꒰ summary ꒱ when a misunderstanding leaves your family convinced you’re bringing a plus one to your cousin’s wedding in Japan, the last person you expect to volunteer for the role is your infuriatingly observant intern, Satoru. it’s supposed to be temporary. professional. strictly off the record. but with your mother already sold on the idea of your mystery boyfriend, and Satoru proving far too good at the role, pretending starts to feel a little too dangerous. also, why is your “intern” secretly the heir to gojo corporation?!
꒰ tags/warnings ꒱ fake dating ⚹︎ undercover ceo! satoru ⚹︎ accountant! reader ⚹︎ satoru is 29, reader is 26 ⚹︎ lots of family pressure. reader has a complicated relationship with her mom ⚹︎ forced proximity ⚹︎ one bed trope ⚹︎ slow burn ⚹︎ mutual pining ⚹︎ wedding chaos ⚹︎ angst and fluff ⚹︎ some suggestive content but no explicit smut ⚹︎
꒰ authors note ꒱ hi cuties! this is a commission piece, and it is about 12k total. this first part is just shy of 6k and the second part will be out next week. i hope you enjoy 🫶🏻 (art by @/hanamin_0123 on x)
"Oi. Boss lady."
“No.”
One problem at a time, and the spreadsheet in front of you wins by default. Because Column F is wrong. It’s been wrong for forty fucking minutes, and if it stays wrong for forty seconds longer, you may actually die here at your desk — hunched over, half-blind, and found by Shoko on a Monday morning with your face pressed into a pivot table like a cautionary tale.
"But… you don't even know what I was gonna—"
"—the answer is no, Satoru."
Unlike the human embodiment of a headache currently lingering on the other side of your desk, the spreadsheet in front of you is at least pretending to be important.
The chair beneath him creaks, and then comes the silence you know too well. It’s the one that comes right before he decides to be a problem on purpose. Attention is gasoline and Satoru is, structurally, a fire hazard. Still, your eyes flick up, and—
"No fair…” he huffs, that ridiculous pout tugging at his lips. “You didn't even let me finish the question."
Your eyes roll back down.
“Mhm.”
"And it was such a good question.”
You turn a page. "Really?”
“Yup.” He’s draped over the corner of your desk now, like gravity has wronged him, whining. “It was such a thoughtful… personal… deeply relevant… extremely genius level getting-to-know-you tier question that—”
You scowl. "—Satoru, enough. Just do your job."
It lands harder than expected. The sigh he lets out is deeply, theatrically offended. And when you glance up again, he’s sprawled over that same corner of your desk you made the mistake of clearing for him on day one because you’d thought, foolishly, that giving him a designated surface might contain him.
It had not.
Nothing about Satoru had ever suggested he could be contained.
Snowy white hair falls against his brow, sleeves rolled to his elbows; looking far too expensive and far too comfortable for someone whose official title is intern. His coffee is sweating beside your open planner — the one with a date next week circled in red: WEDDING, scrawled across the margin in your own handwriting. The condensation trails towards a stack of vendor invoices and—
…
Wait.
Are those the same vendor invoices you asked him to file yesterday?
Fucking great.
“Oh, c’monnn,” he grumbles, blinking at you over the rim of those absurdly expensive sunglasses he insists on wearing indoors. “One question. Just a tiiiiny one. It’s completely harmless. Humor me, yeah?”
You narrow your eyes.
“Satoru, you’ve been trying to ask one question for the last four months.”
“Yeah,” he says. “And you’ve been dodging it for four months. Imagine that.”
Technically… four months and four days. But who’s counting?
With an exhausted groan, your eyes fall shut, pinching the bridge of your nose. Noise drifts in from the hall — the elevator, the printer, a phone trilling somewhere nearby. But when you look up again, it all seems to fall away.
He’s gone strangely still. The smug grin hasn’t disappeared, but it’s softened at the edges, hooked at one corner with his head tilted slightly. And those eyes…
Oh.
That’s — no. You’ve seen his eyes before. Obviously. Four months of them. But right now, with the morning light doing something cruel and unhelpful behind him, they catch in a way that makes you forget you were mid-thought. The kind of blue that doesn’t ask if you’re looking. It already knows.
Which means of course, you look away first. “Fine.” Your hand drops as you mutter. “One question. But if it’s stupid, I’m sending you back to HR.”
It’s not much of a threat. It’s his last day, after all, and for reasons you still don’t fully understand, Satoru has always seemed oddly immune to consequences — which, frankly, feels statistically improbable given the amount of shit he’s managed to pull in the few months of being here.
“One question?” his grin sharpens. You point your pen at him. “Don’t make me regret this.” Yet his pleased chuckle is already making you. “Awhh… look at you. Finally yielding.” His pen twirls between his fingers, nodding with false solemnity. “Okay. So, here’s the thing… throughout these four months working beside you, I’ve seen a lot—"
“—that’s not a question.” You deadpan.
But ignoring you, he reclines back in the chair, hands clasped behind his head.
“Liiiike… I’ve seen the exact face you make when Mei-Mei emails you,” he smirks. “Even noticed you work through lunch more than you should. And I’ve noticed that little line right here—” he gestures vaguely between his own brows “—every time the budget goes sideways.”
Lips parting, you blink.
…why is he so observant?!
For someone who acts like he doesn’t give a shit, he’s strangely attentive.
You clear your throat, huffing. “Okay… what’s your point?” Your hands straighten a stack of papers that doesn’t need straightening. “Is there a question in here somewhere, or are you just reciting my habits back to me for fun?”
His grin is far too pleased. “Relax. I’m getting there.” And leaning forward, his voice drops, like he’s unraveling a conspiracy. “I just find it interesting how you answer work calls before the second ring. Every damn day. Doesn’t matter who it is.” His head tilts with a smug grin. “But for whatever reason, for the past month, your personal phone’s been ringing off the hook, and you never pick up. Not once.”
Heat creeps up your neck. Not because he’s wrong — but because he’s right. And he said it like it was nothing. Like noticing the pattern of your avoidance was just something that happened to him between stamps.
Oh.
Way too observant.
Shit. He couldn't have settled on what's your favorite color!? Or, what superpower would you have!? No. Of course he had to go for the fucking jugular.
His eyes drop to the planner lying open beneath the invoices. The circled date: WEDDING. And his grin sharpens. “Ohoho… I get it now,” he whistles, leaning back in his chair and kicking one leg over the other. “What’d your fiancé do to screw up this bad? Is the wedding off?”
Your head jerks up. “F-Fiancé?!” And he rolls his eyes with a scoff, still grinning. “Knew it. God, he must be really in the doghouse. Or maybe he’s just clingy as hell to be calling that much.”
You blink.
Okay. Nevermind. He’s wrong. That is not even remotely what’s happening. The most committed relationship you’ve had is the one with your coffee machine. And yet… part of it feels almost cosmically cruel.
Because somehow, this is the second time in a month that someone had looked at the scattered pieces of your life and decided a man must be hiding inside them. Except the first time, you never even got the chance to correct it.
After all… how do you tell your mother she’s wrong?
Last month, you still answered her phone calls.
Not because you expected anything different. But because somewhere between the second ring and the third, there’s this gap — this stupid, paper-thin gap — where you still believe she might ask how you’re doing and actually wait for the answer.
Some habits taste like smoke. Some burn like liquor. But yours, unfortunately, had always looked a lot like hope.
Hope is a terrible habit you’ve never been able to kick.
“Oh—uh, hi mom!”
Your phone was wedged between your ear and shoulder while you stepped out of your car, juggling your purse and what was left of your sanity. You were already behind schedule, and your mother was calling — which meant the day had already made its intentions very clear.
“What’s up?” the door slammed shut with your hip. “I’m actually about to—”
“—Trish sent the venue photos,” she blurted, launching into a conversation like always.
Blinking, you shook the bitterness away. Striding toward the towering glass of Gojo Corporation. “That’s—yeah, that’s great,” you muttered, badge in hand as you pushed through the front doors. “But I’m actually heading into work right now? So—”
“—It’s such a beautiful venue,” she ignored you. “Very traditional, very grand. But you know the Zenin family—they never do anything small.” And as she sighed in awe, you resisted the urge to roll your eyes.
The rational part of your brain told you to let this go to voicemail. But the rational part of your brain has never once won this fight. Because…
Hope is a terrible habit you’ve never been able to kick.
"Mom, I'm sure it's lovely, really… but I'm kind of—um, excuse me…" you pivoted around a man in the bustling lobby with a sigh. “Sorry. I’m literally walking into the building right now? But maybe we can revisit this later and—"
"—have you booked your flight yet?"
Your mouth flattened.
Clearly, your half of this conversation is optional.
“No… not yet,” you mumbled, as patiently as you could manage, jabbing the up button harder than necessary. “It’s been a crazy ass week so I haven’t had a chance to, but—”
“—every week is a crazy week for you.” The huff she let out sounded almost offended by the inconvenience of your life. “Why can’t you just book it now while we’re talking? I mean, it literally takes five minutes.”
A miracle, really, that your blood pressure isn’t a medical emergency.
Every week is a crazy week?
Yeah. No shit.
Two managers resigned last quarter. Another got escorted out by security. And their work didn’t disappear. No. It landed on your desk. Because that’s how it goes. That’s how it’s always gone. Group projects. Internships. End-of-quarter disasters no one else wanted to touch. If something needed fixing, it found its way to you.
You’re the one people relied on.
Just… never the one people chose.
“Mother. I’m at work,” you said, stepping into the elevator as the doors slid open, dropping your voice as you stabbed at floor fifteen. “Look—I’m about to walk into an eight a.m. meeting. But I’ll book it tonight, promise.”
“…eight a.m.?” she repeated slowly, before letting out a small, unbothered laugh. “Oh! Right. It’s eight p.m. here. Silly me. I keep forgetting.”
…
Keep forgetting?
She keeps forgetting that she’s ten thousand miles away? Forgetting that twenty years ago she abandoned you in another country to live abroad in Japan—handing you to your grandparents like a detail she'd get back to later?
How convenient that she forgot that.
The elevator slid shut, and you watched the numbers tick upward. “Um. Yeah…” you managed, trying to keep the hurt out of your voice. “Anyways. I’ll book it tonight. After work. Okay?”
"Okay, okay. Sure. Sounds good. But are you bringing anyone?”
Squeezing the strap of your bag, you swallowed the lump in your throat. This again? The last thing you needed was to walk into your shitty eight a.m. meeting looking emotional.
No thanks.
“I… uh…” you cleared your throat. “I um—actually—haven’t decided yet. But anyways, I gotta go, so—”
“Waitwatiwait. Haven’t decided? Does that mean… you actually found someone?!”
Her voice pitched up so fast it almost startled you, and your mouth dropped so low it could’ve hit floor one.
Shit.
“I-I—I didn’t say—"
“—oh, thank God. This is incredible!!” she squealed. “We’ve been so worried. I mean—Trish is younger than you and she figured it out,” her tongue clicked. “People have been asking questions, you know. Your aunt Sara keeps bringing it up every time I see her and—”
“—Mom, I—"
“—It’s about time,” The laugh she let out was relieved, like a problem in her life had finally begun resolving itself. “You can’t keep putting love on hold forever, because men aren’t going to wait around forever. You’re already twenty-six—not getting any younger, dear.”
Love?!
Who has time for that?
And why the fuck is twenty-six the age a woman expires?!
“What’s his name?” she pressed, practically beaming through the phone. “What does he do? Is he from there, or—oh, is he Japanese? Your father would love that, he always said—”
And she was off.
Spinning an entire man out of thin air. An entire future, really. Building him in real time from a tiny slip up you had because you were too tired and cornered and desperate enough to answer the phone in the first place. And you stood there, letting her. Because interrupting her has never once worked in the history of your life.
“—actually, never mind,” she chirped a moment later, as if she was being considerate now. “You have work. I’ll call tomorrow and you can tell me everything, yes? Okay, bye-bye honey—”
Click!
And just like that, the elevator went quiet. You were left staring at your reflection in the metal doors, phone pressed to your ear, listening to the silence where your mother’s voice had been.
‘We’ve been so worried.’
…
If they were so worried… why had you spent most of your life learning to take care of yourself? And yet, the second there might be a man, suddenly you’re worth getting excited about?
Funny how that works.
Scoffing, you lowered the phone, shoving it into your bag just as the elevator chimed open. Itadori Yuji’s head snapped up behind the reception desk.
“Morning, boss,” he waved, radiating sunshine as you walked towards the conference room. “Kento’s asking if you’re still good for the budget review at eight… or if I should just tell him to panic.”
Your smile softened, burying the sting. “Yes… I’ll be right there.” And as you stepped through the polished glass doors, you played the role you’d always played.
The reliable one. Twenty-six years old, with two master’s degrees, a career at one of the most competitive corporations in the world, and a team of seven that would quietly fall apart without you.
But…
None of that glitters quite like a diamond ring, does it?
“Oi,” Satoru frowns. “You’re makin’ that face again.”
“Huh?”
Blinking out of your spiral, your eyes trace back to the man across from you. His chin is resting in his palm, those impossibly blue eyes fixed on you with a quiet stillness that makes something in your chest trip over itself — like a lock turning in a door you didn’t know was closed.
“Oh.” You clear your throat, forcing the pen back into motion. “…what face?”
“The one you make when something’s wrong,” he says quietly, gaze unmoving. “When you’re upset and trying to act like you’re not.”
For a second — one terrible, unguarded second — you don’t have a single thing to hide behind. It’s just him, looking at you like your well-being is something he’s been keeping track of in a column you didn’t even know existed.
But then the sarcasm kicks in, right on time. "Wow," you say, forcing your hands back to the papers in front of you. "So… now you read faces?"
“Mm... nah. Just yours, sweetheart.”
And that grin — god, that fucking grin — hooks at one corner like he knows exactly what just detonated inside your chest. You don’t acknowledge it. Acknowledging things have consequences, and consequences with this man are not something you can afford.
"…that’s highly inappropriate," you mutter, shoving it down. "Let’s maybe redirect some of that insight toward the invoices, yeah?"
“Sorry, sorry.” He leans back, hands up like he’s the picture of innocence. “Wouldn’t wanna start shit with your dear future husband.” His grin goes sharp as he twirls his sunglasses between two fingers. “Though, wow. Tough look for him. Whatever he did, he clearly fucked up bad.”
Why does he sound… bitter?
No. You must be imagining it. This is Satoru. Satoru, who treats everything like a joke until proven otherwise. Satoru, who doesn’t care enough about anything to sound bitter over a man who may or may not exist.
You scoff. "You’re making some wildly stupid assumptions right now…"
He perks up at that. "Oh?" With his grin hooking higher, almost hopeful. "Wait. So, there’s no fiancé, then?"
Your lips purse.
What does he care? He’s not your mother.
“I wish you’d be this interested in your actual job,” you sigh, arms crossing. “Those invoices have been sitting there all week.”
“Uh-huh.” He tips his head. “And yet somehow, I noticed you still didn’t answer me.”
You frown.
What the fuck are you supposed to say!?
Oh. Um. Actually, Satoru, there is no fiancé. That’s the problem, actually! My mother invented him the other morning and I haven't worked up the nerve to call her back.
Yeah. No. You'd rather die at this desk.
“Maybe because it’s none of your business.”
“But I—”
“Drop it.”
He stares at you for a beat, then he flops back in the chair with a dramatic huff, long legs kicking out in front of him, mouth dragging into a sulky pout.
“Well, damn,” he grumbles, pushing his sunglasses up into his hair, rolling his eyes. “No wonder you’re single if this is how you shut people down…”
The second the words leave his mouth, he blinks. His gaze flicks up to yours like he hears it too late — like he realizes, all at once, how shitty that sounded.And it only feels worse the moment he sees your face.
God.
Of all the places to hit.
“Oho… wow. Okay. This?” you say with a thin, self-deprecating laugh, chair scraping as you shove back from your seat. “Yeah. This is exactly why I shouldn’t have let you ask, Satoru.” You reach for your planner, your purse, anything to do with your hands besides let them shake.
He straightens, watching you scramble. “Whoa. Wait. I—"
“—because you don’t know when to stop!” The words come out louder than you mean, blinking at the sting behind your eyes. “You just keep pushing and pushing and pushing until you get what you want. Well good. I hope you’re happy.”
Before you can turn away, he’s on his feet. “Wait—” And the moment his hand catches yours, you freeze, breath snagging.
His voice is quieter now. His grip is firm yet gentle, and the air between you shifts, while something warm and uneasy twists low in your chest. The kind of feeling that makes you want to lean in and run in the same breath.
Though your eyes stay down. “Satoru… let go.”
“I didn’t…” he starts, then stops, gaze flicking to where his fingers still circle your wrist — before climbing back to your face, slower this time. “I’m… sorry. I just—” His mouth tightens. “I see how hard you work, okay? I see it. And every time that phone rings, you get this look on your face like it’s already ruined your day before you even touch it. And…” His brows pinch. “Fuck. I dunno why, but it pisses me off!”
Your gaze hesitantly drags to his, and the look in his eyes is softer than they have any right to be — all that blue, stripped of its usual sharpness, turned careful. Like he’s stepping toward something breakable and knows it. Like… if he asked once more, something in you might actually give.
“Satoru…” your breath hitches. “I-I—"
“Oh, finally.”
Shoko’s voice trails in, and your head snaps up so fast your neck almost goes with it. She’s leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed, coffee in hand — looking like a woman who arrived exactly on time for something she's been expecting all week.
Her gaze flicks down to where he’s holding you, and the corner of her mouth twitches.
"Sooo… not to interrupt whatever this is," she says, taking a sip, "but Kento's one eye-twitch away from a medical event. He needs you to sign off on the variance line before he starts reconciling his own will and—"
You're already jerking your hand back. "Yup—coming!" And as you step away, heat floods your face, but you don't look back. Not once. Not even when you feel him still standing there, watching you go.
Because looking back would mean acknowledging that something just shifted. And you are not — not — doing that today.
Unlike those invoices, perhaps some things are better left… unfinished.
You’re gone in a blur of heels, nerves, and professional self-preservation, leaving Shoko trailing behind and Satoru staring at the empty doorway like maybe the conversation might wander back through it.
It doesn’t.
And it’s not long before his mouth is pulling into a slow, petulant pout—just before he flops back in the chair with all the elegance of a man personally betrayed by the universe.
Un-fucking-believable.
He’d almost had you! After four months and four days of being stonewalled, redirected, and professionally shut down, you’d finally looked like you might give him something. A crack. A sliver. And then Kento had to ruin it with his stupid reconciliation sheet, his stupid earnest face, and his stupidly impeccable timing.
…
He could fire Kento.
Should he fire Kento?
As tempting as that thought is, Satoru settles for glaring at the empty doorway a second longer before dragging a hand down his face and raking it back through his hair. There’s no point. This performance will end soon. Because by this time tomorrow, he’ll be on a flight back to Tokyo. Where he can resume the slow, agonizing process of preparing to inherit a company he didn't actually give a shit about.
'Grow up, Satoru.'
'Apply yourself, Satoru.'
'You have no idea what it takes to run something like this, Satoru.'
Right. Because apparently, the heir to a multinational corporation needed to learn humility. Alphabetize files. Sit in a cubicle. Fetch coffee like some goddamn spreadsheet slut with a trust fund and nowhere to put it.
Four years of business school, two years shadowing his father; and yet, this is what they had for him?!
He scoffs. And when his gaze drops to the wreckage of your desk, he’s pulling the stack of vendor invoices toward him with a sigh that sounds put-upon even to his own ears. You’ve been nagging him about filing them for the better part of the week and… the least he can do is clear one thing before he goes.
The stamp thuds against the first page. Then the next. Then the next. And with muscle memory taking over, his face goes blank in the way it always does when boredom finally wins. It’s mindless shit. Still, he’s used to it. So naturally, when the phone on your desk buzzes, he doesn’t think twice; snatching it up, tucking it between his ear and shoulder as he reaches for the next invoice.
It’s probably another budget nuisance. Or Mei. Or one of the other thousand little crises that seem magnetically drawn to your extension.
“Yo,” another stamp echoes. “Satoru speaking.”
There’s a sharp inhale. “…who?”
His brow lifts. “Uh… Satoru?” Another thud of ink slams against the paper and he huffs, annoyed. “What do y’need?”
The line goes quiet for a beat too long. Before the woman on the other end finally murmurs, “Satoru…” Sighing in awe. “What a lovely name. Is that Japanese?”
"Uh… yeah?” he snorts, flipping to the next page. “I mean. Last I checked.”
“Mm… I thought so!” She giggles. And her voice pitches like she's just unwrapped a present she didn't know she was getting. “So… Satoru. Why exactly are you the one answering her phone, hm?”
…
Why the hell does this woman sound so invested? And why is she asking questions that should be obvious?
Frowning down at the invoice, he stamps it harder.
“Because it rang?” He says it like it’s obvious. “And uh—sorry, but. Maybe because I’ve been with her for months, so… why the hell wouldn’t I?”
"Months?!” A soft gasp crackles, far too delighted. “You've—you've been with her for months?!"
"Mmm… four months and four days, technically."
He’s been her intern for that long.
That’s the question, right?
"—technically?!" she squeals, like the word personally seduced her. "Ohmygoodness—oh, this is perfect. Four months and four days—that is so specific.”
He blinks. But she doesn’t give him time to process.
“Look at you Mr. Devoted. Keeping track. I was starting to worry she’d never find someone like you. Every time I asked it's like pulling teeth. But I knew there had to be someone. I told her father—I said, there is a man, I can feel it.”
Pausing mid-stamp, the words slowly begin to catch up. Satoru straightens.
"…sorry. Who is thi—"
“—everyone is so excited to meet you at Trish’s wedding. I already reserved your seat and—"
Her voice keeps going… and going… and going. He pulls the phone away slowly as her voice echoes on the receiver, staring down at the phone in hand to see:
📞 Mom
Oh.
Oh, shit.
This is not your work phone. Your work phone is currently sitting at its dock twelve inches to his left. And it dawns on him that he accidentally just spent the last sixty seconds answering your personal phone like an absolute jackass and—
"Uh…” he backpedals. “Wait. I—"
"I told Sara, I said, we have to meet him and—”
"Stop. I-I really think—"
“—Satoru, what are you doing?’
His head snaps up at the sound of your voice, mouth dropping as he sees you standing at the doorway, eyes wide in horror.
Oh, fuck.
“Who is on the other end of that phone,” you hiss.
He winces, pulling the phone from his ear like it’s toxic — and you’re snatching it right out of his hand. He lets you have it without a fight, sinking back into the chair like he’s trying to physically dissociate from the situation he’s just created while you press the phone to your ear.
“And I mean…” she rambles. “I certainly was never one to wait around at twenty-six, believe me. But—"
"Mom."
"Oh! Honey!” She gasps. “Oh, my goodness, hi—I was just having the loveliest chat with—"
"I'm at work. Gotta go."
"—okay! I can't wait to meet Satoru, he—"
Click!
The phone sits in your hand like evidence.
And Satoru — to his credit — has the decency to look like a man standing in the blast radius of his own stupidity. His mouth opens. Closes. Opens again. Like he’s rehearsing an apology in a language he hasn’t learned yet.
You stare at him.
He stares at you.
And somewhere ten thousand miles away, your mother is already calling your aunt Sara.
“Sooo… funny story…”
“—what did you do?!”
Satoru flinched, and now, the tears were already rolling down your cheeks — hot, fast, completely unauthorized. Not the kind you could disguise as allergies or blame on the air conditioning. No. The ugly kind.
Great. Fucking great.
You were standing in the middle of your own office, in the building where you work, crying in front of your intern. And Satoru felt the weight of it all at once. In the last four months, he had seen you in every flavor of workplace misery there was. Pissed off, stressed out, one spreadsheet away from actual murder.
But cry?
Never.
And this had his fingerprints all over it.
"Shit," he breathed, panic flashing across his face. "I—fuck. Okay. Please don't—I can fix this. I can—"
"Fix this?" A splintered laugh ripped out of you, and you hated how thin it was. "Fix what, Satoru? You just confirmed a boyfriend to my mother, a boyfriend that doesn't exist—and she is, at this very moment, probably already—"
Another break in your voice cracked, and you squeezed your eyes shut, pressing your hand to your forehead hard like you could hold the tears in by sheer force. But it only made it worse, because now you could feel the wetness on your own face, the heat of it under your palm, and the mortification landed like a second wave.
God. How fucking humiliating.
"Hey, hey—it's okay,” his voice softened. “We'll just… call her back. Right? Tell her it was a misunderstanding. Easy."
“Easy?” you scoffed, the word coming out strangled. “Y-You don’t understand my mother, Satoru,” you managed, voice gone thin as thread. God, you sounded like a child. “If she thinks something is true, then it’s true. That’s it. That’s—there’s no correcting her, there’s no walking it back, she’s already told my aunt Sara by now and Sara’s told Trish and—oh, fuck—”
Another sob tumbled out, and your fingers dug harder into your temple.
God. Stop it.
Stop it stop it stop it.
Think.
Think logically. You're good at this. You solve problems for a living.
But every time you tried to grab onto a thought, it slipped — replaced by the echo of your mother's voice, high and delighted. The happiest she'd sounded talking to you in years. Maybe ever.
…what look will she give you when you show up alone?
"I can’t," you whispered, and the word came out waterlogged. "I-I'm supposed to get on a plane to Japan in a week and—do what? Tell them there's no one? Tell them I'm still—"
Single.
The word sat in your mouth like a stone. You didn’t realize you’d gone silent until the silence itself started ringing — your sniffling, the hum of fluorescent lights, the muffled life of the office continuing beyond the door like yours wasn’t actively coming apart at the seams.
And through all of it, you could feel Satoru looking at you. His stillness; holding you with an expression you'd never seen on him before and couldn't categorize if you tried.
"Um…” he looked down, scratching the back of his neck. “Soooo... the wedding's in Japan?"
You blinked. “What?” And as you wiped your face with the back of your hand, his gazed tentatively flicked back up. “The wedding…” he repeated, voice careful. “It’s in Japan?”
"Yes." Your brow furrowed, not understanding. "Why?"
He didn't answer right away. Just looked down at the floor for a second, jaw shifting, like he was turning something over in his head — something he hadn't fully assembled yet but could already feel the shape of.
"Huh… okay."
Okay what?
You watched his expression change in real time — from guilt to calculation to something else. "Right then!" He said, clapping his hands once, bright and sudden. "No biggie. I'll just go with you."
No biggie?
Your mouth dropped.
That wasn’t even an option, was it?
…is he crazy?
“You’re kidding,” your laugh was awkward and breathless. His eyes rolled with a smug grin. “Sweetheart, c’mon,” and he was gesturing between the two of you like the answer was sitting there in plain sight and you were the only person in the room committed to not seeing it. "Your family thinks you're bringing someone? Cool." A hand pressed to his chest with theatrical solemnity. "I'm someone."
You stared at him. Genuinely stared.
Oh. He wasn’t kidding.
Yup. He’s crazy.
"You are not 'someone,' Satoru. You are my intern."
“Yeah. For like… another six hours?"
He checked his watch with a shrug, and your lips flattened.
"…that is not the point."
“Mm… feels a little like the point."
He smirked, but it faded faster than usual, dimming at the edges as his blue eyes hesitated on yours. Something shifted in his posture; the performance pulling back, like a tide going out. "Um… look…" He pushed off the desk, stepping closer. "It’s really no hassle." He said, hands sliding into his pockets. "I already have a flight scheduled. My family's in Tokyo. And I was going back after this internship anyway, so… this just moves my timeline back a little."
He was shrugging like it wasn’t a big deal. Like he wasn’t agreeing to fly across the world with you and walk straight into the disaster that was your family.
…
His family’s in Japan too?
You barely knew anything about him. He kept his life sealed off with the same practiced deflection you kept yours — jokes in place of answers, charm in place of honesty. You never bothered to ask, because asking meant caring and that was a door you never intended to walk through with anyone.
But…
"Just… let me come with you. I’ll be your boyfriend for the weekend. For the wedding. For… whatever you need,” he said. And this time, when he stepped closer, there was no grin to hide behind. "I can be useful. I caused this. So… let me fix it."
Heat creeped up your neck, and you scoffed, weakly.
"Okay… but you can't fix my mother."
"No…” he murmured, tilting his head. His hand came up and brushed a tear trailing down your cheek with a careful gentleness. “But… I can make sure you don't have to walk in there alone?"
Your breath hitched, and when your eyes finally lifted, the morning light was being cruel again — catching in that impossible blue and turning it soft. Like stained glass dipped in sunlight. Like something holy made dangerous by the simple fact that it was looking straight at you.
“Mhn. So, do I get the job, boss lady? Because that look you’re giving me…” a slow smirk curls up the corner of his mouth. “Very encouraging for my boyfriend résumé, by the way. Might get addicted to it and wanna make it a full-time gig.”
“Shut up,” you mutter, looking away too fast to be convincing.“That was not a look. I was just—” You grimace. “…never mind.”
He’s chuckling as you brush past him. And his words are what scared you the most. Which was bad. Very, very bad. Because your mother was one problem. Japan was another. But Satoru looking at you like that?
