Anime Dump Fics

She/Her, Black, 25Just a blog to dump all of my anime fanfic drabbles

[whippedspread]

𝔽𝕒𝕥𝕖 𝕒𝕟𝕕 𝔽𝕚𝕣𝕖 𝕀𝕟𝕥𝕖𝕣𝕥𝕨𝕚𝕟𝕖𝕕... ༝༚ ─ ·ঔঌ· ─ ༚༝

Synopsis: You're so tired of the Swordsmith Village. You're tired of the swords, the forging, the springs, and especially the Demon Slayers. You resented them. However, when Rengoku Kyojuro shows up and starts a conversation, asking you to travel with him, can you resent him too? Word Count: 14k (rounded up) Info: 18+ MDNI; fem!reader; slow burn; yearning; smut; talkative/dirty talk Rengoku; fingering; rough; gentle; overstim; slight edging; begging Rengoku; etc. A/N: don't beat me up, I ended up getting lazier around the end...

༝༚ ─ ·ঔঌ· ─ ༚༝

It was so cold.

Not the sharp, biting kind. No, this cold seemed to linger. It crept into bone and settled there, rebellious and unyielding. Strong enough to kill, maybe, if you weren’t careful.

Winter in Swordsmith Village was always like this.

Steam drifted lazily from hidden bathhouses tucked between buildings, rising in pale ribbons that blurred into the grey sky. Snow lay untouched along rooftops and mountain slopes, settling softly over the world as though trying to disguise it from Demons. Even the air felt different in winter. Quieter. More still (though cold wind would probably be horrible). Each breath you exhaled dissolved before you, a ghost of the warmth that vanished.

It was beautiful, in its own way.

You stood outside your father’s workshop, the wooden doors shut tight behind you. From within came the steady rhythm of hammer against steel, annoyingly relentless. Even through wood and stone, the sound carried. He worked as though forging was his entire world, and everything beyond it—his wife, his daughter–faded into the background.

Per usual.

You pressed your mittened hands together, rubbing them as if the friction alone might coax warmth back into your fingers. It didn’t. The cold slipped easily through wool, unimpressed by your effort.

There weren’t many women in Swordsmith Village. Your mother had followed love here, trading softer (and much warmer) landscapes for the clang of metal and the scent of smoke. She always said she had no regrets.

You weren’t exactly sure you 100% believed her.

Snow gathered around your boots as you waited. And waited. And waited.

You were supposed to deliver the sword today. A job of your father's, which he passed on to you today. He had barely lifted his gaze that morning when he placed it into your arms, already speaking proudly of its perfection. “One of his finest works”, he says. If he had looked a moment longer, he might have noticed the way your knees nearly gave beneath its weight.

More like one of his heaviest works.

You had wanted to protest. To insist that he greet the client himself. To remind him that you were not another apprentice awaiting instruction. But gosh, the words were stuck.

He had sounded almost boyish in his excitement, eyes bright as though he truly believed you would share the same joy. Which really sucked, because you didn’t.

You hated it. The constant forging, journeys, and waiting. He wasn’t a Demon Slayer. He didn’t carry a blade for himself. What if a Demon found him on the road? What if he never returned?

Sigh. This wasn’t the time to think like that.

You shifted your weight, shaking off the snow from your boots before it swallowed them whole. Burying half your face within your scarf, you carved a small frown into the snow with the toe of your foot, then quickly scuffed it away, feeling embarrassed at the childish act.

How long had you been standing here?

The village lay still, broken only by the slow fall of snow. The sword rested against a nearby crate—and you had deliberately left it there. The red and yellow tsuba stood out against the white of the snow, bright and defiant.

Ughhhh, it was so freaking cold–

“Hello.”

You nearly leapt out of your skin, looking up quickly. There wasn’t even a crunch of snow to signal anyone's presence. For a fleeting moment, you wondered if the air had grown warmer. Or perhaps the warmth came from your face, because jumping in front of a stranger isn’t exactly something you pride yourself on.

He stood before you like a burst of flame against the snow. The man’s smile was bright—impossibly so—and it seemed more suited for summer rather than winter. It wasn’t polite, nor restrained, but earnest as though he was genuinely pleased to be standing there. His arms were crossed confidently over his chest, posture straight, shoulders broad. He wasn’t merely tall. No, he was solid too, built like someone who carefully crafted his own strength.

For a moment, you simply stared.

How could you not? His hair, which was bold and untamed, burned gold with streaks of red at the tips, and his eyes were no less striking. Heck, he was handsome, too.

And his outfit— Ah. A Demon Slayer. You, of course, would recognise that uniform anywhere. The dark fabric, the white belt, the air of discipline that clung to it. As if to confirm your realisation, he spoke.

“I’m here for my sword!” His voice was strong. Clear. It carried easily through the cold air, almost startling in its cheerfulness. His words came out more as a declaration than a demand.

You blinked. “It’s… uh… right there,” you murmured, lifting your mittened hand to point toward the blade resting against the crate.

His gaze followed your gesture. Those flame-bright eyes settled on the sheathed weapon. How polite it sat there, with its white scabbard and gold tip. Waiting for him to grab it and leave. Yet, he didn’t grab it. The strange man didn’t even move, actually. Instead, one brow lifted, obviously curious.

“Why is it over there?”

Uh… How exactly were you meant to answer that? It wasn’t as though you could confess the truth. ‘I didn’t feel like holding it, and I never wanted to be waiting in the first place.’ Oh yes, a wonderful first impression. Especially since he looked like the kind of man who could be terrifying if he wished to be.

Ugh. No. That would be absurd. He seemed… kind. More-so.

You buried your face deeper into your scarf, hoping the wool concealed the small blush in your cheeks. “Well,” you muttered at last, avoiding his eyes, “it’s heavy.”

He actually laughed. Not mockingly; not at all. It was as though your answer purely amused him. Without hesitation, he stepped past you toward the waiting blade, snow crunching beneath his boots. He lifted the sword from the crate as though it weighed nothing at all.

You followed him. You weren’t sure why. Perhaps because he moved with such a certainty that standing still felt wrong.

“You’re not accustomed to handling swords,” he observed. It wasn’t a question. Of course it wasn’t. Was it that obvious? He spoke while drawing the blade from its sheath, and the metal slid free with a clean, ringing whisper. Red and black metal shimmered beneath the winter light, his name etched carefully along the steel.

Rengoku Kyojuro.

The letters gleamed as though proud of themselves.

He noticed your stare. With a small, approving nod, he drew the blade fully free, angling it just enough for you to see the craftsmanship clearly. “You appear to be near my age,” he continued, as if this were the most casual conversation ever. “Yet I don’t recall seeing you before.”

“My father’s workshop is some distance from our home. I’m usually helping my mother with the bathhouse. Herbs. Preparation. Stuff like that.”

With a soft click, the blade disappeared back into its sheath. His eyes met yours again, and this time, you were certain—the sudden warmth that surrounded the area was emitting from him. 

“Then perhaps we may call this fate.”

He said it so carelessly. Lightheartedly. Yet, for you, the word settled strangely in your stomach. Fate? “Thank you for the sword,” he added, sincerely, dipping his head.

For the first time in your life, you found yourself wanting to sit down and speak with a Demon Slayer. It wasn’t out of obligation, nor out of fear, but curiosity. But once again, words seemed to fail you.

So, instead, you watched him turn. Watched the red at the tips of his hair disappear against the pale sweep of snow. And then he was gone.

Only white remained.

ஜ⁀➴ ♡

“Wash the hot springs. We’re opening soon.”

Your mother’s voice was gentle but unmistakably firm, causing you to groan as you dragged your feet toward the bathhouse. Of all the tasks she could have given you, she just had to choose the most dreadful one.

It had been two days since you delivered the sword.

You might have forgotten the precise shape of his smile. But you had not forgotten his last sentence to you. Nor did you forget his voice every time you imagined it. Fate. You scoffed quietly as you crouched to fill a wooden bucket with warm water. Steam curled around your fingers, the heat clashing almost painfully with the lingering chill in your skin.

Fate.

It had only been a polite conversation. So why did it make such an impact on you?

You had never been the sort to entertain foolish notions. You had laughed at stories of love at first sight. Called them dramatic. Unrealistic, even. And yet… For reasons you could not name, Rengoku Kyojuro refused to leave your mind.

Were you going mad?

The bucket overflowed before you realised it, nearly burning your fingers clean off. Your mother stepped into the room, handing you a sponge with quiet efficiency, noticing your preoccupied state. “Are you well?” she asked softly. “You seem distracted lately.”

She had always been gentle. It was no wonder your father had fallen for her so completely (well, when he isn’t married to his smithing).

Aloud, you sighed. “I was just wondering why we live in a frozen village instead of somewhere warm. Somewhere beautiful like a meadow.”

Your mother smiled at that. “A meadow may be beautiful,” she said, “but it is not nearly as exciting as this place. Here, you see things you would never see elsewhere, don’t you think?” You gave her a sceptical look, which only earned you a playful push against the shoulder. “Patience, my child. Something exciting may be waiting for you.”

“Now,” she added lightly, “hurry with the cleaning. Time and money don’t wait.”

ஜ⁀➴ ♡

You would rather carry a dozen freshly forged blades than scrub another stone tile.

The bathhouse had opened more than two hours ago, and still you weren’t finished. It contained four springs in total—two for men, two for women. You had managed to finish cleaning three and were now experiencing the unfortunate task of cleaning the second men’s bath. Steam hung thick in the air. You had removed your heavier layers, sleeves pushed up as humidity clung to your skin. Compared to this? The winter outside felt like another world entirely.

On your hands and knees, sponge in hand, you scrubbed the smooth stone floor until your arms ached.

At least no one was here, you had just been thinking, especially when you almost slipped. Or so you believed.

“This must be the bathhouse you mentioned!” The voice was unmistakable. After all, you may have forgotten his face, but you still hadn’t gotten to the forgetting-the-voice part. “We meet again!”

Your heart might as well have stopped. Of all the times. Of all the places. Slowly, very—very—slowly, you lifted your head. And there he stood. Or sat? It’s hard to tell when you’re in scrubbing position, and he’s in the water.

Rengoku.

Steam surrounded him, but it didn’t hide much. Even in the humidity, even without the snow to contrast him, he seemed to stand out. Everything you aren’t used to. You see him, leaning forward against the stone edge of the bath, skin dripping and hair plastered to his neck. His muscles rippled, as if begging you to draw attention to them. Um, well, it worked.

Heat rushed to your face. You had been certain, absolutely certain, that this bath had been empty. Had he not seen you? Or had you been too focused to notice him enter?

You shifted into a kneeling position, straightening your spine instinctively as though posture alone could restore any lost dignity.

For a brief, and impossibly noticeable, moment, his eyes moved over you.

Your sleeves were damp. The fabric of your clothes clung stubbornly to your skin due to steam and exertion. A strand of hair had come loose and was stuck against your cheek.

You resisted the urge to fix everything at once. Instead, you ran trembling fingers through your hair, voice quiet. “Hello.”

“Hard at work?”

Goodness, how was he so at ease? Was there truly no trace of awkwardness inside him? No tension in the air? No awareness of how weirdly intimate this felt? Because, believe it, you felt all of those at once.

“I— Yes. Sorry, I hadn’t noticed you come in. Do you… um… would you like me to leave?”

He barked out a laugh. “I’ve been here for quite some time! You were so focused that I assumed it was best not to interrupt.”

So, when was someone going to fly from the sky and slap you unconscious? Knowing that was somehow 10x worse. You tugged at your sleeve nervously, staring very hard at the sponge in your hand.

“Don’t let it bother you,” he continued warmly. “It's inspiring, really, to watch someone get a job done.”

Did your pulse just stutter?

He shifted slightly, pushing more weight on one arm. You noticed immediately. “Are you injured?” you blurted. His eyebrows lifted, and you genuinely felt your soul leave your body. “I just meant— You are a Demon Slayer, and your arm, and— I only noticed you were favouring it slightly—”

You wished the bathwater would swallow you whole. Burn you, even. Alive.

But instead of looking weirded out, he looked… amused. Dare you say, pleased? “A keen eye. Yes, I encountered a few demons that attempted to delay my journey. They were unsuccessful.” Of course they were. Look at him. “It’s nothing serious. Just sore. Everything will be easier with my new sword.”

Your father would have loved that statement.

You nodded, unsure what else to say. Combat wasn’t exactly your world. Even though most villagers living in the Swordsmith Village made swords, hardly any were good at fighting, so it’s not like you ever trained or found a natural interest in it.

“If I were a Demon Slayer…” you began quietly, “I’d probably be terrified.”

He hummed in agreement. “That fear never vanishes. One simply chooses to move on, despite it.” His eyes shifted deliberately to the sponge in your hand. “Just as not everyone is suited for battle,” he continued, “not everyone is suited for this.”

“And yet, you seem quite formidable.”

Formidable? At scrubbing stone? “If you faced demons with the same determination,” he continued, lips twitching ever-so-subtly, “I suspect they would retreat.”

Was—

Was he teasing you?

You narrowed your eyes slightly. “I doubt that.”

His smile widened.

“I don’t.” He tilted his head slightly. “Though. If this work isn’t within your preference, what would you rather be doing?”

The question caught you entirely off guard. “What would you rather be doing?” It felt far too personal for a second meeting. That was more of a third-date question, don’t you think? And yet… There was something about him. Maybe how he spoke without hesitation. Or that you couldn’t predict him. Or—the worst of it all—he, more than anything, drew your curiosity. There was a sudden unfamiliarity in your constant world. 

You shifted, sitting cross-legged on the stone floor, pulling the bucket closer and dipping the sponge into the warm water. “I don’t really know,” you admitted. “I suppose… I just want to live somewhere different.” There was no need to look at him to know his gaze was 100% focused on you. “Somewhere without steel. Without swords. Maybe with more opportunity… Somewhere warm.”

