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𝐓𝐖𝐎 𝐌𝐎𝐍𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐒 𝐈𝐍 𝐀 𝐂𝐀𝐆𝐄, 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐘 𝐌𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓 𝐊𝐈𝐒𝐒! •°. *࿐

Summary: As an infamous half-curse assassin, you never thought you'd find companionship, much less in the equally infamous pink-haired 'King of Curses' ...

Pairings: HeianEra!Sukuna Ryomen x male!powerful!reader

Content. Mentions of child abuse, gore, murder, blood, angst, fluff, crack, fucked up found family, uraume mention hell yeah, gn!reader

A.N. Reader is an assassin and is a bit unhinged as well, but I adore it!! They're somewhat spider-based, with their own extra pairs of arms and eyes +a defense based CT.

W.C. 3.7k

MINOR AND AGELESS BLOGS DNI. Masterlist

The village was silent. Too silent. Not the eerie hush of a place where people slept, nor the somber quiet of a mourning home, but the absolute absence of life. The kind of silence that only follows death.

You knew before you stepped past the crumbling torii gate that your pay had been stolen from you.

The air smelled of blood. Thick, metallic, and cloying, it clung to your skin as you stepped through the ruins of what was once a grand estate. Red lanterns hung askew, their paper bodies torn and stained, still flickering with dying light. The cobblestone courtyard was slick with fresh carnage, and the walls, once pristine, were now painted in crimson streaks. Corpses lay where they had fallen—guards, servants, and the nobles who had once ruled this place.

Your employer, a pitiful man with too much wealth and not enough sense, lay among them. His eyes, frozen in horror, reflected the flickering torch light from the shattered lanterns around him. His throat had been torn out, the wound jagged and messy, as if done in passing, without care.

You clicked your tongue.

No payment, then.

Annoyance flickered through you, but it was distant, dulled. All that effort. Days of tracking. Weeks of maneuvering through the shadows, making kills in silence, setting the stage for a perfect strike—gone. The man you were meant to collect your pay from, dead.

You had lived too long in the shadows to expect fairness. You killed for money, nothing more, and you had learned long ago that the world owed you nothing.

Born of human and curse, you had been despised from the moment you took your first breath. Your mother had made a mistake, and you had been the consequence—a child too human to be a true curse, too monstrous to be accepted by men. They had feared you, hated you, tried to kill you before you were even strong enough to fight back. But you survived.

You always survived.

Your extra limbs had been a curse in your youth, proof of your inhumanity, but they became your greatest weapon as you grew. Strength, speed, precision—six hands worked better than two. And when you learned to hide them, to pull them close and pass as something almost normal, the world became your hunting ground.

Assassination had been the obvious choice. No morals, no allegiances, only the cold certainty of coin. You did not care who died, only that they did.

But now, your target was already dead, and yet you gain nothing. And there was only one man who could be responsible.

A shadow moved within the ruined estate. Slow, unhurried footsteps, the deliberate kind that spoke of confidence, of amusement. Someone who had never once feared death, because they had never needed to.

You turned your head slightly, just enough to acknowledge his presence without giving the satisfaction of immediate attention.

Sukuna Ryoumen.

A demon. A calamity in human form. His legend reached your ears long before this day—stories of the King of Curses who razed villages for sport, who devoured men whole, who fought gods and won. You’d always found such tales exaggerated. No one could be that monstrous. No one could be that untouchable.

But seeing him now, standing amid the ruin of his own making, you had to admit the stories had barely done him justice.

He was taller than any man you had ever seen, broad and thick with muscle, with skin inked in cursed markings that coiled around his arms, chest, and throat. Four arms—an anomaly, an abomination, yet he carried them as if they were his birthright. The left side of his face was something not meant for mortal eyes, warped and grinning with unnatural delight. Blood dripped from his claws, pooling at his feet as if the earth itself bled for him.

He turned, sensing you. And when his four burning eyes met yours, something twisted in your chest. A deep, primal instinct screamed at you to run. But fear was not something you entertained.

Instead, you sighed. Loudly. Dramatically.

“Well, there goes my payment,” you muttered. “What a waste of time.”

His crimson eyes found yours, and you felt it immediately—the weight of his attention, the way his gaze lingered, as if trying to place you.

"Another rat," he murmured, voice low, edged with amusement. "I thought I was done with you vermin tonight."

You smiled. Not a kind smile. Not a warm one. A slow, knowing curl of the lips, the sort that had sent men to their graves in fits of paranoia, wondering if they had just met their end before your blade ever touched them.

"If you were," you said, "I wouldn't be here."

A flicker of something crossed his face—amusement, curiosity, something sharper underneath. Interesting.

Most people quaked at the mere mention of his name. They fell to their knees, begged, pleaded, cried. The ones with a sliver of backbone tried to fight and died screaming for it. But you? You were calm. Unshaken. Unimpressed.

He took a step forward, tilting his head slightly. His presence was suffocating, heavy in the air like a storm waiting to break. "And who might you be, boy?"

You glanced down at the bodies strewn around you, at your employer's lifeless face, the blood soaking into the dirt. "Someone who was supposed to get paid tonight."

A chuckle. Low, rumbling. "Ah. And now you won’t."

You shrugged. "No."

"And what do you plan to do about it?"

You met his gaze and held it. "Haven’t decided yet."

The truth was, you had decided. From the moment you saw the carnage, from the moment you realized who had caused it, you knew there was only one path forward. Sukuna had wasted your time. Had stolen your prize. It wasn’t about money anymore—it was about principle. Sort of, not really.

You did not let things go unanswered. And neither did he, you imagined.

The silence stretched between you, thick with unspoken words, unreadable thoughts. And then, slowly, ever so slowly, Sukuna grinned.

"You’re not afraid of me," he said. It wasn’t a question.

You exhaled, long and slow. "Should I be?"

His grin widened, sharp and wicked. "Yes."

For the first time in a long, long while, something stirred in your chest. Not fear. Not anger. Something that made your fingers twitch with anticipation.

Your heart beat steady, unfazed. You took a step forward, just enough to challenge, just enough to provoke. His grin didn’t falter. If anything, he looked pleased.

"You’ve killed my employer," you said. "So now, I suppose I’ll have to settle for a different prize instead."

Sukuna's laughter rang through the night, rich and full, the sound of a man who had not been entertained like this in centuries.

"And what would that be?" he grinned, blood coating his teeth before he licked it off. 

“Your head.”

The first strike was fast. Not fast enough to be unexpected, but fast. A blade aimed for his throat, smooth and silent. Sukuna leaned back just enough for it to miss, feeling the edge of it whisper against his skin. No hesitation, no wasted movement. This wasn’t some arrogant fool swinging wildly—this was a trained killer, someone who knew how to strike to end a fight, not prolong it.

Sukuna’s grin widened. Good.

His own arm shot forward, one of four, grabbing at your wrist. He expected resistance, a twist to break free, maybe a counter—what he didn’t expect was for the stranger to step into his grip, moving with him instead of against him, using the momentum to spin a dagger toward his ribs.

Clever. Sukuna barely avoided the stab, using a second hand to shove him back. He was enjoying this. A rarity.

Sukuna grinned, clearly enjoying himself. “You’re quick.”

You smirked. “You’re slow.”

That wiped the grin off his face—a scowl replacing it. Then, he lunged.

His elbow slammed toward your ribs, but you twisted, feeling the heat of his skin just barely graze yours before you ducked low, shifting your weight to avoid the claws swiping at your throat. You countered with a kick, aiming for his knee, but he caught your ankle mid-strike, twisting your leg to throw you off balance.

You didn’t fight it. You let him pull you off your feet—because as he did, his grip loosened, and that was all you needed. You bent at the last second, twisting unnaturally in the air, and slammed your palm against the side of his head as you used the momentum to break free. Sukuna staggered back half a step. Just half a step.

But you saw it. His eyes gleamed in the dim light, his sharp grin curling wider. “Not bad.”

“I know,” you said easily. And then he hit you.

The pain of the stab hit your entire body like a death knell, making you hiss in pain. You felt the bones beneath your skin break, felt the heat of torn flesh, but it didn’t matter. Because it put you exactly where you wanted to be. You grinned, lips parting just enough to whisper, “Got you.”

It wasn’t the first time you’d been struck in this fight, and it wouldn’t be the last.

His hand shot into your ribs, raw power ripping through your flesh and organs like paper. But instead of pulling away—like anyone with common sense would—you leaned forward.

Sukuna’s eyes widened, the briefest flicker of surprise.

You dropped your blade before using your first pair of hands to grab Sukuna’s arm and pulling it into you, until his hand went through you, blood coated his hand as it emerged from your back. Right before your extra limbs surged from their hiding place, bursting forth in a blur of motion. The additional arms wrapped around him, slamming into his flesh with the precision of a predator finally sinking its claws into its prey.

You felt flesh tear beneath your fingers, watched as his blood splattered against the ground. It was like two rabid dogs, two survivors, ripping each other apart by their necks. A perfect pair, no?

He snarled, not in pain, but in exhilaration. You could see it—the raw thrill in his expression, the unhinged excitement of someone who had finally found a fight worth having. But you didn’t let up.

You pressed forward, extra limbs moving in perfect harmony with your own, a seamless blend of attack and defense. You were faster now, stronger, your movements unhindered by the usual limitations of human anatomy.

Sukuna adapted quickly. He fought like a beast, like a demon given flesh, and yet there was intelligence in his strikes, a predator’s cunning in the way he shifted.

Blow after blow, you clashed. The estate around you had long since faded from thought. There was only this moment, this fight, this exhilarating, intoxicating rush of battle.

Until finally—

His attacks met your defenses, his strikes clashed against yours, and for the first time in what felt like an eternity, you reached an impasse.

Neither of you could land a fatal blow.

The taste of blood lingered in the air, thick and heady, as Sukuna rolled his shoulders. His wounds were already knitting back together, flesh stitching itself back into place with unnatural ease. It had been a long time since he’d bled like this—longer still since anyone had managed to hold their ground against him.

And yet, despite the thrill of the fight, his amusement had started to wane.

He clicked his tongue, shaking off the blood from his fingers before turning on his heel, stepping over the ruined bodies that littered the ground. The estate was nothing but a corpse-strewn ruin now, silent save for the crackling of fires still burning in the distance.

"Annoying," he muttered under his breath, not bothering to glance back at you.

You hadn't died, which was already irritating enough. But beyond that, you had the nerve to grin at him, to tease him mid-fight like this was all some kind of game. The sheer audacity. He exhaled sharply, already deciding it wasn’t worth his time anymore.

"I'll kill you next time," he called over his shoulder, his tone almost lazy, as if this was a mere promise rather than a threat.

And then he walked away. That should have been the end of it. It wasn't. Because not even a few steps later, he heard something that made his brow twitch.

Footsteps. Light, almost soundless. But they were there. Following him.

He stopped.

The footsteps stopped.

He resumed.

The footsteps resumed.

Sukuna’s jaw tightened.

Slowly, deliberately, he turned his head just enough to catch sight of you out of the corner of his crimson eyes. There you were, walking at a perfectly casual pace, the first pair of arms behind your head as the other two pairs were tucked into your yukata, as if you hadn’t just been fighting him to the death minutes ago.

Annoying. That was what you were.

Not impressive. Not worthy. Just a nuisance who had managed to worm his way past his usual boredom, wriggling there like a splinter he couldn’t quite dig out. Yeah, that was it. Definitely. (not)

He stared. You smiled. Multiple pairs of eyes blinking right back at each other.

His fingers twitched. Then, without a word, he swung a fist toward your face.

You tilted your head—not even hurriedly, just a small, effortless shift—and his strike missed by the barest margin, passing through empty air. Your smile grew impossibly wider, eyes crinkling.

His eyes twitched.

He tried again. A quick, sharp jab toward your ribs. Blocked. You blinked as an almost imperceptible shield ebbed around you, reacting to Sukuna’s punch.

"You done?" you finally asked, tilting your head at him.

Sukuna hated how unbothered you looked. He hated how naive you looked, he hated how much you two were alike.

His teeth ground together. His irritation swelled. So he struck again. And again. Each attack was dodged or softened before it could land, and through it all, you didn’t stop smiling.

"Quit dodging, bastard."

"Then stop trying to hit me."

Sukuna let out a low growl, his patience officially gone. His hands blurred in rapid succession—right hook, left jab, a strike from his lower set of arms, followed by a quick kick—each one aimed to throw you off, to catch you when you least expected it.

And yet, every single strike either missed or failed to deal any real damage.

You grinned. "This is fun."

"It is NOT." Sukuna bit out. This was ridiculous.

He had carved through entire armies, crushed the strongest warriors, slaughtered men like they were insects beneath his heel. And yet, here he was, brawling with you in the middle of a dirt road like some petty street fight—and losing, if only in terms of patience.

At this point, he wasn’t sure if he wanted to kill you or just throw you into a river and see if you floated. He stopped abruptly, his shoulders rising and falling with controlled breaths. "Fine."

You tilted your head. "Fine?"

He exhaled sharply, rubbing a hand down his face. "Do whatever the hell you want. Just—stop talking." Your grin widened.

Sukuna grumbled something incomprehensible under his breath and resumed walking, pretending you weren’t there. But he knew you were.

And somehow, despite everything—despite the irritation bubbling beneath his skin, despite the exhaustion creeping at the edges of his mind—he found himself almost entertained. Almost.

The wind was sharp tonight, cutting through the trees like a whisper of ghosts. It carried the scent of blood and frost, mingling in the crisp Heian air, yet despite the eerie quiet of the frozen village behind them, the warmth of the crackling fire in front of them made the night feel almost… peaceful. Almost.

A child, barely more than a wisp of a thing, pale as the frost that still clung stubbornly to their clothes. Silent, observant, and eerily composed for someone their age, considering the way Sukuna and you had found them—crouching in the center of an entire village turned to ice, their expression as blank as the frozen corpses surrounding them.

Most children would have screamed. Ran. Cried for their parents. But not this one, not as if they had any more parents to run to.

No, they had simply blinked up at the two of you, completely unaffected by your presence—the two most dangerous men in the Heian era standing before them, drenched in the remnants of battle, destruction lingering in the air around you like a storm.

Sukuna, ever the skeptic, had initially deemed them useful only for their abilities. "Would keep the meat from spoiling," he had muttered with a smirk, clearly pleased with the idea of a walking icebox. But you? You had seen it immediately—the spark of something familiar in Uraume’s gaze, the way they looked at you both like… like you weren’t monsters. This kid was just like you and Sukuna.

And somehow, against all logic, against the natural order of things, the two of you had kept it. Uraume, it told you its name.

A ‘demon’. A half-curse. And a child who had slaughtered an entire village without meaning to. Sounds like a start to a very, very bad joke.

Somehow, it was… oddly domestic.

At first, Uraume had been quiet, following orders with a cold efficiency that reminded you of yourself when you were younger. It wasn’t surprising—survival demanded obedience. They had likely learned that early on.

But, as time passed, something shifted.

They clung to you when Sukuna got too loud, hiding behind your back when he roared in frustration at something trivial. They sat beside you at night, close enough to steal warmth, but never quite touching. They watched the two of you bicker with the quiet amusement of a child who understood far more than they let on.

And then, one evening, they called you “Father.”

You had choked on your food. 

The Heian Era was a golden age—for the strong. For those who could carve their existence into the bones of the weak, who could leave a trail of ruin in their wake and call it a legacy.

And for you, for Sukuna, for your little Uraume—it was nothing short of a playground.

The village burned behind you, flames licking at the sky, thick black smoke curling like a dying beast’s final breath. The air was heavy with the stench of charred flesh, metallic with the scent of fresh blood. Corpses littered the ground, torn apart, their bodies split open in jagged, grotesque displays of what had once been human. Some still twitched, struggling to hold on to the last vestiges of life. A mistake.

You stepped over a writhing man, his guts spilling from the gaping wound in his stomach, his trembling fingers trying in vain to push them back in. The look in his eyes—desperation, horror, confusion—was intoxicating. He hadn’t even seen the strike that felled him. He hadn’t even realized he was already dead.

"Pathetic," Sukuna scoffed, his voice thick with amusement as he leaned on a collapsing pillar, watching the dying man like one might watch an ant struggling underfoot. "You’d think after hearing the screams, they’d run. But no. They stay, they pray, they beg." He rolled his eyes, red gleaming in the firelight. "Like insects waiting to be crushed."

Uraume crouched beside the man, tilting their head as they observed the way he trembled, the way blood bubbled from his lips. "He’s still alive," they noted, voice devoid of sympathy.

You met Sukuna’s gaze, a slow, knowing smile tugging at your lips.

Uraume didn’t hesitate.

"Then fix that."

The ice formed instantly, blooming from their fingertips like a creeping frost, delicate and beautiful in the way it spread across the man's skin. He gasped, choked, his body convulsing as the ice crawled over his throat, sealing his lips shut, freezing the blood in his veins. Within seconds, he was motionless—an intricate, crystalline statue, forever locked in the throes of his last, pitiful moment.

"Good," You hummed, patting Uraume’s head with the same affection one might give a favored pet. "Quick. Efficient. You’re learning!"

Uraume beamed, a glint of pride flickering in their cold eyes.

And then the slaughter continued.

You moved like a specter, slipping through the shadows, striking where the light could not reach. They never saw you coming. You were the whisper of death against their ear, the last thing they felt before their world went dark. Blood spattered across your skin, warm and slick, soaking into your clothes.

Sukuna was chaos incarnate, tearing through bodies with the same ease one might rip through parchment. Limbs flew, heads rolled, entrails spilled like ribbons unfurling from a torn gift. He laughed, gods, he laughed, the sound of it low and rich, a song of bloodlust and madness.

And Uraume—oh, they were the perfect student.

"Not like that," you chastised like a mother, stepping behind them as they struggled to drive their icy blade into a flailing woman’s throat. "You’re hesitating. Don’t. Hesitation makes you weak."

Uraume nodded, adjusting their grip. You guided their hand with a firm but gentle claw, twisting the blade at just the right angle before pressing down. The woman gurgled, her body seizing before falling limp, her blood spilling in thick waves over the dirt.

"There, much better, no?" You beamed, wiping a stray droplet of blood from Uraume’s cheek with your thumb.

Sukuna watched, arms folded, a smirk playing at his lips. "Sweet," he mocked, voice dripping with amusement. "Teaching them so gently. You’d make such a kind parent."

You shot him a look over your shoulder, sharp and knowing. 

The dance of death continued, bodies falling like leaves in a storm. You killed when Sukuna told you to, and Uraume followed suit, obedient and precise. But Sukuna too—he killed for you. If an enemy managed to get too close, if a blade even dared to graze your skin, they were erased. Their screams barely had time to leave their lips before they were torn apart.

You were exactly where you belonged.

karaoke session

❝ 𝐃𝐀𝐈𝐒𝐘 𝐃𝐔𝐊𝐄𝐒, 𝐁𝐈𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐈𝐒 𝐎𝐍 𝐓𝐎𝐏! ❞

jamms : twenty three . libra . enfj . she/her . join my taglist ! also on : wattpad . ao3 . discord . spotify . networks : @tokyometronetwork @downtown-roponggi

━ 𝐉𝐔𝐉𝐔𝐓𝐒𝐔 𝐊𝐀𝐈𝐒𝐄𝐍 ━

sex therapy (complete | ao3 . wattpad) :: when your husband can’t please you, so someone else does ⌗ characters: toji, naoya, sukuna, geto, choso, f!reader.

daddy’s girl (complete | wattpad) :: when you lose your stripper job while supporting living costs for your son, you turn to your protective sugar daddy for support and baby daddy for help ⌗ characters: nanami, gojo, f!reader

━ 𝐃𝐄𝐌𝐎𝐍 𝐒𝐋𝐀𝐘𝐄𝐑 | 𝐊𝐈𝐌𝐄𝐓𝐒𝐔 𝐍𝐎 𝐘𝐀𝐈𝐁𝐀 ━

my demon husband (complete | wattpad . ao3) :: he’s not your typical husband, he’s your demon husband ⌗ characters: muzan, giyuu, f!reader

━ 𝐒𝐏𝐘 𝐗 𝐅𝐀𝐌𝐈𝐋𝐘 ━

international superspy (oneshot) :: nothing more interesting than some mysterious eye-candy dressed up to the nines ⌗ characters: loid, f!hostess!reader.

© 2025 Jamms | All Rights Reserved | No portion of the author’s works may be used or adapted in any way without the author’s explicit consent.

"Go ahead. Keep flirting. Just remember who you belong to when I fuck the attitude out of you."

❤︎ Synopsis. They’ve never been the jealous type—cool, composed, untouchable. But the moment they see you smile at someone else, something inside them snaps, something dark, something dangerous… and now, they’re going to make sure you never forget who you belong to.

♡ Book 6. The Red Ledger (TRL): Stained in Lust, Written in Blood.

♡ Pairing. Yandere! Soft! Modern AU! Various x Fem. Reader (separate)

♡ Characters Include. Nerd! Gojo, Biker! Soft! Sukuna, Professor! Half-Dragon! Rex Lapis, Academic Rival! Alhaitham, Older Brother! Sunday, Father! Human! Boothill, Step Brother! Caleb, Bully! Soft! Bakugo, Fuckboy! Atsumu, Virgin! Barou

♡ Kidnapper x Captor Series. The Thirsting - Part 3

♡ Word Count. 19,504 (about 1.5K each character)

♡ TW. dom + top + older + soft sadist yanderes, non-con + rape, BDSM + DDLG + slight masochistic reader, incest, language, forced orgasms, overstimulation + raw fucking, inappropriate use of kinks, food play, degradation + humiliation, implied blackmail, semi-public sex, physical assault, slapping + spanking + biting + choking + punching, fingering, general manipulation + gaslighting + abuse + trauma, abuse of authority, fingering, fear + primal play + dacryphilia, needles + drugging, slight omegaverse inspiration, breeding + knotting, stalking, forced infidelity, revenge pornography, slight brat taming

♡ Note. Due to Tumblr policy, all characters are all of age.

⋅───⊱༺ ♰ ༻⊰───⋅ 𝐍𝐞𝐫𝐝! 𝐆𝐨𝐣𝐨 ✦✧✦✧

He’s never been jealous before.

Not once in his entire life. Not when his classmates paired off in high school, not when his friends bragged about their conquests in college, not when some girl he fucked once or twice found someone else to warm her bed.

Because why the fuck would he? He’s Gojo Satoru.

There is no competition.

But then there’s you.

And there’s Ryōmen Sukuna—the leather-clad, cigarette-smoking, law-breaking bastard who somehow got his claws into you first.

Sukuna, with his wolfish grin and blood-stained knuckles, who does whatever the fuck he wants whenever the fuck he wants, dragging you along for the ride. He treats you like you’re his little doll, something to dress up and fuck rough and parade around like a prize, and you—

You love him.

It drives Gojo fucking insane.

Not that you notice, oblivious little thing. Always so focused on whatever book you’re burying your nose in, sitting pretty in class, and looking like you don’t belong anywhere near someone like Sukuna. Like you belong somewhere safe. Somewhere quiet.

Somewhere with him.

It’s not that Gojo wants you in any particular way. That’s what he tells himself. He just hates seeing you wasted on someone like Sukuna. You’re too intelligent to be following around a fucking brute. Too soft to be caught up in that bastard’s world.

He tells himself that’s all it is. That the slow burn under his skin whenever he sees Sukuna wrap a hand around your throat is nothing but disdain. That he doesn’t think about it, not really, when he watches you leave campus on the back of Sukuna’s bike, gripping onto him like your life depends on it.

And then one day, it happens.

You walk into class with bruises on your thighs. A few peeking out beneath your skirt, just barely visible when you shift in your seat. Sukuna’s marks, no doubt. The realization slams into him like a freight train.

You let that bastard fuck you raw last night.

And Gojo feels something new. Something ugly. Something that tastes like fire and blood and mine.

And it only gets worse. Because you’re happy.

You sit there, twirling a pen between your fingers, a small, barely-there smile tugging at your lips. And for the first time, Gojo wants to ruin you.

You don’t get to smile like that over another man.

Not when he’s right here.

So, he waits.

Because Gojo is patient. He can bide his time. He can play his game. You don’t even realize what you are to him yet, what you’ve always been. But you will.

It starts with little things. The way he blocks your path in the hallway, leaning down close to murmur something about how pretty you look today. The way his fingers brush over yours when he hands you a paper, lingering just a second too long.

The way he talks about Sukuna.

“Can’t believe you’re still with that asshole,” he says one day, watching you pack your bag after class.

You don’t even look up. “Don’t talk about him like that.”

His grin is sharp. “Like what? Like he’s a thug who treats you like a fucking accessory?”

You glare at him. He loves the fire in your eyes. Loves how defensive you get. “You don’t know anything about us.”

“I know enough.”

“And I don’t care.”

You snap your bag shut and move to brush past him, but he catches your wrist. It’s the first time he’s ever touched you with intent, and he can feel the pulse beneath your skin jump. Can see the way your breath hitches, just for a second.

It makes him want to tear you apart.

“Don’t be like that, sweetheart,” he murmurs, voice low. Intimate. “I’m just looking out for you.”

You yank your hand away. “Stay the fuck out of my business, Gojo.”

He watches you walk away, the heat from your skin still lingering on his fingertips.

Oh, sweetheart.

You don’t get it, do you?

You are his business.

And he’s only just getting started.

✦✧✦✧

It starts with a drink.

Sugary, sickly sweet, laced with something invisible to the eye but potent enough to make your limbs go loose, your breath slow, your thoughts grow thick and sluggish. You barely register the way he watches you as you take another sip, tongue peeking out to swipe the remnants of syrup from your lips, a movement that makes his fingers twitch around his own glass.

"Atta girl," Gojo murmurs, a slow smirk spreading across his face. "See? I knew you could have a little fun."

You blink up at him, confusion flickering in your gaze, but it doesn’t last. The drug is already sinking its claws into your nervous system, dulling your instincts, numbing your resistance. You sway, and before you can even think to catch yourself, he does it for you. Hands smooth, deceptively gentle, gripping your waist like he’s been waiting for this exact moment.

"Oops," he chuckles, breath warm against your temple as he steadies you. "Looks like you need some help, sweetheart. Good thing I’m here."

You try to push him away, but it’s useless. Your limbs don’t listen, fingers barely managing a weak grasp against the fabric of his hoodie before slipping away. Panic flutters in your chest, but even that feels distant, like you’re experiencing it through layers of cotton. You know something’s wrong. You know this isn’t right.

But Gojo is already moving, already sweeping you up in his arms like you weigh nothing, already carrying you somewhere quiet, somewhere away from prying eyes.

Somewhere Sukuna won’t find you.

✦✧✦✧

The first thing you notice when consciousness fights its way back is the smell of sugar.

The second is the weight pinning you down.

Something sticky smears across your stomach, a mess of syrup and melting cream dripping between your thighs, coating your skin in a way that makes your stomach churn. The sheets beneath you are ruined, stained with streaks of something viscous, something pink, something white.

Something sweet.

And then there’s him.

Gojo is above you, one knee pressing between your legs, forcing them apart. His glasses are gone, his eyes bare, sharp and hungry, filled with something terrifying and possessive and hot. His hands are coated in the same sickly mess, fingers smearing remnants of some dessert along your inner thighs, his thumb dragging along your folds in a slow, lazy stroke.