Shit…
That felt like the kind of complication that didn’t stay neatly contained. And you knew better than anyone. Nothing about Satoru had ever suggested he could be contained.
a/n: hehe. this has been fun to work on! i am excited to share the next part. clearly i love these fake dating/fake marriage tropes aha 🙂↕️ bc this is like... what—my third time doing it? soooo i tried to change things up and make it feel less standard/generic :) but anyways, like i said pt 2 will be out in a week, pls lmk if you wanna be tagged 💖
you were zuko’s entire world, and it was no doubt that he loved you more than anything, but even you had to admit that he had a very lustful side. at times, especially during particularly cold and quiet evenings, he just couldn’t keep his hands off his wife.
laying in bed next to the firelord, his arms wrapped around your waist as he embraced you from behind. it was a long day for him, spending coutless hours meeting with his advisors and countless discussions on issues with the fire nation colonies. you couldn’t help but soothe your poor husband minutes earlier when he had first entered your bedroom after spending the entire day away from his firelady.
it was, no, seemed innocent at first, aleast until his hands undid your robe and started slowly inching higher and higher up your chest as he caressed the supple skin. you could almost feel the smirk on his face when his palms met your breasts, feeling him poke your ass from underneath the covers.
your nipples peaked embarassingly quickly as you tried to reprimand him.
“zuko.” you scolded him, having to bite back a moan when he pinched both peaks.
his mouth found the side of your neck as he sucked on the skin, only humming a “hmm?” in response.
“please get some rest, you have to leave for a meeting with the earth king first thing tomorrow. it’s already late.” you insisted. “they won’t be pleased if you show up late aga- haah… fuck…”
you moaned as his fingers met your clit through your damp undergarments, your head throwing back as he rubbed circles around the nub.
“what was that, my love?” he sneered, grinding his hips onto yours as he continued to leave marks on your neck.
“z-zuko…” you whimpered, subconciously grinding onto his hand.
“mhm?”
you opened your mouth to tell him to stop only to cut yourself off with a moan when two of his fingers slipped into your cunt, pumping in and out at a brutal pace.
“that’s what i thought.”
as if the sensation of his long digits bullying your pussy wasn’t enough, his other hand rolled your nipple, leaving you at a loss for words. you let out loud needy moans, your hand immediately darting to your mouth to save yourself from the self-induced embarassment.
“shy already? mmm you’re so desperate, huh?” zuko smugly muttered, picking up the pace on his fingers as he grinded harder from behind you.
as you felt your climax approaching, you decided to give up all resistance for the sake of your own pleasure.
“clenching around my fingers so tightly, fuck… now, what was that about my meeting with the earth king, honey?” he grinned.
“i… aahhh… d-don’t know what you’re talking about…”
the sun pours over your body as you walk along empty handed with sukuna holding all the bags and beach equipment. baby!yuji patters along on the mildly hot sand, running on levels of adrenaline only a six year old could muster.
the beach is filled with families similar to yours, children playing in the water, people tanning in the deliciously hot sun and rounds of volleyball being tossed around by large friend groups.
sukuna places down your lounging chairs with an attached shaded umbrella, and plops down with all the bags containing various miscellaneous things.
yuji sticks his tongue out slightly, eyes lighting up with mischief and tries to make a beeline for the water before you grab him by the collar.
“no one gets out there without sunscreen” you wave a finger at him, instructing him to settle down.
yuji pouts impatiently swinging his legs while you get out the bottle of kids sunscreen and rub it on every bit of his exposed skin.
your son wrinkles his nose when you reach for his face applying the lotion in soft rhythmic motions. you proceed to pinch his cheeks and give him a little kiss there while yuji giggles.
sukuna watches you fuss over the brat with mild amusement. his eyes squint under the sun, and drop to admire what you’ve got on.
a frilly little thing exposing your beautiful curves.
sukuna scans the area noting any men looking towards your general direction and stares them down with a cutting glare only he could manage. a look that screamed ‘look away before i come dislocate that head myself’ for good measure.
while yuji runs off to play in the sand, you turn to him with the sunscreen bottle in hand and a knowing smile.
“your turn”
sukuna scoffs from where he’s sprawled back in the beach chair, one arm lazily hanging off the side.
“i don’t burn”
“yes you do”
“i literally don’t”
“your nose got pink last time”
his eyes narrow immediately, “it did not.”
“you then complained that it itched and brooded about it the whole time”
“i don’t brood”
you hum ignoring his offense entirely and pat your thighs.
“c’mere”
he stares at you for a long second before clicking his tongue and leaning forward anyway because despite all his dramatics, sukuna has never once denied you when you used that tone on him.
you snort as sukuna settles in front of you. his massive frame blocks the sun completely and he smells like saltwater and heat already despite barely having stepped into the ocean.
you squeeze sunscreen into your palms and rub it across his shoulders.
his muscles flex beneath your hands while you smooth lotion over the dark markings curling along his skin, careful and thorough despite the way he eyes you.
you drag your fingers over his neck and jaw, rubbing sunscreen into the bridge of his nose while he looks deeply inconvenienced by affection.
“look down”
“this is humiliating.”
“look down, so i can get the back of your neck.”
he grumbles under his breath but tilts his chin downward anyway. his previously bored, half lidded eyes, dilate at the sight of your cleavage, right. in. his. face.
how blissful.
yuji bursts into giggles. you had spiked up sukuna’s hair to stand up in a funky way.
“you look funny papa”
sukuna grimaces.
“want me to throw you into the ocean?”
“yeah!”
“…”
you laugh so hard you nearly smear sunscreen into sukuna’s eye.
you take turns, with sukuna now applying sunscreen onto your back.
eventually yuji tears off toward the shoreline with a plastic bucket in hand, sandals abandoned somewhere behind him.
you lean back into your chair with a satisfied sigh while sukuna sits beside you, one arm draped lazily behind your head.
for a while the two of you simply watch.
yuji jumps over tiny waves, yelling triumphantly every single time he successfully crosses one.
he crouches to collect shells with complete seriousness only to abandon them three seconds later because another wave has appeared.
his little laugh carries over the water. your chest feels warm.
“he looks like you when he gets excited,” you murmur, nuzzling against the base of sukuna’s neck.
“poor kid”
you elbow him lightly, “it is cute sukuna, you are cute”
before sukuna can mull over your words, yuji suddenly turns around spotting the two of you immediately.
“papa!! come here!!”
sukuna pretends not to hear,
“papa!!”
you mouth a slight ‘go’ as your husband sighs dramatically before obliging as per usual.
the water reaches just beneath his knees when yuji grabs his hand excitedly and starts dragging him around with all the strength a six year old could possess.
you pad in after them enjoying the waves and the feel of soft sand beneath your bare feet.
you smile to yourself. it is almost absurd seeing sukuna getting ordered around by a child carrying a neon orange shovel.
yuji points toward a lopsided sandcastle near the shore, “help me make it BIGGER” he sticks his arms out to act out how big he wanted it to be.
sitting back down on your chair you try not to look too amused as sukuna crouches down into the sand.
his large hands awkwardly shape wet sand while yuji gives deeply unnecessary instructions beside him.
“more tower”
sukuna looks over at you, pleading for an escape. you wave him off.
“it’s a sandcastle not a fortress” he mutters back.
“more tower” yuji runs about, sometimes gathering sand and sometimes water. most of the time being largely unhelpful.
sukuna clicks his tongue and adds another tower.
hours later the sky begins softening into gold.
yuji’s exhausted enough now to become clingy, dragging his feet through the sand while holding onto sukuna’s hand.
“i need to wash my feet” you brush sand off your legs with a tired groan.
before you can even move, sukuna bends down and scoops you into his arms effortlessly.
you yelp, “kuna—”
he pats you lower thigh,“stop squirming”
people nearby glance over briefly before immediately looking away once sukuna glares in their direction.
you hide your snicker against his shoulder while he carries you toward the rinse station near the boardwalk.
the water runs cool over your feet as he holds you securely against his chest, an arm around your waist like you weigh nothing at all.
yuji stands beside him sleepily rubbing his eyes.
once your feet are clean, sukuna sets you carefully onto the bench.
then without a word, he crouches down.
you blink.
“..what’re you doing?”
he grabs your sandals from beside the bench.
“your feet’ll get dirty again.”
years of loving him and your heart still stutters stupidly.
sukuna slides the sandals onto your feet one by one with mild annoyance etched across his face, but you know better. his love language when it came to you, was acts of service.
meanwhile yuji watches with narrowed eyes, “papa..?”
“what.”
“that’s sooo romantic” he smiles ear to ear.
sukuna immediately flicks water at his forehead.
yuji screeches dramatically while you laugh loud enough that people turn to look again.
“where did he even learn that?” sukuna asks, a mild smile overtaking his usual harsh features.
you shrug, in a dream-like trance, the domesticity of this moment making your heart soar.
and for once, sukuna doesn’t care at all.
firefly; you guys wanted longer fics so hehe i hope this was good
Fratjo breaks up with you and instantly regrets it
The first time Satoru Gojo realizes he made a mistake is when he can’t find you on campus.
At first he thinks it’s funny.
You’ve always been easy to find. The west library corner seat by the window. The campus café at 10:30 with a vanilla latte and that same notebook you pretend isn’t a diary.
But after the breakup?
You vanish.
Not metaphorically.
Literally.
Your Instagram, phone number, Snapchat — blocked.
He stares at his phone in the Alpha Tau living room while music blasts around him and someone hands him another drink.
Blocked.
“Damn,” one of the guys laughs. “She actually did it.”
Gojo scoffs like it doesn’t matter. “I’ll get her back,” he says cockily.
Like he’s not the one who said it. I need to focus on football.
The lie sounded convincing at the time. The scouts were watching. His coach kept yelling about discipline. Everyone said relationships were a distraction.
So he broke up with you.
Clean and quick.
Two weeks later, he’s drunk at three different frat parties, shamefully sneaking out of sorority house hookups before the sun even rises.
And somehow that’s when he realizes something feels wrong.
———-
The First Attempt
He tries texting.
It doesn’t go through. Still blocked.
He laughs to himself. “Dramatic much.”
But that night he still walks across campus toward the all-girl dorms.
Except the front desk girl just shrugs. “She’s not here.”
Gojo frowns, “What do you mean she’s not here?”
“Means she’s not here.”
He stands outside the dorm building for ten minutes before leaving.
The next day he tries again. Still no sight of you.
Flowers
A week later a bouquet arrives at your dorm. White lilies and baby’s breath.
Attached card: —SG <3
He doesn’t even know if you like lilies. You used to talk about flowers sometimes, but he never listened carefully enough to remember, and now he regrets it.
The desk girl tells him later you picked them up without saying a word.
Still no message back.
The Letters
Then the letters start. The handwritten notes made him feel romantic, he was sure this would get a response out of you.
The first one is simple.
I know you blocked me. I deserve it.
Let me know if you wanna talk
-Satoru <3
No response.
The second one is longer.
I didn’t break up with you because I stopped loving you. I thought I was doing the responsible thing.
Please unblock me xoxo
The third one is messy.
He writes it at 2 AM after a party he left early because some girl laughed too loud in a way that sounded a little too much like you.
I keep looking for you around campus.
You used to sit by the west library window. I checked yesterday. You weren’t there. Are you avoiding me?
- Toru
Your Favorite Snacks
The dorm desk starts receiving packages. Your favorite chocolate. Spicy chips.
Strawberry gummies you always bought from the vending machine during late-night study sessions.
Deliveries of your favourite bubble tea.
The desk girl starts recognizing his name. “Another one from the football guy. I told him you weren’t here again like you asked.”
Meanwhile
Gojo’s reputation doesn’t change. He’s still the star player. Still the loud one at parties. Still the guy everyone thinks has everything.
But lately he keeps checking doorways. Scanning crowds at football games. Looking for someone who isn’t there.
The First Time He Sees You Again
It’s raining. He’s leaving practice when he spots you across the quad under a blue umbrella.
For a second he thinks he imagined it.
But then you look up. And your eyes meet his.
The look on your face isn’t anger. It’s worse.
It’s indifference.
You turn and keep walking. Gojo’s heart drops straight into his stomach. He can’t let you escape after all this time of chasing you.
“Hey—!”
You stop slowly. You look over your shoulder. “…What?” Your voice is calm.
Gojo suddenly forgets every speech he rehearsed. “I—did you get the letters?”
“Yes.”
“…And?…will you please talk to me?”
You stare at him for a long moment “Goodnight, Gojo.”
Then you turn and walk away, leaving him standing alone in the rain, watching you disappear.
mdni. your boy best friend.ᐟgojo pops your cherry…
cw: explicit sexual content. boy best friend.ᐟ gojo x fem virgin.ᐟ reader. smut w/ plot. dry humping, fingering, oral (f/receiving). gojo gets lost in the sauce.
song: lowkey—rochelle jordan
(part one ‹𝟹 part two)
ᥫ᭡.ִֶָ𓂃
your heart is in your throat as you glance over at your best friend. he’s slouched in your desk chair, drumming his fingers on the arm rest with one hand, pinching his eyes with the other.
“let me get this straight,” he says. lets out a heavy breath from his nostrils. when he looks up, the usual cerulean blue of his irises is impossibly brighter. kinda like they’re… glowing.
“you want me to take your virginity?”
you twiddle your thumbs almost comically. glance up at your chandelier, before meeting his eye again.
“well… yeah.”
gojo drops his head into his hands, knee bouncing while he groans, sounding almost pained. he murmurs something beneath his breath that sounds vaguely like “gonna fucking kill me,” before he sits back in his seat.
“y/n,” he says evenly, although his knee is still jolting his body. “i don’t think you understand what you’re asking me.”
you instantly narrow your eyes at his tone. the way he’s talking to you like an innocent little girl, rather than the grown woman that you are. you stand up from your bed and walk over him. watch the way he catalogues your legs in your tiny lounge shorts. your tits in your tank top. you stop in front of him, close enough that your knees brush against his sweats.
it takes him a second to drag his eyes away from your hard nipples, and up to yours.
“i’m asking you to fuck me, toru.” you tilt your head. “do i have to make it any clearer than that?”
he groans, a pathetic little noise that gets caught in his throat. presses his knuckles to his lips. “y/n, don’t.”
“c’mon man,” you whine. “i don’t want some random asshole to have the satisfaction of saying he ‘cracked ms. untouchable’ or some revolting shit like that.”
you notice his jaw clench—you’ve hit a nerve. you can tell you only need to push a little more.
so you climb onto his lap, straddle his thighs and drape your arms over his shoulders.
“you wouldn’t do that to me, would you, toru?” your faces are inches apart, which is why this time, you see the way his eyes flash close up. “you’d take care of me.”
his hands fall to your ass almost instinctively, gripping the soft flesh. his throat works as he swallows, and you feel him growing hard between your legs. you bite the inside of your cheek to stop yourself from grinning in early victory.
“y’know, i always wanted it to be you,” you murmur as you lean in closer, purposefully shifting your hips so that your cunt grinds against him. “‘ve always imagined what you’d feel like inside me.”
his head lolls back against the headrest, white hair falling over his eyes, perfectly white teeth pulling his plump lower lip between them. you shift your hips again, feeling the way his erection twitches between your legs.
“fuck,” he whispers, looking between your eyes like he’s searching for an answer. for even a spec of hesitation.
“you deserve someone gentle for your first time, doll,” he tells you softly, even as he begins to subconsciously guide your hips on his own, rocking them against him and building that liquid fire in your pelvis. “y’deserve someone better than me.”
your brows draw down in mock confusion. “who else’s cock could possibly be better than the greatest’s?”
you witness the moment his last thread of control snaps, feel his hand at the back of your head, and then his lips pressed against yours.
he was right. he isn’t gentle. he kisses you like you’re oxygen, like he needs you to live. his tongue licks into your mouth greedily as he presses you impossibly close, hips bucking up against your pussy. you moan into his mouth, tug at the short white hair at the base of his neck while he slides his hand up one leg of your shorts to grip your ass.
“tell me to stop, y/n,” he says desperately, lips kissing along your jaw, down the length of your throat. “you need to stop me before i take it too far.”
in response, you pull back. cross your arms at the base of your shirt. when you fold it over your head, leaving your bare chest on display for him, you think gojo might pass out. his gaze flicks from your chest, to your eyes, before he leans in like a man possessed and sucks your nipple into his mouth.
you whimper, head falling back as you thread your fingers through his white strands, holding him against you. he hums noisily, pulls off with a wet pop! before giving attention to your other breast.
“holy fuck, baby,” he mumbles between sloppy licks that make you arch your chest into his mouth. “y’ve been holding out on me all these years, huh?”
you smile, but your features melt into an frown of utter pleasure when gojo pulls your shorts to the side so that your bare cunt drags along the fabric of his pants, dampening it in seconds. his fingers stroke dangerously close to your needy hole—then you feel the tip of his finger, dragging up from your opening to your clit, smearing the arousal over your bud.
he breaks away from your chest, looks up so that he can watch the way your face twists when he sinks the tip of his index finger, only up to the first knuckle, into your tight hole. you gasp, hips stuttering and jerking up against your will at the foreign feeling. he plants a soft kiss between your breasts, and you relax, lower yourself back down so that his finger slides further in, until it’s disappeared up to the second knuckle.
he doesn’t say anything, just watches you closely, waiting for you to adjust to your first time being filled.
“toru,” you say quietly, leaning down to brush your lips against his.
he pecks them before he responds, “yeah, baby?”
your cheeks heat ever so slightly. “not enough. i-i wanna feel your cock inside me. please.”
his eyes roll back in his head as he closes them, and drops his forehead to your chest. curses beneath his breath. when he slips his finger out of you, you feel strangely empty. he grips your ass with both hands again, stands up, and walks you over to the bed.
you lock your legs around his waist, keep them there even as he lies you down on the bed gently. you wrap your arms around his neck and pull his face down to yours.
you feel him kick off his slippers—the pair of house shoes you keep in your dorm for him—while his tongue explores your mouth. watch him when he breaks the kiss to yank his shirt over his head. feel his bulge nudge your clit with every drag of his hips.
“ughhmigod, y/n, i can’t believe—” he chokes, hips rutting into yours, the both of you breathless. “tell me you want this, baby”
“i told you—”
“tell me again.”
he sucks the soft spot at the base of your jaw and you moan, “holy fuck, i want it, toru. hurry u—”
he makes a sound you’ve never heard from him before, close to a growl as he stands up. roughly shoves down his sweats and boxers in one go. his cock springs free, thick and fully erect. it slaps against the dusting of white hair trailing his lower stomach, and you bite back a whimper.
your best friend is standing in front of you. fully. naked.
the look in his eye can only be described as wild as he reaches for the waist of your shorts, slides them down your legs.
you aren’t wearing any panties.
satoru looks up to the ceiling, scrubs a hand down his face, before his bright eyes meet yours.
“spread ‘em, doll,” he says, voice dangerously low.
you didn’t make it this far to back out now. so, you do. it’s the first time you’ve spread your legs for an audience. you watch, heart thumping in your chest as satoru just stares, and stares, and stares at your bare cunt. you fight the urge to snap your legs shut.
he looks like he’s in a trance when he finally climbs back onto the bed. easily repositions your body like you weigh nothing. he shifts until he’s lying flat on his stomach, and you sit up on your elbows to watch him lower his head to the space between your thighs.
“toru…” you breathe.
but whatever you were gonna say gets caught in your throat when he sucks your clit into his mouth. you moan, loudly, embarrassingly, as your eyes squeeze shut and your head falls back. you buck your hips and he eases off the pressure, instead flattens his tongue, shakes his head from side to side, like he’s motorboating your pussy.
you collapse onto your back, body arching, hips writhing, pussy grinding against his face. he clutches the soft flesh where hip meets thigh with one hand—you feel the other poking at your opening again.
it slips in with no resistance this time.
“oh my fuck, satoru,” you whine. “i’m—ffuuck, you’re gonna make me cum.”
he hums in acknowledgment, tongue flicking faster against your centre of pleasure, sloppy, wet, ravenous sounds as his saliva combines with the pool of wetness at your opening. he pushes a second finger in. curls them both upwards. electric heat shoots up your spine, and you see stars behind your eyelids.
your back arches off the bed as you orgasm harder than you ever thought possible, toru’s name on your lips like a prayer you can’t quite manage to spit out. you don’t breathe for at least five seconds as your best friend groans against your pussy, strokes your cervix with long, slender fingers.
when he doesn’t let up, even past the after waves of pleasure have run their course, you whimper, too sensitive. you push the heel of your foot into the muscle of his shoulder, shoving him away. tapping out.
toru looks up, hair disheveled, pussy-drunk, and eyes definitely glowing.
you wet your lips with your tongue, and watch him trace the movement.
“i s-see your years of—mmngh, of fucking around have paid off,” you pant.
he offers you his signature smirk. “yeah. and i’ve achieved the ultimate goal of making my best friend cum on my face.”
he bites your inner thigh, close to your spent pussy, and you lazily fold your legs shut.
“looks like babys tired,” he pouts. “let me get you in the shower, doll.”
your brows furrow. “you didn’t get to cum.”
toru’s smirk spreads into an infuriatingly handsome grin. he sits up, and you push yourself back up onto your elbows.
that’s how you get to see his semi-hard dick hung heavy between his toned legs, pointing like an arrow leading directly to the wet spot on your pink sheets. your eyes trail to the smear of cum painting his lower abdomen.
“don’t you worry your pretty little head,” he crawls forward, body hovering over yours while he plants a kiss on your forehead. “you go start up the shower while i change the sheets. i’ll come scrub you clean.”
“but—” you start.
“next time, princess,” he tells you. “you aren’t quite ready for the greatest’s cock yet.”
ᥫ᭡.ִֶָ𓂃
@ yut2achoya. do not copy, feed into ai, or repost on any other platform!
a/n: wait chat i’m lowkey ferallll over this, that last line got me biting at the bars of my window (i know i wrote it but my mind has a mind of its own i am TELLING you) shii anyway how many times can i write us receiving sloppy head before i run out of descriptive words and positions (i’m manifesting that shit)
not realizing you’re talking to your ex-boyfriend!sukuna while drunk !
you were way too drunk and the sigma chi house was spinning.
the music thumped through the walls and your head felt light and fuzzy, but you were smiling anyway, red cup dangling from your fingers as you leaned against the wall for balance. your friends had disappeared ages ago and you didn’t really mind.
that’s when you saw him.
tall. pink hair. tattoos crawling up his arms. he looked really familiar but your drunk brain couldn’t connect the dots. you just knew he was stupidly hot standing there by the stairs with his arms crossed.
you stumbled over with a bright smile.
“hi,” you said, voice soft and sweet. “you have the prettiest eyes. like… scary pretty.”
sukuna looked down at you and his eyebrow raised, but he didn’t move away. the corner of his mouth twitched like he was trying not to smile.
“yeah?” he asked, voice low.
you nodded, stepping closer until you were leaning into his space. he smelled so good. warm and a little sweet, just like someone you used to know.
“mhm. my ex had eyes like yours,” you mumbled, resting your forehead against his arm because the room wouldn’t stop tilting. “he was mean looking but really nice to me. i miss him a lot actually.”
sukuna stayed quiet, one big hand coming up to steady you by the waist so you wouldn’t fall.
you kept talking, words spilling out easily now that someone was listening.
“we broke up because i thought he didn’t care enough but… he used to do the sweetest things. like bringing me coffee before class or letting me play with his hair even when he acted all tough about it.” you sighed softly. “i think i messed up. i still wear his hoodie to sleep sometimes.”
his grip on your waist tightened just a little.
“you’re drunk,” he murmured.
“super drunk,” you agreed with a little laugh, tilting your head up to look at him again. “but i mean it. he was the best. made me feel safe even when he was quiet and scary. you kinda look like him, it’s weird.”
sukuna let out a quiet breath that sounded almost like a laugh. he guided you through the crowd with a hand on your lower back, taking you upstairs without saying much. you didn’t even question it. his room felt familiar but everything was blurry.
he sat you on the edge of his bed and grabbed a bottle of water, crouching down in front of you so you could drink it. his hand rested gently on your knee the whole time.
“you’re really nice,” you whispered, eyes half closed. “my ex was nice like this too. when nobody else was looking.”
he didn’t answer right away. just brushed some hair out of your face with careful fingers and helped you lie down. when you reached out and grabbed his hand he paused.
“stay?” you asked softly.
sukuna sighed, but it was the soft kind. he sat on the edge of the bed and let you keep holding his hand, thumb rubbing slow circles over your knuckles while you drifted off.
“yeah,” he said quietly, watching you fall asleep in his bed again. “i’m not going anywhere.”
you're laying in bed naked, hair messed up, still out of breath. sukuna is laying next to you — the only proof he actually was the one who just fucked you in seven different positions for hour the sheer layer of sweat covering his body.
he definetly wasn't worn out like you, so he stood up without speaking, leaving the room to get you a glass of water presumably. the silence isn't anything new — he never talks much after, preferring to let the comfortable quiet settle in.
while your laying in bed sprawled like a starfish waiting for your lover to return, a cold wind from the open window endulges you, making you shiver, goosebumps forming on your bare body.
you could either wait for your husband to come and save you or get up and put on the first thing you saw. deciding for the latter after another blow of cold air, you push yourself up, feet dangling from the bed.
with another push you stand up, legs still sore, making your way to the wardrobe. you were to tired to search for something of yours, taking the first soft material your hand grazed in the dark space — only when pulling it out you saw what it was — one, probably sukuna's favourite, kimono.
you never wore his clothes — not because he forbid it,no, just because there was never the need to. he always bought you everything you asked for and more, even your own fair share of kimonos, and he was always the one dressing you after sex — if needed. thinking about it, you probably really never wore a piece of his clothing. would it bother him?
shrugging off the internal debate, you opt to just put it on. i mean, he's your husband after all. slipping your arms through the white sleeves, the clothing way too big for you, you wrap the kimono around your body. his smell hits you almost immediatly, like it was reminding you whose robe you were wearing.
waltzing back to the bed, falling onto the soft matress you look at the ceiling. the cold air was still blowing in from the open window, but you weren't shivering anymore now. there isn't much time to settle in before the door opens again, the over 6'6 men standing there with a glass of water.
he doesn't see his clothing on you until he moves closer, the matress dipping from his weight when he sits down. the room wasn't illuminated enough for him to see — but now when he turns to look at you, his sharp eyes freeze. you can't read his expression, the way he's looking with such an intense gaze raking over your body has you second doubting if you made the right choice.
you're waiting for him to break the silence, but when he doesn't you talk to him with a soft, almost unsure voice. "it was the first thing i grabbed, if it's not to your liking for me to wear—" you don't finish talking, his arms reaching out to touch you, pulling you in by the waist.
sitting you ontop of his lap, the kimono covering your whole frame, one of his hands grabs your chin, making you look up to him. "if you truly think i would forbid my wife to wear my clothing, you really are foolish, brat." it's the first time he's spoken since he entered the room, his voice rough and commanding despite having talked so quietly.
there's no time to think or speak, with the way his arms are moving all over your body — one slipping under to caress your naked hip. "soo you like it?" your tone is light, meant to be teasing, but he doesn't have his usual smirk he has when he's amused.
"wearing the king's attire makes you the queen, don't you think? you marked yourself as mine." he murmors against your ear, his hot breath hitting you, the possesive edge in his voice making you understand what this was about. if that wasn't enough, the feeling of his bare cock hardening under you, confirming your thoughts — he was getting turned on from this.
"i already was yours,no, my lord?" it comes out breathier than you intented to, the conversation making a blush form on your cheeks from the intensity. the grip he has on your hips thightens, before he ultimatly decides to flip you over on your back, him ontop of you. "you mortals are really getting bold claiming such titels aren't you?"
the degrading way he was speaking to you wasn't his cold mannered one — it was the one he used when he knew he was about to lose his patience and was waiting for you to give him the permission to. "only when i know you like it." he found the confirmation he needed — his eyes finding yours, hand roughly holding your cheeks in his hand without actually hurting you.
he leans in, murmuring a quiet brat before pulling you into an aggressive kiss, leaving you no room to breathe. looks like you won't be sleeping anytime soon...
you had been for the past ten minutes, away from his shrine, you'd been exploring the forest, testing the limits.
the moment you heard a twig crack, you picked up the hem of your dress and then it was you versus how far your legs could take you.
the withered trees of the forest pass you by in a haze, you train your gaze forward not caring for wherever your feet land, a desperate attempt to run.
your heart beat thunders in your chest and suddenly you are aware.
he's right behind you.
debating whether to risk a glance your eyes dart to your peripherals, seeing the flash of pink, a body of muscle.
birds fly up at your intrusion through the forest, maybe they too sense your adrenaline, peaked to inhumane levels. the flap of their wings reaches your ears heightening your senses even further.
you hear it then, the thump of foot falls the feeling of incoming doom.
you clutch your dress tighter, teeth grinding down against each other, you tense your body further picking up pace, breath held to conserve energy. your mind and soul focused on one thought: escape.
falling victim to a barely there ditch your ankle twists uncomfortably to the side, you breathe in a sharp hiss. there is no time to assess the pain, you duck under a tree branch continuing on, despite the hindrence.
the ground seems to give, and your breath releases in a swift gust as you're lifted off your feet, back into his arms.
he pulls you just enough for you to feel the heat of him at your back, his presence eclipsing everything else.