“Is it not warm here?”

“We’re in the mountains. The weather changes constantly.” A pause. “I think… perhaps I want to settle someplace steady.”

You exhaled softly, getting a little lost in the thought.

“If I were warm like you, I wouldn’t grow so tired of winter.” Your hand flew to your mouth. Whoah… Had you truly just said that…? Warm like him? This man you’ve only met twice, and definitely never touched? Have you gone mad?

Surprisingly, he didn’t seem all that bothered by the statement. Either that or he had an amazing neutral expression. His eyes, once again, seemed to flicker over you with quiet interest.

“Warm?”

Your ears burned, and you stared at the bucket, willing yourself to dissolve into it. “I meant— yesterday. When you arrived, the air seemed to change. I only meant that.” Did you sound absurd?

Rengoku was still watching you, fingers tapping absently against the stone edge he leaned against. His lips curved.

“I see.”

Relief didn’t come to you at all. If anything, you felt more uneasy. “If it's change you desire,” he continued smoothly, “then travel with me.”

Your head snapped up. “Absolutely not.”

A hum. “Why not?”

“I have no experience fighting demons. I would be useless—”

“I didn’t say anything about fighting,” he interrupted. He ran a hand through his hair as he spoke, entirely unbothered, and looking rather pleasant to the eye through the action. Um… Ahem. You digress. “I have a mission nearby before returning to the Estate. You should accompany me. See if you enjoy the change of scenery.”

His gaze sharpened slightly, intent and confident. “I will, of course, ensure your safety.” The certainty in his voice was unnervingly sincere. “The villagers speak highly of you. They say you’re very skilled with herbs.”

You froze. “How would you even know that?”

“I asked.”

Of course he did.

“I’m hardly skilled,” you muttered, trying not to sound bitter. “I only know enough to help my father when he neglects his health.”

“It would still be useful.”

“I’m not going.”

For the first time since you’ve met him (well, the two days of knowing him), he sighed.  Not dramatically, but with clear disappointment. It felt strange to hear such a sound come from him. “I’ll be remaining in the village for three more days,” he said after a moment. “Spend time with me during that period.”

That was not a request. It was a hopeful wish, an offer. “Allow me to attempt to persuade you.”

You frowned. There was no persuading you. You wanted nothing to do with Demon Slayers. Nothing to do with broken blades and blood and villagers who worked themselves to exhaustion to forge replacements. If his sword shattered—

You forced the thought away.

“I plan to visit the market tomorrow,” he persisted. “Meet me there.”

Words always failed you. He mistook your silence for consideration. With a satisfied nod, he asked a soft, “Very well?”

You glared at him. “…Fine.”

You undoubtedly were planning to ditch him.

ஜ⁀➴ ♡

Bad news. You did not ditch Rengoku.

You had spent the entire day debating and pondering on whether you would go. It had become so obvious that your father noticed before the first bowl of rice was finished. “What's troubling you?” he asked bluntly, pausing mid-bite. Your mother was already watching you from across the table, obviously wondering the same thing.

You only had yourself to blame for their concern, for the food that sat in front of you was barely even picked at. Your chopsticks poked at the mackerel as you muttered, “Nothing…”

Your father snorted. “You’ve never lied well. Speak.”

A sigh escaped you, long and eerily similar to a groan (was that even possible?). Your parents exchanged a glance. “It’s just… someone,” you reluctantly admitted. “A man.”

Your mother leaned forward instantly, intrigue rearranging her expression in a way that made you regret speaking at all. She had been urging you to find a husband, get married, and have children ever since you graduated from the small village school. Like goodness, could a girl live first?

“I keep running into him, and now he wants to see me again.”

“Then see him again,” your mother insisted at once. “It’ll do you good to meet new people.”

“That is not the point,” you protested, stabbing your chopsticks into the rice as though it personally was the culprit behind all this evil. “He is a Demon Slayer. He lives in an entirely different world.”

“And you don’t?” your father asked suddenly.

You looked at him.

He set his chopsticks down, leaning back slightly. “We live in a swordsmithing village,” he pointed out. “Most of the world knows nothing of demons or the men that fight them. We do. You two live in more similar worlds than you think.”

“That’s different,” you argued. “We forge. They fight.”

“And because they fight, you resent them.”

You went still. He continued, voice steady. “I understand why. Broken blades mean sleepless nights. Exhaustion. Strain.” His gaze softened. “But will you spend your life resenting people you have never truly known?”

“Perhaps,” he added, “it’s better to understand something than to remain angry at it.”

You had no response. Words, well, you know the gist.

Which was how you found yourself the next morning, standing in the cold. Waiting, once again, for a Demon Slayer. The market was busy despite the snow. Merchants called out prices. Children ran between stalls. Haze rose from food carts into the pale winter air.

This time, you saw him first.

He stood tall among the crowd, scanning the area as though searching for something specific. Snow dusted his shoulders lightly. His eyes narrowed slightly against the flakes that threatened to bring an army upon him if he didn’t keep moving. He was looking for you.

Before you could overthink it, you rose onto your tiptoes and lifted your arm, waving it erratically. He spotted you immediately.

And, oh, the smile that spread across his face.

It was as though he’d been looking forward to this all day. Your heart definitely skipped a beat.

“We cross paths once more,” he greeted warmly, almost excitedly, as he approached. Before you could react, he reached forward and adjusted your scarf, tightening it carefully against your neck. The wool tickled your skin. “You left it too loose,” he explained. “The wind is unforgiving.”

Was the pink on his cheeks from the cold? He stepped back just enough to look at you properly. “I’m truly pleased you came.”

You nodded. “Yes. Hi again.”

“Shall we get going?”

Once more, you nod.

It felt a little silly that he had asked you to lead, though it was perfectly logical. You knew the market better than he did—even if he’d visited the village once or twice before. After all, you were the one who had grown up weaving through these very stalls. So, naturally, you agreed.

The village market always thrived, regardless of the season. It was no different today. “Warm gloves! Best stitching in the mountains!” “Sweet rice cakes! Freshly made!” “Perfect gifts for a fine couple!”

To be honest, you nearly tripped at that last one. Rengoku, however, only laughed heartily.

He paused at several stalls, examining the tools, fabric, and preserved goods displayed there. When he considered buying, you found yourself stepping in when prices were a bit more exaggerated. “You’re charging him traveller’s rates,” you once purred sweetly to a merchant. “Surely a respected customer deserves better?”

Flattery—when carefully applied—could work wonders.

Eventually, in no time at all, he was carrying a small bag of purchases over his arm. “You negotiate skillfully,” he complimented.

“Of course, I grew up here,” you replied. “If I never learned, we would’ve been robbed blind.”

He smiled at that.

Unfortunately, negotiating did nothing to quiet your hunger. Your stomach growls. “We should get something to eat,” you suggested, glancing back at him.

He hummed, bobbing his head up and down in agreement. “Lead on.”

You guided him toward the nearest stand, the scent of warm batter and sweet bean paste drawing you in. “Two taiyaki, please,” you told the vendor. The merchant worked quickly, pulling golden fish-shaped cakes from their molds and wrapping them in paper. All of a sudden, Rengoku was reaching for his coin pouch, causing you to reach out to interrupt the movement. Your fingers brush against his hand, successfully making him pause.

Ignore how electric the touch felt. How warm his hand was.

“Don’t,” you resisted, “I was the one who suggested finding something to eat.”

He shook his head. “And I invited you to accompany me,” he countered, far too easily. However… It’s not like he pulled away. In fact, his hand remained beneath yours. For a second.

Two.

Long enough for you to know he was fully aware of it and considering it just as much.

Three.

Do you move away? Or does he? Your heart was racing, and you wondered if he felt it. Then, slowly, he moved his hand only enough to place the payment down, his fingers grazing yours as he withdrew.

Deliberate?

Usually, in any other situation, you would’ve clicked your teeth and argued. Maybe say something like, “That is not the same thing.” Yet, for some reason—

You couldn’t. So you let him pay.

He handed you one of the warm pastries, and once more, your fingers brushed against each other as you took it. The heat that seeped into your skin had nothing to do with the taiyaki.

You hated a man who could control his facial expressions, because never before had you been so curious about what someone was thinking.

ஜ⁀➴ ♡

Hours passed. Casual shopping turned into lazy browsing, small talk drifting between the two of you as the market gradually thinned. The merchants were slower now, their voices less eager as the afternoon stretched on. The winter chill should have settled into your bones by now. However, it was chased away by Rengoku’s warmth. Without a conscious thought, you found yourself walking a little closer to him.

“We’ve been here quite a while,” he stated, glancing up at the sky as though he could measure the exact time just by looking at the sun alone. Well, he probably could. “Is there any last place you’d like to visit? If not, we can separate.”

The question was simple, really. Too simple. Easy to answer.

Your feet ached, after all. And you should probably return to the bathhouse to see if help was needed. Though… You didn’t particularly want to leave him.

Was that so bad?

A nearby clothing shop caught your eye. Your mittened hand lifted, pointing in its direction. “One last stop. Winter clothing?” To make it sound less spontaneous (and to hide your obvious goal), your gaze travelled over his attire—the black Demon Slayer uniform, the red, yellow, and white flame-patterned haori draped over his shoulders. “You could use something warmer. Natural heat doesn’t stop a cold, y’know.”

One of his eyebrows arched slightly. You weren’t convincing at all.

“Very well.”

The shop was modest but warm, the scent of oakwood and faint cinnamon lingering in the air. Masked attendants greeted you politely and guided Rengoku toward thicker winter garments. He examined them with mild interest, fingers grazing over fur-lined sleeves and heavier weaves.

Meanwhile, you drifted away. Spring pieces had already been stocked—light fabrics in softer shades, despite the fact that it was December. They were thinner. Smoother. Cuter. Your fingers paused on a dress. It was long. Flowing, too. Simple, but elegant. Silk layered with delicate lace on the sleeves. The kind of garment meant for travel… or fancy occasions, perhaps.

Not something worn often in the Swordsmith Village.

“Caught your eye?” a clerk chimed, appearing at your side with practised timing. “It’s imported from Kyoto. Fine silk. Very refined.” Her eyes flicked toward Rengoku. “Perhaps your husband would appreciate it as well?”

You immediately began waving your hands, trying to physically clear away the misunderstanding. “Oh—no, he’s not—”

“Try it on.” The now-familiar voice came from behind you. Far too close.

You turned quickly, nearly bumping into him as you did so. He looked down at the dress in your hands with quiet consideration. “There is no harm in it,” he said.

“You can’t be serious.”

He shrugged, glancing at the open doors that led to the once-bustling market. “We’ve spent most of the day looking at things I enjoy. Why not indulge yourself before we part?”

That's the thing; It wasn’t indulgence that made you anxious. It was the thought of him seeing you in such an attire. The nervous flutter in your stomach is caused by. But words—as they often did—never took your side.

The attendant guided you gently toward the dressing area, her palm resting lightly at the small of your back. As the curtain closed, you caught Rengoku’s gaze flick briefly towards the gentle touch before he leaned against the wall to wait.

Interesting.

Inside, the clerk worked rather efficiently.

Your outer layers were folded aside. A thin under-robe was adjusted. The silk dress was drawn carefully over your shoulder and smoothed down your arms. She straightened the collar with precise fingers, stepped back as if to admire her work, then came forward again to adjust the fall of the fabric.

“Stand straight.” You did. The obi was tied snugly, not too tight, but tight enough to shape the silhouette. She circled you once more, seeming somewhat satisfied. “Almost done, my dear.” From a small tray, she picked up a hairpin. It was of simple metal, elegant. At its end, a delicate flame design curved upward, thin metallic tassels swaying gently beneath it, glinting in the light.

Oh, gosh.

She slid the pin into your hair.

“There.”

You turned toward the mirror. The woman staring back at you, well… you looked… softer. The silk flowed around your frame, lace brushing your wrists. Feminine in a way you were unaccustomed to seeing. You could never imagine this was the same person who scrubbed springs and scolded her own father.

The clerk urged you to hurry up, to show off your beauty, and even began counting to five rather loudly. Before you could protest, she dramatically pulled the curtain aside.

All you were met with was silence.

He was staring at you. Of course he was, how could he not stare when you were so dressed up? His observation moved slowly—shoulders, sleeves, waist, hem—he didn’t even bother to hide it. In a way, you were getting quite used to the way his eyes travelled over you. Even if you weren’t sure if it was polite or held back a secret intent.

You fidgeted with the fabric until the clerk had to smack your hands away. “Stop that before you ruin the drape.”

It was torture. The silence felt like it was going on for an eternity. What was he thinking?

“You look beautiful,” he, at last, said. Oh, how the words made your heart jump. There was something in the way he said it. “It suits you very well.”

You lowered your head in a poor attempt to hide the pinkening of your cheeks. “Thank you…”

This time, you were certain the tension in the room was a mutual feeling, and not something only you felt. Heck, even the clerk seemed to sense it, because she was beyond convinced that you two were married. “Eyes never lie,” she sang knowingly as she later helped you change back into your usual attire.

It was much quicker to remove the dress compared to putting it on. Rengoku waited near the entrance when you emerged. The clerk waved happily, her day somehow made. Outside, the market had nearly emptied.

“Shall we?” he asked, and you agreed right away. 

Both of you walked in silence for a while. Then, as you neared the very entrance, he turned to you. “It was a pleasant day,” he said. “I hope we can see each other tomorrow as well.”

Instead of answering, you buried your face in your scarf. He paused, clearly hoping you would answer, but when you didn’t, he reached out for your hand. 

Just as quickly as the touch came, it was withdrawn. 

In your palm rested the flame hairpin. Your eyes widened. “When did you buy this?”

“Consider it a memento. Tomorrow, I will find you.”

ஜ⁀➴ ♡

All you could think about was Rengoku Kyojuro.

It was becoming a problem.