"Knew you’d look good like this," he muses, tilting his head as he watches you try—try—to move, to resist. "Covered in sugar, begging to be tasted."

Your mouth opens, but nothing comes out beyond a soft, broken noise. You feel like you’re drowning, every nerve slow to respond, every movement sluggish. He notices, of course he does, and his smirk deepens.

"Don’t worry," he coos, fingers dipping lower, pressing, pushing, spreading. "You don’t have to do anything. Just lay there and take it like a good girl."

"Gojo—"

"Mm, nah," he muses. "Think I like it better when you call me Satoru."

Your breath comes fast, ragged. You can’t think, can’t breathe past the lingering fog in your brain. "What—what the fuck are you doing?"

He laughs. Actually laughs.

"Sweetheart," he murmurs, leaning down until his breath fans over your lips, the scent of sugar thick between you. "What do you think?"

And then he kisses you.

It’s slow, deep. His tongue parts your lips effortlessly, sliding past them to taste the remnants of chocolate he forced down your throat. He groans against your mouth like you’re the sweetest thing he’s ever tasted, like he’s been starving for this, for you.

You try to turn away, but he fists a hand in your hair, tugging you back into place. "Nah, baby. Don’t be like that. You’ve been teasing me for months." He nips at your bottom lip, sharp enough to sting. "Time to take responsibility."

You barely have time to gasp before he’s shifting, yanking your camisole down to expose your breasts. The cold air makes you shudder, but the heat of his mouth replaces it instantly, lips closing around your nipple as he groans, sucking deep.

"Fuck," he mumbles against your skin. "Taste even better than I imagined."

Tears sting at your eyes. "Please—"

"Oh, we’re getting to that part," he says brightly, grinning up at you with sugar-slick lips. "Begging already? Cute."

His hands roam lower, hiking up your skirt, fingers slipping beneath your panties. He finds you dry—of course you are, this is sick, this is wrong—but he only hums, unfazed.

"Don't worry, baby. I got somethin' for that."

You hear the crinkle of plastic before you feel it. Something cold presses against your clit, sticky and thick, and then he's rubbing it in, spreading the sweetness over your skin. The scent hits you immediately—strawberry syrup.

"Told you I had a sweet tooth," he murmurs, before dipping his head down and licking a long, slow stripe up your slit.

You choke on a sob, body jerking against the silk restraints, but he just presses you down harder, pinning you in place as he feasts.

Your body jerks as he sinks in, one digit first, then another, twisting and stretching as something wet and humiliating drips between your thighs, mixing with the syrup and cream. You want to fight. You want to scream. But all you can do is whimper, your limbs useless against his weight, your body betraying you in the worst way.

It doesn’t take long for your body to betray you. The drugs still lingering in your system make everything hazy, pleasure and disgust blurring at the edges. He moans when he feels you getting wet, tongue pushing deeper, lapping up the mess he made.

You’re shaking when he finally pulls back, lips and chin glistening. He licks them clean, eyes half-lidded with something almost like reverence.

"Fuck, look at that," he breathes, eyes locked on the way you shudder, the way your walls clench around his fingers despite yourself. "See? I told you. You were always meant for me."

The camera clicks.

Your stomach drops.

Your head lolls to the side, and there it is—his phone, propped up, recording everything. Every sound, every movement, every twitch of your body beneath him. Gojo leans in, his breath hot against your ear, his fingers still moving, still fucking into you in slow, deliberate strokes.

"You know, sweetheart," he murmurs, nipping at your jaw, "I think Sukuna should see what you look like when you’re with a real man."

Terror crashes over you like a tidal wave.

"He thinks he owns you, but he doesn’t. Not like I do." His tongue flicks out, dragging along the shell of your ear. "Not like I will."

And then he’s pushing inside you, tearing you apart, stretching you too much, too full, too deep, his weight pressing you down, trapping you beneath him as he starts to move, each thrust dragging a broken, unwilling noise from your throat.

You scream—or try to. But it only comes out as a choked gasp as he snaps his hips forward, splitting you open with several deep thrusts.

"Fuck, you're tight." His voice is rough, strained. "Like a fuckin' vice, baby. Gonna ruin you."

He means it. He pounds into you like he’s got something to prove, like he needs to brand himself into your skin. He keeps the phone steady the entire time, angling it to capture every detail—the tears streaking your cheeks, the way your breasts bounce with each brutal thrust, the raw stretch of your cunt around his cock.

"Bet Sukuna thought he had you all to himself," he pants, biting at your throat hard enough to leave a mark. "Bet he thought you were his."

He fucks you harder.

"He’s wrong, baby." His teeth scrape against your ear. "You’re mine."

✦✧✦✧

And worst of all—you can’t stop him from filming every second of it.

Hours later, when your body is sore and wrecked and trembling, when your voice is hoarse from crying, when your skin is marked and ruined with his touch—

The video sends with a simple press of his finger.

A message attached.

Your little doll looks better in my hands.

And then Gojo grins, licking the last traces of sugar from his lips.

"Sweetest thing I’ve ever tasted."

⋅───⊱༺ ♰ ༻⊰───⋅ 𝐁𝐢𝐤𝐞𝐫! 𝐒𝐮𝐤𝐮𝐧𝐚 ✦✧✦✧

There wasn’t a single soul on the block who didn’t know the name Ryōmen Sukuna.

The man was a legend. Or a menace, depending on who you asked.

With ink crawling up his neck, silver piercings glinting under streetlights, and a cigarette dangling lazily from his lips, he had the kind of presence that choked the air out of a room. Sukuna didn’t ride a motorcycle; he owned the road. His name was etched into asphalt, into the bones of men who had crossed him, into the terrified whispers of those too weak to hold his gaze. He didn’t do relationships, didn’t believe in love, and certainly didn’t give a damn about anyone other than himself.

Until you.

You weren’t supposed to be here.

This world—his world—was a warzone of fists and gasoline, of blood and engine oil smeared into pavement. You didn’t belong anywhere near it. But somehow, some way, you had stumbled into the orbit of the devil himself, and instead of burning, you had stayed. You were a contradiction, the kind that pissed him off because he couldn’t figure you out. Small, quiet, way too smart for your own good. You never reacted to his taunts the way others did. He’d call you names, push your buttons, just to see how you’d crack—only for you to blink up at him like he was nothing but white noise.

He should have crushed you. Broken you down into something small and trembling. That was what he did to people who didn’t know their place.

But you had this strange habit.

You cared.

Not for him—fuck no, you weren’t that stupid—but for things that had no business surviving in a place like this.

Stray cats. Limping dogs. That one scrawny little brat who hung around his nephew, Yuji.

It started with the kid. Some dumb punk, maybe thirteen at most, all gangly arms and scraped knees. Sukuna hadn’t given him a second glance—wasn’t his fucking problem—but then he saw you crouched in front of the boy, voice soft, brows furrowed in concern as you pressed a bandage over a wound that wasn’t your responsibility.

“Hold still,” you had murmured, not even sparing Sukuna a glance as you focused on the boy’s bleeding hand. “You’re blessed it’s not deep.”

The kid had blushed like a damn idiot. Sukuna almost ripped him off the curb right then and there.

But the worst part? That was only the beginning.

Because it wasn’t just one kid.

It was all of them.

Yuji. His quietly sassy friend, Megumi. That bratty girl with the sharp tongue, Nobara. Stray kids, teens with nowhere to go, the ones no one gave a shit about—you had a soft spot for all of them, and Sukuna hated it. Hated how easily they flocked to you, hated how you spoke to them like they mattered, hated how you let them steal bits and pieces of your attention that should have belonged to him.

Hated that he cared at all.

✦✧✦✧

It came to a head one night at the shop.

The garage reeked of oil and cigarette smoke, engines grumbling as Sukuna’s boys worked on their bikes. The door was open, summer air thick with the scent of asphalt. He was leaned against the counter, arms crossed, watching you talk to Yuji and his little band of idiots.

His nephew was grinning, the usual dumb, wide-eyed expression on his face as he listened to whatever you were saying. Megumi looked mildly disinterested, but he was paying attention in that brooding, quiet way of his. Even Nobara, brat that she was, had softened, hanging onto your words with an expression Sukuna didn’t like.

They looked at you like you were something holy.

And you? You let them.

A muscle in his jaw ticked. His cigarette burned low between his fingers, the embers crackling like a warning.

“Oi.”

You turned, blinking up at him. There was no fear in your gaze—there never was—but he saw the way you stiffened, the way your fingers curled slightly at your sides, bracing for whatever storm he was about to bring down. The kids went quiet. Yuji’s smile faltered.

Sukuna flicked his cigarette to the ground, crushing it under his boot.

“You got a fucking job here, or are you running a damn daycare?”

You exhaled slowly, but you didn’t flinch. “They’re just hanging out.”

“They’re a fucking distraction.”

“They’re kids.”

Something sharp crawled up his spine. He took a slow step forward, crowding into your space, forcing you to tilt your chin up to meet his eyes. “They ain’t your fucking responsibility.”

Your gaze flickered—just a flicker, but he caught it. A crack in that perfectly composed exterior. And fuck, he hated that he noticed, hated that he wanted to peel you open and see what made you tick.

“They’re not yours either,” you murmured, voice even.

His lips curled. “You sure about that?”

You said nothing.

He scoffed, stepping back. “Get back to work.”

The kids scattered, taking the hint. But Sukuna didn’t move, didn’t take his eyes off you as you finally turned away. He should have been satisfied. He should have let it go.

But he wasn’t. And he didn’t.

Because as much as he hated it—

He wasn’t the only thing you gave a damn about.

And that? That pissed him off more than anything else.

✦✧✦✧

The heat of the garage clung to your skin, thick with the scent of gasoline, metal, and the faintest tinge of nicotine. The rumbling laughter of Sukuna’s crew faded as you stepped inside, the weight of his gaze already sinking its claws into your spine. You barely had time to register the shift in the air before a rough hand clamped around your wrist, yanking you past the workbenches, past the half-built motorcycles, straight into the dimly lit back room.

The door slammed. The lock clicked.

A slow, dragging inhale came from behind you, the burn of cigarette smoke laced with something darker, heavier. "You got a fucking death wish, sweetheart?" Sukuna’s voice slithered down your spine, low and sharp.

Your pulse stuttered, but you didn’t shrink. You knew better. Showing fear only made him worse.

"I don't know what you—"

"Don’t fucking play with me. That little shit outside—the one sniffing around you like a damn dog. You like that? You like letting these punks think they got a shot?" He was behind you now, heat bleeding through your clothes as he loomed close. His fingers grazed your neck, featherlight. "'Cause I don’t fucking share."

Your breath caught. "He's just a kid."

"Bullshit."

Fingers curled in your hair, yanking your head back, forcing your gaze up to the ceiling. The stretch burned, your scalp prickling where he held you in his grip. He wasn’t gentle. He never was.

"I see the way they look at you. The way you let them. Walking around here like you don’t know exactly what you’re doing. What kind of fucked-up game are you playing, huh?"

You swallowed. "I’m not playing anything."

"Then why the fuck are you shaking?" Sukuna’s lips ghosted against the shell of your ear, his breath scalding. "Not so tough now, are you?"

A sharp pull dragged you backward, your body colliding against his chest. His grip shifted, fingers closing around your throat—not squeezing, not yet, just holding. A warning. A promise.

"Tell me to stop." His voice was velvet wrapped around barbed wire. "Go on. Say it."

Your nails dug into his wrist. Your body locked up. The air between you crackled, an electric storm of defiance and something far more dangerous.

You didn't say a word.

His chuckle was a slow, lethal thing. "That’s what I fucking thought."

The world spun as he shoved you forward, your palms smacking against the cold surface of the metal workbench. You barely had time to catch yourself before he was on you, his body caging yours, heat radiating off him like fire licking at your skin.

"You wanna act like a fucking tease? Letting those little shits think they got a chance?" He ripped at your waistband, the rough fabric of your jeans dragging against your hips as he wrenched them down. "Fine. Let’s see how much you like attention when it’s mine."

A choked sound caught in your throat, your fingers scrambling against the metal as his hand pressed down between your shoulder blades, forcing you flat against the workbench. Cold steel bit against your stomach, a stark contrast to the feverish heat of his body.

"Sukuna—"

A sharp slap across your ass made you jolt. "You don’t get to fucking talk."

Another strike, harder this time. Your breath left you in a shuddering gasp, humiliation curling in your gut. He was reveling in this—the way your body responded, the way you couldn’t stop it.

"See, this is the problem with you," he mused, dragging his fingers along the curve of your ass, down to where you were embarrassingly slick. "You walk around here, thinking you’re untouchable. Like you’re better than all of us. But look at you now. Bent over my fucking workbench. Dripping."

You squeezed your eyes shut, heat burning through you. "Fuck you."

His laughter was dark, razor-sharp. "Oh, you will."

The sound of his belt unbuckling sent a fresh wave of dread slamming into you. Your stomach twisted. You tried to push up, to scramble away, but his hand pinned you down, fingers tightening around your throat. Not enough to cut off your air. Just enough to remind you who was in control.

He leaned in, lips brushing the shell of your ear. "You're mine, sweetheart. Every fucking inch of you."

The blunt press of his cock against your entrance made you freeze, your breath catching as the reality of the situation crashed over you. This was happening. There was no stopping it.

Sukuna didn’t wait. Didn’t ease in, didn’t let you adjust. He was cruel, relentless, pushing in deep with a low, guttural groan that sent a violent shudder ripping through you. The stretch burned, every inch forcing your body to accommodate him, to take him whether you wanted to or not.

"Fuck, you feel good like this," he rasped, his grip bruising as he held you still, his hips snapping forward in sharp, punishing thrusts. "So tight. Bet none of those little shits could ever fill you like this. Bet you wouldn't let them."

Your nails clawed at the metal, your body trembling as he fucked into you with a brutal, single-minded focus. There was no tenderness here, no gentleness. Just raw, unchecked possession, his jealousy bleeding into every vicious snap of his hips.

"Gonna ruin you, sweetheart. Make sure every time you fucking walk, you remember who did this to you. Who you belong to."

The worst part?

Somewhere in the haze of pain and shame, a tiny, treacherous part of you believed him.

His pace quickened, his breathing ragged against your ear. "Tell me," he growled, his fingers tightening around your throat, dragging you upright so your back was flush against his chest. "Tell me who fucking owns you."

You clenched your teeth, refusing.

He let out a dark chuckle, his free hand dipping between your thighs, rubbing tight circles against your clit. "C'mon, sweetheart. Say it. Or I swear, I won’t let you fucking come."

Your body betrayed you. The pleasure coiled, white-hot and unbearable, the cruel rhythm of his fingers forcing you closer and closer to the edge. Your breaths turned ragged, your body trembling.

"Say it," he snarled.

You bit down on a whimper, your pride warring with the overwhelming sensation that threatened to consume you.

His teeth scraped against your throat. "Last chance, baby."

The coil snapped.

Your body convulsed, pleasure tearing through you with brutal intensity, and the word slipped past your lips before you could stop it.

"You."

His groan was raw, triumphant. "Damn right."

His pace turned erratic, his thrusts growing rougher, deeper. His grip on your throat tightened, his other hand branding your hip as he chased his own release, his body tensing before he buried himself deep with a shuddering groan, claiming you in the most primal way possible.

The room spun.

The only sound was your ragged breathing, the slow, languid drag of Sukuna's fingers over your skin as he pulled back, tucking himself away like nothing had happened.

Like he hadn't just shattered you.

Like he hadn't just marked you as his.

A rough hand gripped your chin, tilting your face up. His eyes burned into yours, dark and possessive.

"Next time," he murmured, his thumb dragging over your lower lip, "you remember who the fuck you belong to."

And just like that, he was gone, leaving you slumped against the workbench, wrecked and ruined, with his name carved into your very bones.

And the worst part?

You knew this was only the beginning.

⋅───⊱༺ ♰ ༻⊰───⋅ 𝐏𝐫𝐨𝐟𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐨𝐫! 𝐇𝐚𝐥𝐟-𝐃𝐫𝐚𝐠𝐨𝐧! 𝐑𝐞𝐱 𝐋𝐚𝐩𝐢𝐬 ✦✧✦✧

There was a time when you were obedient.

That was the only way he had ever known you—an intelligent woman with sharp wit but the necessary restraint to respect his word. You were raised well, crafted under the precise structure of discipline he so generously offered. His lectures, his lessons, his expectations—what you were, what you knew, what you excelled in—were all by his design. Your education, your intelligence, your success belonged to him.

And now, you're ruining yourself.

He does not react, not at first. That has never been his way.

As the professor of history, a strict and authoritative figure, he does not succumb to the petty whims of lesser men. Rex Lapis has lived countless lives in countless forms; he has ruled, destroyed, built, and endured. He has been the father of nations, the warlord of centuries, the god of unbreakable contracts. Mortal pleasures are fleeting distractions.

And yet—

He sees you, his precious, obedient girl, transformed into something unrecognizable. You used to listen. You used to lower your gaze in his presence, used to nod obediently when he assigned you readings, used to hang onto every word like scripture. You used to understand your place.

Now? Now you dress yourself in sin.

Short skirts, tight blouses, jewelry that catches the light like bait. Your nails are manicured like talons, your lips glossed, your scent laced with something wickedly sweet.

You smile at men. You let them touch your wrist, your shoulder, your waist. You let them speak to you, let them lean too close, let them believe—foolishly—that they could ever deserve your attention. And worse than that? You encourage it.

He watches as you laugh at some dull, brainless boy’s attempt at wit. Watches as you tilt your head, watches as you slide your fingers along your own exposed throat in a thoughtless, meaningless gesture, something unconscious, something only an observer as keen as himself would ever notice.

A lure. A trap.

Rex Lapis was never meant to feel the things he does now. A god does not succumb to the venom of jealousy. But when he sees you flirting, your body language betraying every sharp, calculating game you play—he knows you’re not just naive. You’re choosing this.

You’re choosing to act out, choosing to defy him. And he will not allow it.

✦✧✦✧

The first time he speaks to you about it, it is a warning.

“Sit.” His voice is measured, controlled. The very sound of it, low and commanding, makes the air in his office still.

You hesitate, and that hesitation alone sparks something primal in him, something he does not allow himself to feel.

“Now.”

You sit.

His office is quiet, save for the rhythmic ticking of the antique clock on his desk. You fold your arms, cross your legs, and regard him with feigned innocence.

“Do you think I don’t see what you’re doing?”

You blink, and he knows you’re considering your answer. A lesser man would be fooled by your performance.

“I don’t know what you mean, Professor.”

Lies.

His fingers tap against the desk in a slow, deliberate cadence. “Your grades have not faltered. Your academic standing remains pristine. And yet, your behavior has… changed.”

You lean back, entirely too confident. “Is that a problem?”

His jaw tightens. You smile. You’re goading him. He knows it, and yet, that knowledge does not lessen his ire.

“You’re dressing like a slut.”

You don’t even flinch. Instead, your lips curl, as if amused. “And?”

Rex Lapis has never been a man to act on impulse. His control is absolute, honed through centuries of war and diplomacy. And yet—

You are testing him. Deliberately. Consciously.

Why? What changed? What made you so reckless, so insubordinate, so eager to provoke him?

He leans forward, his golden eyes locking onto yours.

“You are an intelligent woman.” His voice is smooth, sharp as a blade. “You are capable, cunning, and perceptive. So tell me, little one—why are you acting like a cheap, brainless whore?”

Your breath catches, just slightly.

And there it is.

The subtle break in your performance, the flicker of something beneath your confident facade.

But you recover too quickly, tilting your head in mock curiosity. “Oh? You disapprove?”

A taunt.

The heat in his veins surges. Rex Lapis is not a man who allows disrespect. His patience is legendary, his composure unshakable—but the moment you choose to play this game, to behave as though his word, his presence, his influence no longer holds dominion over you—

Something inside him shifts. He lets the silence stretch. Lets the weight of his presence, the gravity of his authority, press against you.

“You will cease this behavior.”

You laugh. It is a quiet, dangerous thing.

“Or what?”

His grip tightens against the desk. There it is—the line you have drawn, the challenge you have issued. You are waiting, watching, daring him to prove that he still holds control over you.

And Rex Lapis? He is not a man who tolerates defiance.

You have made a grave mistake, little one.

He will not be ignored. He will not be disrespected.

And most of all—

He will not allow you to forget who you belong to.

You realize your mistake too late.

The door slams shut behind you, locking the two of you inside his office. The sound is final, inescapable, ringing in your ears like the toll of a death knell.

Your breath hitches. A lifetime of instinct screams at you to run, to escape, to do anything but remain under the weight of his unrelenting gaze. But you don’t move. Not because you don’t want to—but because his presence roots you in place.

Rex Lapis—Professor Zhongli—does not look human in this moment.

His golden eyes are slitted like a predator’s, his sharp features even sharper in the dim glow of the antique lamps lining his office. His long fingers press against the heavy mahogany desk, tightening just enough that you hear the creak of wood under his strength. His posture is composed, still, the control of a man—a god—who has never known jealousy until you forced it into his veins like poison.

He was never meant to feel this way.

And now, you will suffer for it.

Your back hits the wall before you can even think of fleeing.

A sharp gasp leaves your lips as he is suddenly there, his presence overwhelming, too much, pressing against you like a force of nature. His large body cages you in, his scent wrapping around you like an inescapable fog—amber, sandalwood, dragon’s breath.

"You think this is a game?" His voice is quiet, but no less terrifying.

His fingers slide along your jaw, tilting your chin up. His touch is deceptively gentle—but there is a dark promise behind it, a warning that should send you to your knees in terror.

You try to shake your head, try to deny, but his thumb presses against your lips, silencing you.

"Do you know what you have done, little one?" You swallow hard.

"You—" Your voice breaks. "—are my professor."

He chuckles. A deep, dark, humorless sound.

"I was never just your professor." And then he's kissing you—if you can even call it that.

His lips crash against yours, brutal, consuming. His large hands seize your waist, yanking you against his unyielding body. There is no tenderness, no softness—only raw possession, only a claim being forcibly carved into your flesh.

Your fists slam against his chest, a pathetic attempt to push him away. He doesn’t budge. He doesn’t even acknowledge your resistance.

"You wear the scent of another man." His breath is hot against your ear, his voice dripping with venom. "Tell me, did you think of me when you let him touch you?"

You try to speak, try to deny, but it’s useless.

His grip tightens. "I should tear you apart for this."

And then he does. Fabric rips.

A sharp gasp tears from your lips as he shreds your blouse like it’s made of paper, leaving your exposed skin to the mercy of the cool air. You barely have time to process it before his hands are on you again—searing, possessive, everywhere.

"Pathetic," he sneers, fingers bruising your waist. "All this effort to make yourself desirable. Do you think it gives you power? Do you think batting your lashes makes men weak?"

You cry out as he yanks you forward, bending you face-first against his desk. His large hand presses against your back, keeping you in place as his other hand rips away the remainder of your clothing—until you are bare, exposed, completely at his mercy.

"You are nothing without my approval."

You tremble, "You— You can't—"

But you already know the truth. He can. He will.

Something presses against your entrance—thick, inhumanly thick. Your breath falters, a sob choking in your throat. The sheer size of it is impossible, terrifying.

"You will take it." He gives you no choice.

Your scream is muffled by the wooden surface of his desk as he buries himself inside you in one devastating thrust. Your walls stretch, burn, struggling to accommodate the sheer, monstrous girth of him. It feels impossible, like he’s splitting you apart, too much, too much—

"Hah… still so tight."

His voice is ragged, strained, but there is no mercy in his movements. He pulls back only to slam back in, forcing your body to take every punishing inch of him.

"Struggling?" His chuckle is cruel, mocking. "How quickly you forget—I made you. You exist to serve me."

Your fingers claw against the desk, desperate for purchase, desperate for relief. But there is none. There is only the merciless pace he sets, each thrust harder, deeper, forcing the air from your lungs.

He grabs your hair, yanking your head back. "No more games, little one. You will remember your place—beneath me. Belonging to me."

Tears slip down your cheeks. He thrusts, forcing a shattered moan from your throat. And he laughs. A dark, guttural sound—victory.

"That’s it… you feel it now, don’t you?" His hips snap against yours, filling you too deep, stretching you too wide. "No other man will ever satisfy you now. No one else will ever reach this far."

Your mind is breaking, slipping into a haze of overstimulation, of helplessness.

And he knows it.

He leans down, his lips brushing your ear. "Say it."

You shake your head, refusing—

He thrusts deeper.

A broken scream rips from your throat.

"Say it. Admit it."

Your body is betraying you, pleasure writhing through your veins despite the pain, despite the degradation. You are losing. You are his.

"You…" Your voice is weak, trembling, a ghost of resistance—

His claws dig into your waist, his hips snapping harder.

"Say it."

And finally—

A whisper, choked, shattering:

"I— I belong to you."

A satisfied growl rumbles in his chest.

And then—

The knot swells.

Your eyes widen, realization slamming into you too late.

"No—!"

But he doesn’t stop. He forces his knot inside you, locking you in place, keeping you stretched around his massive length. Your body convulses, a scream wrenched from your lips as the overwhelming sensation breaks you.

And then—

Heat floods your core.

His release bursts inside you, filling you too much, too deep, spilling into every crevice of your body. You shake, panting, spent, ruined. His arms wrap around you, holding you there, keeping you trapped against him.

And then, a whisper against your temple—

"Now you will never forget."

⋅───⊱༺ ♰ ༻⊰───⋅ 𝐀𝐜𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐦𝐢𝐜 𝐑𝐢𝐯𝐚𝐥! 𝐀𝐥𝐡𝐚𝐢𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐦 ✦✧✦✧

He has never been jealous before. Never needed to be.

Emotions were nothing more than mild inconveniences—obstacles that lesser men allowed to cloud their judgment. He prided himself on his logic, his detachment, his unshakable rationality. There was no need for frivolous distractions like lust, love, or petty human possessiveness.

And yet. You have proven to be an exception. An aberration. A crack in his carefully curated world of control.

You.

The same sharp-tongued, insufferably intelligent girl who has been a constant thorn in his side since your first year at the university. You, who challenged his theories, defied his logic, and matched his wit blow for blow. A perfect foil, an exquisite rival—one he should have discarded as nothing more than another intellectual adversary.

But you were never just an adversary, were you? Not to him.

He watched you. He studied you. He cataloged every detail of your existence with the same precision he applied to his research. He knew the cadence of your voice when you argued, the way your lips curled when you called him an asshole, the way your hands trembled when he leaned too close during debates.

And yet, despite all his meticulous observations, despite all his efforts to remain detached, you still managed to slip through his defenses and plant something insidious inside him. Something irrational. Something dangerous.

Something he didn't recognize until he walked into the campus library and saw you sitting across from Arataki Itto.

The brute. The fool. The brain-dead delinquent who barely scraped by on assignments.

You were tutoring him. Your head tilted as you explained a concept, your expression patient. The same patience you had never once afforded him.

That should have been enough to irritate him. Enough to make him scoff and walk away, dismissing you as a fool wasting your time on someone so beneath you.

But then Itto laughed. Loud and carefree, like he had every right to bask in your attention. And then—then he saw the way Itto looked at you.

Like you belonged to him.

A noise he didn’t recognize slipped past his lips, something low and guttural, something wrong. His fingers twitched, and for the first time in his life, his own thoughts were incomprehensible—disjointed, a mess of static and white-hot noise.

