“
“I don’t care, baby.” his voice is sickeningly sweet, sapphire eyes crazed as he watches you with a twisted satisfaction. “Gimme another one-“ he grunts, hips settling back into a slow rhythm—he hits that pleasurable spot deep inside you with cruel precision every time.
“Feels- ngh- different!” the pleasure-pain that courses through your veins is intoxicating—you can feel every painful buzz on your overly sensitive clit, your tummy contracting every time he hits the very back of your abused cunt.
“You can do it, princess-“ Satoru chuckles, leaning over you to plant wet kisses on your tear-stained cheeks. “Just relaxxx and let it happen, hun.”
“Please-!” you squeal, not sure if you're asking for more or for it to end—your entire body jerks, once, twice-
“Fuckkk, baby.” Satoru groans, hips stuttering as you squeeze him so tight. Clear liquid comes out in spurts, soaking his pelvis and the bedsheets as your cunt visibly pulses.
You let out broken moans as Satoru fucks you through your orgasm—pathetic gushes of your squirt slowly decreasing in amount.
“No more- can’t-“ the bliss of your orgasm dulls into a full body ache—your hands pull at the forearm holding the wand, trying to pry it off. “Toru- it hurtsss-“ you sob, feet kicking as his body weight remains pinning you down.
“Shhh- s’okay, angel-“ he coos, finally pulling the nightmare of a device off your swollen nub and turning it off. “Did sooo good-“ he pecks your quivering lips, holding you close as your body tremors.
“How many times was that?” Satoru laughs, still balls deep inside of you. “Felt like a new record for you, babe.” he gives the side of your hips a few smacks, urging you to speak.
“Dunno.” you whisper, falling limp against the messy sheets.
“Hey-“ he smacks your hip again. “I’m proud of you, princess.”
CHOSO KAMO ~ SOMNOPHILIA
Choso and yourself had a conversation not too long ago—about your boyfriend’s tendency to need sex all the time, that is. Before the two of you got together, your previous partners had a hard time keeping up with your libido. But ever since you met Choso, your sex drive has been put to shame.
To solve this…issue, you had given Choso the green light to use you when you’re asleep—in the event that you’re too tired, at least.
You’re softly snoring when Choso enters the room, his dick straining against his jeans as he stalks towards the bed. He had a hard day, but he was even harder—he couldn’t stop thinking about your voice, your silky hair, the dip of your waist, your hips-
Your pussy.
He gently pulls the covers from your form, only to find you naked—nipples peaked, legs spread, cunt glistening just for him. “God damn, sweetheart.” he mumbles, unbuckling his studded belt and taking his sweat scented shirt off (yum).
His fingers explore you tentatively, soft brushes across your nipples all the way down to your bare mound. You don’t stir, breaths remaining stable as he collects your slick—bringing it up to his gaping mouth for a greedy taste.
Choso climbs on top of you, making a place for himself between your legs. He crowds you, nuzzling his nose in the crook of your neck and inhaling your scent like a dog. “Mfmm- missed you, love.” he gets a sleepy snore in response, a giggle escapes his throat before his hands return to groping you.
He frees his cock from the confines of his boxers and starts grinding in the wetness of your pussy lips—his leaky tip painting your clit with glossy pre. “Been waiting to fuck you all day, pretty-“ he licks a hot stripe up the side of your neck, lining himself up and pushing in-
“Cho?” you whimper, blinking the sleep from your eyes as you’re fucked open.
“Shh- just me, sweetheart-“ he bottoms out with a sigh of relief, planting a wet smooch on your lips and squeezing your plump tits. “Go back to sleep-“ he murmurs, his deep voice soothing you.
“M’kay-“ you’re far too tired to be bothered by the fullness of your cunt—you’ve grown accustomed to the feeling, so much so that it lulls you back to sleep.
“Sooo good for me.” Choso chokes back a whimper, gently thrusting in and out of your warmth. It doesn’t take him long to paint your insides with his sticky cum—with the tension of the day, the simple wet, heat of your pussy is enough for him to drown in pleasure.
“Thank you, sweetheart.” he whispers fondly as he pulls out, covering your relaxed body with kisses while he waits for his release to leak out of you.
Choso makes sure to snap a picture of that precious creampie before cleaning you up and snuggling next to his beloved girlfriend.
He’ll probably fuck you in the morning too.
TOJI FUSHIGURO ~ ANAL
“How does that feel, doll?” Toji grunts, your little pucker is squeezing him unbelievably tight—your body weight resting on his chest and legs pulled up, up, up in a full nelson-
After about a week of working you up with his fingers, Toji came to the conclusion that you were ready for his dick. Although, given how big he is, your smallest hole still wasn't fully prepared for the intense stretch.
“Feels weird-“ you’ve never felt so full yet so empty in your life—the sensation is similar…but like it’s happening next door, making your cunt clench around nothing. You let out a choked gasp when he shifts just a little bit- “Fuck- ngh- too deep-“
“Gotta let loose, doll-“ he snakes a large hand down your front, nibbling and licking your ear before making contact with your glistening pussy. “Can’t- mfm- tense like that.” he rubs your clit in slow circles, occasionally dipping down to your hole and collecting more slick.
“Haaa-“ you let out a breathy moan, trying your best not to close your legs around the stimulation—not that you really could, given that they’re being forced open by Toji’s arms. “Feels good-“
“Yeahh it does, doll-“ Toji thrusts his hips justtt a tad, experimenting with your limits. You yelp, head falling limp on his shoulder—your back arches off of his abs, inadvertently taking his cock even further into your ass. “Told you it’d feel nice, heh-“
“Want more-“ you whine, the pressure feels amazing, the heavy weight of him seated deep inside of you makes you wish you had agreed to this sooner.
“More?” Toji huffs a laugh. “You’re just perfect, aren’t ya?” the hand on your clit sneaks lower, two girthy fingers slide inside of your neglected cunt and curl-
“Ohhh my god-“ Toji’s hips settle in a slow, shallow pace, keeping you nice and stuffed while he fingers you with fervor—audible squelches and loud cries fill your once quiet bedroom.
“Yeahh- you like getting your pretty little holes stuffed, huh?” the heel of his palm grinds against your clit with every single prod of his fingers to that spongy spot inside your pussy—you swear you can feel his dick rubbing against his digits through the separating wall with every thrust-
“Gonna cum!” you squeal, body thrashing in Toji’s hold as the most intense orgasm you’ve ever felt builds to a peak-
“Good fuckin’ girl-“
Toji had never expected his girlfriend—the one who wouldn’t even let him eat her ass a few weeks ago—would turn into such an anal slut. As of recently, that’s all you’ll ever ask him for: to be fucked in the ass while he plays with your pretty pussy.
He’d be lying if he said he didn’t love it.
SUGURU GETO ~ SHIBARI
Suguru loves being in control—he adores seeing you on your knees, eyes wide, as you wait for him to give you a command. So safe to say you weren’t surprised when he started tying you up during sex.
It started with just him holding your wrists, keeping you where he wanted you. Then he upgraded to handcuffs, some simple knots with silk, maybe a belt-
But nothing compares to how he has you right now.
“Too tight, gorgeous?” he asks, tying the last of many delicately woven knots. You watch his veined hands tug at the rope intently, your slick dripping down the crevice of your ass no doubt.
“A little.” you admit, unable to move your limbs—your legs are spread wide, knees forcibly bent from the rope that binds your calves to your thighs, heels flush to your ass. Your hands are tied to your sides, breasts framed tightly with the same rope that circles your spine and shoulders.
It’s an art form, no denying that, but it is a little uncomfortable. You know it shouldn’t be, but Suguru enjoys leaving marks on you.
“Good.” he purrs, walking around the bed until he’s standing next to your head. “Open up, baby.” he taps your cheek, thick cock hanging over your face with a fox-like grin plastered across his features.
Suguru slides into your willing mouth with a groan, hungry eyes wandering over his handiwork. “You’re so beautiful like this-“ one of his hands buries in your hair while the other caresses your tied body. “Pliant and unable to squirm-“ he pinches your nipple, hard-
“Mfmm!” you whine around his dick—Suguru is fucking your throat, holding your head still by your scalp. Electricity shoots straight down to your clit every time a groan slips past his lips, your cheeks are hollowed, desperate to please.
“You’re so wet, gorgeous.” his hand snakes down to your cunt, collecting the obscene amount of slick and bringing it up to your clit. “I’d almost think you could- ngh- cum from me fucking your mouth alone.” Suguru laughs, grip in your hair tightening.
“Mhmm!” you try to nod but he keeps you still, hitting the back of your throat to make you gag—there’s a mix of your spit and Suguru’s pre dripping down your chin, but you can’t bring yourself to care when he finally starts rubbing your neglected clit.
“Such a dirty girl-“ he pulls his cock from your mouth with a wet pop, using the concoction of fluids to gloss your lips. “You like being tied up, huh?”
“Yes.”
RYOMEN SUKUNA ~ EXHIBITIONISM
The King of Curses is an avid enjoyer of your humiliation—he loves watching the embarrassed flush rise to his favorite whore’s face when he tells you to kneel in a room full of people.
It started with you being forced to feed him fruit while he’s sat on his throne, then he made you do it naked, and now-
“Tsk- eyes on them, brat.” he tuts, one of many hands grabbing your face and forcing it forward.
It was about that time of the year that Sukuna had people from each of the villages bring him offerings to save themselves from an inevitable slaughter—only today, he yearned to put on a show it seems.
“Look at those scum while I take you-“ he pulls you back down on his cocks, forced so deep in your holes you swear you’ll burst. “Show them how generous I am.” an evil cackle radiates throughout the main room of the shrine, a wide crowd of eyes trained on the obscene display in front of them.
If it weren’t for Sukuna’s prior threat of decapitation, you’re sure they all would’ve scrambled out the ornate doors over an hour ago.
“So generous- nghh- Kuna!” your whines bounce off the walls, along with the squelching of your slick. Your legs are spread wide, draping across the armrests with your stuffed cunt and ass on full display for the unwilling audience.
“Such a good cocksleeve aren’t you, my dear?” he croons into your ear from behind, huge arms maneuvering you up and down, down, down his monstrous dicks. It’s brutal—you’ve cum multiple times already, the evidence dripping down your ass and onto the ground beneath you.
“Mhmm!” you nod profusely, another orgasm already worming its way into your belly. You unfortunately lock eyes with a frightened woman as your body starts to convulse—a torturous stream of squirt sprays with every pound-
“That’s right, brat-“ Sukuna grunts, his grip on your face bruising. “Show them how good I make whores like you feel, heh-“ his many eyes roam the crowd, making sure they’re all still watching until-
Screaming.
Blood splatters across your face as someone close loses their head—an almost equally disgusting display as to what’s happening on the throne.
cw: >> ±17k words, gachiakuta x jjk crossover, enjin x reader, satoru x reader, reader is a cleaner and a giver, light yandere satoru if you squint, satoru calls reader angel, enjin calls reader doll, reader has a bit of an unleashed mouth but it's valid crashout, nanami cameo, sukuna cameo, akuta team + 1st years cameo
lots👏of👏yearning, angst/hurt/confort, mutual feelings & mutual pining & everyone can see it, unprocessed feelings, porn with plot, unprotected sex, light exhibitionism, 18+
inspired by the objectively best jjk scene + this song i use yt music sue me.
── ⋆⋅𖤓⋅⋆ ──── ⋆⋅𖤓⋅⋆ ──── ⋆⋅𖤓⋅⋆ ──── ⋆⋅𖤓⋅⋆ ──
You know chaos. You fight chaos every day, and you survive chaos every day. In the desert, in No Man's Land, sometimes at HQ, you're no stranger to danger. You've learned over the years you spent on the Ground to always be doubtful; of things, of intentions, of people.
Especially foreboding signs.
The task at hand couldn't be easier. You and the Akuta team are out hunting for run-down objects to help Rudo with his training. Enjin insisted he knew a place where all sorts of things fell down from the Sphere. Plenty of material to work with, he said.
Enjin didn't mention that a kid's coloring book would teleport you to whatever that place was, hot as hell and too nice to be real, where an unusual white-haired man with cerulean eyes would want you for himself.
...37 minutes before disaster...
Zanka kicked a piece of metal away. "This place is full of shit."
"Quite literally," Riyo echoed, kneeling down to rummage through a pile of broken hairstyling appliances. "I wonder if any of these can be salvaged at all."
You followed after Enjin past the doorframe of a collapsed mansion, where the damaged roof made way for the objects to fall from the sky and into what was left of the construction. You adjusted the mask on your face, still cautious not to touch anything that might still have life in it.
Broken toys, torn clothes, books with missing pages, and all sorts of equipment with missing pieces, scattered all over the place. Rudo couldn't care less about safety; all he knew was that he was brought to paradise.
"Usually not," Enjin folded his arms over his chest, keeping a close eye on the youngest Akuta member. He leaned against the crumbled balustrade in what you deduced once was the main hall.
"Whatever drops in this ditch is far beyond repair. Figured we could pick up something from here. No one's gonna miss any of this anyway."
Your eyes drifted around the hall. A tall, mahogany clock on the anterior wall still ticked under the shattered glass. Old enough to witness the passing ages, yet present enough to keep time in place.
You approached it out of curiosity, your gloved index drawing a mindless pattern in the desert sand that pooled at its base.
Enjin followed your movements with his shielded honey eyes. The kids were loitering around, too far away for them to care about you two.
"I know a guy who repairs antiques," Enjin remarked, studying the steady line of your back. "We can fit it in the truck."
"Think this guy still has some life in it," you replied, fingers digging slightly under the surface of the sand dune. Your glove brushed against an unidentified object. "But it'll probably cost a fortune to restore it. I ain't got that money."
Sometimes, Enjin was too fed up with your perfectly crafted excuses, you always used to avoid asking for his help.
Complicated was what it was.
"Maybe he owes me a favor," Enjin shrugged like it was the most natural thing in the world to claim. Not that his shoulders would press on too harshly if he didn't try his luck. "See what I can do about it."
"Aren't you a gentleman?"
Enjin's shoulders would press on too harshly anyway; what with your chuckle and your teasing words that you didn't really mean.
You straightened your back, holding something in your hand, sand grains dipping away. You cleaned the rest with the back of your glove, inspecting it on both sides. You didn't realize when Enjin approached you to hover over you, so casual in your proximity.
"A kid's coloring book," Enjin stated, eyes flickering as your fingers hovered over the notebook. "Dear would like that."
"We're not taking this back," You said, and yet you felt inexplicably drawn to it. To open it, skim through the pages. Which tickled your senses in all the worst ways. "I have a very bad feeling about this."
Enjin smirked under the mask. "Just because it's titled The Curse Of The Strongest, doesn't mean it's ominous."
"Specifically because it's titled The Curse Of The Strongest," you scoffed at Enjin's amused tone and threw the coloring book right back where you found it. "You value my judgment because I'm the skeptical one in this team. I'm being skeptical now, and I'm telling you to leave it where we found it."
Enjin knelt to grab the coloring book when you turned to walk away. "I do value your judgment," He took one long stride to block your path and showed you the notebook. He felt you roll your eyes under your mask.
"But sometimes you just have to let loose, y'know? Learn a thing or two from me."
You crossed your arms, watching him blast the notebook open with a carefree attitude that only Enjin could influence you with.
"Yeah? Like what?"
"Permanent fight or flight mode will put wrinkles on your face—"
A vortex whirled from between the pages and sucked you both in, leaving no trace behind. The notebook fell with a soft thud to the ground, closing and resting at the base of the broken clock.
"Oi, Enjin!" Rudo yelled from a distance. "How many things can we take back?"
Silence.
"Enjin?"
You blinked. Once, twice, as many times as it took for you to try and wash away the blinding light that flooded your eyes. When you finally accommodated to the light, you realized you were caged by soaring, intricate structures with tall windows and immaculate paint. Thriving vegetation, functioning cars, and people dressed in beautiful clothes that you've only ever seen August make surrounded you from everywhere.
It was hot as hell.
Then realization hit you. You weren't on the Ground anymore.
"Oh well, that did it."
You could kill Enjin.
"Don't," you sneered. "Don't speak to me right now."
"Doesn't look cursed to me—"
You abruptly turned to Enjin and felt the anger boil in your veins, simmering even, at the ease with which he took off his mask and let it hang on his sash. You wanted to bark at him, raise your voice out of the sheer frustration of having said I told you so which Enjin never seemed to listen to.
At least the air was not poisonous.
"Have you lost your mind?" You settled, trying to keep yourself composed. The last thing you needed was to attract even more attention to yourselves, as if you weren't dressed like two fucking clowns in the middle of a fashion parade.
"No, you haven't lost it," you continued, tossing your own mask to your belt. "Because there was nothing there to begin with."
You discarded the overcoat of your uniform and the sleeved commando blouse, leaving only the white tank top on. The dog tags jingled around your neck and over your breasts, held together by the black sports bra underneath.
"Fine, look, you were right," Enjin tried to reason with you, trailing after you like a lost puppy to wherever you were headed to. He opened Umbreaker to cast the protecting shade of its canopy over you both. "But hey, not dangerous. Nothing's out for our neck here. You can relax."
Perhaps Enjin would have allowed himself to be intimidated by your piercing glare were it not for that bead of sweat resting between your tits. He knew he was being horrible right at that very moment.
"Tell me to relax one more time, and I swear to everyone who'll listen, I will cut your tongue out of that fucking mouth."
"Always knew you were a kinky one, doll."
Enjin took a step back before you armed your vital instrument. He gave you some limited space before he reclaimed his stance by your side, umbrella floating over your silhouettes.
"We need to find more information about this place—wherever the hell we are—and get back home as soon as possible," you sighed, fanning yourself with one hand. "Fuck, we left the kids all alone in the middle of nowhere."
The teasing smile died down on Enjin's lips. No matter how much of a jester he wanted to play, he knew the situation was less than ideal. He was worried for the safety of his team, for your safety in the middle of uncharted territory, where people looked at them sideways, and the air didn't pierce the lungs with venom.
"Let's assess what we know," Enjin spoke and rummaged through one pocket for his pack of cigarettes. He lit one up and savored the nicotine. "We can assume we got eaten up by that coloring book. The section I opened it at was fully drawn, no white space left."
You took the cigarette from his mouth and put it in between your lips, letting it rest there, not puffing on it, just to tolerate the awful spice of the drug, mixed with Enjin's distinctive aroma. The Akuta leader felt something knot in his chest every time you did that; you took his breath away.
Little did he know his aroma was the last thing keeping you from crashing out. You raked a hand through your locks, tugging lightly at the roots.
"We have no idea what this means," you mumbled, and Enjin watched the cigarette bounce with every oscillation of your lips. You were too focused on your surroundings to care that you were tearing him apart at the seams. "Either this part of the story is finished, and we're just added to it, or we are just bystanders that are supposed to witness whatever's happening out here."
"Don't think we're bystanders. These people, if we can assume they are people, are reacting to us being here."
"Either way, we have to find some clues. Maybe there's a shaky section somewhere where the sketch wasn't finished that we could use as getaway—"
"Could you not touch him so casually, YOU HOMEWRECKERS?"
Huh?
"Megumi-chan has violin practice with me now. Let's go home, Megumi-chan. Today I'll have you master Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star."
"What the fuck is a twinkle shminkle pickle star?"
...present time...
You honestly don't know either. You're too flabbergasted by what is going on a mere 25 meters away to break down Enjin's dumbfounded question.
You have an analytical mind; you never ever take anything at face value; you split every fact and every claim apart, turn it 360, make a papyrus of a list of pros and cons until you even consider what your next move should be.
You're calm, you're never flustered whenever something happens that you possibly couldn't anticipate. You're open-minded, too; the Ground taught you to always expect the unexpected.
But ever so rarely, like a once-in-a-lifetime situation, certain unexpected's were above even your pay grade. The cigarette fell from between your lips straight to the concrete.
"Explain!"
Hell, raven-haired boy, someone should explain to you, too, why a white-haired man dressed like a gigolo would make a scene in the middle of a fucking street to leave his precious Megumi alone.
A white-haired man whose aura was unlike any you have ever met.
"Let's just go," Enjin kissed his teeth, fingers curling tighter around Umbreaker. "I don't like this."
You knew the other man's orbs were fixated on you, even behind the tint of his sunglasses.
"We can't," you reply, straightening your back. Bracing yourself for something, anything to happen. "He's staring at me."
Too late.
The unknown man is approaching you with the pace of a man who knew he had the whole world at his feet. Visceral, composed, with something thrilling and terrifying all the same.
You've never been intimidated by anyone in your life. And you're not intimidated now, but you're certainly intrigued.
