“Would you please reconsider?”

My voice trembles with unease as I face Mononobe no Futo, my master, standing before me in the tranquil halls of the Senkai, the hidden realm of the Taoist hermits. Futo lets out a dramatic sigh, her petite frame leaning toward me with a playful glint in her eyes. Despite her youthful appearance—looking no older than a girl of twelve—her centuries of wisdom as a shikaisen make her far more experienced than I, a mere disciple. She tiptoes slightly, poking my forehead with a delicate finger.

“Tch, ‘tis not as though I have a choice, aye?” she says, her tone teasing yet firm. “This be an order from Lady Toyosatomimi no Miko herself!”

Her words ring true, and I can only let out a muffled groan. The order in question is a mission to investigate a human outsider who recently wandered into Gensokyo. Rumor has it this man caught Miko’s attention, and she specifically requested Futo to handle the matter. Such assignments aren’t uncommon—outsiders often stir trouble in Gensokyo—but the problem lies in the man’s reputation. Whispers among the youkai and humans alike paint him as a notorious womanizer, a scoundrel who’s left a trail of broken hearts and scandalous tales. Some even claim he’s charmed youkai into submission, a feat that speaks to both his cunning and his danger.

The man’s moral failings are undeniable—he’s a cad, plain and simple. Yet, his skill in navigating Gensokyo’s chaotic landscape is unmatched, earning him a strange sort of respect among the powers that be. For someone like me, a lowly disciple still proving my worth under Futo’s tutelage, there’s no room to protest Miko’s decision. I have no authority, no leverage to change the course of this mission.

“Thou art truly a worrywart, disciple!” Futo chirps, her lips curling into a mischievous grin.

She leans forward, peering up at me with those wide, deceptively innocent eyes. Her small hand gently envelops my clenched fist, her touch warm and reassuring. On her left ring finger gleams a simple band, a twin to the one I wear—a symbol of the bond we’ve forged over years of training and trust. It’s a reminder of the vows we made, not of marriage in the traditional sense, but of a partnership built on loyalty and mutual devotion.

“‘Tis but a week, aye?” she says, her teasing smirk softening into a warm, almost motherly smile.

Despite her childlike appearance, Futo’s true age and experience shine through, her presence calming my frayed nerves. My body relaxes under her gaze, the tension in my shoulders melting away.

“Mm,” I mumble, nodding.

Futo giggles, opening her arms for a hug. I pull her close, her small, soft frame pressing against me. The warmth of her body soothes me, and as she pats my back gently, whispering sweet reassurances in my ear, my anxious heart begins to settle.

“…Naughty disciple,” she murmurs, her voice suddenly laced with a playful edge.

I realize, with a flush of embarrassment, that my body has betrayed me. My arousal is evident, straining against my robes. Futo, ever the tease, brushes her fingers lightly over the bulge, her touch teasing through the fabric. She presses her modest chest against me, her breath hot against my ear as she nibbles it gently.

“Art thou excited imagining thy master stolen away?” she purrs, her voice dripping with sadistic delight. “Doth the thought of me, taken by that outsider’s wiles, stir thee so?”

Her words hit closer to home than I’d like to admit. The idea of Futo—my master, my partner—being claimed by another sends a shiver down my spine, a twisted mix of dread and forbidden excitement. My body betrays me further, my erection throbbing as she continues her taunts.

“Imagine it,” she whispers, her voice sultry and cruel. “My body, claimed by his strength. My purity, defiled. That outsider’s might, so vast and powerful, making thy feeble efforts seem naught. Even if I begged for mercy, he’d not stop…”

Her words ignite a fire in me, a shameful heat pooling in my core. I know it’s wrong, yet the depraved fantasy consumes me. Futo, clearly enjoying my torment, smirks wickedly, her fingers tracing circles over my clothed arousal.

“Thou art a perverse one, disciple,” she chuckles. “Getting so hard at the thought of thy master’s betrayal. What wouldst thou do if it truly came to pass?”

“No!” I choke out, my voice desperate. “I’d never allow it! Never!”

Futo laughs, a high, tinkling sound. “Oh, how earnest thou art! Fear not, disciple. My heart belongs to thee alone. Thou knowest this, aye?”

Her words are a balm to my soul. Futo has been by my side since I first stumbled into Senkai, a clumsy novice with no understanding of Taoism or Gensokyo’s ways. Through every trial, every hardship, she’s been my guide, my confidante, my everything. Our bond is unbreakable, forged in trust and shared struggles. This playful teasing, even about such dark fantasies, is only possible because of that trust.

“Only I would indulge a perverse disciple like thee,” she says, winking as she quickens her teasing touch. Her fingers dance over my arousal, sending jolts of pleasure through me. “Come now, endure! Be strong, my weak-willed disciple!”

Her encouragement is laced with mockery, her small hands lifting her modest chest to rub against me. The fabric of her robes does little to hide the faint outline of her nipples, and the sensation drives me wild. I grit my teeth, trying to hold back, but my body trembles, my arousal pulsing with every touch.

“Art thou about to break already?” Futo taunts, her eyes gleaming with sadistic glee. “Such a weak disciple!”

She’s clearly enjoying herself, her gaze alight with curiosity and cruelty. To her, I’m not just a disciple but a cherished companion—someone she can tease and torment because she knows I’ll always come back to her. When I proposed our bond, offering her that ring as a symbol of my devotion, she’d been shocked but overjoyed. Beneath her teasing exterior, I know she treasures our connection as much as I do.

The rumors about the outsider have reached her ears too. They say he treats youkai and humans alike as playthings, tools for his pleasure. But Futo is confident. “He’s but a human,” she’d said dismissively. “Should he try anything, I’ll have him begging for mercy.” Her pride as a shikaisen and her loyalty to me give her unshakable resolve. Even if he tried to seduce her, she’d never yield—not her heart, at least.

“Mayhap I’ll cast thee aside for that outsider’s charms,” she teases, her fingers slowing as she leans in close. “What say thee, disciple? Shall I become his?”

Her words are meant to provoke, and they do. My body trembles, my breath ragged as I fight to hold back. Futo, sensing my struggle, suddenly stops her teasing and pulls me into a tight embrace.

The sudden shift catches me off guard. My arousal, pressed against her soft frame, erupts. I cling to her, my body shuddering as waves of pleasure crash over over me. My mind blurs, the world fading into a haze of warmth and shame.

“Thou truly imagined it, didn’t thee?” Futo giggles, her voice soft but mocking.

Even her laughter feels comforting now, the dark thrill of our shared fantasy lingering in my chest. She hugs me back, her embrace firm and reassuring, a silent promise that she’s still mine.

“Take care, master,” I murmur, my voice barely above a whisper.

“And thou, disciple,” she replies, her tone light. “Don’t spend the week eating naught but instant noodles while I’m gone, aye?”

We share a quiet laugh, our fingers intertwining. Knowing we’ll be apart for a while, we linger in the moment, savoring the warmth of our connection.