You noticed him then, your gaze flickering up in that way that always made his breath hitch, the way you always felt him before you saw him.

“Hey, asshole,” you greeted flatly. “Need something?”

Yes. You.

His eyes darkened. His jaw clenched. “We’re leaving.”

You blinked, expression turning annoyed. “Excuse me?”

He didn’t acknowledge you. Didn’t even spare a glance at Itto—he wasn’t worth it. His hand wrapped around your wrist, his grip tight, final.

“Now.”

✦✧✦✧

He doesn’t speak as he drags you to the apartment you both unfortunately share, his grip unrelenting, his pace unforgiving.

You’re seething. Your protests are sharp, livid, but you might as well be screaming into the void. His mind is already made up.

The moment the door slams shut, his patience snaps.

He pushes you up against it, one hand gripping your chin, tilting your face up to meet his gaze. “Did you think I wouldn’t notice?” he murmurs, voice quiet—too quiet. A stark contrast to the unhinged glint in his eyes. “Did you think I’d tolerate it?”

You glare. “You’re insane.”

He hums. “That’s not an answer.”

You try to push him off, but he catches your wrists, pinning them above your head. His breath is hot against your ear, his voice dropping into something nearly affectionate.

“You’re mine.”

It’s not a declaration of love. It’s a fact. An irrefutable, undeniable truth.

Your body stiffens. “I’m not—”

His lips brush the shell of your ear. “Say it again.”

Your stomach twists.

“I-I’m not yours—”

The moment you refuse him, his grip tightens just enough to make your breath hitch. His laugh lingers, low and vibrating against your skin like a terrible promise. "Wrong answer," he murmurs again, savoring the way your pulse quickens beneath his fingertips.

You barely have time to struggle before he hauls you deeper into the apartment—past the living room, past his bedroom, straight toward the one door you’ve never been allowed to open. His private sanctum. His domain.

The sex dungeon.

A sharp click of a lock disengaging, and the heavy door swings open. The sight within is both horrifying and meticulous. Leather, steel, chains—everything gleaming under dim, ambient lighting, arranged with the kind of obsessive precision he dedicates to his research. It is clinical. Cold. And yet, it pulses with something raw and violent.

Your stomach twists. “You—you fucking psychopath—”

He doesn’t respond. He simply pulls you inside and lets the door shut behind him. The finality of it is suffocating.

The first thing you feel is the cold bite of metal as he fastens a collar around your throat—tight, unyielding. He takes his time, securing each buckle with slow, deliberate movements, drinking in the way your body shudders beneath him.

"You always fight," he muses, brushing his lips against the shell of your ear. "That’s what makes this fun. But let’s see how much fight you have when I break you."

The bindings come next—your wrists locked above you, pulled taut by an overhead chain. Then your ankles, strapped apart with a spreader bar, leaving you exposed, vulnerable. The way he looks at you then—like a prized specimen under a microscope—makes your skin prickle with equal parts rage and something else you refuse to name.

"Do you even understand what you’ve done?" he asks, tilting your chin up to meet his gaze. "Do you know what it felt like to see you with him? Laughing, indulging him like he had the right to breathe the same air as you?"

You grit your teeth. "He’s my friend, you controlling freak."

His expression darkens. "Friend?"

His hand strikes your thigh, the sharp sting making you jolt. He watches the way your breath stutters, the way your body instinctively reacts. His smirk is knowing.

"That was a warning," he says. "The real punishment starts now."

What follows is merciless. A methodical deconstruction of your resistance. He tests your limits with cruel efficiency—flogger, riding crop, clamps, vibrating toys that push you to the edge only to deny you release. Every gasp, every involuntary twitch is studied, analyzed, exploited.

“You look so pretty like this," he muses, tracing the welt blooming across your thigh. "All this defiance—it’s adorable. But we both know how this ends."

Your body betrays you. Humiliation burns hot in your cheeks, but he revels in it, drinking in every reaction like a man starved. His hands, his voice, his relentless control—it consumes you whole.

By the time he finally takes what he wants, you are too wrecked to fight. His possession is absolute, branding itself into your skin, your bones, your very breath.

✦✧✦✧

The first thrust knocks the breath from your lungs.

He doesn't give you time to adjust. He doesn't give you anything except the overwhelming force of his cock slamming into your cunt, the brutal stretch forcing a choked scream from your lips. The chains above rattle as you jolt, wrists tugging at the cruel metal, body writhing against the bonds that keep you helplessly spread open before him.

Alhaitham watches with clinical detachment, like he's studying the way your body reacts, the involuntary tremors, the way your walls clench and struggle to accommodate him. His grip is unyielding, fingers digging bruises into your thighs as he holds you still, his pace punishing. The wet slap of skin against skin echoes in the dimly lit dungeon, each thrust deliberate, methodical, precise.

"You always fight," he muses, voice smooth, cold. "And yet, here you are. Helpless. Spread open for me."

Your breath hitches at the sick pleasure in his tone. It’s not lust—not entirely. There’s something deeper, something darker in the way he drinks in every quiver, every choked sob. He’s reveling in it.

You squeeze your eyes shut, turning your head away, biting down on your lip to suppress the sounds threatening to escape. It’s humiliating. The slick wetness betraying your body, the way he forces pleasure and pain into the same unbearable space. Your defiance only fuels him.

"Still trying to act stubborn?" he scoffs. "Even now?"

A sharp slap lands against your inner thigh, the sting making you jolt. His other hand slides up your stomach, fingers curling around your throat, squeezing—not enough to cut off air, but enough to remind you of his control. His grip tightens just as he angles his hips, hitting that devastating spot inside you that sends white-hot electricity shooting through your nerves.

Your body betrays you.

A strangled moan escapes before you can stop it. He stills.

Then—

He laughs.

It’s low, cruel, dripping with triumph. He leans in, lips brushing the shell of your ear as he murmurs, "There it is. The sound I wanted."

Your nails dig into your palms, the bite of your own restraint almost enough to ground you. Almost. He resumes his pace, faster now, sharper. Every thrust forces a new sound from you, a broken whimper, a stifled gasp. He drinks them in like they’re proof of his victory.

The collar around your neck digs into your skin, tight enough to remind you that you belong to him now. The cuffs securing your wrists creak as you thrash, but there’s nowhere to go, nothing to do except take what he gives. And he gives you everything.

"This," he breathes, voice dark with satisfaction. "This is what happens when you push me. When you let another man think he has a chance with you."

His fingers find your clit. A cruel, slow circle.

"Was he better than me?" His tone is light, mocking. "Did he make you feel like this?"

You hate him.

You hate the way your body responds, the way heat coils low in your stomach, the unbearable tightness building with every stroke. You hate the way he knows, the way he sees through you, the way he never lets you hide. His control is absolute, orchestrating your pleasure and your suffering with the same meticulous precision he dedicates to everything else.

The coil snaps.

Pleasure rips through you violently, too much, too sharp. Your body seizes, back arching, toes curling, a shattered cry breaking free from your lips.

And Alhaitham—

He doesn’t stop.

"Look at you," he breathes. "So desperate. So weak. You break so easily."

You barely hear him through the haze of overstimulation, the unbearable sensitivity as he continues thrusting, fucking you through the aftershocks, prolonging the agony of pleasure turned cruel. Your throat is raw from the sounds you can’t hold back, tears burning hot at the corners of your eyes.

"Good girl," he murmurs, voice smooth, condescending. "Now let’s see how many more times I can make you come before you break completely."

He doesn't stop.

And you are left with no choice but to endure.

⋅───⊱༺ ♰ ༻⊰───⋅ 𝐎𝐥𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐁𝐫𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫! 𝐒𝐮𝐧𝐝𝐚𝐲 ✦✧✦✧

The champagne flute trembles in his hand.

Not enough to draw attention—no, never enough for that. His grasp remains firm, his smile impeccable, his demeanor as polished as the diamond cufflinks at his wrists. But the tremor is there.

He watches you from across the grand ballroom, golden light bathing your delicate frame as you twirl in the arms of your fiancé. Phainon. A man of high status, of prestigious blood. A man your parents deemed worthy of you.

A man who is not him.

Sunday has never felt jealousy before. He doesn’t entertain such base emotions, much less let them control him. He is above such vulgar impulses—always has been. But now, as he watches you tip your chin up at Phainon with that demure little smile, as his gloved hand settles against the bare skin of your lower back, something curdles in Sunday’s chest.

He does not move immediately. He takes his time, swirling the golden liquid in his glass as he sips, assessing. Analyzing. He is nothing if not meticulous.

His sister, Robin, tugs at his sleeve playfully. “You’re awfully stiff, brother. You look like you’ve swallowed something foul.”

His eyes flicker to her. She is beaming, utterly oblivious. Sweet, innocent Robin, who has never needed to question the things he keeps from her.

“You approve of this match?” he asks smoothly, voice betraying nothing.

Robin grins. “Of course! They look perfect together, don’t they?”

Perfect.

Something in his chest twists, tightens. He sets his glass down, offering his sister a small, tight-lipped smile before excusing himself. He does not make a beeline for you immediately—no, that would be foolish. Instead, he moves with grace, lingering along the edges of the crowd, watching, waiting, calculating.

Phainon leans in, whispering something against your ear. You laugh—soft, shy, utterly unlike the way you are with Sunday. You never laugh like that around him. You only look at him with wary, sharp eyes, as if trying to decipher what lurks beneath his poised exterior.

You are so cautious. So careful.

And yet you have failed to consider the most important thing: He is a patient man. But not a merciful one.

Radiant and oblivious, smiling up at your fiancé as he leads you in a slow, poised waltz. Phainon, the golden boy, the heir of another prestigious family. He holds you with the ease of a man who believes he owns you. His gloved hand lingers at the small of your back, fingers curling ever so slightly. It is possessive, almost territorial.

It makes something in Sunday snap.

The realization is an ugly, monstrous thing: You're mine.

Not by blood, not by law. But something deeper, something primal, something that makes his fingers flex around the stem of his wine glass.

She does not belong to another man. Not like this. Not when she has always been his to mold, to shape, to control.

The moment the dance ends, Sunday moves. He is a shadow in the lavish crowd, gliding towards you with unshakable intent. Your eyes widen when he appears, your lips parting slightly as if sensing the shift in the air, the creeping wrongness clinging to him.

"Brother," you greet, voice hesitant.

His smile is kind, affectionate. A perfect deception. "May I steal the bride for a dance?"

Phainon hesitates, but he is polite. Foolish. He steps back, offering a gentlemanly nod.

Sunday takes your hand. His grip is firm, almost bruising.

"I thought you didn't care for these things," you murmur, trying to read his expression.

"I don't," he replies smoothly, leading you to the center of the ballroom. "But I care about you."

The waltz begins, and you are trapped. Sunday moves with a precision that makes your heart race for all the wrong reasons. He guides you effortlessly, his grip just a touch too tight, his presence suffocatingly close.

"You looked beautiful with him," he muses, voice deceptively soft. "So radiant, so peaceful."

Your throat tightens. "I—"

"I almost believed it. That you could belong to someone else." His fingers dig into your waist, his breath warm against your ear. "But you wouldn't do that to me, would you?"

The dance slows, the air thick with something unspoken, something suffocating. Your heartbeat hammers against your ribs.

"Sunday, let go."

His smile remains, but his grip tightens. "Not yet."

His free hand glides down your back, tracing the dip of your spine through the thin fabric of your gown. It is too much, too intimate.

"You're trembling," he notes, voice almost amused.

The waltz ends, but he does not release you. Instead, he guides you away from the ballroom, seamlessly slipping through corridors unseen.

You struggle. "Where are we going?"

"Somewhere private. We have much to discuss."

Your pulse is frantic. "Let go."

He doesn't.

✦✧✦✧

The first thing you notice when you awaken is the cold.

The second is the sensation of silk, smooth and cool against your bare skin.

Your breath hitches. You try to move, only to find your wrists bound above your head, your legs spread apart by soft, unyielding restraints. Panic blooms in your chest, violent and immediate. Your head whips to the side—and there he is, seated beside the bed, his elegant frame bathed in the dim glow of candlelight.

Sunday.

He does not speak at first. He merely watches you, one leg crossed over the other, the very picture of composed authority. But his eyes—his eyes tell another story.

“Phainon must be disappointed,” he murmurs, tilting his head. “Losing his precious fiancée on the night of their grand celebration.”

Your stomach twists. “Sunday—”

A gloved finger presses against your lips. “Shh. Not so loud, little wife.” He exhales softly, almost as if amused. “Or have you already forgotten your place?”

Your place.

Your mouth goes dry. “You’re insane.”

He hums, trailing his fingers down the length of your jaw. “Am I?” He leans in, breath warm against your cheek. “And yet you let him touch you. Let him hold you.” His voice hardens, sharp as a blade. “Tell me, did you enjoy it?”

You recoil, struggling against the restraints. “Let me go.”

He sighs. “You’re making this difficult.” He reaches for something beside him—a knife, gleaming under the candlelight. Your heart stops.

“You don’t listen,” he murmurs, dragging the flat of the blade against your throat. “I give you everything. And yet you still act as though you belong to someone else.”

He leans down, lips brushing against your ear. “Shall I remind you who owns you, little wife?”

The blade disappears. His hand replaces it, wrapping around your throat with just enough pressure to make you gasp.

Then he kisses you.

It is not gentle. It is not kind. It is a punishment, a claim—a searing, possessive thing that steals the air from your lungs. His other hand drifts down, grasping at your thigh, pushing it further apart.

“You’ve always been so obedient,” he breathes against your lips, pressing his hips against yours. “And yet you disobeyed me tonight.”

A gloved hand trails down the curve of your stomach, slipping between your thighs.

You jerk against the bindings, breath coming in panicked gasps. “Sunday—don’t—”

His fingers stroke, slow, precise. “Do you know what happens to disobedient little wives?”

Your body betrays you. He is cruel, measured—he knows exactly how to unravel you, how to coax the reactions he desires.

“You let him touch you,” he murmurs. “You let him put his hands on what is mine.” His fingers press deeper, his grip on your throat tightening. “Tell me—did you wish it was me instead?”

You shake your head furiously, eyes burning with fury and shame. “I hate you.”

He smiles. “I know.”

His gloved fingers trace absent patterns against your stomach, a featherlight touch that makes you shudder. "You're shaking," he murmurs, almost curious. "Are you afraid?"

Your breath hitches. "Sunday—please—"

"Please?" He exhales a quiet chuckle, his other hand reaching for your face. He cups your cheek with a tenderness so at odds with the sharp glint in his eyes. "You begged him like that too, didn't you?"

The mention of Phainon sends a fresh wave of dread through you.

You shake your head frantically. "No—I didn’t—"

"Liar."

The silk of his gloves drags down your throat, down to your collarbone, teasingly slow as he watches your every reaction with surgical precision.

"It’s cruel of you," he muses. "To make me feel this way. Do you understand what you've done to me?"

His hand slips lower, ghosting over the curve of your breast. Your back arches involuntarily, the restraints biting into your wrists. He watches the reaction, inhales softly, then presses his thumb against your nipple through the thin fabric of his glove.

"You make me ugly," he whispers. "You make me cruel."

You whimper, turning your face away. But his other hand grips your chin, forcing you back to him.

"No, no, little wife. No running away. Not when I’ve finally claimed what’s mine."

His gloved fingers pinch, roll, tease with an agonizing slowness. Heat coils in your belly, shame burning under your skin.

You grit your teeth. "I hate you."

His lashes lower, a delicate flicker of something unreadable crossing his face. Then, suddenly, he moves—leaning in, lips brushing the shell of your ear as his fingers slide lower.

"Such wicked words from such pretty lips," he murmurs, the barest hint of a smile in his voice. "But I don’t believe you. Not when your body sings for me so sweetly."

His hand drifts between your thighs, fingers pressing against the slick heat there. You jolt, thighs instinctively trying to close—but the restraints keep you spread, exposed, helpless.

Sunday clicks his tongue, featherlight strokes parting your folds. "So wet," he notes, voice deceptively gentle. "And yet, you claim to despise me. A contradiction, don't you think?"

He slides a single finger inside you, slow, controlled. You choke on a gasp, body arching as he curls it just so, just enough to make your stomach tighten.

"You’re trembling," he observes, pleased. "Do you remember how you looked at him? That sweet little smile? Did you think I wouldn’t notice? That I wouldn’t care?"

He adds another finger, scissoring them, stretching you open with patient cruelty. Your breath stutters, heat coiling unbearably tight.

"I care," he breathes, pressing a kiss to your throat. "I care so very deeply. More than you could ever comprehend. And yet, you still insist on testing me."

His fingers withdraw, leaving you empty. Before you can protest, he’s undoing his belt, the soft clink echoing in the quiet room.

Your stomach twists in fear—and something else.

Sunday notices. He always notices.

"Look at you," he murmurs, stroking himself with unhurried grace. "Already shaking, and I haven't even begun."

You squeeze your eyes shut. "Please—"

His fingers thread into your hair, jerking your head back. "Look at me."

You do.

His expression is serene, beautiful even. An angel carved from marble. But his eyes burn, his restraint fraying.

"Say it," he orders, voice softer now, coaxing. "Say that you belong to me."

You shake your head, tears spilling down your cheeks.

His grip tightens. "Say it."

His hips press forward, the thick head of his cock nudging against your entrance, teasing, pressing—but not yet giving you the relief you dread and crave in equal measure.

Your pulse hammers against your ribs, breath shallow, body betraying you in the worst way.

"Say it," he breathes, rocking forward just enough to make you whimper.

You choke on a sob. "I—I belong to you."

He exhales softly, pleased, and then, without further warning—he sinks into you.

The stretch is unbearable. He is slow, deliberate, pushing inch by inch, watching your every reaction with rapt fascination.

You cry out, wrists pulling against the bindings as your body struggles to accommodate him. But he only hushes you, stroking your thigh, whispering sweet nothings that do nothing to mask the cruelty of his claim.

"There you go," he soothes. "Taking me so well. Just like you were made for me."

A single thrust, deep and unforgiving, robs you of breath. He doesn’t wait for you to adjust—he sets a punishing rhythm, each snap of his hips forcing sobs from your lips, forcing pleasure into your unwilling nerves.

"Mine," he breathes against your skin. "Always mine."

You don't know how long it lasts. Time becomes meaningless, reduced to the obscene sounds of skin against skin, of your own traitorous cries, of his measured breaths as he claims you over and over.

Your body gives out before your mind does, pleasure crashing over you in a humiliating wave. He watches you unravel, drinks in the sight of you breaking beneath him.

His lips press against your temple, deceptively tender. "Good girl."

And then he ruins you. Again. And again. And again.

⋅───⊱༺ ♰ ༻⊰───⋅ 𝐅𝐚𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫! 𝐇𝐮𝐦𝐚𝐧! 𝐁𝐨𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐥𝐥 ✦✧✦✧

The bar reeks of whiskey, sweat, and desperation. Ain’t nothin’ new. Ain’t nothin’ Boothill ain’t used to. He’s been sittin’ in joints like these since he was old enough to throw a punch, old enough to fuck, old enough to carve his name into the world with blood and bullets.

And yet, tonight, somethin’ gnaws at him deep. A slow-burnin’ rage, coiled tight in his gut like a rattlesnake ready to strike. It ain't the booze or the sorry-ass excuse of a jukebox croonin’ out some sad, forgotten tune. Ain’t the busted floorboards or the smell of stale beer stickin’ to his clothes.

It’s you.

You, sittin’ all sweet and soft, laughin’ at some fucker’s joke like he’s got the right to make you smile. Like he’s got the right to be anywhere near you. And it don’t sit right with him. Don’t sit right with him at all.

Boothill’s watched you grow up in the shadow of his sins. Watched you turn from a wide-eyed innocent little thing, to a woman with a smile that could ruin men. And Lord help him, he knows what kind of world you’re livin’ in. Knows it like the back of his damn hand. Knows what men see when they look at you.

Knows ‘cause he’s one of ‘em.

He’s kept his distance. Fought like hell to keep his hands clean where you’re concerned. But you—

You’re makin’ it real damn hard tonight.

The bastard next to you leans in, whispers somethin’ low, and you—hell, you tilt your head just so, give him that look like you ain't got a care in the world. Like you don’t see Boothill sittin’ across the room, eyes cuttin’ through the dim light, fixin’ to murder a man where he stands.

He ain’t never been jealous. Ain’t never had reason to be. But tonight, he knows what it feels like. Feels it in the tightness of his jaw, the way his fists curl ‘round the neck of his beer bottle, white-knuckled and near crackin’ the damn glass. Feels it in the way his blood runs hot, his cock half-hard just from watchin’ you toy with another man like he ain’t sittin’ right there, like you ain’t been his since the moment you took your first breath.

And then that bastard touches you.

Fingers draggin’ slow over the inside of your wrist. Familiar. Too damn familiar.

Boothill’s on his feet before he even registers movin’. One second, the fucker’s grinnin’ like he’s just won the damn lottery, the next, his face is meetin’ the table with a sickening crack. The room goes silent, all eyes on Boothill as he presses the bastard down harder, watches the blood trickle from his busted nose.

“Git,” Boothill spits, voice like gravel. Ain’t loud. Ain’t a need for it to be. It’s the kinda command men listen to.

The bastard don’t argue. Don’t even look back as he stumbles out the door, one hand clamped over his face.

Then it’s just you and him.

You’re starin’ at him, wide-eyed, breath caught somewhere between shock and somethin’ else. Somethin’ that makes his cock throb against the seam of his jeans, makes his hands twitch at his sides, itchin’ to grab hold of you and make sure you never pull some shit like this again.

You done fucked up, darlin’.

And you’re about to learn just what that means.

✦✧✦✧

Boothill ain't never been a good man. Ain’t never claimed to be. Grew up mean and wild, fists first, questions never. Ain’t had no mama worth a damn, just a father who taught him that the world don’t give a shit ‘bout weakness. Taught him how to fight, how to fuck, how to take what’s his and never let go.

Then came you.

A mistake, some might say. A product of a night he barely remembers, a woman whose name he don’t give a damn about.

But when he first saw you—so small, so damn helpless—somethin’ inside him shifted. Weren’t love. Weren’t nothin’ soft. Just a realization.

You were his.

And Boothill don’t let go of what’s his.

Raised you the only way he knew how. Taught you to shoot, to stand your ground, to never let no man take what ain’t his to take. Kept you close, closer than he should’ve. Closer than was right. But you never questioned it, never pulled away, just looked up at him with those big eyes like he hung the damn moon.

But you ain’t a little girl no more.

And tonight? Tonight’s proof you need a reminder of who you belong to.

✦✧✦✧

The truck’s cabin smelled like whiskey and smoke, thick with the scent of leather and old blood. The weight of his glare pressed against your back, heavier than the boot he propped on the dash, rattling the empty beer cans that littered the floor. The neon lights of the bar you’d just stepped out of still flickered behind you, casting slashes of color against his weathered face.

He hadn’t spoken since dragging you from that dive, his fingers leaving bruises around your wrist. Boothill never got jealous. Not once in your life had he ever reacted to the men you flirted with. You’d spent years pushing, provoking, knowing how much he hated seeing you giggle at some dumb bastard’s joke. But tonight was different.

Tonight, he snapped.

You felt it the moment his fingers dug into your skin, dragging you through the lot like you weighed nothing. Felt it when he threw you against the side of his rusted-out truck, the door creaking open with the force of his shove. The cold leather of the seat bit into the backs of your thighs as he climbed in after you, slamming the door so hard the frame shook.

The silence crackled like static between you.

“You real proud of yourself, sugar?” His voice was slow, syrupy-thick, the drawl edged with something rough. His cowboy hat sat low, shadowing his gaze, but you could feel the weight of it, feel it tracking every twitch of your breath.

You didn’t answer. You never did. That was part of the game.

His nostrils flared as he exhaled, the scent of cigarettes and bourbon hot against your skin. “Ain’t gonna say nothin’?”

Your lips barely parted before his hand was on your throat, squeezing just enough to steal your air. Your pulse hammered against his palm, and your fingers clawed at his wrist, useless against the solid heat of him.

“Nah, you ain’t got to,” he muttered, leaning in until his lips nearly brushed yours. “I get it, baby girl. You think you’re real smart. Think you can fuck with me.” His grip tightened, his breath heavy against your cheek. “But you just made the biggest fuckin’ mistake of your life.”

He released you so suddenly you gasped, your hands flying to your neck as you sucked in desperate lungfuls of air. Your victory was short-lived. Before you could shift, before you could scramble for the handle, he had you flat on your back, his massive frame caging you against the cracked leather seat. His knee wedged between your thighs, prying them apart, while his fingers snapped the buttons of your blouse one by one.

“Lettin’ some little shit put his hands on you,” he hissed, his teeth grazing your ear as he wrenched your top open. “Let him think he could touch what’s mine.”

Your breath hitched, your body thrashing as his hands moved lower, tearing through the fragile fabric of your skirt like it was paper. His calloused palm pressed flat against your stomach, pinning you in place as he loomed over you, eyes dark with something primal, something possessive.

“You think this is funny?” he snarled. “Think I won’t fuckin’ ruin you for that?”

You barely managed to shake your head before his belt unbuckled, the metallic jingle swallowed by the low rumble of his growl. His cock was already hard, thick and pulsing against your trembling thigh. The realization sent a fresh wave of panic through you, your nails biting into his forearm as you struggled.

He only laughed.

“Oh, sugar,” he drawled, voice thick with condescension. “You picked the wrong fuckin’ man to piss off.”

His hand gripped your hips, dragging you down the seat, positioning you exactly where he wanted. The truck’s frame creaked as he pressed closer, the heat of him branding your skin even through the layers he hadn’t torn away yet.

His fingers traced the curve of your jaw, almost gentle, before tangling in your hair and yanking your head back. His lips ghosted over your throat, lingering at your pulse point, relishing the frantic flutter.

“Gonna fuck you right here, baby girl,” he murmured. “Right where any bastard passin’ by can see.”

Your stomach lurched, shame burning hot in your chest. He wouldn’t. He wouldn’t.

Except he would.

The first push stole the air from your lungs. He was too thick, too big, stretching you open with no warning, no mercy. Your nails scrabbled against his chest, your body arching, trying to escape the overwhelming intrusion.

“Fuckin’ tight,” he groaned, voice ragged. “Knew you’d be. Knew no worthless piece of shit’s ever been where I am.”

Tears burned your eyes, a choked whimper slipping past your lips. He only grinned, his grip tightening, keeping you exactly where he wanted as he pushed deeper, filling you until there was no space left between your bodies.

“That’s it,” he rasped. “Take it, baby. Take your daddy’s cock.”

Your stomach twisted, revulsion and humiliation warring with the relentless sensation of him inside you. Your body betrayed you, slick growing against your will, easing his brutal thrusts as he set a punishing pace.

“Fuck, shit,” he gritted out, his cowboy hat tipping back as he rolled his hips, dragging every inch of himself against your unwilling walls. “Ain’t never lettin’ you tease me again. Ain’t never lettin’ some sorry bastard think he can have what’s mine.”

His fingers wrapped around your throat again, cutting off your weak protests. His free hand slid between your thighs, his thumb pressing cruel circles against your clit, forcing your body to react, forcing pleasure through the horror.

“You feel that?” he whispered against your lips. “Feel how fuckin’ good I make you feel?”