You realised it when you nearly burned your hand on a kettle because you had been staring at nothing, for your mind had been dwelling on him instead. When a bath attendant called your name twice before you heard it. When you forgot what you had been doing halfway through doing it.

You told yourself that this was getting ridiculous. The thoughts still refused stop.

Even in the comfort of your own blankets, his name felt heavy. Louder in your mind than the crackle of firewood outside your door.

Rengoku Kyojuro.

You shut your eyes, trying to force yourself to sleep. That only made it worse.

You saw him immediately.

Back in the spring. How the steam rose around him, doing nothing to hazify the vision of his face, or his broad shoulders. The water tracing slow paths down his skin. How his muscles shifted when he moved. Obvious. Formed with time. Delicious.

You hadn’t meant to look. Truly!

You had looked.

His hair, darkened slightly by water, and how the strands clung to him. How his hair looked so different when dried compared to when it was damp.

His eyes—confident, but warm. The way they held you. The way they had held you in the dressing room.

You turned onto your back abruptly, staring at the ceiling.

This was so foolish.

He’s a man. A passing presence. A Demon Slayer who would leave just as easily as he arrived. So why did your heart stutter every time you remembered the way his hand had remained beneath yours?

One second.

Two.

Three.

He hadn’t pulled away. Had he felt it too?

You swallowed, fingers curling into the bedding as if the memory could still be touched. As if warmth still lingered there.

Ughhhhhhh, this was stupid. Dangerous. Why couldn’t he be cruel? Rude? Disrespectful? Rash?

Because the way he had looked at you in that dress—

No.

You rolled onto your side, facing the small dish beside your bed. That's where the hairpin rested, innocent as if it wasn’t a contribution to your inner turmoil. The delicate flame-design caught the candlelight, and it shone a lovely gold.

He had bought it without you noticing. A gift. “A momento.” For you.

You could feel your pulse thudding in your throat. “Tomorrow, I will find you.”

You shifted restlessly beneath the blankets, heat pooling low in your stomach, crawling up your spine. Never before had your room felt so suffocating. You were already imagining tomorrow.

Imagining his voice being closer. His hand being lower. Your name spoken differently. His breath against your neck.

You cleared your throat loudly and forced yourself to stop. How absurd. It was only a day. Only a man. Only a comment about fate.

But when sleep finally dragged you under, it did not offer peace. Because you dreamed about him, too, and this time, his hands didn’t pull away.

ஜ⁀➴ ♡

The next day, the two of you crossed paths, as promised, on your way home. Dusk was beginning to bleed slowly, turning the sky an orange and yellow. You yawned. Around this point, you weren’t exactly sure if you should be expecting to see him, while the other half couldn’t help but hope for it. He’d been on your mind all day, a persistent tingle in your chest and stomach, a restless warmth that refused to settle. 

His shoulder brushed yours as he fell into step beside you. How in the world did he pop out of nowhere without scheduling a meeting spot?

“Hi,” he greeted, dipping his head slightly.

You felt your lips twitch slightly, and you had to force down the urge to smile. So, to make it easier for yourself, you refused to look at him. “It’s a pleasure to be in your presence once more.”

An amused hum. “I told you I would find you.”

Yes. He had. You hadn’t forgotten; you couldn’t forget.

“And you did,” you murmured.

Suddenly, his hand closed around your forearm. His hold wasn’t rough, but it was firm enough to stop you. You turned, startled, and found him closer than expected. There was something in his expression you hadn’t seen before.

An eagerness. Hope.

“Travel with me.”

The words didn’t sound casual this time. Rengoku sounded like he needed you to say yes. Like he’d been wanting to ask you again for ages. His grip tightened slightly.

Your mouth opened, then closed. All you could do was shake your head. “I can’t.”

A frown. “Why not? You wish to see the world, don’t you? Have I not convinced you?”

“It’s not that.” Then what was it? “I just don’t think it’s a good idea.”

A pause.

“What are you afraid of?” he asked. “I told you I would protect you.”

Frustration began to spark. “It’s more than protection, Rengoku.”

Ah— was that your first time saying his name? It felt strange on your tongue. Wrong. Right. Intimate. He must’ve felt something in it too, because he stilled, his hand faltering against your arm. You forced yourself to continue. “The thing is, I don’t belong in your world. I don’t fit in. I’m not meant to follow you while you fight demons and nearly get yourself killed. I already live with that fear here. My friends, family, and everyone risk their lives to deliver and forge the swords you use. I watch them leave. I’ve watched them return injured.”

Your voice sharpened without permission. “And you want me to walk willingly into that?”

Silence settled heavily between you.

“My world?” he repeated quietly.

You flinched. “I didn’t mean— I just—” You exhaled sharply. “I can’t fight. I can’t heal. I can’t craft. I would be… what? Dead weight?”

His jaw tightened. “I told you,” he carefully said, “that I’m not seeking your skills.”

“Then what do you seek?” you challenged.

“Your companionship.”

The word hit harder than it should have. It settled in your stomach, twisting itself until it almost felt like a phantom cramp. You tore your gaze from his, suddenly unable to withstand it. “You don’t need my companionship,” you muttered dryly. “I am just a random village girl.”

“Is that what you think I see?”

You shook your head, frustrated at yourself. At him. At this entire situation. “I can’t just leave my family. What if something happens while I’m gone? What if I return and they are not here? All because I chased some… fleeting desire.”

Snowflakes drifted down, slowly, between you. 

“The Swordsmith Village is protected,” Rengoku shot back. “And this mission won’t even last long. A month, at most.” A beat. His voice lowered, sounding a little… vulnerable. “Please? Just try.”

Please. The word might as well have slapped you in the face.

You hesitated. The truth is, you wanted to go. But wasn’t there too much to risk? What if you resented him later? What if this was nothing more than infatuation? What if you followed him and realised you don’t belong anywhere but here?

Why would a Demon Slayer truly want someone like you?

It wasn’t insecurity. You just… You shook your head again. “I can’t.”

Rengoku’s hand dropped. The absence lingered, cold rushing where warmth had once been. “Very well. If you’re so sure.” He took a step back. “There’s more to us than the roles we may carry, but I won’t force your decision.”

He ran a hand through his hair, gaze unwavering. “I want you to see me as a man,” he said quietly. “Not as a Demon Slayer.”

Hadn’t you? Hadn’t you been doing exactly that?

“If you reconsider… I’ll be at the small cabin outside the village tomorrow. I’ve been wanting to visit it for quite a bit.”

A moment of stillness, his eyes remaining on you as if he wanted to continue. Then he turned and walked away.

Leaving you behind, in the cold.

With a choice.

ஜ⁀➴ ♡

Never before had you been so furious with yourself. You couldn’t be mad at anyone else. Nor could you be upset with fate itself. You couldn’t even bring yourself to be upset with him.

Yourself.

You couldn’t decide if what you’d done was wise or cowardly, and the uncertainty gnawed at you like it was something that was actively eating you alive. It crawled beneath your skin. Refused to let you rest. The way he left replayed over and over again. He hadn’t been angry—not even offended. “I want you to see me as a man.” The words wouldn’t stop echoing.

You buried your face into the pillow of your futon and groaned into the fabric, the sound muffled and raw with despair. The bedding smelled faintly of soap and coconut— comforting, a familiar scent you liked— and yet it did nothing to quiet the storm inside you.

If you were the protagonist of a story, would the readers be screaming at you right now?

You squeezed the pillow tighter, as if it might answer. Just go after him. Just apologize.  Stop overthinking. How ridiculous you must look from the outside, tangled in blankets, and heart racing over a single sentence.

But it wasn’t just a sentence. It was what it meant.

When it came to you, he didn’t even want to be seen as a Demon Slayer. Or was this something typical of him? Maybe you were the only person who’s ever been so indecisive around him. All you knew was that he wanted to be seen as a man. And he would rather wait, holding onto that little bit of hope he had, than hear you refuse again and again. But wouldn’t waiting be worse for him if you chose not to go to that cabin?

Tomorrow would arrive sooner than later.

And you were no closer to a choice.

You lay there staring at nothing, or perhaps at everything you were trying not to think about. A knock broke the silence, and surely would’ve scared you if you didn’t recognise the careful rhythm. You didn’t move.

“I brought you some fruit,” your mother called gently as she slid the door open.

Light from the hallway spilled in behind her, catching on the porcelain plate in her hands, which was almost overflowing with fruit, and your tear-filled eyes. Her expression softened instantly. “Oh,” she breathed.

You hadn’t even realised you were crying, and pathetically wiped your face.

She set the plate aside and knelt before you, presence always comforting. Her thumb brushed against your cheek, hand replacing yours, and catching a tear before it could fall. “My beautiful girl,” she sighed. “What’s troubling you? A man?”

You nodded.

“Did he break your heart?”

“No.” Your voice barely carried, and you were almost too embarrassed to speak. “I think… I mean, if he even likes me romantically— I might have broken his.” The hairpin that rested nearby, on the bedside dish, seemed to twinkle.

Your mother followed your eyes, and her lips curved slightly. “I don’t know what to do,” you admitted. 

“Immature child,” she said, but her tone held no bite. She lifted a slice of apple and pressed it lightly to your lips until you relented and began nibbling on it. The sweetness was an extreme contrast to the situation. “Why won’t you let him chase you? There is no point in running if you don’t even allow yourself to be caught.”

“Because it’s irrational,” you insisted. “He is a Demon Slayer. That life invites danger. It follows him. What if loving him means bringing that danger here? What if I doom us?”

Your voice cracked at the last word.

She frowned, still for a moment. “I understand. In fact, when I met your father, I was petrified.”

You blinked in surprise. “You were?”

A small smile touched her lips. “Of course. I left the city for him and followed him into the mountains. An environment I knew nothing about. Imagine, little old me, entering a life full of swords and whispers of demons.” She gave a quiet laugh. “How we met is silly, too. A slayer had passed by, seeking refuge in my home, with—get this—a broken blade.”

“We fell in love quickly,” she continued, hands placing themself calmly in her lap. “Perhaps the way you and this man have.”

Your neck suddenly burned.

“I nearly sent him away,” she confessed. “I thought loving him would destroy everything. That maybe one day, when he came to visit, he would lead monsters themselves to my door.”

“What changed?” you asked.

“I loved him more than I feared the unknown.”

“I had to choose,” she continued. “Between safety and a life that would always feel unfinished without him. Between comfort and the ache of wondering ‘what if’ forever.” Her fingers brushed a stray strand of hair from your face. “I chose him, and I have never regretted it, dear daughter.”

When she said stuff like that, you always found yourself searching her face for hesitation. There’s no way she moved here and never missed her home. Never yearned for it. Especially in winter. Yet, as usual, there was none.

“But this is different,” you whispered, defence weak. “I barely know him.” 

Pain flicked sharply against your forehead, causing you to yelp and press your fingers against the reddening skin. “Mom. Did you just—”

She had the audacity to blow on her finger like it was a weapon.

“You’re growing older. When will you stop pretending you don’t understand your own heart? Almost every single day, you devour books about distant lands. You stare out the window like the mountains will never be enough for you. You’re restless.”

Each word made you feel more and more uncomfortable.

“And yet,” she went on, “when a brand new world stands before you—in the form of a man–and offers you something more, you just… You don’t even let yourself get a taste.”

She placed another piece of fruit in your hand. “You must like him if you’re crying over this.”

You sniffled. “Maybe a little…?” 

She laughed. “If I had let fear hold me back, you would’ve never been born, y’know. If I can do it, why can’t you?”

Your mother rose, feeling no need to say anything more, and smoothed her skirt. “Sleep,” she instructed. “And when you wake, maybe ask yourself this: are you protecting your family… or protecting yourself from change?”

With a soft smile, she left you with the soft click of the door being the last trace of her presence. To think. To choose. Just like Rengoku had. Except this time, instead of the snow, you sat in the quiet hum of the house, with barely touched fruit on your plate.

You groaned, once again.

ஜ⁀➴ ♡

The lake looked like the edge of the world.

Moonlight spilt silver across its frozen surface, making the thin ice look similar to fractured glass. Snow-dusted mountains loomed beyond it, their peaks rising high into the night sky. The clearing was quiet—much too quiet—the kind of quiet that seemed deafening.

Rengoku stood near the water’s edge, alone.

It had taken you way too long to get here. The terrain was uneven and steep, the path narrow in places where one wrong step could have sent you sliding down frost-slick stone. You had made your decision that morning, then spent the entire day preparing yourself to say it. It had been late afternoon when you felt presentable and courageous enough to leave.

And yet, when you arrived, the moon was already high.

Nevertheless, Rengoku was still waiting.

You saw him before he saw you, a tall silhouette, hair catching dimly in the light, shoulders relaxed but not comfortable. You considered walking up to him slowly to not disturb his thoughts. The universe must’ve disagreed with the idea, because a stick snapped beneath your foot.

His head whipped around. His hand twitched, inched slightly toward where his sword would have been, possibly an instinctive movement.

Then he saw it was you.

The tension melted from his posture so fast that it almost made you feel shy.

“You’re here.” You barely had time to nod before he crossed the distance between you. Hugging you.

The heat of him was overwhelming. He radiated warmth throughout the entire embrace, chest solid beneath your cheek, hand splayed across your back. For one dizzying second, you forgot why you had come. Oh, he smelled like cold air. Like fire. Like cedarwood. Like something only he carried.

You could honestly get used to this.

Then he pulled back, only enough to see your face. “Sorry,” he said, smiling in a way that proved he was, in fact, not sorry. “I’ve been waiting a very long time.”

His arms slipped from your body, and he stepped back. One step. No more. You were still close enough to feel him. “I was beginning to think you wouldn’t come. I must’ve gotten overjoyed”

You had to take a deep breath before answering. “Sorry...” 