"I know I would've remembered meeting you before, angel," He quips with a grin that is spreading gradually on his faultless visage. He reaches out to take your hand in his. "So do me the honor of telling me who you are—"
Enjin slaps his hand away. Not quite, though; the blonde was under the impression that he did, but realized that his tattooed hand never really came in contact with the other's. The Akuta leader takes half a step forward, just enough to protect you with his body.
The white-haired man cocks an eyebrow beneath his sunglasses, his grin shifting into a mocking smirk. He digs one hand leisurely in the pocket of his trousers.
"Classic. I would deflect that to keep a beautiful woman for myself. Greed is a pathetic sin to have, you know?"
The corner of Enjin's mouth veers into a sneer. Maybe not as evident to the assisting audience, but the white-haired man wanted to provoke him, and you knew he succeeded. You couldn't understand why Enjin allowed himself to be provoked by a fictional stranger.
"Makes two of us. I don't see any beautiful woman dying to be kept for yourself. Envy is a pathetic sin to have, you know?"
A gust trembled through the alley. Your ears perk up to a faceless noise. Danger tingles faster than the bizarre sentiment coiling in your stomach at Enjin's snarky and highly possessive comment. The Akuta leader must have felt it, too.
"Captain."
A downpour of metal scraps suddenly clouds the immediate atmosphere over the three teenagers.
"Yeah."
The pink-haired boy watches as a peculiar creature soars from the sky, in a straight trajectory to the white-haired man.
"Sensei!"
You and Enjin move on autopilot.
Enjin flicks Umbreaker closed and dashes forward with innate ease. His boots thump against the ground to position himself at the center of the group of teenagers, and he snaps the umbrella open. The canopy spreads wide, and the metal bangs heavily against the surface.
Enjin's eyes shimmer golden.
"Oh?"
You catch the creature's claw inches away from the white-haired man's head. You spare him a glance to confirm to yourself that he never even flinched, his posture impossibly relaxed, while you crush the claw and kick the creature away. It lands in a nearby building and digs a crater in the concrete.
Color him impressed.
"You anticipated we would save them," you say, your tone coming out more accusatory than you intended.
He simply chuckles and deliberately allows the sunglasses to slide down the bridge of his nose. A quiet gasp bubbles out of your lips; the azure of his eyes feels like infinity wrapped in absolution. Unsettling at a careful distance, that nothing crossed without permission.
He pushes the sunglasses back on top of his nose. You realize then that he wasn't judging you. He was measuring you.
"I had a feeling. I'm never wrong about feelings."
You feel the vibration of the earth when the creature lunges back at you. You don't get enough time to react; the white-haired man kills it before you get the chance to blink. He breaks it apart into a million pieces, too tiny and too shallow for the untrained human eye to know that such an entity had ever existed. That's how you know you underestimated him.
This place is dangerous.
"Sensei! That was so cool!"
The pink-haired teenager beams up at his teacher. The raven-haired boy is certainly scrutinizing both you and Enjin, while the girl is trying her hardest not to ogle at your leader's tattoos but fails miserably.
"So, where were we? I believe introductions are in order."
Enjin lights up his third cigarette in a row. Curses, which were the more evil counterpart of trash beasts, cursed energy, which was the equivalent of a giver's energy manipulation abilities, and sorcerers, which were yet to be defined as friend or foe.
You and Enjin have a lot of cursed energy, as per Gojo Satoru. Also dubbed as the strongest. Which was rather hypocritical of anyone to call themselves that, but you've witnessed enough to give him the benefit of the doubt.
The grey smoke dances and evaporates in the air. In any other situation, Enjin would have been mindful of smoking inside a school. But he absolutely despised the way that blindfolded bastard kept on staring at you, and the piece of material did nothing to hide his intentions.
Not that he cared to, anyway. He never stopped staring, not one moment, after you and Enjin met him in that alleyway.
Yuji—the pink-haired boy—is examining Enjin's vital instrument with great interest. He wants to touch it, but Enjin pulls it out of Yuji's grasp. "It was spiky before."
"It was."
"So you infuse it with cursed energy like Kugisaki does with her nails and hammer?"
"I just use it."
Yuji tilts his head. "How do you make it spiky?"
Megumi—the raven-haired boy—tuts at his classmate's questions.
"Itadori, just shut up."
"Let him talk," Nobara chirps, completely in a trance by Enjin's tattoos. "Enjin's voice is very sexy."
Gojo claps his hands, a lazy smile curving at his lips, and his students fall quiet. He's manspread in a chair that's clearly too small for him, but his full attention is given to you. Gojo is not ignoring Enjin's presence, not entirely; he's just keeping the blonde at arm's length.
Which pisses Enjin the fuck off.
"Your turn now, angel. This for that. What brings you to our humble abode?"
"My name is not angel," you state, your head held high and Gojo knows you're holding his gaze through the material purposely. "I'd like you to stop calling me that."
Who is Gojo Satoru if he doesn't love a good challenge?
"Doesn't change the fact that you are divine. Even though your eyes can and will cut deeper than any blade."
Enjin's lungs deflate through a shallow snicker, and it's far from being an entertained one. Enjin doesn't lose his cool; you've never seen him lose it, not once, not never. Yet there's an underlying acrimony in the sound he lets out, and it keeps on growing larger and larger every time Gojo makes a comment, any comment, about you.
That's not the Enjin who picked you off the streets all those years ago. The Enjin you know is carefree, he's loud, and he's obnoxious, and he's confident in himself like no other. The Enjin you know has always had your back, but mocked you; has always protected you, but poked fun at you.
The Enjin you know has always acted and never reacted to any man's provocations. Yet somehow, he reacts, time and again, to Gojo's provocations about you.
"I wasn't wrong, was I?"
"Fuck around and find out."
"Territorial, are we?"
You turn to Enjin, and you grant yourself the luxury to temper the sharp edge in your eye. You catch the exact sliver of a moment when his irises soften, just for you, always for you, before they go back to the frosty shade of gold he uses against his enemies. And you tell yourself it's the adrenaline, the uncertainty that makes him hyperprotective of his subordinate, and nothing else entirely.
Truth be told, you don't know if Gojo Satoru is friend or foe.
"Gojo—"
"Satoru," he corrects through a flick of his wrist.
"Gojo," you resume, and seat yourself across him. No matter how close or how far, the intensity of his persona is too permanent to ignore. You'd rather close the distance than deepen the canyon. "Thank you for bringing us up to speed with the current situation."
Each smile Gojo sends your way feels like a punch to Enjin's gut.
"Anything for you, angel."
Gojo would have never engaged in that conversation with Enjin if it weren't for you. He made that obvious enough.
How much of your current situation could you reveal? You find yourself in an impossible predicament; you know nothing about this universe. You don't know how much power this universe has over your lives. You don't know how much time passes on the Ground while you are there.
Gojo Satoru feels so much like a human being that you don't even believe you're in a simple children's coloring book anymore. You're no scientist, but you don't need to be to understand that he'll see through any deliberate lie you say.
"We don't know how we got here."
So, you alter the truth.
"We were browsing through a yard sale at an old home for some instruments. You see, I like antiques, and we're actually mentors to our own students, just like you are for Yuji, Megumi, and Nobara. While they were looking around, I found this book and opened it randomly somewhere in the middle. We got sucked in and woke up 4 blocks away from where we met you."
Gojo grabs his chin between thumb and index. He is listening intently to your story, and you keep your pulse under control with practiced mastery. Enjin lights up another cigarette.
"Do you want to go back?"
"Goes without saying."
Gojo nods. Then nods again.
"Okay."
Your lips part slightly. "Okay?"
"Okay."
He straightens his limbs out of the chair and stretches his body with effortless motions. Your gaze lingers subtly on the veiny forearms left bare by the rolled sleeves of his shirt, and you can't help but notice he unbuttoned the shirt halfway through.
You're no stranger to sexuality by all means. What you are, though, is a woman, so you see what Gojo is doing. He owns all the required cards to play, knows how to play them to appear eye-candy, and worst of all, he has the right to do so because he's pretty and he knows. And you see it coming from miles away.
Enjin sees that you see, and it's driving him up the wall.
"It's most likely a curse that sent you all the way here. Nothing I cannot break."
You dare to push through.
"Will you help us break it, Gojo?"
"I wouldn't be the strongest if I didn't! And I thought we established you and I are on first name basis now!"
You sense there is a but incoming. Enjin steals the words right out of your mouth.
"What do you want in exchange?"
To which Gojo approaches you with measured satisfaction. He shoves both hands in his pockets, but he flexes his arms and angles his head just enough to give you a glimpse of his defined chest hidden under the material. Playful, calculated motions under the impassive facade of Gojo Satoru.
You're used to the height difference because Enjin's just the same. Gojo looks at you through the tint, and it forces you to make a conscious effort to remain seated, to bear that height difference that's not as familiar, nor as warm as Enjin's. You have to bear it because you need to go back home, and Gojo Satoru would never disclose any helpful information to your captain.
"Call me Satoru, angel. We're friends now!"
Gojo rummages through the pockets of his tux jacket to reveal a key chain that he dangles in Enjin's face.
"I know you'd love to take a bath, angel, wind down, drink some good wine. I got a penthouse on top of Tokyo—quite literally—got the views, got that jacuzzi on the rooftop. All the best for my guests."
"Thanks. We don't need your pity. We're good enough on our own."
Enjin stomps the butt of his cigarette with the heel of his foot. Gojo catches that and shrugs. The tone in the classroom is changing; the air grows heavy between Enjin's visceral stare and Gojo's mischievous smile.
The teenagers feel it, too. Megumi has changed his stance from cautious to guarded. Yuji is clearly awkward by the unfiltered look on his face. And Nobara has stopped openly gawking over Enjin's bare arms.
"Enjin," you speak, and you push yourself off the chair. "Could you give me a moment to discuss with Gojo?"
Enjin can't believe his ears. Gojo's smile widens shamelessly. They both know what you're asking.
Enjin cannot leave you alone with that man.
"Whatever you want to say to him, you can say it now."
"Clearly, she cannot. Do yourself a favor and take the hint, blondie."
You don't see him, but you swear Enjin's eye twitches. You swear the prominent vein in his inked neck is popping, and you swear all he wants to do is to strangle Gojo by the neck for taunting him. You feel it burn in the back of your head as he watches Gojo's hand lifting to your face.
You swear he sighs relief when you whack it away. You cannot turn to him to confirm because you know you don't have it in you to see him like that. Why don't you?
You're a coward.
"Enjin," you insist despite your fingers running cold, despite the scorching heat of Gojo's elegant digits you have just dismissed. Although you doubt you ever felt it, really. For a fraction of a second, his skin blazed into yours, and then it was no longer there. "Please."
You articulate that word like you've never asked anything so audacious of Enjin before. Maybe you didn't. You pride yourself on knowing your captain like the back of your hand. You don't say please to one another; that's how it works. You just do, or you do not. Silently, without boasting, without demanding, you both do. You don't remember whether you've ever said that word to Enjin at all.
You never asked him to help you. You restored that antique music box you still have on your nightstand on your own, even though Enjin told you he'd help. You still have a scar on the inner side of your wrist from the chisel that skidded from the wooden ballerina and cut your flesh. You vividly remember the hurt in his drunken irises when Eishia said the wound was too sharp to be healed completely. You vividly remember walking away when he tried to touch it because he smelled of another woman whose name you bet he couldn't even remember.
You say it now. To ask him to leave you alone with a troubling stranger with bottomless ocean eyes whose interest you piqued.
You hear the unmistakable sound of his boots hitting the flooring. Heavy steps, doubtful steps, steps that carry him away from the classroom at the command of a word.
"Let's see if the umbrella turns spiky, kids."
The door creaks in their wake. Gojo chuckles, and there's something that tells you his shoulders relaxed in whatever triumph your request gave him.
"Aren't you cozy with one another."
"Enjin is my superior."
"Ah, a forbidden office romance! I love that trope so much." He points his finger in the air like he'd just discovered the Americas. "I know! We can have a marathon of cheesy movies, and I'm sure you'll jump ship to the genre."
"I hate cheesy movies," you said, keeping your timbre flat and even. "Don't mistake me for someone I am not."
Gojo cranes his head to the side, and the lopsided grin on his lips betrays much more than casual flirtation.
"You're not sincere, either."
You hate patronizing people. You hate entitled guys who think that the world revolves around them. You hate condescending men who think that humanity comes crawling if they snap their fingers. And your better instincts are howling at you because Gojo Satoru was the epitome of said pattern.
"All women have their secrets, do they not?"
Gojo Satoru lives and breathes entitlement, and you feel it in his stifling stare that he urges you to confront when he lowers his sunglasses again. You don't gasp this time around when you meet his eyes, and he's interested to know why you're not unraveled. By his looks, by the abyss of his eyes. By the endearment he's trying to push your limits with.
Do you break? If so, when? What's the button he can push? How much can you really endure?
"Come on, angel. I'm asking for a bit of honesty here. We both know you're not honest with me."
Oh, but you can endure. He notes it in the way you carry yourself. He's dressed in a fancy suit, and you're wearing a tank top and commando pants tugged in knee-high boots, but you don't care that your arms and shoulders are naked, or that your breasts are close to spilling out. No, but you're not doing that on purpose, and that's not vulgar, which means it's dangerous.
Your hair's a mess from the summer heat, from the remnants of the curse you all but crushed with your energy that was anything but cursed. There's a scar at the base of your neck where the four dog tags are wrapped around. There's a scar on the wrist that Satoru has tried to kiss two times now. There's a pouch at your waist that radiates kindness, and Satoru doesn't know what to do with that.
You're fixating him with your orbs from under your lashes like you're debating whether he is worth your time. And a hunch trashes through Gojo Satoru that he wants to earn your time.
"Because you're such an open book?"
"Should I be?"
"Do you want to be, Satoru?"
You enunciate each syllable of his name slowly, and he can't help the smirk you're painting on his lips with each roll of your tongue. Satoru's eyes are starting to hurt, but the summer twilight flutters through the open window in the classroom and cascades over your hair and catches your eyes. All he wants to do at this very moment is to ruin you.
"You still haven't told me what you want from me. How about we start there?"
Satoru nudges the sunglasses on the bridge of his nose. His smirk borders on sadism, and you're not sure what sentiment whirls through your veins at the palpable danger. Enjin is not there to breathe safety into you.
"I'll give you a better one. You cannot help me with what I want now. Take the keys, freshen up, order some takeout. I'll have some clothes sent for you to the penthouse. While you do that, I'll think about how you can pay me back."
"Enjin is not going to agree with this."
He laughs, and your smile at his reaction is delayed. "That's exactly why you wanted me alone. You don't have any better option, and you know you don't. It matters very little what your captain thinks or even feels because you're rational enough to take this, even though you don't like it too much yourself."
Your eyes flicker almost imperceptibly to the side before returning to Satoru's face. You know your expression is unnaturally still, and Satoru really admires your self-control in suppressing your real emotions. He wonders for a fraction of a second if your blonde counterpart knows it, too.
Satoru notices the exact spot between the crease of your eyebrows where you're debating whether to step on your boundaries. He knows you won't, but something in him desires that you will.
Earlier, when he first saw you, Gojo pondered over how easy you would be. Another effortless case of charming his way into your mind, giving you nothing, not even the bare minimum of attention, but knowing you'd submit to him all the same. You didn't. That was when he knew he had underestimated you.
And now, Satoru finds himself wondering how your mind would feel in the shadows of a darker sundown. You outplayed him when he turned off his infinity for you, and you didn't even realize it.
"I always repay my debts," you finally declare, and Satoru's mouth parts open slightly when he sees your candid smile. "Name your price, Satoru. I'll meet it."
You step out of the bathroom, droplets of water dripping from the ends of your hair onto the obscene marble of the penthouse. The floor is cold under the soles of your bare feet, while the cool of the AC wakens goosebumps on your naked skin. You don't bother to dry up, and you don't bother to wrap a towel around your body.
Enjin is not there.
But you know he was because he tossed his old red shirt on the satin couch in Gojo's luxurious living room. The black matte box tied with a ribbon the color of Gojo's eyes seems to belittle the battered fabric of Enjin's clothes. A note is tucked neatly under the ribbon, and your intuition tells you the handwriting doesn't belong to that poor Ichiji man.
You bite into the plush of your cheek. You toss the note, and it lands somewhere in the living room. Your fingers hesitate over the ribbon until you finally decide to open the box.
The only clothes Gojo got you were cute and floral summer dresses and lacy lingerie sets.
You grab a T-shirt and a pair of shorts from the plastic bag Ichiji dropped, along with the elegant present meant for you. There's a pair of flip-flops in the plastic bag, and you poke through the mess to take them out. You catch a glimpse of yourself in the broad mirror glued above the couch, and you laugh.
You couldn't look more homeless in Enjin's clothes if you tried.
You grab your crocheted pouch you left on the coffee table. Enjin didn't touch the takeout bags, or the sodas, or the bottled water left on the kitchen island. The pouch emits a faint light in your hand, and the yarn warms up your palm.
You're upset because you're angry that Enjin's angry, even though he'd sooner die than admit that. You're upset because worried that he hasn't eaten for a full day and because he keeps himself dehydrated by virtue of his fat ass ego. You're upset because you care, again, beyond the duty of a vice-captain to their captain.
And most of all, you're upset because you've been crossing a line lately that you know Enjin will not cross for you.
You find him some minutes later in what appears to be the building's gym area. The lights are dim, and the air is musty with sweat amplified by the damp of a midsummer's night. The silence fractures now and then with Enjin's jabs in the punching bag. No one else is around to dishearten him.
You observe him for a while. You rarely get the privilege to watch him train. Back at HQ, you're the one in charge of the kids' sparring sessions; Enjin is always lounging around, cigarette in hand and smirk on his lips like he's feasting his eyes on you sweating and putting the teenagers in their place when they hope to outsmart you.
Enjin looks different now. His deltoids contract with every hit he lands on the punching bag. His trapezius glows under the rush of perspiration on the fine lines of his tattoos. He stops and hugs the bag for a brief moment to steady his breath, and you glance at the way his chest rises and falls with every sharp inhale.
You're toying with the dog tags at your neck. "Fancy seeing you here."
Enjin spares you a glance, and there's an element of surprise in those golden eyes covered by his soaked fringe. It disappears then, when he realizes you were always going to find him; Enjin is still wearing the uniform trousers where you've sewn a daisy on the hem of his butt pocket.
For good measure, he'd said during one of your missions where you'd descended on the yarn of your armed crochet hooks and soared down the edge of a cliff to save his ass, in case life splits us apart and you're missing me.
"Is that Gojo's face you're trying to punch?" You tease and approach him.
Enjin chuckles dryly but says nothing. Another punch vibrates through the air.
"You should eat," You try when you reach him. You know better than to approach him when he has that animalistic look in his eye, but you try. "We need to preserve our strength."
A low growl rumbles in his chest, and his jaw tightens at the memory of that white-haired piece of shit. "What did he want?"
"He didn't say—"
"To get in your pants is what he wants," Enjin kicks the bag so hard that he sends it flying.
You watch him stop it with his forearm. His action sends a shiver down your spine and an unrequited fever in your chest.
"Don't you think I know?"
"You're letting him."
You scoff. You cannot believe your ears, and you cannot believe Enjin is going back to punching the fucking bag, without bothering to look you in the eye when he says it.
"That's pretentious coming from you."
That's when he stops whatever he was pretending to do, but doesn't look at you, still. "I didn't mean it like that."
"Then fucking look me in the eye when you're saying shit like that to me."
You're mad, and Enjin knows. You swear only when you're mad. Enjin finally allows himself to look at you, to finally take a good look at you. He immediately regrets; your shoulders are tense under that T-shirt that could have fit him but is too large for your frame. Your body is rigid, but your lower lip is trembling, and Enjin knows you're struggling to contain whatever words you are going to say, even if he knows he ultimately deserves everything you were truly going to say.
"Whose fucking fault is it that we're here?" You spit through gritted teeth. "Didn't I fucking tell you to leave that book the fuck alone, and you went and did everything you wanted anyway? And now you're calling me a whore for trying to get us out of here?"
Enjin watches you push your finger into his pectoral, and it burns when you do because he knows he has no right to call you out like that. He's frozen in place, but you've destabilized him under the surface.
"I don't deserve to be treated like this. Maybe you should go out and fuck around a bit." You spit acid laughter, and he instantly regrets that you do. "Get in someone's pants tonight. Hell, maybe I'll leave the penthouse to you. I'm sure the girls would love to be fucked in front of that giant mirror in th—"
Enjin grabs your wrist, and your traitorous body stills. His voice is strained and rough around the edges when he speaks.
"I didn't mean it like that."
You can't bring yourself to look up at him. You're hyperaware of the closeness, of the musky scent in his skin, of the warmth he radiates. You can't bring yourself to face him.