You wanted to scream, wanted to deny it, but the pressure coiled tight in your gut, your body betraying you in the worst way. His thumb pressed harder, his cock slamming into you with brutal precision, and the pleasure cracked through you like a whip.

The orgasm hit you like a betrayal, leaving you shaking beneath him, gasping, shuddering. His laughter followed, low and dark, filled with cruel satisfaction.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought.”

His thrusts grew erratic, harder, sharper, until with a final groan, he buried himself to the hilt, his release spilling inside you, marking you from the inside out.

The silence that followed was deafening. His breath was ragged against your skin, his weight still pinning you down. Your body ached, every inch of you raw and used, slick with sweat and shame.

Slowly, he leaned back, dragging his fingers through the mess he made between your thighs. He lifted his hand, spreading his fingers, smearing it across your stomach with a smirk.

“Now,” he murmured, voice dark with satisfaction. “Now you know who you fuckin’ belong to.”

He pulled back, zipping his jeans like nothing happened, like he hadn’t just destroyed you in the cab of his damn truck.

You barely registered the door opening, barely registered the sharp night air kissing your ruined skin.

But you felt his hand on your ankle, dragging you toward him.

“C’mon, sugar,” he said, his voice thick with amusement. “We ain’t done yet.”

⋅───⊱༺ ♰ ༻⊰───⋅ 𝐒𝐭𝐞𝐩 𝐁𝐫𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫! 𝐂𝐚𝐥𝐞𝐛 ✦✧✦✧

You never noticed his eyes on you.

Caleb had always been your older stepbrother, the reliable, easygoing one. The towering giant with a lazy smirk, always ready with an arm slung around your shoulders and a dry, teasing remark at your expense. You never thought twice about the way he looked at you, how his eyes followed your every move, how he lingered when you left a room. It had been years of patience, years of carefully curating the role of the harmless, goofy brother.

Until now. Until this.

Your lips, swollen, wet—tainted by someone else.

A kiss. Not his.

Your fingers curled around the front of your dress, oblivious, adjusting the hem, smoothing out creases like nothing had changed. Like you hadn’t just shattered the careful, painstakingly built restraint he’d held all these years.

Caleb stood just beyond the club’s exit, breathing slow, measured breaths. His fists clenched inside his jacket pockets, nails biting into his palms.

You didn’t know he had been watching.

You didn’t know that your crush—the man you’d been pining for—had been nothing more than an insect under his shoe, a passing amusement, one he had tolerated because you had never acted on it. Until now.

His jaw ticked. A muscle twitched beneath his cheek.

You would have gone home with him. Caleb could see it in the way your body had swayed, unconsciously leaning closer, in the half-lidded gaze you had given the bastard. The fucker wouldn’t have needed to work for it, wouldn’t have needed to carve his way into your life the way Caleb had for years.

No. He wasn’t letting that happen.

It had taken him this long—too long—to realize that waiting was a fool’s game. That pretending to be patient, that pretending to be the ‘nice guy,’ had only given you time to slip further away from him.

Never again.

✦✧✦✧

The first time Caleb realized you were his, you were six years old.

He had just turned ten, and his mother had sat him down, voice soft, hands gentle, and told him he was getting a little sister. He had scowled, kicked at the leg of the coffee table, and declared that he didn’t want one.

But then you arrived.

Small. Fragile. Helpless. You had stared up at him with wide, unblinking eyes, and something in his chest had shifted. You had reached for him, tiny fingers curling around his thumb, and it had clicked.

Mine, his young mind had whispered.

He had taken the role easily, instinctively. No one picked on you. No one got too close. He was always there, hovering, watching, ensuring that no harm ever came your way. At school, on the playground, at home—his presence was a constant shadow, an unshakable force. You had looked up to him. You had trusted him.

But then you grew up.

And suddenly, he wasn’t the only one in your world anymore.

At fourteen, you had your first crush. Some idiot kid in your class, some faceless, nameless little shit that had made you blush and giggle in a way that made Caleb’s teeth grind. He hadn’t understood it, hadn’t been able to place the slow-burning anger that festered in his stomach. He had shoved it down, convinced himself it was just overprotectiveness.

At sixteen, you had your first boyfriend. Caleb had hated him on sight. He had never been cruel, never outright told you that you were making a mistake—but the guy never stuck around long, did he? None of them ever did. A comment here, a well-placed insult there, a few carefully crafted rumors whispered into the right ears, and they would be gone, scurrying off like frightened rodents.

You never noticed the pattern.

You never noticed that the common denominator was him.

At twenty, you had your first heartbreak. He had watched, expression unreadable, as you curled into yourself, as you moped around the house, as you swore off men altogether. It had taken everything in him not to smile. He had comforted you, held you, whispered reassurances into your hair, all the while knowing that this was for the best.

He could wait.

He could always wait.

But then tonight happened.

And now? Now he was done waiting.

✦✧✦✧

The night air still clings to you, the last remnants of the club’s heavy bass rattling in your bones, your body still warm, still buzzing from the heat of the dance floor. You don’t notice him. Not at first. Not when you step out onto the street, not when you inhale deep, reveling in the cool relief of fresh air, not even when you shift your dress over your thighs, fingers smoothing over the fabric without thought.

But he notices you.

Caleb had always noticed you.

His fingers twitch, tightening inside his jacket pockets. His heartbeat is slow, measured, calculated, but the muscle in his jaw ticks, his temple throbbing. It’s a mistake, isn’t it? Letting you out of his sight. Thinking you were still the good girl, his good girl, untouched, untainted. That you would never stray. But here you are, skin flushed, lips swollen, kissed by someone else.

His stomach knots, his lungs empty, a deep, burning pit opening in his gut.

It’s not jealousy. It’s not.

It’s rage.

He follows you home.

You don’t realize it. Not when you fumble with your keys, not when you slip inside, humming softly under your breath, not when you lock the door behind you, confident in your solitude. Caleb has always been good at waiting. Good at biding his time. But tonight, the patience he has cultivated for years has finally snapped.

And you will know it.

Your bedroom is warm, the air thick, the lingering scent of perfume and alcohol clinging to your skin. You don’t hear him enter. Don’t hear the door ease open, don’t hear the soft sound of the lock clicking back into place. But you feel it—

The shift in the air. The sudden, stifling presence behind you.

“Did you have fun tonight?”

The voice is low, smooth, almost lazy. Familiar.

Your blood runs cold.

You whirl, eyes going wide, breath stuttering in your throat. Caleb leans against your door, the barest hint of a smirk on his lips, but there’s something else, something unreadable in his gaze. Something that makes your stomach twist.

You take a step back. “What are you—?”

“Answer the question.” His voice is sharp, cutting through your feeble protest, his eyes pinned to you like a predator, like he’s already decided something you aren’t privy to yet.

You swallow hard. Your fingers clutch at your dress. “Y-Yeah.”

His smirk doesn’t falter. If anything, it deepens, slow and knowing, curling at the edges with something dark, something dangerous. “Yeah?”

You don’t notice the movement. The way he closes the distance between you in one smooth stride, the way his hand grips your jaw, tilting your face up, forcing you to meet his gaze.

“That why you let him put his hands all over you?”

Your breath hitches.

You barely have time to react before he shoves you back, the force knocking you onto the mattress. Your vision spins, the world a blur of movement and heat, but before you can scramble up, he’s there, a knee pressing between your thighs, pinning you down.

Your hands push against his chest, weak, useless. “Caleb—!”

A hand tangles in your hair, yanking your head back, exposing the delicate curve of your throat. His breath is warm against your skin, his lips barely ghosting over your pulse, drinking in the way it hammers wildly beneath his mouth.

“You let him touch you.”

A shudder wracks through you. “I—”

“Did you let him fuck you?”

Your breath stutters, horror clawing at your chest. “No!”

His fingers tighten, tilting your face, his eyes burning into yours. “Did you want to?”

The heat of his body is unbearable, suffocating, his presence swallowing you whole. Your silence is enough of an answer.

Caleb clicks his tongue. “Slut.”

Your gasp is swallowed by his mouth. It isn’t a kiss. It’s a brand, scorching, claiming, his teeth dragging against your lower lip before sinking in, the sharp sting of pain forcing a whimper from your throat.

His hands are everywhere—gripping, tearing, claiming. Your dress is bunched up around your hips, your panties tugged down, and there’s no hesitation, no pause as he presses a knee against your stomach, keeping you down as his fingers slip between your thighs.

“So fucking wet,” he breathes, almost laughing. “You really are a whore.”

You thrash, panic surging through you, but he’s stronger, so much stronger, and the weight of him pressing against you leaves no room for escape.

“Caleb, stop—”

A sharp prick at your thigh. A sting, barely noticeable at first, until—

Your body ignites.

A slow, pulsing heat unfurls in your stomach, blooming outward, spreading like wildfire through your veins. Your skin tingles, too sensitive, your limbs suddenly weak, boneless. Your breath comes in short, shallow gasps, and the realization slams into you, cold and unrelenting.

The needle. The drug.

Terror claws up your throat.

“Shh,” Caleb soothes, brushing damp hair from your face, his fingers light, almost gentle. “It’s just to help.”

Your body betrays you. Heat pools low in your stomach, your muscles twitching with need, your thighs trembling beneath his weight. Your mind screams, begs, fights against it, but your body—

Your body begs for more.

Caleb hums, watching you, fascinated, delighted. “See? So much easier when you listen.”

His hand grips your hip, flipping you onto your stomach, his palm pressing between your shoulder blades, pinning you down. There’s no preamble, no hesitation. His cock drags against your slick folds, teasing, tormenting, before—

A sharp thrust, a brutal stretch. A broken cry rips from your throat, your fingers clawing at the sheets, at anything, but there’s nowhere to go, nowhere to run. He’s too big, too deep, the burn of it splitting you open, wrecking you.

Caleb groans, his fingers digging into your waist, holding you in place as he pulls back, only to slam into you again, setting a brutal, punishing pace. “This is what you needed,” he breathes, voice thick, strained. “Not him. Me. Always me.”

Your mind fractures, pleasure and pain a twisted, tangled mess, the drug dulling the edges of your resistance, leaving you pliant, shaking, helpless beneath him.

He fucks you like he’s branding you, like he’s making sure there will never be another, that no one else will ever touch what belongs to him.

And you know, deep down, that he’s right.

⋅───⊱༺ ♰ ༻⊰───⋅ 𝐁𝐮𝐥𝐥𝐲! 𝐁𝐚𝐤𝐮𝐠𝐨 ✦✧✦✧

You think you're clever about it. Discreet.

You're not the type to scream and flail like some mindless fangirl, throwing yourself at the feet of some celebrity or fictional character with doe-eyed devotion. You don't prattle about your obsessions in public, don't gush to your friends, don't leave a visible trail of your affections for just anyone to follow.

But you're obsessive. He can tell.

You hoard. You hyperfixate. You dedicate yourself to the things you love with an intensity that borders on madness, a quiet, insidious fixation that no one notices because you keep your voice down and your hands still. The signs are subtle, but he sees them. The methodical way you collect merchandise, the careful way you arrange it. The deliberate ritual of your mornings when you check the forums, the auctions, the new drops. The way your fingers linger on the edges of your phone screen, scrolling through the latest art of your precious prince charming—your perfect, fictional man.

And fuck, it pisses him off.

At first, he doesn’t care. He barely notices. It’s just some dumb little hobby of yours, another quirk of your quiet, weirdo personality. He’s known you forever, sat next to you in class, tormented you when you least expected it, because you were easy to push, easy to rile up. Even when you didn’t react, he could feel the tension in you, could sense the way you seethed beneath the surface. He liked that about you. Liked getting under your skin, even if you pretended he didn’t.

But then he starts to see it.

See the way you linger at the bookstore, fingers ghosting over the limited-edition hardcover of the latest volume like you’re touching something sacred. See the way your lips press together in concentration when you're hunting for merch, tracking down obscure, expensive collectibles with a drive he never thought you were capable of. See the way your eyes—your unreadable, guarded fucking eyes—go soft and distant when you stare at the screen of your phone, transfixed by some new voice line, some stupid romantic scenario featuring him—that prince of yours, that perfect, spineless little fantasy you keep feeding into.

It starts to get under his skin.

It starts to make his blood boil.

He’s never been jealous before. Never needed to be. He doesn’t do jealousy. It’s a useless emotion, a fucking weakness. And besides, who the fuck would he be jealous of? No one in this goddamn world is better than him. No one.

But then there's you. And your stupid, childish obsession with him.

He sees it all, piece by piece, and it grates at him like a fucking wound that won’t close.

You don’t even like guys like that in real life. That’s what pisses him off the most. You’re quiet, but you’re not naive. You don’t buy into the bullshit, the fake romance, the perfect gentlemen with their fake-ass smiles and their pretty, empty words. You don’t trust people like that. He knows you don’t.

So why the fuck is he different?

Why the fuck does this goddamn, nonexistent, pretty-boy bastard get to have your fucking heart in the palm of his hand?

He starts watching you closer. More than before. More than he should.

You don’t notice, of course. You never do. You think you’re so damn careful, so subtle in your affections, but you’re not subtle at all, not to him. He sees the way your fingers tremble when you finally win a limited-edition figure off some overpriced auction site, sees the way you press the box to your chest, inhaling shakily like it’s something precious to you. He sees the way you handle your collection, dusting each piece meticulously, arranging them just so.

He catches the way you react when you play the game—when you interact with him, that pretty-faced fantasy. Your breath hitching on certain lines, your lashes fluttering when he calls you princess.

Princess.

His fingers curl into fists.

The realization creeps in slow, insidious. It doesn’t hit all at once. It sneaks up on him in little moments, in the tension that coils in his gut when he watches you indulge in this stupid fucking fantasy, in the way his fingers itch to take it away from you.

Because that’s what he should do, right?

That’s what he’s always done. He’s always made your life harder, always reminded you of your place, always knocked you down when you got too comfortable, too secure. It’s practically second nature to him at this point.

So why hasn’t he done it yet?

Why is he watching instead?

He doesn’t realize he’s spiraling until he starts seeing red at the mention of the guy’s name. Until he hears some stupid fucking voice line from your phone during lunch break and feels his throat tighten, his teeth clench.

Until he finds himself waiting to catch you in the act, hovering just out of sight when you unbox some new, expensive piece of merch, watching with narrowed eyes as you cradle it so fucking tenderly, as if it’s something that actually deserves that kind of treatment from you.

Like he doesn’t deserve it more.

Like he’s not the one who’s real.

It all clicks into place when he catches himself fantasizing—not about you, not about your body, but about wrecking everything you’ve built up. About shattering every one of those delicate little figures, about deleting your save files, about ruining this for you so thoroughly that you’ll never even think about that stupid fantasy again. About leaving you with nothing—nothing but him.

His fingers twitch at the thought.

He lets himself think about it, lets the image settle in his mind: You, crying, devastated, completely and utterly destroyed. Because of him. Because he took it all away from you.

And then he lets himself imagine what happens after.

When you finally turn those unreadable, guarded fucking eyes on him—not with disinterest, not with fleeting irritation, but with fear.

When you finally realize there’s only one man in your life who actually matters.

And it sure as hell isn’t some fictional, spineless little prince.

No, he’s the only one who gets to own you.

And he’s going to make damn sure you fucking learn that.

✦✧✦✧

The destruction is methodical. Calculated.

It’s not like he flies into a mindless rage. No, that’s not how this works. That’s not how he works. He’s angry, yeah. Furious. But it’s a cold, simmering kind of wrath. The kind that spreads slow, poisoning everything it touches.

Your books, your posters, your neatly organized shelves of merch—all of it reduced to shredded paper, shattered plastic, broken fucking dreams. He tears down your shrine with his bare hands, watching with vicious satisfaction as your perfect little world crumbles beneath his fingers. The limited-edition figure you tracked down for months? Snapped in half. The signed illustration you framed and kept pristine? Ripped to shreds.

He doesn’t stop until there’s nothing left but debris.

And that’s when you find him.

Your gasp is sharp, raw.

“Katsuki—”

Your voice is tight with something unfamiliar. Something he’s never heard from you before. Panic.

And then—something else.

Anger.

It’s brief, but it’s there. A flicker of fire in your normally composed expression, a spark of real fucking rage as you take in the wreckage. For once, you don’t just swallow it down. For once, you fight back.

Your hands shove at his chest, weak and useless. “What the fuck is wrong with you?!”

His grip is on you before you can take another breath. Fingers tangling in your hair, yanking your head back, forcing you to look at him.

Oh. Oh.

He wants to fucking ruin you.

“Wrong with me?” His voice is low, dangerous. “What the fuck is wrong with you, huh?”

You twist in his hold, teeth bared. Good. Fight him. Struggle. Make this fun. “You destroyed my shit, you psycho—”

His hand clamps around your throat, cutting you off.

Your eyes widen. He can feel your pulse hammering beneath his fingers, a frantic little bird trapped in a cage. Your nails dig into his wrist, desperate, but he doesn’t let up. Doesn’t want to. His cock is already hard, already aching.

“Look at you,” he murmurs, voice thick with something dark and insidious. “Getting all worked up over some fake fucking asshole.”

Your body jerks as he shoves you against the nearest surface—your ruined desk, your broken shrine, the wreckage of your obsession scattered at your feet. You’re struggling, but it’s useless. He’s bigger. Stronger. And he wants this. Wants you.

His knee wedges between your legs, forcing them apart. His free hand rips at your clothes, tearing fabric, exposing soft, untouched skin. The sight of it—the vulnerability, the unwillingness—sends a violent shudder through him.

“You want perfect, huh?” His teeth graze your jaw, your throat. “Some weak-ass, spineless little prince to whisper sweet nothings in your ear?”

He yanks at your underwear, dragging it down, shoving it aside.

A rough, gloved hand forces your thighs open further.

“Too fucking bad.”

He’s not sweet. He’s not gentle. He’s not what you want.

He’s what you need.

The first thrust is brutal. Unforgiving.

You gasp, a broken, choked-off sound that makes his blood fucking sing. Your nails carve lines into his arms, his shoulders, your body tensing like a vice around him. Fuck, you’re tight. So tight it’s like your body is trying to reject him, like you’re not ready, like you can’t take it.

Too bad.

He buries himself deeper, grinding against the resistance, forcing your body to mold around his.

And the look on your face—

Fuck.

Tears spill down your cheeks. Not silent ones. You’re making sounds, now. You’re whimpering, gasping, pleading.

But he doesn’t stop. Doesn’t slow. He fucks you through it, against it, into it.

Your hands push at him uselessly, your thighs trembling. The raw friction is unbearable, agonizing. His grip is bruising, his pace merciless, and yet—

Your body is betraying you.

He feels it. The way your walls spasm around him, the way your breath catches on every thrust. You’re still fighting, still crying, still shattering beneath him—but your body is starting to take it.

Good.

He forces your face to his, biting at your lips, your jaw, tasting your tears. “Cry all you want,” he growls. “S’not gonna change shit.”

Your body is his now. Your fucking soul is his.

And if you ever—ever—so much as think about another man again—

He’ll do worse than this.

Much, much worse.

⋅───⊱༺ ♰ ༻⊰───⋅ 𝐅𝐮𝐜𝐤𝐛𝐨𝐲! 𝐀𝐭𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐮 ✦✧✦✧

You never realized just how deep the rivalry ran. Not until it was too late.

Atsumu had always been a bastard. The kind of asshole who charmed his way into your friend group with an easy smirk, all swagger and arrogance, making the people around him simultaneously hate and love him. He was the type to push boundaries, to make crude jokes, to tease until it was cruel. But he never seemed to care—not about anyone, not about anything.

You never thought he cared about you, either. Not really.

His twin, on the other hand, was everything he wasn’t. Osamu was steady where Atsumu was reckless, kind where Atsumu was caustic. You gravitated toward Osamu naturally. He made you feel safe, like the world was a little less chaotic when he was around. And, perhaps most damning of all, you liked him. Not Atsumu. Never Atsumu.

The Miya twins had always been your constants.

They were your childhood, your tormentors, your so-called best friends. The neighborhood kids whispered about how you, the quiet, deadpan girl, managed to keep up with them—the golden storm and the shadow beside him. But you knew the truth.

You weren’t special. Atsumu had told you that enough times growing up.

“Yer like a lil’ pet, y’know?” he’d say, a teasing grin stretching wide, the same one that made girls' knees buckle in high school but made you feel like a bug under a magnifying glass. “Me ‘n Samu, we share ya.”

He never meant it romantically. It was an ownership thing. A possessiveness that had nothing to do with love. The twins were like that—selfish in the way brothers could be, hoarding whatever they deemed theirs. You were no exception.

But then Osamu broke the rules.

You weren’t supposed to have a favorite.

✦✧✦✧

Atsumu had always been a fuckboy. That much was obvious. He flirted with everything that moved, never meant a word of it, and laughed at anyone who took him seriously. Women adored him.

You were different, though. Not in a way that made you special. Just… separate. An anomaly he could never figure out. You never giggled at his teasing. Never rose to his bait. He’d spent years pressing all the right buttons, poking, provoking, waiting for you to crack. But you never did.

Even now, at twenty, when he saw you at the summer festival—dressed in soft colors, yukata swaying against your frame—your expression remained impassive, empty. Like you weren’t even really there.

Except—you were. With Osamu.

And that—that made something in him break.

It was instinct at first. A twin thing, maybe.

He’d been in the middle of another meaningless hookup when the feeling crawled over him—restless, wrong. He’d abandoned the girl without a second thought, following the tug in his gut.

Then he saw you. Saw his twin with you.

The two of you stood near a food stall, Osamu’s arm lazily draped over your shoulder, his hand casually brushing against the fabric of your sleeve. It was nothing. But it wasn’t nothing. Not when you were letting him. Not when Osamu was looking at you with an expression he’d never worn before.

And worse—

You were looking back.

Atsumu felt sick.

He watched from the shadows, eyes trained on the tiny, almost imperceptible shifts in your body language. You never let people touch you. Even he, who had spent a lifetime testing your patience, never got that kind of softness.

And Osamu—he fucking knew that.

Because they were twins. Because he understood you just as well as Atsumu did.

So why the fuck did he think he could have you?

Why the fuck did you let him?

Atsumu had never been jealous before.

Sure, he’d fought with Osamu his entire life—over grades, over volleyball, over dumb shit that never mattered. But it had always been fair game.

This wasn’t.

Osamu had stolen something that Atsumu hadn’t even realized belonged to him.

Something he wasn’t willing to share anymore.

✦✧✦✧

You didn’t notice the shift immediately.

Atsumu had always been an asshole. That much was normal.

But there was something different now. A new edge to his cruelty. A sharper bite to his words.

When he cornered you after practice one evening, it didn’t feel like the usual teasing.

“You been avoidin’ me?”

His voice was light, casual. But his eyes—they weren’t.

You barely glanced up, unmoved. “No.”

A muscle in his jaw twitched.

“Liar.”

He stepped closer, too close, his presence suffocating. The gym was empty now, the lights dimming. Your fingers curled at your sides, but your expression remained blank.

“You pissed about somethin’?” he asked, though he already knew the answer.

Silence.

And that—that pissed him off more than anything.

His hand shot out, gripping your jaw, tilting your head up. Your pulse was steady against his fingers, your face devoid of fear.

“You like him that much?”

The question caught you off guard. Your brows furrowed slightly. “What?”

His thumb brushed over your bottom lip, not gently.

“You like Osamu that much?” he repeated, voice dangerously soft.

You didn’t answer.

Something flickered in his eyes—something dark, something dangerous.

Your knee jerked up, aiming for his crotch, but he was faster—always faster. His hand shot out, catching your leg, shoving it back down. And then—

Crack.

Pain exploded through your skull.

Your vision blurred, the sharp impact of his fist knocking your head against the metal with a sickening clang. The world swam, and for a split second, you couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe.

And when the world went dark, he smiled.

✦✧✦✧

You wake up to the feeling of something wrong.

The air is thick, oppressive, pressing down on your chest before you even fully register where you are. It’s dark—too dark. Your room isn’t supposed to be this dark. Panic scratches up your throat as you blink, trying to adjust, trying to move—and then you realize.

You can’t.

Your wrists are bound above your head, the coarse bite of rope digging into your skin. Your legs are spread, ankles tied to the foot of your bed. The position is humiliating, leaving you open, vulnerable, entirely at his mercy.

And then you see him.

Atsumu, perched on the edge of the bed, shirtless, his lean, athletic frame cast in sharp relief. There’s something in his golden gaze that makes your stomach twist—something feral, something unhinged.

“Ya talk in your sleep, y’know.”

Your throat clenches. You pull against the ropes, but they don’t give. “Atsumu—”

He clicks his tongue, reaching out to grab your chin, forcing you to look at him. His touch is rough, his fingers digging in hard enough to bruise.

“Say his name again,” he murmurs, voice low, dripping with venom.

Your brows furrow. “What?”

But then you remember.

The dream.

The warmth of Osamu’s arms, the softness of his voice, the way you whispered his name like a prayer.

Realization dawns in Atsumu’s eyes, and his grip tightens. His smirk stretches wider, crueler. “There it is.”

Your stomach plummets. “Atsumu, please—”

The slap is sudden, a sharp crack splitting the silence. Your head snaps to the side, the sting searing across your cheek. Tears burn at your eyes, but you don’t cry. You refuse.

“Don’t beg,” he sneers. “Ain’t gonna change a damn thing.”

His fingers thread into your hair, yanking your head back. His breath is hot against your skin, his teeth grazing the curve of your jaw.

“Ya really think I’d let that slide?” His voice is almost amused, but there’s something darker beneath it, something lethal. “Ya dreamin’ about my brother while yer mine?”

You shake your head frantically. “I—I’m not—”

Another slap. This one harder. Your ears ring, a whimper escaping before you can swallow it down.

He laughs. “That’s cute, sweetheart.”

His hands move lower, fingers hooking into your shirt. With one brutal yank, he rips it open, buttons flying. The cool air kisses your exposed skin, and you shudder.

Atsumu hums, dragging a finger down the valley of your chest. “Ain’t nothin’ 'Samu can do for ya that I can’t do better.”

You thrash, trying to kick, but your legs are bound, useless. Your struggles only seem to amuse him.

“Aww, look at ya.” He grips your chin again, forcing you to meet his gaze. “Fuckin’ helpless.”

His hands travel lower, skimming over your stomach before settling between your legs. You clench your thighs, but it’s pointless. He yanks your underwear to the side, exposing you. The cool air is unbearable, and you feel the heat of his gaze as he drinks you in.

“Fuck,” he mutters. “So fuckin’ pretty.”

You bite your lip, refusing to give him the satisfaction of a reaction.

But he doesn’t need one.

His fingers part you, dragging through your folds. He groans, low and guttural, as he spreads you open, his touch rough, possessive.

You jerk against the bindings, but he just presses down harder.

“Atsumu, stop—”

The punch knocks the breath from your lungs.

Your vision goes white for a second, your body convulsing from the sheer force of it. Your lip splits, the metallic tang of blood filling your mouth.

“Don’t tell me what to do,” he growls.

You cough, gasping for air, but he doesn’t give you a moment to recover. His fingers plunge inside you without warning, two thick digits forcing their way in. The pain is immediate, sharp, and you cry out, your body convulsing.

“Fuck, yer so tight,” he grunts, scissoring his fingers inside you. “Knew ya’d take me good.”