Now that he was facing you, there was the opportunity to get a better look at him. His hair was partially disheveled, and his shirt hung open just enough at the collar, revealing the slope of muscle beneath, and a pale scar curved across his collar-bone.

You looked. You absolutely looked. Did he notice?

A rumble echoed across the mountains. Low, distant. Probably lightning. You tore your eyes away from him. You needed a distraction, asap.

“The lake is nearly frozen,” you said quickly, turning on your foot to crouch and poke at the thin ice with a branch. “It’s prettier in the summer.”

“Is it?” he asked, sounding half-interested. When you glanced up, he wasn’t looking at the lake. He was looking at you.

The rumble came again. Louder. No… this can’t be thunder. You’ve heard it before…

“Rengoku.” Your tone had suddenly changed, enough for his eyebrows to rise with concern. The mountain answered for you. No, the sound wasn’t thunder.

You squinted at the mountains, trying to be sure.  Snow was beginning to tear free from the mountainside in waves, greedily devouring everything in its path. The ground trembled under your boots.

Avalanche.

Though you are no Demon Slayer, you grew up in the Swordsmith Village. You had instincts, and when you realised what was happening, you hardly felt the need to think. Your hand grabbed his, and you ran. His fingers closed around yours without hesitation or question, matching your pace even if you stumbled on the incline. Snow thundered closer, as if wanting to join in on this little sprint.

The sound was beginning to sound monstrous. You nearly slipped, and his grip tightened, steadying you. The cabin was only a short climb up a hill, a few feet away. But goodness, right now it seemed like miles.

You slammed the door open and dragged him inside just as snow surged into the clearing. 

After a few seconds, there was silence.

Breathing hard, you rushed to the window. Snow had piled high, nearly halfway up the glass. You cussed.

Rengoku leaned down beside you, shoulder brushing yours. “Are we trapped?” he asked calmly.

“Yes.”

ஜ⁀➴ ♡

The fireplace crackled to life, warmth spreading through the small cabin. Shadows danced along the walls. The space had an intimate touch to it. One bed, one bookshelf, wooden floors, and a single window that, now, is only framed in white.

Rengoku sat on the edge of the bed, thick blankets beneath him. You stood near the fire, hands out to catch the heat, though you were anything but cold. What type of situation was this? Being stuck in a cabin with a guy you…well… were growing an interest in. It seemed like some kind of joke, really. Completely unreal.

“What bad luck… We’ll probably be here for a while,” you muttered, watching the flickering flames.

“Not entirely unfortunate.” He sounded so casual. There was a pause, as if he expected you to say something. Agree with him, maybe? Though, to be blunt, you were absolutely clueless about what he meant. “We can talk,” he emphasised.

You glanced at him. His eyes looked quite similar to the fire in front of you. They seemed to burn just the same. “I won’t ask again. Will you travel with me?”

The question sat between you two like a drawn blade. With a sigh, you moved to sit beside him. Maybe too close. Did you feel bold? Your legs stretched out in front of you, his shoulders nearly brushing yours. “I haven’t fully decided,” you disclosed. “But I don’t… oppose the idea as much.”

He beamed. “It would only be a month. And, of course, I will protect you.”

The way he said it made your chest ache. Words, as they’ve done repeatedly, failed you. So both of you sat in silence. Though once again, there was this… tension. Thicker than the bathhouse. More intense than at the market. Obvious. 

Hadn’t he been acting a little differently today?

“It’s late,” you whispered. “We may need to stay the night.”

“That doesn’t trouble me.” Of course it didn’t. “There’s a washroom, right? You should wash first,” he added, tilting his head toward the sheathed weapon that leaned against the wall. “I’ll tend to my sword.”

“Okay.”

You rose slowly, dismissing yourself.

The washroom was small but carefully kept. A low shelf was stacked with folded cotton towels. A ceramic basin rested beside a large iron pot fitted into a stone hearth, where the coals beneath were still faintly warm from the last visit. A wooden bucket sat nearby, along with a ladle. You knelt beside the hearth and fed it a bit more kindling, coaxing the embers alive until the water began to warm. Steam had started rising slowly, curling into the air.

Your fingers trembled as you untied your outer robe. You told yourself it was from the cold, not from the man in the other room.

Rengoku. He’s just in the other room.

Layer by layer, you folded the garments meticulously and set them aside. The room felt smaller without them, air brushing against your bare skin in a way that made you hyper-aware of everything.

Of him.

You dipped the ladle into the warmed water, pouring it gently over your shoulders. Heat slid down your back in slow rivulets. The water was warm.

But not nearly as warm as the memory of his arms around you. Was he, too, thinking about you just as relentlessly?

Your hair clung damply to your back as you dragged the cloth slowly across your skin.

His arms around you. The solid press of his chest when he’d pulled you close. The heat of his palm on your back. 

The palm on your back.

The way he hadn’t even hesitated before hugging you. How he clearly wasn’t sorry.

You dipped the cloth back into the basin just to give your hands something to do, watching the water ripple violently from the force. You swallowed and wondered if you were perverted, cheeks burning hotter than the steam that curled around you.

The cabin was small enough that if he spoke your name, you would hear it clearly, even with the door shut. Your fingers dragged more slowly this time across your collarbone, and you wondered how his lips would feel there.

Would he notice if your hair remained damp when you stepped out, like you had the image of his wet hair etched into your mind? If your skin was still flushed? If your breathing wasn’t quite steady?

You pressed your lips together. This was ridiculous.

Yet, if he touched you right now—

You squeezed your eyes shut. Stop. You weren’t a shameless woman. You weren’t improper. These thoughts, you needed to control them.

A sudden knock at the door made you jump, the ladle slipping from your fingers and clattering loudly against the wooden floor. “Are you alright?” Rengoku’s voice came from the other side, as if your thinking had summoned him. “I only wanted to be certain everything was working properly. You’ve been inside for quite some time.”

Had you?

When you didn’t answer immediately, the doorknob shifted. You have no idea if he planned to open the door—perhaps he was just testing if it was locked—but it was still enough to remind you how thin the barrier between the two of you truly was. You hurried forward, pulling the door open only a fraction.

Cool air slipped in, making you shiver.

His eyes lifted, then landed on you.

You weren’t exposed, not horribly so, with a sliver of shoulder and collarbone peeking out. You could feel when his gaze moved.

“I… lost track of time,” you hurriedly said. “I’ll finish up now and be as quick as I can.” Trying to save yourself from the pressure and humiliation, you tried to close the door.

His hand caught it. “What was that noise?” he asked, though his tone had subtly changed. He didn’t seem to care.

“You startled me. I dropped the ladle.”

You offered a small, sheepish smile. He didn’t return it, nor did he move. Did his jaw tighten? You froze when Regoku lifted his hand, fingers brushing gently against your cheek. Then the back of his knuckles traced your jaw. His movements weren’t hurried, as though committing it to memory. His thumb lingered just below your ear. 

When his hand slid to the back of your neck, your breathing hitched.

“I’ve tried. I’ve been really patient.” His voice was low, thumb pressing faintly at your nape (goodness, your knees could’ve given away right then and there). His touch was tender enough to allow you to pull away without guilt. Yet, instead, your fingers found the fabric of his shirt.

His eyes searched yours. “Forgive me. Usually, I’m not this lustful.”

His lips crashed into yours, and he pushed the door open the rest of the way. The way he kissed was something you could’ve never predicted. Rengoku always seemed calm and composed. Neutral or joyful. Yet, his lips were hungry, poor on restraint.

You moaned against his lips, and he groaned in response, almost giving the impression that he’d been craving the sound. That he wanted to hear it again.

His hand tightened in your hair, tilting your head just enough to deepen the kiss, his tongue eagerly sliding into your mouth. Heat surged through you so suddenly it felt like stepping into flame. Oh. Your body. It’s on fire.

His hands felt nothing like you’d imagined (if you’d even let yourself imagine that far). They were rough, strong yet gentle. Fingers that wielded swords against demons now traced your skin with a reverence that bordered on greedy. They wanted to devour you whole, to map every curve and hollow with his touch, to commit the silk of your flesh to memory in a single, fevered rush.

But oh, how his touch lingered: a deliberate graze over the swell of your hips, a possessive sweep along the dip of your spine, thumbs rising daringly to circle the sensitive undersides of your breasts.

You had to be the one who broke the kiss first, panting as you tried to regain your breath—your composure.

Rengoku? He didn't feel a need to relent. No, Rengoku's mouth simply began creating a new path. His lips ran down the line of your jaw, where his teeth teased ever so lightly, sending sparks of anticipation racing through your veins. Then lower, to the column of your neck, where his lips pressed hungry, open-mouthed kisses.

He groaned, the sound deep and guttural, and at last, his hands stilled on your waist. Thumbs dug in, firm and insistent, pressing into the sensitive skin just above your hip. Perhaps in an effort to anchor himself against the tide of his own desire.

"I promise... I wanted to court you first..." He lifted his head, his forehead resting against yours. Those golden eyes, usually so hard to figure out, now smouldered with a sudden desperation as they took in the sight of you flustered. "Should I just marry you instead?"

The words hung in the air like a spell, warmth pooling low in your belly despite the absurdity. "Don't say foolish things.”

Rengoku hummed, showing you that he couldn’t care less about how foolish he sounded. His lips brushed the corner of yours in a light kiss before, agonizingly, he pulled away. 

Well, not entirely.

His fingers intertwined with yours as he led you from the washroom and back into the bedroom.

"You don't mind, right...?" Rengoku murmured, guiding you to the bed. He turned you so that you were in front of him, his free hand settling on your shoulder and pressing gently, urging you down until your back met the cool blanket. You sank onto it, exposed and aching, your naked form a stark contrast to his clothed one. "If we move a little fast?"

The question, in the moment, sounded very suggestive. Was he speaking of the pace of the romance, or the rhythm he intended?

His fingers worked deftly at the buttons of his shirt, fabric parting to reveal his torso, which was marked by scars. Clothes did, indeed, seem like a mere hindrance now.

Especially when one of you was already naked.

He shrugged off the shirt, letting it fall forgotten to the floor, his gaze never leaving yours—intense, unwavering, as if daring you to look away. The muscles of his arms flexed as he leaned over you, one knee dipping into the mattress, caging you in.

It took no time at all before his hands were back on you. One trailed up your thigh, excruciatingly slow, fingertips skating over your skin. Higher and higher. Higher until they brushed against your clit.

A gasp tore from your throat, unbidden, as his thumb circled with an almost mocking pressure, not quite delving in, but letting you consider the idea of it.

"Is this too much?" he asked in a whisper, breath ghosting over your ear, lips grazing the shell of it. “Do you want me to stop?"

His thumb never ceased its circling, the movement lazy and insistent, making sure you would stay responsive. He eased his body back just enough to drink you in, eyes raking over every exposed inch splayed beneath him. 

Your breathing came out uneven.

Words always failed you, but you wouldn’t let it this time.

“No.”

The answer slipped out in a shaky pant, barely even comprehensible. Maybe you were perverted. 

Because you loved the way he let out another low groan, as though your refusal to stop was the sweetest permission he’d ever been granted.

His hand shifted—no longer giving you just the teasing pad of his thumb, but two fingers that slid along your slick folds, parting you with care before pressing deeper. “I’ll make you feel good,” Rengoku vowed, his lips hovering a hairsbreadth from yours so every word brushed your mouth like a kiss. “I’ll reward you. I’ll give you every part of me I can—every breath, every heartbeat, every last drop of fire in my veins.”

Then he pushed inside.

A broken whine clawed its way out of your throat as your walls fluttered around the intrusion, stretching to accommodate the thick glide of his fingers. He shuddered above you. “You feel—” His voice cracked, raw wonder bleeding through. “You feel amazing. So warm… so tight… I need it. I need you.”

He curled them slightly on the next slow withdrawal, dragging along that sensitive spot inside. Your hips bucked upward instinctively, chasing the pressure, silently begging for more. Rengoku obliged, pace quickening just enough to turn deliberate into eager, fingers plunging deeper with each measured thrust while his thumb resumed its merciless circling over your clit.

Inside. Out. Inside again.

He was cataloguing you, noting the exact depth that made your breath catch in sharper gasps, the rhythm that drew louder, needier whimpers, the precise pressure that sent tremors racing through your thighs. Every reaction fed him, stoked the blaze in his eyes until they burned brighter than any flame he’d ever wielded.

Your arms wound around his neck, fingers threading into the thick strands at his nape, tugging him down until his mouth crashed back into yours.

This kiss was ravaging—tongues tangling in an insatiable rhythm that matched the one between your legs. He swallowed every sound you made, drank them like they were offerings, his free hand sliding up to cradle the back of your head, holding you exactly where he wanted you as he kissed you back.

Your legs parted wider without a conscious thought, knees falling open in silent invitation, hips rolling up to meet each thrust of his fingers. The wet sound of it filled the room, mingling with your shared, fractured breaths.

He broke the kiss this time. 

“Cum for me,” he pleaded. “I want to feel you cum on my fingers… want to watch your face when you do. Then I’ll give you more. Everything. I swear it.”

His fingers crooked again, pressing hard against that spot while his thumb flicked faster, merciless. Rengoku wanted what he asked for.

“Rengoku…” His name spilled out of you like you were begging him. 

Before you knew it, the relentless thrusting became too much. Pleasure coiled tighter and tighter until it snapped like a wire. Your back arched off the bed in a curve, a broken wail tearing from your throat as your climax crashed through you in shuddering waves. Your thighs trembled uncontrollably, muscles locking and releasing in a frantic rhythm while your walls clenched hard around his fingers, pulsing with every aftershock.

Your hands—still tangled in the wildfire of his hair—tugged hard without meaning to, fingers twisting in the thick strands.

Rengoku didn’t stop. He didn’t even slow.

If anything, he pressed deeper, fingered you faster, drawing and savouring every last tremor and gasp from you. “Yeah,” he rasped, voice thick with desire. “...just like that. You’re such a good girl… Giving it all to me.”