"Do you really think so little of me?"
Enjin forces you to face him when he tugs you closer until your clothed chest wavers over his own. His thumb lingers on the scar on your wrist, which he caresses with a tremor that sticks for a second too long. Enjin is wrestling his own desire into submission, and your raging pulse on the pad of his finger is not doing him any favors.
"You know what I think of you."
You jerk your hand away from his because that unfamiliar touch is charting into unexplored territory, and it's yanking a plug out of your soul. You clutch your injured hand; it's hard enough to meet his eyes now when your own pupils are quivering, and Enjin's have darkened in a shade of harvest bronze.
"I don't, Enjin."
You say his name, and he goes utterly still, like your murmur snapped some invisible thread in him. Enjin's breath is so loud in the silence, and it mixes with yours, but he's not close enough to justify it.
"The only reason I'm leading the Akuta team and not you is that I was there first." Enjin breathes, and he shoves his hands in the pockets of his trousers. He doesn't trust himself enough to be around you now. Desire shouldn't feel like gravity failing. "I trust you with my life."
You still feel the pungent rain collapsing on your skin, in that murky alleyway all those years ago, lying over the dead bodies of the people who raised you. You still feel the weight of Enjin's hands over your wounds and the brush of his fingers over the cut in your neck that you wrapped yarn around, clinging to survival.
You were the one to trust him with your life first, all those years ago, when he stood by your infirmary bed to nurse you back to health. You were the first member of Team Akuta, the first person Enjin himself chose to share his duties with. But you were younger, and so was he, and in a frenzy of grief and regret, at a moment when you crashed under the numbness of being a walking corpse, you threw your body to him to do as he would with it.
Every time Enjin returned to HQ, reeking of another woman's perfume and painted in territorial lipstick, you questioned why he never chose you.
"Then why don't you trust me now?"
"I do. I don't trust others with you."
You laugh, and it echoes in the gym.
"You don't get to say that to me."
Enjin flinches at how bleak your voice is. He wants to reach for you, yet you back away and hug yourself. Your knuckles turn pale under the pressure, and your flesh stings, but you prefer the pain to the hypocrisy Enjin is spewing at you. You choke on your own breath.
"You don't fucking get to say that to me." You hiss when all you want to do is scream. You don't see how Enjin's eyes lose their light, and you don't see the sheer fear that colors his face. He reaches out again, and his digits are shaking, but you choose to distance yourself.
You tried, you really did, to get over the illusion of Enjin. You fought with your treacherous heart to step out of the fire, and you nearly got it; your mind nearly won. And each time you felt so close to winning, that blonde idiot would come back from his nightly ventures to ask about you, to look for you, to pretend he wanted to choose you.
Pretending that perhaps you meant something to him.
"Fuck," and your voice breaks halfway through, until all that's left is a useless whisper. "Fuck."
Enjin watches you stumble over the bottle of water you brought for him when you walk away. The gym door shuts with the softest of clicks, but Enjin hears it roar like thunder in the sky.
He doesn't know how much time passes after that.
The night is thick through the glass walls of the gym, and the stars are glimmering a light that doesn't reach him. He punches and kicks, and punches the bag, over and over again, until blood spills over his skin, and Enjin still feels too numb to the pain in his hands.
When he gets to the front door of the penthouse after there's no more fuel left in the tank, he's surprised you left it open. The quiet inside is deafening.
Enjin closes the door behind him, and the exhale he lets out is an earthquake. The blood on his knuckles has clotted, but all the pain in the world wouldn't erase this image from his mind. Enjin discovers the discarded note, sealed still, on the marble floor, and the open present box. He sees the dresses and the lingerie, and your deliberate choice not to wear any of it.
Enjin knows but doesn't acknowledge; it isn't love that destroys him. It's the silence that comes after.
He never stopped thinking about you.
Enjin assumed you had stopped thinking about him, that it was nigh impossible for you to think about him in that manner anymore. You both were young, and you both were grieving the loss in your lives when he turned you away, in a judgment he still thinks is right.
You both are older now.
You carry yourself with dignity. You're not a ghost of your former self anymore. You laugh now, a lot, really. You laugh at his jokes sometimes, too, which makes Enjin stop, really look at you, and his smile just...softens. Like something inside him gives up fighting.
You both are older now.
You lecture him. You teach the kids. You're Corvus's favorite even though Corvus will never admit you are. And for good reason. You're better than Enjin in any way possible. You stay true to your heart. You don't lie because you say it hurts. You don't deceive because you believe in reality. Enjin watches you be gentle with others and thinks you'd ruin him if you were gentle with him like that.
You both are older now.
And clearly that's not enough.
Enjin collapses on the couch, twisting the sealed envelope in his hand.
Hello angel,
I trust everything is to your liking! I know I have a keen eye, so forgive me for going ahead and ordering some designer clothes for you :) If there's anything else you want, please tell me. I'm here to spoil you.
P.S: I hope you won't get frisky with blondie. Or do, but keep the blue lace out of his hands. We can have a great time with it together :P
Yours truly,
Satoru
Enjin takes out the lighter from his pocket and sets the letter on fire.
"Faster, Yuji."
"I don't get it," the pink-haired boy pants, chunky blobs of perspiration trailing down the side of his head. "I'm going as fast as I can. And you haven't broken a sweat!"
Clearly, Megumi echoes Yuji's sentiment because at the other end of the dojo, Enjin is casually swinging Umbreaker on his wrist without a care in the world.
You twist your locks into a bun that you tie on top of your head with your crochet hooks. Gojo had yet to arrive; he called you early in the morning to ask you to train Yuji and Megumi because he had some boring meeting with higher-ups that he'd much rather have spent time with you.
Gojo frowned like a toddler when he heard that Enjin burned his letter, and you didn't read it. To which he promised he would tell you, word by word, what he wrote in there when he got back from his meeting. It got you curious.
"You're too slow on your feet," you say to Yuji, approaching him to correct his stance. "You need to press on your arch and shift your center of gravity—"
"Brat, change with me."
You are taken aback by the mouth growing on Yuji's cheek. He slaps his hand over it, and it just morphs inches above again.
"You're embarrassing me."
Enjin stares at Yuji's face as an eye socket pops next to the mouth. "What the fuck is that?"
"Does it bite?" But you don't wait for the answer when you try to poke Yuji's face where the mouth formed. Much to your surprise, it shifts away.
"Insolent peasants," the mouth speaks again from Yuji's forehead. "Who do you think you're talking to?"
"Clearly some farce," Enjin chuckles, but Megumi doesn't.
"Don't taunt him. That's a very dangerous curse—"
"Enhchain."
You don't blink when you arm the hooks. And thank fuck you don't, because if you lost any fraction of that second, you would have fallen dead on the wall Yuji punched you into. Which was in another building on campus altogether.
Rubble falls around you, and you feel wobbly on your feet. Your hooks are crossed at your chest, thick dark steel reflecting sunlight in the dirt. You cough, and you expect blood to come up, but it doesn't. You spit at your feet, and it raises dust in the air. You straighten your body, sliding your now-sabers to your sides.
Yuji flexes his hand, crimson eyes angled in your direction. "That's one tough woman. I haven't known one in centuries." He cracks his neck and laughs. "Entertain me more, woman."
Yuji launches himself at you and swings his fist through the air. The punch crashes with the ferrule of Enjin's unleashed Umbreaker, and the blonde man glares at him from behind the canopy.
"Move, peasant," Yuji orders, unimpressed. "I'm not interested in you—"
"You're not laying another finger on her," Enjin growls and starts pushing Yuji backward. "That's enough show of power."
"You think the brat was capable of this?" He barks through a vicious grin and charges another punch just to prove a point. "Know your place, fool."
"Enjin!"
You both jump away when you feel the imminent pressure building. The entire building virtually disintegrates.
"Come on, humans," He sighs, drawing one hand through his hair. "I didn't come out to be bored. Show me how pathetic you really are."
"Aren't you cocky?"
You soar into the air and propel the swords at Yuji's feet. You maneuver two smaller hooks between your fingers to bind green yarn like a cocoon around Yuji's body, with the swords serving as props. The yarn ferments with sap, and Yuji arches an eyebrow at the tingling sensation he's feeling in his body.
"Interesting," He says, like he's carefully studying your technique. "This is an interesting poison. It's not lethal, but it's anesthetic. And most importantly, you're not using jujutsu. Which means..."
The yarn starts smoldering until the smaller hooks you're holding char in your palms. Your inertia in the air is completely gone; you cannot use your hooks to adjust your trajectory, and you're entering a free fall. Yuji frees himself and watches your body descend, with a sinister smirk. He's aiming two fingers at you.
"Your flesh must be so tender, woman."
You brace for an impact that never comes.
Another explosion erupts in the cloudy sky, and its aftermath flares like fireworks through the smog. You open your eyes, and you're unharmed. Gojo is holding you in his arms with relaxed ease. He looks down at you through the blindfold.
"I missed all the fun! Can you stand angel?"
"This is nothing," You reply, and Satoru puts you down with a care that makes your eyes linger on his visage. "Yuji's gone crazy."
He chuckles and gestures vaguely through the air. "That's not Yuji. It's Sukuna. A bit of a long story, angel, and I don't want to bore you to death with it, but he's inhabiting Yuji for a little while."
"Inhabiting? Like, possessing him?"
"Gojo Satoru," Sukuna speaks, head tilted at the white-haired sorcerer. "Is that your woman?"
"I'm no one's woman," You reply instead, and Satoru arches an amused eyebrow at your words. But he likes it that you're feisty. By the looks of it, you didn't get frisky either with blondie. So, excluding the unfortunate coincidence that you provoked Sukuna and his boring morning meeting that had his coffee run cold, his morning turned out to be a very good one overall.
Sukuna simply sighs. "Women are so impertinent in this era. You need to be taught a lesson."
With that, he disappears. The tattoos wash away from Yuji's face, and it looks like the teenager is back to normal when he blinks and finds himself out in open terrain. That and, well, the destroyed building.
"Are you hurt?"
Enjin's large hands on your shoulders shake you out of the adrenaline trance. You nod slowly; when you spot the carnal concern in his daffodil eyes, you endure a cold shiver down your spine. It has been a while since you've faced a life-or-death situation. Your knees almost buckle.
"I'm fine," you murmur, and you recall your weapons to arrange them back into your pouch. The steel is yet to cool down properly.
"No thanks to you," Gojo tuts and cranes his head to the side. "If that fireball had hit her, she would have been incinerated. Weren't you supposed to protect her?"
You expect Enjin to bark back at Satoru. You expect your captain to quip something, anything, to reassure you that what happened wasn't scary at all. He did that after you fought Amo in her tower. He did that after he brought you to HQ on the brink of death. He did that when he stopped you from mass murdering an entire town for revenge.
He doesn't now. Enjin backs away, and your stomach turns inside out.
"Doesn't matter," Satoru's voice breaks the aftermath of the unnamed sentiment whirling through the ringing in your ears. "You're safe now. Sukuna won't pull a prank like that on you with me around."
It's the first time Enjin allows someone else to reassure you, and you feel like you'll vomit any second now. You swallow the pungent taste in your throat because you need to overcome it. You need to play your part, and you need to go back home. And throughout this elementary little plan of yours, you have to stand up straight, head held high, and you have to face this Enjin that's as silent as a tomb.
You don't register the conversation Gojo is having with Megumi and Yuji. Enjin is not reaching for you, and it feels incomparably worse now than it did at 19.
"We're going to a ball tonight, angel! I'll arrange for the perfect dress to be sent to you. You'll be my plus one after all."
Why isn't Enjin reaching for you?
"I know for a fact you'll be absolutely gorgeous in red. Maybe emerald? What do you think about olive yellow? You'll be gorgeous wearing a trash bag anyway—"
Satoru sees you're distraught. There's a mixture of emotions skipping through your eyes: fear, anxiety, betrayal. You're as pale as a ghost, and you're leaning away from both him and Enjin. You're staring the blonde man down like you're daring him to turn his back on you.
And Enjin does. He lights up a cigarette and steps away to keep his distance. He keeps his distance because he cannot bear to see Gojo's fingers caressing your own like he's comforting you. He keeps his distance even though Gojo taunts him that he saved you, and he couldn't. Enjin is keeping his distance, hoping that his own shortcomings will matter less if he's looking away.
The measured distance a captain should keep from his subordinates.
Enjin still trusts you with his life despite that look on your face. Maybe you don't trust him with yours anymore, and he thinks he can take it. He cannot. If you allow Gojo to intertwine his fingers with yours, Enjin knows the ground will collapse right underneath him.
And Enjin is still selfish enough to believe you won't allow Gojo to have his way with you. For days, months, years on end, Enjin had hoped something would finally force his hand, so he wouldn't have to choose. He feels that he has to make that choice himself now, but he doesn't know if he is scared of losing you or if he is scared of having you.
Truth is, Enjin knows. And has known for the better part of his life, in the embrace of every woman who wasn't you, in every laughter you shared but not with him, in the quiet of every late night when you were stretching out on his couch with zero self-consciousness, back arched, shirt riding up, chasing the lull only dreams could provide.
Enjin had known the answer every time he watched you with the quiet panic of someone rehearsing the grief.
"What am I your plus one for exactly?" You want to twist the knife deeper into the wound; Enjin should know you're hurting, he always knows. You want to be wretched enough to pay Enjin back. An eye for an eye.
You draw your hand away from Satoru's reach.
"I need you to be my beloved fiancée for the night."
Enjin bites down on the cigarette and breaks it in half. Your body wrenches toward Satoru. "Why would I do that?"
"These old farts are pushing for me to have an heir, yada, yada. Not on my bingo card at the moment," Satoru waves his hand like the physicality of it hurts him.
"Jujutsu Tech is hosting an official this-or-another tonight, and they need my face to keep up the facade. I'm incredibly tired of listening to their broken record, so I need your help to save me the pain. Drinks and food will be great! Pretty convenient, huh? Blondie can come too if he wants."
"Convenient for who? I'm not a show horse, Satoru."
"Oh, angel," Satoru accentuates, and you know there's no room left for negotiations. "You told me you pay all your debts. Didn't take you for a liar."
You twist the knife deep enough when Enjin clenches his jaw so hard his teeth are grinding against one another. Golden irises turn metallic when he looks at you, and even in his darkest hour, which apparently is happening now, he cannot bring himself to glare at you. The softness is still there.
That's good enough for you. But you cannot keep making Enjin's choices for him.
"Besides," Satoru all but purrs, "After the clock strikes midnight, I can point Cinderella to find her lost shoe to return home right away."
The ballroom is buzzing with snobbish executives.
Enjin rubs shoulders with some flamboyant dudes and draws the attention of superficial women on his way to the bar. He shrugs each of them away when they try to brush his arm with exaggerated touches; in another lifetime on the Ground, this would have been his dissolute paradise. Luxurious bathrooms to bend them over alabaster sinks. Unlimited champagne bubbling. Rinse and repeat.
Enjin is not in the mood for any of that tonight.
He taps the countertop, and a glass of bourbon on ice follows right after. Enjin twirls the sphere chunk against the glass until he decides to dunk it down at once. The bartender is utterly disgusted, but doesn't have a choice when Enjin nudges the glass back for a refill.
"Haven't seen you around before."
Enjin downs his second glass and angles his head toward where that voice is coming from, husky and rather accusatory. Another blonde man is sitting two chairs away with a glass of bourbon of his own, but significantly patient with his liquor in contrast to Enjin's rushed drinking.
"Not from around here," Enjin replies, and the bartender is downright offended that the tattooed man is asking for another. You're a brute or something similar, he says, but Enjin isn't bothered enough to care.
The other man seems bothered enough. He takes a calculated sip and lowers his glass with a textbook clank against the mahogany.
"Are you a threat?"
Enjin sketches a smile that doesn't reach his eyes. "Not if I can help it."
Good answer. The other man presents a smile of his own that's half-polite, half-intrigued. "You're making the bartender uncomfortable."
A sunflower eyebrow cocks on Enjin's forehead, and he turns halfway to meet the other man. "He called me a brute. Gotta give him a run for his money."
The stranger mirrors Enjin's stance and slants his glass toward him.
"Nanami Kento."
"Enjin," He offers, "But we're not staying around enough to become best friends."
Nanami watches Enjin drain his third drink in as many minutes and figures it's doing nothing to the tattooed man. Perhaps someone fit enough to hold his alcohol, with whom Nanami could share an interesting conversation. "We?"
Enjin doesn't need to reply to Nanami's inquiry. The entire ballroom comes to a halt when you and Gojo make your belated appearance.
By some miraculous coincidence, you are the only woman in the hall who is wearing red. A fiery shade of red in a corseted gown, sculpted in silk chiffon with draped details. Your gown is so layered that it requires two attendants to help you ease into it, but you don't need them. You're wearing it with the ease of a woman who knows that the world watches her every breath.
Your arms are caressed by opera gloves of the same fiery red, and one of yours is encircled by Gojo's. Your fingers rest on Gojo's forearm, gently, timidly, even, when he guides you deeper into the hall. He leans closer to you and whispers something indistinct in your ear. You laugh, and the vibrations make your neckline dip just enough off of your bare shoulders to be provocative. A diamond ruby teardrop necklace rests just shy of your breasts, where you used to wear your dog tags, and fits like a charm over the scar. You didn't cover the scar, and it makes you look all the more regal.
The real rebellion is those red lips of yours that beam at Gojo when he sweeps a curly lock of hair behind your ear. It looks like it deserted from that elegant yet messy bun styled on the crown of your head. Gojo idles over the crook of your neck to savor your aroma, and you linger just enough to gift him a giggle that's too provocative to be unintentional.
Something dies in Enjin's ribcage. It gnaws and it claws and it rips Enjin's heart apart.
Because you look like you belong on Gojo's arm.
The luxury, the attention, the fairytale, Enjin cannot give you that. He basks in a sentiment that's too useless to describe, and he knows he'll never amount to anything close to what Gojo is giving you now.
"She's a marvelous woman."
Nanami's comment barely reaches Enjin's ears. He wishes it didn't. Nanami is watching his profile, and it feels too tough to challenge Kento's inadvertent pity.
"Don't I know it?"
Maybe it's better this way, Enjin tells himself.
Your eyes meet his across the hall. You felt Enjin's presence right away the moment you stepped inside; the daisy you'd sewn for him was tucked away in the pocket of his emerald tuxedo, right over his heart.
You're on Satoru's arm, and Enjin smiles, a little undone under the artificial glamour of the candelabra glossing over him. The shadows are dancing over the lines in Enjin's face, and he looks happy in the illusion of the penumbra coloring between the lines.
Maybe it's better this way.
Satoru lifts the hand you've intertwined around his, and the pads of his fingers waltz with your glove, removing the fabric on each of your fingers little by little. The glove is floating for an eternity until it dies on the ground, but Enjin feels it like the final nail in his coffin.
Then Satoru's lips press a kiss on the inside of your wrist like he's sealing your scar with something akin to carnal hunger. The hall erupts in fervent applause. The Akuta leader closes his eyes to still a tremor.
Enjin is in love with you, and his train is leaving the station.
"Satoru," you hum, but it comes out strained. He's watching you over the tint of his sunglasses. "Please."
That, admittedly, takes Satoru by surprise. "Please what, angel?"
You want to jerk your hand away from his grip, but you cannot, and Satoru knows you cannot. He takes advantage of that to plant another kiss, this time open-mouthed, and you feel the tip of his tongue swirling on the hammering pulse in your veins.
"You wanted us to make it convincing. Don't tell me you're having second thoughts now. These assholes love this little show of ours."
You feel pathetic that Satoru's gesture is doing things to you. Yes, you're hurt, and you're betrayed, even though you told yourself, time and time again, that you shouldn't wrap yourself in sham fantasies. Oh, but you want, you hope, with the virgin innocence of a child, that those fantasies will come alive.
You wanted Enjin to be your fantasy. And you counted on your captain to be just as hurt and just as betrayed that Satoru is laying claim to your body. And there he is, dressed in that emerald tuxedo that hugs his every muscle just the right way, with your spiritual energy over his heart like it means something. Enjin turns away to the bar, and a woman with blue-tinted silver hair makes her way to him.
You want to cry.
"Focus on me, angel."
Satoru is gazing at you. Not a command, not a request. Something in between. Something that makes your toes curl when he slides your glove back on your arm. And Satoru is not as steady as he wants to be; to the meaningless public that scrutinizes every move you two make, he's a master puppeteer who reveres his woman. Your conviction in fulfilling your mission and role shakes Satoru to the core.
Your chest rises and falls with irregular breaths. Your visage appears stoic, but your lower lip is trembling. Your pulse is off the charts, and still, you're not letting your mask fall apart.