Tears spill down your cheeks as he stretches you open, his pace unrelenting. He crooks his fingers, pressing against something that makes you jerk involuntarily, a traitorous spark of pleasure blooming through the agony.

He notices.

And he laughs.

“Look at ya,” he taunts. “Cryin’ and drippin’ all over my fuckin’ fingers.”

You shake your head, denial bubbling in your throat, but he’s already pulling his fingers free. He shoves them into your mouth, forcing them past your lips.

“Suck,” he orders.

You gag, trying to turn away, but he grips your jaw, keeping you in place. His fingers press against your tongue, the taste of yourself coating your mouth.

“That’s it,” he purrs. “Good girl.”

When he finally pulls his fingers free, he reaches for his waistband. Your stomach lurches as he tugs his pants down, his cock springing free—thick, flushed, leaking.

“You wanna be fucked by a Miya so bad?” he growls. “Guess I’ll give ya what ya want.”

Before you can even scream, he’s lining himself up, the thick head of his cock pressing against your entrance.

Then he slams inside.

The pain is blinding. A raw, splitting agony that rips through you, and you sob, body seizing around him. But Atsumu groans, head tilting back, shuddering at the way you squeeze around him.

“Fuckin’ perfect,” he pants. “Made for me. Not him. Me.”

He doesn’t wait. Doesn’t let you adjust. He sets a brutal pace from the start, pounding into you with unrelenting force. Each thrust is punishing, every drag of his cock inside you a brutal, violating stretch.

You scream, but it only seems to spur him on.

“Mine,” he snarls, his teeth sinking into your shoulder. “Mine, mine, mine.”

His nails rake down your thighs, leaving burning red welts in their wake. His hands find your throat, squeezing, cutting off your air until your vision dots with black.

And still, he doesn’t stop.

He fucks you like he’s trying to break you, like he’s trying to brand himself into your very soul.

And maybe, in some sick, twisted way, he already has.

Because when he finally cums, spilling deep inside you with a groan of satisfaction, you know one thing for certain.

You will never escape him.

Never.

⋅───⊱༺ ♰ ༻⊰───⋅ 𝐕𝐢𝐫𝐠𝐢𝐧! 𝐁𝐚𝐫𝐨𝐮 ✦✧✦✧

He has never been jealous. Not once in his entire damn life.

Barou Shouei does not give a fuck about people. He doesn’t need anyone, doesn’t rely on anyone, and certainly doesn’t let petty emotions like jealousy get in the way of his dominance. The field is where he thrives, where he obliterates every other weakling with pure, unshakable will. His pride is an unbreakable fortress.

Or at least, it was. Until you.

You were different. Not in the way that people throw around that word like it means something, but in a way that pissed him off in ways he couldn’t explain. You were too easygoing, too warm, too open. It wasn’t that you were an extrovert—you weren’t. You were quiet, withdrawn even, but once people got close enough, you let them in. Too much, too easily.

And they all fucking loved you for it.

Shidou, that damn freak, always found ways to tease you, dragging you into his chaos just to see you laugh. Rin barely tolerated anyone, yet even he spoke to you without that disgusted look on his face. Chigiri, Bachira, Nagi, hell, even Ego himself had a certain level of begrudging respect for you. It made no sense.

But none of them compared to Isagi.

He doesn’t understand it at first. He’s not like Isagi, he doesn’t think in complex strategies or analyze the people around him. But he knows when something is off. And when it comes to you, something is definitely off.

The way you and Isagi are together—it's different.

You’re best friends. You’ve known each other forever. You grew up together, you say, laughing when Barou throws an insult at you the same way he does to everyone else, and you don’t flinch. “Guess I had practice,” you say, nudging Isagi, who just smirks.

Practice. Like you were already used to dealing with people like him.

That thought doesn’t sit well with him.

It only gets worse from there.

You’re always with Isagi. Always talking, always laughing. You have inside jokes he doesn’t understand. There are casual touches—too casual, too easy. You’re not fucking dating, he knows that, but something about it still pisses him off.

And then, the moment that finally breaks him.

You’re on the sidelines during practice, watching the others play while Barou finishes a drill. You’re leaning against Isagi, scrolling through your phone as the bastard peeks over your shoulder, grinning.

“You still have that picture of me?” Isagi laughs.

“Shut up, it’s a funny photo,” you snicker, nudging him away, but not before Barou catches a glimpse of your screen. It’s an old photo of Isagi—one where he looks ridiculous, probably mid-blink, caught at the worst possible moment.

It shouldn’t fucking matter. But it does.

Because you’re smiling. Because you kept it. Because it’s him.

Barou clenches his jaw, forcing himself to look away. The irritation lingers like a bitter taste in his mouth. He tells himself it’s just because he hates Isagi. It’s because the guy is annoying, always yapping, always acting like he’s smarter than everyone else. That’s all it is.

But that doesn’t explain why, later that night, he can’t stop thinking about it. About you. About the way you look at Isagi, about the way you laugh, about the way you never fucking laugh like that around him.

And then it clicks.

It’s jealousy.

Barou Shouei is jealous.

The realization is as infuriating as it is undeniable. It festers inside him like a sickness, twisting, seething, growing stronger with every second. And once he acknowledges it, there’s no stopping it.

He starts watching you more. Studying you. Not in the way Isagi would, not with careful analysis or logic, but with pure instinct. He notices things he never noticed before. The way you adjust your grip on your water bottle, the way your fingers twitch when you’re thinking, the way your lips part slightly when you’re surprised.

He notices the way people look at you.

The way Isagi looks at you.

The way they touch you.

The way you let them.

And it pisses him off more than anything ever has.

You don’t notice it at first. Why would you? Barou has always been Barou—distant, irritable, impossible to deal with. But something shifts.

He starts standing closer to you. Just enough that you feel his presence looming over you, a silent reminder that he’s there. He interrupts conversations you’re having with other people, not even looking at them as he pulls your attention back to him. When Isagi cracks a joke, Barou shuts it down with a sharp glare before you even have a chance to laugh.

And then there are the touches.

They start small. A hand on your lower back when he walks past you. Fingers brushing against yours when he hands you a water bottle. A grip on your wrist that lingers just a second too long.

You think nothing of it.

Until the night he finally snaps.

It happens after another practice, late at night. You’re packing up your things when he corners you, blocking your exit with his sheer size alone. You don’t even have time to react before he’s pressing close, his breath hot against your skin.

“You’re too fucking friendly,” he mutters, voice low, dangerous.

You blink, confused. “What?”

“With everyone,” he growls, his fingers tightening around your wrist. “You let them get too close. You let him get too close.”

Realization dawns in your eyes, and for the first time, you look uncertain. “Barou, are you… jealous?”

The word is a spark to gasoline. His grip tightens, yanking you closer, his body caging you in.

“Shut up,” he snaps. “You don’t get to fucking say that.”

You swallow, your pulse quickening. “I don’t—”

“Do you have any idea how fucking stupid you are?” His voice drops lower, rougher. “The way you act, the way you let them touch you—you don’t even notice, do you?”

You stiffen. “They’re my friends.”

“They’re fucking men.” His jaw clenches, his eyes dark with something unreadable. “And you’re mine.”

Your breath catches. “Barou—”

He doesn’t give you a chance to finish.

The kiss is brutal, all teeth and possession, swallowing your gasp as he pins you against the wall. His hands grip your waist, fingers digging in hard enough to bruise. He’s not gentle. He’s not kind. He’s claiming you, taking what he’s already decided is his.

You struggle, pushing at his chest, but he doesn’t budge.

“You think Isagi would stop me?” he breathes against your lips, his voice a dangerous whisper. “You think any of them would?”

✦✧✦✧

Barou isn’t stupid. He doesn’t miss the way your lips part, the flicker of something—excitement?—sparking in your eyes before you shove it down. You pretend to be flustered, pretend to be afraid, but you aren’t. He can see it. He can feel it in the way your body responds, the way your fingers twitch like you want to fight him and taunt him all at once.

And that pisses him off more than anything.

“You’re fucking enjoying this.” His voice is low, disbelieving, a snarl curling his lips as he stares you down. The air between you is electric, crackling with something dark, something raw.

You blink, but your silence is telling.

Barou’s fingers dig into your hips, holding you in place, his body pressing you against the wall. There’s no escape, not unless he allows it. And he won’t.

“I should’ve known,” he breathes, tilting his head, his eyes narrowing. “You always liked pissing me off, didn’t you? Always running your mouth, always hanging off Isagi like some needy little bitch.” His lips curl into a cruel smirk, something dangerous lurking beneath. “But you weren’t doing it to be nice, were you?”

You swallow. Say nothing.

Barou chuckles darkly. “You were waiting for this.”

His grip tightens, and your breath hitches as he drags you closer, his body heat suffocating. He’s always been big, but like this, caging you in with sheer dominance, he’s terrifying.

And you fucking love it.

The realization twists something in his gut, makes his blood burn hotter. He should be furious. He should hate you for this. But all it does is make his cock throb, make his need for control snap into something more vicious, more primal.

“You think this is a game?” he hisses, his breath hot against your ear. “You think you can play me like some cheap fucking toy?”

You smirk. “Worked, didn’t it?”

Barou snarls.

The next thing you know, you’re on the ground, your back hitting the cold floor with a dull thud as he yanks you down with him. His hands are everywhere, rough and unyielding, dragging your clothes up, shoving your legs apart like you belong to him.

And in this moment, you do.

Your laugh is breathless, teasing. “That all you got, King?”

Something dark snaps in his eyes.

His fingers wrap around your throat, cutting off your next taunt as he forces you to look at him. His grip isn’t enough to choke you—yet. But the threat lingers, heavy and thick, and your body shivers with anticipation.

“You’re such a fucking brat,” he mutters, shoving your legs wider, pinning you down with nothing but brute force. “Always running your mouth, always fucking testing me.” His fingers tighten slightly, just enough to make your pulse pound against his palm. “You really don’t know when to quit.”

You gasp, your nails digging into his arms, but it’s not in protest.

And he knows it.

A slow, predatory grin spreads across his face. “You like this,” he murmurs, more to himself than to you. His free hand slides down, shoving aside the last barrier between him and what he wants. “You fucking love it when I treat you like shit.”

Your body betrays you. The way you shudder, the way your hips arch involuntarily against his touch, the way your breath catches—he doesn’t miss a single thing.

“Filthy little thing,” he mutters, his voice thick with something dark, something possessive. “You were never innocent, were you?”

You smirk up at him, defiant even now. “Never.”

Barou doesn’t give you time to prepare.

The stretch burns, his cock forcing you open with no patience, no mercy. You gasp, your fingers clenching around his wrist as your body struggles to take him. He doesn’t wait, doesn’t give you a second to adjust—because you don’t fucking deserve it. You wanted this, you pushed him, and now you’re going to take everything he gives you.

His pace is brutal from the start, every thrust knocking the air from your lungs. He grips your hips hard enough to bruise, slamming you down onto his cock like he wants to break you.

“You think Isagi could do this to you?” he growls, his teeth grazing your jaw. “Think he could fuck you like this?”

Your moan is involuntary, wrecked and breathless, and that only drives him further.

Barou snarls, his grip tightening. “Fucking answer me.”

Your eyes flutter, your mind fogging with pleasure, with pain, with the sheer intensity of him. “No,” you gasp. “Only you.”

He fucking knew it.

His thrusts get rougher, punishing, his dominance absolute. He’s never been jealous before. Never let himself care. But now, he understands.

Then, finally, he speaks.

"Try that shit again," he mutters against your ear, his voice still rough, dangerous. "I dare you."

You grin.

Because now, you know exactly how to break him.

Official TAG LIST of “The Red Ledger”: @save4h , @rofkshinee , @songbirdgardensworld , @yanderedrabbles , @xileonaaaa , @neuvilletteswife4ever , @poopooindamouf

Test-Phase TAG LIST of “The Red Ledger”: @imnotabot28 , @han11dh , @loserworld , @esthelily

Character TAG LIST of “HSR Sunday”: @yandere-romanticaa

JJK MEN TWITTER LINKS PART 2

Part 1 here M!list here

Note: added yuki and shoko 😗

○ Gojo Satoru ●

Up against the wall

Loves when you ride him

Movie night turned into smth more

○ Geto Suguru ●

He loves ur ass

Perv!geto loves public sex

Geto loves easy access

○ Toji Fushiguro ●

Fingering and fucking your pretty pussy

Morning sex w toji

He enjoys ur pretty cunt

○ Nanami Kento ●

Bent over his lap

Cumming thru ur panties

soft and sensual sex w Nanami (this is a p-hub link) I love it sm please I just had to add

○ Choso Kamo ●

You let him cream pie you

Professional titty sucker

Choso just learned how to finger your pussy

○ Yuki Tsukumo ●

Strap 😗

She eats ur pussy

Slapping ur cunt

○ Shoko Ieiri ●

Fingering ur pussy after a long day

She loves to try new things on you

Rubbing 😽

I will never forget that 2021 Kuroko in Wonderland Aomine and Kagami because---- 🫦💙❤️💥💦

it's wild that I draw these two better this time... is because they're in uniforms...???

Saving 21k words...

─── I SAID LOOK AT ME, GIRL INITIATION bonten x fem! reader ( 18+ MDNI ) 21.3k words you condemned three men to death tonight, or something worse than death, and there was nothing you could do about it but keep moving forward, digging yourself into a deeper and deeper hole until you could no longer see the sun. but you kept reaching up anyway, ever hopeful that you’d feel the warmth on your skin one day.

that day wasn't going to be today. how lucky for you, you've been promoted.

YOU CAN FOLLOW SIMPLE INSTRUCTIONS, RIGHT ? ─── active characters ﾉ hajime kokonoi, haruchiyo sanzu, ran haitani, rindou haitani, takeomi akashi mentions of ﾉ mikey sano, kakucho, kanji mochizuki

WHOEVER BETRAYS BONTEN WILL EVENTUALLY BECOME SCRAPS, TOO tags ﾉ dubious consent , degradation , praise , gangbang , power imbalance , pain play , exhibitionism , voyeurism , groping , mention of drug usage ( sanzu ), mentions of alcohol ( takeomi & rindou ), sadism , masochism , dacryphilia , size difference , violent sex , oral ( m. receiving ) spit kink , asphyxiation , fear play , face fucking , mind break , coercion almost , free use , violent language , unprotected sex , handjobs , misogyny ( takeomi ) , slutshaming ( takeomi, again ), bukkake , insults , mean characters , throat bulge , breath play , borderline unconsciousness , hair pulling , suspension , overstimulation , mentions of a breeding kink , multiple orgasms , mentions of a collar , dry humping just a little , humiliation , control , spitroasting , nipple play , canon typical violence , mentions of death several times , gang antics with bonten , and more..!

You were good at listening to orders. one of the best, in fact. It was more than just rare for you to mess up a direct order given to you by one of the executives above you, and that made you the perfect pawn. You could be molded into anything they needed at the time, the perfect canvas for crimson red handprints to cover your body. 

Innocent wasn't exactly the word, it was more like naive, and belligerently hopeful, even when you faced the worst. It was like you couldn't really see the world around you, not completely anyways.

" Sir, " you took in a deep, shaky breath, holding the manila folder in your hand as you walked into Hajime Kokonoi’s office, knowing you'd delivered exactly what you had been told. Even if it came at the cost of other people's lives. " I have the names. "

" Good, good, " Kokonoi didn't even bother to look up from his desk, his throwaway laptop open with the screen away from you, making it impossible for you to see what he was working on, but you thought that it was better the less you knew about what he did for work considering what he had you doing for work. " How many ? "

" Three, " you announced, sitting the manila folder down. For such a simple interaction right now, this had taken more restless nights and more dangerous situations than you really wanted to let yourself think about. It almost felt like it was downplaying and trivializing your efforts. To be fair, it was. 

Sniffing out traitors wasn't an easy job – whether it was checking money wires, phone calls, tailing people, reaching out through connections and plenty of ' friends of a friend ‘ – getting these three names had taken about three weeks of your life that you weren't going to get back. 

You felt blessed by some god that you knew wasn't looking that you didn't have to pull out the gun you kept on you nearly at all times, although you had needed to talk your way out of a situation that could've ended in bloodshed more than once.

" The names ? "

" ..Shinatsuro Kamo, Mikane Shuichi, Chihara Fumihiko. Two of them are in your shell IT company, different branches though. One of them worked as a bartender in the Haitani brothers’ strip club, " you explained in a soft voice, crossing your arms, trying to show that you were just as serious about this as he was. You'd figured out a long time ago that showing pain was nothing more than a big red target on your back, and you had enough eyes watching you for now. " All three of them were connected to the same mole. From what I know, they don't know about each other, at least not their identities, although they may be aware that there are other rats. "

" Did they even try to cover their tracks ? tch. " Gently closing his laptop, Kokonoi grabbed the manila folder, looking through the files you'd put in there. 

Birth certificates, addresses, current pictures of their identity cards, check stubs. You had it all there. None of that was easy to get a hold of, especially not when each of them had more than one different name they went by. But you tailed their trails until you got to their birth names, and had it all down. You even had pictures of one of them from middle school with the worst haircut you’ve ever seen on a kid. 

" You did good. its thorough work for only three weeks with only a vague notion of where to go. "

" Yeah. You'd think next time I might get a bit of hint, " you joked softly, and you swore you heard Kokonoi chuckle a little bit, his hand reaching over and tucking his straight white hair behind his ear as he read through the files, sorting things out on his desk. " Going through the entire list of Bonten's higher ups wasn't easy. "

" The entire list ? "

" Mostly. I knew better than to look into the executives, but I had to check anyone below your status, " you backtracked to answer his question quickly, knowing damn well that if you ever looked into the executives above you, you were as good as dead. The cops would never find your corpse and no one would remember your name. 

Being wiped off of the face of the planet wasn't exactly in the plans of a good night for you, not after all of that work. It had been the worst mission you'd been sent on yet, but you completed it hopefully with flying colors.

" That's good, " Kokonoi sat out the three I.D card copies, examining each one of them. He didn’t outright deny your thought process, but you knew that he didn’t need to. There were some open secrets in Bonten that everyone knew without needing to talk about them. " So these are the men ? And you're sure of that ? "

" If you don't trust me, trust the trails they left behind. "

" We'll have to double check your work, " he pointed out, although with each file that he pulled out, he seemed more and more convinced that you were right in your deductions, which is what you were hoping too. You knew that there was a chance something didn’t add up, that you could be wrong, even with all of the hard work that you put in to get this information. It was small, but this was life and death. " Can't just send men to die without a checks and balances system, right ? "

" Who's going to be checking my work ? " you tried your best not to think about the fates of the men that you were damning, but failing miserably. You hoped that it show on your face.

" Sanzu. "

" So they're dead. " There was no way that Sanzu was going to go the silent path of making sure that all of the trails led up properly. No, he was going to get the answers out of them with chains and saws and pliers. Whether they were guilty or not, they were as good as dead. Death might be a mercy for them if they’re stuck with Sanzu.

Hopefully, you thought, they would give up quickly and spill everything out before Sanzu really got to having fun. Once that happened, who knows how long he would play with them until Mikey gave his orders to finally end their lives. Could be hours, could be days. You hoped that they weren’t as dumb as they seemed. If they can’t cover themselves up properly, at least they could give up easily.

" Well, " Kokonoi put all of the files away back into the manila folder, closing it and sitting it to the side of his otherwise pristine desk. His voice almost sounded light, like he was laughing about it, although his face was still mostly neutral. Kokonoi was hard to read – it wasn't like he was crazy like Sanzu, or quiet like Mikey and Kakucho. No, he was witty and sarcastic, but he was so in the way that it wasn't really actually funny, just dark. Just actually depressing. He told the truth and covered it up with a smile. " You never know, maybe he's feeling merciful. Either way, you'll be there when Mikey decides what to do with them. "

" Ah, thank you, Sir. what an honor, " you couldn't stop yourself from sounding a little bitter about it, knowing that you would witness the culmination of your hard work and honestly, you didn't really want to. Listening to three men that you brought down to Sanzu's favorite warehouse cry and scream out in pain wasn't exactly your idea of a good time, but a direct order was a direct order, and you weren't about to mess up just because you didn't want to. There was plenty of things that you've done that you can't exactly say that you're proud of, and you just thought you were going to add this one to the list.

" We'll see to it that you're there. It'll be your first time in the warehouse, right ? " Kokonoi asked, although he already knew the answer, " I believe it's time to talk to Mikey about making it official. "

" It ? "

" Your work here, I mean. "

" I've done a lot of unpaid labor if this is just the internship, " you mumbled underneath your breath, earning a curious quirk of Kokonoi's eyebrow, but he didn't say anything about your attitude. He was one of the few executives you could talk to like a normal person and he wouldn't paint the walls with your brains.

" You're sort of more like a secretary right now, " Kokonoi clarified, steepling his fingers together and sitting his chin on them, a strand of his hair that he had just pushed back already falling into his eyes as he looked up at you, his sharp eyes taking in your appearance as if he were dissecting you piece by piece, and maybe he's thought about it before. You could never be sure with the Bonten executives just how deep their contempt for humanity ran. " Granted, the papers you bring me aren't exactly just the weekly wealth management reports, but more.. unique to your position, I should say. "

" Despite the others' strengths, there's only one within the executives that's particularly good at sniffing out rats, " Kokonoi continued after your silence, " So it only makes sense that you worked directly underneath me during your time here, given what you do. But to continue your job in a more effective manner, you should be.. promoted, in a sense. Instead of me being the middleman, giving you orders from Mikey, you should get them directly from him instead. Cut out the middleman and there's less room for error. There's no way any information can get lost in translation and cause errors to occur. "

What a professional and roundabout way to say that now, if you fucked up, it would be on your head, and he didn't want to risk having his name attached to your line of work. " I see. so you're wanting to ' promote ' me to executive directly underneath Mikey, instead of working just for you. "

" Precisely. I knew you were smart, " he smiled, eyes narrowing as he watched you shift your weight from one foot to the other, feeling a little awkward underneath his gaze. " I still need to suggest it to Mikey, but I'm sure there's going to be little pushback. He's seen the work you've done before this. Everything goes back to him, after all. "

Mikey has eyes and ears everywhere, that much you knew. You, very much so, were considered one of them. Not only did you look out for others within your ' position ' you also were watched by them. You were just particularly good at your job, it seems. What a lucky soul you were, living this life.

" Yes, Sir. "

" Wonderful. Then you're dismissed until a later notice, secretary, " he straightened up, the term slipping from his lips more like an insult than anything else, finally glancing back down at his laptop in front of him, opening it up to continue what he was doing before you came in. " You'll hear word from someone about what's going to happen and when. Be there, although I have no doubt that you won't. "

" Yes, Sir. " You repeated once again, and turned on your heels, your footsteps echoing as you headed towards the door, trying to hold your head high and keep your posture as straight as possible. If there was one thing you were good at other than executing orders given to you, it was keeping up appearances.

" Oh, and one more thing before you go. There's a lady acting up from one of the Haitani brother's clubs, could you check up on her for me ? I believe she's been starting some unfortunate whispers about your connections to me, and I'd like to have that squashed as quick as possible. "

Ah, she thought the two of you were fucking. It was understandable, everyone within a certain ranking knew who you answered to, and who you spent most of your time around, and that included the managers of the Haitani brother's clubs, who often had to answer to Kokonoi for their revenues. You were sure that one had seen you come in or out of Kokonoi's office and tried to connect the dots. 

In fact, you were almost sure you knew exactly who it was: the man who tried to hit on you and you shot him down relatively quickly. You'd been tired that day and didn't even want to entertain the thought of men, especially not one as sleazy as he was, so you may have sounded a little ruder than you anticipated. 

Perhaps he took your denial and then saw you come out of Kokonoi's office and tried to connect the dots to make his ego feel better. What was his name ? Atsuku Tsukima, you were fairly sure. You had most people who were in higher positions in Bonten memorized already, it just sort of came with the job after combing through their names for hours on end. You'd have to pay him a little visit, and check up on that girl of his. 

You also figured you might have to check up and ask why he was telling some random girls at his club about the business of people that he has no right to stick his nose in, too. 

" Yes, Sir. “ You answered him one last time, your hand on the door handle as you turned your head to throw him one more look, finger already holding down the lock so you could push it open. “ I’ll return in a few hours with an update for you. I don’t think she’ll be saying much more about it anymore after tonight. “ 

“ I don’t believe so, either. “ 

Looks like you could sit down your hopes of getting an early day tonight. Of course you had to run around for one more errand before you could really call your day complete, just to get up and do it all over again tomorrow. 

Once you walked through the door, you could feel it all coming back to you at once, like a rush of all of the emotions you’d suppressed to the best of your ability. The fear, the sickness in the pit of your stomach, the regret. 

You condemned three men to death tonight, or something worse than death, and there was nothing you could do about it but keep moving forward, digging yourself into a deeper and deeper hole until you could no longer see the sun. But you kept reaching up anyway, ever hopeful that you’d feel the warmth on your skin one day. 

That day wasn’t going to be today. 

Just barely three days after you delivered your report to Kokonoi, you were told the date and the time that you were expected to be in the warehouse with the presence of the other executives, and the leader of the whole organization. You knew that this day was coming, but you honestly could say that you were kind of hoping that Sanzu struggled to find them for a little while longer, if only to put off your own discomfort. But of course, you hadn’t let anyone find out that you were snooping around to the traitors, so the three men had no idea what was happening and probably continued with business as usual. 

You’d known about the warehouse, and even knew the general location and its main use before you’d even been there for the first time. It was just an old storage facility for a car manufacturer that Kokonoi had a hand in. Technically, the warehouse was Kokonoi’s property, but Sanzu spent more than his fair share of time within the uninsulated metal walls. 

You’d only met Sanzu once, and that was a very short time when you were delivering something to Kokonoi and Sanzu just happened to want to chat with him at the same time. 

Even then, you understood early on not to fuck with that man. He was unhinged, with more screws loose than anyone else within Bonten that you knew. Looking at him in the wrong way could potentially mean that you were liable to get your neck snapped in half like a twig, if he was feeling generous that day. 

A few of the Bonten executives you’d never met before were there, as well as Mikey, the leader of it all. You knew of him, heard stories about the kind of person he was through the grapevine, although you could never tell if they were the truth or fiction, even saw his face a couple of times. You’d heard about the man who was once called the Invincible Mikey, who was now a shell of a man and apathetic towards anyone and everyone. 

But you’d never been face to face with him before, and you never really could say that you really wanted to, either. You were perfectly okay with being unnoticed by all of these people that you knew you’d soon be meeting. Or at least, you weren’t important enough to be a name that they saw more than once or twice, with the exception of Kokonoi. 

If someone became important enough that several of them were looking into your name, you usually didn’t live long after that. Usually, that means you did something very, very wrong.

The warehouse was a sweaty cold the moment that you walked inside of it. A large open space, with plenty of crates and carts and parts strewn around. Things underneath tarps that you were smart enough not to look at too closely, especially if something brownish red was leaking out from underneath. It wasn’t insulated, and didn’t have any air conditioning, either, making it just uncomfortable to be in for longer than needed. You felt your fingers and the tip of your nose getting cold, and the bones inside of you rattled a little as you took in a shaky breath. 