His thumb pressed down harder against your swollen clit in reward, and the sudden spike ripped another shrill, keening cry from deep in your chest. Your hips jerked upward, chasing the overstimulation even as your body tried to shy away from it, caught in the contradiction of too much and not enough.

Only then did he finally slip his fingers free, leaving you empty and fluttering around nothing. A soft, appreciative hum rumbled in his throat as he lifted his hand and licked them clean.

When Rengoku finished, his cleaner hand found one of yours, which had been clinging to the back of his neck. He pried your fingers free and guided them downward.

First, to the white belt of his uniform pants, letting your fingertips trace the cool leather and metal buckle. Letting you feel the faint spasm in his abdomen beneath. Then lower still—over the straining fabric—until your palm met the thick, insistent bulge of his erection.

He was hard. Achingly so.

The length of him throbbed beneath your touch. Even through the layers of cloth, the sheer size of him was more than impressive. The moment your fingers curled instinctively around the outline, his hips rocked forward into your hand in a single, helpless thrust before he forced himself still.

“Look at what you do to me,” he hissed, forehead dropping to rest against yours once more.

He pressed your hand firmer against him, encouraging the slow, exploratory stroke you’d begun. You felt him twitch and swell beneath your palm.

Your hand began to rub. Up, down. Firm enough to make his breath hitch. Teasing enough to drive him mad.

Rengoku's eyes snapped shut, the sharp inhale sounding like a hiss between his teeth, and his head dropped into the curve of your neck. You could feel the flex of his jaw, the way he had to fight from rutting into your palm like a starved man—the friction you so cruelly presented.

Your fingers drifted back up to his belt, and you undid the buckle with a quiet, metallic click. Then your hand found the zipper of his trousers.

He shifted at once, hips settling heavier against you, the bulge of him nudging insistently at your inner thigh through the last thin barrier of fabric.

"Already?" Rengoku gasped against your neck.

You nodded fervently, fingers hooking into the waistband of his pants, and tugged "You may be patient… but I'm not."

Shame on you for staring. Shame on you for the way your entire body clenched with want at the sight.

He was overwhelming. Thick, veined, and arousal obvious as his cock already glistened with beads of precum. When your hand wrapped around it, it jerked hard in your grip, an unimaginable sound ripping from him—half growl, half broken moan.

"I've dreamed of this," you whispered, thumb sweeping over the slick tip. "But I think the real thing is better."

"Don't—" Rengoku’s voice cracked. His hands found your thighs, fingers digging in with barely-leashed strength as he pushed them wider, opening you completely beneath him. "Don't say things like that. It’ll make me… Oh, it’ll make me lose every shred of control I have left.”

“Lose it.”

ஜ⁀➴ ♡

Never underestimate a Demon Slayer's stamina.

First time:

His cock dragged slowly up and down your folds, the blunt head catching against your swollen clit with every deliberate pass. Each glide sent fresh sparks racing through you, pleasure building in maddening waves that made you squirm helplessly beneath him. He’d sometimes linger at your hole, pressing just enough to part you, to stretch you until a soft, broken whimper escaped your lips. Then, withdrawing completely, with a pleased hum, only to resume the torturous rub along your slit.

He was forcing you to wait. To never know when—or if—he would finally push inside. The uncertainty alone had you clenching around nothing, desperate.

This was entirely your fault.

After all, you were the one who had told him—with needy fingers wrapped around his length—to throw away his control. You’d given him a few more strokes before guiding his cockhead in between your legs, pleading as you whispered that you'd beg if that's what it took... 

It was all your fault.

All your fault, really, for the tension that had been growing between you two. From the spring, to the brush of your hands, to the dress, to the hug, to now.

“You want it, don’t you?” he whispered as the tip of his cock dragged, once more, along your soaked folds before settling right at your entrance. He nudged just enough to part you, to let you feel, but held himself there. “Tell me. Tell me you want me inside you.”

Your mind was already hazy and helpless, so the nod came almost on instinct. 

He clicked his teeth, the sound tender. “That’s hardly enough. Use your words.” His hips rocked with the tiniest motion—just enough to rub against your clit again. “I want to hear that pretty voice of yours. Tell me exactly what you need.”

The ache between your legs was starting to become unbearable. You tightened your arms around his neck, clinging to him as your forehead pressed to his shoulder. “I… I want you…” The words came out shaking and barely audible over the pounding of your heart.

In one powerful thrust, he buried himself to the hilt.

You squealed, high and startled, hands dropping and fingers scrabbling at the blanket under you, clutching it for dear life as he filled you completely—stretching you wide. He didn’t pause, didn’t even give you time to adjust; he simply held himself deep, letting you feel every thick inch, every pulsing vein, the way he throbbed inside you like he was made to fit you.

“Fuck,” he breathed against your throat, the rare curse slipping out like an unexpected confession. “You’re so tight… gripping me...” His hands slid under your hips, lifting you slightly so he could sink even deeper, grinding slow circles that made you squeeze your eyes shut.

Tears welled in your eyes, and he began to move. Slow at first, withdrawing himself almost entirely so you could feel every ridge dragging along your sensitive insides, before slamming back in with enough force to make the bed creak. A loud groan ripped out of him as he found his rhythm. Rengoku started out gentle, but then his pace quickened, his hips snapping forward with growing urgency, the wet slap of skin-on-skin filling the room.

He loved how you felt around him. How your clit was greedy for him. His mouth found yours again, tongues tangling as he pounded into you relentlessly. He refused to break away until one particularly deep thrust made your mouth slip—your teeth catching his bottom lip in a sharp, accidental nick.

Blood bloomed, a faint copper tang between you, but the tiny wound only seemed to ignite him further.

“S-sorry.” The words came out broken.

He didn’t seem to hear.

His tongue darted out, swiping across the small cut on his lower lip. The sight of it sent a fresh, shameful thrill twisting in your belly, and before you could stammer another apology, he surged forward once more, sealing his mouth over yours in another kiss. All teeth and hunger and forgiveness wrapped in ruin.

Your body was flush against his, every inch pressed impossibly close as he drove into you harder, faster, deeper.

Punishing? Rewarding? The line blurred into irrelevance—each brutal hump sending white-hot jolts of pleasure through you. Lewd, helpless moans escaped from your lips straight into his mouth, and he ate them up like they were the sweetest thing he ever tasted.

His hand found the curve of your back. He pressed there, using the leverage to arch you even further against him. Your breasts flattened against the hard planes of his chest, nipples dragging against sweat-slick skin with every punishing snap of his hips. The new angle tilted your pelvis just right; now every deep plunge dragged the thick ridge of him along that devastating spot inside you, over and over, relentless.

Your head fell back on a broken cry, throat exposed, offering itself without thought. He took the invitation—lips and teeth finding the tender column, sucking hard enough to leave a blooming mark, then soothing the sting with slow, reverent licks. The dual sensation—sharp pain blooming into molten pleasure—made your walls flutter wildly around him, squeezing so tight he groaned against your skin like he’d been struck.

“Fuck—do that again. Squeeze me just like that...”

“Come for me,” he begged.

The tension snapped taut—every muscle in your body drawing tight, thighs trembling, breath freezing in your lungs as the wave crested, higher, higher—

And then you snapped.

A wail as your climax crashed through you, cunt clamping down around him in violent, rhythmic pulses.

He didn’t stop.

He rode you through it, prolonging every shudder, drawing out your pleasure until you were sobbing his name. Only then—only when you were utterly spent in his arms—did he falter.

Second Time:

He asked for another round.

His voice turned softer. “One more,” he pleaded. “I promise I’ll be gentle this time. Slower. I just… I need to feel you again. Please?”

You nodded.

And now you were bent over for him.

Knees braced on the mattress, thighs spread wide, body exposed to his hungry gaze. Your cheek was pressed against the cool pillow, breath coming in shallow pants. Behind you, Rengoku knelt—broad shoulders filling the space, flame-colored hair falling forward as he braced one hand beside your waist and used the other to guide himself.

He didn’t rush.

It was almost worse.

Each retreat felt intentionally cruel, for you were oversensitive, and each re-entry was just as unhurried—pushing back in until he was filling you up, hips rolling in a lazy grind that pressed the base of him against your clit with maddening pressure.

He watched, enjoying the little show in front of him.

Golden eyes were fixed on the place where your bodies joined—on the way your slick folds stretched around him, on the obscene sheen coating him every time he pulled out almost entirely before sliding back in. He watched the way you quivered with every entrance, the way your shoulders shook, the way your fingers tightened and untightened on the sheets of the pillow.

Every slow glide sent aftershocks rippling through already raw nerves; every grind against your clit made fresh tears prick at the corners of your eyes. You were so sensitive now that even the brush of his thighs against the backs of yours felt electric. Soft, helpless sounds spilt from your lips with every breath—whimpers, gasps, half-formed pleas that made no sense but seemed to drive him wild anyway.

“Too much?” he asked softly, though he already knew the answer—knew from the way your hips rocked back to meet him despite the trembling.

You shook your head frantically against the pillow. “N-no… don’t stop…”

He hummed in approval.

His hand drifted lower until his fingers found your hypersensitive clit. Slow, feather-light circles. Barely there, really. Yet, perfectly timed to match his movements. The dual sensation was unbearable.

A particularly roll of his hips made you sob, and he rewarded the sound by grinding against you harder for a heartbeat, letting you feel the full pressure of him pressed right against that swollen G-spot.

His name slipped from your lips again, slurred and exhorting.

Despite it, he kept the pace torturously steady, drawing the pleasure out until it felt endless. Your arms buckled, elbows collapsing until your chest was pressed flat to the mattress, your hips tilting up further.

The new angle left you impossibly revealed.

Rengoku hissed through clenched teeth at the sight alone, rhythm stuttering for the first time since he’d promised gentleness—a single, involuntary snap of his hips that drove him deeper, faster than intended.

The sudden plunge drew out a high-pitched, broken whine from you.

“So pretty…” he groaned, trying his absolute hardest to regain his gentle control. His free hand slid over the soft curve of your ass, kneading it possessively as he leaned over your trembling body. The heat of his chest blanketed your back; sweat-slick skin slid against sweat-slick skin. His thumb, which never left her clit, added more pressure now. The circles turned firm.

Even though it was technically nothing, your entire body jolted at the intensified touch, hips bucking back instinctively. The motion drove you harder onto his cock, squeezing him in a tight pulse that earned a rough, gravelly sound from Rengoku.

He was close.

His thumb pressed harder still. He was chasing his own release, yes. But you? Oh, absolutely not, because he made sure to keep you right there on the brink with him, edging you ruthlessly.

Another grind, hips flush against your bottom, holding there while his thumb flicked once, twice, over your clit.

Your thighs were beginning to shake violently as the pleasure built up, muscles locking as you hovered right at the precipice.

Rengoku came.

His hips snapped forward one final time—harsh, deep, grinding—and he spilt inside you in hot, pulsing waves. Each thick spurt dragged a ragged moan from his throat. You felt every throb, every flood of heat filling you, claiming you so completely that it made fresh tears slip down your cheeks.

Third Time: "One more.”

He was still buried deep inside you, cock twitching with the aftershocks of his release, yet already hardening again.

You shook your head weakly, chest heaving, every breath a ragged little sob.

“Rengoku… I can’t… I’m—” The words dissolved into a whimper as he shifted, dragging out halfway only to sink back in with a slow, punishing glide.

“Please,” he pleaded. “One more. Just one more time.”

One more was never truly the last time.

He was too eager. On fire. The Demon Slayer’s stamina was consuming. Never satisfied.

When you finally agreed, he almost impatiently flipped you onto your back with impressive strength, hooking your legs over his shoulders, and drove back into you. Then came the grinding. He enjoyed dragging his hips in filthy circles against you, every ridge of his cock teasing.

When that wasn’t enough, his fingers would join the torment, two thick digits sliding alongside his cock.

He wanted to consume you like you were his last meal on earth.

Teeth grazed your throat, your collarbone, the soft swell of your breast. He marked you with blooming red and purple hickeys that would linger for days. His mouth would swallow every cry, every broken plea, every time you sobbed his name like it was the only word you still remembered.

He fucked you through another shattering orgasm—then another—each one slower, deeper, more devastating than the last, until your body was weak, you no longer caring for the obscene evidence of how many times he’d already filled you.

Only when you were utterly wrecked—unable to let out anything but whines—did he finally let himself go again, burying himself inside you one final time before cumming hard. It spilled from you, dripping down your thighs.

It felt like the two of you had never stopped. Your memory would grow hazy if you tried to recollect it.

When morning finally crept through the window, you woke to exhaustion so bone-deep it felt like gravity had doubled in weight overnight. Every muscle ached, and your body was a canvas of his devotion. Love-bites were scattered across your throat, collarbones; faint fingerprints bruised into your hips; the ache between your legs remained a constant, a throbbing reminder of how thoroughly last night had been.

And still he held you.

Rengoku slept deeply behind you, one arm draped casually across your waist, the other curled beneath your head like a pillow. His flame-bright hair was mussed, strands clinging to his forehead; faint scars scatted across his shoulders and chest, and you noticed a few fresher scratch marks you’d been the culprit of.

You shifted slightly—perhaps to test the soreness—and an involuntary whimper escaped when the movement made fresh heat trickle between your thighs. His arm tightened instinctively, pulling you closer in his sleep.

You let your eyes drift closed again, body sinking back into his embrace. The world outside could wait.

Demons, swords, the journey. 

They could all wait.