Satoru intended to break you tonight. Now, he wants to show you just how much Enjin is missing out on.
His fingers delay their departure from yours, and he wonders if he can focus long enough to read your mind with those cerulean eyes of his.
"Satoru," you say, cold, sharp. Relentless enough for Satoru to understand that he couldn't read your mind even if he tried.
"Yes, angel?"
"Let's give these assholes a show."
You do. Satoru makes sure of it.
He's dancing with you on every sappy rendition the orchestra is playing. He's introducing you to everyone who asks, even if he's not interested in the least to fill his mind with their memory. He kisses your gloved hand like it's a sacred thing, and his hand hovers at the small of your back like it was the solemn duty he was born to do.
And you? You play your part with precision that not even Too Lilly could produce. You down glass after glass of champagne. You laugh with your head thrown back at Satoru's every joke. You don't hold your liquor well; you never have. Every glass of champagne that disappears down your throat makes you do things you don't mean out of the oppressive spite you're feeling.
You tap on Satoru's shoulder, and you trace patterns in the navy fabric of his jacket, down his arm, until he takes it off entirely. You rest your palm over his chest when he finally allows his hand to settle just above your glute muscles. It's tender enough that it elicits goosebumps on your skin, and it's possessive enough that it churns right in your lower belly.
All the while, Enjin's golden eyes incinerate a hole in the back of your head.
"Let's get some fresh air, angel," Satoru coaxes in your ear, and the alcohol in your veins whirls over time, that you think it's honey pouring instead.
You don't know when you reach the rooftop.
The summer breeze tickles your bare shoulders. Even late at night, the air is sizzling. It might as well be the heart galloping in your ribcage that makes you feel so hot. Darkness engulfs the rooftop, and it's pierced only by the tiny flower bulbs on the balustrade. Tokyo stretches vast under your feet, and you have to hold onto the metal to admire the neon lights of the city.
Satoru walks lazily behind you until he leans over the balustrade. You're too focused on the fluorescent posts to notice he's admiring you. You look so fragile and so strong in such a perfectly balanced antithesis that makes him take his sunglasses off. Satoru has you right where he wants you: inebriated, heartbroken, all alone with him on the rooftop of a reception held for him. All that's left for him to do is to play checkmate.
And yet, he doesn't.
"Beautiful."
"It is," You mumble, and for a second, you feel like you're back on the Ground, on top of Canvas town, the day they celebrated Remlin. "Very beautiful."
Satoru laughs with his whole chest, and you don't know why. You're slowly losing to the layers of your body, to the booze that's quickly gaining the upper hand in each of them. Your lower lip juts into a pout.
"The hell's so funny?"
Satoru approaches you with a shameless stride that crowds your proximity. "You are funny, angel," He hums and extracts one of your gloves to throw over the balustrade. "You shouldn't follow strangers alone into the night, you know. God knows what they want to do to you."
You swear you mean to retort some sassy answer to that smartass, but all bravado drowns in your lungs when you meet his eyes. The baby blue in his irises, now completely revealed to you, has darkened in a shade of royal azure that makes you weak in the knees. Satoru's orbs are all-consuming, and there's a chained greed behind them.
He yanks your other glove. Satoru's velvety digits descend down your arms to guide them around his neck. You let him.
"Performed a wonderful role tonight, princess," Satoru speaks, and it's throaty. His hands travel to your hips, and it's unlike him that he wants to ground himself, but he does. "You're a natural at playing pretend."
Satoru is not wrong. You've played pretend for years until you started to believe in the farce yourself. Satoru's thumbs dig into the plush of your hips, stroking oddly comforting circles in your clothed flesh. He draws you closer into him, until your breasts are pressing into his chest. Satoru cannot tell if it's the Six Eyes making him feel like that, but he groans lowly in his chest when he feels the weight of your tits.
"Do you want to stop pretending?"
Do you?
When you imagine it's Enjin's chest you're pressing into right now? When you imagine it's Enjin's arms anchoring you right now? When you imagine Satoru's breath smells like cigarettes, and that something else that is unmistakably Enjin?
Your crocheted pouch is warm on your thigh.
"I can't."
You're in love with Enjin, even though he's not in love with you.
Your breath collides with Satoru's when you heave those words out. You sense the smile in his sigh when he pulls away, untangling himself from you. He pushes the sunglasses back on the bridge of his nose and his hands into his pockets.
"Perfect timing, blondie."
Enjin blasts the rooftop door open. His eyes search for you with a frenetic pace, and his heart stills for a brief moment, then stops beating altogether. You're standing so close to him.
The fiery red of your dress burns bright in the darkness.
"Come closer, little curiosity," Satoru chuckles and takes out a folded piece of paper from the pocket of his shirt. He hands it to you, and you accept it with trembling hands. It's a torn page out of the coloring book that brought you to this Universe. "The clock strikes midnight. I'll seal the opening after you go. We won't see each other, ever again."
Enjin has to be sure. He has to be sure that his eyes aren't playing any pranks on him. Satoru gives you one final smile and, for the first and last time in his life, he calls your name. "It was a pleasure to meet you."
Enjin watches Gojo as he walks away from you, fingers snapping in an acute motion to reveal a bag with all your belongings. He gives it to Enjin and stops right at his side, cerulean eyes mocking the Akuta leader. "You don't deserve her. Least you can do is stop wasting her time, Enjin."
The rooftop is overrun with stillness after Gojo leaves.
Enjin approaches you with uncertain steps. He stops at an indecisive distance, where the moonlight veils your face with its radiance. He's scared of your eyes that are fixated on the concrete, and he's willing to die to know what is going through your head. Enjin doesn't know what to say, so he stares at you, and he wonders.
You open the paper.
In the blink of an eye, you're back in the collapsed mansion, and the three teenagers gawk at you both.
"What the hell..." Zanka starts but cannot finish his sentence. Just moments ago, you both were there, dressed in your normal cleaner uniforms, so why the hell are you both dressed in attire that would give August a field day?
The poison on the Ground fills your lungs, and you choke on the toxic atmosphere. Enjin helps you put your gas mask on, and you take a deep breath. The broken clock has stopped ticking in place and gone utterly still. The coloring book is no longer there, as if it never existed.
You're back home.
On the car ride back to HQ, no one utters a word. Not Rudo, who usually hates the stale silence. Not Zanka, who's way too curious to know what happened to both of you in those five minutes you were gone. Not Riyo, who's dying to know who has styled your hair to perfection.
Something has changed between you and Enjin, and it's too oppressive for the teenagers to ask about.
They see the way Enjin continuously glances at you sitting in the passenger seat more than he's focused on the actual road, so much so that the car jumped 3 hills and almost rolled over in the sand twice so far. Meanwhile, you're completely detached, your eyes glued to the desert. You don't say a word until the car reaches HQ.
Semiu lifts her eyes from the magazine she's reading, and she has to double down on that. Your heels are clacking decisively against the floor, and August, who came to pick up some packages with new materials he'd ordered, drops them all when he sees your dress.
You ignore his frenzied screeching and the way he circles you like a madman reborn, and you stop at Semiu's desk.
"I want to talk to the boss. Is he here?"
The Akuta team follows right after you and August's interest transfers to Enjin's posh outfit. Semiu spares Enjin a glance over your shoulder, asking for a silent explanation as to why your voice is so bitter.
"In the office," Semiu replies when the explanation fails to arrive. "Did you get what you need—"
You walk away from the chaos in the reception, down the hallway where Corvus' office is located. You close the door behind you before Enjin finds the chance to stop you.
"What the hell is going on?" Rudo demands. "Why is she not talking to us?"
Riyo is spinning the Ripper on her index, eyeing her leader. "You did something to her, didn't you?"
The ghost of your perfume is frozen in the hallway. It steals Enjin's breath because, for half a second, it felt like you were right there. Enjin cannot breathe while you're in Corvus' office. A looming omen suffocates the entire Akuta team.
After what feels like forever, the latch clicks and the door opens. The hallway is foggy from all the nicotine Enjin smoked. He jumps to his feet, and there's muted desperation in the way he forbids himself to reach out for you.
"As of tonight, I am no longer a member of the Akuta team. I will be transferring to the Southern Branch tomorrow morning."
You render the Akuta team speechless.
"No, you're not."
You don't have any energy left to fight with Enjin. You turn to walk away, but Enjin catches you by the wrist. "You're not going anywhere. Not tomorrow, not ever."
"It hurts, doesn't it?"
Enjin winces. "What?"
"Good. Let it hurt."
"Oi! What do you mean—"
"Rudo. Guys. Give us a moment."
"Enjin, didn't you hear what she said—"
"Rudo. Leave me alone with my vice captain."
Riyo grabs both Rudo and Zanka by their shoulders and has to drag them away forcefully. The hallway turns so quiet that one could hear a pin drop. Enjin seeks the warmth of your fingers, and the way you recoil violently from him makes his stomach drop.
"Why didn't you talk to me about this first?"
He hates it that you look so beautiful beyond your downcast eyes and the clenched fists you anchor at your sides. He hates it that your lipstick is still flawless over your lips, even though your mouth is pursed in what looks dangerously close to resentment. He hates it that your dress is still impeccable on your body.
Enjin hates it that he envisioned you in the arms of another, and now you're here, untainted and distant.
You breathe out, and it comes out unsteady. The truth is infinitely heavier than the lie. "I cannot be around you anymore."
Enjin's hand freezes mid-motion in the air, fingers shuddering like you're slipping right through them. A million thoughts race through his head, and he cannot articulate any of them to give them life. Alas—
"If this is about Gojo Sat—"
You laugh. It's muted at first, the way clouds gather in the serenity of a summer sky. It spills after, all at once, like thunder crashing, like a torrent over skin, when the wind is too strong, and the umbrella you were holding is stolen by the cyclone. It leaves you vulnerable in the raging storm.
"I should've let him take me," you snap, each word ascending an octave, "Right on that fucking rooftop I should've—should've let him fuck me—should've let him take me—"
Until your throat rips apart. "I would've had a reason to feel guilty."
You're rubbing your arms, shoulders slouched together. Your eyes carry the stillness of deep water, where nothing shines on the surface, but the pressure explodes beneath. And you cannot look at him because you'll break if you do. You know it because you noticed his feet moving as if he wanted to gravitate toward you.
"Do you think I can wake up tomorrow morning and go back to what we were—"
"I don't want to go back."
Your head jolts upwards at Enjin's words.
"I don't want to go back."
Enjin is devastated. You've never seen his honey eyes dropping under their lids. You've never seen the fine lines of his face chiseled so exhausted. You've never heard him breathe so abnormally fast. Enjin has never been so disheveled before. Not with anyone, not for anyone.
Not for you.
"I've been—fuck," Enjin runs his hands through his perfectly styled hair until it turns a mess. "Been saying shit I mean and shit I don't mean—been trying to sort it out—"
Your hair cascades down your back from how hard you're shaking your head. "No, you don't get to say this—"
You don't deserve her.
"I think you deserve to know—shit, fuck—I want to go forward with you, with none of the damage I did then. Fuck I'm not even sure it's fucking possible—"
"You don't get to say this to me!"
You scream so loud is resounds in the hallway. Probably reverberates through the entire building, and it's not loud enough to cover the shield that's falling apart from your heart. You're shuddering under the weight of the emotions you are unable to tame anymore.
"Just because—" You choke, and it's pitched, and something warm pricks at your eyes. "Because a man comes—comes along and treats me well—you think you can...you can come clean? FUCKING NOW?"
Your throat bobs desperately, but it's too late. The thorns in your esophagus perforate too deep in your lungs. Enjin watches the tears swallow your face, and his whole being snaps violently. He's known you for half his life, and he's been with you through the toughest shit a human being could face, and you've never shed a tear. Not with anyone, not for anyone.
Not for him.
It's taxing to even try to speak, but you feel like you'll burst into a hundred thousand different pieces if you don't let it out of your chest.
"Do you have—any—any idea how you're making me feel when—" You pause, and there's a ragged inhale that you manage through the tears. "When you come home, drunk off your fucking face, smelling—bathing—in the scent of another woman, AND YOU ASK FOR ME? TO SEE ME?"
You stumble forward to grab him by the shoulders, trying, hoping that Enjin will understand your anger. Your fists are hitting him, weaker each time, until they unclench and you grip his shirt. You're drunk, you're emotional, you're exhausted, and Enjin is looking at you like he is the one coming undone.
"You don't..." you sob, losing your balance, and Enjin lowers himself to hold you in his arms until your knees buckle and rest on the ground. "How many times do you think I can forgive you for breaking my heart?"
The stillness is stretching thin in the hallway. A fragile wreckage is all that's left behind. A sob story, a catastrophe, written by one who was the poet but hoped to be the muse, orchestrated by one who lied but hoped for the truth. You had hoped the truth would bring you closure.
Something wet falls in chunky droplets on your forehead.
"I don't want to do this life without you."
Barely bolder than a murmur on the edge of a regret that's letting go. Your head is lolling to the side when Enjin clings to you tighter. His hands lock at the small of your lower back, and you pull back just enough for another droplet to land on your scarred wrist.
Enjin is too ravaged to be real. He's not seeing you properly anymore; a silhouette in a summer dress that's floating away.
"I compared you—shit, I did—to everyone. Nothing, nothing like you. How could...if I died you—fuck...I thought I had to leave. Didn't want to leave you alone in this world."
You wish he didn't. You wish Enjin were man enough to realize that by trying to protect you from a future without him, he built exactly that. You look away, hands slipping from his chest to your lap. "That wasn't for you to decide alone."
"I love you."
One last lonely tear departs from your orbs, leaving a mascara trail in mourning over the raging emotions in your bones. Every atom in your body is bursting with the love you carry for him, and even now, when he's on your knees crying for you, it multiplies, and it grows to the point you know you'll never love another beating heart the way you love Enjin.
"You're so selfish."
Enjin stares at you with the dejection of a beaten puppy when you straighten your body away from his embrace. You don't say anything else for a moment too long, and his jaw is slack with the anticipation of a criminal sentenced to death who awaits the executioner to deliver the last slash.
"I've never wanted to do this life with anyone else, En'."
Sunlight could never shine as radiantly as the hope that brings Enjin's golden eyes back to life. He bounces to his feet, and you take a step back. You can't let him reach you because you don't want to love him with half a heart anymore.
"I need time to think this through."
You don't trust him, and Enjin sees it in the imprinted hesitation in your orbs. He thinks he's prepared to wait while you decide what to do about the two of you. Loyalty is not an excuse to stay miserable, and he'd rather have you free than faithful. Enjin has let go of too many things to count during the course of his life; what's one more to let go?
You take his heart with you when you turn your back and walk away, the red chiffon casting a whiff of your aroma that's engraved on his being deeper than any nicotine could ever repair.
"Oi, Enjin, you coming out with us tonight?"
Enjin is manspread on the tattered leather couch in the common room. A ring of smoke bubbles past his lips, curls through the air until it dissipates lazily against the pendant lamps, as if giving Enjin time to ponder Gris's question. A half-full beer bottle has long been forgotten on the coffee table.
"Nah," Enjin shrugs, crossing his legs on the low furniture. "Have some stuff to pick up tonight."
Gris thinks Enjin is doing a terrible job coping with the aftermath of your departure.
41 days, 13 hours, 26 minutes, and 57 seconds. But who was keeping count?
Most people in the HQ fared pretty badly when the news broke out. The Akuta team, especially. They are fighting sharper, faster, now, more efficient. A lot of the missions Semiu sends them on are cleared faster than their usual average. Cleaners and simple citizens alike are reliant on them.
Most of the people got over it just as fast. Life doesn't stop for the Cleaners just because someone leaves.
But the Akuta team has lost its joviality. Rudo has lost a mother figure. Riyo has lost a sister. Zanka has lost a mentor.
"You sure?" Gris tries. Enjin was always the first one to take people out, the first one to gather everyone around. Which he still does, mind you. It's a whole other story when it's about his own well-being. "Grab a drink, play some poker in that restaurant we all like, eat good food. Good ol' times."
Good ol' times would have had you there. To call him out when he was cheating the cards but still take his money nonetheless.
"Rain check," Enjin ultimately says and flicks his wrist. Ash falls from his cigarette. Gris picks up the jeep keys from the bar counter and closes the door behind him. There's no room left to argue in the apathy of Enjin's voice.
Enjin doesn't want to acknowledge that he's lost a lover. Not yet. You would've found a way to tell him. Surely, right?
Nothing has changed in your room since you left. Enjin is the sole owner of the key to it, and he doesn't let anyone walk inside. He goes in there religiously every morning, secretly hoping that he would find you sleeping in your bed like you usually do. Covers half-up, one arm over one under, hair tied up in a loose braid that always, always comes undone during the night. Enjin has tested that with you, so he knows. It comes undone fastest when you sleep on his chest after particularly tough assignments.
There's that red dress on the bed you made when you left. Enjin forbade August to touch it, and August is still inherently mad at him. A thin layer of dust rests over the book on your nightstand you left half-read. The water is stale in the ceramic mug you repaired with golden clay, and Enjin can still see you warm up the mud on the stolen stove in his room. You kept him all night to repair it, in complete silence, your fingers nursing the object back to health, while he mapped out all your characteristics in his soul.
You didn't take anything from your room when you left. A passerby in a hurry to catch the next train, with no luggage and no earthly belongings. Just Enjin's love and the regrets that came with it.
Enjin is still holding onto the daisy you sewed for him, still keeping it in a pocket he blackmailed August into stitching it over where his heart is. He tells himself he is fine. He tells himself it will be fine if you never come back. Enjin goes to the garage and revs up the engine of the other jeep of the Cleaners.
On his drive to Canvas Town, he's thinking about what you did today. He's tried his luck again this morning to persuade Semiu to ask Mildretta about you. In the earlier days of your reassignment, Mildretta told Semiu plenty of things on report: you're settling in well (of course you are, you're the most easygoing in the group), you're a fierce fighter (of course you are, you've strangled and poisoned dozens of trash beasts with your yarn), and you're incredibly smart (of course you are, there's no question you cannot answer).
At some point, Mildretta reported to Semiu that you're evolving into a natural leader of the Southern Branch altogether. You could transfer into that role naturally, if you wanted. Corvus supported it. When Enjin found out about that, he disappeared from HQ for 3 whole days. His knuckles tighten on the steering wheel, and night is settling down in the distance.
You could really leave him if you wanted.
41 days, 15 hours, 18 minutes, and 22 seconds.
Enjin parks the jeep outside a tucked-away shop in Canvas Town, which is right at the western entrance. There is a festival going on, so the town is abuzz with excitement. Despite its small exterior, this antique boutique has a spacious basement that can accommodate up to 200 people when it's housing auctions. With the festival in full bloom outside, the place is crowded. You always spent your entire salary at such auctions.
You would've loved it now.
"Oh, Enjin," The owner greets the Akuta leader at the door. "Need to run around, but your clock is as good as new. It's in the back. Everyone's mad they can't shop."
Enjin climbs down the stairs and is fairly surprised to see the thick crowd in the basement. There are a lot of restored objects on display at good bargains. Some people are haggling with the staff; others are just browsing. The mahogany clock is placed on the back wall of the room, and there's fair attention given to it. Enjin makes his way through the mob using Umbreaker.
There's an eerie pause between seconds, as if his world is buffering again, when he spots a familiar figure standing in front of the clock. The clock hands appear to tick out of sync, and the world quiets down to allow time to move around, not through. Enjin's heart warms up under the daisy shining bright in his pocket.
Your hair is shorter than he remembers.
You got new boots to wrap around your commando trousers. You're not wearing gloves on your hands, clasped at your back. You stand taller than in his memory, if that's even possible. You tilt your head backwards, and his heart slows down in a lilt no one but you could invoke.
"Enjin!"
You're engulfed in his arms faster than his name comes out of your mouth. Enjin holds you tight like he's scared you'll disappear if he lets go. A corner of your mouth quirks up when you rest your head on his chest.
"So, you didn't forget about me," you tease, but there's a hint of raw emotion in your tone. "Should've done something more dramatic—"
Enjin cradles your face, the honey in his eyes melting across each of your features. The air in his lungs expels through a sigh that's too insecure for him to articulate any proper words. "You came back."
You nod, an unhurried motion that gives you both time to breathe. Your eyes are smiling, shadowed by the serenity on your visage, when you grab his wrists, grounding yourself to him. "I came back."
"Why?"
There's an electric charge in the air that you both cannot ignore. Enjin's eyes lower on your parted lips, quick and shattered, then look away in a suspense that makes his entire being fidget.