Walking forward through the surprisingly well lit yet dusty atmosphere, your footsteps echoed against each wall, sounding a thousand times louder than you were actually walking. There was no way that anyone wasn’t aware of your presence by now, not that you were really hiding your presence to begin with. You weren’t brave enough to try to sneak up on anyone here. Towards the back, you only halfway knew what to expect. You could already smell it when you came in.

The three men you personally condemned were there, dirty, bloody rags tied in their mouths, their arms tied behind their backs with duct tape wrapped around their bodies. Each man was crying hysterically; one, you were sure, even pissed himself. You could smell the stench of urine before you even got a good view of what was going on. There was a cart next to the men with a saw on it, some pliers, unidentifiable chunks of meat that you really didn’t want to look at for too long, knives, scissors, a lighter, and some matches. 

Sanzu was definitely having his fun, and you had the realization that they’d probably been caught the moment you left Kokonoi’s office. You wouldn’t be surprised if forwarding the information to him was the first thing that Kokonoi did after you left. Which probably meant that these men have been in here for days. 

The executives each stood around, some of them looking bored, and others looking on with interest, less about the men being tortured and more about what was actually happening to them. Sanzu stood above them with a gun in his hand, his second favorite choice of weapon, although you were almost positive that he didn’t necessarily care what was in his hands as long as he was able to cause mayhem. 

“ Ah, welcome, “ Kokonoi was the first one to greet you, his hands in his long red shirt’s pockets. You really never realized just how detailed the gold embroidery in his outfit was until you look at it glittering in even the mustiest of areas. Compared to everyone else, Kokonoi stood out the most to you, but that was also perhaps because you knew him the longest and you were the most comfortable around him than anyone else. 

You found yourself gravitating towards Kokonoi before you really even told your feet where to go. With everything going on around you, Kokonoi was the safest option. You held your hands behind your back, one of your hands holding onto your wrist, tilting your head as you looked up at Kokonoi. “ You haven’t been waiting long, I hope ? “ 

“ Not long at all, I believe you’re early, actually, “ he mused, not really caring enough to check the time on his watch. “ I thought you would arrive by the time Sanzu finished off the traitors, but Mikey hasn’t given his order yet. Maybe he was waiting for you. “ 

“ Maybe, “ you agreed easily, nodding slightly as you took a look around. The Haitani brothers were sitting on some metal cargo crates, with the younger brother, Rindou, looking a little bored, a small pout on his lips as he watched Sanzu move around the three sniveling traitors. 

To the side, was a man you didn’t know with a scar across his face, but you knew he was important. He looked like he would be hard to approach, and he wasn’t even watching Sanzu, his eyes were just on the floor, looking down at his own feet perhaps. He didn’t look bored, just indifferent to it all, like he would rather be anywhere else but here.

Close behind Kokonoi was a tall, huge blond man, his expression unreadable. It looked like he hadn’t even taken notice of your presence, or that he was looking past you. He didn’t really look like he was watching Sanzu, either. He looked lost in his own world, his eyebrows knitted together in concentration. 

Towards the back, there was a short man sitting down munching on some takoyaki, not even facing the rest of them, and a man close by him with a jacket on but no shirt staring at the exit as if he were already ready to go. 

The three men tied to the ground were writhing around in their pity, trying desperately to free themselves from the situation, fighting against the duct tape hopelessly. Seems one of them had a missing eye, and the other’s leg was busted completely. 

Sanzu laughed, leaning back almost morbidly and dropping a pill from his hand into his waiting, open mouth. Swallowing it, he screamed at the top of his lungs. “ Bring down bonten’s hammer of judgment on the traitors ! “ You thought it was an odd thing to say, but you weren’t going to say that out loud or you definitely would be next.

Sanzu leaned down to the ear of one of them, his finger pressed up against his pursed lips, “ Shh, shh, shh ! Pay attention to Mikey’s words ! “ He looked over his shoulder, his piercing gaze going right through you as he waited for the command of the man eating the takoyaki. 

“ Kill them. “ Mikey’s empty voice was so soft you barely heard it, but it was still audible, if only barely. And that’s all that Sanzu needed. 

You closed your eyes for the next few seconds, wanting to turn to hide, but unable to do that. The three gunshots rang out so loud it buzzed in your head as if you were the one who got shot. It sure did feel like you had, anyways, with the way that your heart lurched in your chest. The stench of blood permeated throughout the area, sinking into your nostrils, choking you with the scent of metal. 

“ Those who don’t fit in Bonten are scraps..! “ This time, you could feel his gaze on you before you even opened up your eyes, tearing you apart. He was directly talking to you, the newcomer within the executives, that much you didn’t need to be a genius to figure out. 

You sucked in a breath, feeling your hands shake behind your back, but you refused to mentally acknowledge that you were scared. If you did, there was a chance the persona you’d seemingly perfectly crafted could unravel at any time, and you were sure that wouldn’t end well for you. No, it was better if you pretended you were unaffected by everything, at least for now. You just had to hold out.

“ Make sure to clean up the dead bodies, “ the man with the scar on his face called, the look on his face best described as apathy. He didn’t look like he cared, nor that he really felt any type of way at all. There was no emotion behind those heterochromatic eyes, just tiredness. Exhaustion that went bone deep. You sort of knew how he felt, but it was still unsettling to look at in front of you.

“ Crush and freeze them. Turn them into fish bait, “ the blond man behind Kokonoi suggested, earning a small chuckle from the older Haitani brother. 

You knew about Ran and Rindou, who had killed when they were children and it just went downhill from there. They’d been on the path of bloodshed since they were kids, but their story wasn’t particularly unique. 

Kokonoi was on the same path since he was young, too, who you’d heard bits and pieces about during your time working underneath him. He’d been a financial treasurer since he was a child, always controlling the puppets around him to do the dirty work for him. If he could help it, Kokonoi never had to lift a finger, he just had to hold out his hand for the profits and keep his finger on the pulses of the most income, no matter what was bringing that money in. 

“ Keep it in your heads, everyone, “ Kokonoi gave you a little smile, his voice holding a hint of a dry, dark joke in there, “ Even between us, whoever betrays Bonten will eventually become scraps too. “ He leaned in close, until his nose was inches away from yours. “ That’s how Bonten works. “ 

You didn’t think you needed the reminder, but the words chilled you to your core anyways, as if you were learning for the first time what kind of organization you worked for.

You kept your head straight ahead, looking at him in the eyes, but you couldn’t stop yourself from swallowing hard, letting out a small shaky exhale through your nose, giving him all that he needed to know about how you were feeling right now. 

“ We have her to thank for bringing these traitors to light, right ? “ Ran asked behind you, not moving from his spot as he examined the way your hands shook behind your back, and you were glad he didn’t mention it. “ If she’s here, then that means.. oh, it wouldn’t happen to be her initiation, right ? “ He said it like he didn’t know, but you were sure that they had all been briefed beforehand about your arrival.

“ I swear, it’s like Sanzu gets to have all of the fun, “ Rindou shook his head, sounding a little annoyed that he had no part of the action yet. “ Where’s her tattoo going to be ? Has Mikey decided it yet, or is someone else choosing for her this time ? “ 

“ Mikey said that it needs to be on her chest so it stays hidden when she’s out and about, “ Kokonoi answered simply for you, finally moving away from your face to look at the Haitani brothers. “ It’s important that her tattoo isn’t easily spotted, so it has to go in a spot that most people would cover up. “ 

Finally interested in what was being talked about, Rindou’s eyes widened, and he almost looked excited, his eyes going wide with a goofy grin on his face, “ No way ! We’re putting the tattoo in between her tits ? “ 

“ That’s what the boss said. “ 

While you were occupied with listening to the conversation, Sanzu was moving along behind you, tucking the gun into the belt of his pinstripe pants. You could hear him moving about with the way that each of his steps echoed throughout the warehouse, but you didn’t dare to look back at him. Not yet, at least, unless you found yourself looking at something that maybe you didn’t want to see. 

“ Hey, Mochizuki, come help me with these goddamn bodies ! “ Sanzu yelled out, his voice strangely cheerful as if he were saying something completely normal. “ Since it was your genius idea to freeze them, you should be the one to pack them up into the cart so I can take them somewhere they’d freeze later. “ 

You thought it was just the way his voice carried that made him seem like he was closer than he actually was, but a hand smacked down on your shoulder, quickly jerking you back to look up at Sanzu. “ Can’t have the stupid little secretary getting sick while we tattoo her, yeah ? ..Is secretary the right word for you, or does snoop work better for you ? Since all you do is find people and bring them to me for me and Mikey to judge. Ah, I can’t tell which one works better. Maybe they both fit you. “ 

You kept quiet, letting him ramble on about what mildly insulting title fit you best, but you could feel the color drain from your face as you were brought face to face with this killer. Sanzu was insane. There wasn’t a single part of him that could ever even remotely be considered normal by any standards. He’d lost all of his marbles so long ago that you weren’t sure if he even remembered a time that he had a coherent thought that wasn’t about his next fix of murder or drugs. Not that you could ever in your life voice these opinions out to him, unless you wanted to end up as fish bait. 

“ I’m going to be doing your tattoo today, it’s a pleasure, “ Sanzu grinned lazily right in your face. His pupils were dilated, and he looked a little unsteady, but he kept himself relatively straight, rolling his neck and tilting his head as he got a better look at your face. His neck popped several times with a sickening crunch, and you wondered briefly if it had to hurt, or if he could even feel it. “ This is yours, Kokonoi ? “

“ Yeah. She worked underneath me. “ 

“ Underneath you ? “ 

“ ..Yeah. “ 

“ Hm. Ooookay, “ Sanzu didn’t say anything else, pulling himself away from you and turning right on his heels to help Mochizuki, the man with the blond hair, so you’d learned, with moving the bodies into a crate for later use. You looked up at Kokonoi, trying to keep your face neutral and honestly failing pretty badly at this point. 

You were terrified not only of Sanzu, but also about everything that was going on around you. This was more than you were expecting, and possibly even worse than anything you could’ve imagined so far. You weren’t sure if it was the cold or the absolute terror in your body that made your limbs feel like they were going numb. You couldn’t think, using the last of your resilience to stand up straight and not break down where you stood. 

“ I think that means he likes you, “ Kokonoi mentioned casually, either unaware of your feelings or simply uncaring about them. you didn’t know which, but it was better you didn’t ask. 

“ Maybe he’s trying to see how long it takes for you to snap ! “ Ran called out, laughing a little at his own words, and earning himself a chuckle from his younger brother. You were sure you really didn’t need to hear that. Maybe Ran was the one who wanted you to snap, maybe they all were waiting for the moment where you just gave up, but you weren’t going to do that. You just had to get through this tattoo and then you were going to get the hell out of there. 

You’d worry about the next executive meeting when it came down to it. But all of this in one night was far too much for you. You brought those men to this warehouse in the first place. Although you weren’t the one who pulled the trigger, you were the one who put the red target on the back of their heads anyways. Their murders were on your hands as much as they were on Sanzu’s. You’d think after all of this time within Bonten, you’d have your head on straight and would become numb to the feeling of blood slipping through your fingers. 

You did not.

“ She doesn’t really look like a killer to me, “ Kakucho shook his head, barely giving you a glance before he passed on his judgment to you. “ She’s better as an informant than with the actual gun, but having her in the executive ranks was up to Mikey. He has a better idea on what’s best for Bonten than anyone else. “ 

“ I think she could kill ! If she was pushed far enough ! We could push her and see what happens, “ Rindou chimed in with a little nod, pretty proud of himself for his observation of you. 

You had to think for a second, your eyebrows knitted together in concentration as you thought about it. Could you kill ? Could you pull the trigger on someone else’s life and cut it short ? You didn’t know. Sure, you’d hurt people before, and maybe those injuries had left them to die, but you’d never seen the lights fade from someone else’s eyes. You weren’t sure you wanted to, either.

You were learning pretty quickly that there was a lot of things that you didn’t know, and a lot of things that you didn’t want to know.

You did know, however, that all of the men within the warehouse was staring at you, judging you, picking you apart and trying to see what made you tick inside. Trying to see everything about you, the good, the bad, the wrong, the ugly. Even without their eyes directly on you, you knew you were being watched. That you were always tabbed no matter what you did or where you went. 

And these men were not the type of people to take notes and then go find someone else to deal with any potentially incorrect behavior, they were the reprimanders. They were the ones who ended the lives of plenty of people every single day. Innocents, bystanders. Anyone. Everyone. No one was safe from Bonten’s grip.

And you so naively had walked right into their hands. 

They would take your wings and rip them off of your body so you could never fly again, so you would be stuck in the pits of hell just like they were. Even sicker, is that they knew you would come to enjoy it after a time. a caught animal never outgrows its cage, after all. You were nothing more than an animal for them, a pet. And you were about to get permanently branded as one, too. 

The realization hit you harder than you cared to admit.

“ Come on ! Sit, sit ! Don’t waste more of my night here ! “ you hadn’t realized that Sanzu was back now without Mochizuki, and he had grabbed a metal folding chair, slapping it down a few feet in front of you. 

He tapped the back of it a few times, letting you know that he was getting impatient with you just standing there and staring at him, although it’s only been a few seconds now. You swallowed hard, moving over to take a seat on the chair, feeling the cold of the metal even through the fabric of the pants you were wearing. 

Now that you were sat, the world within this warehouse felt a lot larger than you’d previously thought. You could see how high the ceiling was, and could feel how absolutely suffocating the freezing air around you truly was. You couldn’t breathe in deeply without the lingering scent of blood and the overwhelming scent of something molding and rotting. Every breath you took stung your lungs, the cold having seeped into your skin and reaching the marrow of your bones. 

“ Gotta find my tattoo gun and get everything ready. you sit there and look pretty, “ Sanzu sneered out, hand clapping on your shoulder once before turning around to do exactly what he said he was going to do. You knew that this was likely not exactly the safest way to get a tattoo, nor would it be the easiest to deal with. 

He was a few feet away when he turned back for a second, his face surprisingly serious when he stared at you. “ Oh, and take off that shirt and bra or I’ll rip the shit off of you when I come back. “ 

Not a single part of you wanted to take off your shirt, but you found yourself with your fingers nimbly working on the buttons of the white dress shirt you were wearing anyways. Whether it was out of fear or out of habit to follow orders, you weren’t sure, and you weren’t going to think too much about it, either. 

The fabric slipped off of your shoulders, and you twisted over to have it cover the back of the chair so you didn’t have to press your back against the cold bare metal. 

You took off your bra slower, fumbling with the front clasp before shrugging it off of your arms, letting it drop onto the dirty floor. instinctually, you covered your chest up, wrapping your arms around your tits. But you already knew that your attempt at modesty did nothing. Everyone who was looking already saw. 

You couldn’t make eye contact with anyone, your head down, looking at your lap while you waited sort of patiently. There was no way this was going to take longer than twenty minutes, and then you could put your shirt back on and never think about it again. 

In between all of the genuine fear and lightheadedness that you felt, you also felt a pit in the bottom of your stomach form, tightly coiled but barely noticeable or distinguishable from the other coursing emotions rushing through you. In your haze, you didn’t think about it, didn’t even acknowledge that it was there. 

When Sanzu came back, he had a tattoo gun in his hands, and a cart that you really hoped wasn’t the cart that he just had his torture weapons sat on, and that pile of flesh that you really tried to erase from your memories. “ Hold your tits and keep them spread for me. I can’t work if my canvas is covered. “ 

You nodded, sliding your arms apart and grabbing your own chest, keeping the skin taut so he could work properly. 

Originally, he was just leaning over you, his posture awkward and probably uncomfortable for him, if he could feel his own body, but he decided that he wasn’t close enough, so his free hand that wasn’t holding the gun grabbed your leg and forced your thighs apart, stepping in between them so he was closer to you. 

It only took him a moment before he came up with another order, clearly still unhappy with the way that you were sat on the chair for him. “ Scooch your ass nearly off the edge of the chair. You’re sitting too straight. “ 

Before he gave you a chance to answer or follow through with his demands, Sanzu grabbed your hips, pulling you forward until your butt was nearly hanging off the chair, and you needed to plant your feet firmly into the floor to keep yourself from falling. Your eyes widened, trying not to make any noises from the way that he had grabbed you in such a way, completely manhandling you as if you were just a doll for him that he could throw around and pose how he wanted. 

“ S-Sir- ! “ You yelped, desperation hinting within your tone. 

Once he was happy with your position, completely ignoring your little yelp, he started to clean the area, the alcohol freezing cold as it hit your skin. It wasn’t until the tattoo gun turned on, and he dipped the needles into the ink that you realized that there really was no backing out of this now, not that there ever was. 

Your grip on your own chest tightened, nails digging into the skin as Sanzu leaned a little closer. As he got nearer, he shuffled propping his knee up on the edge of the chair, right in between your legs, pressing against the sensitive flesh of your most intimate area. You wanted to gasp, but the sound caught in your throat.

You didn’t have time to say or do anything as he finally touched the gun to your skin. No one really could’ve prepared you for what it felt like when Sanzu made the first mark on your skin. The needle was so close to the bone of your sternum, it felt like a painful vibration that shook your entire diaphragm, stealing your breath away. You closed your eyes tightly, breathing through your nose, nails digging into your chest so hard you swore you were going to break the skin. 

Oh, god, it hurt. It hurt so much worse than you were anticipating. 

Everything about this was wrong. You couldn’t stop yourself from tearing up, your entire body shaking from the tattoo gun needle going in and out of your skin. It didn’t feel like a million tiny little stabs like you had expected it to feel, more like the constant drag of a serrated blade against your skin, tearing at your flesh and forcing you to watch as it inked you just below the surface level. 

But the pain wasn’t really the worst part of it, it was just the catalyst for what set off every single one of your fear reactions after being on edge this entire time. You knew you were being watched, that every man had his eyes on you and were watching with rapt attention. 

It was something about being watched that pricked at your skin, making you feel everything far more intensely than you thought you would, like their eyes on you was some kind of aphrodisiac. 

You weren’t sure when anyone moved from the places that they were at previously, but now there were important, dangerous men circled all around you, watching as you were positively defiled by Sanzu and the tattoo gun. They were like vultures watching their next meal, waiting for the perfect moment to strike.

You felt pathetic, and watched, and used. And it didn’t help that in between your legs, you could feel just enough friction that it made your already tense body clench up even further, his knee pressed against you as he focused on getting the lines perfect. You were trying to find something, anything to focus on that wasn’t how you felt in this very moment. 

“ You’re playing with the big boys now, little lady, “ Rindou hummed behind you, his voice almost melodic as his hand found it’s way to your shoulder, giving you a grin that you didn’t look at. 

“ Look at her shake like a leaf ! “ Ran snickered as he leaned down, his eyes narrowed while he looked at you. You could feel his breath hot on your neck, but it took everything out of you to wrench open one eye to see what was going on around you. 

Your eyes immediately met the older Haitani brother’s gaze, and you felt your heart leap out of your throat. Why was he so close ? Why was he looking at you like that ? You could feel the fat of your thigh bounce a little as you shook underneath their gazes. 

" Can this bitch stop fuckin' squirmin' ? " You could hear Sanzu's voice cut through your thoughts and the sound of the tattoo gun whirling that made your head spin a little bit. 

You felt small and insignificant, around all of these important men, shirtless and sat in a dirty old metal chair in the warehouse where a few men lost their lives because of you today. Your hand was covering your chest, keeping the skin taunt for Sanzu as he hovered over you in between your spread legs, one of his hands coming down to rest on your hip, knee pressed against you lewdly. 

Rindou chuckled, keeping his hand on your bare shoulder, feeling each jump of your muscles with every drag of the tattoo gun on your skin. “ Maybe not, but she sure is cute, don’t you think, Koko ? “ 

“ Mhm, “ Kokonoi was staring at you, you could feel his eyes examining your face scrunched up in pain as you tried and failed to keep your breathing steady, his features unreadable other than a small little smile on his lips. “ That’s my secretary for you. “

“ She’s fuckin’ adorable. Better like this than when she’s trying to act like a big shot in a world not built for her, “ this was the first time you’d heard Takeomi’s voice, and you were completely unsure where his voice was coming from, but all of the voices sounded like they were surrounding you, echoing off of the warehouse’s walls and amplifying them tenfold. 

You could also hear every pitiful little noise that came from the bottom of your throat no matter how much you tried to keep yourself calm. You were whimpering, your chest threatening hiccups as you fought back tears. It was too much. They were all mocking you like you were just a toy, something weak and easily broken, snapped in half like a twig. 

“ No way, is she gonna cry ? “ Ran gasped, his eyes wide as he noticed the tears that were threatening to bubble up in your eyes. 

“ She is ! Look at her cry ! “ The embarrassment of the Haitani brothers calling you out for crying was enough for the tears to finally overflow from your waterline, streaming down your face. You leaned your head back, eyes closed tightly as you tried to stop yourself from crying and hiccuping. 

You felt like a stupid school girl getting bullied by the older kids on the playground, your body on display for them as Sanzu etched black ink lines into your skin. Your cheeks felt bright red, and you wanted to pull away from Sanzu, and run and hide from them. Maybe if you ran fast enough from this god forsaken warehouse, they would take a few days to catch you.

As if it were a type of sick punishment for all of the sins you committed, Sanzu shifted just a little, knee rubbing against you and making you gasp loud through your messy, fat tears, your noises reverberating on the walls of the warehouse. You couldn’t hide that reaction, not even from yourself. 

Fuck, you needed more of that feeling, the pain of the tattoo gun almost dulling for a moment before the pain came back.

" ..She’s crying ? " If you didn't know any better, you'd really think that Kakucho almost sounded worried for you, but no one there had any intention of stopping Sanzu from finishing your tattoo. 

This was something that all Bonten executives had to go through, you knew this, almost like an initiation of sorts, and of course you were no exception to this case. 

But it didn't help that you were shirtless, and you could feel the eyes of several men staring at your body, taking in the sight before them. A few seemed to be enjoying your pain far, far too much, but you were in no position to say anything to them at this very moment even if you could, not when you could barely get out a sentence without whimpering.

“ Pathetic little bitch can’t even stop crying f’me, “ Sanzu murmured underneath his breath, his hand finding its place back on your hip, holding you still firmly against the chair. “ Stay still for me or I’m gonna fuck up. I’m almost done. shit. “ 

With each little line he drew on your skin, you really couldn’t think of anything other than the pain, their eyes on you, and the pressure between your legs. The embarrassment, stinging, and friction created the worst amalgamation of sensations throughout your entire body, you didn’t know whether or not to cry out in pain or moan out, or to break down sobbing. 

You were thinking that you might honestly do all three at the same time. You needed something that could ground you and bring you down from the headspace that you didn’t really want to be in, and before you really even had a chance to think about it, you opened your mouth to speak. 

“ K-Koko..! Pl-please.. ! “ You whimpered, hot tears falling from your eyes as you looked up for him, desperate for something, anything. 

“ She’s the cutest ! “ Ran laughed, his hand trailing down your shoulder to your hands that were still holding your breast, squeezing it a little bit. His actions didn’t go unnoticed, but you didn’t have it in you to say anything about how his long, calloused fingers felt pressed against the soft, pillowy flesh of your tit.

“ Shh, shh, “ Kokonoi shuffled around a little bit so he was directly behind you, his hand ghosting over your sensitive little neck, holding your head and tilting your chin back so your head rested on his stomach. 

“ You’re okay. Don’t even worry about them, don’t listen to a word they say. You’re doing so good, can you keep your eyes on me, pretty girl ? Look at me, look at me. You can take it, right ? Just a little more. “ He whispered softly, his voice slow and soothing, piercing through the low rumble loud in your ears through the pounding of your eardrums. 

You couldn’t really say he was calming you down, more like he was distracting you from the soft, subtle touches of the other executives. Ran’s hand on your chest, Rindou touching right below your chest on the other side, dragging his nail against your sensitive skin, Sanzu holding your hip down onto the chair, Kokonoi’s hand playing with your hair as he hummed little pleasantries in your ear. 

They were all touching you, unabashed with the way they got tired of just watching and now wanted to participate in Sanzu’s defilement of you.

“ Pl-please, no- no more, “ you sniffled, looking up at Kokonoi with a pout on your shaky bottom lip. You saw him smile a little, and his grip on your neck tightened just a little bit, squeezing the sides of your neck, stealing what little breath you had. 

“ You can do it, pretty girl. You’re getting too worked up, need something to calm you down, yeah ? “ 

Sanzu shifted again slightly, his eyes trained on the flesh he was almost done marking. His knee rubbed up against you, causing you to gasp out loud, your eyes rolling back a little bit. Kokonoi hand that was on your hair tightened up a little bit, pulling slightly. 

“ I said look at me, girl. You can follow simple instructions, can’t you ? “ You winced, barely opening one teary eye to look up at him. 

He looked so sickeningly sweet, like the worst drug you could possibly get addicted to. Being surrounded by all of the Bonten executives, each one of them cooing at you in a mocking attempt to comfort you and touching at your body, it was making your already fuzzy head swim with too much to form anything coherent. 

It almost felt good, the dull, throbbing sensation flooding through your body in small little bursts with each stroke of the tattoo gun against your skin.

Ran’s fingers began to tweak at your nipple, rolling the hardened bud in between his two fingers, not even caring enough to be gentle. Rindou’s hand soon followed suit, pushing against your nipple in and rubbing small circles, his nail digging in just slight enough that you could feel it. The two of them were so in sync without needing a word, it was almost hypnotizing how good your tits felt in their hands.

Kokonoi’s hand was still tightly around your throat, squeezing enough just to steal the breath from your lungs. He seemed pleased with how limp your body had gone by now, how all three of them could touch you like this and you didn’t try to fight back against them. He wasn’t a sadist like the Haitanis or Sanzu, but he did enjoy watching someone crumble right underneath his fingertips. Especially someone as beautiful and pathetic as you, it made it all the more enjoyable.

“ Maybe she’s finally given up on trying to be a bad girl or whatever and is ready to be a slut like the rest of them, “ Takeomi finally mumbled underneath his breath, standing behind Ran and Kokonoi and watching this all unfold in front of him. He didn’t need to touch you, not when the others were already getting you riled up past your breaking point. He was just watching and waiting for the moment where he’d be able to see the exact moment your brain turned off. 

“ There, see ? All done, “ Sanzu said finally, turning off the tattoo gun, sitting it down onto the cart beside him. “ Dumb bitch couldn’t keep still but I still managed to get it straight. “

“ I’m gonna finish you, it's gonna be cold and then painful. Don't be a bitch about it. " Was all that Sanzu said to warn you as he grabbed a wet rag, cleaning off the spilled ink from your chest. 

The coldness shocked you, causing you to jump up a little bit but it really wasn’t that bad. Then, completely out of the blue, he squirted the isopropyl alcohol directly onto your chest from the bottle, before wiping it off with some soaked gauze. 

You gasped, letting out a truly pathetic little scream with what little breath you had from Kokonoi’s hand around your throat as Sanzu cleaned the area almost too harshly for you. You'd been told that the alcohol hurt a thousand times worse than the actual tattoo itself, but it still managed to completely take your breath away, especially with Sanzu's cruelty. 

Kokonoi's hand moved from your neck to your cheek, letting you breathe finally as he gently wiped the tears that fell from your eyes. The act itself was so much more domestic compared to the spinning in your head, almost enough to make you forget about everything around you. You wanted to nuzzle into his hand and cry for even longer, but you stopped yourself from doing that. At least, you thought you did.

“ She’s like a dog trying to get affection from her master, “ Rindou joked softly, earning a little chuckle from his older brother. 