"caught ya" sukuna sneers, leaning into the crook of your neck and inhaling deep, as if the mere time you were away had stolen something from him.
leaves crunch under his steps while he walks over to a tree settling down against the bark while you catch your breath, carrying you as if you weighed nothing.
you lay limp falling back into old habits, your head against his chest as he engulfs you fully. you do not know where you end and where he begins.
cracking an eye open, the pattering inside your chest finally coming to a normal pace, you find four of his blazing eyes all over your form.
your face, your hands, your ankle.
"ah" he remarks, his lower arm reaches to inspect it, his touch so devastatingly tender. you can't help but melt further as he heals you with his technique.
"thankyou.." you say, earnestly.
sukuna barks out a laugh, "would it not be customary for you to be upset now wife?"
you groan, hiding your face and accompanied embarassment behind your sleeve, "ryomen, do not tease me"
making a disgruntled sound, he moves your sleeve away, turning you around so he could see your face, "tell me, why does it please you to flee each time I approach you in my forest? do you take such delight in teasing your husband?”
you grunt back, mimicking his tone "you never let me win"
sukuna leans his head against yours, a small smile playing on his lips, he speaks “winning was never the point, you run because you know i’ll follow”
you pause to think, narrowing your eyes to gauge the truth in his.
"why bother if i'm so troublesome, my lord?" you glance back at him "if you truly wanted me gone…you wouldn’t keep following”
your eyes flicker, just for a second, to where his hand had been, so carefully inspecting and healing your ankle and then back to him.
“so what does that make us?”
you see the shift in his gaze, taken aback by your words before he covers it up with his cocky grin, "fools" he cocks his head to side and pats your thigh "nothing i can't handle"
you flush a color akin to his hair, your face hot all of a sudden, sukuna chooses not to remark further and carries you back to his shrine, his grip gentle particularly near your ankle.
instead, you stopped in the doorway and forgot how to move.
the room was quiet almost fragile. pale afternoon light leaked through the curtains in soft stripes, painting the sheets gold.
and there they were.
baby!yuji was sprawled across sukuna’s chest like a starfish, one chubby cheek smushed against bare skin and tiny fist tangled in the collar of your husband’s shirt.
and sukuna..looked devastatingly human half-asleep.
his face was softened with exhaustion, eyes still closed, long lashes resting against his cheeks.
both their heads were a soft messy tuft of pink.
you felt your heart physically hurt.
and for a moment, neither of them noticed you.
until the floor creaked.
yuji stirs first with a tiny whine, blinking blearily. his little eyes are unfocused, heavy with sleep, and the second he spots you standing there his entire face lights up.
“mama…” it comes out all raspy and small his little hands reaching for you immediately without even sitting up properly.
and your husband, still barely conscious, tightens his arm around his son on instinct, protective even in slumber. his eyes crack open slowly.
“what..” he mutters, voice rough with sleep.
he sounds offended by consciousness itself it could not get more ridiculous and adorable than that.
you simultaneously want to laugh and pounce at him because he just looks so soft!
yuji continues make grabby hands at you and unable to resist you walk over, perching on the edge of the bed making the mattress slightly dip.
bad decision.
because suddenly both of them gravitate toward you like magnets.
yuji crawls directly onto your lap with all the coordination of a sleepy toddler, burying his face into your stomach while sukuna exhales deeply beside you, eyes already falling shut again as he tucks you close to his side almost pulling you on top of him.
someone is being clingy..
his cheek is warm against your neck, hair tickling your skin. he smells like sleep and something comforting you can never name properly.
“you’ve both been napping for so long” you whisper, “it’s time to wake up” while both of them grunt a daft refusal and curl into you tighter.
yuji is already dozing off again, tiny fingers curled into your shirt.
sukuna shifts quietly before mumbling, barely coherent, “cold without you”
you blink at him.
then at the child asleep in your lap.
then back at sukuna, who seems to realize what he admitted a full three seconds too late because one eye opens again, glaring weakly.
“don’t”
“i didn’t say anything”
“don’t let it get to your head”
“oh it’s getting to my head alright”
he groans.
“too late” you grin.
despite the threat in his voice, he presses closer anyway, half asleep again before the conversation even finishes.
and somehow you too fall asleep surrounded by tangled blankets and warm bodies and terrible bedheads.
firefly; i just LOVE soft sleepy nap time fics it’s the most domestic thing ever RAHHH (do u guys want me to write longer fics? i kinda like the bite-sized format but lmk!)
feat quarterback!toji x camgirl chem partner!reader
summary: Toji Fushiguro considers himself a very generous man, especially after using part of his D1 quarterback paycheck towards his favorite camgirl. If anything, he's a patron of the arts: dedicated, curious, and always ready for the next big thing. So when he finds out his quiet little chem partner has the same bedroom as his idol? Well... color him intrigued.
content: MDNI 18+ ONLY, fem!reader, camgirl!reader, chem partner!reader, quarterback!toji, fratboy!toji fanboy!toji, jjk college au, no use of “y/n”, porn with a ridiculous amount of plot, vibrators, oral sex (m!receiving, f!receiving), piv sex, squirting, dumbification, toji has a biiiiig dick, daddy kink, size kink, breeding, etc.
word count: 10.1k (i don't play abt this man)
author's note: all credits of the above pictures go to their creators. The left-most picture is from thatsallitchief on X or tiktok. If anyone knows the artist of the right-most picture let me know so I can tag them!
toji's pre-game playlist: gemstone - don toliver, homecoming - lil uzi vert, don't kill the party - ty dolla $ign, love me - lil wayne, you - don toliver, nightcrawler - travis scott
These were intense times.
The Michigan Wolverines were right in the midst of the NCAA College Football Playoffs, and it has been weeks of non-stop practice, conditioning, strength training, and late-night film recaps for the team of 100-odd men–all in preparation for a chance at being the nation’s top seed.
There was much on the line, especially seeing that Senior Quarterback and Captain, Toji Fushiguro, was aiming to secure his spot in the upcoming NFL draft.
As such, his pre-game ritual (one that he has refined and perfected over the course of four years) was a strict routine backed by, and rooted down in, evidence-based science and partially unbiased statistical analyses.
It all starts with his protein shake: two whole bananas, one cup of oats, a shit ton of peanut butter, one spoon of raw honey, four scoops of protein powder, and full-fat milk.
Next, his attire. He needed his signature gray game-day sweats (unwashed for the past 10-games in a row), a muscle tank he’s owned and stretched out since high school, and his most industrial-grade, noise-cancelling headphones.
As for schedule? He needed thirty minutes of privacy, unrestricted and uninterrupted access to high speed internet, and most importantly of all: he needed to watch at least two of “stargiirl_xx”’s videos prior to heading out onto the turf.
Give him that, and he was bound to have a fuckin’ phenomenal performance on the field.
His meaty hand was already squeezing his growing erection through his sweats, the thick outline of his cock visible against the backlight from stargiirl’s newest video loading up on his laptop screen, and his protein shake already half finished by his bedside table.
He wasn’t just a fan. He was her #1 biggest financer.
Though she never showed her face, he had come to memorize the curve of stargiirl’s thighs and the moles on her hips over the course of the years. He knew her room layout by heart, and diligently watched the animes that she kept posters of on her walls.
She was the best of the best. Not showy, not performative, just purely indulging herself.
And sure, if keeping her active meant donating a sizable portion of his D1 stipend to fund her… pursuits, well, then call him a patron of the arts.
His dick shamelessly pulsed in his pants as the page finally stopped buffering and the title of the video loaded.
“Lessons in Vibrations Pt I”.
Part one?!
He knew almost immediately that tonight’s game would be a fantastic one.
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The Wolverines won their first round of the playoffs in a sweeping victory: 41-20.
And Toji Fushiguro? Well, he was the star of the show, of course. He completed more than 85% of his passes (with six of them leading to touchdowns) and led an 80-yard rush all in a single game. He was on fire: skin buzzing with adrenaline, cool sweat dripping down his face, and his large canines glinting under the fierce stadium lights as the deafening crowds roared his name.
“To-ji! To-ji! To-ji!”
He felt indomitable, floating on a high all the way from the stadium, to the bus, to the afterparty.
But in the lecture hall? Well…
His grades were barely passing for the majority of his classes, and in fact they were quite below when it came to Applied Chemical Kinetics II.
He was truly a lost cause.
He had missed countless of Yaga’s lectures throughout the course of the semester, promising himself that he would catch up on the review notes (he didn’t) and trying to watch the recorded lectures on the bus rides to any of the away games (he never).
So really, it came as no surprise to anyone when he absolutely tanked his midterms those six long weeks ago.
At the time, he was desperate. Failing class meant getting booted off the team. He needed someone who could easily cover his sorry ass for the rest of the semester, and fast.
Therefore, the obvious choices for a final project partner were between Ijichi and, well, you.
And, seeing as Toji Fushiguro had a pair of functioning fuckin’ eyes and a brain that lived partly in his pants, he chose the latter.
It wasn’t easy persuading you to take him on for the project, which was something he honestly didn’t quite expect (nor was he used to). You were stoic to his ill-attempted flattery and unaffected by his usual charm. Every smile he flashed at you seemed to wither upon arrival, and every playful remark was met with nothing more than an empty stare.
In the end, desperation drove him somewhere pride never would’ve allowed before: straight into his football stipend.
“Listen. I’ll give you $300 if you can help me pass this class.”
It was the Wednesday before the Thanksgiving break, and he remembered how his words rang loud and heavy in the dusty air of the old lecture hall. Everyone had left at this point, the class long-since over.
You had stood before him unmoved, your books hugged to your chest and your normally impassive gaze slowly piquing in interest.
He remembered how you looked up at him through your lashes, and the way you tilted your head almost cutely. “Make it $400,” you said it softly, yet with little hesitation.
He remembered how he felt himself gulp, not from the number, but at the way your eyes were scanning his face like it was the first time you even noticed him.
His hand had gripped the strap of his backpack just a little tighter.
Though, you didn’t seem to notice as you continued. “I’ll meet you on Mondays and Thursdays only, I work every other day. And I want half as security in advance.”
You pulled out your phone, swiftly punching in your password before holding it out to him, the contacts app already open on the screen.
For the first time in all of his college experience, he was genuinely caught off guard.
What the fuck?
He took your phone.
“$400?” he repeated, huffing faintly under his breath (was he amused? Annoyed? Aroused? He couldn’t tell at the time, nor does he know now) as he typed in his number. His large hands looked almost comical holding your small device. “You rob everybody like this, or am I just that special?”
He handed your phone back, his calloused fingers gently grazing your warm ones.
“You’re failing chem,” you replied flatly. “You are not special.”
He hated how his dick twitched at your words.
But most of all, he hated how he didn’t know what to say in response.
He was the star quarterback, captain of the football team, most popular guy on campus and an undeniable chick-magnet, for god’s sake!
His silence surprised the both of you, and you took it as your queue to leave. “See you later,” you glanced down at your phone, looking at his contact. “Fushiguro.”
You didn’t even know his fuckin’ name?!
And with that, you gently breezed past him, only offering him a small nod as you walked out of the room. The scent of your shampoo faintly caught in his nose as he tried to will his boner to stop growing in his sweats.
After that, the break passed uneventfully, and by the time campus filled back up again and the chill of early winter settled in, your project was impossible to ignore.
He kept to his word of paying you the $200 in advance.
You kept to yours by meeting him that following Monday.
The two of you developed a routine during the second half of the semester, meeting in libraries and cafes to review material and project timelines for the final submission.
And during those couple of hours on the Mondays and Thursdays that he had you, he came to the haunting realization that you were so… chill.
He was blunt, but you were blunt back. You flicked him when his head got too large, and he flicked you whenever you were too stuck in yours. He shoved you out of your shell at times, while you pulled him back down to Earth. It was rare, and so fuckin’ odd, this kind of dynamic between the two of you, the kind that goes unnoticed until suddenly you realize it’s there.
Soon, he would find himself calling your name from across the quad, and you would nod with what looked like a smile at him when you passed his row in lecture. He gave you tickets to his games (which you would resell for 200% of its value), and put your name on the list for the Kappa parties despite you never showing up. You sent him stupid instagram posts, and brought him homemade coffees whenever the two of you met post-game days.
And thankfully for Toji, today was one of those days.
“How’d it go?” Your voice was like honey and wine, low and smooth, as you looked up at him from behind your computer. The light from your screen illuminated halos in your eyes, and the steam from his opened thermos curled languidly in the air between you both.
You sat across from him in a quiet, off-campus cafe.
He grinned, smug and wolfish and borderline sleazy, as if he’d been just waiting for you to ask. He leaned back in his chair and stretched his overwhelmingly large, muscular arms over his head. He made a point to subtly flex his biceps while under your scrutiny. His shirt lifted slightly above his abdomen, and you blinked your eyes to focus on the scar on his tanned face, rather than the dark happy trail that ran down, down, down to his…
“Perfect game. You’d know if you actually came ‘round ‘n watched.” He playfully winked, his deep chuckle echoing as you gave him a deadpan stare.
“I’m quite alright, Fushiguro.” He pouted in mock defeat as you looked back down at your screen. The battery symbol on your laptop flashed red in warning: low power.
You’d only been there for thirty minutes and you could’ve sworn you charged the damn thing last night. Sure, your outlets were kind of fucked, and sure this was a twelve year old laptop with a battery life the size of a peanut, but surely it wouldn’t give out on you this early in the day?!
You exhaled a long breath. The thought of putting money down for a new computer made your heart physically ache.
The two of you (mainly you) had just started to make headway with the report (“flow state”, as Toji would call it), and you knew you wouldn’t have a chance to work on the project again until after your Wednesday shift. “You got a charger on you?”
He scoffed, almost offendedly. “Wanna try askin’ that again sweetheart?” He tsked you lightly.
You rolled your eyes, a heavy sigh tumbling out of your soft lips.
“Forget it. I know you don’t,” there was something prickly beneath your uncaring tone, and he curiously paused to examine you.
He could see the faint circles under your eyes that you tried to cover with concealer, the way your shoulders sagged slightly from the weight of your backpack as you lifted it from the seat beside you, and the brief glimpse of all the mini bookmarks sticking out of your planner as you dropped it inside the bag.
“I guess we’ll have to call it here then. I’d need to go back to my apartment and grab my charger to do anything else.”
And, perhaps it was because the two of you had formed this unexpected bond over the past several weeks, something deep and quiet and far more important than Toji would ever willingly name, that the weight of being the weakest link finally made Toji Fushiguro feel the heavy hammer of guilt bury deep within his hardened chest.
A moment passed before he cleared his throat, holding up his hand.
“Or…” the words were slow to move out of his mouth, embarrassment thickening in his throat. “Why don’t we work there?” You stared at him, almost startled, as if he’d grown another head. His ears warmed under the intensity of your gaze as he continued. “I still got power, I can keep goin’ if you’re down.”
His triceps flexed as he scratched the back of his neck, tan skin pulling taut as he looked away.
“It’s a small place,” you warned.
He shrugged, his voice catching in his throat at the way you were holding his gaze. “I don’t mind. I’d go any place you choose.”
He paused, his eyes widening slightly at the words that tumbled out of his mouth, as if he didn’t realize what he said until after he said them.
You breathed, and a beat passed before a small, pretty smile pulled across your features – the first he’s ever gotten from you like this. And this time, your tired eyes warmed into something soft, something akin to appreciation, something new.
“Yeah. Yeah, okay, then I’d like that.” You tilted your head slightly, and his heart thumped oddly loud in his muscular chest. “Thank you, Toji.”
For just the briefest of moments, you looked at him as if he had just offered the world.
All he could do was swallow and nod.
He didn’t even realize you called him by his first name until you were both out the door.
The walk to your apartment was comfortably silent. Despite Toji’s taller stature and athletic build, he wordlessly matched your slower pace, walking between you and the road.
Your apartment was situated right on the outskirts of campus; too close to drive, but too cumbersome to walk. He quietly marveled at your resolution to go in person to class every day, especially when he had difficulty hauling his ass to the lecture hall that was just a block over from frat row.
The taller man was so lost in his own thoughts that he didn’t even realize how close he was standing to you as you both paused at your front doorstep. His towering frame loomed over you, and he could feel the heat of your body as you dug through your bag, and he could see the goosebumps that rose on your neck when your arm accidentally grazed against his abdomen.
Your keys softly clinked! together as you unlocked the front door.
And, there was something faintly intimate about being led up the creaky wooden steps to your 3rd floor apartment, your hips gently swaying in his face with each ascent up, and your soft hands lightly tracing the railing in your wake.
He intrusively thought about reaching out to touch your fingers, to run his hand along the curve of your waist–
He coughed lightly.
What was he thinking?
As you opened your apartment’s door, he was immediately hit with the light smell of lemon and jasmine.
Your place was small but tidy; a one-bedroom attic apartment where the kitchen and living area blurred together, soaking in the same sunlit space. Despite its size, it carried your mark: two types of server aprons hung on the coat rack, a soft crocheted throw blanket you made draped over the worn couch, and a set of reading glasses laying beside a hand-painted mug on your round window table.
It was cute; homely. A small glimpse into your life outside of class.
“You can start getting set up in here, I’ll just grab my charger from my room.” You spoke quietly as you led him to the table.
You silently turned before he could respond, padding across the old wooden floors to the door that was directly across from where he had set his bag down.
He had only just started typing his password into his computer when he lazily looked up, his dark eyes catching the movement from your room.
And, holy shit.
No.
There was genuinely no way in hell.
He was scrambling up out of your wobbly kitchen chair before his mind could even register it.
His body felt as if it were moving through water, and his brain felt like jam. Was that his own blood roaring past his ears or his soul escaping his body?
Cool beads of sweat began to form on his neck, tickling at the ends of his dark, grungy hair. He had crossed the width of your apartment in three long strides, until suddenly he was at your doorframe, his large body leaning against it like it was a lifeline, and his scarred mouth parted into the dumbest looking “o”.
His wild eyes scanned your room fervently. The walls, the Cowboy Bebop poster by your bedframe, the pale linen sheets, the empty vase on your bedside table and the stack of yellowing paper backs in the corner of it.
Everything looked familiar.
Scratch that. Everything looked the same. The same as–
“Can I help you?”
You were on all fours. All fuckin’ fours.
You tilted your head up to face him, taking a pause from wiggling the stubborn plug out of the ancient socket underneath your desk.
And… could you? Can you? He was at a genuine loss for words.
All he could do was stare dumbly, his large fists clenching and unclenching at his sides, and his body emanating a heat that he prayed to god wasn’t visible from where you were.
“Uh. Y-you got a bathroom up here??”
. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.
He scoured through every single video and rewatched every single clip that night.
The furniture, the decor, the walls, the window placement: everything was the same.
And so, the verdict was in: you–his quiet, guarded, asocial, and steely chem partner–were none other than stargiirl herself.
What. The. Fuck.
It was confusing to wrap his head around, this whole stargiirl-chemgirl business. But would he go as far to say that it wasn’t attractive? That he didn’t pop a boner every time he thought about it?
No. He couldn’t. He’d never.
Was this divine intervention or his own personal hell?
He couldn’t tell.
What does this mean? How should he act? What does he fucking do with this information now?
He rubbed his temples before running a tense hand through his hair. At the same time, a notification popped up on his computer.
“Check out a new post from stargiirl_xx !”
He could feel the blood in his veins thumping against his skin.
“Don’t do it. Please don’t fucking do it-” he mumbled.
He tapped into the link despite himself.
“Lessons In Vibration Pt II”
He wordlessly clicked the play button on the video.
For a moment, he thought his screen was buffering. The camera was set up to look out onto your bed, though you were not in frame yet, presumably twiddling with the settings of your camera.
But when you finally did walk into view, his heart nearly imploded.
The frame only showed you from the mouth down, your identity mainly concealed. You were bottomless, bare legs walking across the floor as you situated yourself on your bed. The only piece of clothing you did have on was an overlarge sweatshirt, his sweatshirt, one that he, in his panicked daze to get out of your apartment earlier, forgot he had left behind.
He didn’t dare breathe, nor could he move. His head was craned so close to his computer, as if he wanted to go through the screen itself just to get a better look.
He noted how his hoodie fell past your ass, large and consuming and honestly? So fuckin’ perfect on you.
You were nearing the end of your normal introduction, and he realized you spoke differently on video, low and confident and sensual and hypnotic.
“I’ve been thinkin’ a lot about my content throughout the years,” your hands started to draaag the bottom of his hoodie up, letting it bunch just slightly above the dip of your waist, enunciating your curves. “-And I’ve realized I’ve never had a partner during any of them.”
The comments on the side bar started to flood through, hundreds of viewers already volunteering themselves to be your +1.
His jaw ticked, hard.
“I think,” you leaned forward like you were sharing a secret. Toji gripped onto his computer until a faint pop! could be heard of one of the inner screws coming loose. “I think I would like to change that in the future,” and then you smiled, really smiled, a full, playful grin wiping across your features in a way he had never been able to see in person before.
His dick bobbed in his pants.
This could not be happening to him right now.
You continued, “but for now, welcome back to my Lessons in Vibrations series.”
He watched as you started introducing the toys you would be using today, before you slowly began to touch yourself, teasingly showing glimpses of the purple lace panties you had on underneath his hoodie.
And he couldn’t help it, really.
Because when you started rubbing your vibrator against your clit, your deft fingers plunging skillfully into your cunt, soft whimpers escaping your lips as your pussy started squelching out a fucking melody – all while wearing his fuckin’ sweatshirt – what the fuck else was he supposed to do?
His sweats were already halfway down his thighs, and his meaty hand greedily pumping his own cock in sync to you fucking yourself on your fingers.
He watched hungrily as you pushed his sweatshirt up further along your body, exposing your stomach, teasing the view of your bare tits. He bit back a groan at the thought of your scent lingering in the fabric, and prayed to whatever deity above that you wouldn’t wash it out before he got it back.
Below, your fingers languidly teased the head of your vibrator against your entrance. It was the insertable kind, with a slender tip and curved body, the type that had your hole trying to suck up the device with every rub against your dripping slit.
He could feel the veins in his cock pulsing hotly in anticipation, pushing up thick pearls of precum out onto his flared tip.
He wondered what it would be like to slip his shaft against your drenched pussy lips, to massage the underside of his cockhead against the tight ring of your entrance, to feel you squeezing around him, and to hear the sounds you would make just for him.
He gulped, cool sweat starting to form on his brow. You were beginning to fuck the device into you, pumping the vibrator in and out and in and out. He could see your legs trembling, your juices starting to uncontrollably splash outside of you, and your pussylips fluttering with every bzzz bzz bzzzzzt of the vibrator fucking and swirling and massaging into your g-spot.
He was matching your pace, furiously pumping his dick, thinking about how you looked on all fours earlier, thinking about how you smiled when you called him his name, thinking about how you look when you concentrate and the mole above your brow, thinking about the coffee you made for him and the weird shitposts you sent and the way you could look at him like he was nothing, and everything, all at the same time.
And suddenly, he wasn’t climaxing to the stargiirl he had always seen on screen.
It was his tough, quiet, calm chem partner.
And as he shot hot spurts of thick, ropey cum all the way from his dick to his chin (the most he’s ever released before), he realized only one thing.
He just finished to the thought of you.
. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.
Toji Fushiguro had a problem.
No, scratch that.
He had a fucking crisis.
It was drill day, and his head was absolutely nowhere near the turf. He fumbled balls, missed targets, and was a full thirty-seconds under his usual sprint times.
And that was only how one of his practices went this week.
It had been five whole days since he last saw you.
Five days of being dogshit at his sport.
Five days of holing up in his frat, avoiding campus, avoiding class, avoiding your texts, avoiding you.
It’s not like he wanted to do this, but he didn’t know what to do, how to act, or what to even say.
How could he talk to you casually while knowing he’s given probably a third of his checks to you? How could he be normal in your presence knowing that he’s watched every single one of your streams, and in turn has finished an embarrassing amount of times to each of them?
How could he trust himself when the thought of you alone had his heart pounding so hard his ears hurt? Or how his chest squeezed so tight he almost went to urgent care, just because you texted asking where he’s been and if he was okay?
How could he face you, knowing that he somehow developed the largest, fattest, most egregious fuckin’ crush on you?!
And, for the record, Toji Fushiguro did not do crushes. He hadn’t necessarily “ran through” the entire roster of available chicks on campus, but he did have an occasional fling, nothing serious, nothing long, nothing that would distract him from football and his dreams.
He was known as the campus heartthrob and heartbreaker. He was Mr. Non-Chalant, Mr. Everybody-Wants-A-Piece-of-Him, and Mr. I-Don’t-Get-Attached all wrapped up in one 6’4, 230 lbs body.
A crush? That was new, unexplored territory for him.
He stared down at your last texts to him.
⭐️(Thursday, 12:03pm): i got us a nice spot!! im sitting on 2nd floor @ clark ദ്ദി ˉ͈̀꒳ˉ͈́ )✧
Ba-dump!
⭐️(Thursday, 12:18pm): knock knock, is mr. toji theree
Ba-dump! Ba-dump!
⭐️(Thursday, 12:56pm): hey, is everythin ok? r we still on for today?
Ba-dump, ba-dump, ba-dump–
⭐️(Saturday, 10:01am): r u alive
It physically sickened him that he couldn’t get his cowardly fingers to just fucking write back. But every time he opened up your text chain, all he could do was stare.
Which is exactly why he couldn’t see you yet.
He needed time.
He needed space.
He needed to get this shit under control.
Fortunately (or unfortunately) for him, the Kappa Epsilon fraternity was throwing a rager tonight. With the group of men only one week out from the next bracket of playoffs, this would be the last night the football frat would get to drink together for a while if they were to make it to the finals.
It would be the perfect distraction.
About an hour or so into the party and he was buzzed. He absolutely demolished that shithead Ryomen in beer pong, crushed a pack of PBRs, and now was cooling off in the kitchen, his body feeling swimmy and light.
He reached for his phone. Maybe, just maybe, if he looked at your messages again for the umpteenth time today, maybe he would know what to say, maybe he–
“Ah, so you can come out and party but ignore all of my texts?”
His heart did that stupid thing where it pounded so hard against his chest he wondered if his ribs bruised.
Despite the booming of the bass coming from the room over, and the idle chatter of randoms idling in the kitchen, he could hear the dry, unimpressed, and entirely too familiar voice coming directly from behind him.
He turned, his eyes lowering to find you, as if it was muscle memory, as if it was his second nature.
You never showed up to these parties (and trust, he has invited you to them all). Yet here you were, your body leaned up against the kitchen counter, arms crossed over your chest, and your hair falling around your frame.
He grinned, the buzz in his head making it easy for a stupidly cheeky and wide and boyish smile to plaster onto his face. (a/n: toji has a hung smile. Okay? Okay.).
“Hey, party animal,” he said, almost dreamily.
The top you wore clung to you like a second skin, accentuating the swells of your breasts and the dip of your waist: features that you usually hid underneath your normal, bulkier campus-attire.
He was indecisive, his eyes bouncing between the unreadable look on your face to the sliver of exposed skin right above your miniskirt.
You looked good, really fuckin’ good.
Your eyes widened, before your cheeks blushed the prettiest shade of red, your manicured fingers tightening around the plastic solo cup you were holding
Did he say that outloud?!
You straightened, steeling yourself, willing the warmth in your cheeks to go away. “You’ve ignored me for five days, Fushiguro-” your voice was firm and cool, cutting sharply through the noise of the party.
Back to the last name basis.
You looked away, before adding, “-and you ditched me on Thursday.” You spoke that last part softly, deliberately, a look of sadness flashing briefly in your pretty, doe-like eyes.
A dull pang rippled through his chest.
He knew the implications of your words – the two of you never missed a meetup since this whole “deal” started.
And, like those days in the libraries or cafes where he found himself sitting before you, following your every word and direction, he now found himself moving towards you, a small pout forming on his scarred lips, as his strong arms caged you in until you were wedged between himself and the counter.
And, you knew he was huge before.
But now, up close, you realized just how large he was - his broad shoulders obscuring your view, his muscular chest rippling under the tight black shirt he wore, and his huge hands riddled with veins that climbed up, up, up his forearms.
He was overwhelming and all-consuming, surrounding your senses with the kind of intensity only he alone could pull off. You breathed in, your chest rising, fighting against the cotton of your ill-fitting top. He smelled of fresh pine and warm leather, clean and raw and manly.
You came here pissed, but now found your resolve completely fogged and muddled.
He leaned forward, dipping his head low, until his shaggy fringe tickled softly against the shell of your ear.
You knew he had been drinking, but the question was, did he know what he was doing right now? Was this purposeful? Was this real? You couldn’t quite tell, but the way his breath stuttered as his nose traced light patterns into your neck, the way he was breathing you in, and the way his hands periodically clenched onto the countertop as if to restrain himself, told you he was at least semi aware of what he was doing.
Your heart was hammering in your chest. The two of you never stood this close before, let alone touched each other.
You turned your head slightly, trying to put at least some ounce of space between your face and his.
But for him? That just would not do.
He slowly pulled away from your neck, his nose lightly mapping a path from the base of your neck, across the soft expanse of your cheek, to the tip of your own. Noses brushing, breaths mingling, chests heaving, and hearts pounding as his scarred lips hovered your glossed ones.
“Why have you been avoiding me?”