"Why?" You echo, and it's half a giggle. You don't move away, and you're hyperaware of the eye contact that lasts a beat too long. "You're my favorite person in the world, En'. Might not feel like it, but I missed y—"
Enjin crashes his lips onto yours. The angle is weird, and his lips are chapped where yours are sweet. It's a reluctant press of his mouth on yours, but you clasp his wrists, and he gets braver to go back for more. He's hungry, and he cannot wait any longer for permission that you give to him anyway. Your teeth clash briefly when you go left, and he goes right, and damned Enjin for how fast he catches on to your rhythm.
He eats up the sigh you leave in his mouth when he glides his tongue into your mouth. Your fingers fumble for the lapels of his coat to tug him closer to you, and you clash with him for dominance neither of you is willing to give up. Enjin grunts low in his chest when you suck on his tongue, and you both pull away with swollen lips.
Stunned silence settles between you both. A hand lifts to your mouth, the ghost of contact drumming on your plush lips. Enjin can't speak at all, but he doesn't need to. There's an obscure lust in his eyes as he stares at you, waiting to be unleashed, thirsting to be unleashed.
You don't know when you make it back to the car. You both mess up with your belts, with the zippers on your trousers, with the laces on your boots. Enjin hits his head on the door panel in a rush to climb into the backseat, and you almost fall over to the side when you straddle him. You're processing what's just happened, and you both gawk at each other. Enjin's laughter resonates in the car, and it has you giggling.
"How could I ever forget about you?" Enjin snickers, hands hovering awkwardly at your hips. "I can't stop thinking about you, and it's driving me crazy."
You take the initiative and slide your fingers through his wild locks. Enjin groans when you tug faintly at the scalp. For better or for worse, you are straddling him, and you feel his hard-rock bulge twitch against your clothed cunt. "Are you?"
"Damn—yes," Enjin groans, digits digging into the softness of your flesh. He kneads the muscles of your butt and rocks you lazily against him. "41 days, 15 hours, and 30 minutes. That's how long I've been away from you."
A strong hand lands a rough slap on your ass, and he sticks it when he massages the delicious pain into your skin. You whimper almost inaudibly when you throw your head back, but you know Enjin catches that when he slaps your ass again to chase that sinful sound out of you.
"Fuck," He mutters, biting his lips at the sight of you arching your back with your nipples perking up at him through the thin material of your bodice. "You don't understand what that sound is doing to me."
So you roll your pelvis in a sluggish passage that clamps your clothed pussy right on the outline of Enjin's cock. You trace his jaw with your index, and you feel it toughen under your butterfly caress. Your panties are drenched with your slick that is pooling over Enjin's boxers.
There's a beat in your movement when you whimper again, louder, bolder, because the feeling of him, swollen against your cunt, is so vulgar you're losing your mind. All the while, his pupils dilate until they're blown, drinking in the image of you losing your mind. For him.
"Tell me what I'm doing to you, Enjin," you purr in a command that you know will get you in trouble. You want the trouble. You need the trouble. "Make me understand."
Enjin drifts his cock into your labia, nice and easy, back and forth, lewd squelch sounds swamping the confinement of the car. The jeep he took for the night doesn't have tinted windows; any passerby could witness your perversions. Above all, Enjin doesn't care.
"Doll," Enjin rasps when he attaches open-mouthed kisses to your neck. A string of saliva follows with each stop he makes on the pounding pulse in your veins. You lean into him to give him more access, your fingers dancing with the hem of his boxers. "You've lived in my head before. Ever since you left, you're all I think about."
Enjin fondles your naked thighs in tandem with his shallow thrusts, your useless panties pushed so deep the material catches your clit. He's watching you with patience that is thinning out with every second; you're grinding against him, and erotic sighs fall one after the other.
"Been going to your room every fucking morning," He groans and abandons your thighs to grope your breasts. "Hoping you'd be there," he continues when you mewl, and he squeezes your nipples through fabric. "Hoping I'd get to—fuck, doll, you arch so pretty—hold you again."
"Yeah?" you gasp, and you lift your hips just slightly to free Enjin's cock from his confinement. It slaps your clothed hole, which you push onto the tip that's already too big to be decent. One big hand shoves under your shirt, flat on your back. "Hold me, En'. Mm, fuck—I belong to you."
Enjin's other hand snaps your underwear to the side, and you move as one when you sink down on his cock. The fingers on your back tremble because you take him so well, you're molding around his shaft, down to the very hilt.
"I missed you—hah, princess—so fucking bad."
A moan rips out of your ribcage; it's so loud it's exquisite, and it melts perfectly with Enjin's, the sound of a famished man at the mercy of his lover.
Enjin has to consume those filthy sounds you're making, and he seals your mouths together as he thrusts tentatively inside you. Your orbs roll into their sockets when he rides the momentum to propel his cock all the way to your cervix, juices drooling out of your pussy to puddle on his balls.
"Fuck baby, yes, fucking tight," Enjin grunts against your lips, tongue darting to lick from the bottom one to the top, devouring each moan you're chanting for him. Your plushy walls are fluttering around him in sheer ecstasy, fighting and trapping him in like the primordial sin.
"I belong with you. Just like that, baby—take me, all of me—been fantasizing about you in that red dress. Fucking you smitten in it."
You try to laugh, but it's a splintered sob as you grab on his shoulders for the solace you need to bounce back on his dick. Enjin pistons into you, and it coils deep into your womb. The car is creaking with your shared passion; each drive of Enjin's cock out of you leaves you empty and wanting, and each drive of his cock inside you stuffs you to the brim.
"I wa-wasn't—ah, fuck En', faster—wasn't even wearing panties."
His cock spasms in the depths of your belly at your confession. Enjin wraps his arm around your frame to hold you in place, to hit that buried spot in your cunt again, again, and again, like he's trying to take revenge on you for keeping a secret like that. And revenge tastes so sweet when it's pure degeneracy in your pussy.
"Shit, fuck—no panties under the goddamned dress—was that for me?"
You're seeing stars from the pent-up frustration Enjin is releasing from your body with each insatiable shove of his cock. "Yes, yes, yes—" You moan, or you cry, or you whine, you don't know. You're too close to care about the sounds Enjin is tearing out of you. "'nd you didn't even take it—"
"I'm damn well taking it now," Enjin growls and shoves his free hand to abuse your poor, neglected clit. Your breathing hitches in your throat in a violent huff, your back arched, pretty and fucked out on his cock. "Taking this pussy, show you how much I missed you. Make you mine."
Your head lolls to the side with a final wail when the curve of Enjin's cock bullies that spot that pushes you over the edge. He synchronizes his fingers with his thrusts, and you let go completely, spurts of liquid and syrup flooding the backseat of the car.
"Oh, fuck me, baby," Enjin moans as he watches you squirt all over him, eyes rolled to their orbits and lips parted in muted chokes of pleasure. "Shit, shit, shit—haah, princess—"
"Fill me up, Enjin." You pant, still rocking your pelvis into his, chasing for more. "Need your cum inside me. Need to cum again."
He buries his face in the crook of your neck and bites in the intimacy of your collarbone, leaving his mark on you. You tangle your fingers through his hair, the last resort that keeps you grounded, and then you feel Enjin's hips stutter into you in a string of salacious curses and sinful blessings.
Enjin fucks his cum into you like he wants to keep it there. And he makes sure of it when he pulls out, and you pursue his digits that go knuckles deep to load your pussy with his seed. He watches you through lidded eyes that scald through you with carnal desire.
"Take my cum baby, squeeeze it in, there you go," Enjin praises, and he makes you sit all the way to cockwarm his fingers. He keeps them buried inside you, and you do just as he dictates, corrupted by the bliss he's instilling into you. "I'm never letting you go again, you hear me?"
Your plump walls squeeze around his fingers, and you are frenzied enough to reach for his cock and stroke the remnants of his cum out on your digits. You open your eyes, glassy yet smudged at the corners, and you stare deep into his honeyed ones when you lick them clean with a swirl of your tongue. Enjin's cock convulses against the flesh of your ass.
"You'd better not," You smirk, and it's as depraved as it is mesmeric. You grab your bodice to lift it over your head and liberate your aching tits from their imprisonment. Enjin's fingers scissor inside you at the sight with a precision that doesn't allow any drop of his cum to escape from your pussy. You're so full of him it's hypnotic. "I came back because I love you."
You never said it when you left; you couldn't. You needed to clear your head and heart; you needed to sort out your feelings before you'd let Enjin hear them. You wanted to test him, to see if his own feelings for you were real enough, not just remorse manifested as superficial infatuation.
"I love you too," He replies, for you to see that everything you were and everything you are to him is the one raw emotion he cannot, won't live without anymore. Enjin knows you two are long overdue for a crude conversation, to figure out what you want your present to be like, and what you want the future to bring for you. "The kids will love to have you back."
Until then, Enjin has an insatiable vixen to treat.
"But for tonight, you're my lady first."
a/n: guys it's coachella season, which means...welp, some things might be cooked, some might be cooking, we don't know. what we do know, is that i had a shit ton of fun writing this crossover. i hope you guys liked it and thank you for staying with this story until the end!! p.s: some things we do think with the coochie. 0 regrets
i have an entire playlist for this fic which i'll probably post soon because i've suffered for it too much to keep it hidden
giving nanami head under his desk during a work video call meeting until he finally snaps and teaches you lesson you practically begged for . .
ovulation really does something to you.
you just can’t help it. not when nanami looks like that while he works.
he’s literally just sitting there in his crisp button-up that he wears to work, the sleeves rolled to his thick veiny forearms, broad shoulders stretching the fabric tight across his back, and your pussy starts throbbing like it’s trying to climb out of your body.
the way the fabric hugs his broad chest and shoulders, straining just enough to remind you how fucking beefy he is underneath… and the way he looks so composed, so unfairly hot, his jaw set while he listens to whatever boring spreadsheet nonsense is droning through his laptop speakers. you’re already dripping wet and he hasn’t even touched you yet.
you can’t help it anymore so you crawl under the desk.
he doesn’t even flinch when you nudge his knees apart, doesn’t even look down. as if he already knows that you’re gonna pull something like this. he just keeps nodding at the screen like the perfect professional he is. you yank his zipper down with your teeth, fish his fat cock out, already half-hard and so heavy in your hand it makes your mouth water instantly. the thick vein running along the underside pulses when you give it a long, slow lick from balls to tip.
“yeah… projections are tracking seven percent above forecast,” he says to the camera, voice completely even.
you open your mouth wide and swallow him down in one greedy bob of your head, letting him fill your throat until your nose brushes the neat trim of blond hair at his base.
he twitches hard inside your mouth. you feel it. you also hear the tiniest hitch in his breath before he smooths it over.
someone on the call asks him something and he answers in that low, measured baritone, explaining numbers you couldn’t care less about while you’re moaning around his cock like a needy little slut. the vibration making his thigh flex under your palm.
“keep. quiet,” he mouths down at you, barely moving his lips.
you pull off with a wet pop just to be a brat.
“mmh… but you taste so good, ken,” you whisper, voice all needy. you slap the swollen head against your tongue a few times— loud wet smacks that you know the mic might pick up if he’s not careful.
you rub the leaky tip over your cheek, smearing pre and your own spit across your face like war paint. “look how big you are… i can’t help it.”
his jaw clenches. hard. and that’s how you know you’re getting under his skin.
“everything alright, nanami-san?” someone asks from the screen.
he clears his throat once. “fine. just… had to mute for a second.”
you almost cackle right there with his cock resting hot and slick on your bottom lip.
the second the call ends he slams the laptop shut so hard the desk rattles.
“ you think it’s cute?” his voice is dangerously quiet.
before you can answer he fists your hair and shoves your head down until your nose mashes against his pubic bone and his cock breaches your throat completely, making your eyes water instantly. he holds you there, pulsing, stretching your throat around him until you’re gagging and drooling rivers down his balls. then he yanks you off. you cough, spit hanging in thick strings from your lips to his tip.
“hurts...” you slurred, looking up at him with your teary eyes.
“shut the fuck up and keep that mouth open.”
he doesn’t give you time to speak and feeds his cock right back in and starts fucking your face like it’s a pussy he’s trying to ruin. the wet gluck gluck gluck sounds filling the room along with his heavy breathing. “you know how risky that was? fucking slut. you wanted them to hear how much of a whore you are, is that it?”
he suddenly stands up, towering over you, snapping his hips forward while he uses your mouth like a toy. when he finally pulls out your face is a total wreck. spit and precum smeared all over your skin.
he slaps his heavy cock across your face again and again, fat and glistening, leaving wet streaks everywhere. “messy little thing,” he mutters, almost to himself. “can’t even live without my cock for a minute, huh?”
then he’s hauling you up by the arm, bending you over the arm of the couch so fast your knees buckle. his old tee that you were wearing now on the floor, panties ripped to the side to expose your soaking pussy that’s been aching to get fucked.
he doesn’t prep you gently, just plunges three thick fingers inside your wet cunt and curls them meanly and starts fingering you roughly your legs quiver.
you scream into the cushion. he slaps your ass hard enough to leave a handprint, then again and again until you’re shaking and dripping down his wrist.
“k-kento—!”
you squirt all over his hand before you can even warn him, gushing messily while your legs tremble. and he doesn’t stop. just pulls his fingers out and replaces them with his cock in one brutal thrust, your poor pussy stretching to its limits around him, making your eyes roll back. he’s so fucking big it feels like he’s splitting you in half every time, battering your cervix with every punishing stroke as he starts to fuck into you.
you can barely breathe. you feel so full. so fucked-out already. sobs rip out of your throat while he mounts you properly, chest pressed to your back, one hand fisted in your hair so he can yank your head back to see your blissed-out face.
“take it,” he growls against your ear. “you wanted my attention. now you have it.”
he pins your wrist behind your back with one massive hand and fucks you harder. you reach back weakly, trying to push his thigh due to the overstimulation, but he just gathers your other wrist too and holds them tight and pounds you harder, drilling his cock deeper into your already aching walls.
“you don’t get to tap out. not after that stunt.” he snaps. “you don’t get to run from this cock. you hear me?”
you didn’t answer. your brain too mushy to form coherent words other than to moan and scream his name.
he yanks your head back farther by the hair until you’re forced to look up at him. then wrap both of his hands around your throat— not choking, but just to hol keeping your glassy eyes locked on his while he destroys your cunt from behind. your whole body jolting with every harsh thrust he gives you. “i said did you hear me.”
“y-yes... yes— mnnnhh... ’m sorry, mmnghhh!”
you’re sobbing apologies over and over, drool slipping from the corner of your slack mouth, your eyes crossing like a dumb cock-hungry slut from how good hard he’s fucking you.
he rips out another orgasm through you without warning. you squirt again, harder this time, soaking his cock, his thighs, the couch. everything. he pulls out for half a second just long enough for you to twitch and almost collapse forward then grabs your hips and drags you back.
“where the fuck do you think you’re going? you’re not done.”
he presses you flat to the cushion and slams back in, pounding so deep and so rough you go completely dumb. nothing but high-pitched whimpers and wet slaps and the creak of the couch. you’re creaming so much his cock is frosted white, thick creamy rings of it clinging to his shaft every time he pulls out.
you’re way too loud— embarrassingly so. screaming his name like you’re being murdered (getting murdered on that dick, yes.) then he shoves two thick fingers into your mouth to shut you up. you suck on them desperately, drooling around them while he keeps railing you stupid.
he finally stills, hips flush to your ass, and pumps you full. heavy spurts of cum flood your womb until it’s leaking out around his cock, dripping down your thighs in messy white rivulets. “fuck...”
he doesn’t pull out right away— just grinds deep, circling his hips, making sure every drop stays inside while you shake and hiccup beneath him.
but he’s still hard. nanami doesn’t leave you alone when he’s still hard as a rock even after cumming. and after that stunt you pulled earlier? there’s no way he’s letting your pussy breathe for the rest of the night.
he finally pulls out with a wet squelch, your mixed cum gishing out of you instantly. before you can even catch your breath he flips you onto your back on the floor, spreads your trembling thighs wide, and notches himself at your creamy hole again.
“kento— wait— i can’t— i just came— h-haaahh!”
“you can” he says flatly. “this what you wanted it, isn’t it?” then he sinks back in, slow this time, letting you feel every thick inch stretching your sore walls. “you act like a slut, you get fucked like one.”
“mmnghh f-fuuuck... oh my god... kennn—!”
your head thumps back against the rug. he leans down, caging your head with his beefy biceps, and starts fucking you into the floor with deep, punishing rolls of his hips that make your toes curl and your eyes cross.
you’re a drooling, babbling mess underneath him, just laying there and taking it while clawing at his shoulders, crying his name while he fills you again and again until there’s nothing left in your head but him.
just him. his cock—
and the messy little puddle you’re both making on the carpet that you’re gonna have to clean up later.
♡ Ino catches Nanami breeding your slutty hole raw ♡
୨୧ — The fluorescent lights of Jujutsu High hummed overhead as Ino Takuma bounded down the corridor, his ski mask pushed up over his forehead, exposing that eager, boyish face. His sneakers squeaked against the polished floor with each enthusiastic step.
Nanami is gonna be so impressed, he thought, practically vibrating with excitement. I've been practicing the hand signs for weeks-
He rounded the corner toward Nanami's temporary office, hand already reaching for the door handle when he noticed it- cracked open. Just a sliver. Just enough.
Just enough to hear you.
“Nnnh- fuck, Kento-“
Ino's hand froze mid air… His heart slammed against his ribs.
Through that narrow gap, Nanami Kento -sweet, composed, professional Nanami Kento- sat in his leather office chair with his dress shirt unbuttoned to his navel, tie loosened and hanging crooked… and his slacks, his slacks were shoved down just past his thighs, and you-
Oh fuck...
You were facing away from the door, your back a beautiful arch of glistening skin as you rode him. Your skirt bunched uselessly around your waist, and Ino could see everything. The stretch of your cunt around Nanami's thick cock, the way your slick lips gripped him with each rise, pearlescent strings of cum already connecting you to his shaft, evidence of rounds prior…
“You need to be quiet,” Nanami's voice came out strained- nothing like the measured tone Ino knew... His veined hands gripped your hips hard enough to bruise, fingers sinking into the plush give of your skin, “We're still- still at work.”
“Then stop -ah- stop hitting it so deep-“ You ground down hard, and Nanami's jaw clenched so tight Ino could see the muscle jumping in his cheek…
I shouldn't be here. I shouldn't be watching this. This is Nanami-san and his wife, this is-
But his feet wouldn't move. His body betrayed every ounce of respect he held for his senior as his cock fucking throbbed painfully against his zipper.
Nanami thrust up into you, and your head fell forward with a sweet moan, “You say that,” he ground out through his teeth, “but you keep clenching. You keep-“ He pulled you down onto him hard, bottoming out till you wailed, “gripping me like you want another child.”
“‘Cause do,” you sobbed, your nails raking down his forearms. “I want another one so badly Kento, please-“
This is wrong. This is so wrong.
Ino's palm pressed against the front of his pants before he could stop himself.
Through the gap, he watched Nanami's composure crack further. The usually unflappable sorcerer had his head tipped back against the chair, golden hair mussed and damp with sweat… his chest heaved with each controlled breath- but that control was slipping. Ino could see it in the way his hips snapped up harder, faster, in the low, guttural sounds escaping his throat.
“Don't care.” You rolled your hips in a filthy slow circle, and Nanami's hands flew to the armrests, knuckles whiting, “Want them to see. Want them to see how good your wife takes your cock-“
“Filthy girl.” The tone tore out of him- raw, low, needy, and so unlike anything Ino had ever heard from the man. Nanami surged forward, burying his face against your throat, teeth scraping the column of your neck, “my beautiful- filthy wife. You make me lose myself every time-“
You laughed- a breathless, wrecked thing- and reached back to tangle your fingers in his hair, “And you love it.”
Nanami's only response was to fuck up into you harder.
Nanami-san would walk away, Ino thought frantically, his hand now actively palming himself through the fabric. He would never- he would act like he didn't see anything, he would-
But Ino wasn't Nanami.
The moment your rhythm grew erratic -the moment your spine curved into a beautiful bow and your head fell back against Nanami's shoulder- Ino saw it…
Your breasts, full and heavy with the evidence of your recent pregnancy, bounced with each thrust. And then, as a particularly vicious snap of Nanami's hips drew a scream from your lips, the prettiest white streams began to dribble from your peaked nipples. Twin rivulets of milk traced down the swell of your tits, catching the low light, dripping onto Nanami's stomach.
“Oh god- oh god-“ Ino Ino's hands trembled violently as he wrenched at his zipper, and then his cock was out, flushed dark and drooling precum down his shaft. He grabbed himself and stroked -messy, desperate, graceless- shoving his sleeve between his teeth to muffle the pathetic whimpers spilling out of him with every slick pump of his fist.