[sukunahs]

sweet tooth masterlist | ryomen sukuna

wish I could see that it feels much better when I'm with you

pairing: ryomen sukuna x fem!reader (university au)

summary: sukuna has a notorious reputation on campus of being terrifying, but it's hard to be too scared of the guy when he shows up to your family’s failing bakery every day to buy strawberry shortbread.

when your life feels like its falling apart you discover just how sweet he can be.

content: 18+ mdni, eventual smut, university au, FLUFF, angst, humor, slow burn, idiots in love, miscommunication, parental illness/death, grief, money issues, stress and overwork, harassment, introverted reader, both reader and sukuna are kinda insecure in their own way, reader's life is falling apart but sukuna is there to make things better

I'm expecting to write around 20 chapters for this fic!

episode 1: going through it

episode 2: under your spell

episode 3: anyone out there?

episode 4: expectations are too high

episode 5: crush

episode 6: I just don't know right now

episode 7: late nights

episode 8: so come a little closer

episode 9: beating like a hammer

episode 10: stop the world I wanna get off (with you)

episode 11: I'll stand here all night long

episode 12: sugar mice

episode 13: wonderful life

episode 14: how I’ve longed for you

episode 15: tell me that you love me

episode 16: let me always be with you

episode 17 (coming soon!)

Taglist open! Let me know on this post if you want to be added <3

[animedumpfanfics]

This is the cutest fic I’ve read. So wholesome at times.

[whippedspread]

𝔽𝕒𝕥𝕖 𝕒𝕟𝕕 𝔽𝕚𝕣𝕖 𝕀𝕟𝕥𝕖𝕣𝕥𝕨𝕚𝕟𝕖𝕕... ༝༚ ─ ·ঔঌ· ─ ༚༝

Synopsis: You're so tired of the Swordsmith Village. You're tired of the swords, the forging, the springs, and especially the Demon Slayers. You resented them. However, when Rengoku Kyojuro shows up and starts a conversation, asking you to travel with him, can you resent him too? Word Count: 14k (rounded up) Info: 18+ MDNI; fem!reader; slow burn; yearning; smut; talkative/dirty talk Rengoku; fingering; rough; gentle; overstim; slight edging; begging Rengoku; etc. A/N: don't beat me up, I ended up getting lazier around the end...

༝༚ ─ ·ঔঌ· ─ ༚༝

It was so cold.

Not the sharp, biting kind. No, this cold seemed to linger. It crept into bone and settled there, rebellious and unyielding. Strong enough to kill, maybe, if you weren’t careful.

Winter in Swordsmith Village was always like this.

Steam drifted lazily from hidden bathhouses tucked between buildings, rising in pale ribbons that blurred into the grey sky. Snow lay untouched along rooftops and mountain slopes, settling softly over the world as though trying to disguise it from Demons. Even the air felt different in winter. Quieter. More still (though cold wind would probably be horrible). Each breath you exhaled dissolved before you, a ghost of the warmth that vanished.

It was beautiful, in its own way.

You stood outside your father’s workshop, the wooden doors shut tight behind you. From within came the steady rhythm of hammer against steel, annoyingly relentless. Even through wood and stone, the sound carried. He worked as though forging was his entire world, and everything beyond it—his wife, his daughter–faded into the background.

Per usual.

You pressed your mittened hands together, rubbing them as if the friction alone might coax warmth back into your fingers. It didn’t. The cold slipped easily through wool, unimpressed by your effort.

There weren’t many women in Swordsmith Village. Your mother had followed love here, trading softer (and much warmer) landscapes for the clang of metal and the scent of smoke. She always said she had no regrets.

You weren’t exactly sure you 100% believed her.

Snow gathered around your boots as you waited. And waited. And waited.

You were supposed to deliver the sword today. A job of your father's, which he passed on to you today. He had barely lifted his gaze that morning when he placed it into your arms, already speaking proudly of its perfection. “One of his finest works”, he says. If he had looked a moment longer, he might have noticed the way your knees nearly gave beneath its weight.

More like one of his heaviest works.

You had wanted to protest. To insist that he greet the client himself. To remind him that you were not another apprentice awaiting instruction. But gosh, the words were stuck.

He had sounded almost boyish in his excitement, eyes bright as though he truly believed you would share the same joy. Which really sucked, because you didn’t.

You hated it. The constant forging, journeys, and waiting. He wasn’t a Demon Slayer. He didn’t carry a blade for himself. What if a Demon found him on the road? What if he never returned?

Sigh. This wasn’t the time to think like that.

You shifted your weight, shaking off the snow from your boots before it swallowed them whole. Burying half your face within your scarf, you carved a small frown into the snow with the toe of your foot, then quickly scuffed it away, feeling embarrassed at the childish act.

How long had you been standing here?

The village lay still, broken only by the slow fall of snow. The sword rested against a nearby crate—and you had deliberately left it there. The red and yellow tsuba stood out against the white of the snow, bright and defiant.

Ughhhh, it was so freaking cold–

“Hello.”

You nearly leapt out of your skin, looking up quickly. There wasn’t even a crunch of snow to signal anyone's presence. For a fleeting moment, you wondered if the air had grown warmer. Or perhaps the warmth came from your face, because jumping in front of a stranger isn’t exactly something you pride yourself on.

He stood before you like a burst of flame against the snow. The man’s smile was bright—impossibly so—and it seemed more suited for summer rather than winter. It wasn’t polite, nor restrained, but earnest as though he was genuinely pleased to be standing there. His arms were crossed confidently over his chest, posture straight, shoulders broad. He wasn’t merely tall. No, he was solid too, built like someone who carefully crafted his own strength.

For a moment, you simply stared.

How could you not? His hair, which was bold and untamed, burned gold with streaks of red at the tips, and his eyes were no less striking. Heck, he was handsome, too.

And his outfit— Ah. A Demon Slayer. You, of course, would recognise that uniform anywhere. The dark fabric, the white belt, the air of discipline that clung to it. As if to confirm your realisation, he spoke.

“I’m here for my sword!” His voice was strong. Clear. It carried easily through the cold air, almost startling in its cheerfulness. His words came out more as a declaration than a demand.

You blinked. “It’s… uh… right there,” you murmured, lifting your mittened hand to point toward the blade resting against the crate.

His gaze followed your gesture. Those flame-bright eyes settled on the sheathed weapon. How polite it sat there, with its white scabbard and gold tip. Waiting for him to grab it and leave. Yet, he didn’t grab it. The strange man didn’t even move, actually. Instead, one brow lifted, obviously curious.

“Why is it over there?”

Uh… How exactly were you meant to answer that? It wasn’t as though you could confess the truth. ‘I didn’t feel like holding it, and I never wanted to be waiting in the first place.’ Oh yes, a wonderful first impression. Especially since he looked like the kind of man who could be terrifying if he wished to be.

Ugh. No. That would be absurd. He seemed… kind. More-so.

You buried your face deeper into your scarf, hoping the wool concealed the small blush in your cheeks. “Well,” you muttered at last, avoiding his eyes, “it’s heavy.”

He actually laughed. Not mockingly; not at all. It was as though your answer purely amused him. Without hesitation, he stepped past you toward the waiting blade, snow crunching beneath his boots. He lifted the sword from the crate as though it weighed nothing at all.

You followed him. You weren’t sure why. Perhaps because he moved with such a certainty that standing still felt wrong.

“You’re not accustomed to handling swords,” he observed. It wasn’t a question. Of course it wasn’t. Was it that obvious? He spoke while drawing the blade from its sheath, and the metal slid free with a clean, ringing whisper. Red and black metal shimmered beneath the winter light, his name etched carefully along the steel.

Rengoku Kyojuro.

The letters gleamed as though proud of themselves.

He noticed your stare. With a small, approving nod, he drew the blade fully free, angling it just enough for you to see the craftsmanship clearly. “You appear to be near my age,” he continued, as if this were the most casual conversation ever. “Yet I don’t recall seeing you before.”

“My father’s workshop is some distance from our home. I’m usually helping my mother with the bathhouse. Herbs. Preparation. Stuff like that.”

With a soft click, the blade disappeared back into its sheath. His eyes met yours again, and this time, you were certain—the sudden warmth that surrounded the area was emitting from him. 

“Then perhaps we may call this fate.”

He said it so carelessly. Lightheartedly. Yet, for you, the word settled strangely in your stomach. Fate? “Thank you for the sword,” he added, sincerely, dipping his head.

For the first time in your life, you found yourself wanting to sit down and speak with a Demon Slayer. It wasn’t out of obligation, nor out of fear, but curiosity. But once again, words seemed to fail you.

So, instead, you watched him turn. Watched the red at the tips of his hair disappear against the pale sweep of snow. And then he was gone.

Only white remained.

ஜ⁀➴ ♡

“Wash the hot springs. We’re opening soon.”

Your mother’s voice was gentle but unmistakably firm, causing you to groan as you dragged your feet toward the bathhouse. Of all the tasks she could have given you, she just had to choose the most dreadful one.

It had been two days since you delivered the sword.

You might have forgotten the precise shape of his smile. But you had not forgotten his last sentence to you. Nor did you forget his voice every time you imagined it. Fate. You scoffed quietly as you crouched to fill a wooden bucket with warm water. Steam curled around your fingers, the heat clashing almost painfully with the lingering chill in your skin.

Fate.

It had only been a polite conversation. So why did it make such an impact on you?

You had never been the sort to entertain foolish notions. You had laughed at stories of love at first sight. Called them dramatic. Unrealistic, even. And yet… For reasons you could not name, Rengoku Kyojuro refused to leave your mind.

Were you going mad?

The bucket overflowed before you realised it, nearly burning your fingers clean off. Your mother stepped into the room, handing you a sponge with quiet efficiency, noticing your preoccupied state. “Are you well?” she asked softly. “You seem distracted lately.”

She had always been gentle. It was no wonder your father had fallen for her so completely (well, when he isn’t married to his smithing).

Aloud, you sighed. “I was just wondering why we live in a frozen village instead of somewhere warm. Somewhere beautiful like a meadow.”

Your mother smiled at that. “A meadow may be beautiful,” she said, “but it is not nearly as exciting as this place. Here, you see things you would never see elsewhere, don’t you think?” You gave her a sceptical look, which only earned you a playful push against the shoulder. “Patience, my child. Something exciting may be waiting for you.”

“Now,” she added lightly, “hurry with the cleaning. Time and money don’t wait.”

ஜ⁀➴ ♡

You would rather carry a dozen freshly forged blades than scrub another stone tile.

The bathhouse had opened more than two hours ago, and still you weren’t finished. It contained four springs in total—two for men, two for women. You had managed to finish cleaning three and were now experiencing the unfortunate task of cleaning the second men’s bath. Steam hung thick in the air. You had removed your heavier layers, sleeves pushed up as humidity clung to your skin. Compared to this? The winter outside felt like another world entirely.

On your hands and knees, sponge in hand, you scrubbed the smooth stone floor until your arms ached.

At least no one was here, you had just been thinking, especially when you almost slipped. Or so you believed.

“This must be the bathhouse you mentioned!” The voice was unmistakable. After all, you may have forgotten his face, but you still hadn’t gotten to the forgetting-the-voice part. “We meet again!”

Your heart might as well have stopped. Of all the times. Of all the places. Slowly, very—very—slowly, you lifted your head. And there he stood. Or sat? It’s hard to tell when you’re in scrubbing position, and he’s in the water.

Rengoku.

Steam surrounded him, but it didn’t hide much. Even in the humidity, even without the snow to contrast him, he seemed to stand out. Everything you aren’t used to. You see him, leaning forward against the stone edge of the bath, skin dripping and hair plastered to his neck. His muscles rippled, as if begging you to draw attention to them. Um, well, it worked.

Heat rushed to your face. You had been certain, absolutely certain, that this bath had been empty. Had he not seen you? Or had you been too focused to notice him enter?

You shifted into a kneeling position, straightening your spine instinctively as though posture alone could restore any lost dignity.

For a brief, and impossibly noticeable, moment, his eyes moved over you.

Your sleeves were damp. The fabric of your clothes clung stubbornly to your skin due to steam and exertion. A strand of hair had come loose and was stuck against your cheek.

You resisted the urge to fix everything at once. Instead, you ran trembling fingers through your hair, voice quiet. “Hello.”

“Hard at work?”

Goodness, how was he so at ease? Was there truly no trace of awkwardness inside him? No tension in the air? No awareness of how weirdly intimate this felt? Because, believe it, you felt all of those at once.

“I— Yes. Sorry, I hadn’t noticed you come in. Do you… um… would you like me to leave?”

He barked out a laugh. “I’ve been here for quite some time! You were so focused that I assumed it was best not to interrupt.”

So, when was someone going to fly from the sky and slap you unconscious? Knowing that was somehow 10x worse. You tugged at your sleeve nervously, staring very hard at the sponge in your hand.

“Don’t let it bother you,” he continued warmly. “It's inspiring, really, to watch someone get a job done.”

Did your pulse just stutter?

He shifted slightly, pushing more weight on one arm. You noticed immediately. “Are you injured?” you blurted. His eyebrows lifted, and you genuinely felt your soul leave your body. “I just meant— You are a Demon Slayer, and your arm, and— I only noticed you were favouring it slightly—”

You wished the bathwater would swallow you whole. Burn you, even. Alive.

But instead of looking weirded out, he looked… amused. Dare you say, pleased? “A keen eye. Yes, I encountered a few demons that attempted to delay my journey. They were unsuccessful.” Of course they were. Look at him. “It’s nothing serious. Just sore. Everything will be easier with my new sword.”

Your father would have loved that statement.

You nodded, unsure what else to say. Combat wasn’t exactly your world. Even though most villagers living in the Swordsmith Village made swords, hardly any were good at fighting, so it’s not like you ever trained or found a natural interest in it.

“If I were a Demon Slayer…” you began quietly, “I’d probably be terrified.”

He hummed in agreement. “That fear never vanishes. One simply chooses to move on, despite it.” His eyes shifted deliberately to the sponge in your hand. “Just as not everyone is suited for battle,” he continued, “not everyone is suited for this.”

“And yet, you seem quite formidable.”

Formidable? At scrubbing stone? “If you faced demons with the same determination,” he continued, lips twitching ever-so-subtly, “I suspect they would retreat.”