The air between you was warm and thick, charged with something tender and so deeply intimate.
“Because you scare me,” he mumbled.
“Oh, really?” Your mouth twitched.
“Mm.” He nodded once, nose rubbing softly against yours in an eskimo kiss. You could see how his eyes were dark and heavy-lidded, lips dangerously close to pressing against yours.
“‘Think ya cursed me.” His neck flushed red, his low voice was barely above a whisper.
“I can go-”
“Don’t.”
And then his large hands were latching onto your waist, the heat of his skin searing through the thin material of your skirt.
“Don’t. Don’tDon’tDon’t.” His brows scrunched together, his face becoming serious. “Don’t go. Don’t leave. Not when you’re here, with me, pretty girl.”
You breathed, taking your time to steady your voice after hearing the pet name roll off his tongue. “Then what should I do?”
“Stay.”
It was as simple as that, really.
And then his lips were on yours, warm and soft and commanding. He kissed you like you were sin, drinking you in, savoring you on his tongue, before inevitably, always inevitably, going back for more. He didn’t let you breathe; he wouldn’t. He was greedy and wrong and possessive, claiming your mouth like it was his alone to conquer. Your knees weakened as his tongue massaged against yours addictively, molding against you like you were made for him; like he was made for you.
Your hands moved before you could think, before you could decide if you were angry with him or if you hungered for him. You found purchase on his broad shoulders, before making your way up, up, up to his neck, one hand running through his dark hair while the other held onto the underside of his strong jaw, thumb gently caressing the scar on the side of his mouth, pulling him in.
He pressed into you further, your ass hitting the lower counter. His body was flush against yours, his chest purposefully rubbing against your tits.
He could feel your nipples hardening through the flimsy cotton of your top, and he couldn’t stop the sleazy grin that was forming on his face.
Below, his grip on you was gentle but firm, bringing your body to press and grind against his in an unhurried, languid way, like he had all the time in the world, like all of this was fated from the start.
And his fingers, oh his fingers, which spanned across your hip, slowly found their way to your ass, gripping and cupping and kneading into the soft, jiggly flesh.
You could feel something move against your thigh, something sturdy and heavy and completely fucking monstruous.
“Haah-” you shakily sighed out, breathy and dazed as you looked down to the outline of his bulge. Your eyes widened.
“I like when you use that smart mouth, y’know,” he was talking against your lips, not able to find it in himself to pull away. His hand slid up the side of your waist, until he stopped right underneath your breast, his thumb rubbing against the underside of where it started to swell.
His voice dropped an octave lower, whispering to you like it was a secret. “Talk to me. Break this curse. Tell me it’s not just me that feels like this.”
Please.
His heart was racing. He was stone cold sober. This was it. This was his admission.
ba-dump, ba-dump, ba-dump–
You breathed.
The party raged on in the background, muddled and distant, like his ears were submerged under water–
“It’s not just you, Toji.”
Your voice was quiet, your cheeks tinted rouge, your pretty eyes looking up at him in earnest.
And that was all he needed.
He picked you up like you were nothing (his bench was 350 lbs, squat 600 lbs, and his hip thrusts? don’t even worry ‘bout it), a smug, victorious grin tugging at his scarred lips.
He carried you out of the kitchen, and a steady stream of wolf whistles and howls erupted from his frat brothers and party goers as the two of you made your way across the foyer, up the stairs, and towards a bedroom. His bedroom.
He carried you inside, keeping the lights off, letting the warm glow of the streetlamp beside his window spill softly across the room. Without a word, he set you down on his large king-sized bed.
The air in his room was tender and still. You could hear the faint bass of the stereo downstairs, vibrating against his wooden floors like a heartbeat. The distant cheers of the crowd down below faded to quiet as he pressed his mouth to your own.
He leisurely climbed over you, never breaking the kiss, his muscular arms holding his body above your own.
It didn’t take long for the makeout to turn heated again, teeth clashing against teeth, bodies pressed against each other, rubbing and teasing in a way that had your head spinning.
You put your hands against his chest.
“Toji-”
“Stay,” he breathed, whispering the words against your lips, like he could read your mind. “-Stay with me tonight,” he pressed his body closer into you, rutting his hips, “and lemme show you the things I’ve been wantin’ to say to you all week.”
You could feel his cock twitch ominously against your bare thigh as you swallowed.
His lips were swollen and glistening from your mixed salivas, his eyes glazed over, jade irises almost completely black. His grip on your lower body was unrelenting, holding you in place.
You lightly pushed your hand against his chest, a hesitant look crossing your features.
A beat passed. For a second, he didn’t even realize he stopped breathing.
“You’ve been drinking,” You paused, your voice coming out small. “What if.. what if you don’t mean this in the morning?”
And for all your expertise and genius, oh, how completely wrong you could be.
He let out a humorless chuckle, his sharp canines peaking through his lips in the process.
“Did it sound like I was jokin’, sweetheart?” He shakily exhaled through his nose as he pressed his erection against your clothed cunt, holding himself there, letting you feel the pressure and full weight of what he was packing. “Does it feel like I’m jokin’ ‘bout this?”
You bit your lip, pussy throbbing, a warm slickness starting to soak through your panties, before messily spreading between your clenched thighs.
You shook your head.
“What’d I say about usin’ your words?”
He pulsed his dick, the sensation making your pussy clench.
Fuckin’ tease.
“Nngh- no. No it doesn’t feel like you’re joking,” you almost gasp out.
A satisfied smirk plastered onto his tanned face.
“Good girl.”
And then he’s moving down the bed, his calloused hands spreading your legs as he pressed wet kisses against the hot skin of your thighs. He was methodical and slow, making his way up your inner thigh, savoring the small sounds that you tried to suppress as he reached the bottom hem of your skirt, his face mere inches away from your sopping pussy, and his breath puffing warm air against your dampened panties .
“Ohhh jus’ look at ya,” you could tell he had the most shit-eating grin on his face right now, pride swelling in his voice as he carefully dipped a large, rough finger between the seam of the thin purple fabric you adorned. “This all f’me?”
And - Holy shit.
The videos of you didn’t even do this justice.
Because low and behold, here you were, under his body, and you were so fuckin’ wet. His finger slid against your folds with little resistance, putting just enough pressure that you couldn’t help but moan his name as he rubbed circles against your clit.
And, Toji Fushiguro never claimed to be a patient man. So, it should’ve came as no surprise when he grabbed your hips and used his hulking strength to push your clothed pussy to his scarred lips, his face nuzzled to your cunt, nose pressed firmly to your clit, and his greedy tongue lapping you up through the soiled fabric.
It was obscene and perverse and dirty and wrong.
But oh, how he loved it. Loved the heady taste you left on your panties, and the sweet scent of your gushing pussy, and the excess slick on your thighs that made its way onto his rough cheeks.
He groaned, a low, guttural sound against your skin that made your tummy squeeze into knots.
“T-Toji, please,” you whined, pressing your greedy cunt into his face, “need your tongue. Need you. Need more.” You could hardly string a true sentence together, and he hadn’t even fucked you proper yet.
His heart was thunderous against his chest.
And his dick?
Hardest it’s ever fuckin’ been in his fuckin’ life.
He was grinding his erection against the mattress as he obliged your wishes.
After all, how could he say no to you?
He pushed your panties to the side.
And oh.
His balls tightened below him, the urge to cum almost threateningly near as he stared at your bare, swollen pussy.
Holy. Shit.
Everything was soaked and glistening.
He rubbed one thumb across your puffy skin, his coarse finger getting soaked in the process.
He leaned in, gingerly licking fat stripes along your folds, lapping you up, drinking you in. He worked thoroughly, gathering you onto his tongue, until the lower part of his face was a mixture of your juices and his drool.
It was only after he was satisfied with his work did he make his way to your clit, humming and sucking, the wet sounds of his mouth making out with your cunt filling the air of his room.
The warm pleasure of it all was beginning to pool in your belly, your toes beginning to curl, legs beginning to shake – but he didn’t stop. He couldn’t.
“Toji, I might-”
He plunged a rough, thick finger inside you, spearing your tight velvet walls apart, all the way up to his knuckle.
You saw fuckin’ stars.
The sound you made was so erotic, so loud and depraved and raw, that his dick lurched in his pants, warm gooey pre-cum beginning to leak out from his throbbing tip and into his briefs.
He wanted to hear you again, and again and again and again.
He wanted videos, home movies, and spotify playlists of the way your pussy was talking to him.
Emboldened, his tongue was unrelenting on your clit, as one finger became two, and then two became three.
You mewled as he crooked them up, massaging against that soft, spongey bundle of nerves that had you panting his name out like it was prayer.
Your ears were ringing, your eyes beginning to get wet with tears.
Soon, he was fucking you on his fingers proper, setting a debilitating pace as he plunged his digits in and out and in and out. Filling you up, stretching you out, hitting your most sensitive areas. Again, and again, and again.
The pressure in your core was reaching its limits now, and the pleasure from the sheer fullness of your pussy and the sinful patterns of his tongue were beginning to send violent tremors down your legs.
You were orgasming before you even realized it.
And yet, he was didn’t stop – didn’t even give you time to breathe as he’s diving into your pussy, slurping you up, his large nose rubbing against your over-sensitive clit as he’s fucking his thick tongue and his fingers past the tight ring of your entrance, fucking you, warm and wet, through each of your peaks.
Your hands held onto his hair like a lifeline, your fleshy thighs locked around his head as if to keep him in place.
“You taste so good, sweetheart,” he moaned, his eyes glazed over, completely and utterly pussy drunk, as you looked down at him, his mouth still latched onto your cunt.
You could see your slick dripping down his face, mixing with the light trails of perspiration that sprouted from his temples.
Your heart squeezed in your chest.
It was only after the last few waves of your orgasm subsided when you could finally respond.
“I think,” you gently reached down to run your shaky hand through his scalp, tenderly pushing away the sweaty fringe by his eyes. “I think I can think of something that might taste better.”
And then you’re pushing him until he’s moving to the top of the bed, his back resting against the headboard as he pulls his black shirt up and over his head, triceps flexing, exposing his muscular pecs, washboard abs, and the light tufts of hair that sprouted on his chest, and got increasingly darker the further down his abs it went.
You could feel your pussy walls clamp down, warmth pooling in your core again as you reached out instinctively to run your hands along the length of his torso.
You never thought, in all of your wildest dreams, that this would be happening. Nor could your dreams do justice to the perfect build of the man before you.
“Well look at you, Mr. Fushiguro.” Your soft hands slowly sliding up, up, up against his skin, all the way from where the dark tufts of thick hair started to disappear under his pants, and towards his pecs, feeling the way his traitorous heart stuttered as you called his name. “Aren’t you quite the heartbreaker.”
You held his gaze, the air around you charged with anticipation.
Who would move first?
His breathing was shallow as he stared at you, your cheeks flushed and eyes glazed. Your top was rumpled to hell, exposing the line of your cleavage in a way that had his pants tenting painfully, and your mini skirt was so far scrunched that it looked like a belt around your waist.
“For others, sure…” He grabbed your hands, pressing them deeper into his skin as he slid them up to cup his face. “But for you?” he was whispering now, his ears growing steadily pinker by the second, “I’m afraid you have me beat.”
Oh.
And then you’re leaning in, tenderly pressing your lips to his own, mumbling his name over and over again to stop you from saying those other three little words, before sealing it with your tongue.
And then he’s pulling you into his lap.
You could taste yourself in his mouth and on his lips, your nipples tightening as his large hands grabbed handfuls of your ass, spreading your cheeks apart before making them clap together again.
A muffled groan escaped from the depths of his chest, vibrating against your mouth, as he felt new gushes of your slick begin to dampen the front of his pants.
“Mmmnh- get comfortable, pretty girl.” He slurred out as he pulled at the waistband of your skirt, before letting go, allowing the material to slap against your skin with a light sting.
“Hmm… only if daddy gets comfortable too.” your eyes were big as you stared at him through your lashes.
And oh fuck.
Toji had to lean his head back, his skull hitting against the wall with a dull thud!
The way the words left your mouth had him breathless, brain short-circuiting, and dick throbbing. He needed to recuperate. Calm down.
Breathe in. Exhale. Repeat.
You smiled slyly, completely aware of how your words affected him, as you pulled your flimsy top off, followed by your bottomwear. Your tits were heavy and full as they were released from the cotton, nipples peaked and stiff.
You were bare before him, your arms on either side of his hips, squeezing your tits together lightly as you bent low to whisper against his ear.
“You like when I call you that?” Your voice was sweet as honey as your hands traced the large outline of his dick through his pants, gripping his shaft through the tight material, and feeling the monstrous size of his girth.
“Careful, sweetheart,” his voice was a mixture of restraint and warning, “don’t start callin’ me that unless y’er tryna see it through.” His neck was visibly tense, and his hands clutched on to the meat of your hips as he stared at you.
Pretty girl.
He squeezed tighter.
His pretty girl.
A moment of silence passed as you considered his words. “And what if I do wanna see it through…?” Your head tilted cutely while your mean hands found their way to his happy trail, running your nails down through the thick tufts of dark hair, dipping juuust below the waistband of his pants, before retreating back up again in slow, agonizing loops. “Show me your worst, daddy.”
And who was he to deny you?
Before you knew it, he had his pants and briefs shoved down his legs, his massive cock heavily thudding against his washboard abs
Your mouth gaped open.
And ohhh how he relished the dumb look on your lil’ cute face.
You didn’t even think anyone could be this large.
Yet here he was, with a dick that looked like it belonged in a porno, pulsing fat and heavy and huge as he leaked pre-cum all over the angry mushroomed head.
He smirked, cocky as ever, as you subconsciously licked your lips, eyes glazed over, cock drunk just off the look alone.
Your pussy gushed warm, new slick between your legs as you carefully leant down, your hands grabbing around his base, slowly bringing his dick closer to your face.
He could feel the warm puffs of air coming from ur plush lips, his dick twitching like crazy at how close you were to finally, finally getting your mouth on him.
You pressed a gentle kiss to his leaking slit, before running your lips over the excess pre-cum, painting your lips with the milky substance.
He swallowed hard. His eyes were wild and his breathing ragged.
He groped your tits, rolling your stiff nipples in his calloused fingers, eliciting the sweetest moan from you that reverberated around his dick.
You gave him small kitten licks at first, teasing the idea, before gradually licking thick fat stripes up and down the length of his huge dick. You traced the pulsing veins that climbed up his hot shaft and licked around the sensitive underside of his throbbing cockhead.
And it was only when his chest was heaving, his impatient hands gripping onto your skull, did you finally, finally begin to throat fuck the shit outta him.
None of the videos he had watched of you before even came close to the sensation of seeing the bulge forming in your throat from where his cock was buried inside of you, or the way your nose tickled against the tufts of dark hair at the base of his cock.
You moaned dreamily around him at the feeling of his heavy dick pounding against the back of your throat, filling your mouth and overwhelming your senses. You couldn’t help the tears that threatened to spill from your eyes as you bobbed him in your mouth, hands jerking off what you couldn’t reach, and your thighs rubbing together greedily, craving any ounce of friction against your throbbing pussy.
But before you knew it, he was lifting you off, a light string of saliva following en suit, connecting the two of you together.
“What’s wrong?” You had a devilish grin on your pretty face. “Scared you're gonna cum too quick?”
A low, humorless chuckle rumbled through his body as one of his hands wrapped around your throat, while the other smacked your ass.
“Nah,” his canines glinted in the lowlight, a predatorial grin etching into his features. “Just tryna make sure nothin’ gets wasted.” And then he's shifting you up, rubbing his thick cock against your gooey cunt, mixing his thick pre with your juices.
Your heart fluttered.
His dick was so warm against your skin – so, so much better (and bigger) than the toys you regularly used to get yourself off.
You’ve had enough. You’ve done your waiting. You needed him inside you.
You lifted yourself up, your hands bracing themselves on either side of Toji’s broad shoulders. Your pussy was dripping down onto his angry dick as you slowly lowered yourself, hips circling, letting his throbbing head trace your sopping lips.
He could have almost passed out from the sight alone.
Instead, he panted out a deep breath, his chest tightening as he tried to restrain himself from bucking up into your cunt.
You paused your hips, lowering yourself again ever so slightly so that his leaking head was now smooching against your gummy entrance, the heat of his cock stirring something warm and familiar in your belly.
Please, please, please, ple–
And then your pussy is swallowing his head whole.
“Oh, fuuuck you’re tight mama,” his eyes squeezed shut, fringe sticking to his sweaty forehead as Toji gasped out at the sensation of his thiiick cockhead squeezing past the tight ring of muscles at your entrance.
Your gummy walls sucked against him from all angles, squishing into his hardness and rubbing deliciously against the sensitive underside of his mushroomed tip.
And this was just the tip.
He didn’t know if he would make it out of here alive. At least, without getting you pregnant.
You whimpered, actually fuckin’ whimpered his name as you reached down, touching where he was spearing you apart, your lips drawn thin and tight to accommodate for the sheer size of him.
“You’re so big Toji,” a tear rolled down your flushed cheek. “Look at how much more I gotta take.” And he did, he really did look. Because you began to let your finger slowly slide from where the two of you were connected, down, down, down to the tufts of hair at the base of his cock.
“Haah- Ya’ think it’ll fit, sweetheart?” He grunted, his lips involuntarily bucking as you pouted cutely at him.
Something impassable flashed across your feature. “I’ll make it fuckin’ fit.”
And then you’re slamming down onto his dick, and it feels like the literal wind gets knocked out of both of your chests.
He has never felt something so deliciously tight before.
You have never felt so goddamn filled up before.
You’re clenching around him, velvet walls fluttering and smooching around his raw cock as it pulses heavy and thick with animalistic need.
It took you several moments to orient yourself, to gather your scrambled senses back together to remember what you were doing, what your goal was, why you were here.
“I have a secret to tell you.” You stared down at him, an unreadable look passing over your features.
“O-oh really?” you squeezed your walls around him, catching him off guard.
“I know you watch me touch myself,” you whispered it like it was a secret, sly and just a touch proud.
And of all the things you could’ve said, nothing would have prepared him for that.
His dick bobbed from inside of you.
“Fushi-daddy420 isn’t the most subtlest of names, no?” you grinned meanly as you watched his jade eyes turn impossibly black as you began to slowly, teasingly, mercifully bounce on his cock. Up and down and up and down.
“But-?”
He thought you would hate him if you knew.
He agonized for days for this reaction?!!
“And after you ran out on me after seeing my place?” you were panting, riding him as you talked. “Yea, that kinda solidified it.”
And just when he thinks you’ve found your rhythm and set your pace, you slowly begin to circle your hips, hitting new angles deep inside your guts that have his throbbing tip pressing into the spongy part of your pussy.
“You don’t -fuhh- don’t hate me?” his mind was swirling, how could he focus when you felt this good?
“Never.” Your hips rolled, and you pressed your tits together, giving him a show.
And you were doing so well, and felt so good. He pressed a fat thumb against your clit, spelling out his name, as if to claim you, mark you, over and over and over again.
T-O-J-I !
He throws his head back as he feels you creaming around his cock, while your eyes are rolling into the backs of your head as you feel his thick goopy pre frothing at your entrance, dripping down onto his balls. The pace is getting faster, the air getting hot, and thick beads of sweat are rolling down your back. The obscene sounds of sweaty skin slapping against skin filled the hot, sex-scented air.
You lean down to kiss him, tongues messily entangling, drool spilling from the sides of your lips as you ride his cock like a fuckin’ animal, ass jiggling from the force of his hips rocking up to meet you, his heavy balls smacking against your pussy like a promise.
In one swift motion, he’s flipping the two of you over, your back to the bed, his dick never leaving your pussy, as he continues to fuck into you. He has your legs spread wide, your knees to his sides as he buries himself deep within your warmth, the new angle allowing you to feel his fat tip smooching against your cervix.
He’s panting, breath shaky as he slows down, rutting shallowly, not allowing himself to be too far from your gummy insides. “T-tell me where you want it,” his voice came out strained, and you could see where his veins were protruding on his neck.
Oh. His cum.
His balls were pressed against you, tightening with every passing second. You could feel his dick bobbing against your walls as he was direly trying to stop himself from cumming.
You smiled, soft and sweet, as you pressed a hand against your lower tummy, feeling the bulge of where he was nestled inside you.
“Oh, you already know,” and you were batting your pretty lashes up at him, making his heart stutter. “Isn’t that right, daddy?”
And oh, how his broken mind snapped.
The next thing you knew, he’s pressing your knees so far up they’re knocking against your tits, his hulking body leaning over and pressing down into you, chest against chest, until you could feel his warm lips sucking bruises by your ear.
And then he’s draaagging his thick cock through your pussy until only the tip is inside you, before snapping his hips forward, forcing his cock the deepest it could go back inside you, spearing you apart, and setting an absolutely cruel, delicious, depraved pace that has his balls bruising your ass and his cock breeching your womb.
It goes for what feels like seconds, minutes, hours.
Your legs began to shake at all the sensations, your pussy walls convulsing around him and your ears ringing as you started to see white.
And he truly couldn’t keep it in any longer.
Not when you sounded so hot, with your face scrunched up in the prettiest ‘o’ and your nails digging crescents into his back as you called his name, begging for his seed.
And so he bucked up, his hips flush against yours, locking you into the meanest of mating presses, as his dick lurched, balls scrunching, as he pumped copious amounts of his thick, sticky cum straight into your womb.
And he’s still bucking his hips, through each of your peaks, fucking his cum deep inside you, until your belly was bloated and full of him.
“Thattaa girl,” he pressed a warm kiss to your mouth as he fucked you through the last few peaks of your orgasms, gingerly swiping his thumb across your cheek as if you were something precious. “My girl.”
And later on, as you softly drifted to sleep, with a belly full of his cum and his softening dick still inside you, you could feel his scarred lips pressing light kisses across your face, and the mumblings of something that sounded vaguely too close to “iloveyou” whispered into your warm skin.
. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.
Five weeks passed, and the Michigan Wolverines were in the midst of the NCAA College Football Championships.
After weeks of non-stop practice, conditioning, strength training, and late-night film recaps, the team of 100-odd men were finally going up against their biggest competitor in the nation.
There was much on the line, but thankfully, Senior Quarterback and Captain, Toji Fushiguro, had quite the good luck charm on his side.
Not only did he pass Kinetics (albeit by the skin of his teeth, thanks to you), but he now had a new, fool-proof pre-game regimen (with an even better success rate!).
He still kept his same protein shake recipe.
He still kept his same choice of attire.
But this time around, he needed at least one hour of your undivided attention, with the provision that his cock be buried so deep and raw inside your trembling cunt that you could feel him in your womb.
And it was only after intense, depraved, animalistic fucking, with your pussy stuffed full of his gooey cum, and hickies in the shape of a ‘T’ on your neck, could the 6’4 230 lbs man say with absolute certainty, that this championship was in the god damn bag.
. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.
The Wolverines won their final round of the playoffs in a sweeping victory: 52-38.
And the star quarterback of the show could not wait to celebrate with you, his pretty lil’ girlfriend.
When the topic of “the most embarrassing thing your ex ever said in bed” came up. You laughed, told him about the one guy who kept asking if you were “close yet” like he was checking a fucking timer. Toji snorted laughing, “Bet none of ‘em ever made you squirt, huh?”
You blinked at the dumb shit that he’d just said. “Made me…what?”
He stared at you for a second, then barked out a laugh. “You’re shittin’ me. You really don’t know?”
You shrugged, cheeks burning. “I mean, I’ve come before. It feels good. But squirting? That’s…porn bullshit, not real life.” you laughed, kicking your legs up onto his lap. “Girls fake that shit for views.”
He sat up, elbows on his knees, looking at you like you were fucking crazy, “You serious right now?” You rolled your eyes, trying to play it cool, “Yeah, okay, Mr. Expert. You’ve made every girl you’ve fucked squirt then?”
He caught your ankle again when you tried to playfully kick his face, this time yanking you forward so fast you yelped, sliding you halfway onto his lap. “Hell yeah, everyone single one and the fact that none of those pathetic exes of yours ever got you there…kinda pisses me off.”
You opened your mouth to deny it, “Whatever. It’s not a big deal. I’m not missing out on anything.” Toji’s hand landed heavy on your thigh, slapping it, “You are. And I’m not letting my best friend walk around thinking she can’t squirt when I know damn well she can…Bet I could make you.”
Now your best friend had you pinned on his bed, shirt shoved up over your tits, shorts and panties dangling off one ankle. His palm strokes slow circles over your stomach, the other hand resting heavy on your inner thigh. “Relax, baby,” he murmurs against your ear, “You trust me, right?”
You nod, this was Toji. Your best friend. The guy who’s seen you ugly-cry over breakups and insults you about it. And now his fingers are sliding through your already slick folds like he’s done this a hundred times in his head. “Fuck, you’re so wet already,” he laughed at you. “Just from talking about it?”
You tried to glare at him, but it came out as a shaky breath when his calloused thumb found your clit and rubbed lazy circles. Your back arched off the bed, tits bouncing slightly with the movement since your shirt was bunched uselessly above them. “Shut up,” you moaned, as he pushed two thick fingers inside you. He leaned down, biting the side of your breast before sucking your nipple into his hot mouth.
“I—I don’t—” You gasped as he added a third finger, “It’s not gonna happen, Ji. I already t-told you—it doesn’t happen to me-e.” You’re soaked, embarrassingly so, as you bit your lip hard, trying not to moan too loudly.
“‘Cause you didn’t know what the fuck you were doing,” Toji growled, releasing your nipple with a wet pop and shifting so he could watch his fingers disappear into you. “Toji—wait, it feels…weird—” you whimpered, trying to close your legs. It was too intense, like you had to pee but a hundred times stronger.
He spits on your clit, then drags his tongue through your folds in one long lick before sucking your clit into his mouth. “That’s your body telling you you’re about to squirt all over my fucking hand like a good girl.” He spits on your clit again, three thick fingers stretching you open as he fucks you faster.
The slick sounds were louder now, as you tried to close your legs, but Toji’s broad shoulders keep you spread wide, his free hand pinning your thigh down, the other curling perfectly while his palm slapped wetly against your clit with every stroke so you couldn’t escape the overwhelming sensation. “Squirt for me like a good fucking girl.”
You begin to whimper desperately, “Toji—Toji I—oh my god—!” You shake your head, panting, “Ji, seriously—stop, it feels like I’m gonna—” Your back arches hard, tits heaving, nipples stiff and aching from his earlier attention.
Your whole body is trembling, thighs trying uselessly to snap shut around his huge fuckass shoulders while gushing squirts soak Toji’s wrist, his forearm, the sheets beneath your ass in a clear, messy spray. You whimper louder as your squirt splashes messily against his chest and stomach, “Fuuuck, there it is,” Toji groaned, watching with satisfaction as you made a mess. “Look at that. Keep going, good girl, that’s it.”
When he finally slowed his fingers and pulled them out, you were a shaking whimpering mess. He lifted his soaked hand to his mouth and licked off his fingers groaning. “Fuckin’ told you,” he said, voice rough with arousal.
Your pussy clenched and fluttered around his fingers as the last weak spurts trickled out. You lay there panting, trembling, thighs soaked and staring up at him in stunned, blissed-out disbelief. “Told you it was real,” he rasped, “It’s a good thing I love provin’ you wrong.”
5 times sukuna was heavily yearning + 1 time you finally noticed.
oblivious, lonely reader who’s used to doing things alone x downbad!sukuna. jealous!sukuna. gn!reader. reader wears glasses. uncle!sukuna. sukuna calls reader angel. he’s so down bad bro. ooc sukuna as usual. mentions of nsfw contents.
— ☆ —
1. movie nights.
you had a specific, detailed, high maintenance routine for watching movies. you had slowly perfected the process— a mental to do list popping up every time a new movie dropped that you needed to watch.
first, you needed to be in your designated ‘movie night pajamas’, the most comfortable you owned. your favorite blanket had to be there, along with your favorite pillow for support. you liked watching in your home more than cinemas, because you disliked the idea of not being able to pause the movie for whatever reason. who decided to make bathroom breaks that short, anyways?
for snacks, chips poured into your favorite bowl, your favorite niche flavor. a chocolate bar sat beside it just incase the movie got intense enough for you to crave it. your favorite drink was set beside them in a thermal cup, allowing you to drink it as slow as possible without it melting too quickly.
your phone had to be on dnd, blocking out every notification. the room had to be cold, and you avoided any distractions because pausing the movie on piracy websites meant three minutes of closing ads to turn it back on.
tonight, everything was perfect.
you were perfectly wrapped in your blanket, eyes wide as it watched the screen perfectly, chips tasting perfect, drink perfected, everything absolutely perfect—
bzzz.
you immediately groaned. who could possibly be showing up? you hadn’t ordered food. no one was invited over. it was late. what could possibly be urgent enough to prompt someone to ruin your little routine?
you paused the movie (which took three minutes of pressing ‘x’ on ads urging you to ‘text hot, single ladies in your area’, and ‘ai bots who can make you cum in three minutes!’), pushed the blanket off, and pulled the door open with a soft pout you didn’t even register, just to pause when you saw sukuna standing there, eyebrows furrowed, frowning.
you and sukuna weren’t that close, really. you were in the same friend group, but you always felt nervous around him. he was intimidating, scary, too cool for you. he always stared at you blankly, and you decided he was judging you for… everything. you were awkward, nervous, a little odd.
so, him showing up to your home at midnight was a little… nerve-wracking. his red eyes slowly scanned your comfortable, worn out pajamas, messy hair, tiny pout that faded as your eyes widened, before he blinked blankly. “sorry for showing up unannounced.”
he didn’t sound apologetic. at all. his tone was monotonous, almost unamused.