Inside the office, Nanami groaned at the sight of you- at the feel of your milk against his skin. His hand came up to cup your breast, thumb dragging through the wetness, smearing it across your nipple. “Look at you,” he rasped against your ear, voice wrecked, “making such a mess. Can't even- can't even control yourself.”
“Your fault,” you gasped, bouncing faster, “You did this to me- you bred me-“
Ino's hand worked his cock frantically, pre cum slicking his palm, his hips jerking into his own grip. He watched Nanami lose the last thread of composure- watched him grip your jaw and turn your head to lock your mouth in a bruising kiss, all while fucking into your squelching cunt.
No… Nonono- Gonna cum. Fuck, I'm gonna-
Your orgasm hit first- your whole body seizing, cunt clamping down so brutally tight that Nanami choked, his steady rhythm shattering. Milk spurted from your tits in sticky sweet streams, splashing across his heaving chest, and he followed you over the edge with a guttural groan-
He ground into you, buried to the hilt, and you could feel his cock kicking inside you- pumping load after thick load until your cunt couldn't hold it anymore.
Ino watched, throat dry, as cum started spilling out around Nanami's shaft. Not dripping- gushing, forced out with every slow roll of Nanami's hips, frothing white around where his cock split you open. It ran down in sticky trails, coating his balls, smearing across the insides of your trembling thighs, dripping onto the floor in fat drops.
“Beautiful,” Nanami muttered, pulling back just enough to watch his own cum ooze out of you.
That was it.
Ino came hard, his whole body convulsing as his cock pulsed in his grip. Thick, white ropes of cum painted his palm, his fingers, dripping between his knuckles and splattering against the floor.
His back slammed into the wall behind him with a dull thud, and then his legs buckled causing him to slide down -graceless-, until his ass hit cold floor, thighs falling open, chest heaving with each wrecked breath.
His ski mask slipped off his head.
He barely noticed. He didn’t care… he was too ashamed…
Inside the office, you'd collapsed against Nanami's chest, boneless and sated, your breathing evening out into the soft rhythm of sleep.
Nanami held you there, one hand stroking down your spine, his own eyes closed as he caught his breath.
Slowly, his lashes lifted… and his gaze drifted to the cracked door…
To the sliver of hallway visible beyond it…
To the familiar black ski mask lying on the floor, a pale hand resting limply against it.
♡ Ino catches Nanami breeding your slutty hole raw ♡
୨୧ — The fluorescent lights of Jujutsu High hummed overhead as Ino Takuma bounded down the corridor, his ski mask pushed up over his forehead, exposing that eager, boyish face. His sneakers squeaked against the polished floor with each enthusiastic step.
Nanami is gonna be so impressed, he thought, practically vibrating with excitement. I've been practicing the hand signs for weeks-
He rounded the corner toward Nanami's temporary office, hand already reaching for the door handle when he noticed it- cracked open. Just a sliver. Just enough.
Just enough to hear you.
“Nnnh- fuck, Kento-“
Ino's hand froze mid air… His heart slammed against his ribs.
Through that narrow gap, Nanami Kento -sweet, composed, professional Nanami Kento- sat in his leather office chair with his dress shirt unbuttoned to his navel, tie loosened and hanging crooked… and his slacks, his slacks were shoved down just past his thighs, and you-
Oh fuck...
You were facing away from the door, your back a beautiful arch of glistening skin as you rode him. Your skirt bunched uselessly around your waist, and Ino could see everything. The stretch of your cunt around Nanami's thick cock, the way your slick lips gripped him with each rise, pearlescent strings of cum already connecting you to his shaft, evidence of rounds prior…
“You need to be quiet,” Nanami's voice came out strained- nothing like the measured tone Ino knew... His veined hands gripped your hips hard enough to bruise, fingers sinking into the plush give of your skin, “We're still- still at work.”
“Then stop -ah- stop hitting it so deep-“ You ground down hard, and Nanami's jaw clenched so tight Ino could see the muscle jumping in his cheek…
I shouldn't be here. I shouldn't be watching this. This is Nanami-san and his wife, this is-
But his feet wouldn't move. His body betrayed every ounce of respect he held for his senior as his cock fucking throbbed painfully against his zipper.
Nanami thrust up into you, and your head fell forward with a sweet moan, “You say that,” he ground out through his teeth, “but you keep clenching. You keep-“ He pulled you down onto him hard, bottoming out till you wailed, “gripping me like you want another child.”
“‘Cause do,” you sobbed, your nails raking down his forearms. “I want another one so badly Kento, please-“
This is wrong. This is so wrong.
Ino's palm pressed against the front of his pants before he could stop himself.
Through the gap, he watched Nanami's composure crack further. The usually unflappable sorcerer had his head tipped back against the chair, golden hair mussed and damp with sweat… his chest heaved with each controlled breath- but that control was slipping. Ino could see it in the way his hips snapped up harder, faster, in the low, guttural sounds escaping his throat.
“Don't care.” You rolled your hips in a filthy slow circle, and Nanami's hands flew to the armrests, knuckles whiting, “Want them to see. Want them to see how good your wife takes your cock-“
“Filthy girl.” The tone tore out of him- raw, low, needy, and so unlike anything Ino had ever heard from the man. Nanami surged forward, burying his face against your throat, teeth scraping the column of your neck, “my beautiful- filthy wife. You make me lose myself every time-“
You laughed- a breathless, wrecked thing- and reached back to tangle your fingers in his hair, “And you love it.”
Nanami's only response was to fuck up into you harder.
Nanami-san would walk away, Ino thought frantically, his hand now actively palming himself through the fabric. He would never- he would act like he didn't see anything, he would-
But Ino wasn't Nanami.
The moment your rhythm grew erratic -the moment your spine curved into a beautiful bow and your head fell back against Nanami's shoulder- Ino saw it…
Your breasts, full and heavy with the evidence of your recent pregnancy, bounced with each thrust. And then, as a particularly vicious snap of Nanami's hips drew a scream from your lips, the prettiest white streams began to dribble from your peaked nipples. Twin rivulets of milk traced down the swell of your tits, catching the low light, dripping onto Nanami's stomach.
“Oh god- oh god-“ Ino Ino's hands trembled violently as he wrenched at his zipper, and then his cock was out, flushed dark and drooling precum down his shaft. He grabbed himself and stroked -messy, desperate, graceless- shoving his sleeve between his teeth to muffle the pathetic whimpers spilling out of him with every slick pump of his fist.
Inside the office, Nanami groaned at the sight of you- at the feel of your milk against his skin. His hand came up to cup your breast, thumb dragging through the wetness, smearing it across your nipple. “Look at you,” he rasped against your ear, voice wrecked, “making such a mess. Can't even- can't even control yourself.”
“Your fault,” you gasped, bouncing faster, “You did this to me- you bred me-“
Ino's hand worked his cock frantically, pre cum slicking his palm, his hips jerking into his own grip. He watched Nanami lose the last thread of composure- watched him grip your jaw and turn your head to lock your mouth in a bruising kiss, all while fucking into your squelching cunt.
No… Nonono- Gonna cum. Fuck, I'm gonna-
Your orgasm hit first- your whole body seizing, cunt clamping down so brutally tight that Nanami choked, his steady rhythm shattering. Milk spurted from your tits in sticky sweet streams, splashing across his heaving chest, and he followed you over the edge with a guttural groan-
He ground into you, buried to the hilt, and you could feel his cock kicking inside you- pumping load after thick load until your cunt couldn't hold it anymore.
Ino watched, throat dry, as cum started spilling out around Nanami's shaft. Not dripping- gushing, forced out with every slow roll of Nanami's hips, frothing white around where his cock split you open. It ran down in sticky trails, coating his balls, smearing across the insides of your trembling thighs, dripping onto the floor in fat drops.
“Beautiful,” Nanami muttered, pulling back just enough to watch his own cum ooze out of you.
That was it.
Ino came hard, his whole body convulsing as his cock pulsed in his grip. Thick, white ropes of cum painted his palm, his fingers, dripping between his knuckles and splattering against the floor.
His back slammed into the wall behind him with a dull thud, and then his legs buckled causing him to slide down -graceless-, until his ass hit cold floor, thighs falling open, chest heaving with each wrecked breath.
His ski mask slipped off his head.
He barely noticed. He didn’t care… he was too ashamed…
Inside the office, you'd collapsed against Nanami's chest, boneless and sated, your breathing evening out into the soft rhythm of sleep.
Nanami held you there, one hand stroking down your spine, his own eyes closed as he caught his breath.
Slowly, his lashes lifted… and his gaze drifted to the cracked door…
To the sliver of hallway visible beyond it…
To the familiar black ski mask lying on the floor, a pale hand resting limply against it.
King Sukuna may be promised to marry the most perfect match - a princess from another country - but how can he think of that when his thick, veiny cock is buried inside his cute little servant?
The way you clench him as he pounds you into his elegant bed, the skin smacking and squelching wetness echoing in his chambers. He's pussy drunk every time he sinks into you, every glide of his length in the gummy walls of your cute little cunt.
How you pull away just a bit when he hits that puffy cervix, earning his chuckle. He's laying prone over you, long fingers entwine with yours. "Ah ah, don't run away from it, brat, can't you take me? Thought you wanted me to break you, fuck you dumb?"
Of course you did - how could you not want to forget the fact that soon you couldn't be with your King? That you wouldn't have his heavy weight over you, his fingers wrapping your throat, the impossibly huge cock breaking you in half? How could you not want the one or two little kisses he bestows, as he lays prone on you, brushing aside your hair?
Some would say he did it almost sweetly, reverently kissing the back of your neck for just a moment before moaning, reaching around to slip a hand over your stomach, trailing to your neglected clit.
A king's hands shouldn't be so rough - but this was Ryomen Sukuna.
"You're gonna miss me, huh? Hah - you're such a desperate, needy slut, my slut. All mine. Mine, huh?" He acts in control, like every stroke of his cock in your quivering, slick hole wasn't ruining him. "Say it."
"M'not yours though," he slams harder, your head falls back against his tattooed chest. "Not after the ceremony. Not... nghh!"
He rolls the rough pad of his fingertips on your clit which twitches against him, cunt drooling, his other hand wrapping your delicate neck - just one squeeze and the King could surely snap it. You're so full of him you gasp, losing oxygen as he takes you over.
"No one will fuck you like this, not that butler, not the stable boy, not anyone. No one will fill your needy cunt like your king," he's desperate to forget, fucking you harder now, choking you with his red lips against your ear. "Mine, fuck you're all mine."
You wish you were
You wish you didn't love King Sukuna wrecking your cunt like he does, wish one order of - 'come' - wouldn't ruin you the way it does. Wish his little pet name of princess would be true - but how could it be?
You're just a maid after all.
"Come now, fuck lemme feel it one more time,"
There are times when Sukuna let's go, needy and desperate, a whimper that will escape even while almost all seven feet of this man is taking you over. He's hard to take, the way you black out and it's only him, how you shatter and milk his cock, the pleasure rushing through your body.
"That's it, fuck, perfect cunt... my princess milks me like that?"
He shouldn't say that - even mid stroke and screaming out under the heavy, muscled body you could almost believe it. A fairy tale where you're really his.
Sukuna makes sure you come twice, he's never not let you, rolling familiar patterns on your clit as he fucks you deeper into that soft matress in his bed chambers. His pink locks brush your skin, ruby eyes shut as he holds everything back.
He pulls out of your messy hole, dripping down on his dark purple sheets, arching your ass up that's marked with raised hand prints. He murmurs your name as he jerks his thick, veiny cock, that reddened tip just pouring cum in pretty patterns across your back.
Sukuna exhales, pleasure washing over him with his release. Then reality hits.
Not being able to stuff you full of heirs and knowing he cannot is a cruel fucking joke.
Tonight he's sweeter than usual, cleaning you up carefully with a wet washcloth, he's quiet when he dresses you up - wishing you were wearing a beautiful gown and not a simple black maid dress. When you lean up to kiss him on your tip toes, he drags you close, giving you a rare kiss that you so desperately need, swallowing nervously when you back away.
"I will be leaving soon, I cannot take seeing..." You trail off, his jaw sets, eyes widening, the ruby depths glinting as you drop his hand, turning. "Farewell my king."
He says your name and you almost stay - looking at the man you love sadly, kmowing you were lucky to have had any of it. "Don't... you can't just... I order you-"
"Your majesty," you turn and curtsey, he laughs without humor, hands clenched into fists, as tears streak down your pretty face. "It was an honor to have served you, truly. I shall not forget you, my King."
You walk out.
How can Sukuna let you go, let you leave!? He can't.
Sukuna destroys everything in his room as you choke on your sobs. You fall asleep eventually in your tiny little bed in the servant's quarters, him on the floor, after he'd broken everything in his damn room. All you can hope is you get out of this palace before you have to see it - the love of your life marrying a beautiful princess from a far off land, while you clean their floors.
****
Future story ideas of mine - sry for the angst i'm in a mood 😭😅
photos from dubai’s 828 meter tall burj khalifa (save the first photo, which show the building). duabai only experiences this in september and march, when seasonal changes in temperature creates an abundance of early morning fog. (click link for credit x, x, x, x, x, x)
Warnings: NSFW🔞, inmate!Sukuna, anal sex, reader is Sukuna’s prison bitch, he uses you like a toy, reader is a fem woman disguised as a man in prison, power play, dub con-ish (he’s quite rough), overstimulation, idk this is a very long fic
The guard guiding you to your cell snorts when you ask if you’ll have your own space. You can’t exactly explain to him that you’re a woman disguised as a man and need your privacy. Perhaps you’re in over your head.
You gulp as you peek around the loud prison. Large men stare as you pass by. It’s clear they’ve made this place like home, clothes lines full of laundry, some playing card games, comfy slippers, lounging on the tables or mingling about.
“Here you are,” the guard stops in front of an open cell, rolling out his hand, “your penthouse suite.”
It looks like a stale dorm room for the most part. Two metal single beds, a metal toilet, two desks. And zero privacy.
Your supposed cellmate is doing pull ups on a makeshift bar in the middle of the room. His large bare, tatted back faces you, bulging arms, baggy sweatpants, and a head of pure pink hair. He’s grunting with every pull up, but they still seem chillingly effortless.
The guard leans his shoulder against the doorway. “Ryomen,” he whistles loudly as if to get a bull’s attention. “Got a new friend for you.”
Your eyes flick from the amused guard to your new ‘friend’ who gets one last pull-up in before dropping two socked feet to the ground with a grunt. You swear the fucking ground rumbles. He turns towards you and your knees wobble as his shadow over takes you.
Red eyes. Half of his face is mutilated, marred by a fire from long ago, you can surmise. His face tattoos match his body. He’s tall, you wouldn’t even be able to reach the height of his makeshift pull-up bar on the tips of your toes.
You stiffen as he sizes you up like the other inmates did on your way in. You hope you wrapped your chest tight enough. A woman in an all male prison? Not a good idea for too many reasons.
“Hi—” you clear your throat of the high pitched tone, adopting a fake, deeper one, “Hey, bro. It’s uh— cool to meet you— or whatever.”
You could slap yourself. Who are you kidding? You don’t know how to talk like a guy. You should have told Gojo ‘No, no amount of money would make me spend a year in a male prison.’ You shouldn’t have drank so much and stupidly agreed that night at the bar, because now, the best case scenario here is that the guard takes you away and they throw the real you into a women’s prison for trying to ‘fool the system.’
The man takes a step forward, and you’re already tensing for a blow— but he just shoulder checks you on the way out. You stumble a little, immediately going to rub your shoulder.
The guard looks properly amused, holding back a laugh. “Here,” he kicks off the wall, pushing some supplies into your arms. Another guard must have handed these over to him as you greeted your cellmate.
“Have fun,” he makes his brows jump and moseys away.
You deeply exhale through the nerves in your chest, walking towards your bed, if you can even call it that. You drop the supplies onto the thin mattress. Sheets, blanket, toothbrush, etc.
You’ve never been one to pray, but you’re considering it right about now. You shake your head and give yourself something to do: put on your sheets, organize the few toiletries you have on your desk.
After fifteen minutes, some kind of bell rings through the prison and you watch inmates filter out of their cells.
You stand and lean out of the cell curiously. You catch one of them muttering about ‘green beans’ and you realize it’s dinner time.
You enter the crowded mess hall and you’re immediately overwhelmed, clattering trays and chaos. The smell of old meatloaf and sweaty man fills the room.
You keep your head down as you get in line, adopting a slight slouch in hopes to avoid accidental eye contact that could be perceived as a threat. The second you’re pulled into something like a violent altercation, you’ll likely be exposed as a woman quite fast.
Dinner is slop with a side of slop on a metal tray, and you’re realizing why Gojo wanted to avoid this place so adamantly. A fucking paid vacation, he’d said.
You scan the mess hall with the tray in your hands, heart racing.
You spot two guards leaning against the entrance, watching you with amusement— like they’re waiting to see what happens to you, who will pick the runt of the litter. You’re the entertainment. You must look like a little meek boy, shaking in your boots.
It’s packed. Big men in little stools. It reminds you of highschool clicks but worse. You spot your pink haired cellmate, sat alone at the only empty table, but one mean glance up with those red eyes and you’re searching elsewhere.
“Who do we have here?” A deep voice sings as a heavy arm drops around your shoulders.
You glance up at him to see a blue haired man with scars all over his body, like he’d previously had poorly done stitches. He smiles at you with dead eyes.
Some of his friends surround the two of you, bored and idle— but their bulky presence only makes you nervous.
“Need somewhere to sit?” he hums tauntingly, tilting his head down to your level. “My name’s Mahito.”
“Oh, I—”
“Shhh little pet, I’ve got you now. I’ll take you under my wing! You don’t even have to thank me or anything.” His smile makes your spine tense with chills as he moves to stand in front of you.
Do you have another choice? You’re afraid of offending him and his scary friends if you decline.
Mahito continues, as if your acceptance is a given. “Let’s just get some things straight before—”
He’s interrupted by a large fist slamming into his jaw, knocking him right off his feet and onto his ass. Your hands tense around your tray, eyes wide as your gaze snaps to see who just punched Mahito into a limp, dream state.
It’s your pink haired cellmate, looking down at his victim while ringing out his fist like it’s just another Tuesday.
Fights must be common around here, because when you look around, no one seems surprised. Most of the men just mind their business and continue eating their food. Even the two guards are whistling, turning the other cheek.
You gulp. Mahito’s friends don’t even try to defend him, they just back away— like hyenas in the presence of a lion. You hear one of them mutter a name, ‘Sukuna.’
You wonder if anyone is even going to bring Mahito to the infirmary, but when Sukuna’s roaming gaze sweeps over you, all thoughts freeze in fear.
You hold his gaze a beat too long, unsure, until you see a flicker in his expression, a subtle tightening of the corner of his eyes. In a breath, you fold inward, chin dipping down to your chest in retreat.
He breaks the tension first, adjusting his neck as he turns away. He settles back into his seat with his meal, relaxed and borderline bored.
You have no clue what his intentions are, or what saving you signifies. Regardless, you’re relived to not sit with Mahito.
With no other option, you inch your way over to the only empty table where Sukuna sits. He remains focused on his food, ignoring your presence completely as you sit as far away as possible— on the literal side edge of the seat.
You cautiously take a bite, peeking at him defensively, but he remains indifferent.
__________________
Lights out, 9:10 pm.
You lay in your uncomfortable little bed, staring at the dirty ceiling. The cell door clanged shut at exactly 9 pm and when the guard made his final round, flashlight shining through the corridor— he passed by with a slow, deliberate glance followed by a wink that made you feel uncomfortable.
You can’t sleep, tossing and turning for 10 minutes. You shift on your side, unable to lay in one position for longer than two minutes due to this stone of a mattress.
“Quit. Moving.”
You freeze at the demand coming from your cellmate, who probably hasn’t been able to sleep with all of your loud movement.
“Sorry,” you chirp quietly, pressing your lips together between your teeth.
He exhales, deeply. You peek at him and he’s facing the opposite wall, naked back towards you.
You don’t know prison etiquette, are you meant to do something specific if someone saves you from a group of scary individuals like he did earlier? Maybe give him half of your lunch from now on or he’ll take you into the back and beat the teeth out of you?
“Um,” you whisper, practicing your ‘boy’ voice.
You feel the energy in the room shift, like when you were a child sharing a bunk with your sibling and you’d start spouting nonsense to each other after 3am.
“Thank you.”
You feel relief when a silent moment passes, maybe he’s asleep and didn’t hear you, because now that you’ve actually said it, you regret it. How stupid and naive could you be? You reckon gratitude like this may not apply in prison.
He grunts as he adjusts his position, and you cringe at the ceiling, subtly inching your thin blanket up to your chin. Oh. He definitely heard you.
You nod off after too many minutes of silence and you wake in the morning to the sound of the breakfast bell. You all but squeal opening your eyes to see your sweaty cellmate looming over your bed.