Was—

Was he teasing you?

You narrowed your eyes slightly. “I doubt that.”

His smile widened.

“I don’t.” He tilted his head slightly. “Though. If this work isn’t within your preference, what would you rather be doing?”

The question caught you entirely off guard. “What would you rather be doing?” It felt far too personal for a second meeting. That was more of a third-date question, don’t you think? And yet… There was something about him. Maybe how he spoke without hesitation. Or that you couldn’t predict him. Or—the worst of it all—he, more than anything, drew your curiosity. There was a sudden unfamiliarity in your constant world. 

You shifted, sitting cross-legged on the stone floor, pulling the bucket closer and dipping the sponge into the warm water. “I don’t really know,” you admitted. “I suppose… I just want to live somewhere different.” There was no need to look at him to know his gaze was 100% focused on you. “Somewhere without steel. Without swords. Maybe with more opportunity… Somewhere warm.”

“Is it not warm here?”

“We’re in the mountains. The weather changes constantly.” A pause. “I think… perhaps I want to settle someplace steady.”

You exhaled softly, getting a little lost in the thought.

“If I were warm like you, I wouldn’t grow so tired of winter.” Your hand flew to your mouth. Whoah… Had you truly just said that…? Warm like him? This man you’ve only met twice, and definitely never touched? Have you gone mad?

Surprisingly, he didn’t seem all that bothered by the statement. Either that or he had an amazing neutral expression. His eyes, once again, seemed to flicker over you with quiet interest.

“Warm?”

Your ears burned, and you stared at the bucket, willing yourself to dissolve into it. “I meant— yesterday. When you arrived, the air seemed to change. I only meant that.” Did you sound absurd?

Rengoku was still watching you, fingers tapping absently against the stone edge he leaned against. His lips curved.

“I see.”

Relief didn’t come to you at all. If anything, you felt more uneasy. “If it's change you desire,” he continued smoothly, “then travel with me.”

Your head snapped up. “Absolutely not.”

A hum. “Why not?”

“I have no experience fighting demons. I would be useless—”

“I didn’t say anything about fighting,” he interrupted. He ran a hand through his hair as he spoke, entirely unbothered, and looking rather pleasant to the eye through the action. Um… Ahem. You digress. “I have a mission nearby before returning to the Estate. You should accompany me. See if you enjoy the change of scenery.”

His gaze sharpened slightly, intent and confident. “I will, of course, ensure your safety.” The certainty in his voice was unnervingly sincere. “The villagers speak highly of you. They say you’re very skilled with herbs.”

You froze. “How would you even know that?”

“I asked.”

Of course he did.

“I’m hardly skilled,” you muttered, trying not to sound bitter. “I only know enough to help my father when he neglects his health.”

“It would still be useful.”

“I’m not going.”

For the first time since you’ve met him (well, the two days of knowing him), he sighed.  Not dramatically, but with clear disappointment. It felt strange to hear such a sound come from him. “I’ll be remaining in the village for three more days,” he said after a moment. “Spend time with me during that period.”

That was not a request. It was a hopeful wish, an offer. “Allow me to attempt to persuade you.”

You frowned. There was no persuading you. You wanted nothing to do with Demon Slayers. Nothing to do with broken blades and blood and villagers who worked themselves to exhaustion to forge replacements. If his sword shattered—

You forced the thought away.

“I plan to visit the market tomorrow,” he persisted. “Meet me there.”

Words always failed you. He mistook your silence for consideration. With a satisfied nod, he asked a soft, “Very well?”

You glared at him. “…Fine.”

You undoubtedly were planning to ditch him.

ஜ⁀➴ ♡

Bad news. You did not ditch Rengoku.

You had spent the entire day debating and pondering on whether you would go. It had become so obvious that your father noticed before the first bowl of rice was finished. “What's troubling you?” he asked bluntly, pausing mid-bite. Your mother was already watching you from across the table, obviously wondering the same thing.

You only had yourself to blame for their concern, for the food that sat in front of you was barely even picked at. Your chopsticks poked at the mackerel as you muttered, “Nothing…”

Your father snorted. “You’ve never lied well. Speak.”

A sigh escaped you, long and eerily similar to a groan (was that even possible?). Your parents exchanged a glance. “It’s just… someone,” you reluctantly admitted. “A man.”

Your mother leaned forward instantly, intrigue rearranging her expression in a way that made you regret speaking at all. She had been urging you to find a husband, get married, and have children ever since you graduated from the small village school. Like goodness, could a girl live first?

“I keep running into him, and now he wants to see me again.”

“Then see him again,” your mother insisted at once. “It’ll do you good to meet new people.”

“That is not the point,” you protested, stabbing your chopsticks into the rice as though it personally was the culprit behind all this evil. “He is a Demon Slayer. He lives in an entirely different world.”

“And you don’t?” your father asked suddenly.

You looked at him.

He set his chopsticks down, leaning back slightly. “We live in a swordsmithing village,” he pointed out. “Most of the world knows nothing of demons or the men that fight them. We do. You two live in more similar worlds than you think.”

“That’s different,” you argued. “We forge. They fight.”

“And because they fight, you resent them.”

You went still. He continued, voice steady. “I understand why. Broken blades mean sleepless nights. Exhaustion. Strain.” His gaze softened. “But will you spend your life resenting people you have never truly known?”

“Perhaps,” he added, “it’s better to understand something than to remain angry at it.”

You had no response. Words, well, you know the gist.

Which was how you found yourself the next morning, standing in the cold. Waiting, once again, for a Demon Slayer. The market was busy despite the snow. Merchants called out prices. Children ran between stalls. Haze rose from food carts into the pale winter air.

This time, you saw him first.

He stood tall among the crowd, scanning the area as though searching for something specific. Snow dusted his shoulders lightly. His eyes narrowed slightly against the flakes that threatened to bring an army upon him if he didn’t keep moving. He was looking for you.

Before you could overthink it, you rose onto your tiptoes and lifted your arm, waving it erratically. He spotted you immediately.

And, oh, the smile that spread across his face.

It was as though he’d been looking forward to this all day. Your heart definitely skipped a beat.

“We cross paths once more,” he greeted warmly, almost excitedly, as he approached. Before you could react, he reached forward and adjusted your scarf, tightening it carefully against your neck. The wool tickled your skin. “You left it too loose,” he explained. “The wind is unforgiving.”

Was the pink on his cheeks from the cold? He stepped back just enough to look at you properly. “I’m truly pleased you came.”

You nodded. “Yes. Hi again.”

“Shall we get going?”

Once more, you nod.

It felt a little silly that he had asked you to lead, though it was perfectly logical. You knew the market better than he did—even if he’d visited the village once or twice before. After all, you were the one who had grown up weaving through these very stalls. So, naturally, you agreed.

The village market always thrived, regardless of the season. It was no different today. “Warm gloves! Best stitching in the mountains!” “Sweet rice cakes! Freshly made!” “Perfect gifts for a fine couple!”

To be honest, you nearly tripped at that last one. Rengoku, however, only laughed heartily.

He paused at several stalls, examining the tools, fabric, and preserved goods displayed there. When he considered buying, you found yourself stepping in when prices were a bit more exaggerated. “You’re charging him traveller’s rates,” you once purred sweetly to a merchant. “Surely a respected customer deserves better?”

Flattery—when carefully applied—could work wonders.

Eventually, in no time at all, he was carrying a small bag of purchases over his arm. “You negotiate skillfully,” he complimented.

“Of course, I grew up here,” you replied. “If I never learned, we would’ve been robbed blind.”

He smiled at that.

Unfortunately, negotiating did nothing to quiet your hunger. Your stomach growls. “We should get something to eat,” you suggested, glancing back at him.

He hummed, bobbing his head up and down in agreement. “Lead on.”

You guided him toward the nearest stand, the scent of warm batter and sweet bean paste drawing you in. “Two taiyaki, please,” you told the vendor. The merchant worked quickly, pulling golden fish-shaped cakes from their molds and wrapping them in paper. All of a sudden, Rengoku was reaching for his coin pouch, causing you to reach out to interrupt the movement. Your fingers brush against his hand, successfully making him pause.

Ignore how electric the touch felt. How warm his hand was.

“Don’t,” you resisted, “I was the one who suggested finding something to eat.”

He shook his head. “And I invited you to accompany me,” he countered, far too easily. However… It’s not like he pulled away. In fact, his hand remained beneath yours. For a second.

Two.

Long enough for you to know he was fully aware of it and considering it just as much.

Three.

Do you move away? Or does he? Your heart was racing, and you wondered if he felt it. Then, slowly, he moved his hand only enough to place the payment down, his fingers grazing yours as he withdrew.

Deliberate?

Usually, in any other situation, you would’ve clicked your teeth and argued. Maybe say something like, “That is not the same thing.” Yet, for some reason—

You couldn’t. So you let him pay.

He handed you one of the warm pastries, and once more, your fingers brushed against each other as you took it. The heat that seeped into your skin had nothing to do with the taiyaki.

You hated a man who could control his facial expressions, because never before had you been so curious about what someone was thinking.

ஜ⁀➴ ♡

Hours passed. Casual shopping turned into lazy browsing, small talk drifting between the two of you as the market gradually thinned. The merchants were slower now, their voices less eager as the afternoon stretched on. The winter chill should have settled into your bones by now. However, it was chased away by Rengoku’s warmth. Without a conscious thought, you found yourself walking a little closer to him.

“We’ve been here quite a while,” he stated, glancing up at the sky as though he could measure the exact time just by looking at the sun alone. Well, he probably could. “Is there any last place you’d like to visit? If not, we can separate.”

The question was simple, really. Too simple. Easy to answer.

Your feet ached, after all. And you should probably return to the bathhouse to see if help was needed. Though… You didn’t particularly want to leave him.

Was that so bad?

A nearby clothing shop caught your eye. Your mittened hand lifted, pointing in its direction. “One last stop. Winter clothing?” To make it sound less spontaneous (and to hide your obvious goal), your gaze travelled over his attire—the black Demon Slayer uniform, the red, yellow, and white flame-patterned haori draped over his shoulders. “You could use something warmer. Natural heat doesn’t stop a cold, y’know.”

One of his eyebrows arched slightly. You weren’t convincing at all.

“Very well.”

The shop was modest but warm, the scent of oakwood and faint cinnamon lingering in the air. Masked attendants greeted you politely and guided Rengoku toward thicker winter garments. He examined them with mild interest, fingers grazing over fur-lined sleeves and heavier weaves.

Meanwhile, you drifted away. Spring pieces had already been stocked—light fabrics in softer shades, despite the fact that it was December. They were thinner. Smoother. Cuter. Your fingers paused on a dress. It was long. Flowing, too. Simple, but elegant. Silk layered with delicate lace on the sleeves. The kind of garment meant for travel… or fancy occasions, perhaps.

Not something worn often in the Swordsmith Village.

“Caught your eye?” a clerk chimed, appearing at your side with practised timing. “It’s imported from Kyoto. Fine silk. Very refined.” Her eyes flicked toward Rengoku. “Perhaps your husband would appreciate it as well?”

You immediately began waving your hands, trying to physically clear away the misunderstanding. “Oh—no, he’s not—”

“Try it on.” The now-familiar voice came from behind you. Far too close.

You turned quickly, nearly bumping into him as you did so. He looked down at the dress in your hands with quiet consideration. “There is no harm in it,” he said.

“You can’t be serious.”

He shrugged, glancing at the open doors that led to the once-bustling market. “We’ve spent most of the day looking at things I enjoy. Why not indulge yourself before we part?”

That's the thing; It wasn’t indulgence that made you anxious. It was the thought of him seeing you in such an attire. The nervous flutter in your stomach is caused by. But words—as they often did—never took your side.

The attendant guided you gently toward the dressing area, her palm resting lightly at the small of your back. As the curtain closed, you caught Rengoku’s gaze flick briefly towards the gentle touch before he leaned against the wall to wait.

Interesting.

Inside, the clerk worked rather efficiently.

Your outer layers were folded aside. A thin under-robe was adjusted. The silk dress was drawn carefully over your shoulder and smoothed down your arms. She straightened the collar with precise fingers, stepped back as if to admire her work, then came forward again to adjust the fall of the fabric.

“Stand straight.” You did. The obi was tied snugly, not too tight, but tight enough to shape the silhouette. She circled you once more, seeming somewhat satisfied. “Almost done, my dear.” From a small tray, she picked up a hairpin. It was of simple metal, elegant. At its end, a delicate flame design curved upward, thin metallic tassels swaying gently beneath it, glinting in the light.

Oh, gosh.

She slid the pin into your hair.

“There.”

You turned toward the mirror. The woman staring back at you, well… you looked… softer. The silk flowed around your frame, lace brushing your wrists. Feminine in a way you were unaccustomed to seeing. You could never imagine this was the same person who scrubbed springs and scolded her own father.

The clerk urged you to hurry up, to show off your beauty, and even began counting to five rather loudly. Before you could protest, she dramatically pulled the curtain aside.

All you were met with was silence.

He was staring at you. Of course he was, how could he not stare when you were so dressed up? His observation moved slowly—shoulders, sleeves, waist, hem—he didn’t even bother to hide it. In a way, you were getting quite used to the way his eyes travelled over you. Even if you weren’t sure if it was polite or held back a secret intent.

You fidgeted with the fabric until the clerk had to smack your hands away. “Stop that before you ruin the drape.”

It was torture. The silence felt like it was going on for an eternity. What was he thinking?

“You look beautiful,” he, at last, said. Oh, how the words made your heart jump. There was something in the way he said it. “It suits you very well.”

You lowered your head in a poor attempt to hide the pinkening of your cheeks. “Thank you…”

This time, you were certain the tension in the room was a mutual feeling, and not something only you felt. Heck, even the clerk seemed to sense it, because she was beyond convinced that you two were married. “Eyes never lie,” she sang knowingly as she later helped you change back into your usual attire.