“can i come in?”
you slowly blinked, before realizing how dumb you must look. you grimaced internally, stepping aside, letting him in. immediately, his eyes landed on your little set up, and he arched an eyebrow. “movie night, huh? watching part two of your little movie series?”
“how did you know?” you mumbled, genuinely confused. much to your surprise, his lips twitched up in something that looked like admiration, amused, and it was the closest you ever got to see him smile.
holy fuck, he was so gorgeous it felt unfair. now that you were actually focusing on the man towering over you, dressed in a black shirt and gray sweatpants, tanned skin peaking from under his clothes, muscles on view—
“it’s your favorite series, and it just dropped. i can recognize the sketchy ass website because you hate netflix. you have your little movie night routine, pajamas, chips, and drink.” he murmured casually, nonchalantly, as if it was normal that the guy you thought disliked you knew this much about you. “i listen, you know.”
your jaw was slack, eyes wide. he only snorted, arching an eyebrow. “don’t tell me fucking gojo was right and you really think i hate you.”
you paused. “well…”
“are you serious?” sukuna scoffed. “you’re my fucking favorite in the group, dumbass.”
“what?” you mumbled back, more confused. “you always glare at me. you never talk to me. i was starting to think you didn’t even know my last name.”
he stared at you, almost as if you were insane, then sighed. “you really are oblivious, huh?”
“hey—“
he shook his head, still looking mildly amused. “here’s the notes suguru said he would drop by to give you and forgot. i know you like studying early.”
“oh. you didn’t have to—“
“i wanted to.” he immediately stated, face serious. “‘ll leave you to it, can’t have someone ruining your perfect night. goodnight.”
with that, he was out, leaving you even more flabbergasted.
what. the. fuck.
2. hangouts.
you were still getting used to the idea that sukuna told you that not only did he not hate you, but that you were his favorite in the group. to you, the idea was unbelievable. flabbergasting. maybe even a little more scarier than being hated by him for some reason, but you managed pretty well.
at least you were more comfortable hanging out with your group now.
however, you had a tiny little habit. you hated the coffee at the place your friends loved, so often, you just walked away to the place next to it to buy your own coffee. it provided you a break, making the little pit of your stomach that grows when having to be around people, even your best friends, for too long reset, and you just get a chance to catch your breath.
today wasn’t different. in the middle of the hangout, you grabbed your wallet and slipped out, enjoying the tiny walk in fresh air before you stepped into your favorite cafe.
the familiar barista immediately lit up at the sight of you, boredom fading from his face. he was your age, friendly with a cute grin that grew whenever you two chatted— something that made you feel at ease when ordering.
“my favorite customer,” he immediately greeted, grinning. the bell at the door chimed, and you both didn’t pay any mind to it. “i wonder what you will order this time.”
you snorted. you both knew you ordered the exact same thing every single time. “yeah, i wonder too.”
he chuckled, eyes flickering to the screen. you could feel a figure stopping behind you. “well, you know your total.”
you hummed, about to pay, when the familiar scent of sukuna’s signature perfume finally registered in your mind as he moved to step beside you, eyes narrowed, jaw slowly twitching. “make it two.”
you slowly glanced up. the barista looked up in surprise, before he nodded calmly. “of course.”
before you could register it, sukuna’s card was pressing against the machine, paying for you both. your jaw went slack for the second time this week, flabbergasted once more, but sukuna was already pulling you out of line so that the people behind you could pay.
and, more unfazed that he should be by his own actions, he casually held out the receipt. “here. you take the code and collect points on their app, right?”
“…how the fuck do you even know that?” you mumbled, utterly confused. “why are you here? how did you find me— did you even know what you ordered—“
“easy there, angel.” he murmured, calm. “you always carry the receipt and i see you type something from it on your phone often. ‘m here because the coffee in the other shop is ass. you always come here, so i figured i would try my coffee with you. i know what i ordered because i know your order.”
you openly gaped at him. he only reached over, grabbing both drinks, arching an eyebrow. “are you gonna gape at me forever or drink this sweet shit?”
“…did you just call me angel?”
his amusement immediately faded, ears turning red as he shoved your drink your way, looking away. “absolutely not. hallucinations. let’s go.”
that was what he chooses to deny? not that he knew your movie night in details? that he knew your exact drink? that he knew you secretly collected points from your favorite coffee shop?
you let out a tiny chuckle, amused, following behind him. that somehow managed to make his ears even more red, a scowl pulling on his pretty lips.
fuck. he was gorgeous, and adorable.
how horrible for you.
3. aquarium.
you laid face-down on shoko’s bed, face showed between the pillows, eyes shut in pure horror. “‘m so screwed.”
she sighed for the nth time from where she sat on the ground, studying. “you quite literally could not be more not screwed.”
“i have a crush on him, shoko. i never have crushes. and now i have one, on fucking sukuna. the guy once punched a guy for breathing ‘his’ air. he fucking hates people. i am so utterly fucked. he will kill me.”
she glanced up, as if she knew something you didn’t. “he won’t kill you. kiss you? maybe.”
“stop being delusional.” you mumbled, voice muffled as you buried your face into the sand further. “‘m so fucked.”
she sighed. “you’re delusional too if you don’t realize what’s happening. anyways, isn’t it the twenty seventh? your monthly aquarium night?”
you jumped up, gasping. “it is! fuck!” you quickly grabbed your phone to check the time, before opening the aquarium’s instagram page just in case there were any updates.
and, unfortunately, right there on their instagram story, posted twelve hours ago, was a simple statement.
‘couples only day!’
“oh, fuck my fucking life.” you mumbled, eyes on the story, shoulders drooping. “shoko, be my aquarium date.”
“couples only, huh? if only these weren’t the conditions,” she mused, almost flirty, before tilting her head.
“yes.”
“ask sukuna to go with you.”
you blinked once, twice, before pulling up your phone, nodding, serious. “good idea. ‘m asking gojo or geto.”
“that is quite literally not what i said.”
“you’re a genius.”
you sent off a quick text to geto and gojo, jumping off her bed to head to your own apartment to get ready. after dressing up all cute for the sake of your loved marine animals, you glanced down at your phone, where a vague text from gojo said he couldn’t, followed by maybe three million crying emojis (which was maybe because he had begged before to accompany you said no. aquariums were a single, you-only trip), and geto sent back a simple ‘he’s almost there’, and a thumbs up.
what kind of reply was that? you frowned, sending five questions marks, about to ask who the fuck ‘he’ was, when your doorbell rings.
you pulled the door open, and freeze when your eyes landed on the one and only sukuna. he glanced at you, eyes blank, and nodded once. “let’s go.”
“…where?”
he raised an eyebrow. “the aquarium. date night. let’s go.”
“…are you sure?” you immediately mumbled, voice uncharacteristically low. “‘m, uh, kind of enthusiastic about this. nerdy. geeky. um, annoying.”
his lips twitched up into an endeared smile that he immediately pushed back. “i know what ‘m getting into. let’s go.”
you grabbed your jacket, eyebrows furrowing. “suguru could have just said he couldn’t come. i’m sorry he sent you instead.”
“oh, he could come.” sukuna stated blankly, stepping into the elevator behind you. you glanced up at him, confused, and he stared back blankly, as if waiting for you to collect dots you didn’t even see. he only sighed after a few minutes, shaking his head. “this is both cute and infuriating. so, which stupid creature is your favorite?”
you expected a night with sukuna to be awkward. tense. uncomfortable. a night where you had to hold back so you don’t become labeled as talkative, or annoying, or too much.
you didn’t expect for him to be a good listener. nodding at whatever you said, asking questions at first to keep you talking until you were comfortable rambling. you didn’t expect him to hold your things so you could comfortably get closer to the glass, or stay longer at your favorite animals, or ask you about ones that seemed interesting, his eyes soft and lips twitching upwards just the slightest. you didn’t expect him to disappear at one point and come back with a few limited-edition items from the small gift shop either, dumping them in your arms wordlessly as you two were walking out.
“thank you for being my fake date for the night, kuna.” you mumbled as he was dropping you off, sleepy, eyes soft and voice slurred. he paused at your words, lips twitching into a frown before he eyed how sleepy you were and only sighed.
“of course, angel.” he muttered, reaching over and nonchalantly pressing a kiss to your forehead before he turned around, walking away. “…sleep well, goodnight.”
gaping at him seeming like a new routine, except this time, your sleepy eyes were set on his back as he left, almost getting distracted by his muscles showing through the fabric. oh, you were so, utterly fucked.
4. the beach.
you sat quietly on the sand, wrapped tightly in a towel, eyes ahead as you watched gojo, geto and shoko shoving each other in the water. choso was on a towel beside you, deeply asleep and snoring. toji was playing around with megumi and nobara and yuji, who was yapping about how his uncle dropped him off and disappeared. everyone was enjoying themselves.
you were freezing.
you had gotten there earlier, having known they would all show up too late. you liked swimming alone with no eyes on you, so with too much sunscreen, you stayed in the water under the sun in what you knew was the perfect time for you. by the time everyone else arrived, you were already drying in the shade.
oh, how you wished you had a dry towel—
a dry towel dropped into your lap before the thought even finished. you froze, glancing up at the sky, before immediately closing your eyes again and wishing for a million dollars just in case.
“don’t stare at the fucking sun.”
ah. your genie.
you peaked through your lashes at sukuna, who glared at you, a hand going to shade your eyes from the sun. he was dry, holding a small bag which you assumed was for his wallet and phone and car keys and towel, the sun kissing every spot on his perfect body, as if purposely teasing you.
fuck. how could someone be so pretty?
he sighed, pulling a cap out of the bag. he pushed it on top of your damp hair, shading your face, and slumped beside you. “switch towels. mine is dry.”
“hi.” you mumbled dumbly, blinking a few times to snap yourself from the daze seeing his beautiful red eyes in the sun put you through. his lips twitched, face softening, and he only pulled the cap down further. you finally remembered how to think. “don’t you need your towel dry?”
“‘m not going into the water this late.” he stated. his eyes flickered to choso asleep, and he rolled his eyes, standing back up. you watched shamelessly as he effortlessly pulled the heavy umbrella so it was covering the sun kissed stoner, sighing, voice lower. “that dumbass.”
“i spray him with sunscreen every two hours. flipped him once.” you mused, taking the chance of sukuna being distracted to switch towels, sighing in relief once the warm, dry, soft towel wrapped around you. “thank you, kuna.”
“don’t mention it.” he grunted, then frowned once he registered your words, “you rub sunscreen on him?”
“oh, no, it’s a spray.” you hummed, pulling it out. “isn’t it cool?”
he glanced at the spray bottle, shoulders slowly relaxing. “mhm. it is. can you spray me?”
you nodded, moving to stand up, immediately stumbling in the towel. firm fingers immediately steadied you, and you deeply hoped he couldn’t feel the warmth radiating off you from being flustered as he slowly let go.
you slowly sprayed him, the sunscreen leaving a shiny coat that made him look even more beautiful. after making sure every part of him was covered, you slowly sat back down. “try to rub it to make sure it’s even.”
he hummed, eyes shut, slowly spreading it out, spreading it out on his tan skin.
what a fucking sight, really. he was so, unbelievably gorgeous. you were so fucked.
“…you went early, huh?”
“…yeah.” you mumbled, eyes still on him, hoping he keeps his eyes closed.
“tell me next time. ‘ll go with you.” he sighed. “these idiots always come when it’s already too cold.”
you nodded slowly as he finally finished, slumping next to you on the little beach mat gojo had gotten, so close that his thigh was pretty to your covered figure. he frowned. “your lips are pale. still cold?”
you grimaced. “‘ll be okay. thank you for the towel—“
he sighed, an arm wrapping around your shoulder before he was pulling you towards him. you missed the way his body relaxed, lips twitching into a repressed grin, the face of a man finally achieving one of his long lost goals.
holy fuck. you were pressed to his side, his body oozing warmth. he smelled great, and you could feel his muscles every time he shifted. as you stared ahead, trying to pretend like you weren’t malfunctioning, your eyes landed on shoko, gojo and geto staring back at you guys from the water, jaws slack.
well. at least it wasn’t you this time.
5. studying.
as much as it seemed otherwise, studying with gojo actually helped you. you both kept each other in check— you stopped him whenever he started yapping, and he distracted you whenever you were spiraling. you both were a team when studying— having been one since the first semester, when you both met.
during breaks, however, was when you really liked studying with gojo. you both sat with thirteen expensive pastries in front of you, gojo’s treat, and he grinned excitedly. “oh, this will be so good. you go first.”
“you don’t have to tell me twice.” you mumbled, picking one up. you immediately moaned in delight, holding the rest to gojo, who reached over and took the rest from between your fingers. “fuck. this is so good.”
gojo let out an even louder moan. you both ignored the disgusted glares from the people around you, happily chewing. “oh, these are fucking godsent. thank you for being my taste buddy.”
“thank you,” you mumbled, grabbing another one. “you’re the one spoiling me with these. you’re, like, my dream man right now.”
gojo let out a loud laugh, before pausing, shivering in horror at whatever he imagined. “do not let sukuna hear you saying that. he’ll have my head.”
“why would he have your head for that?” you mumbled, mouthful, and distracted by the heavenly taste of these. you weren’t even a fan of pasteries, but these were on another level. you tried another, and immediately groaned. “fuck. try this one.”
you immediately extended your hand out to gojo. he, as usual, ate half of it off your fingers instead, and dramatically melted in his seat. “ten out of ten. perfect. stunning. i will marry whoever made these.” he swallowed, and quickly ate the rest off your fingers to. “and he will because he’s, like, in love with you.”
“you flipping liar.” you mumbled, unamused with the obvious fake news. “he doesn’t. he’s just a good friend.”
“he’s not a good friend,” gojo snorted. “he almost shoved my head into the toilet bowl yesterday because he was bored. he likes you.”
you did not believe him the slightest. “uh-huh. wanna try the red one?”
“yes, please.”
later that night, you were curled up in bed— going over everything you had studied earlier to lock the information into your mind. the groupchat was blowing up after choso was caught kissing someone (you already knew the news. choso blurted about his ‘secret’ crush to you before when he was high, and forgot.) and you just shot back a sticker laughing, said you were studying and you needed more caffeine to deal with this, and shut your phone off completely.
you really needed caffeine.
everytime you shut your eyes, all you can see is a cold, cup of your favorite coffee from your favorite shop. the condensation running down, the inviting taste, everything—
fuck. you needed one so bad. you frowned, turning your phone on to glance at the time, and paused when a notification stood out from between the ones on the groupchat.
sukuna: pick u up for coffee in five?
you stared at the message, then slowly glanced down at the sweatpants and oversized hoodie you were in, your hair messy, broken glasses on because you were too lazy to get these specific ones fixed and you lost the other, before sighing. you needed caffeine too bad to worry about how you looked in front of him right now.
you: please :c
a car honked downstairs a few minutes. you quickly grabbed your wallet and your half-dead phone, rushing downstairs, grabbing an oversized jacket on the way so you could tug it on top of your thick hoodie, grimacing at how much of a mess you looked. you slid into the passenger seat, and sukuna only stared at you, eyes slowly taking in your appearance, lips softly pulling up.
“don’t say anything.” you immediately mumbled. his smirk widened, but he didn’t speak, immediately resuming to drive, eyes ahead. “‘m so sleepy.”
“uh-huh. let’s get some caffeine in you.” he murmured, turning more serious. “don’t overwork yourself tonight. did you have dinner?”
you nodded, ignoring how your heart felt like it was twirling in your chest. “i did. ate and drank and slept well.”
he hummed. “good.”
in the coffee shop, he got the same as you, paying despite your complaints. once the drinks were out, he grabbed both, wrapping yours in tissues to keep your fingers from being cold before handing it over, humming.
you were looking over notes in your phone, too tired to register his actions. you only quietly took the cup, immediately sipping, shoulders slowly rolling down, tense muscles relaxing. “thank you, kuna.”
he clicked his tongue. “don’t mention it.”
in the car, you focused on sipping the coffee, and he cleared his throat. “gojo said you two were on a study date this morning. pastries and shit. said you called him your dream man.”
you snorted. sukuna glanced over, utterly unamused, almost pouting. “i love gojo.”
his lips immediately formed a scowl. “you love him?”
“not like that,” you snorted. “he’s just… he was the first person who was nice to me in university, you know. the first person who made sure i never felt like a burden. he means a lot to me, platonically.”
he was silent for a while, then nodded, pulling up in front of your building. “good. you deserve to never feel like a burden. you… mean a lot to me.”
was he trying to kill you? you immediately shuffled out, heart beating like it was trying to escape your chest, cheeks burning. “you mean a lot to me too, kuna. um, goodnight. thank you for picking me up.”
“don’t mention it, angel.”
+1.
against your will, you were dragged to a party.
you would have been enthusiastic, really, if finals hadn’t just ended— leaving you too sleep deprived that you couldn’t even walk straight. gojo had came over to force you out and picked your outfit out for you, keeping in mind your pleads for it to be something warm, and you ended up in the passenger seat of his car, asleep soundly, vaguely aware of his whining about you needing to be awake as he drove you there.
you could only remember little snippets between your tiny naps, really.
gojo having his arm around you as he dragged you in.
you slumping down beside choso, immediately falling asleep on his shoulder.
sukuna crouching down in front of you, concerned, eyes worried.
sukuna covering you with a blanket.
sukuna sitting beside you, pulling your head into his shoulder instead.
geto replacing choso. you shifting, head falling into his shoulder because he was warmer.
sukuna immediately pulling you back towards him, an arm falling around your waist to keep you close, bickering with geto.
after that, you drifted into deep sleep— the kind that only came after a week straight of pulling all nighters. and, when you woke up again, you were wrapped in a blanket, on the roof, on a tiny couch with your head on sukuna’s lap and a cigarette between his lips.
the second he registered you awake, he pushed the cigarette into the ashtray, eyes soft, fingers on your shoulders to help you sit up. “you okay, angel?”
“mhm. sleepy.” you mumbled, blinking slowly, still half asleep. you yawned, rubbing your eyes. “thank you for watching over me, kuna. you’re, like, my angel.”
“…don’t mention it.” he whispered— although, it sounded more like a pained whimper. “i… yeah. don’t mention it.”
it was silent for a few minutes. you both stared up at the sky, lost in thought, before sukuna cleared his throat.
“…the stars are pretty.”
“mhm.”
he paused, before speaking again. his voice was low, soft, but it was laced with quiet frustration that you could tell wasn’t pointed at you. “we’re, uh, done with the semester.”
“…mhm.”
he clicked his tongue, and sat up, like he’s restarting. “…we’re good friends.”
“we are.” you mumbled, still dazed from your delicious, needed nap. he let out a small groan, face buried into his palm.
“fuck.”
“…kuna?” you murmured, voice soft, sleepy. his eyes finally flickered up, frustrated and almost disappointed in himself, and you only gave him a small, sleepy smile. “i like you too.”
and finally, it was his turn for his jaw to go slack, eyes widening, before he turned to you quickly. “you’re not fucking with me, right? you like me?”
you nodded, sleepy, but focused. “i like you.”
he didn’t hesitate before dropping to his knees in front of you, eyes soft and almost pathetic. “say that again. please.”
“i like you, kuna.” you repeated, quieter, softer, more serious.
he let his head drop, face pressed against the blanket covering your thighs briefly, voice muffled when he spoke. “…you have no idea how many years i have been dying to hear this, angel. fuck.” when he lifted his head back up, his red eyes were almost glossy. “‘m marrying the fuck out of you one day.”
that managed a sleepy laugh out of you. “take me on a date first, at least. we haven’t even kissed yet.”
his eyes lit up at the mere thought— before you watched him visibly holding himself back, trying to appear more relaxed, probably to not scare you off, despite his reddening ears at the idea. “right. dates. i will date you so fucking good, i promise, you will never think of anyone but me again. not even that stupid barista who clearly wants you so bad. only me.” he nodded, serious, scowling, before his eyes softened again. “best dates of your life. where do you want to go? dinner? coffee? aquarium? your little movie night routine at my place? do you want me to make it a surprise? i will be the best boyfriend— wait, fuck, not that yet—“
you reached over, softly pressing your lips to his,
he froze, eyes probably wide, then immediately melted the second your fingers gently cupped his face to pull him closer, letting out a soft, little sound into the kiss that had his face flushing further.
once you pulled away, your eyes met his dazed ones, and he slowly sucked in a deep breath. “….fuck.”
“dinner sounds good.” you whispered back, thumb brushing over his bottom lip, and he shut his eyes, as if it took visible effort not to groan. “next week?”
“you think ‘ll make it to next week?” he let out a sharp laugh. “you have me fucking kneeling for you, angel. tomorrow. 8. please.”
“okay.” you murmured, voice soft. “now, come back up, i will want to continue napping on you.”
cw: explicit, creampie, fucking your boyfriend’s best friend.
You’re straddling Sukuna on his oversized couch, riding his thick cock balls-deep inside you as you ride him. His large hands grip your ass, guiding you up and down his massive length while your tits bounce with every roll of your hips. Sukuna’s tattoos flex as he leans back, crimson eyes locked on your bouncing tits and the fucked out look on you.
“Shit—you’re tight as hell,” he growls, thrusting up to meet you. You were both definitely burning in hell for this because…
your phone suddenly vibrates on the cushion beside you. The screen flashes Toji<3. Your boyfriend. And the cock you were currently fucking youself on? Your boyfriend's best friends’.
Stupid ass reflex takes over as you snatch it up and answer before you realize what you’ve done. “H-hey,” you say, voice shaky and far too breathy.
Sukuna’s eyes snap wide open as his hands freeze on your hips, cock twitching violently inside you. A rare flush creeps up his neck and cheeks as he stares at you in pure disbelief. He mouths “Are you fucking stupid?” but his hips give a small, involuntary buck upward, pushing his cock deeper.
Toji’s deep, gruff voice comes through the line. “Hey, baby. You still over at Kuna’s? How’s it goin’?”
Sukuna looks genuinely flustered for once and tries to stay still, but his cock is throbbing so hard inside your soaked pussy that he can’t help but give another slow thrust. You bite your lip hard. “Y-yeah… we’re just hanging out. I—ah—miss you.”
“Good. Put that bastard on the phone for a sec. Wanna ask him somethin’.”
Your stomach drops as Ryomen looks so regretful he didn’t grab your phone before you did and above it all, he doesn’t pull out. Instead, he sits up slightly, wrapping one arm around your waist to hold you flush against him as he takes the phone. His cock stays buried deep inside your sopping pussy. Sukuna clears his throat, his voice strained, “What do you want, Fushiguro?”
Toji sounds casual as ever. “Just checkin’ in. You takin’ care of my girl? She eat yet? She gets hangry if you don’t feed her.” Sukuna’s grip on your ass tightens almost painfully as he starts fucking you again harder. You bury your face in his shoulder to muffle your whimper, pussy clenching hard around him.
“Yeah… she’s being well taken care of,” Sukuna says as he punctuates the words with a sharper thrust, making your breath hitch. “Real full right now.” He continues as he starts bouncing you on his cock with more force.
Toji laughs. “Good. Don’t let her walk all over you. She can be a handful. You two watching the fight highlights I told you about?” Sukuna’s breathing is getting ragged. He fucks you harder, one hand sliding up to pinch your nipple while he holds the phone with the other. “Mmm… yeah. Intense shit,” he grunts, the last word rough as your walls flutter around his thick cock. “She’s really into it.”
You’re shaking, biting down on his shoulder to stay quiet, “Alright, I’ll leave you two to it,” Toji says eventually. “Tell her I’ll pick her up later. Thanks for keepin’ her company, man.”
“No problem,” Sukuna replies, teeth clenched as he slams you down onto his cock particularly hard. “Anytime.” The second you hang up, Sukuna tosses the phone aside and flips you onto your back in one rough motion. He looms over you, flushed and visibly pissed off at how turned on he is.
“You fucking idiot,” he snarls, sliding his cock through your wet slicked pussy from clit to teasing you with the tip. “Answering the damn phone while my cock’s inside you—”
You moan loud now that you can, nails raking down his back. “Couldn’t help it—fuck, Kuna—c’mon put it inside—”
His tattoos ripple across his chest and shoulders with every heavy breath, “You couldn’t help it?” he repeats, “Reflex, huh? Stupid fuckin’ reflex got my best friend’s voice in my ear while your pussy was creaming all over my cock.”
He slaps your pussy once with his cock before pushing in slow making you feel every thick girthy part of him. He pins your wrists above your head with one massive hand, leaning down so his mouth brushes your ear. “You almost got us caught, you really want that? Think Toji wants a video? Should we send him one, hm?”
He releases your wrists so he can grab your thighs, folding you nearly in half as he drives into you harder. You try to keep a straight voice but end up moaning your answer. “Oh don’t act so holier than thou, you—hnngh—manwhore. Fucking y-your best friends girlfriend? Best friend award of the century goes to—s-shit, right there, Ryo.”
He laughs as he folds you deeper, your knees nearly touching your shoulders. His massive body pins you down, cock spearing into you. “Manwhore?” He repeats mockingly, “Yeah? Says the slut who answered her boyfriend’s call with my dick stuffed inside her. Could’ve hung up. Could’ve ignored it. But no—you picked up like a good little girlfriend while your pussy was dripping down my balls.”
You cry out, “F-fuck—Ryo—!”, your small hands grabbing onto his muscles flexing as he uses you. He leans down, biting your neck hard enough to leave a mark before licking over it. “Toji’s gonna pick you up soon… and you’re gonna be limping, cunt swollen and full of my cum. Think he’ll notice?”
The dirty thought makes you clench violently around him. Sukuna groans, eyes rolling back for a second before he doubles down, pounding you hard. Sweat beads on his skin, his normally composed face twisted with pleasure. You nearly scream, pussy gushing around his thrusting cock as your whole body spasms while you cum. Sukuna doesn’t slow down, fucking you straight through it with wet thrusts until your eyes are watering. “Shit—yeah, you like that idea, don’t you?”
You try to look away from him, turning your head but he grips your chin forcing you to. “Oh-h, shut up, Ryo. Just-t fuck me harder,” you whimper, tears of overwhelming pleasure slipping from the corners of your eyes.
He slams into you harder, faster, as your juices coat his shaft and drip down to his balls. Thick, hot spurts flood deep inside you, pulse after pulse until it’s leaking out around his cock.
He grinds deep through it, making sure every drop stays plugged inside you. He stays buried deep as you both pant, “Answering the phone with my dick balls-deep in you like it’s nothing. Reflex my ass. You wanted him to hear how well I’m taking care of this pussy.”
He finally pulls out with a wet sound before slapping your ass, “Now go clean up before your boyfriend shows up and I have to pretend I didn’t just rail his girl again.”
a/n: I NEED KUNAAAAA also I would so do this to get back at toji for doin something shitty hehe
synopsis: You ran from your arranged marriage in a torn white wedding dress, desperate to escape the cruel lord your family sold you to. By midnight, you’re on your knees in front of the village butcher, begging for shelter.
Toji Fushiguro doesn’t help runaways.
But when you blurt out that he’s your husband in front of the biggest gossips in town, suddenly the whole village believes you’re his. Now you’re trapped in a fake marriage with the terrifying butcher — a massive, rough, possessive man who has decided that if you’re going to call yourself his wife… he’s going to make it very, very real.
pairing: butcher!toji fushiguro x runaway bride!reader
mdni | warnings: smut, first time, size kink, breeding kink, creampie, cum play, rough sex, possessive/jealous Toji, dirty talk, spanking, manhandling, strength kink, overstimulation, oral (f receiving), fingering, spitting, multiple orgasms, multiple positions, fake marriage
word count: 14.8k
a/n: im kinda obsessed with this ngl... also lmk if your enjoying these longer fics!
The great hall of your family estate felt more like a tomb than a place of celebration.
Thick beams of dark oak loomed overhead, and the air was heavy with the greasy smell of over-roasted venison, spilled sour wine, and your father’s desperation. Two massive iron chandeliers flickered with dying candles, casting long, distorted shadows that danced across the walls. Servants had long since been dismissed, leaving only the three of you: your father, Lord Kato, and you — the silent prize being traded away.
Your father slumped in his carved high-backed chair, cheeks bloated and flushed deep red from too much drink. His once-fine tunic was stained with grease and wine. With a trembling hand, he slid the sealed parchment across the table. The wax bore your family’s broken crest.
“She’s untouched,” he slurred, trying and failing to sound proud. “Barely nineteen summers. Fertile. She’ll give you strong sons, I swear it. Obedient when properly disciplined. This marriage settles every debt between our houses — the gold, the eastern lands, the failed harvests… all of it wiped clean.”
Lord Kato sat across from him like a spider in human skin. Tall and unnaturally pale, with sharp cheekbones and eyes the color of frozen ink. His lips curled into a thin, cruel smile as he let his gaze crawl over your body without shame. He studied the swell of your breasts beneath your gown, the narrow dip of your waist, the way your hands clenched into fists at your sides. The way you trembled.