“ Maybe she’ll bark if we ask her to nicely. We can teach her how to bark like a mutt, “ Ran agreed, letting go of your tit. Everyone was gradually pulling away from you, at least far enough for you to gather your bearings, though you could still feel their eyes on you. 

You tried to push your legs closed, picking your head up from Kokonoi’s stomach, wanting to pick your bra up off of the floor, to regain some semblance of the dignity you had before you walked in here, wiping the tears with the back of your hands. But Sanzu stepped quickly in between your legs again, his eyes glaring down as his knee found a familiar spot in between your legs to keep you from closing your thighs together easily. 

“ Mm, bad dog. Keep ‘em spread. I have to show Koko something once I’m done cleaning you up, “ Sanzu rolled his eyes, grabbing a bandage to slap on your tattoo now that he had cleaned it up. He threw it on your chest over the tattoo, fingers surprisingly gentle despite his words. 

You knitted your eyebrows together, and Kokonoi shifted around so he could get a good look at what Sanzu was talking about.

“ You needed me ? “

“ Look. “

Kokonoi’s eyes locked onto your body for a second, looking from your face to the bandaged tattoo, down the your navel. You felt a little shy underneath his gaze, which was odd considering you’ve been half naked in front of him this entire time, looking away from him and sitting your cheek onto your shoulder, physically curling inward on yourself. 

After a moment, you saw his eyes wide as he noticed something, his gaze locked onto the crotch of your pants where Sanzu’s knee had been pressed against you. “ ..There’s really not a thought going on inside of that dumb little head, huh ? “ He asked, glancing up at Sanzu and then back down at your body. “ Feeling like that at a time like this.. Maybe you’re more fucked up than I initially gave you credit for. “

Rindou’s attention had been piqued by that, wondering what could have possibly happened, although he had a good idea by now, and he followed Kokonoi’s gaze to the seat of your pants, his face contorting into excitement as he turned to his brother, a cheeky grin on his face. “ She really got off on us watching her cry ! Look at her, she’s so fuckin’ soaked ! “ 

Your eyes widened, and your hand immediately flew down to hide the crotch of your pants, your face turning into a million shades of red within the moment. “ I-I– wait..! Hold on ! I– “ you stuttered out, trying to find some good excuse, but everyone there knew there really wasn’t one that you could give that could possibly explain such a strong reaction if it was just Sanzu’s knee pressed against you. 

Sanzu couldn’t stop himself, or rather made no attempt to stop himself, as one of his hands came up to rest on your shoulder, knee rubbing up against you through the thick fabric of your slacks. It was almost pathetic how quickly your little denials about what was going on turned into squeals of pleasure, head leaning back to look up at the ceiling of the warehouse as Sanzu tested how sensitive you really are. 

“ She really is cute, “ Ran said finally, grinning as he reached for your tits again, this time he wasn’t trying to be sneaky about it, and you seemed more than willing to let him cup your tits with both hands as he stood behind you, rubbing and playing with them. “ Maybe we really should teach her how to bark, she’d make really cute sounds. “ He made it sound like he was just joking when he suggested it beforehand, but you weren’t entirely convinced that was the truth now. 

You wanted to protest, to tell them to get their hands off of you and let you get dressed so you could go, but the words died in your throat somewhere along the way, leaving just little helpless whimpers and breathy mumbles of some sound that might’ve been ‘ please ‘.  

Rindou was quick to take Kokonoi’s previous spot behind you, letting your head rest on his stomach with his hands in your hair. He peered down at you, shooting you an evil grin that really only told you that you were in some serious trouble with the Haitanis and Sanzu touching you like this. 

Without him even really needing to say, you knew that he wasn’t as kind as Kokonoi was. Where he was at least kind enough to pretend to console you, Rindou was not that kind of person, not really. 

With his hand snaking down your side profile down to your throat, Rindou used his finger to keep your head tilted for him. His knuckles grazed against the column of your neck with his thumb nail pressed into your chin, forcing you to only look at him while the other two men touched and defiled your sensitive body that was already on the edge of it being way, way too much. “ What ? Not gonna call out for me to come save you like you did for Kokonoi ? “ 

“ She probably knows you’re not going to save her, “ Ran pointed out, hands eagerly pulling at your nipples, causing you to squeak out in surprise. You could faintly feel something trickle down your bottom lip onto your chin, but the thought really didn’t cross your mind to be concerned about it until you heard Rindou speak up again. 

“ She’s drooling now, “ Rindou pointed out rather bluntly, and you were reached forward sort of absentmindedly, wanting to wipe away any evidence of what he was talking about, but it really only incriminated you more. 

The older Haitani laughed a little at your little action, and you had to wonder briefly if those two ever only talked to each other or if they could actually interact with the other executives. You were pretty sure that these two could forget that others were in the room with them with how much they talked with just themselves.

“ Is she ? That’s too cute, “ Kokonoi called out from somewhere to the left of you, although you weren’t exactly sure where. The warehouse made everyone sound far closer than they actually were, with voices sounding like they were right in your ear the entire time and giving you no time to process what little thoughts you were actually having. 

Really the only thing you could think about was the way Sanzu’s knee was pressed up so deliciously against the most sensitive part of your body, the way his hand gripped your shoulder hard enough to hurt, digging into the bone of your shoulderblade. He’s not saying anything, his eyes glued to the spot on your crotch that was starting to soak through his own pinstripe slacks, causing the dark pink color of his suit to turn even darker right where he was pressed against you. 

There was no way that Rindou couldn’t see it play plain across your face the moment that Sanzu’s knee jerked slightly, pressed against your clit through your pants in a way that made your eyes roll back in your head for a moment. “ There she goes, all fucked out and stupid, “ he snickered, leaning down to your face, hand tightening around your throat as he finally gave it a squeeze, forcing a little gasp from your lips. 

You could see his eyes flicker away from you for a moment to what you could really only assume was Sanzu’s expression, but he looked back down at you moments after, neck still in his hands as he brought himself down for a kiss from you. As if on cue, Ran pinched both of your nipples harshly, making you moan out into the kiss just moments after his lips pressed against yours. 

Rindou tasted like alcohol, and it almost made you want to scrunch up your nose in slight disgust at the strong flavor of several different alcohols mixed together. He didn’t act drunk, not really, but you could only imagine that he was six or seven drinks deep by now. 

Maybe that was why he didn’t seem to have any reaction, even looking bored, when those gunshots rang out earlier. maybe he really was just like that, and there was no explaining him or anyone else here. 

you’ve been kissed before, and touched, but there was something about having six hands on your body at once that brought your mind spiraling to a place that you weren’t even sure you’d ever been in before. You felt like nothing, like every muscle in your body was suddenly torn into pieces and left you boneless and weak while surrounded by these men. 

You could feel eyes all around you, taking in your disheveled, desperate state. Kokonoi was definitely watching, and possibly that older man, Takeomi. You were vaguely aware that a few people were missing, but you couldn’t possibly really think about what that could mean. Were Mikey and Kakucho also just watching ? What about that other guy, Mochizuki, or had he completely left all together to go take care of those bodies ? 

The idea of people watching you somehow made you more nervous than the six hands actually touching your body. Were they disgusted ? Did they think you were just some common whore ? Did they pity you, or something equally frustrating ? Before you walked into this warehouse, you had a decent grasp on who you were in Bonten. 

Now, you weren’t sure about anything other than the knee pressed up harshly against you that with every movement from either you or him, it sent a shock of pleasure up your spine, and the slight pain of your nipples being punished and abused, and the strong taste of alcohol on your lips that you swore you could get drunk off of. 

If there was a light at the end of this, you were pretty sure it was just the glaring, annoyingly bright florescent lights overhead, or the hazy feeling in your stomach as all of the sensations started to overwhelm you, the pit in your stomach growing bigger, needier, with every moment. 

Right before you could really focus on that feeling, Sanzu’s knee pulled away from you, and you tried to jerk your head away from Rindou to look at him, but his grip on your neck tightened, keeping you firmly in place against him, and refusing to let you go just like that. 

At your gasp, he pushed his tongue inside of your mouth, the taste of his saliva momentarily shocking you from really reacting. 

Fuck, whatever bullshit you were thinking about him tasting like alcohol was wrong, and you knew it now. He tasted divine. Like someone you could get addicted to kissing and forget about everything else in the world, and there was no doubt that Rindou knew that you were enjoying his kiss, too, especially with the way that your body almost instinctively reacted against his touch. 

You could feel your pants being tugged off of your body, the fabric that had been so soaked against your pussy peeling off uncomfortably, making you want to squirm around in that cold metal chair. One of the hands on your tits glided down your stomach, leaving goosebumps in its wake as Ran slipped his hand into your panties, more curious than anything else about your body. 

“ Fuck, “ Ran whispered under his breath as his pointer and ring finger spread you open, his ring finger dipping into your heat, and you could hear Sanzu grunting in agreement immediately, like he knew just how soaked you were without even touching you properly. “ She’s so fucking wet. A sopping, needy little thing. “ 

Rindou pulled away, if only for a moment, leaving your mouth open and waiting for more of him. He’d been something that grounded you in place, to not have his lips on yours almost felt inexplicably wrong. With the distraction gone, however, you tried to peer back at Sanzu and Ran, but Rindou had a tight grip on your hair, keeping you from moving your head. 

“ She is needy, “ he agreed, his voice a soft purr as Rindou looked down at you, clearly tempted to kiss you again, but refraining from doing so. Ran’s ring finger curled inside of you, finally breaching your soaked little hole and making a pathetic noise fall from your lips.

“ Most sluts like her are, “ you could hear some shuffling around as Takeomi spoke, and you had to wonder how close he was. It wasn’t until he was right in your face, grey eyes with a scar running down one side of his face peering at you like he was looking at something below him. 

Compared to the amusement dancing around Rindou’s eyes, and the faux comfort in Kokonoi’s, looking at Takeomi was like looking at someone who’s hatred for you went deeper than his own bones. 

With your head pulled back, you couldn’t do much as Takeomi leaned in closer, pulling the cigarette out of his mouth and blowing the smoke directly in your face. You shook your head, trying not to cough, but in the end the taste of nicotine choked you, and you couldn’t help your body’s natural reaction of wanting to fight back, trying to pull your head away from Rindou’s grip as you coughed. 

Takeomi’s hand moved to grab your face, causing you to stiffen against his grip. His fingers dig harshly into the soft flesh of your cheeks, forcing your jaws apart and your mouth open. You weren’t sure just how many bruises on your body you were going to have after you escaped from this warehouse, but you already knew that you’d have his fingerprints on you that would take days for them to properly go away. 

Without a warning or any inclination of what he was doing, he spit in your mouth, the filthy act making you immediately recoil in surprise, eyes blown wide as it hit your tongue. 

It tasted bad, like cheap alcohol and nicotine, the flavor enough to make you want to retch ever so slightly. your knee bounced up and down as your face scrunched up, nose crinkling in distaste and you momentarily entertained the thought of spitting it back out of your mouth to get the taste out quicker. But you didn’t get far with that thought.

“ Swallow it, “ Kokonoi ordered simply without a moment’s hesitation, as if he could read your thoughts. 

You could feel your stomach drop down to your feet, but something inside of you told you to listen, like you couldn’t really deny Kokonoi – or anyone else here, really – if they told you to directly do something. You were the best at following orders, that’s what got you so far up the ladder in Bonten. It was an act that you had perfected down to an art form, and you weren’t easily swayed out of old habits.

With your mouth still forced open by Takeomi, you let the spit that had hit your tongue drip down to the back of your throat, gulping just enough that it went down. 

And with that, Takeomi pulled away only slightly, his hand pulling away from your cheeks and letting you close your mouth again. His much larger hand rests on one of your cheeks for a moment, almost tenderly, before delivering a small slap to your face. 

It didn’t hurt all that much since your body was primed and ready for pain after everything that has happened today, it just shocked you a little, and you let out a little gasp of surprise when you felt the slight stinging on your cheek. But Takeomi moved away from you after glancing over your body one good time, taking in every one of your curves and the dips of your body, his gaze somewhere in between reverent admiration and absolute hatred. 

“ She really takes orders from Koko still ! “ Ran snickered after everything settled for a moment, his finger still stuffed deep into your cunt, curled to hit that spot within you that made you want to moan out and forget everything except for the feeling. 

“ Yeah, don’t you know you’re an executive now ? You don’t have to take orders from Koko, “ Rindou pointed out in agreement to his older brother, like usual going along with whatever Ran says and just being mean. His grip on your hair softened a little bit, but he didn’t want you to look back just yet. “ Or any of us, really. You don’t have to listen to a single one of us anymore other than Mikey. “ 

Was Mikey even in the warehouse anymore ? Did he have any say over what was going on, did he simply not care, or was he enjoying it, too ? You now knew that Takeomi was there and participating, but it still felt a few people weren’t, or at least, they weren’t active in touching you. 

Mochizuki, Kakucho, and Mikey weren’t there yet, something that you wanted to ask about, or at least figure out who was touching you and who was just watching. But you didn’t have a good idea of your surroundings, your vision usually forced a certain direction by the people manipulating and violating your body.

Before you could say these thoughts, however, Ran’s hand moves away from your pussy, pulling out of you completely and moving away from your body just slightly, and Rindou had all but completely let go of your hair, although your head was still back as you tried to catch your breath and gather your thoughts. You wanted to whine about the lack of contact, the sound welling up in your throat.

You didn’t really have time to do either one of those things as your legs get hoisted up over Sanzu’s shoulders, body pressed against his in a way that had your head reeling with the new type of contact. You’re barely hanging on to the small metal chair, ass almost hanging off of it like you were bound to fall any second now. 

Its not until you feel your panties being pulled to the side of your cunt that you can really get a good understanding of what was going on, or what was about to happen. 

“ I– wait– “ you started nervously, glancing down to look at Sanzu, but he wasn’t looking at your face, his eyes lowered at where your body was against his. 

You didn’t want him not to do it, some part of you was more excited about this than you cared to let on to anyone, even if everyone could already see it on your face without you having to say anything about it. You could feel your own wetness drip down your body and onto the ground below you, probably on Sanzu’s shoes or the cold cement ground. 

“ Mm– no, I’ve been waiting long enough, “ Sanzu said impatiently, his voice still holding just a little bit of that bark it had when he first met you. Sanzu was mean, and he didn’t pretend to be anything less than that. Cold and detached from most things, you knew that he didn’t care really if you were absolutely ready or not. 

“ Bitch is fucking soaked f’me, god, “ he mumbled underneath his breath, more to himself than anyone else, but the Haitanis both let out little chuckles at his words anyways. Ran, in particular, who’d spent the last few minutes prepping you for him, not that you really needed it or anything. 

You found yourself holding your breath as you watched him unbuckle his belt and tug his pants down, the outline of his hard cock visible before he even got it out yet. 

Fuck, you were going to die. It wasn’t so much the length of him that made your stomach twist in nervous knots as it was the look on Sanzu’s face, like he was going to take exactly what he wanted now that there was nothing between the two of you. 

You wanted to beg him for just another moment, but you knew that your pleas would fall on deaf ears as he let go of one of your legs to guide himself into your entrance. With a swift, fluid motion, Sanzu pushed himself into you, the stretch of having him inside of you making mewl out in pleasure, little moans escaping from your throat. 

Both of Sanzu’s hands went back to your legs, pulling you a little closer to him as he began to fuck into you with a pace that bordered on violent, his hips meeting yours as he embedded himself in your gooey walls entirely with each thrust. He was barely pulling out, his entirely length disappearing completely inside of you, his balls hitting the plumpness of your ass every movement. 

“ A-ah.. f-fuck..! “ You whimpered, gasping a little bit as he fucked you, unrelenting in taking what he wanted. You tried to say something, but your words were incoherent and incomprehensible, your voice hiccuping in your throat as you just moaned like a desperate whore for him, for all of these men around you. 

After being pushed to the edge for so long, first with the tattoo and then with the teasing and now this, you couldn’t hold on anymore, not with how Sanzu felt inside of you, and the feeling of being watched by everyone around you, hands letting go of the chair that you’d been holding onto as you felt your orgasm crash over you almost painfully. 

You could hear each one of your pathetically loud moans reverberate off of the walls of the warehouse, making your desperation for more all the more obvious to each one of them. You could feel the force of each of Sanzu’s thrusts bouncing your entire body against the metal chair, until you couldn’t stay on any longer, ass falling off of the chair and you let out a scream of surprise, but Sanzu didn’t let up.

He bent over slightly, still deep inside of you now as he let out several little grunts, a mixture of annoyance and pleasure as he felt your body squeeze around him. Your legs were still thrown over his shoulders as you tried to reach for the ground, your body suspended completely in the air with no good way of reaching the ground below you. 

There was no way, was he really going to fuck you while you were upside, just like this ? You could feel the blood rushing to your head as you gasped and writhed around in his grip. You could hear some chuckling and something that sounded similar to a man’s moans that wasn’t Sanzu’s all around you, but you could really only look up and see everyone, and finally you got a good idea of where everyone was around you. 

The Haitanis were on either side of Sanzu, both looking down at your limp, hanging body as he fucked you like this. Ran was lazily stroking himself with his pants barely tugged off of his waist, while Rindou was still busy palming himself through his pants, clearly wanting to make himself wait as long as possible before he gave in and touched himself without anything in the way. 

Takeomi was a little ways away to your left, his dick in his hand as he watched you squirm around in the air like the slut he thought you were. 

Kakucho was a little ways away, his arms crossed as he watched the other Bonten guys touching you. Despite the expressionless look on his face, you know you saw a bulge in his pants that he had to be ignoring on purpose, and you wondered if he would even give himself a chance to indulge himself a little bit even if you asked him personally to join. 

You had no idea where Mikey was, or Mochizuki for that matter. You were pretty sure that the latter was probably out taking care of those bodies for Sanzu, or didn’t care enough to stay, he didn’t seem like the type to touch people like this. Maybe he had no idea this was even happening and would be pissed if he knew he missed out on… whatever this is. You didn’t know him well enough to really make any good decisions about him, or anyone for that matter. 

Kokonoi walked up to you, the look on his face unreadable as he got close enough for you to grab onto him, and you did, digging your nails into the expensive red fabric of his long shirt to try to pull yourself up even somewhat. His hands reached up and held your lower back, straightening you out just slightly so you were face to face with his crotch, and you realized exactly what he wanted you to do. 

“ Open, “ he demanded simply, letting you grab onto him as tight as you want to. You knew that he didn’t mind being your anchor as long as you did as he asked, and you were in no position to deny orders from him, not like this. 

He had his pants pulled down just enough for you that all you had to do was open your pretty mouth and let him slide himself in, and you found yourself almost eager to do so. You had known him for quite some time now, since before he let his hair grow out and bleached it. If there was anyone here that you could admit that you were secretly rather excited to touch, it would be Kokonoi. 

He’s not huge, which you were rather grateful for because you didn’t want to struggle to take him when you knew that you couldn’t really pull back. Kokonoi would be the one controlling how deep you took him and when you got a chance to breathe, like your body was no longer yours at this point. ‘

You were starting to believe that it wasn’t.

Willingly opening your mouth for him, he almost looks proud as he pushed his hips forward into your mouth, letting you taste him for the first time. His dick was leaky, precum coating your tongue almost immediately, the taste sweet and salty at the same time. He looked like he took good care of himself, body hair well kept and he smelled really, really good compared to the faint scent of blood and gunpowder that you’ve been smelling in the air this entire time. 

He pushed himself completely into your throat, the column of your neck bulging as you took his entire length, and you had to grab at his shirt tighter to keep yourself from writhing around. Kokonoi seemed to understand that you were struggling for just a moment, rocking his hips back and forth to let you get used to the new intrusion. 

It was hard to calm down your throat enough to properly take him with Sanzu still stuffing himself inside of your drenched cunt, like he didn’t care if you were struggling with someone else and certainly wasn’t going to stop himself because of it, and you couldn’t help but mewl and moan around Kokonoi’s cock, drool from your lips dripping down your face into your hairline. 

“ Fuck, just like that, “ Kokonoi whispered, his hands going down to grab you by your armpits to keep you up so you could free your hands up. With him holding onto your arms like he was, and Sanzu still having your legs on his shoulders, you were completely suspended in the air, the only thing holding you from falling being the mercy and pleasure of these men around you. 

Your arms were limp in the air below you for a moment until a tender hand came to grab yours, almost immediately guiding your hand to his cock so you could stroke it. 

“ Come on, little girl, “ Ran purred, his voice condescending as his hand tightened around yours for a moment, guiding your fist to stroke him the way he wanted you to. “ Stroke me just like that, make me cum just like that. You can do it. “ 

Rindou, of course, wasn’t far behind him, finally having worked himself up to a point that he couldn’t control himself any more and absolutely needed to feel your touch on his dick. 

He unzipped his pants and shrugged them down to his knees, grabbing your other hand and guiding you the same way that his older brother had. “ Nghh– fuck– “ he mumbled under his breath, trying to keep his cool as he felt your fingers wrap around his cock almost on your own. 

The two brothers hold your hands for a while, either one of them having their own preferred way of having you touch them. Ran preferred slower strokes, with your fingers tighter around him. He clearly enjoyed your hand on his dry cock, maybe the almost painful friction was something that he liked, although he did smear his precum around his tip and it very soon began to coat your hand in the thick seminal fluid. 

Rindou wanted it much faster, and honestly preferred to buck his hips up to meet your hand instead of waiting for you properly. He spit on his dick to make sure the glide was nice and smooth for him, but honestly with how leaky his dick was, it wasn’t even really needed. 

You had thought Kokonoi had a lot of precum, but no, Rindou continuously leaked all over your hand and his, his grip on your hand barely anything as he jerked his hips up to meet your hand with each little movement, like he was trying to fuck into your hand. 

Moans filled the entire warehouse as your entire body was being used, either your own or from several of the men. Surprising nobody, Ran was the most vocal, mumbling stuff under his breath about how good it probably felt to fuck your mouth or pussy if your hand felt this damn good. 

Rindou made a little noise in agreement, but at this point he was so worked up that he was too focused on reaching that high more than anything else, devolved into nothing more but little moans as you fisted his cock for him. 

“ You’re doing so good, “ Kokonoi praised quietly through little moans of pleasure, his hips rocking forward and back. Your nose was pressed against his balls, throat bulging almost painfully. 

You could barely breathe, and being upside down this entire time really didn’t help you find your breath, either. Praise really wasn’t something you were expecting in this situation, not with how cruel and mean these men have been to you this entire time, but Sanzu quickly squashed that, anyways. 

“ Good for nothin’ pocket pussy, “ he grunted out in between thrusts, his hands grabbing at your waist now that you weren’t half-way fighting against him holding your legs like he was. He squeezed your tummy tightly, feeling his fingers dig into the plushness of your body. “ Should’ve fucking known this is all she was good for. Runnin’ her fucking mouth to the wrong people for us and being a hole for the right ones. “ 

You didn’t want to admit that his words got to you, your body clenching up just slightly at how fucking mean he was, but it did anyways. You moaned helplessly against Kokonoi’s cock, earning yourself a little grunt of approval from him. 

“ Shit, she likes it, “ Ran muttered breathlessly, and you could feel his hand move from yours to trail down your body, fingers playing with your swollen and painfully ignored clit, making you gasp and whine in response. His hands really must love wandering, always on some part of you. First your sensitive tits, now your throbbing clit. “ She really is a masochist for– ah, fuck– for this shit, huh ? “ 

“ She’s gotta be, “ Kokonoi answered in total agreement, his grip on your arms almost painful. 

You hadn’t even realized that you were now fisting both of the brother’s cocks on your own now without their assistance, although your own movements were messy and uncoordinated compared to when you were being guided. It wasn’t exactly your fault, but it didn’t seem like either guy really minded at this point in time, something that you were secretly grateful for. 

Rindou didn’t say anything as he fucked himself into your hand, desperate for just a little more, his eyes screwed shut as he lost himself in the pleasure. He was honestly making rather cute little noises, small desperate moans slipping from his lips with every little touch from you. 

You were only vaguely aware of the other men in the room, of Kakucho and of Takeomi, until Takeomi slotted himself in between Ran and Sanzu on your side, dick pressed against your tit as he stroked himself close to you. 

You could feel your nipple getting wet from precum as he moaned out from his own hand, his low voice honestly taking you back for a second because you weren’t sure if you’d heard anything hotter than a man forgetting about where he was or who he was because of your body like that. 

You figured that he was sleazy enough to enjoy this kind of stuff, probably enjoying watching you get used like a cumrag way more than you wanted to know about. 

“ Shit, this bitch.. “ he groaned to himself, voice strained as his hand quickened its pace, needing just a little more before he reached his peak. You tried not to focus on it too much and instead keep your attention on the Haitanis and Kokonoi, and the incredible pleasure of Sanzu in between your legs like he was. 

“ Fuckin’ quickshot, “ Sanzu chuckled, gripping your hips a little harder. You were almost frustrated with Takeomi’s position, because now Ran had moved his hand away from your clit to make room for him, but Rindou quickly replaced that position for him, almost desperate to touch your cunt for the first time himself. 

Rubbing little circles against the sensitive little nub for you, his fingers were much faster and rushed than Ran’s, like he couldn’t wait to see you come undone on Sanzu’s cock, something you found was rapidly approaching whether you cared to admit it or not. 

At this point, you weren’t even sure how many times you could possibly cum on one dick, but something inside of you told you that you were about to figure it out today. It all felt so good, every part of your body and nerves standing on end with every little bit of contact, like you were a hair trigger away from losing it all. 

You couldn’t tell if you were cumming on his dick with damn near every thrust, or if it just felt that good to be touched and used like this, like you were something precious to all of them and like something they could throw away at a moment’s notice at the same time.

You couldn’t lie, not even to yourself, that you were enjoying this probably way, way too much. And that thought, somehow, scared you more than anything else today has. 

Were you really that fucked up ? Really that masochistic ? 

Feeling Sanzu so deep inside of your guts your belly bulged with the outline of his cock, and the painful stretch of your throat around Kokonoi’s, you knew the answer without having to say it.

Takeomi didn’t answer Sanzu’s taunts, instead he just let out a loud groan as he finally came, the thick ropes of cum painting over both of your tits as he released everything he’d been holding in all over you. 

“ Fuckin’ whore… Thinkin’ she’s some damn executive when all she’s good for is this, “ he hissed, speaking to you like you weren’t there, like you really weren’t anything but a set of holes to be used by these men in more powerful positions than you, more dangerous than you could honestly every hope to be. 

“ Yeah, yeah, but she’s so cute, “ Ran hummed in response, calling you cute for the hundredth time tonight, as Takeomi lingered, his hand coming up to play with your tits, smearing his own cum against your body. 

“ It was mikey’s decision to make her an executive, maybe he knew we needed some kind of stress relief toy. He couldn’t have picked a better one, shit. Your body really is perfect to be used like this, huh, doll ? Hm ? “ Ran asked, as if you could possibly answer him back, something he knew you couldn’t do with Kokonoi’s dick stuffed in your throat like it was. 

You let out a little whimper against Kokonoi’s cock as Sanzu hit a particularly sensitive spot inside of you, his dick throbbing with need from having you like this for so long. He was finally back to being quiet, his eyes narrowed as his fingers dug into your hips again, each thrust getting sloppier and more desperate than the last. 