You quickly clear your throat, sitting up and glancing around at your surroundings. You kick your ‘boy’ voice up, trying to recover from your girly scream. “Morning.”
He throws a small towel over his shoulder and walks off, unbothered by the strangeness of standing over someone’s bed before they’ve even awoken.
Your breast wraps are still in tact when you peek down under your shirt, so you don’t think he saw anything he wasn’t supposed to.
Breakfast is uneventful, thankfully. Mahito, who has fresh dark bruises along his face, doesn’t even look your way. You sit alone at Sukuna’s table, the same acceptable distance as before.
Things are just okay, you think.
That is, apart from the whole using the bathroom thing. You’ve been putting it off. But, it’s unavoidable.
After breakfast, you peek into your cell where the shared toilet is, only to see Sukuna casually reading a scroll with one hand and doing one armed push ups with the other. The image of using the toilet in here makes your face sour. That’d be a type of humiliation you’d rather avoid, and that’s not even accounting for keeping your gender a secret.
Instead, you settle for the shared bathrooms connected to the showers in one large tiled, communal room.
Standing in front of the toilet stall, you curse Gojo’s entire family line. Because of course the stalls don’t have doors. Somewhere far away, Gojo suddenly feels shivers race down his spine in the middle of his little mochi date.
Apart from the unsettling experience of using the bathroom surrounded by large men shaving and brushing their teeth, you overheard interesting information as you did your business. You had to translate male prison gossip lingo, but apparently Sukuna and Mahito’s little altercation yesterday wasn’t random.
They have history. Something about ‘daring to touching his soul’ — whatever that means. You think soul is code for a drug supply, maybe.
Yesterday’s incident was a ‘checking’ as your fellow inmates say. Mahito was trying to force you, someone weak and new, into his group, which made him look strong among the lower ranks. But when Sukuna stepped in, punching his lights out in front of everyone, it was a show of power.
Mahito dominates people like you, small and submissive by nature, to stay on top, but Sukuna operates on a whole nother level. In that simple act, he showed everyone that you’re on the bottom, people like Mahito are in the middle, and Sukuna reigns on top.
You’re already cringing at your naivety thanking him last night, like he was some knight in shining armor.
Once you get back to your cell, Sukuna’s still reading, this time, sat on his bed all glistening with sweat having finished his workout.
You ignore your nerves walking past him to sit on your own bed with your back against the wall.
You’d scored a notebook and pen from the recreation room, and begin idly drawing the time away. Seeing how he’s the only thing there is to draw in this place, you start sketching Sukuna’s profile.
His nose is particularly a unique shape, reminiscent of the Greek God statues. You glance up for the millionth time to get the particular slope of his bridge committed to memory, and startle to see him looking back at you with a glare.
You slouch into yourself, your face growing hot having been caught staring and you force your eyes back down.
“You keep thinking you’re allowed to do that.”
Your heart rate kicks up at his scary gravelly tone, like a demon having come back to life in the form of his vocal cords. You naively thought he didn’t notice your glances, since he never even spared you a look.
“Sorry,” you mutter quietly.
“Look at me,” he demands in a way that you wouldn’t dare consider disobeying. Fuck. You were hoping he’d just let it be.
You clench your eyes shut for a brief moment, squeezing your pen in your palm before slowly sitting up and peering at him.
“Pitiful. Truly.” He scoffs, looking at your entire form with disgust. “Do you have no honor? Stand.”
You hesitate, gaze flicking, feeling like you’re playing a game of simon says.
“I said,” his tone rumbles as he moves to sit at the edge of his bed, chin resting on his fist, “stand.”
A passing inmate side eyes your open cell, but he minds his business as if it holds a sleeping monster within.
You gently toss your notebook to the side and your brows twitch as you push yourself up to stand, socked feet meeting the cold floor.
You aren’t even sure if you’re meant to be looking at him still, gaze uncertain.
“Now kneel.”
A flashback of how hard Sukuna’s fist met the bone of Mahito’s jaw makes you slowly bend and drop to your knees.
You spot a flicker of satisfaction in his eyes before a judgmental expression takes over, like your obedience is simultaneously sickening and mandatory to him.
“You hold your head quite high,” he hints at your lack of respect, and if putting your forehead on the dirty floor is all he makes you do for disrespectfully staring, you’d probably be lucky.
Your brows pinch in a pout, grossed out with the prospect of it but still, you inch your head down.
“Good,” he drawls the word out with a whispery rasp, “Go on. All the way down.”
Once you’re in a fully seated bow, like a servant in the old ages, he exhales slow and deep. Cathartically.
A long moment passes with his red eyes on the back of your head. The floor smells like dirt and a trace of bleach. You’re completely vulnerable in his position, with the back of your neck exposed and blinded.
Honestly, you’re wondering if Sukuna is still there. It’s so quiet, all you can hear is the subtle mumble of the others outside of the cell in the main area and the tick of the clock.
You prepare to speak by taking in a small breath, and that’s all it takes for Sukuna to snap at you.
“Did I say you could speak?”
You gulp.
“You’re new,” he complains, “The next time you disobey me, you won’t enjoy what I do.”
You hear the bed creak from him standing, but he doesn’t take a step in any direction. Just stands above you.
“Lick the floor.”
Your lips part in shock, blinking at the floor in confusion. You can’t even begin to imagine the disgusting things that line this floor after decades of men coming in and out. You’ve seen the guy who cleans the floors, he’s blind— literally. Humiliation is the only benefit to making someone do something like this, to knock them back into their place. You don’t have another choice.
“Show me,” he snaps, making you flinch. “Your tongue.”
Fuck this place, you obey. Slip your tongue out and slide it against the floor, eyes clenched shut to cope with the taste of everything horrible and bitter.
Pushing your palms to the floor, you lift your head, giving him the pathetic display of your twitching tongue.
The light above halo’s his pink head like a dark angel, and you see his lips curl into a diabolical smile. Pleased with your submission.
He squats, lining his mouth to your ear— not touching, but close enough to hear. “The hell are you looking at?”
Your eyes clench shut as fast as his words come out and you almost flinch when you feel the tip of his finger brush against your clavicle. Your breast wrap is right there—not impossibly close, but too close for comfort. It’s like he’s bringing attention to how frail your bones are, brushing the bone so lightly.
“Speak.”
“You— I’m sorry,” is all you know to spit out around the taste of the bitter floor in your mouth.
He tuts like your answer is just average, a boring C- at best. It seems to be all you know how to say, that and thank you.
“I don’t want trouble— I didn’t know I couldn’t look at you,” you stupidly explain.
“Have a little crush on me?”
You gulp, shaking your head. “N-No.”
He stands. “Why are you here?”
“Because you told me to—” your uncertain gaze flicks around his face but never connects to his eyes.
He interrupts you, repeating himself in a rougher tone, “Why are you here?”
You realize he’s asking why you were locked up.
“Speak. My impatience is not passive you’ll soon find out,” he snaps at you when you don’t immediately answer.
“I— I lost a bet. I needed money.” Technically not a lie, but you can see how your words imply that you robbed someone or something.
He uses a socked foot to nudge at your tummy, and you tense, praying he doesn’t lift it or lower it in either direction.
You’re bracing for a kick, a shove, something. Instead, he simply runs his foot down your abdomen until his toes brush the clothed skin above your pussy. You shiver in anticipated worry, looking up at him through your lashes like he’s a god given the right to deciding your fate.
Just when you think this is it, he’s going to push just an inch lower and notice your lack of dick— he loudly sniffles and walks out like nothing happened.
________________
Later, 11:25 am.
Your one reprieve after your humiliating morning is the library. Everyone has a job in prison— a 0.25$ paying job— but it’s better than nothing. You’d been lucky to land a job sorting books. Pushing a little cart around, organizing the collection of educational texts, self-help, religious, even things like the hunger games— it was nice.
That is, until your heart drops down to your ass when Sukuna pushes you against the shelf, chest pressing into your back.
You gasp, dropping the book in your grasp. Your mind immediately flicks to movies you’ve seen, involving a homemade shiv and a lot of blood, people who have nothing to lose and kill just for the hell of it. You’re an easy target too, smaller than the rest.
“You’re welcome,” he says casually into your ear. He’s not even pushing into you in an overtly sexual manner, just pinning you to the shelves.
You knew he was awake last night. But, he definitely didn’t intentionally protect you from Mahito, no, it had nothing to do with you. He’s taunting you.
You let out a shaky breath, daring to speak just above a whisper. “F—for what?”
“This is how it’s going to work,” he explains, hard hand gripping the back of your neck, “I’m going to fuck your ass, use you until that gratitude dries up and in return— no one will touch you.”
Oh shit. Your face pales. He’s explaining the concept of being a ‘bitch’ to you because it’s your first time in prison. Was it that obvious? (Yes.)
You let out a fearful whine under your breath, so quiet, but being so close, he hears it.
“What’s wrong? Thought you wanted to thank me,” he mocks you, hot breath fanning your ear. Maybe in another universe, you’d beg the domineering man fuck you— as you. But if you want your gender to remain a secret in here, you have no choice but to get out of this.
“I— but,” You grip the shelf harshly, thinking of any excuse, “I’m a virgin!”
A pause. Did that actually work? You’re not an actual virgin, but you’ve never done anal— technically not a lie.
Your bated breath halts when he lets out a boisterous laugh. “Oh?” he drawls like a king on a throne.
You can almost guarantee he feels your heart thumping through your fucking back.
“You’re just a hole. Meant for use. Doesn’t matter to me, I truly don’t care.”
“I— please, I can’t do that for you. I want to— I really want to! But I can’t,” you breathe, hoping you haven’t offended his ego— which you assume is larger than this building. You want to be able to say yes, just so that you don’t have a target on your back.
“Tch,” he clicks in distaste, “I won’t injure you. Is that enough to address your concerns?” You think he mutters a ‘loser’ under his breath but you aren’t sure.
The fact that he’s even trying to quell your fears is surprising, and gives you a spec of hope. It also allows you to consider the idea of what his protection in exchange would mean. Everyone clearly fears Sukuna, you’d get through this year untouched— aside from the obvious.
“Uh—uhm,” you gulp, side glancing back at him as much as his grip will allow. “I’m insecure about uh.. my dick.”
His brows lower into a furrow, looking at you with judgement. “Fine,” he rolls his eyes, “your little cock won’t come out of its confines. Satisfied?”
Are you actually going to do this? Can you even pull this off? The fact that this man even wants to fuck you in the first place is completely out of the blue. You knew things like this happened in here, but from this guy?
You shift. “Why do you want this— with me?”
“I’m not gay,” he scoffs, “Fool. I simply need a flesh light.”
“Oh, and,” he pushes his nose into your head, behind your ear, and sniffs, “you smell nice, like a woman.”
You shiver. It’s horrifying that he can actually smell that on you without knowing it.
“Deal?”
You clench your eyes shut and nod.
He finally pushes off of you and mutters a ‘good’ before walking away and out of the library.
___________
You’ve never been one for the concept of anal. You’d glare whenever a boyfriend would even bring it up. It’s always felt inconsiderate, like you’re just being used when a more pleasurable hole is right there. You’re kind of nervous, but part of you is relieved.
Since you made the deal, Sukuna has ‘claimed’ you. He makes you grab his meals for him, sit across from him in the cafeteria, visible signs of ownership. The other inmates avoid you completely; even a minor bump into your shoulder in passing earns an apology. You’re his now, and everyone knows it. Off limits.
As for your end of the deal, you aren’t sure when Sukuna is going to be in the mood to fuck. You’ve been stealing peeks at him, watching too closely, hoping for a signal, but Sukuna noticed. After that time you practically jumped when he stood up from his bed, he gave you a glare that made your knees weak. Instead, you’ve decided to just wait for him to tell you when he’s ready.
A few days after your library talk, Sukuna finally gives you the signal.
It’s morning, and you wake to see him hovering over your bed once again.
You startle, sitting up quickly as you rub your eyes. “Wh— what happened?”
He tosses you a little bag of chips, the type you can only get from the confectionery, and your brows furrow down at it.
“Um,” you glance at him, unsure, “thank you.” It sounds more like a question than a statement.
“Library, 12 pm. There’s a spot with no cameras in the back.”
Your eyes flicker in recognition, and your heart races as you nod. “Okay, I’ll— um— I’ll be there. That’s great. Sounds good.”
He deadpans at your pathetic attempt at speaking and walks off.
You can’t help but feel a weird affection placing the bag of chips under your bed, rolling your eyes at yourself. It’s a bag of chips, and you have more to worry about than catching feelings for this guy.
You have to prep.
The communal showers are sectioned by half walls and curtains. You’ve been able to shower, dry yourself, wrap your breasts, and get dressed all inside of the little shower section without anyone seeing your important body parts since you’ve been here. Still, you’d rather some privacy as you do what needs to be done today.
Thankfully, it’s empty when you check the showers while breakfast is taking place.
You stand there naked under the water, toes curling in nerves as you slowly bring the empty bottle up to fill it with water. A homemade douche. It’s mildly humiliating shooting water up your ass but it’s a necessary evil.
About a few hours later, you’re sorting books like your job entails, while anxiously glancing at the door and wall clock every two minutes with anticipation.
At 12:03 he pushes the door open, and you immediately turn your head back to face the shelves.
You hear him snap at the only person reading at a table, forcing them to leave. Your heart races when you hear him lock the entrance door behind them.
You stupidly pretend you’re deciding which shelf the book in your hands belongs on as his heavy footsteps close the distance between you.
He settles right beside you and you peek up at him.
“Come.” He nods his head, gesturing you to follow as he turns and leads you to the last isle, all the way to the back of the room.
“Right here?” You glance at the camera in the corner.
“Right here.”
You gasp when he grabs your hips and manhandles you over to the very corner of the isle, pressed into the shelf with your back to him. “It’s a blind spot.”
“Okay,” you lick your lips nervously, fumbling with the hem of your sweatpants. “I— how do we— should I just—?”
He squeezes his big hands over your shaky ones, stopping you. “Relax,” he snaps. “Ass fucking is not that difficult. It’ll be a lot easier for you than it is for women.”
You gulp at that, his (rude) reassurance means nothing considering the obvious.
He swats your hands away and you squeak when he pulls your sweatpants down enough to expose your ass to the chilly air.
You curiously glance back when you hear a click of a cap opening. He squirts an ungodly amount of lube into his palm and tosses it aside. (How did he even obtain lube in here?)
“Pretty fucking ass,” he says as if it’s an insult, using one hand to spread your cheek and slide a glob onto your hole with two fingers.
You cringe at the cold feeling of the gel as he rubs your hole, anticipating him shoving his finger in there.
“It’s gonna hurt,” you say wearily, “right?”
He rolls his eyes, using his middle finger to push at the resistance of the rim.
You gasp when it pops in. He slowly massages your insides in a manner to loosen the very edges, preparing the most taught of the muscles to stretch. It’s more weird than uncomfortable feeling something wiggling around in there.
“You’re lucky I’m doing this,” he rasps, “Virgin.”
“Thank you,” you squeak. He uses his free hand to shove your hips out a bit more.
He whispers as he pulls his finger out, “How’s it feel knowing you’re about to get fucked in the ass? Feel the shame yet?”
You gulp and clench your eyes shut when you catch a glimpse of his hefty cock being pulled out of his sweats. A large, scary winding vein catches your eye.
“Slow,” you chirp as he presses the tip to your ass, “please go slow.”
He notches his chin over your head, wrapping one arm around your tummy to push your back into his chest and grunts, “I will.”
His large body envelops you, like a hard hug. If it weren’t for his tip forcing your asshole to open up, you’d probably enjoy being held by a big man like this.
You hiss, unable to keep your hands from snapping back and digging your nails into his hips. The intrusion is uncomfortable, so odd and unnatural to have something this big pushing into your backside.
He doesn’t seem to mind your nails, undulating the tip around in circles within the very inside so you can get used to the feeling.
“That’s it,” he drawls, “open up.”
You let out a high-pitched whine and your ‘boy’ persona is thrown out of the window, completely irrelevant as he inches the rest of it in. He’s fully seated.
“Okay, okay,” you gasp, frantically tapping his hip and toned back, “don’t move yet.”
He exhales deeply, like he feels relaxed having finally mounted a warm hole. His warm huffs of breath calm you as they steadily fan the side of your head.
“Tick tock,” he hums after a minute of your hole pulsing around him in attempt to cope with the intrusion. “It will hurt less if I move.”
“Fuck,” you whimper, shaky hands moving to brace against the shelves. “Okay, fine.”
“Good.” He wraps one hand roughly around your mouth and his other arm holds your midsection taut to his front.
You squeal behind his hand when he pulls out and barrels back in with one hard rut. It hurts, but somehow, his large dick has reached your g-spot through your ass. You likely have a bulge in your tummy from the way his tip is angled to push down against your vaginal canal through the back door.
“Ahhh.” He tilts his head and rumbles an exhales right into your ear, like he’s dipping into a nice, warm hot-spring.
It doesn’t take long for him to set a rhythm, rocking his hips in short, hard thrusts. The contact of your cheeks meeting his hips creates a loud ‘plap,’ bouncing off the books in lewd repetition. His harsh breaths are the most you receive from him in terms of vocalized pleasure, but sometimes he offers a grunt.
Your feet shuffle with every hit, toes barely touching the ground as his strong hold keeps you up in the air like you’re just a human sized flesh light. He’s using you, and you can’t deny his incidental abuse of your g-spot feels good.
“You moan like a fuckin girl,” he hisses into your ear as he pounds your ass.
You can only moan under his palm, confirming his what he thinks is an insult. The jackhammering is short and mean, barely a few inches of his base exiting your puckering hole before stuffing it back inside.
“This ass is mine,” he grunts as your clit throbs with need, “Pathetic fuck. Letting a guy bend you over.”
Your legs shake as he grows frantic and mean, putting horrifying strength behind each thrust. You’re fucking like bunnies, your body frantically jostles up and down and you’d be embarrassed if it weren’t for how he’s completely dominating you. A few books fall right off of the shelf and clatter to the carpeted floor with the force of it all. You wonder if he’s fucking you this hard because he thinks you’re a man, that you can and should be able to handle it.
You exhale sharply out of your nose, eyes clenched shut as you take his last few slams.
“Fuck!” He grunts, throwing his head back as his grip on you grows so harsh you’ll have bruises on your waist later. You feel his dick pulse as he dumps his load as deep as he can go into your ass, keeping his hips still against your irritated asscheeks.
Finally he sighs as he slides out, making your hole clench shut the second the intrusion is gone.
You practically stumble for balance as he lets you go, knees buckling. Pussy dripping and confused while your ass aches.
You want to just collapse right here, take a much needed rest, but you can’t risk an accidental flash of your pussy. You pull your sweatpants up, out of breath.
He tucks his dick back in, glancing down at you with a glow of physical relief on his face. “You took me well,” he licks his top teeth, tilting his head. “Did you enjoy getting your cherry popped?”
That was almost a compliment. Your insides are still screaming for an orgasm and a break simultaneously. You feel your face rise in temp, pathetically, and you can’t help but tuck your chin to your chest.
“Just fucked you and you’re getting shy.” He snickers with a look of disgust. “I think i’ll play with you again and again until I tire of this.”
He doesn’t even give you a chance to respond before moseying out of the library, adjusting his dick in his pants as he goes.
Somehow, you’d gotten away with the first fucking without revealing your secret. Aside from not having a chance to finish the job and rub yourself to a much needed orgasm, you’re quite proud of yourself.
Sukuna doesn’t speak to you more than usual following the act, he’s just not the type. Does one speak to their flesh light between uses?
That night, you almost believe you’re dreaming when you wake up to Sukuna’s weight lying directly on top of you. You couldn’t sleep comfortably on your sore ass, so you’d had to sleep on your tummy, giving him a perfect opportunity.
“Again,” he rasps into your ear, grinding against your ass. You must have done well earlier if he’s already back for more, or he’s fond of how your asshole feels.
You tiredly whine and lower your groggy tone to say, “But the guards will hear— and the others.”
He ignores your concerns and crawls down your body, yanking your sweats down. You squeak, pushing a hand under yourself to keep your pants up at the front.
You glance over your shoulder. “What are you— oh!”
He spreads your ass and licks a stripe up your asshole, terrifyingly close to your pussy. So close your pussy clenches in anticipation, having a sweet mind of its own.
He pauses as he looks down at your hole with furrowed brows. It’s dark enough that he won’t be able to see the feminine parts of you, you hope.
He doesn’t say a word about his pause, just brings his face back down and pushes his tongue into your ass. He wriggles it around and you cringe, gripping the sheets as he stimulates your sore hole. You can’t even tell if it feels good to have your ass ate, or if it’s the concept of this man with his face in your ass, or the fact that you’re just fucking horny and begging for scraps.