He took a slow sip of wine, then spoke, voice smooth and cold as winter steel.
“She’ll do nicely. The ceremony will take place tomorrow night at my estate. I expect her delivered in the finest white lace and silk… and nothing beneath it.” His smile widened, revealing teeth that seemed too sharp. “I want easy access the moment the guests leave. I’ve waited long enough for my new bride.”
You stood motionless in the center of the hall, heart pounding so violently you could hear it in your ears. Your skin crawled as if his eyes were already peeling the gown from your body. Nausea twisted in your stomach. This man had already buried three wives. Whispers spoke of bruises, broken bones, and screams that echoed through his halls at night. And now your own father was selling you to him for coin and land.
No one asked if you agreed.
No one asked what you wanted.
No one ever had.
You kept your face blank, eyes lowered like the obedient daughter they expected, while inside your mind screamed.
Later that night, when the household finally fell into drunken slumber and the torches burned low, you moved.
You had planned this in secret for weeks. A plain dark wool cloak stolen from the stables. A small bundle of hard bread, dried cheese, and a waterskin. Soft leather shoes you hoped would last. But the most valuable thing you owned was the wedding gown itself. You had decided to wear the half-finished white dress during your escape — the expensive satin and delicate lace might fetch enough coins in a distant village to buy you passage far away from here. It was risky, but you had nothing else of real value.
You slipped out through the narrow servant’s entrance at the back of the kitchens, the heavy door groaning softly behind you like a warning. The moment your feet touched the cold, dew-soaked grass, terror and fragile hope surged through you in equal measure.
You ran.
The forest swallowed you whole.
Ancient trees loomed like silent judges, their branches clawing at your white gown as if trying to drag you back. The delicate satin — still only half-finished, with pins and loose threads — snagged mercilessly on thorns. You heard fabric tearing again and again: sharp rips that sounded far too loud in the darkness. The long lace veil caught on a low limb and nearly yanked you off your feet; you tore it free with shaking hands, leaving half of it fluttering behind you like a surrendered flag. Mud and wet leaves caked your bare feet. Sharp stones and roots sliced into your soles until every step left bloody prints in the dirt. The cold night air burned your lungs. Sweat soaked your back and chest despite the chill, making the torn gown cling obscenely to your skin. Your legs screamed with exhaustion after only an hour, but fear kept you moving. Behind you, distant shouts echoed through the trees — your father’s guards, torches flickering like angry fireflies. Dogs barked. They were coming.
You pushed harder.
Branches whipped your face, leaving stinging cuts across your cheeks. Your hair fell loose from its elegant pins, wild and tangled. Tears streamed down your face, mixing with blood and dirt. Every shadow looked like a man ready to grab you. Every snap of a twig made your heart seize. You ran until your vision blurred and your chest felt like it would burst. You ran until the shouts grew fainter and the trees finally began to thin.
Hours had passed. The moon hung high and merciless overhead, bathing the world in cold silver light. Your legs trembled violently as you stumbled out of the treeline onto a wide, muddy road. In the distance, warm golden lantern light glowed between clusters of simple wooden buildings. A village.
You nearly collapsed with relief.
The main street was deserted, shutters closed tight against the night. Only one building still showed signs of life. Warm light spilled from its open front door onto the dirt road, carrying with it the thick, metallic scent of fresh blood and raw meat. A weathered wooden sign creaked overhead in the cold breeze:
Fushiguro Meat Co.
You limped toward it, every cut and bruise screaming.
A massive man stood under the wooden awning, illuminated by the lantern light. He was enormous — broad as a barn door, easily over six feet tall, with shoulders and arms so thick with muscle they looked carved from stone. He wore a blood-streaked leather apron tied low on his narrow hips. Beneath it, a simple white tank clung to his sweat-slicked chest, the thin fabric molded to heavy slabs of muscle and dark, scattered scars. His black hair was damp and messy, strands falling across his forehead. A deep, jagged scar twisted the corner of his mouth, giving his face a permanent, dangerous smirk even when he wasn’t smiling.
Thick veins stood out on his forearms as he slowly wiped a long, wicked boning knife clean on the edge of his apron. The blade gleamed.
He looked like violence given human shape — raw, brutal, and utterly terrifying.
You didn’t know his name. You didn’t know anything about him except that he was the only soul still awake, and you were completely out of options.
Your legs gave out the final few steps. You dropped hard to your knees in the cold dirt right in front of him, the torn white satin of your ruined wedding gown pooling around you like spilled milk mixed with blood and mud. Your chest heaved. Fresh tears cut clean tracks down your filthy cheeks.
“Please—” Your voice came out cracked and hoarse, barely more than a whisper. “Hide me. Just for one night. My family… they sold me to Lord Kato to settle their debts. He’s going to break me. Hurt me in ways I can’t even speak of. I’ll do anything you ask — scrub floors until my hands bleed, haul carcasses, sleep in the cold room with the meat, be your servant, your cleaner… anything. Just please… don’t let them take me back.”
You bowed your head, trembling, and clutched desperately at the bloody hem of his apron with both hands, staining your fingers red.
The man stopped moving. He looked down at you slowly, sharp green eyes narrowing as they took in every detail: your torn and filthy wedding dress, the cuts on your face and feet, the desperate tears, the way you knelt before him like a supplicant before a god of slaughter.
He flicked the long knife shut with a loud, metallic click that echoed in the quiet street.
“Not my problem, princess,” he rumbled. His voice was deep, low, and rough — like gravel being dragged across stone. There was no pity in it. “I don’t hide runaways. Go beg somewhere else before you bring trouble to my shop.”
You stayed on your knees, fingers still twisted tight in the bloody hem of his apron. Tears kept falling, mixing with the dirt on your cheeks. “Please… I have nowhere else. They’ll find me by morning. Lord Kato will—”
Footsteps. Soft, quick, coming from the narrow alley beside the butcher shop.
Three women emerged into the lantern light, their shawls pulled tight against the night chill, each carrying a small lantern. They stopped short at the sight of you kneeling in your ruined white gown in front of the massive butcher.
“Gods above,” the tallest one gasped. “Is that a wedding dress? Child, what in the world happened to you?”
The women hurried closer, lanterns swinging. Warm golden light spilled over your torn satin, the mud-caked hem, the blood from his apron smeared across your bodice and hands. One of the younger women pressed a hand to her mouth. “She’s bleeding… and look at her feet!”
You looked down at yourself — the once-beautiful dress now filthy and shredded — then up at the stranger towering over you. His green eyes were narrowed in clear irritation, jaw clenched like he was seconds away from shoving you into the street and bolting the door.
A wild, desperate plan came to your mind.
You pushed yourself up on shaky legs, ignoring the sharp pain in your cut feet. Before he could step away, you grabbed his large, calloused hand with both of yours, clinging desperately. His palm was warm, rough, and still faintly sticky with dried blood.
Turning to the three women with the most exhausted yet radiant smile you could force, you announced clearly:
“This is my husband.”
The words rang in the quiet night air.
The women froze.
You kept going, voice trembling but determined. “We were married in secret this evening. My family didn’t approve — they tried to sell me off to a cruel lord to settle their debts. So I ran away through the forest to reach him. The dress… it got ruined on the way, but I’m here now. I’m exactly where I belong.”
Silence stretched for a heartbeat.
Then the women erupted.
“The butcher got married?!” the tallest one exclaimed, eyes wide. “Toji Fushiguro actually took a wife? I never thought I’d live to see the day!”
One of the younger women clapped her hands together, beaming. “Look at her, even all torn up she’s lovely! Brave thing, running through the woods in the middle of the night just to get to her husband.”
The third woman laughed warmly. “We’ll bring fresh bread and some stew first thing in the morning for you newlyweds. Can’t have Toji’s new wife going hungry on her first day here!”
Toji.
So that was his name. Toji Fushiguro.
You felt the man — Toji — stiffen beside you. His massive hand twitched hard in your grip, muscles flexing like he was fighting the urge to rip free and deny everything. His sharp green eyes burned into the side of your face, dark with fury and silent threat. But the women were watching excitedly. The whole village would know the story by sunrise if he contradicted you now.
You squeezed his hand tighter, nails digging into his skin in a silent, desperate plea. Please. Just play along.
Toji’s scarred jaw flexed. A low, dangerous growl rumbled deep in his chest. For one terrifying second you thought he might expose you.
Then, in the flattest, most reluctant voice you had ever heard, he grunted:
“…Yeah. She’s mine now. Wife.”
The women squealed with delight. They offered more congratulations, promised gifts for the “newlyweds,” and finally bustled away down the dark street, lanterns bobbing and their voices already carrying the juicy news.
The moment their footsteps faded, Toji’s grip turned bruising. He yanked you forward so hard you stumbled against his broad, solid chest, then dragged you roughly through the open door of the butcher shop. The heavy oak door slammed shut behind you with a resounding thud that rattled the walls.
Inside, the air was thick and heavy — cold iron, raw meat, woodsmoke, and the faint metallic tang of fresh blood. A single lantern burned low on the wooden counter, casting long, flickering shadows over heavy chopping blocks, hanging meat hooks, and rows of sharp knives.
Toji spun you around and shoved your back against the closed door. One thick, powerful forearm braced beside your head, completely caging you in. His massive body loomed over yours, heat rolling off him in waves. The scent of blood, sweat, and raw masculinity filled your lungs.
His green eyes were dark with fury… and something much darker, much hungrier.
“What the fuck was that?” he snarled, voice low and lethal. “You just told half the goddamn village you’re my wife. You got any idea what you’ve done, little runaway?”
Your heart slammed against your ribs. You could feel the hard press of his chest against yours, the sheer size of him making you feel tiny and trapped.
“It was the only way,” you whispered, breathing fast. “They would’ve dragged me back to Lord Kato by morning if they knew the truth. Now they think I belong to you. No one will question it. Please… just let me stay the night. I’ll disappear at dawn, I swear it.”
Toji stared down at you for a long, heavy moment. His scarred mouth twisted into a slow, dangerous smirk. His free hand came up and gripped your chin firmly, tilting your face up so you had no choice but to meet his intense green eyes.
“Disappear?” he growled, thumb pressing hard into your jaw. “Too late for that, princess. You just tied yourself to me in front of witnesses.”
He leaned in closer, so close his breath ghosted hot across your lips. His voice dropped even lower, rough and full of promise.
“You owe me now. Big time.”
His gaze dragged slowly down your body — over the torn white lace barely clinging to your curves, the bloodstains, the way your chest heaved with fear and adrenaline. He just held you there, pinned against the door, letting the heavy tension coil tighter and tighter between you.
“Upstairs,” he finally ordered, voice like gravel. “Now. We’re gonna have a long talk about what you just got yourself into.”
Toji didn’t give you time to argue.
His massive hand clamped around your upper arm like a steel band and he hauled you away from the door. You stumbled after him on aching, bleeding feet as he dragged you through the back of the shop. The scent of raw meat grew thicker near the cold room, but he turned toward a narrow wooden staircase tucked behind a heavy curtain.
“Move,” he growled when you hesitated at the bottom step.
You climbed. Each step sent fresh pain shooting up your legs, but you bit your lip and kept going. Toji followed close behind, his heavy boots loud on the old wood, one hand still gripping your arm so you couldn’t possibly run.
The stairs opened directly into a small, sparse apartment above the butcher shop. It was surprisingly clean for a man who spent his days covered in blood. A single main room served as both living space and kitchen — a sturdy wooden table with two chairs, a stone hearth with dying embers, a few shelves holding jars of preserved meat and dried herbs. A narrow hallway led to what you assumed were the bedroom and washroom. Moonlight spilled through two small windows, painting everything in cool silver.
Toji kicked the door at the top of the stairs shut behind him and finally released your arm. You immediately backed up a few steps, the torn hem of your wedding dress whispering across the floorboards.
He folded his thick arms across his broad chest, blood-stained apron still tied around his waist, and stared at you like you were a problem he was deciding how to carve up.
“Start talking,” he said flatly. “And don’t leave anything out. Who the fuck are you, why is a lord hunting you, and why the hell did you decide to drag me into your mess?”
You swallowed hard, still catching your breath. You introduced yourself by name, then continued quietly, “My family is in debt. Deep debt. They sold me to Lord Kato yesterday to settle it. He’s a cruel man. Three wives before me, and none of them lasted long. He told my father in front of me what he plans to do on our wedding night.” Your voice cracked. “I couldn’t stay. I ran in the only thing of value I had — this dress. I thought maybe I could sell it in a village for enough coin to disappear.”
Toji’s green eyes flicked over the ruined white lace clinging to your body — torn, muddy, bloodstained. He let out a low, humorless snort.
“And instead of keeping your mouth shut and hiding somewhere quiet, you decided the best plan was to announce to the biggest gossips in the village that you’re married to the local butcher.” He took one heavy step closer. “You realize what you’ve done?”
You nodded quickly. “They won’t hand me over now. Not if they think I belong to you. The whole village will protect the butcher’s wife… right?”
Toji laughed — a short, dark sound that sent a shiver down your spine.
“Protect?” He shook his head. “You just painted a target on my back too, princess. Lord Kato isn’t the type to let his property run off. When he comes looking — and he will come looking — he’s going to hear all about how the village butcher stole his bride.”
He dragged a large hand down his face, clearly pissed off, but there was something else in his expression now. A glint of dark amusement. Maybe even reluctant interest.
“You’re either the bravest idiot I’ve ever met… or the most cunning.”
You stood there trembling in the middle of his living room, arms wrapped around yourself. The torn bodice of the dress had slipped dangerously low on your shoulders, but you didn’t dare fix it.
“I’ll leave at first light,” you promised again, softer this time. “I won’t cause you any more trouble. Just… let me stay until sunrise. Please, Toji.”
Hearing his name from your lips made his eyes narrow.
“Don’t,” he warned. “You don’t get to say my name like we’re actually married.”
He turned away from you and walked over to the small hearth. He crouched down, added two fresh logs, and stoked the fire back to life with practiced efficiency. The warm orange glow slowly filled the room, chasing away some of the chill.
When he stood again, he looked even bigger in the firelight — shoulders impossibly wide, muscles shifting under the thin tank top, the scar at his mouth pulling as he scowled.
“Sit,” he ordered, nodding toward one of the wooden chairs at the table. “You’re bleeding all over my floor.”
You obeyed, lowering yourself carefully onto the chair. The moment you sat, exhaustion crashed into you like a wave. Your feet throbbed. Every cut and bruise ached. You were filthy, terrified, and running on nothing but fear and adrenaline.
Toji disappeared down the short hallway and returned a minute later with a metal basin, a clean rag, and a small jar. He set the basin on the floor in front of you, then dropped into the chair across the table, watching you with those sharp green eyes.
“Clean your feet,” he said gruffly. “I’m not carrying you around if they get infected.”
You dipped the rag into the water and started wiping away the mud and blood as carefully as you could. The silence stretched between you, thick and heavy. The fire crackled. Outside, the village was completely quiet.
Toji leaned back in his chair, arms crossed again, studying you like livestock.
“You really think this marriage story is gonna hold?” he asked after a long minute. “Village folk love to talk. By noon tomorrow everyone’s gonna want to meet my mysterious bride.”
You kept your eyes on your injured feet. “I just need a day or two to figure out where to go next. I can… I can work. I’m not useless. I can clean, cook, help in the shop—”
Toji’s low chuckle cut you off.
“You? Working in a butcher shop?” He shook his head. “You look like you’ve never touched anything bloodier than a sewing needle in your life.”
He watched you struggle to clean a deep cut on your sole for another moment before he made an irritated sound and leaned forward.
“Give me your foot.”
You hesitated.
“Now,” he growled.
You slowly lifted your leg. Toji took your ankle in his huge, rough hand — surprisingly gentle despite the calluses and dried blood on his fingers. He pulled the basin closer and started cleaning your wounds himself with careful, efficient movements.
The contrast was jarring: this terrifying mountain of a man, covered in someone else’s blood, carefully tending to your torn-up feet.
“You’re staying the night,” he said quietly, not looking up from his work. “Not because I’m kind. Because if I throw you out now, those three hens will ask questions I don’t feel like answering. Tomorrow we figure out what the hell to do with you.”
He finished cleaning one foot and moved to the other. His thumb brushed accidentally over a sensitive spot and you hissed softly.
Toji’s eyes flicked up to your face for a second, something unreadable flashing across his expression.
“After that…” He set your foot down carefully and leaned back again, voice dropping into a low, dangerous rumble. “You’re gonna start paying off the trouble you just caused me.”
He didn’t explain what that meant.
But the way he was looking at you — slow, heavy, possessive — made heat crawl up your neck despite the fear.
Toji held your gaze for another long moment before he finally released your ankle. He pushed the basin aside with his boot and stood, towering over you once more. The firelight danced across the hard lines of his face, catching on the jagged scar at the corner of his mouth.
“Stay there,” he muttered.
He disappeared into the back room again. You heard the sound of water splashing, then heavy footsteps returning. When he came back, he carried a thick wool blanket and a tin cup. He set the cup in front of you — it was filled with cool water — and dropped the blanket over the back of your chair.
“Drink,” he ordered. “You look half-dead.”
You obeyed without thinking, your hands still trembling slightly as you lifted the cup. The water was clean and cold, soothing your raw throat. Toji watched you drink the entire thing, arms crossed, before he spoke again.
You lowered the empty cup. “Thank you… for the water. And for cleaning my feet.”
He made a dismissive sound in the back of his throat, like thanks made him uncomfortable. Then he leaned against the edge of the table, close enough that his thigh nearly brushed your arm.
“You really thought this through?” he asked, voice low. “Running in a fancy white dress, announcing yourself as my wife in front of the nosiest women in the village… What’s your actual plan once the sun comes up?”
You stared down at your bandaged feet. “I didn’t have time for a real plan. I just knew I couldn’t let them marry me off to that monster. I thought if I could get far enough away, maybe sell the dress, I could buy passage on a cart or a boat. Start over somewhere no one knows me.”
Toji exhaled through his nose, almost a laugh but darker. “Selling that dress would’ve gotten you robbed or worse before you even reached the next town. You’re lucky you only made it as far as my doorstep.”
Silence settled again, broken only by the crackling fire. You pulled the blanket tighter around your shoulders, suddenly aware of how exposed you still were — the torn bodice of the wedding gown hanging loosely, the lace ripped in several places, dirt and dried blood streaked across your skin.
Toji’s eyes drifted over you again, slower this time. They lingered on the curve of your shoulder where the dress had slipped, the rise and fall of your chest, the way the white fabric clung to your thighs.
“You look ridiculous,” he said bluntly. “Like a bride who lost a fight with a pack of wolves.”
Despite everything, a tiny, tired smile tugged at your lips. “That’s… not far from the truth.”
He pushed off the table and walked over to a wooden chest in the corner. He rummaged inside and pulled out a large, worn linen shirt — clearly one of his. It looked big enough to reach your knees.
“Here.” He tossed it to you. “Can’t have you walking around my place looking like that. Change. There’s a washroom down the hall if you want to clean up more.”
You clutched the shirt to your chest. “Thank you.”
“Don’t thank me yet,” he warned. “You’re still in my house. Still wearing that damn dress that’s going to bring trouble to my door.”
He turned his back to give you a moment of privacy, busying himself by adding another log to the fire. You quickly stood, wincing at the pain in your feet, and slipped behind the partial wall that separated the washroom. You peeled off the ruined wedding dress with shaking hands, letting the torn fabric pool at your feet. The cool air kissed your bare skin as you pulled Toji’s shirt over your head. It smelled faintly of smoke, soap, and something unmistakably masculine. The hem fell halfway down your thighs.
When you stepped back out, Toji turned around. His eyes darkened the moment they landed on you in his shirt.
“Better,” he grunted, though his voice sounded rougher than before.
He gestured toward the narrow hallway. “Bedroom’s at the end. Only one bed. You take it tonight. I’ll sleep out here.”
You hesitated. “I can sleep on the floor. I’ve already caused enough—”
“Don’t argue,” he cut you off. “My house, my rules. Get some sleep. You look like you’re about to fall over.”
You walked carefully down the short hall, every step still painful. The bedroom was small and simple like the rest of the apartment — a large wooden bed with thick blankets, a single chair, and a window overlooking the dark village street. You climbed onto the bed, pulling the covers over yourself.
Toji appeared in the doorway a minute later, leaning one broad shoulder against the frame. The firelight from the main room silhouetted his massive form.
“Door stays open,” he said. “And don’t even think about sneaking out in the middle of the night. If I have to chase you down, I won’t be in a generous mood.”
You nodded, sinking deeper into the mattress. Exhaustion was pulling at you hard now, but sleep still felt far away with him standing there watching you.
“Toji…” you whispered.
He raised an eyebrow.
“Thank you,” you said again, softer. “For not throwing me out.”
His expression didn’t soften, but something in his eyes shifted. He pushed off the doorframe and turned to leave.
“Get some sleep, runaway,” he muttered. “You’re gonna need it.”
He left the door wide open. You heard him moving around in the main room — the creak of the wooden chair as he sat down, the quiet clink of a cup. The fire continued to crackle.
You lay there in his bed, wrapped in his shirt, the weight of everything that had happened pressing down on you. The fake marriage. The village women who now believed you were his wife. Lord Kato still out there searching. And the terrifying, strangely careful butcher who had just tended to your wounds and given you his bed.
Sleep finally claimed you, but even in your dreams you could still feel the heavy weight of Toji’s gaze on your skin.
You woke to the sound of knocking.
It was loud, cheerful, and relentless — three sharp raps on the shop door downstairs, followed by muffled feminine voices. Sunlight streamed through the small bedroom window, warm and golden. For a brief, disoriented moment you forgot where you were. Then everything crashed back: the forest, the blood-stained butcher, the lie you’d told.
You sat up quickly. Toji’s oversized linen shirt had ridden up your thighs during the night. Your feet still ached, but the bandages held firm. You heard heavy footsteps downstairs, then Toji’s low, irritated growl as he opened the door.
“Morning!” a cheerful woman’s voice called up. “We brought breakfast for the newlyweds! Fresh bread, stew, and honey cakes. Don’t tell us you’re still in bed on your wedding night!”
Another woman giggled. “We’re dying to meet your bride properly!”
Toji’s heavy footsteps came up the stairs. He appeared in the bedroom doorway, looking imposing in the daylight. He wore a clean black tunic stretched tight across his chest, the same blood-stained apron tied around his waist. His hair was messy, jaw set with clear annoyance.
“They’re here,” he said flatly. “Three of them. Loaded with food.”
Your stomach twisted. “What do we do?”
Toji’s green eyes dragged over you — bare legs, wearing nothing but his shirt. Something dark flickered across his face.
“You sold us as newlyweds,” he reminded you, voice low. “So act like it. Smile. Look happy. Keep the story straight.”
He stepped closer and tugged the hem of the shirt down your thighs possessively. “There’s a spare skirt and blouse in the chest. Change. Quickly.”
You moved fast, wincing at the pain in your feet. Toji turned his back while you dressed in the simple dark green skirt and cream blouse. They were a little loose but far more practical.
When you were ready, Toji gave you one last look and jerked his head toward the stairs. “Downstairs. Remember — you’re my wife.”
The three women had already let themselves into the front of the shop. They had laid out a generous spread on the wooden counter: warm bread, a pot of hearty stew, honey cakes, and spiced cider. The moment you appeared behind Toji, their faces lit up.
“Oh, here she is!” the tallest, round-faced woman exclaimed. “Look at you, dear. Much better than last night. I’m Mrs. Sato, by the way! My husband runs the bakery just down the street.” She gestured to the other two. “This is Mira and little Hana.”
The younger women smiled warmly.
“You clean up beautifully,” Mira said. “You already have that newlywed glow!”
You felt heat rise in your cheeks. Toji’s large hand settled heavily on your lower back, warm and claiming.
“Thank you,” you said, offering a shy smile. “You’re all so kind. I’m sorry for how I looked last night… the journey through the forest was harder than I expected.”
Mrs. Sato waved her hand. “No apologies needed! Running away from a bad match to be with the man you love? It’s the most romantic thing to happen in this village in years.”
Toji grunted, his thumb slowly stroking your spine. “Wasn’t exactly planned,” he said dryly. “But here we are.”
The women laughed and chattered while you helped serve the food. They asked how you met, how long you’d been secretly courting, and whether you planned to stay in the village. You answered carefully, sticking close to the story. Toji added short, gruff confirmations, never moving far from your side.
Just as the women were gathering their empty baskets to leave, a loud, sharp knock echoed through the shop.
Knock. Knock. Knock.
This knock was different — heavy, authoritative, and impatient.
Toji’s hand tensed on your back. His expression hardened instantly.
Mrs. Sato glanced toward the door, curious. “Are you expecting more visitors already?”
Toji didn’t answer. He moved toward the door, positioning himself so his broad frame blocked most of the view inside. You stayed behind the counter, heart suddenly hammering.
He opened the door.
Two armed men stood outside, wearing the dark crimson and gold colors of Lord Kato’s household. Swords hung at their hips. Their eyes scanned the interior of the shop coldly.
“We’re searching for a missing girl,” the taller guard announced. “Runaway bride. White wedding dress. She fled the lord’s estate last night. Anyone matching that description come through here?”
The air in the shop grew thick. Mrs. Sato and the other two women turned to look at you with wide eyes, then back at the guards.
Toji’s voice was calm but ice-cold. “No one like that here.”
The second guard tried to peer past him. “Mind if we take a look inside?”
You stayed frozen behind the counter, heart hammering. Before Toji could answer, Mrs. Sato stepped forward with the confidence of someone who had gossiped through every scandal the village had ever seen.
“Oh, for heaven’s sake,” she said brightly, waving a hand. “You boys are wasting your time. That right there is Toji Fushiguro — our butcher for the last fifteen years. We’ve known him since he was a surly teenager dragging whole pigs through these doors!”
Mira immediately jumped in, nodding eagerly. “And he has a wife! They’ve been happily married for two whole years now. We were at their quiet little wedding ourselves. Very romantic.”
Hana clapped her hands together dramatically. “Yes! They’re the sweetest couple. Toji can barely keep his hands off her even when he’s covered in blood. Always canoodling right outside the shop like they’re still courting!”
Mrs. Sato leaned toward the guards like she was sharing precious village lore. “Honestly, if some runaway noble girl in a fancy white dress had shown up here last night, the entire village would’ve known before sunrise. This dear girl has been living above the shop for ages. Helps Toji with the accounts and everything. She’s no fugitive — she’s the butcher’s wife, plain and simple.”
Toji finally moved. He reached back with one thick arm, caught you around the waist, and pulled you forward against his side in one smooth motion. His grip was firm and possessive, his large hand resting heavily on your hip as he held you close.
The guards blinked, clearly thrown by the united front.
The taller one squinted at you. “But the missing girl was wearing a white wedding dress…”
Mira let out a theatrical laugh. “Plenty of white dresses in the world! Our girl here has been wearing plain village clothes for years. Look at her — does she look like some pampered noble who ran away last night?”
Hana nodded vigorously. “Exactly! She even makes the best meat pies in the village. We’d know if she was some lord’s bride.”
The two guards exchanged uncertain glances. Between Toji’s intimidating size, the three women’s absolute certainty, and the perfectly domestic scene in front of them, their suspicion melted away.
The shorter guard cleared his throat. “Seems like a false lead, then. Sorry to bother you folks.”
The taller one gave a reluctant nod. “Apologies for the intrusion. If you hear anything about a girl in a white dress, send word to the lord’s estate.”
Mrs. Sato smiled sweetly. “Of course, dears. Safe travels back!”
The guards turned and walked off down the street without another word.
The moment the door clicked shut, Mrs. Sato burst into laughter and fanned herself. “Well! That was more excitement than we usually get before noon.”
Mira winked at you. “Don’t worry, love. We’ve got your back. No one’s taking the butcher’s wife anywhere.”
Hana grinned. “We’ll spread the word. The whole village will keep an eye out.”
Toji gave them a short, gruff nod. “Appreciate it.”
The women gathered their empty baskets, still buzzing, and finally left with more promises of future visits and gifts.
The shop fell quiet again, morning sunlight streaming peacefully through the windows.
Toji slowly turned to face you. His hand was still on your waist, heavy and warm. For a long moment he just studied you, green eyes dark and intense.
“You’re damn lucky those three are the nosiest women alive,” he muttered. “They just sold that story better than we could’ve.”
He stepped closer, backing you gently against the counter. His voice dropped low, rough around the edges.
“So the whole village’s got our back it seems.” His thumb brushed slowly over your hip bone. “This lie keeps growing. Whole village thinks you’re mine now.”
His gaze dropped to your lips for a heartbeat before returning to your eyes.
“So tell me, runaway… how long do you plan on playing my wife? And how far are you willing to go to make everyone believe it?”
You swallowed, suddenly very aware of how close he was. The counter pressed into your lower back, and Toji’s broad body blocked out most of the morning light. His hand remained heavy on your hip, thumb still tracing slow, absent circles that made your skin prickle beneath the thin blouse.
“I… I don’t know,” you admitted, voice barely above a whisper. “I didn’t think past getting away from Lord Kato. I just wanted to survive the night.”