It was clear that he was losing his composure, and quickly, and there wasn’t much you could do but pick a god and pray to whoever probably wasn’t listening to you anymore that he had the common decency to pull out.

Although, somewhere, a little inkling inside of you kind of hoped that he didn’t, but you squashed that part of you down before you could even fully realize the actual desire in your mind. Its not like you were going to act on it, you weren’t that stupid, but… that didn’t stop the idea from being there regardless. 

Rindou’s groans came from the back of his throat, his hips meeting your hand desperately as he reached that blissful ending too, 

“ Sh-shiiit, I’m gonna– all over your pretty tits, gonna– fuck– “ his words were almost incomprehensible as he moaned and whimpered on your side, body shaking as he finally gave up on holding off as long as he possibly could, not when he was so worked up like this. It felt too good, way too good, for him to be able to edge himself for any longer. 

“ Fuck, fuck– “ Rindou gasped out quietly, and you found yourself trying to focus on your hand a little more to be able to bring him to that peak he was searching so hard for as fast as possible. You could feel his breathing quicken, until he stuttered almost to a complete stop, hips barely rocking against your hand as you felt his cock desperately pulse and throb in your hand. 

The noises he let out were as close to heaven as you were pretty sure you were going to get tonight when he came, cum shooting out of his dick so hard it left Rindou momentarily dizzy and disorientated, only really able to squeeze his eyes shut and moan. 

You could feel it as his cum hit your chest and slightly further down your tummy, the second load on your tits only covering them even further. You had a little part of you that couldn’t help but think he was kind of cute like this, mouth panting little obscenities as he tried to calm himself down, hair stuck to his slightly sweaty forehead.

“ She’s so fucking good at this, even with her attention split, “ he groaned out, trying to catch his breath the best that he could moments after reaching his orgasm, “ Now that she’s an executive, we have to fuck her like this more often. Every Bonten meeting has to end like this, it just has to. “ 

Rindou let your hand drop from his dick, definitely far too sensitive to want you to keep going, but his fingers never stopped rubbing quick little circles around your swollen clit, wanting to see you come undone just like he had moments ago. 

Fuck, his fingers felt so good, especially in tandem with Sanzu’s thrusts into your sopping, desperate cunt.

“ Shit– she’s squeezing me real fuckin’ tight, just like that, “ Sanzu grunted out, his voice getting a little higher than it normally was. “ Can’t– fuck, can’t stop now, gotta fuck this bitch so good she learns her place. Nothin’ more than a damn hole for me to use. “

“ Fuck, yeah, but– damn, you’re making it hard to hold back, huh, little lady ? “ Ran teased, as you tensed up a little as you felt takeomi’s fingers tease your nipples, pulling at them slightly, flicking one of them with his fingers. He seemed mesmerized with your pretty tits, especially with them coated in cum like they were. 

Kokonoi’s grip on your arms tightened a little, pressing his body against your mouth and forcing you to deepthroat him, your airways completely covered or plugged up. 

You immediately started to kick one of your legs, hitting Sanzu’s shoulder repeatedly. You could feel the pressure in your chest build, the panic rising in you as your body started to fight back against not being able to breathe. Your throat clenched around him, drawing out an almost melodic moan from him. Even while you were struggling, he was still trying to draw as much pleasure from your body as he possibly could.

“ Shit, let her breathe so she stops kickin’ me like this, damn, “ Sanzu snapped at Kokonoi, which he only chuckled at before pulling back just slightly, enough for you to catch your breath without his cock in the way. 

“ I’m sorry, I just couldn’t help it. Her throat just bulges so nicely around my cock and she sounds so pretty when she gags like that, “ Kokonoi reasoned as you choked and coughed, trying to catch your breath the best that you could. 

It was the first time that you really had to come face to face with the very real reality that even if Kokonoi acts kinder than everyone else here, he most certainly was not actually kind, and was in this for his own pleasure as much as the Haitanis and Sanzu were.

Somehow, you weren’t as surprised by that revelation, and once your breath was caught, you opened your mouth willingly for Kokonoi to take your throat once again, tongue flat and waiting for him, and he did so immediately without hesitation on his part. Even with tears in your eyes and a mix of drool and precum all over your face, you were still so damn eager for him, something that he found oddly charming in its own way, and so attractive at the same time. 

“ I trained this throat so good, hm ? “ Kokonoi teased, although there really wasn’t any bite to his words anymore, not with the way you were so obediently sucking him off like that, your throat bruised but still desperate for more from him. 

“ God, fuck– “ Ran’s voice cut through to your attention, and he grabbed your hand again, back to guiding your hand as you stroked him off. 

“ Stop stealing all her attention, dammit. She can’t focus on me with you talking to her like that. “ His free hand smacked your ass harshly, grabbing at the fat of it, causing you to moan out against Kokonoi’s cock. The harsh impact almost made you want to sob, tears that were already streaming down your face threatening to come out harder. 

“ I’m almost there, just keep fuckin’ going, “ you could tell from the venom in Ran’s words that he was mad at you for unintentionally edging him, forgetting about your hand and focusing your attention on throating Kokonoi. 

Lucky for you, you didn’t need to focus any of your attention on Sanzu, he was perfectly content with using your body like a fuck toy and nothing else, but if you stopped paying attention to your mouth, you’d start to gag and choke around Kokonoi again. 

Ran alternated his hands really quickly, still guiding your hand on fisting his dick as if he didn’t trust you to forget about him this time. Now with his other hand freed up, it found your throat, squeezing at it, pressing against where your throat was bulging with Kokonoi’s cock. 

“ If you wanna focus on sucking dick so much, let me help you, little lady, “ he hissed, grip tightening slightly against your already bulging throat. You gagged, your body’s natural reflex wanting to kick in again, but you did your best to try to calm yourself down. 

“ Its okay, “ Kokonoi soothed you after letting out a small chuckle, watching how you struggled to take him with Ran’s hand tightly around your throat. “ You’re okay. You can take it, yeah ? Just a little more like this, just for a bit. He’s close, just gotta keep going until he’s done, okay ? Can you do that for him ? For me ? “ 

Its not like you could possibly say no, but still somehow his words did manage to soothe a part of you, even just a little bit. Although you could barely breathe, and the pressure around your throat was making your already dizzy head get even more light, you tried to find a medium in between all of this. 

Just a little more, just like that, exactly like Kokonoi said. 

You choked again, your entire chest heaving slightly as you tried to calm yourself down, legs shaking on Sanzu’s shoulders. “ She’s so fucking tight when she’s getting choked out like a slut, “ Sanzu hissed out loudly, “ Keep going like this and you’ll have all of us cumming with her, dammit. “ 

“ You get off on getting choked, yeah ? Not being able to breathe ? “ Ran asked rhetorically, his hand that was guiding yours speeding up. He didn’t move his hips to meet your hand like his younger brother did, but he was definitely biting back some noises, body tensing up underneath your touch more and more every moment. “ I can feel your throat all tight and bulging, shit. Gonna cum, gonna cum, pretty girl. Just fuckin’ like that. Don’t pass out on us, not yet. “

Ran’s grip on your hand tightened as he fucked himself with your hand, his patience running completely empty at this point. He was feeling so good that he didn’t have it in him to drag this out any longer, although every part of him normally would want to. Something about the way you were writhing underneath him, letting him use your hand for his own pleasure to the point you didn’t even fight back as he took your hand for himself, spurred him on more than he cared to admit out loud. 

Shit, you really were so cute to him, someone he definitely could see himself fucking again and again just like this. If he could somehow convince Sanzu to give up his spot in between your thighs like that, he’d make sure that your cunt remembered the shape of his cock. 

He threw his head back as he let out a low, quiet groan, finally shooting his cum all over your pretty tits. You felt yourself hiccup, trying not to heave again against Kokonoi as Ran finished, dragging the tip of his cock against one of your tits to get every last little drop on your perfect body. 

Finally, after a few moments of him basking in the moment, he let go of your throat and your hand, his breath coming out in ragged little gasps as he looked over your body, painted with the cum of three men including himself. Rindou and Takeomi were right, every meeting had to end like this. 

The world around you came back from going completely black as soon as his hand let go of your throat, able to suck in just enough air from your nose to keep yourself going for right now, even though it was difficult to breathe. 

He wasn’t the only one who was thinking the same thing, not by a long shot. Kokonoi was finally starting to lose his composure after staying so in control for the majority of the time, his chest rising and falling as he started to fuck your throat a little rougher than he previously was, the rocking of his hips that had been a slow, lazy pace getting faster and faster.

“ Can’t… Can’t hold it back anymore, “ he groaned, hips stuttering as he used your mouth, his balls slapping against your face with each movement. “ You’re so good, so fuckin’ good at sucking cock. I knew you were good with your mouth but damn.. “ Kokonoi’s breath hitched in his throat, clearly unable to keep going for much longer either. 

Your throat was so sore and bruised, your jaw hurt so badly a part of your mind was worried that it might be broken or bruised even though realistically you knew that wasn’t the case. You’d gagged so much that your tummy was in painful knots, the intrusion of his cock in your throat still causing your body to want to reject it, but it couldn’t do that right now. 

“ I’m gonna cum, “ Kokonoi announced, one of his fingers tapping underneath your arm just a little bit as he tried to warn you for it, like he knew that you were just on the edge of it being too much for you and needing a break. Despite knowing that you were right there at that edge, he had no intention of pulling out and cumming on your body, instead deciding that he had to cum in your throat and make you swallow it to the best of your ability. 

“ I’m gonna cum, okay ? You can swallow it for me like a good girl, yeah ? You’ve done so well so far, I know you can swallow it. “ 

You knew you were helpless in this, you could feel that hopelessness permeating all through your body that there was nothing you could possibly do but take it and swallow it all. 

Your eyes rolled back, body threatening unconsciousness. Despite the treatment of your body like an object, your poor cunt was soaked, Sanzu’s cock sliding in and out so easily as Kokonoi fucked your throat ruthlessly, holding nothing back anymore. 

A loud groan escaped his plump lips as he finally let go, his cock twitching and throbbing as ropes of hot cum filled your mouth. You wanted to swallow it all as you gulped a few times, you really did, but your body was screaming at you that you were either going to spit it out or you were going to pass out. 

It was a mix of not being able to breathe, being suspended in the air upside down, and being pushed past your breaking point that made the world around you threaten to go dark, fat tears streaming down to your hairline. 

Kokonoi pulled out of your mouth just moments before you collapsed completely on him, and you picked your head up, coughing up the remaining cum that you couldn’t manage to swallow on your chest. 

He almost looked apologetic for a moment, like he almost felt bad for fucking you past your breaking point like that, but he didn’t say anything about it, and the look was gone from his face relatively quickly when he realized that you were as fine as you could be in this situation, just a little lightheaded. 

“ We’ll work on you swallowing it all, okay ? “ Kokonoi promised with a sly little smile on his face, still holding you up for Sanzu, picking you up just a little bit so your back could rest on his chest. 

He was doing his best to soothe you while your body was still being used, trying to bring you back down from that experience of almost losing yourself there, but there really wasn’t much he could do other than hold onto you. 

You were really barely coherent, just sort of nodding along to whatever he was saying, your mind empty from most thoughts, eyes unfocused as you watched Sanzu pushed himself deep into your cunt like he had been for the last half hour now. 

“ You just be a good girl and take it for him. we’ll discuss your performance afterwards, “ Kokonoi pressed a small little kiss on your temple, the action itself painfully domestic and kind, and normally you would’ve found yourself blushing a little bit at the act.

“ Shit, you have no idea how good she feels, “ Sanzu’s hands held your hips, strokes longer and more erratic. It was impossible to think like this, impossible to have a single coherent thought with how fucked out you were, your entire chest covered in cum now, including the tattoo which had luckily been bandaged up by Sanzu before this all started. 

And still, despite being so fucked out, your poor hole completely abused and throbbing in both pleasure and pain, Sanzu kept going even through your haze, needing to reach his own high, and you were desperately crying out for him, your first words since you finally got your voice back pathetic little pleas for him. 

“ Pl-please, “ you whimpered, hiccuping a little bit, your voice high and slightly scratchy from how bruised your throat was, “ Please, Sanzu, please. “ 

“ Don’t even know what you– ah, fu-fuck, what you’re asking for anymore, do you ? “ he sneered in your face, barely looking up from where your cunt was being stretched out around his cock and drooling for him to look at your face. “ Gonna ask me to stop or keep going ? You want me to fuck you senseless, even more dumb than you already are, yeah ? Look at you, so fuckin’ pathetic. “ 

“ So fucking cute, “ he groaned out immediately after, biting his bottom lip as his hips met yours. He barely pulled out before pushing himself back inside your warm, gooey cunt, his eyes practically rolling back at the feeling of your body clenching around him so tightly, like you never wanted to let him go. “ So, so fuckin’ cute, stuffed with my cock just like this. “ 

Sanzu had been talkative this entire time, sure, but he was never talkative like this, to the point where he couldn’t shut up enough to catch his own breath, his voice ragged and broken, punctuated with moans and grunts from him. It was like he wasn’t going to be able to stop now that he had started, fucking into you like a man possessed, like he’d never had pussy as good as yours before. 

“ Maybe takeomi’s bullshit was right, maybe you were made for just this. No fuckin’ thinkin’, no workin’, just being a good, tight hole for me. All f’me. Shit, shit. “ 

“ Sa- Sanzu– Si- Sir– “ you sobbed out through quiet, mindless little moans, leaning your head against Kokonoi’s shoulder, breathing in the scent of whatever expensive cologne and body wash he usually used. 

The pleasure in your lower tummy was too much, the only thing that you could feel in your otherwise numb and yet too sensitive body. You couldn’t tell how many orgasms you had throughout this entire time, your brain to fuzzy to make sense of anything other than Sanzu’s body and Kokonoi’s presence. “ Pl-please– “ 

“ Gonna give you what you want, “ he snapped, glancing down at you, his eyes narrowed, his mouth opened to let out little groans, his eyebrows creased in his concentration on fucking you so good you forget everything except his name and your place underneath him as a cumdump. 

“ You want my cum, yeah ? Body already covered in it and you’re still so fuckin’ greedy. Maybe I should cum inside, just for a change. Have you completely covered and filled, inside and out. Shit, with the way your cunt’s squeezin’ me, I might actually– “ 

He couldn’t finish his taunts, pulling out of you quickly right before his cock twitched against the fat of your pussy, cum shooting from his painfully red dick across your body from your navel to the base of your chin. 

His grip on your waist loosened like he’d lost every muscle in his body, letting out a little groan as he finally reached that point. “ So fuckin’ good, best pussy I’ve had, takin’ me like a goddamn pro or some shit like that. “ 

You glanced down at your own body, mind sort of working down from your high as you saw just how covered you were in cum. There wasn’t a part of you that they had missed, with your tits and chest getting the majority of it all. Finally, they were finally done, and you could breathe… 

You laid your head back against Kokonoi’s shoulder and closed your eyes, exhaustion wanting to take over your body, but you knew somewhere in the back of your mind that you couldn’t go to sleep just yet, there was more you had to do right now. 

Kokonoi brought you over to that metal chair you had mostly forgotten about, sitting you down in it. Your body slumped over it, head lolled back as you tried to catch your breath. 

“ Mikey, she’s done, “ Kokonoi called out finally, voice not directed at you anymore and far colder than you’d heard him talk previously. 

He pulled away from your body, falling in line with the other executives as Mikey stood up from where he was sitting facing towards the exit, walking over to you. 

You were only vaguely aware of each one of his footsteps, even though they echoed off of the walls like everything else had. You were only sort of aware of everything, like the entire world was spinning and blurry around you, and you couldn’t focus on a single thing. You were pretty sure you were swaying, your head leaning heavily to once side, your mouth still hanging open as you panted for some air.

There was a long, drawn out silence as Mikey stared at your fucked out body, his expression unreadable, although you weren’t looking anymore. Your eyes were closed, and you were trying to bring yourself back down from everything that had happened, but you were in the clouds, and coming down was a lot easier said than done. 

There was something in the look in his eyes, like seeing you like this unlocked something darker inside of him, scratching at a more taboo itch than he was used to dealing with. 

He looked at the tattoo, the clear bandage on top of it covered with cum, spit, and sweat now, his expression unreadable. For a second, you might even accidentally think you see a hint of light in his eyes, but it's just the way the fluorescent lights of the warehouse reflected in his abyss.

You heard him ask something, something about whether or not you would like working as an executive. Something probably about your new position that you had been given, but you couldn’t make out the words, nodding along no matter what he had actually said. 

Your body and your brain were disconnected, leaving you somewhere in between the two states of absolute oblivion and being conscious and aware of your surroundings. 

“ Go at her again if you want, “ Mikey said finally, turning away from you after a moment of staring. “ She’ll be fine. “ 

The permission was so simple, but it only took a few moments before a pair of hands found your tits, eliciting a pitifully quiet little whine of pleasure from your lips as whoever it was pulled at your nipples and smearing the cum all over your chest a little more. you blinked your eyes open for just a moment, barely there anymore as you saw the gazes staring back at you, ready to make use of your body one more time for the night. 

Away from you, Kakucho’s ever watchful gaze stared at you, keeping his eyes on how you responded to each of the touches, even though you were somewhere far away right now. He clenched his hands to his side, internally fighting a war with himself on whether or not he wanted to join or not. It’d been way, way too long since he last got his dick wet.

Was this really your life now ? You took that step into this warehouse, and now you could never go back to where you had been before. You were an executive of Bonten, the tattoo on your skin a permanent reminder of exactly who you were, of exactly all you would ever be in this life. 

You were good at listening to orders. one of the best, in fact. It was more than just rare for you to mess up a direct order given to you by one of the executives that surrounded you, and that made you the perfect pawn. You could be molded into anything they needed at the time, the perfect canvas for white to cover your body. 

Innocent wasn't exactly the word, it was more like naive, and belligerently hopeful, even when you faced the worst. It was like you couldn't really see the world around you, not completely anyways.

Orders were orders, something that you were more aware of than the average person around you. If you were given an order, you did it without question. 

The tight black collar around your neck was the perfect little symbol for your status as one of the best. You didn’t have the key to it, and you weren’t entirely sure which one of them did, either. Although if you had to guess, your money was on Mikey or Sanzu. But its not like you really wanted to have the key either, not really. 

You walked down the street, the night air cold but not uncomfortable, and the sky was clear tonight, gun strapped to your thigh and not even attempted to be concealed. 

Your orders were simple today, and a part of you was pretty sure you wouldn’t even need to use your gun, not like you ever have. You’d had to pull it out a couple of times, sure, but you’d never had the need to pull out your gun before and take someone’s lives. 

That didn’t mean you didn’t have blood on your hands. You sent people to the executioner’s block several times over, like you were probably going to do today. 

Some stupid old man was causing trouble at one of the clubs the Haitani brothers owned, and you had reason to suspect that he was faking his connection with Bonten to get into a club meant for members only. 

How he was doing that, you didn’t know, because you were at least sort of aware of anyone and everyone within the upper ranks, often combing through their names and identities to sniff out people when needed. 

You didn’t have to show any proof of your identity at the door, the people there already knew not to ask questions your way, anyways. You pushed yourself through the door and into the loud club, the music so loud that it made your eardrums vibrate painfully in your ears. 

As usual, it was packed, with some people whispering in secrecy about whatever deal they were trying to make, others trying to get an easy lay from some of the girls there, and a few people there to drown out the horrors that came with the job with alcohol. 

Sure enough, at the bar, there was a sleazy old man leaning against the counter, leering at some lady, and you couldn’t recognize him. Whether or not that was the right guy, it was a start. 

Now all you really had to do was strike up a conversation, although that wasn’t something that you found yourself eager to do. Entertaining men like that usually meant that you had to act a certain way to get any good information out of him. 

Your heels hit the floor with each step you took as you made your way to the bar with a small, deceiving little smile on your face. You wrapped an arm around the girl like you knew her personally, “ Hi ! Sorin, it’s so good to see you again ! I missed you so much since you were away with your kids for the weekend. How are you ? “ 

The woman’s eyes widened immediately, a reaction you expected from her, considering you weren’t supposed to actually know who she was, but it came with the job. “ How– how did you..? “ 

“ How did I spot you in the crowd ? Silly, your hair is so pretty, I could spot it from a mile away, “ you responded quickly before she could stutter out her actual question, effectively shutting her up before she could give you away. This isn’t the first time you’ve had to play like this, and it wouldn’t be the last, but there was something slightly entertaining about being able to read normal people so easily, like you could see right through them. 

And in a way, you could. 

You glanced at the man, finally bringing your attention back to him now that Sorin was finally satiated for a moment, “ Who’s the guy, Sorin ? He’s kind of handsome, in a… unique sort of way, you know ? “ 

“ Shikichi Aoyama, at your service, “ he introduced himself, flashing you a mildly disgusting grin, clearly not taking very good care of himself. If the entire club hadn’t smelled like sex and alcohol and masked most other scents, you were sure his breath reeked.

“ Shikichi Aoyama… What a handsome name, “ you hummed as you pulled away from Sorin to let her gather her things and leave. 

You looked him up and down, wondering if he knew that you were aware that he lied directly to you. Shikichi was dead, you sent him to Sanzu personally last week for trying to siphon money from Bonten’s pockets into his own, you were sure about that. After all, you had been there to witness it go down. 

So if Shikichi was dead, but this guy was claiming he was him, who was the guy in front of you ? Looks like you did find the guy on your first try after all, something that you were silently glad about because if you had to talk to this guy for no reason, you were going to be grouchy about it for a little while. 

“ What are you doing here tonight ? Looking for a drink ? “ 

You hummed, pretending to think for a second before nodding, “ Yeah, I could use a drink or two tonight. It’s been a long night so far, and I have an even longer night ahead of me after I leave the club. “ 

You weren’t lying, not this time. You had a sneaking suspicion about what kind of night it was going to be, and you were sure you weren’t going to be getting too much sleep. After all, you had a meeting to go to pretty soon.

“ Aw, you poor thing, “ he turned away from you, flagging down a bartender to order some drinks for the two of you. While he looked away, you couldn’t stop yourself from rolling your eyes, only to spot two figures approaching from the corner of your eyes, and you mentally sighed with relief. 

“ Hey, little lady, “ one of the voices called, his tone dripping with false saccharine sweetness as he wrapped an arm around your shoulders, pulling you close to his side, something that you didn’t fight back. 

“ This the guy ? “ the other guy asked, glancing from you to the man in front of you, who was now trying to piece together what had happened in his head, still not recognizing the two men by your side just yet. i

It was something you found almost comical, because you knew what was going to happen next. This never failed to be a fun little watch, especially when you were expected to finish this up relatively quickly so you could make it to the warehouse on time.

“ Who the fuck are you two ? “ 

Ah, well, maybe you and the three of you would just have to be late for the meeting today, but it wasn’t going to be a big deal. 

You reached out and grabbed the drink that the bartender handed out, shooting it back as you settled into the bar stool that Sorin had been sitting on previously. 

Whatever drink this was, it tasted like ass, mixed with the cheapest vodka the club sold and probably club soda if you had to make your best guess, and you found yourself annoyed that this guy thought he really could woo you with whatever shit concoction this was. 

“ Damn, looks like you pissed her off, huh ? “ Rindou laughed a little as you made a face at the drink, sitting it down on the marble bartop. “ If you’re gonna buy a girl a drink, you have to at least make sure you know what she likes. And her tastes are a little more expensive than whatever you just gave her. “ 

Ran took one look at you and flagged down the bartender again. He didn’t need to say anything else or order, his go-to drink was already typically memorized by most of the bartenders, just like your identities. It was his bar, after all, so he could be a little difficult with their rules if he wanted to be. 

“ I said, who the fuck are you ? “ The guy asked, standing up from his spot at the bar, clearly ready to start an altercation, one that he probably wasn’t ready to finish. “ Don’t start giving me advice on girls, you don’t know shit. “

“ Mm, and you do ? “ Rindou’s voice was a sneer, laughing at him and just making the situation heat up even more. 

You wondered briefly if he was ever going to notice the gun strapped to your thigh, or Ran’s, or Rindou’s. All three of you were ready to go at a moment, although you would admittedly be a little slower pulling the trigger than the other two, something you weren’t afraid to admit. 

Kakucho was right, you were better as an informant than with the gun, but that didn’t stop you from having one if you needed it anyways. 

“ I know more than you. “ 

You couldn’t help but scoff a little at his words, wondering if he realized how idiotic he sounded, or if the alcohol was making him think that he was the coolest person in the entire club tonight. 

It was almost really, really funny how easily either one of the Haitani brothers could rile someone up if given the opportunity to have some fun with someone, and you couldn’t help but almost admire how they moved through life with such charisma that they practically dripped it. Nothing could phase them, nothing at all, it seemed. 

Other than a kiss from you, but that was neither here nor there at the moment. You knew that, you just simply didn’t say anything about it. Some things were better as a secret than they were spoken out loud, and you were pretty damn good at keeping secrets for people, especially your fellow executives. 

“ Yeah ? You know shit about girls ? “ Ran hummed, leaning forward to look at the man, getting right up into his face to look directly at him. “ You know anything at all ? You sure ? I don’t really believe you. Sorry, man. “ 

You almost snorted out in laughter, instead focusing your attention on thanking the bartender for the drinks that he had made for you. You passed one to Ran, and one to Rindou, keeping the other one for yourself and taking a sip of it through the tiny little straws. It was fruity, with more cherry grenadine than anything else. 

Ran turned to you, taking a sip out of his own drink and giving you a smile, “ Like it, pretty girl ? “ 

“ Yeah, thanks, “ you nodded, sipping on your little drink as you looked up between the two Haitanis and the man, “ You’re the best, ran. “ 

“ …Ran ? “ The man repeated, eyebrows creasing together as he tried to figure out how in the world that name was so familiar. 

But before he could use all of his brain to figure it out, a gunshot rang out and his head hit the table, body slumping to the ground. The club was only shocked for a few minutes, more stunned at the noise of the gunshot than the actual shot itself, most people turning to look at the assailant behind you. 

“ You’re late, “ Sanzu hissed out simply, crossing his arms as he made his way towards the three of you. “ Was that the guy or did you just make me kill some other asshole ? “ 

You’d think you’d be used to Sanzu’s temper by now, but you weren’t, not by a long shot. Still, you nodded once again, knowing that your time in the club was almost coming to a close, “ Yeah, that was the guy, you got him. “

Standing up, you stretched, taking the glass with you as you looked over at the three of them. Sanzu was in a bad mood, and the Haitanis were clearly in playful, teasing ones. Tonight really would be a long night, and the thought made you mentally sigh out a little bit, although a much larger part of you couldn’t hide the excitement about what was to come. 

Sanzu’s hand reached out, finger finding the metal loop of the black collar, pulling you towards him. You let out a little noise at the sudden act, shoulders stiffening slightly out of reflex. “ Let’s fucking go then, we don’t have time to wait all day. if Mikey gets mad it’s on you. “ 

“ Chill, we solved the mission she came here to do, Mikey won’t get mad. The person we should really be worried about is Koko, “ Rindou pointed out, but he followed behind you anyways. there was a hand on your lower back, and another one on your shoulder, and both were already beginning to roam your body, despite not even being outside of the club yet. 

Yeah, this was going to be a long night, but you found yourself almost skipping along behind Sanzu, following his guiding hand straight into hell. 

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