After one last lick from your hole all the way up to your lower back, he crawls up to lay on you with his lips to your ear.
“Why the fuck is your ass sweet?” he asks as he lifts his hips to yank his cock out. Your brows raise, almost letting out a snicker. It must be due to your pussy leaking wetness down to your ass all day since the library.
“I— I don’t know,” you mumble as he holds one of your cheeks open and slides his tip against your hole.
“Just,” he grunts as he pops the tip in, not even waiting before pushing in to the hilt, “stay quiet and I’ll be done in a second.”
You whine under your breath, fisting the sheets as your toes curl. His legs surround the outsides of yours as his arms wrap around your neck in a loose headlock. You aren’t sure you can stay quiet if he pounds you like he did before without his hand covering your mouth. Getting caught with his dick in your ass doesn’t sound so great.
But fuck, you suddenly don’t care because his abs clench as he lifts his hips and slides back in, already gaining a stead rhythm. It’s slower than before, but hard. Your eyes roll back at how passionate it is, fingers pressing into his pulsing arms around your neck. You can’t remember the last time a man truly put his heart into fucking you.
You think you may be able to enjoy this little arrangement after all, considering his dick is big enough to pound into your g-spot with every hump. Maybe his claim on you, the free use of it all, is charming too.
But then, he begins to slide a hand down under you and you freeze.
He’s reaching for your nonexistent dick.
You snap your hand down to grip his wrist, stopping him, but you know that he could bypass your frail hold if he really wanted to.
“D-Don’t touch,” you breathily murmur through his continued thrusts.
“Tch,” he grunts in distaste, “Won’t see your ugly dick. You should be thanking the gods that I’d even try to touch you.”
You wish you could allow him to touch, rub your clit, finger you, fuck you the proper way. But no matter how horny you are, you have to have a clear head about this. If he knew you were a woman, he could tell the guards— or worse, tell the other inmates and let them have a turn with you. That’s just the tip of the iceberg of the horrible things that could happen to you if you’re exposed.
“I know, I know,” you gulp, lips parting as he manages a particularly nice thrust, “just— next time. Okay? Next time.”
He huffs, exasperated and gives up, moving his hand away and instead uses it to dig into your hip to get a better angle.
“Fuuck,” you breathe in a particularly girly way as he reaches deeper, and he hisses in your ear in obvious pleasure. He seems to enjoy the way you ‘moan like a woman.’
“Good,” he thrusts, “little,” thrust, “hole.”
He cums with a last few pitiful humps and rubs his hips against your ass in a circle as if to make sure his cum is deeep in there.
You feel utterly spent when he pulls out, two loads in your ass just from today and you’re clocking out.
He doesn’t even give you another look as he gets up and stretches with a yawn, wet dick still hanging about his thigh.
You pull your sweats up with a grimace at how sore your asshole feels. If you weren’t so horny, you might be annoyed how beat up your insides feel.
You exhale in relief when he passes out the second he flops down into bed like any average man does. You’re already thinking of some way to fool him into thinking you have a cock by the next time he wants to fuck.
_______
You’ve stolen a cucumber from the kitchen. It wasn’t easy, but you managed.
Sukuna has you up against the cell bars and has grown quite confident in his ability to fuck you within an inch of your life. He doesn’t seem like he’s all that invested in you, after all, he still thinks of you as some boy he’s using to get off. But you’re still enjoying it as much as any woman can reasonably enjoy anal.
He definitely seems to enjoy fucking you too, because you can feel his thighs shake as he pounds into you.
He kicks your feet wider and reaches around you to grab at your ‘dick.’ “Gonna let me touch it now?”
You gulp, peeking down at his hand that finds the cucumber and grips it.
“Jesus Christ, you’re fucking hard.”
You would laugh in his face if he wasn’t obliterating your insides with heavy humps.
He slowly begins to knead your ‘cock’ and the only way you know that, is because the tip of the cucumber incidentally rubs against your clit with every one of his strokes.
“Oh shit,” you breathe, brows raising and blinking into an eye roll of surprise pleasure. The stimulation to your clit and g-spot is like heaven after two days of being pent up.
“Don’t— don’t stop,” you beg, making his brow quirk.
The second you start fucking back into his cock, like an auto-masterbater, Sukuna’s eyes roll and his orgasm appears in the distance.
He sinks his teeth into your shoulder, indifferent to the pain he could be causing and meets your thrusts half way. There’s no way you’re not waking the entire cell block with the slapping sound bouncing off the concrete walls.
You sigh in disappointment when he lets go of your ‘dick’ and uses both hands to grip your hips, thrusting harder than ever.
He hisses an inhale like it hurts, a string of saliva connecting your shoulder to his teeth— and cums as his feet slightly shuffle.
“Phew,” he exhales, pulling out and tucking his dick back in. He crashes right into bed, just like before, and leaves you throbbing and needy. Again.
_____________
Sometime in the middle of the night, Your cell.
Sukuna has turned ravenous, he wants to fuck everyday, at least twice. It’s a bit much because you have to prep the same day before anal, and you’ve had to turn him down. Not without worries of how he’d take the rejection with little explanation, but thankfully, all he did is tsk and walk off.
One day of no sex, and he’s been staring at you through the entire day. When you wake up, in the cafeteria, on walks, while you draw on your bed. It’s frightening since you can’t read his expression that’s always resting in a threatening way. Would it be stupid to ask what he’s feeling?
Honestly, you just wanted him to wait until you could prep, and then he could have at it— but he didn’t get the message. And it’s not like you can just tell him, ‘Hey Sukuna, you can fuck my ass anytime now. Clock’s ticking!’ That’d mean you’re actively seeking anal, and that’s ridiculous. Right?
You shrug it off and decide to ignore his stare, focusing your attention on the book in your hands. He’s a big boy, if he needs something, he’ll ask for it.
And ask for it, he does.
You gasp when you’re suddenly pushed down flat to your bed, strong hands spreading your legs so Sukuna can rest between them as your book clatters to the floor. You hadn’t even heard his footsteps, or the creak of his bed as he stood.
“Jesus Christ,” you breathe, looking up at him with your heart racing out of your chest. “You scared me.”
His clothed bulge is hovering just above your pussy, but if he rested his weight down a few inches, you’re fucked. Maybe literally.
He must have just showered, his hair is damp and dark pink. He looks down at you hungry, like you’re not a person but a fucktoy with a timed lock on it that’s almost ready to use again, licking his bottom lip. “Does this fix your problem? Can I fuck you now, princess?”
Your brows furrow, an obvious question mark on your expression. You ignore the pet name meant to taunt you, because you’re not a man with toxic masculinity.
He rolls his eyes. “I’m not kissing you. Missionary is as romantic as I’ll get. Take it or leave it.”
What? He must have misinterpreted your rejection as a desire for more intimacy and affection when you have sex. The idea of missionary with Sukuna makes your tummy flutter— but you can’t.
You press your lips together, concealing a laugh. “Oh. Um— no,” you gently press against his chest, “I like how we usually do it.”
“You know,” he leans into your face, “I’m getting real tired of you bossing me around.”
“I’m sorry,” you say, recalling your excuse for keeping your dick out of sight, “I just feel— uh—insecure.”
“Fuck that,” he grunts, grabbing hold of the hem of your sweats, “Only way to get over that shit is to face it.”
You grasp his wrist, nervously. It’s not like you don’t want Sukuna to know you’re a woman so you can fuck the way you want to, it’s just too complicated and risky.
“I— really, let’s just do it against the wall, like we always do!” you attempt to convince him as he pulls against your hold.
He doesn’t say a word, just squints at you like he can smell bullshit in your words.
Suddenly, he yanks your pants all the way down until they fall to the floor and you immediately cup your sex, trying to hide from him. You twist your lower half to lie on your side, legs bent around his side so they can stay together.
He glances down at your lower half and grips your thigh. “Show me,” he snaps, more suspicious than warranted if he actually believed your lies of insecurity.
You shake your head stubbornly, clenching your eyes shut.
“Now,” he allows the word to reverberate against the walls of the cell, and you swear you can feel the vibrations in your chest.
That domineering tone is like a frequency that emits a wave of submission in timid people like you, like a lions roar to a cornered bunny.
Still, you don’t open your legs.
He scoffs a huff of air, like he’s in disbelief of your sudden ability to grow balls. Pun intended.
You peek your eyes open when you feel him shift to crawl down your body until his breath is fanning your hand covering your pussy and naked asshole.
You squeak when he slides his tongue against your fingers. “Open up,” he taunts, giving your asshole a little lick as well.
You whimper as he begins licking at your hand and your thighs, resolve dissolving with every warm, wet touch.
“I’m— I’m scared,” you admit with panic, though you’re being too vague for him to actually console you even if he wanted to.
He takes a big bite out of your thigh and you gasp, pussy clenching in need from the sting. Your wetness has made your hands slippery, and the second he takes another bite, this time a deep one on your fingers, your hand slips away with a sting and a hiss.
He takes the opportunity to yank your legs apart, spreading them over each of his thighs till you’re on full display in front of him. Like a plate.
Your wide eyes flick from your exposed pussy, to his red eyes trained down between your legs. You quickly reach to futilely cover yourself once again.
“Aht!” he scolds, pinning your wrists to the bed on either side of your body before they can cover your sex again. “Don’t fucking move,” he snaps, inches from your face.
You must have the expression of a small animal being prepped for slaughter as he closely eyes you because that’s exactly how you feel. You watch his face shift as he realizes your features aren’t just girly, you’re a fucking girl.
“Please.” You plead him, but for what exactly?
He exhales into you, ignoring you to observe your body. He lets go of one wrist to slowly raise the hem of your shirt up to your collarbones, revealing a tightly wrapped chest.
As if he needs to make sure, he rips it away and blinks at your bouncing tits. One last look at your pussy and he huffs harshly, gazing into your eyes like he just won the lottery.
“Holy shit.”
You’re mute, afraid and frozen in place as your legs clench around his hips, trying to close them around him even though it’s impossible.
“Why are you here?”
He watches you with equal parts curiosity and amused awe.
“I— I made a deal. A stupid fucking deal,” you breathe in your natural feminine voice. It’s not hard to assume the deal was money for time in prison.
He shakes his head, laughing airily like he can’t believe his eyes. “Now this is so very interesting. A woman in my cell.”
He leans into your ear, making your chest and tummy erupt in goosebumps. “I knew your little asshole was too good to be true.” He nips your ear and you whine.
“Don’t— please don’t tell anyone.”
Your quiet request makes him burst out laughing, head tossing back as he hovers over you territorially.
“Tell them?” A vein in his forehead pops as his gaze manically flicks back and forth from each of your eyes, “No, you foolish little thing. You’re all mine. You’d have to fucking kill me to share this pretty pussy.”
You aren’t sure if you should feel relived or scared. You’ve grown fond of Sukuna’s cock, but that look in his eye is downright diabolical.
“You’re,” you begin with a swallow, “not gonna hurt me?”
“Ohhh,” he breathes cathartically like he’s battling aggression seeing something so small and delicate beg not to be broken. “No, no. I’m not gonna hurt you. You’re safe with me.”
You aren’t so sure, if that glint in his eye and tone in his deep voice tells you anything. Like mouse encountering a perfect piece of cheese suspiciously sitting in the middle of the kitchen floor, begging to be eaten.
He leans in and lays a soft kiss to your cheek, making you blink.
“See?” he hums smiling, “I know exactly how to handle with care.”
He presses his nose to your neck and starts sniffing you loudly, like a dog— down to your breasts, your tummy, and finally he takes a good long sniff of your pussy.
You slap your hands to your face in embarrassment and he groans loudly on an exhale, jaw pinching as he clenches his teeth. “Fuuuck. Nothing quite like it. Your pussy smells very nice,” he trails off with a manic laugh, licking his lips.
His eye catches on your pinched brows once you hesitantly pull your hands away to grip the sheets and he leans into your face with a careful kiss to your jaw. “Deal still on, baby?”
You absolutely have no choice, you need his protection now more than before. Without this deal, there’s no telling what he’d do— no matter what he says. And even if he keeps his word, who’s to say no one else will find out your secret? It helps that he’s hauntingly sexy with a big dick he knows what to do with.
You gulp, nodding. “Yes, please.”
“Goood,” his lip curls as he drawls the word out, “That’s very good.”
He licks a wet stripe up the side of your face, making you grip his biceps.
“Are we going to have sex? My— You want my—”
He interrupts your stutter by humming against your cheek with amusement. “Oh yes. I want your pussy. I’m gonna take it over and over again.”
You exhale a sigh, eyes slightly rolling back, enjoying his words a little too much for the situation at hand.
“I’m not on birth control,” you warn him weakly as he begins to suck on your neck.
He hums nonchalantly, slowly sliding his hand down your tummy.
Your hips jerk when he cups your entire sex, long cold fingers pressing into your warm folds that are just begging for love.
“We don’t have condoms,” you add, biting your lip as he uses two middle fingers to carefully brush from your slippery hole up to your clit.
He chuckles against your neck, wickedly, like he’s enjoying every aspect of this conversation.
“No, we don’t,” he agrees with a smile you can literally hear on his voice.
Your jaw drops as he starts rubbing leisurely circles against your throbbing clit, back arching to press your abdomen into his hard abs.
“You have to pull out,” you whine in a broken moan.
“Okay,” he agrees with ease, moving to press his lips to yours.
You barely kiss him back, as his lips slide and suck on yours.
“I thought you said you didn’t want to kiss me,” you say, muffled as your legs tremble.
He moves his middle fingers down and slides one into your core, making you gasp into his mouth.
He abruptly shoves his tongue into your mouth, sliding and flicking against your tongue. He peeks the tip of his pointer finger in to join his middle inside you, and once your initial ring of resistance gives, he shoves it in like a glove.
“Oh,” you whine, brows pinching and toes curling. “Your fingers are so— fuck— they’re big.”
“Oho,” he breathes as he unhurriedly rocks them in and out, “You’ve been so unsatisfied, haven’t you? Getting ass fucked with not one touch to your pretty, crying little pussy.”
You nod erratically, “I was just so scared if you found ou— oh god.”
He gradually puts weight behind his thrusts, fingering you at an angle to abuse your g-spot.
“You thought I would want to hurt you,” he assumes with a pitying smile, “No, no. I just wanna fuck the shit out of you.”
You reach down and grip his wrist, but his hand in motion makes it difficult.
“Please make me cum,” you beg, “I’d be really— so grateful.”
“Yeah?” He presses a peck to your lips and crawls down to stuff his face between your legs. “Finally,” he sighs to your pussy.
He glances up at you and pecks your jumping clit. “Gonna eat your pussy. You want that?”
Your eyes roll back and you nod pathetically. “Oh my god, yes.”
He doesn’t waste time. He makes a pursing motion with his lips and basically sucks your clit into his mouth like a vacuum, gently suckling on it with his eyes blissfully closed. His free hand rests around your hip and flat against your lower tummy.
Your brain is fucking buzzing, toes curling in the air as you breathe short, pathetic breaths. You’re delightfully surprised he knows you need your clit stimulated to cum; a man in prison just isn’t the type you’d expected to know what most women need.
You use both hands to gently curl into his pink hair, watching his lips envelop your clit as the motion of his hand rocks into you.
“That feels good,” you affirm, voice shaky, making sure he knows he’s going a good job so he doesn’t feel motivated to stop.
He doesn’t answer you, just flicks his tongue against your clit with horrifying stamina, like his tongue is as trained as the rest of his body. You don’t feel a second of lag in his force behind his tongue and that yummy suction.
You melt when he transitions into thorough, flat tongued licks, the kind that nudges your clit in a way that’s not too overstimulating— but genuinely pleasurable in a sustainable way. You could actually cum like this. You rub his head like a masseuse, kneading the skin affectionately, making his brows and forehead slightly move with your massage.
He eats you like he hasn’t eaten his favorite meal in a long time, and considering the slop in the cafeteria, your delirious mind thinks it makes perfect sense that he’s probably soo hungry. It’s not his fault he’s so eager.
Your toes curl as your abdomen clenches inward, honing your focus to find an orgasm in the distance with every specifically pressurized slide of his tongue.
He tilts his head idly, side to side and the second he finds that perfect angle to the left, you gasp and yank his head impossibly closer.
“Right there, huh?” is the last thing he says before repeating the motion perfectly, over and over and over while his hand continues at ample speed. It’s about 27 licks in when the white blinds your sight and you give in to the ecstasy of an orgasm.
“Thank you, thank you, thank you— fuck!” you stupidly babble the one phrase you can’t seem to stop repeating to the man ever since you met him, voice strained and slurring as your brain short circuits and cuts off the connection between your motor skills and brain signals.
Even when you fall limp with fading euphoria, frailly whining, ‘no more,’ his big mouth attaches to your entire slit like a fucking milk pump, despite acknowledging your orgasm passing by discarding his wet fingers to join his other hand on your hip/tummy area.
It’s an interesting sight— your weak, spasming body jerking in overstimulation as he blissfully hallows his cheeks and enjoys your cunt with all kinds of tongue techniques. The type of techniques a stupidly rich man has learnt after so many wine tastings to get the full taste profile of every berry inside to layer over his every tastebud. Getting his full money’s worth of this favorite thing.
But fuck if it doesn’t feel good to be licked, even with the ultra sensitivity of an after glow.
“Sukuna— please,” you whimper, “Aren’t you gonna fuck me?”
That’s what makes him pause, flicking open his relaxed, heavily lidded gaze.
He unsuctions your warm folds, letting go in one popping motion and you exhale sharply when the cold air hits you.
He crawls up your body like a predator, more than twice your size. He slides his arms under your back to hold you flush to his body, hugging you in a possessive hold. One hand wraps around the back of your neck, fingers almost meeting at the front, and the other massages your lower back.
“Am I popping your pussy cherry too?” he hums, lips brushing yours as he speaks into your mouth.
“No,” you huff, “Is that a deal breaker?”
He nips your lower lip. “I’m gonna eat you whole,” he expresses how deeply he wants to fuck you— how small a concern like being a virgin would be to him.
You shiver, and maybe even start to consider why he’s in prison in the first place. Eat you.. whole..?
“Can we fuck first?”
He licks his teeth as his metaphorical tiger tail flicks behind him— like a bunny has triggered a tigers instinct to play while in the midst of a chase. If he could purr, he would be right about now.
Interrupting your little moment, the breakfast bell rings. Sukuna must have made his move an hour before six while you were reading the night away and neither of you noted the time. Sukuna had thought it’d be a 10 minute ass fuck, but now that he’s stumbled upon gold in the form of a woman, he’s gotten distracted.
You’re expecting Sukuna to be frustrated that you have to stop before you even reached the main event, but surprisingly, he just helps you get dressed and then stands lazily by the cell bars to cover you while you wrap your chest so no one eyes his plaything.
The guard just passes by boredly, doing morning checks, nodding at Sukuna in brief greeting.
Once the guard is out of sight, you huff in exhaustion and sit up on your bed. After all the fear of being exposed as a woman and having an orgasm like that, all you want is to sleep. You literally nod off as you sit there, listening to the ruffle of Sukuna throwing on some new clothes.
Two taps to your cheek makes you startle, slurping up some drool as you open your eyes. Sukuna squats in front of you, holding your knees.
“Breakfast,” he reminds you, “get up.”
You pout at his tone, having hoped he’d soften up to you after learning you’re a woman. A woman he desperately wants to fuck and protect and own.
“Can’t you bring it to me?”
He blinks at you, deadpanning. “The fuck did you just say?”
You flinch a bit, chin tucking into your chest. You grow even more alert as he stands and pushes over you, making you lean back in bed with your palms behind you, supporting your weight right beside his own larger ones.
“Does this pretty little thing want to be punished?”
You immediately bite your lip, smiling as he pushes his head into your neck to nip at it.
“Mhm, keep doing that,” you encourage his panty dropping neck kisses.
Oncoming footsteps leading closer and closer to your cell make your heart jolt, and suddenly he roughly pushes you down flat with a veiny hand tight around your throat.
“Begging for a beating so early in the morning are we, boy?” he rasps, menacingly, as the inmate walks past, peeking at your altercation briefly before scurrying off in fear of becoming involved in Sukuna’s business.
You smile.
Oh. This’ll be fun.
______
SORRY edged you there, didn’t I?
Also not sure if this counts as gender bend? Lmk if I should add it to the warnings!
Huge thanks to @specialgradefckr for giving me soo many ideas that I used for this fic— I love yew sm I wanna eat you. Please check out their page. They have delicious writing
Sweet Recipes/cute Boys Etc... @icyzzsweet - Tumblr Blog | Tumgag