Toji hummed, low and thoughtful. He tilted his head slightly, studying your face like he was trying to decide whether you were worth the growing headache you’d brought him.
“Surviving isn’t enough anymore,” he said. “Not after this morning. Those guards will report back. When they don’t find you, Kato will send more men. Maybe even come himself.” His fingers flexed on your hip. “And the whole village now believes you’re mine. If the story breaks, they’ll look like fools. They won’t forgive that easily.”
You met his eyes, heart thudding. “Then what do we do?”
For a moment he didn’t answer. Instead he reached up with his free hand and brushed a stray lock of hair behind your ear, the gesture surprisingly gentle for someone so rough-looking. His calloused fingertips lingered against the side of your neck.
“We lean into it,” he finally said. “Hard. You stay. You act like my wife in public — every smile, every touch, every time someone knocks on that door. No slipping up. No running off when it gets hard.”
He leaned in a fraction closer, voice dropping. “And in private… we figure out the real terms.”
Your breath caught. “Real terms?”
Toji’s scarred mouth curved into a slow, dangerous half-smirk. “You cost me peace and quiet, runaway. You cost me the simple life where nobody bothered me. So you’re going to start paying me back.”
He didn’t elaborate, but the heat in his green eyes made it very clear what kind of payment he had in mind.
“I won’t force you,” he continued, surprising you. “Door’s right there. You can still walk out and take your chances on the road. But if you stay…” His hand slid from your hip to the small of your back, pulling you flush against him. “Then you’re mine until this blows over. Or longer. Depends how good you are at pretending.”
The solid wall of his chest pressed against you, warm and unyielding. You could smell faint traces of smoke, soap, and the metallic hint of blood that never quite left him. Your hands came up instinctively, resting lightly on his abdomen.
“I’m not pretending right now,” you whispered.
Toji’s eyes darkened. For a second you thought he might kiss you — really kiss you — but he held back, letting the tension stretch until it was almost unbearable.
“Good,” he murmured. “Because the village expects a devoted wife. They’ll be watching. Bringing food. Asking questions. Asking when we’re going to have little butchers running around.”
Your face burned. Toji chuckled, deep and rough, clearly enjoying your reaction.
“Don’t worry. We’ll give them a good show.” He finally stepped back, giving you room to breathe again, though his hand lingered on your waist a moment longer. “For now, help me open the shop. Act natural. If anyone else comes asking, you know what to say.”
You nodded, still flushed.
As he turned to start his morning routine — sharpening knives, hanging fresh cuts, preparing the counter — you moved to help where you could. Every time you passed near him, his hand would brush your lower back or arm — small, deliberate touches that looked casual to anyone watching but felt heavy with intent.
By midday, a few villagers had already stopped by “just to say hello” and congratulate the newlyweds. Each time, Toji played his part perfectly — gruff, possessive, pulling you close with an ease that made the performance feel dangerously real.
An older man dropped off a small basket of eggs and clapped Toji on the back. “Didn’t think I’d live to see you settle down, Fushiguro. She must be something special.”
Toji’s arm tightened around your waist as he gave a low grunt. “She is.” His fingers flexed against your side, warm through the fabric of your blouse. You leaned into him instinctively, playing along, and felt the solid wall of muscle beneath his tunic.
A young mother came next with her toddler in tow, offering a jar of preserved berries. She smiled at you brightly. “You two look so good together. How long have you been hiding her from us, Toji?”
“Long enough,” he answered, voice rough but carrying a hint of smugness. He pressed a slow, deliberate kiss to the top of your head right in front of her. The casual affection made your stomach flutter.
By early afternoon the steady trickle of visitors finally slowed. Toji flipped the shop sign to “Closed for the Day” and locked the front door with a heavy click. The sudden silence felt louder than all the chatter combined.
You let out a shaky breath and leaned against the counter, arms wrapped around yourself. “They really believe it. All of them.”
Toji wiped his hands on a rag, watching you from across the room. He tossed the rag aside and stalked toward you, slow and deliberate.
Gods, he was huge.
Up close like this, in the quiet afternoon light, the sheer size of him hit you all over again. Broad shoulders that seemed to stretch the fabric of his black tunic, thick arms corded with muscle from years of hauling heavy carcasses, a powerful chest that rose and fell steadily. The jagged scar at the corner of his mouth only made him more striking — dangerous, rough, and strangely, undeniably attractive. Those sharp green eyes pinned you in place, intimidating as ever, yet there was something magnetic about the way he moved. Like a predator who knew exactly how much power he held and chose not to use it… yet.
He stopped right in front of you, so close you had to tilt your head back to meet his gaze. One large hand came up to cup your chin, thumb brushing along your jaw.
“You’re handling this better than I expected,” he said quietly.
You felt your pulse quicken under his touch. “I feel like I’m going to faint every time someone looks at me.”
His thumb stroked slowly over your skin. “You’re not fainting. You’re standing here in my shop, wearing my clothes, letting me touch you like you belong to me.” His voice dropped lower. “Looks pretty convincing from where I’m standing.”
The air between you thickened. You could smell the faint mix of blood, woodsmoke, and clean sweat that clung to him. His sheer physical presence was overwhelming — the heat rolling off his massive frame, the way his broad chest nearly brushed against you with every breath.
“What happens when the guards come back?” you asked, voice softer than you intended.
Toji’s expression darkened. “Then we give them the same show. Or I handle it my way.” His hand slid from your chin to the back of your neck, fingers threading gently into your hair. “But right now? Shop’s closed. No more visitors. No more pretending for a little while.”
He didn’t move away. Neither did you.
Instead, you found yourself leaning into his touch, exhaustion and adrenaline twisting into something warmer, heavier. Your hands rose to rest on his chest, feeling the hard, solid muscle beneath your palms.
“Toji…” you started, unsure what you even wanted to say.
He cut you off with a low sound. “Careful. You keep saying my name like that and I might start believing this marriage is real myself.”
His grip on the back of your neck tightened just slightly — not painful, but enough to remind you how easily he could pull you in. His green eyes dropped to your mouth, lingering this time, dark with hunger.
“You still haven’t answered my question from earlier,” he murmured. “How far are you willing to go, runaway?”
The shop was quiet except for the distant sounds of village life outside. No one was watching now. It was just the two of you, the weight of the lie, and the growing, electric heat between you.
You wet your lips, heart racing.
“I’m still here,” you whispered. “That should tell you something.”
Toji’s scarred mouth curved into a slow, hungry smirk.
“Yeah,” he said, voice rough. “It does.”
The silence that followed felt heavier than before. The shop was quiet now, the afternoon light cutting sharp lines across the wooden floor and the rows of knives hanging on the wall. Toji didn’t step back. He stayed right there, towering over you, one hand still gripping the back of your neck while the other rested heavy on your hip.
He really was massive up close.
Broad shoulders that strained his tunic, thick arms veined and scarred from years of brutal work, a chest so solid it looked like it could take a hit from a horse and keep going. The scar at the corner of his mouth gave his face a permanent edge, dangerous and rough. Yet there was something about the way he looked at you — intense green eyes, half-lidded, focused — that made your stomach tighten in a way that had nothing to do with fear.
Toji noticed you staring.
“Eyes up here,” he muttered, but the corner of his scarred mouth twitched like he was amused. “You keep looking at me like that and I’m gonna get the wrong idea.”
You swallowed. “I’ve never been this close to someone like you.”
“Someone like me,” he repeated, almost mocking. He leaned in a little more, voice dropping low. “Big, ugly butcher covered in blood half the time?”
You shook your head. “Not ugly.”
The words slipped out before you could stop them. Toji paused, eyes narrowing slightly like he was trying to decide if you were lying. Then he let out a short, rough breath.
His thumb brushed slowly along the side of your neck, calloused and warm. You could feel the strength in his hand, how easily he could tighten his grip if he wanted. The contrast between that raw power and the way he was holding back made the air feel thick.
“You’re playing a dangerous game,” he said quietly. His gaze dropped to your mouth for a second before flicking back up. “I’m not a patient man, runaway. And I’m definitely not a gentle one.”
Your hands were still pressed against his chest. Under your palms, his muscles were firm and warm, shifting slightly with each breath. You didn’t pull away.
“I know,” you whispered.
Toji’s jaw flexed. For a moment his control looked strained — shoulders tense, fingers pressing harder into your skin. He leaned down until his face was inches from yours, close enough that you could feel the heat of his breath.
“If you stay,” he said, voice low and deliberate, “this stops being fake whenever I say it does. Behind this door, you won’t be playing a role. You’ll be in my bed. Under me. Taking what I give you.” His thumb dragged across your lower lip. “And you’ll moan my name like you mean it.”
Your breath caught.
Toji held your gaze for another long second, then slowly released you. He stepped back, rolling one shoulder like he needed to shake off the tension. The sudden space felt colder than it should have.
“But not right now,” he added gruffly. “You’re still half-dead on your feet and I’ve got work to finish before the meat spoils.”
He turned toward the back counter and picked up his sharpening stone. The steady scrape of metal filled the shop as he worked on one of his larger knives. You stayed by the front counter, watching the way his back and arms moved — powerful, efficient, every motion reminding you exactly what kind of man had just offered to claim you.
Every so often he glanced over at you, eyes dark and unreadable.
The silence between you wasn’t uncomfortable. It was charged. Heavy with everything neither of you was saying out loud.
After a while, Toji spoke without looking up from his work.
“You hungry?”
You blinked, surprised by the sudden normal question. “A little.”
He jerked his head toward the stairs. “There’s leftover stew from this morning in the pot upstairs. Heat it up if you want. Or stay down here. Doesn’t matter to me.”
You hesitated, then moved to help him organize the counter instead. Every time you passed close by, his arm would brush yours — deliberate, not accidental. Small reminders that the tension hadn’t gone anywhere.
The afternoon stretched on like that. Quiet work. Occasional glances. The weight of his presence never really leaving you.
By the time the sun had fully set and the village outside grew dark and quiet, the tension between you had only thickened. Lanterns flickered in distant windows, but inside the butcher shop everything felt hushed and intimate.
Toji locked the front door with a heavy click and killed most of the lanterns, leaving only a single low one burning near the stairs. The warm glow followed you both upstairs, casting long shadows across the wooden beams.
He grabbed a spare blanket from the chest and headed for the worn couch against the far wall without a word. The piece of furniture looked comically small beneath his massive frame as he tossed the blanket over it. Then he reached back and pulled his tunic off in one smooth motion.
Your mouth went dry.
Firelight danced over his bare back and shoulders — thick slabs of muscle shifting under scarred skin, powerful arms flexing as he folded the tunic. His waist tapered into a sharp V, disappearing beneath the waistband of his trousers. Every inch of him looked hard, battle-worn, and undeniably masculine. The sight made something low in your belly tighten.
You stood frozen in the bedroom doorway.
“Wait,” you said, voice barely louder than a whisper.
Toji glanced over his shoulder, one dark brow raised. The movement made the muscles in his chest and abdomen flex visibly.
You twisted your fingers in the hem of your blouse, cheeks already burning.
“You don’t have to sleep on the couch,” you offered shyly. “The bed is… big enough for both of us. I don’t mind sharing.”
The silence that followed was deafening.
Toji slowly turned around to face you fully. The low firelight carved deep shadows across his torso, highlighting every ridge of muscle, every old scar, the faint trail of dark hair disappearing into his trousers. He looked even bigger like this — raw power barely contained, green eyes locked on you with dangerous intensity.
He took one slow step closer, then another.
“Careful what you offer me, runaway,” he said, voice low and gravel-rough. “I’m not the type to hold back.”
You swallowed hard but didn’t back away.
“I just… it doesn’t feel right making you sleep on that tiny thing after everything,” you murmured, eyes flicking involuntarily down his bare chest before snapping back up. “We’re supposed to be married. At least to everyone else.”
Toji stopped just inches away from you. The heat radiating from his body wrapped around you like a cloak. You could smell him — smoke, clean sweat, and that faint metallic trace that always clung to his skin. His sheer size made you feel small and fragile in comparison.
He tilted his head, studying you like prey.
“You offering to share my bed isn’t about being polite,” he murmured. “If I get in that bed with you, I’m not staying on my side. I’ll pull you against me. I’ll have my hands all over that soft little body. And if you keep looking at me with those wide, needy eyes…”
He leaned down, lips brushing the shell of your ear as he spoke.
“I won’t be able to stop myself from spreading those pretty thighs and finding out exactly how wet pretending to be my wife has made you.”
Your breath hitched sharply. Heat flooded your face and pooled between your legs. You pressed your thighs together instinctively, but Toji noticed — of course he did. A dark, satisfied sound rumbled in his chest.
He pulled back just enough to look at your face again, eyes heavy-lidded and hungry.
“I’m not gentle,” he continued, voice dropping even lower. “I fuck hard. I take what I want. And right now, I want to ruin that shy little runaway who dropped to her knees at my door and turned my whole life upside down.”
His hand came up, knuckles lightly dragging down the side of your neck, over your racing pulse, then lower until they brushed the neckline of your blouse. Not quite touching skin, but close enough to make you shiver.
“So think very carefully before you offer again,” he warned. “Because once I’m in that bed, the only pretending left will be how long you can keep quiet while I’m buried inside you.”
The air felt too thick to breathe.
Toji’s scarred mouth curved into a slow, predatory smirk as he watched the effect his words had on you.
“Still want to share a bed with me… wife?”
Toji’s words hung heavy in the air.
You didn’t answer with words.
You looked up at him, heart hammering so hard you could feel it in your throat, and gave a small, shy nod.
That was all it took.
Toji’s control snapped. A low, almost feral sound rumbled in his chest as he moved. In one fluid motion he scooped you up, one thick arm under your knees and the other around your back, lifting you like you weighed nothing. Your breath caught at how easily he carried you — his biceps flexing hard against your body, the heat of his bare chest pressing into your side.
He carried you the few steps to the bed and laid you down on your back with surprising care, but the look in his eyes was anything but gentle. The mattress dipped deeply under his weight as he climbed over you, caging you in completely with his massive frame. His broad shoulders blocked out most of the firelight, leaving you in shadow beneath him.
“You a virgin?” he asked, voice low and rough, green eyes searching yours like he was looking for any hesitation.
You nodded again, cheeks burning with embarrassment.
“Fuck,” he breathed, the word almost reverent. His gaze darkened as it dragged slowly down your body. “Gonna have to take my time with you then. Can’t wreck this tight little virgin cunt on the first thrust.”
He kissed you deeply, tongue claiming your mouth in slow, filthy strokes while his rough hands explored every inch of you. He took his time peeling your clothes off — first tugging your blouse over your head, then sliding your skirt down your legs, and finally hooking his fingers into your soaked panties and dragging them off. When you were completely naked beneath him, he sat back on his heels and just stared, drinking in every inch of your exposed body like a man who’d been starving for weeks.
“So fucking small,” he muttered, almost to himself. His large hands ran up your thighs, thumbs brushing the sensitive skin on the inside, then spread your legs wide open. “Look at this pretty virgin pussy… already glistening and I’ve barely touched you.”
The cool air hit your wet folds and you shivered. Toji’s eyes were locked between your legs, dark and hungry, as if he couldn’t believe what he was seeing.
He lowered himself between your spread thighs like a man on a mission. The first slow, hot drag of his tongue from your entrance all the way up to your clit made your entire body jolt. Toji groaned deeply at your taste, the sound vibrating straight through you.
“Sweet as hell,” he rasped, voice thick with lust. “Could eat this pussy for hours.”
Then he devoured you.
His tongue worked in slow, broad strokes, licking every inch of your soaked folds before focusing on your swollen clit. He sucked the sensitive bud into his hot mouth, flicking it rapidly with the tip of his tongue while two thick fingers teased your entrance, circling and pressing but not pushing in yet. When you started whimpering and rolling your hips, he finally pushed one thick finger inside you — careful, but relentless.
“So goddamn tight,” he growled against your pussy, the vibration making your toes curl. “This little hole is gonna fight my cock the whole way in.”
He curled his finger slowly, searching, until he found that spongy spot that made your back arch. He rubbed it firmly while sucking harder on your clit. The wet, obscene sounds of his mouth and fingers filled the quiet bedroom — slick, filthy, and loud. Your thighs started trembling around his head as pleasure coiled tighter and tighter in your belly.
“Toji— oh gods—”
He didn’t let up. He ate you out like he was starving for it — messy, hungry, and completely focused on pulling every sound out of you. He added a second finger, stretching you open carefully, scissoring them while his tongue flicked fast and firm over your clit. The pressure built unbearably fast.
Your orgasm crashed over you without warning. Your back arched clean off the bed as you came hard on his face with a broken, sobbing cry of his name. Your walls clamped down around his fingers, pulsing wildly.
Toji licked you through every wave, slow and thorough, drawing out every last tremor until you were twitching and oversensitive, whimpering softly. Only then did he pull back. His chin and lips were shiny with your slick. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, eyes dark and satisfied as he looked up at your flushed, panting face.
Then he shoved his trousers down.
His cock sprang free — thick, heavy, veined, and longer than anything you’d ever imagined. The flushed head was already leaking steadily.
“See this?” he said, stroking himself slowly. “This is gonna stretch you wide open, baby. But I’ll make it fit.”
He climbed back over you, pushing your legs up and folding your knees toward your chest. The position left you completely exposed. He rubbed the fat head of his cock up and down your drenched folds, coating himself in your wetness, teasing your clit with every pass.
“Deep breaths,” he warned. “Gonna go slow.”
He pushed in.
The stretch was intense. You gasped sharply, a high-pitched whimper escaping you as just the thick head popped inside. “Ah—! Toji… it’s so big…”
Toji groaned, jaw clenched tight as he fought the urge to slam forward. “Fuck— so tight,” he hissed. “Relax for me, baby. Let me in.”
You whimpered softly, fingers clutching at his shoulders. “It burns… but— ah— don’t stop…”
He worked himself in inch by slow, careful inch. Every time you tensed, he stopped, leaning down to kiss your neck or suck on your tits until you loosened again. Sweat beaded on his forehead from the restraint.
Halfway in, you let out a shaky moan, eyes fluttering. “Oh gods… I can feel you so deep already…”
Toji looked down at the bulge already forming in your lower belly. “Shit… look at that,” he groaned, pressing a big hand over the swell. “My cock’s barely halfway and I can already see it inside you.”
When he finally bottomed out, hips flush against your ass, you felt so full you could barely breathe. A broken whimper left your lips. “T-Toji… you’re all the way in… I feel so full…”
Toji stayed still, buried to the hilt, letting you adjust while he kissed you slow and deep. “Good girl,” he praised, voice strained. “Taking every inch of my cock on your first time. Such a perfect little wife.”
When your whimpers turned into soft, needy moans, he started moving — slow, deep rolls of his hips at first. The wet drag of his thick cock against your walls made you cry out.
“Feel that?” he growled. “Feel how deep I am? Gonna breed this cunt so full tonight.”
“Ah—! Yes… I feel it,” you moaned, voice trembling. “It’s so deep… Toji—!”
His pace gradually picked up. The bed started creaking rhythmically as he fucked you harder, deeper. Your tits bounced with every thrust. You couldn’t stop the desperate sounds spilling from your mouth.
“Gonna fill you up,” he panted. “Pump this tight womb full of my cum until it takes. Want you walking around the village with my kid growing inside you. Everyone’s gonna know exactly who fucked you first.”
The filthy words sent you spiraling. “Please— Toji— I’m gonna—!” You came hard around his cock, walls fluttering and squeezing him like a vice as you screamed his name, “Toji—! Ahh—!”
Toji snarled and fucked you through it, pace turning brutal. The wet slap of skin on skin echoed loudly.
“Fuck— gonna cum,” he groaned. “Gonna breed you— take it all—”
You whimpered and moaned beneath him, voice hoarse, “Cum inside me… please— fill me up—!”
He slammed in deep one final time and came with a long, guttural moan. Thick, hot ropes of cum flooded your pussy, pulse after heavy pulse. There was so much it leaked out around his cock despite how tightly you were stretched around him. Toji kept grinding deep, pushing every drop into your womb, hand pressing down on the bulge in your belly like he wanted to keep it all inside you.
You let out a soft, overwhelmed whimper at the feeling of being so full of him.
He stayed buried inside you for a long moment, chest heaving against yours, both of you slick with sweat.
Then he leaned down, kissed you slow and possessive, and murmured against your lips:
“This cunt belongs to me.”
Toji stayed inside you for a while longer, gently grinding and kissing your neck, before he finally pulled out with a low groan. A thick trickle of his cum leaked from your abused hole onto the sheets. He looked down at the mess with dark satisfaction, then rolled onto his back and pulled you against his chest.
“Rest now,” he said quietly, voice rough but surprisingly gentle as he wrapped a heavy arm around you. “You’ve had a long day, runaway. Close your eyes.”
He pressed one last kiss to the top of your head, his large hand resting possessively on your lower belly.
“Go to sleep.”
-
You woke up to warmth.
A heavy, solid arm was draped across your waist, pinning you to a broad chest. Toji’s body was curled around yours from behind, one thick thigh wedged between your legs. His breathing was slow and deep, but the moment you shifted even slightly, his grip tightened possessively.
The room was still dim, early morning light just beginning to creep through the small window. Your body ached — a deep, satisfying soreness between your thighs, faint bruises on your hips from his fingers, and the unmistakable sticky warmth of his cum still leaking out of you.
You tried to move again, but Toji’s low, sleepy growl stopped you.
“Stay,” he muttered against the back of your neck, voice rough with sleep. His hand slid down to cup your lower belly, pressing lightly. “Not done holding you yet.”
Heat rushed to your face. You stayed still, letting him pull you tighter against him. His cock — already half-hard again — rested heavy against your ass.
After a few quiet minutes, Toji sighed and finally loosened his grip. He rolled you onto your back so he could look down at you. His hair was messy, eyes still heavy-lidded, but the smirk on his scarred mouth was fully awake.
“Morning,” he said, voice gravelly. His hand stayed on your stomach, thumb stroking slow circles. “How’re you feeling?”
You shifted, wincing a little at the soreness. “Full… and sore,” you admitted softly.
Toji’s smirk widened into something darker, more satisfied. He leaned down and kissed you — slow and lazy at first, then deeper, tongue sliding against yours. When he pulled back, he dragged his hand lower, fingers brushing through the mess between your thighs.
“Still leaking my cum,” he murmured, almost proud. “Good.”
He pushed two thick fingers back inside you, slow and careful, fucking his dried cum deeper. You whimpered, hips twitching.
“Toji—”
“Shh,” he soothed, kissing your temple. “Not fucking you again right now. You’re too sore.” He kept his fingers inside you anyway, lazy and possessive. “Just keeping you full.”
You stayed like that for a while — his fingers buried inside you, his mouth brushing lazy kisses along your neck and shoulder. The morning was quiet except for the occasional creak of the bed and your soft sounds.
Eventually he pulled his fingers out, brought them to his mouth, and licked them clean while watching your face.
“Breakfast,” he said simply. “Then we open the shop.”
He got up first, completely naked and shameless. You couldn’t stop yourself from staring at the powerful lines of his back, the flex of his ass and thighs as he moved. He caught you looking and chuckled.
“Keep staring like that and I will bend you over the table downstairs,” he warned.
You quickly looked away, cheeks burning.
He tossed you one of his clean shirts and a fresh skirt. While you dressed, he pulled on his usual trousers and tank top, tying his blood-stained apron around his waist.
Before you left the bedroom, he caught your wrist and pulled you close one more time. His hand cupped your jaw, thumb brushing your bottom lip.
“Last night wasn’t pretend,” he said quietly, eyes serious. “Not for me. You’re mine. Understand?”
You swallowed and whispered, “I understand.”
He kissed you again — hard, claiming — then rested his forehead against yours for a second.
“Good.”
He led you downstairs, his hand firm on your lower back the entire way.
The village was waking up outside. And for the first time since you’d run away, you didn’t feel like running anymore.
Toji unlocked the front door and flipped the sign while you tied on a clean apron. The morning air carried the smell of fresh bread from Mrs. Sato’s bakery and the distant clang of the blacksmith’s hammer. A few early customers began drifting toward the shop.
The first hour passed in a surprisingly calm rhythm. You helped weigh portions, wrap cuts of meat in clean paper, and hand them over with a shy smile. Toji stayed close the whole time — sometimes reaching past you for a knife, sometimes resting a hand on your waist as he moved behind you. Every touch felt deliberate, like he was marking his territory even when no one was watching.
Then the bell above the door rang again.
A tall, sun-tanned man with kind eyes and an easy, friendly smile stepped inside. He looked to be in his late twenties, with the strong build of someone who spent his days working the fields. He greeted Toji with a familiar nod.
“Morning, Fushiguro. The usual shoulder cut, please.” His gaze shifted to you behind the counter and softened with genuine interest. “You must be the new wife everyone’s been talking about. I’m Haru. I run the big farm past the mill.”
You returned his smile politely. “Nice to meet you, Haru.”
He watched as you carefully wrapped his order, your hands still a little clumsy with the butcher paper. “It’s good to see a new face around here,” he said warmly. “You seem really kind. Gentle. The kind of person who makes a place feel brighter just by being in it.” He rubbed the back of his neck, almost shyly. “If you ever need anything — extra vegetables from the farm, help carrying something heavy, or just someone to talk to when things get quiet — my door’s always open. Wouldn’t want you feeling lonely so soon after moving in.”
You tilted your head, completely oblivious to any hidden meaning, and gave him a grateful smile. “That’s very kind of you. Thank you. I’ll keep that in mind.”
Before you could say anything else, the air behind you changed.
Toji’s large hand settled heavily on your hip, fingers digging in with clear possession as he pulled you back firmly against his chest. His other arm slid around your waist, locking you in place.
“She won’t be needing anything,” Toji said, his voice low and dangerously even. “I take care of my wife.”
Haru blinked, the friendly smile faltering as he finally registered the tension rolling off the butcher. “Of course. I was just… being neighborly.”
Toji’s grip on your hip tightened. “Neighborly is saying hello. The rest sounded like something else.”
The silence that followed was thick and uncomfortable. Haru swallowed hard, quickly paid for his meat, and muttered a polite goodbye before leaving without another word. The door swung shut behind him with a soft jingle.
The second he was gone, Toji spun you around and backed you against the counter. His green eyes were dark, jaw clenched tight with barely-contained jealousy. One big hand came up to cup your jaw, thumb pressing lightly against your bottom lip.
“You really didn’t notice?” he muttered, voice rough.
You shook your head, genuinely confused. “He was just being nice…”
Toji let out a short, irritated breath and leaned in closer, forehead almost touching yours. “He wasn’t just being nice. He was testing the waters. Seeing if my wife might be open to something else. Offering you a soft place to land if you ever got tired of me.”
His other hand slid under your skirt, fingers brushing between your thighs and finding you still slick from the night before. You gasped softly as he pushed two thick fingers inside you without warning, curling them slowly.
“Toji—”
“Mine,” he growled quietly against your ear, pumping his fingers in a lazy rhythm. “This pussy is mine. You are mine. I don’t want you smiling so sweetly at other men. Understand?”
You whimpered, clutching his shoulders as pleasure sparked through your still-sensitive body. “I understand…”
He kissed you then — hard, possessive, and hungry — while his fingers continued their slow, deliberate strokes. When he finally pulled back, his eyes were still dark with jealousy.
“Next time someone talks to you like that,” he said, voice low, “you let me handle it.”
He reluctantly withdrew his fingers, straightened your skirt, and stepped back like nothing had happened. But the tension in his shoulders and the dark look in his eyes remained.
“Back to work,” he said gruffly, still clearly worked up.
You nodded, legs shaky, heart racing, and turned back to the counter.
The rest of the morning passed with Toji staying even closer than before — a constant, heavy, possessive presence at your side. Every time another customer entered, his hand found your waist or lower back, silently reminding everyone (and you) exactly who you belonged to.
The rest of the morning dragged on with the same heavy tension.
Every time a male customer stepped through the door, Toji’s demeanor shifted. His hand would find your waist, your hip, or the small of your back — a silent, unmistakable claim. He answered questions in short, clipped tones and watched the men with sharp, warning eyes. You tried to focus on wrapping orders and smiling politely, but the constant possessiveness was becoming impossible to ignore.
By early afternoon, when the shop finally quieted again, you couldn’t hold it in anymore.
You turned to him while he was wiping down the counter.
“Toji,” you said softly, “you’re being too much.”
He paused, setting the rag down slowly. When he looked at you, his green eyes had gone dark.
“Too much?” he repeated, voice low and deceptively calm.
You swallowed but stood your ground. “Yes. The constant touching, the glaring at every man who even looks at me... They’re just customers.”
Toji stared at you for a long, heavy beat. Then he slowly walked around the counter, backing you up until your hips hit the edge. He caged you in with his massive frame, one hand braced beside you on the wood, the other coming up to grip your chin, forcing you to meet his eyes.
“You think I’m being too possessive?” he murmured, thumb brushing your bottom lip. “Tell me something, wife… What kind of husband would I be if I let other men think they can have access to what’s mine?”
His voice was rough, low, and dangerous. “If I smiled and stepped aside while they flirted with you? While they offered you help and soft words like they had any right to you?”
He leaned in closer, breath hot against your ear. “I’d be a fucking joke. A weak man who doesn’t know how to protect what belongs to him. And I’m not weak.”
His free hand slid under your skirt without warning, fingers pushing between your thighs. You were bare underneath. The moment his calloused fingertips brushed your folds, he groaned softly — low and rough — when he found you already wet again.
“Already soaked,” he muttered, voice thick with satisfaction. “Complaining about me being too possessive, but your pussy is dripping the second I touch you.”
“Toji—” you whimpered, hips twitching as two thick fingers pushed inside you in one smooth motion. The stretch made you gasp, your walls still tender and sensitive from the night before.
He curled his fingers slowly, deliberately, stroking that spongy spot deep inside you while his thumb found your swollen clit and rubbed tight, firm circles. His mouth latched onto your neck, sucking hard enough to leave another mark, teeth grazing your skin as he worked you open.
You moaned, loud and broken, clutching desperately at his broad shoulders. Your legs trembled around his wrist as pleasure sparked hot and fast through your body.
“You can tell me I’m too much,” he growled against your throat, biting down lightly before soothing the sting with his tongue. “But we both know the truth. You like it when I act like this. You like knowing no one else can touch you. You like being mine.”
His fingers pumped faster, curling with every thrust, the wet, obscene sounds of your arousal filling the quiet shop. Your hips rolled against his hand instinctively, chasing the pleasure even as your thighs shook.
“Ah— Toji… please—” you moaned, voice cracking. Your head fell back, exposing more of your neck to him. He took full advantage, sucking and biting along your skin while his fingers drove deeper, faster.
You were right there — teetering on the edge, muscles tightening around his thick fingers — when he suddenly pulled his hand away completely.
You let out a desperate, needy whine, hips chasing his fingers uselessly. Your core throbbed, aching and empty.
“Toji…!” you whimpered, voice hoarse and frustrated, eyes glassy with unshed tears of need. “Please— I was so close…”
Toji smirked, dark and satisfied, eyes gleaming with lust as he watched you squirm. He brought his glistening fingers up between you, holding them in front of your face so you could see how wet they were — coated in your slick right up to his knuckles.
“Open,” he ordered, voice low and commanding.
You obeyed instantly, parting your lips. He pushed his fingers into your mouth, letting you taste yourself as you sucked them clean, tongue swirling around them obediently. His green eyes darkened further, pupils blown wide as he watched you.
“Good girl,” he murmured, voice rough with arousal. “Look at you… so fucking eager. Whining because I stopped, sucking my fingers like you’d do anything for my cock right now.”
He pulled his fingers free with a wet pop and leaned in, kissing you deeply, tasting you on your own tongue. When he pulled back, his breath was ragged.
“You can complain about me being possessive all you want,” he said, voice dark and low, “but your body doesn’t lie. This pussy knows exactly who it belongs to.”
He suddenly lifted you onto the counter with ease, as if you weighed nothing. The wood was cool against the backs of your thighs as he shoved your skirt all the way up to your waist in one rough motion, baring your dripping pussy completely. He stepped between your spread thighs, his broad body forcing your legs wider apart until your knees were nearly touching your shoulders.
His hands gripped your hips hard enough to bruise, fingers digging deep into your soft flesh with unmistakable ownership. With his other hand, he freed his cock — thick, heavy, and already throbbing. The veined shaft glistened as he stroked himself once, slowly, eyes locked on your exposed, glistening cunt.
“Since you think I’m too possessive,” he said, voice rough and dangerous, “I’m going to remind you exactly why I am.”
He rubbed the fat, leaking head of his cock up and down your soaked folds, coating every thick inch in your slick. He teased your swollen clit with every slow pass, tapping it lightly until your hips jerked and you let out a needy whimper.
“Toji… please—”
Without another word, he pushed in with one deep, powerful thrust.
You cried out sharply, back arching hard off the counter as the thick head forced its way inside, stretching you wide open. The sudden, overwhelming fullness stole your breath. Toji groaned deeply, burying himself to the hilt in one smooth stroke, his hips flush against your ass.
“Fuck… still so tight,” he growled, voice strained with pleasure. “Even after I filled you last night. This greedy little cunt keeps sucking me in like it doesn’t want to let go.”
He didn’t give you any time to adjust. He started fucking you hard and deep, the heavy wooden counter creaking loudly under the force of every brutal thrust. Your moans echoed shamelessly through the empty shop as he claimed you right there in the middle of the day.
“Mine,” he snarled against your neck, biting down hard enough to leave another dark mark. “Say it.”
“I’m yours— ah— Toji—!” you moaned, voice breaking as your legs wrapped tightly around his waist, heels digging into his lower back.
He fucked you even harder, hips snapping forward with powerful, punishing strokes. The wet slap of skin against skin filled the room, loud and filthy. One of his big hands reached between your bodies, his thumb finding your swollen clit and rubbing fast, tight circles.
“That’s right,” he panted, breath hot against your ear. “My wife. My pussy. No one else gets to look at you the way I do. No one else gets to touch you. No one else even gets to fucking think about you.”
Your moans grew louder and more desperate, your walls fluttering around his thick cock with every deep thrust. The counter shook beneath you. Your tits bounced wildly inside your blouse with the force of his movements.
He suddenly leaned back slightly, gripping your thighs and spreading you even wider as he drove into you. The new angle made him hit even deeper, the bulge in your lower belly becoming visible with every thrust.
“Look at that,” he groaned, eyes fixed on the spot where his cock disappeared inside you. “You’re taking me so fucking deep. This tight cunt was made for my cock.”
You cried out, nails digging into his shoulders as pleasure coiled tighter and tighter inside you. “Toji—! It’s too deep— ahh—!”
“You can take it,” he growled, fucking you harder. “You’re going to take everything I give you.”
Your orgasm crashed over you without warning — fast, violent, and overwhelming. Your walls clenched hard around his cock, fluttering and squeezing as waves of intense pleasure tore through your body. You screamed his name, thighs shaking violently around his waist.
Toji snarled like a beast, his rhythm turning erratic and savage as he fucked you through your climax. He kept pounding into you, chasing his own release, hips slamming against yours with wet, filthy sounds.
But he didn’t cum.
Instead, he suddenly slowed his thrusts, grinding deep and slow, keeping you right on the edge of overstimulation. His breathing was ragged, sweat glistening on his chest and neck.
He leaned down, capturing your mouth in a messy, possessive kiss while still buried deep inside you.
“You’re not done yet,” he murmured against your lips, voice dark and full of promise. “We’re nowhere near finished.”
Before you could catch your breath, Toji pulled out of you with a wet, obscene sound. You whimpered at the sudden emptiness, your pussy clenching around nothing, already missing the thick stretch of him. But he didn’t give you any time to protest.
In one swift, powerful motion, he flipped you over onto your stomach across the counter. Your chest pressed against the cool, smooth surface, your cheek resting on the wood as he yanked your hips back and up, forcing your ass high in the air. Your skirt was still bunched uselessly around your waist, leaving you completely exposed — bent over like a whore in the middle of his shop.
Toji kicked your legs wider apart with his foot, then pressed one large hand firmly between your shoulder blades, pinning you down hard against the counter.
“Fuck, look at you,” he growled, voice thick with raw lust. “Bent over my counter like a proper little wife. Ass up, pussy dripping for me.”
He spread your ass cheeks wide with both hands, exposing your swollen, abused pussy completely. Without any warning, he spat directly onto your folds — a thick, warm glob of saliva landing right on your clit and dripping down. You gasped sharply at the filthy sensation, your hips twitching.
Toji groaned at the sight and used two thick fingers to rub his spit into your pussy, mixing it with your own slick, pushing it inside you. Then he brought his palm down hard on your ass with a loud, resounding smack.
The sharp sting bloomed hot across your skin. You cried out, jolting forward on the counter.
“Stay still,” he ordered, voice rough. He smacked the other cheek even harder, watching the way your flesh jiggled and turned pink under his hand. “This ass is mine too. Every fucking inch of you is mine.”
You moaned helplessly, pushing back against him despite the sting. Toji lined up the thick head of his cock again and thrust back inside you in one brutal, deep stroke.
The new angle made him feel impossibly bigger, reaching even deeper. You moaned loudly, fingers scrambling for purchase on the smooth wooden counter as he immediately started fucking you hard and fast.
The counter creaked loudly under the force of his powerful thrusts. Each snap of his hips drove his thick cock impossibly deep, the wet slap of skin against skin echoing through the empty shop. Toji’s hands gripped your hips in a bruising hold, pulling you back onto his cock with every stroke like he was using you.
“Fuck— this pussy feels even better like this,” he groaned, voice rough and strained. He smacked your ass again, harder this time, watching the way your flesh rippled red under his palm. “So fucking wet. You like being bent over and used like this, don’t you?”
“Yes— ah— Toji—!” you moaned, cheek pressed against the cool counter, eyes fluttering shut. Every brutal thrust made your breasts press harder into the wood, your sensitive nipples dragging against it.
Toji reached forward and fisted a hand in your hair, pulling your head back slightly as he fucked you even harder. His hips slammed against your ass with wet, filthy sounds. He spat on your pussy again, right where his thick cock was stretching you open, and used his thumb to rub the saliva into your swollen clit.
“Such a messy little wife,” he panted, smacking your ass repeatedly between thrusts — sharp, stinging slaps that made you clench tighter around him. “Dripping all over my counter. Taking my cock so deep like you were made for it. Look at this greedy cunt swallowing every inch.”
Your moans turned into broken sobs of pleasure. The combination of his brutal pace, the stinging heat on your ass, and the filthy words pushed you right to the edge again.
Toji leaned over you, his broad chest pressing against your back, his breath hot and ragged against your ear as he kept pounding into you without mercy.
“Tell me who this pussy belongs to,” he growled, smacking your ass one more time, hard enough to make you yelp.
“You—! It belongs to you— Toji—!” you cried out, voice hoarse and desperate.
He snarled in satisfaction and fucked you even harder, the counter shaking beneath you. His hand slipped between your legs again, rubbing your clit fast and rough.
You came with a broken scream, your walls clamping down hard around his thick cock, thighs shaking violently as intense pleasure tore through you.
Toji groaned loudly as your orgasm triggered his own. He slammed in deep one final time and came hard, flooding your pussy with thick, hot spurts of cum. He kept grinding into you slowly, pushing every drop as deep as possible, his hips pressed tight against your reddened ass.
For a long moment, the only sounds in the shop were your heavy breathing and the faint drip of his cum leaking out of you onto the floor.
Toji stayed buried inside you, leaning over your back and kissing the back of your neck possessively.
“Still think I’m being too possessive?” he murmured against your skin, voice dark and satisfied.
You could only whimper in response, too overwhelmed to form words. Your body was trembling, pressed against the counter, pussy still fluttering weakly around his thick cock. Every small shift made you feel the mess he’d left inside you — warm, sticky, and so full it was leaking down your thighs.
Toji let out a low, rumbling sound of approval. He stayed deep for a long moment, grinding slow and lazy, pushing his cum even deeper as if he couldn’t stand the thought of any of it escaping. His large hand smoothed over the reddened skin of your ass where he’d spanked you, almost soothing now, before giving one last firm squeeze.
“Answer me,” he said quietly, lips brushing the shell of your ear.
“…No,” you breathed, voice hoarse and shaky. “I don’t.”
He hummed, clearly pleased. He finally pulled out slowly, watching with dark eyes as a thick trail of his cum dripped from your abused hole onto the floor. The sight made him groan softly.
“Fuck, that’s a pretty sight,” he muttered. He used two fingers to push some of the leaking cum back inside you, then straightened your skirt with surprising care.
Toji helped you stand on shaky legs, turning you to face him. He cupped your jaw with one hand, thumb brushing your flushed cheek as he studied your expression — eyes glassy, lips swollen, hair messy.
“You’re going to feel me for the rest of the day,” he said, voice low. “Every step. Every time you move. I want you thinking about who fucked you over this counter.”
He leaned in and kissed you — slower this time, but still deep and possessive. When he pulled back, his forehead rested against yours for a brief second.
“Clean yourself up a little,” he told you, pressing one last kiss to your temple. “We’ve still got half a day left.”
Toji stepped back, tucking himself away and adjusting his apron like nothing had happened, though the dark, satisfied glint in his eyes remained.
You stood there on unsteady legs, heart still racing, feeling the unmistakable warmth of his cum slowly leaking down your inner thighs.
And somehow, you couldn’t find it in yourself to complain.
a/n: aren't the old hags kinda iconic? lmk what you think and if you'd be interested in a part two! likes and reblogs appreciated!!
NOBLE ✦ heian!sukuna and his new arranged wife!reader...who barely looks at him, let alone fucks him... | NSFW. oral (f. rec). slight degredation. manhandling. a steamy onsen. ૮꒰ ˶• ༝ •˶꒱ა (3.6k)
Life had been a series of decisions made by everyone but you.
Being raised under strict rule and watchful eye just to be sold off to the wealthiest, most respected man in the country wasn't something you fought exactly, you knew it was a battle you wouldn't win.
They could treat you like a prize sow, but that didn't mean you'd sit there getting fat and happy and filled with babies like one.
Especially not when you were being unloaded onto a warlord.
Sorry, not a warlord, the warlord.
Unrivaled and undefeated, Sukuna Ryomen wore blood and ash to your first meeting as casually as he did his kimono.
Draped, loose, open in the front like he didn't care who gawked at his chiseled chest or the thick black ink that wrapped his body and disappeared into the robe.
You kept your head low but your eyes on the bored, tattooed face of the man who didn't even seem to be listening to the details of your ceremony taking place the following week.
Sukuna got one look at your expression, your posture, your dress, and was about to write you off as yet another mindless, well trained insect who got off on following orders. You certainly looked the part.
But as the meeting finished and you rose to your feet, lowering to a deep and respectful bow, you muttered something at him.
"I do hope you plan to bathe before the ceremony, I can smell you from here."
When you straightened, your face gave absolutely nothing away. But there was venom and fire slithering behind the courteous tone.
When you walked off to follow your mother and father, you did not look back.
But you... you insulted him. Told him he stunk right to his face and shattered the image he'd built in his head in the moments you knelt across from him.
Maybe you weren't the polite, sweet, mindless doll your parents raised you to be.
Well, at least you wouldn't be boring.
...
Oh, how he had come to regret those words.
Sukuna didn't think much about how his life would change once he was married. He'd be expected to make an heir, but it wasn't like that would affect his life.
Ha.
Hard to make an heir when his wife refused to acknowledge his existence, god forbid sleep in the same bed.
Hard to make an heir when his balls were full and the only seed he spent was on pretty, fluff-for-brains concubines, or eventually, when he could hardly stand to even look at them, his own god damned hand.
Being married to you wasn't only not boring, it was hell.
He had to wonder which of the many heinous acts he'd committed thus far in his lifetime had landed him living punishment in the form of you.
Probably all of them.
But Sukuna wasn't only a sadist, but a masochist just the same.
Sure he glared and sneered and scoffed at your back as you walked out the moment he stepped in a room. Making a snide comment under your breath as you passed him just to set his teeth grinding away.
Sometimes he would bark a, "Know your place, woman." At your disappearing form, catching your shoulders shaking the slightest bit. Like you were fucking laughing.
It made his blood boil and hands itch to do something. To retaliate, to show you your place and put you in it.
You were supposed to be a wife. Subservient and devoted in every way to him and his wants, his needs.
That’s the thing, in every technical way, you were. You ran the household, ate meals with him when expected, attended ceremonies and political gatherings when it was called for. On the outside, you were absolutely perfect.
And in some backwards way, you really were perfect for him.
A match in fire and callousness, you didn't let it rage out of control like he could. You kept it in check and used your seething as an underhanded weapon.
One that really got you what you wanted, because now you had all the freedoms of a wealthy noblewoman, and you had Sukuna reluctantly wrapped around your pretty little finger.
You knew he was not the person to have worked up and left on the edge, but it’s not like you particularly gave a shit. It was amusing to see how his crimson eyes lingered as you passed in the hall, some staff member in tow as you listed off your preferences and plans for a gathering. The way his nostrils flared as he caught your scent.
No, it slapped him across the face. Invaded his senses and had all four of his fists clenched.
He told himself you were just another woman. His wife, sure, but no different than any other concubine. But the way his hands itched to reach and grab you at the waist, rip your obi off and squeeze the soft curve instead, to pull you in and bury his face into the crook of your neck and breathe so deep he’d never get your scent out of his sinuses.
The way he ached to have you sat on his lap taking every inch of him, to fill you until your belly swelled with his babies. Fucked his heir into you.
He’d never had the urge to breed before, and it was really fucking annoying. It made him feel like a fucking animal, and he hated it.
Sure he sated animalistic needs, eating, fucking, killing. But they didn’t control him.
Sukuna could level civilizations singlehandedly, raze villages to the ground and upheave the world just to toss it on its head. He was a warlord—no, the fucking warlord, and his pretty little wife had him tearing his own hair out.
God, he needed to relax. This wasn’t him. He didn’t let emotions run his life, and he certainly didn't let people run his life.
Meanwhile you and your life carried on just the same. Ate dinner and sipped fine tea imported from the mountainous regions to the east, strolled the gardens full of fresh blooms and the low buzzing hum of cicadas, stripped free of your yukata with the help of your attendants and left to soak in the hot spring watching the sun set on the land.
On your land.
You supposed being married to the brute wasn't so bad after all.
Steam rolled off the water, lifted by the light breeze that rustled leaves and set chimes twinkling.
It was peace. You were exactly where you wanted to be, and certainly enjoyed it, but you couldn't deny you craved something just a little more. Something exciting.
“B-but sir! Please, wait!” The shrill, panicked voice of an attendant rang out just outside the door into the onsen and you whipped your head around just in time to see it slide open with a bang!
And behold, your husband.
Taking up nearly the entire doorway with nothing but a towel barely hanging on around his hips. So short the black rings inked on each thigh were visible.
It left you speechless, to see so much of him so bare. That he’d be brazen enough to walk right in on you so indecent. But you dipped quickly, putting your body underwater up to your neck and covering your breasts.
“What do you think you're doing in here?” You lifted your chin, dignity intact even as you hunched to maintain a shred of modesty.
Sukuna froze in the entrance, ruby eyes wide and stuck on you for a long moment until he finally broke and stepped into the room.
“Bathing. I believe it was you that requested me to, no?” He quirked a brow, bare feet slapping the stone as he walked toward the steps into the water.
The same attendant hurried in behind him, coming to crouch next to you. “Ma'am, your towel? Would you like to—”
“Leave us,” Sukuna dismissed her without a look, halted and about to get in.
You took the towel and muttered that you were fine, that she could go. She bowed low to you both and then that was it. You were alone.
Well, alone with your husband.
Who at least had the decency to go against tradition and leave the scrap of towel on and covering where thick black lines dipped low on his abdomen.
You studied each other for a moment. Your hands cupping your breasts and his crossed over his chest and planted on his hips.
You broke the stare first, turning to look out at the open scene and he started down the steps. He sank into the water and you watched from your periphery as he eased back, running a damp hand through his dusty pink mess of hair and rested two muscled arms on the stone ledge.
It was the first time you'd ever been alone with him, and you refused to look at him or speak first.
“I despise how they hover.” Sukuna's gruff voice cut through the silence and you did not look at him as you retorted.
“That is their duty. An attendant would not be properly fulfilling their role if they were not present when needed.”
Sukuna barked a laugh, “Well, you'd know all about that now, wouldn't you?”
Your head snapped to the side and you looked him right in the eye with brows furrowed. “What, exactly, is that supposed to mean?”
“Don't act oblivious now.” He tch'd, casting his gaze out at the view instead of you. “Stupidity does not suit you.”
You blinked. A few times. And despite the heat of the water, felt warmth race across your cheeks.
Was he really so callous?!
He caught your slight shock and smirked, “I assumed you'd be fleeing about now, is something the matter?”
“I will not be bullied out of my evening soak.” You huffed.
“Bullied?” Sukuna scoffed, “You've had quite a soft upbringing if this constitutes bullying in your eyes.” He could see your face twist, fire flickering in your eyes as he prodded you and all he could think was finally.
“You know nothing about me, so do not speak as if you do.” You almost sneered as you hissed it at him. Like he'd truly struck something.
And Sukuna was not one to back down when he struck a nerve.
“I know enough to know you're a sheltered, well mannered brat. If there is more than that, I have not seen it.” He said it like a challenge, like he was daring you to show him there was more.
He had no fucking idea what he was talking about. Sukuna was a brute, blood and dirt still under his dark fingernails from the havoc he likely wreaked just before coming to interrupt your evening.
So fast the water splashed the ledge, you snatched the towel and wrapped it around your body under the surface. It was flimsy and lewd, but better than your hands.
His eyes went wide, gripping the ledge as you rose to your feet. Waist deep in the water, the towel clung to your form and had him swallow visibly.
“You seem to have certain expectations of me, does it upset you that I have not met them?” Your head cocked, taking a step forward.
Sukuna did not waver on the outside, simply sneered, “I am no stranger to disappointment.”
Your eyes narrowed into a glare that threw daggers at him and god, he felt his heart skip a beat as you cut right back with, “Well, neither am I.”
The water rippled around you as you took step after step closer to him. “I never asked to be married off to the likes of you.”
“That makes two of us.” He shot right back, rising to his feet as you drew close enough to look down at him, making you tilt your head back a bit to keep your eyes on his.
They betrayed you though and flickered to his chest, following the black lines that cut down his abdomen. Water dripping from his bare body, the tiny scrap of a towel heavy on his hips, soaked and clinging to his muscled thighs.
God, why did he have to look like that?
“Brute.”
Surely you'd be the death of him.
“Prude.” His brow lifted like a dare and you stepped right up to the challenge.
“Whore.”
It surprised even you and as it left your lips you saw the shock hit Sukuna like a slap to the face.
Too far?
“Why you little—” He snarled, grabbing you at the waist with one hand, nails pressing in enough to make you gasp as he brought his face close and held you in place. “You dare to speak to me like that?”
“So all those women, you mean to tell me you keep them around for idle chatter? Please.” You scoffed and Sukuna lifted a brow, lips pulling into a slow smirk.
“What’s this? Is the brat jealous?”
You? Jealous? Pfft, ridiculous.
He wasn’t about to tell you that it had been weeks since he’d last even tried to be with another woman. That it disgusted him to even think of. That he couldn’t.
But here you were, right here in his grasp, trembling a little but not pulling away. A crinkle to your nose like he just caught you red handed. And that certainly stirred something in him.
“You… your—” You stammered a little and his smirk split into a grin. Sharp and gleaming. He could feel your heart racing away under his grip. A clear of your throat and you refitted the blades in your gaze. “Clearly, your delusion knows no bounds.”
“You’d think it delusion that a woman would be jealous of another bringing pleasure to her man?” He hummed, grip softening on your waist slightly just to slide down to your hip. Your lips parted and he could see your thighs squeeze under the surface as he stepped closer.
“Or maybe you like the thought.” He mused, so close you could feel the heat of his body and his breath on your skin as he laughed once, low and gruff. “Maybe you touch yourself at the thought of another woman bouncing on my cocks, screaming my name in ecstasy."
Wait… what?!
You had to have heard that wrong. Sure the brute had four arms but that would just be…
It took a moment to gather your thoughts and hiss a meek little, “Never.”
“Do you ever touch yourself?” He hummed again, dipping underwater to trace the edge of your towel, grazing bare skin and making you swallow. “Or are you too prudish for even that?”
You could just shove him away and storm off. In fact, why weren’t you doing exactly that?
Heart racing, you could feel your pulse between your legs, squeezed together as your belly tightened. His eyes bored into you like he knew exactly what was happening. How traitorous your body had become.
Lips parted and wavering, you hesitated to answer.
Sukuna Ryomen could always sense blood in the water, and he knew it was time to strike.
He moved, his face coming down so close to yours, but still out of reach. Thick fingers dragging over the bare skin of your thigh, he pressed up between your legs and sent a jolt of lightning ripping up your spine. You yelped and gripped his arm with both hands, but he didn't move. Just held pressure and studied how your face twisted and flushed.
“Tell me to stop,” He said, voice hoarse and quiet.
“S-s—ah! S… S-kuna,” You whimpered his name, clinging to his tattooed forearm. God he could feel you throbbing against his fingers and his cocks—already stiff, twitched. Ready to spear you on both and fill you with him until you sobbed.
“Yes, brat?”
You squirmed, eyes squeezing shut. What the hell was happening to you? “I… I can’t—”
“Look at the prude, coming undone and I haven't even done anything. Do you want more?” He rubbed a slow, tiny circle on your clit and your cunt clenched around nothing.
“Mmph—god,” You gasped, using his arm to support yourself.
“Use your words, brat. Ask me nicely, and I’ll make you see stars.”
The way he spoke to you, shit… you must have been out of your fucking mind. Or so horny you could barely stand. Either way, you pried your eyes open and met his.
“Please,” You whined, so filled with pressure you could hardly stand it and the word almost had him on his knees.
“Please what?” He held firm even as you glared weak little daggers at him, that fire burning behind your pretty, glazed eyes.
“Please,” You couldn’t believe the position you’d landed yourself in. You couldn’t believe just how good it felt… “Make me see stars.”
Restraint snapped with a low groan and his hands were on you. It was a blur and you could hardly keep track of how surrounded you felt. One slipping up into your hair, two squeezing down your sides and pulling at the towel—barely hanging on and about to give—
Ah, yep, there it goes.
Hit the water with a wet plap and you were left fully exposed.
His finger found your slick entrance and he pushed inside. Barely even half of it but your eyes went wide with how thick it was and you squeaked nonetheless, starting to protest but Sukuna shut you up.
He hefted you up like you were nothing, slotting your thighs around his hips and his own covering let go just the same as yours.
God how he was dying to use you, feel you squeeze around him like you did his finger. But you weren’t quite ready for that yet.
So he pulled your hair, tilting your head back as he brought his mouth down on yours, lips pressing yours open and delving in with his tongue.
The sound you made into his mouth, tongue tangled with his as you gave in and let your hand thread up into his hair, nails dug into his bicep, it was lewd and perfect and exactly what he craved.
“You're still a—ah—brute,” You panted between kisses, gasping as he squeezed your ass and spread your cheeks, grinding your bare pussy on his abdomen.
“You're leaking on me,” Sukuna growled, tugging harder at your hair. “Maybe you like that fact.”
Before you could protest, something wet squished against your pussy. You jerked with a gasp and started to squirm, but Sukuna had you trapped in his grasp and wasn't exactly keen on letting you go.
“Ah, you asked for this. Stars, remember?”
“Wha-what is that?” Your voice pitched as he held you against the thing flicking up on your twitching clit.
It felt amazing, electricity shooting through your limbs with every movement, but it was foreign. Big but softer, unlike how his hand had been.
“You like it, don’t you? Like riding on my tongue?” He nipped at your lip like it was obvious.
His tongue?
Your nose crinkled, “What are you—oh my—mmph!” His tongue thrust into your mouth again as his… uh… other tongue prodded at your hole.
Sukuna groaned into your mouth, tasting you—all of you. Legs pinned wide open for the wet muscle to work its way inside. Slick hitting the tastebuds making his eyes roll.
God you tasted fucking good. One taste and he was surely addicted, just like he was to your scent.
The feeling of it squirming and exploring deeper, licking up into your gummy walls as sharp teeth grazed your clit, it had you keening and bucking in his arms. The stretch was unreal, and had you struggling to breathe.
“Fuck…” He rasped, pulling back to watch as you writhed, brows knit and bitten lips pushed out in a sweet little pout. You looked perfect, you felt perfect, walls pulsing around the length squelching in and out.
He was fucking you with it, and you were on the verge, ready to explode from a white hot pressure filling your belly. Shit… this had to be a sin of some kind.
Sukuna tugged your hair, leaning you back and supporting your weight to give you both a full view of how he stretched you out. “Look at that. Poor little pussy can barely handle the whole thing.” He thrust that tongue in deep and curled and you cried out.
“Oh god! I-I can't—”
“Do it,” He commanded and whatever was holding the dam back, broke. Head thrown back, your chest heaved with a strangled noise erupting as you spasmed, nails raking down his arms.
As slick leaked into his maw, trembling in Sukuna’s grip as he groaned with the feeling, the taste of you coming undone, your fuzzy mind went…
Stars…
As you rode the last waves, he pulled out of your twitching pussy, giving your clit a flick and humming a laugh when you jolted.
“Well, where did all that attitude go? Speechless already, brat?” He mocked, watching your lashes flutter and eyes struggle to focus into a glare. On fire with a flush that raced across your cheeks and chest.
“Pu-put me down you fiend.” You huffed and pushed weakly at his chest and Sukuna barked a laugh. Grinning wicked and feral with gleaming canines and your tummy clenched all over again.
“No-no, I’m not done with you.” Your knees hit the hard stone as Sukuna sat back on the ledge, thighs spread over his, letting your weight drop into his lap and right onto his cocks, pushing your hips back to grind you against the thick lengths. The feeling had you choke on air and despite thinking he would destroy you if he stuck one in, god forbid both, your cunt throbbed and you were painfully aware of how empty you felt.
“Not even close, wife.”
this is for u @interlude-enternude <3 it was supposed to just be a drabble but i love us torturing suki too much :3 m. list | divider by @/kthice <3