It was much quicker to remove the dress compared to putting it on. Rengoku waited near the entrance when you emerged. The clerk waved happily, her day somehow made. Outside, the market had nearly emptied.

“Shall we?” he asked, and you agreed right away. 

Both of you walked in silence for a while. Then, as you neared the very entrance, he turned to you. “It was a pleasant day,” he said. “I hope we can see each other tomorrow as well.”

Instead of answering, you buried your face in your scarf. He paused, clearly hoping you would answer, but when you didn’t, he reached out for your hand. 

Just as quickly as the touch came, it was withdrawn. 

In your palm rested the flame hairpin. Your eyes widened. “When did you buy this?”

“Consider it a memento. Tomorrow, I will find you.”

ஜ⁀➴ ♡

All you could think about was Rengoku Kyojuro.

It was becoming a problem.

You realised it when you nearly burned your hand on a kettle because you had been staring at nothing, for your mind had been dwelling on him instead. When a bath attendant called your name twice before you heard it. When you forgot what you had been doing halfway through doing it.

You told yourself that this was getting ridiculous. The thoughts still refused stop.

Even in the comfort of your own blankets, his name felt heavy. Louder in your mind than the crackle of firewood outside your door.

Rengoku Kyojuro.

You shut your eyes, trying to force yourself to sleep. That only made it worse.

You saw him immediately.

Back in the spring. How the steam rose around him, doing nothing to hazify the vision of his face, or his broad shoulders. The water tracing slow paths down his skin. How his muscles shifted when he moved. Obvious. Formed with time. Delicious.

You hadn’t meant to look. Truly!

You had looked.

His hair, darkened slightly by water, and how the strands clung to him. How his hair looked so different when dried compared to when it was damp.

His eyes—confident, but warm. The way they held you. The way they had held you in the dressing room.

You turned onto your back abruptly, staring at the ceiling.

This was so foolish.

He’s a man. A passing presence. A Demon Slayer who would leave just as easily as he arrived. So why did your heart stutter every time you remembered the way his hand had remained beneath yours?

One second.

Two.

Three.

He hadn’t pulled away. Had he felt it too?

You swallowed, fingers curling into the bedding as if the memory could still be touched. As if warmth still lingered there.

Ughhhhhhh, this was stupid. Dangerous. Why couldn’t he be cruel? Rude? Disrespectful? Rash?

Because the way he had looked at you in that dress—

No.

You rolled onto your side, facing the small dish beside your bed. That's where the hairpin rested, innocent as if it wasn’t a contribution to your inner turmoil. The delicate flame-design caught the candlelight, and it shone a lovely gold.

He had bought it without you noticing. A gift. “A momento.” For you.

You could feel your pulse thudding in your throat. “Tomorrow, I will find you.”

You shifted restlessly beneath the blankets, heat pooling low in your stomach, crawling up your spine. Never before had your room felt so suffocating. You were already imagining tomorrow.

Imagining his voice being closer. His hand being lower. Your name spoken differently. His breath against your neck.

You cleared your throat loudly and forced yourself to stop. How absurd. It was only a day. Only a man. Only a comment about fate.

But when sleep finally dragged you under, it did not offer peace. Because you dreamed about him, too, and this time, his hands didn’t pull away.

ஜ⁀➴ ♡

The next day, the two of you crossed paths, as promised, on your way home. Dusk was beginning to bleed slowly, turning the sky an orange and yellow. You yawned. Around this point, you weren’t exactly sure if you should be expecting to see him, while the other half couldn’t help but hope for it. He’d been on your mind all day, a persistent tingle in your chest and stomach, a restless warmth that refused to settle. 

His shoulder brushed yours as he fell into step beside you. How in the world did he pop out of nowhere without scheduling a meeting spot?

“Hi,” he greeted, dipping his head slightly.

You felt your lips twitch slightly, and you had to force down the urge to smile. So, to make it easier for yourself, you refused to look at him. “It’s a pleasure to be in your presence once more.”

An amused hum. “I told you I would find you.”

Yes. He had. You hadn’t forgotten; you couldn’t forget.

“And you did,” you murmured.

Suddenly, his hand closed around your forearm. His hold wasn’t rough, but it was firm enough to stop you. You turned, startled, and found him closer than expected. There was something in his expression you hadn’t seen before.

An eagerness. Hope.

“Travel with me.”

The words didn’t sound casual this time. Rengoku sounded like he needed you to say yes. Like he’d been wanting to ask you again for ages. His grip tightened slightly.

Your mouth opened, then closed. All you could do was shake your head. “I can’t.”

A frown. “Why not? You wish to see the world, don’t you? Have I not convinced you?”

“It’s not that.” Then what was it? “I just don’t think it’s a good idea.”

A pause.

“What are you afraid of?” he asked. “I told you I would protect you.”

Frustration began to spark. “It’s more than protection, Rengoku.”

Ah— was that your first time saying his name? It felt strange on your tongue. Wrong. Right. Intimate. He must’ve felt something in it too, because he stilled, his hand faltering against your arm. You forced yourself to continue. “The thing is, I don’t belong in your world. I don’t fit in. I’m not meant to follow you while you fight demons and nearly get yourself killed. I already live with that fear here. My friends, family, and everyone risk their lives to deliver and forge the swords you use. I watch them leave. I’ve watched them return injured.”

Your voice sharpened without permission. “And you want me to walk willingly into that?”

Silence settled heavily between you.

“My world?” he repeated quietly.

You flinched. “I didn’t mean— I just—” You exhaled sharply. “I can’t fight. I can’t heal. I can’t craft. I would be… what? Dead weight?”

His jaw tightened. “I told you,” he carefully said, “that I’m not seeking your skills.”

“Then what do you seek?” you challenged.

“Your companionship.”

The word hit harder than it should have. It settled in your stomach, twisting itself until it almost felt like a phantom cramp. You tore your gaze from his, suddenly unable to withstand it. “You don’t need my companionship,” you muttered dryly. “I am just a random village girl.”

“Is that what you think I see?”

You shook your head, frustrated at yourself. At him. At this entire situation. “I can’t just leave my family. What if something happens while I’m gone? What if I return and they are not here? All because I chased some… fleeting desire.”

Snowflakes drifted down, slowly, between you. 

“The Swordsmith Village is protected,” Rengoku shot back. “And this mission won’t even last long. A month, at most.” A beat. His voice lowered, sounding a little… vulnerable. “Please? Just try.”

Please. The word might as well have slapped you in the face.

You hesitated. The truth is, you wanted to go. But wasn’t there too much to risk? What if you resented him later? What if this was nothing more than infatuation? What if you followed him and realised you don’t belong anywhere but here?

Why would a Demon Slayer truly want someone like you?

It wasn’t insecurity. You just… You shook your head again. “I can’t.”

Rengoku’s hand dropped. The absence lingered, cold rushing where warmth had once been. “Very well. If you’re so sure.” He took a step back. “There’s more to us than the roles we may carry, but I won’t force your decision.”

He ran a hand through his hair, gaze unwavering. “I want you to see me as a man,” he said quietly. “Not as a Demon Slayer.”

Hadn’t you? Hadn’t you been doing exactly that?

“If you reconsider… I’ll be at the small cabin outside the village tomorrow. I’ve been wanting to visit it for quite a bit.”

A moment of stillness, his eyes remaining on you as if he wanted to continue. Then he turned and walked away.

Leaving you behind, in the cold.

With a choice.

ஜ⁀➴ ♡

Never before had you been so furious with yourself. You couldn’t be mad at anyone else. Nor could you be upset with fate itself. You couldn’t even bring yourself to be upset with him.

Yourself.

You couldn’t decide if what you’d done was wise or cowardly, and the uncertainty gnawed at you like it was something that was actively eating you alive. It crawled beneath your skin. Refused to let you rest. The way he left replayed over and over again. He hadn’t been angry—not even offended. “I want you to see me as a man.” The words wouldn’t stop echoing.

You buried your face into the pillow of your futon and groaned into the fabric, the sound muffled and raw with despair. The bedding smelled faintly of soap and coconut— comforting, a familiar scent you liked— and yet it did nothing to quiet the storm inside you.

If you were the protagonist of a story, would the readers be screaming at you right now?

You squeezed the pillow tighter, as if it might answer. Just go after him. Just apologize.  Stop overthinking. How ridiculous you must look from the outside, tangled in blankets, and heart racing over a single sentence.

But it wasn’t just a sentence. It was what it meant.

When it came to you, he didn’t even want to be seen as a Demon Slayer. Or was this something typical of him? Maybe you were the only person who’s ever been so indecisive around him. All you knew was that he wanted to be seen as a man. And he would rather wait, holding onto that little bit of hope he had, than hear you refuse again and again. But wouldn’t waiting be worse for him if you chose not to go to that cabin?

Tomorrow would arrive sooner than later.

And you were no closer to a choice.

You lay there staring at nothing, or perhaps at everything you were trying not to think about. A knock broke the silence, and surely would’ve scared you if you didn’t recognise the careful rhythm. You didn’t move.

“I brought you some fruit,” your mother called gently as she slid the door open.

Light from the hallway spilled in behind her, catching on the porcelain plate in her hands, which was almost overflowing with fruit, and your tear-filled eyes. Her expression softened instantly. “Oh,” she breathed.

You hadn’t even realised you were crying, and pathetically wiped your face.

She set the plate aside and knelt before you, presence always comforting. Her thumb brushed against your cheek, hand replacing yours, and catching a tear before it could fall. “My beautiful girl,” she sighed. “What’s troubling you? A man?”

You nodded.

“Did he break your heart?”

“No.” Your voice barely carried, and you were almost too embarrassed to speak. “I think… I mean, if he even likes me romantically— I might have broken his.” The hairpin that rested nearby, on the bedside dish, seemed to twinkle.

Your mother followed your eyes, and her lips curved slightly. “I don’t know what to do,” you admitted. 

“Immature child,” she said, but her tone held no bite. She lifted a slice of apple and pressed it lightly to your lips until you relented and began nibbling on it. The sweetness was an extreme contrast to the situation. “Why won’t you let him chase you? There is no point in running if you don’t even allow yourself to be caught.”

“Because it’s irrational,” you insisted. “He is a Demon Slayer. That life invites danger. It follows him. What if loving him means bringing that danger here? What if I doom us?”

Your voice cracked at the last word.

She frowned, still for a moment. “I understand. In fact, when I met your father, I was petrified.”

You blinked in surprise. “You were?”

A small smile touched her lips. “Of course. I left the city for him and followed him into the mountains. An environment I knew nothing about. Imagine, little old me, entering a life full of swords and whispers of demons.” She gave a quiet laugh. “How we met is silly, too. A slayer had passed by, seeking refuge in my home, with—get this—a broken blade.”

“We fell in love quickly,” she continued, hands placing themself calmly in her lap. “Perhaps the way you and this man have.”

Your neck suddenly burned.

“I nearly sent him away,” she confessed. “I thought loving him would destroy everything. That maybe one day, when he came to visit, he would lead monsters themselves to my door.”

“What changed?” you asked.

“I loved him more than I feared the unknown.”

“I had to choose,” she continued. “Between safety and a life that would always feel unfinished without him. Between comfort and the ache of wondering ‘what if’ forever.” Her fingers brushed a stray strand of hair from your face. “I chose him, and I have never regretted it, dear daughter.”

When she said stuff like that, you always found yourself searching her face for hesitation. There’s no way she moved here and never missed her home. Never yearned for it. Especially in winter. Yet, as usual, there was none.

“But this is different,” you whispered, defence weak. “I barely know him.” 

Pain flicked sharply against your forehead, causing you to yelp and press your fingers against the reddening skin. “Mom. Did you just—”

She had the audacity to blow on her finger like it was a weapon.

“You’re growing older. When will you stop pretending you don’t understand your own heart? Almost every single day, you devour books about distant lands. You stare out the window like the mountains will never be enough for you. You’re restless.”

Each word made you feel more and more uncomfortable.

“And yet,” she went on, “when a brand new world stands before you—in the form of a man–and offers you something more, you just… You don’t even let yourself get a taste.”

She placed another piece of fruit in your hand. “You must like him if you’re crying over this.”

You sniffled. “Maybe a little…?” 

She laughed. “If I had let fear hold me back, you would’ve never been born, y’know. If I can do it, why can’t you?”

Your mother rose, feeling no need to say anything more, and smoothed her skirt. “Sleep,” she instructed. “And when you wake, maybe ask yourself this: are you protecting your family… or protecting yourself from change?”

With a soft smile, she left you with the soft click of the door being the last trace of her presence. To think. To choose. Just like Rengoku had. Except this time, instead of the snow, you sat in the quiet hum of the house, with barely touched fruit on your plate.

You groaned, once again.

ஜ⁀➴ ♡

The lake looked like the edge of the world.

Moonlight spilt silver across its frozen surface, making the thin ice look similar to fractured glass. Snow-dusted mountains loomed beyond it, their peaks rising high into the night sky. The clearing was quiet—much too quiet—the kind of quiet that seemed deafening.

Rengoku stood near the water’s edge, alone.

It had taken you way too long to get here. The terrain was uneven and steep, the path narrow in places where one wrong step could have sent you sliding down frost-slick stone. You had made your decision that morning, then spent the entire day preparing yourself to say it. It had been late afternoon when you felt presentable and courageous enough to leave.

And yet, when you arrived, the moon was already high.

Nevertheless, Rengoku was still waiting.

You saw him before he saw you, a tall silhouette, hair catching dimly in the light, shoulders relaxed but not comfortable. You considered walking up to him slowly to not disturb his thoughts. The universe must’ve disagreed with the idea, because a stick snapped beneath your foot.

His head whipped around. His hand twitched, inched slightly toward where his sword would have been, possibly an instinctive movement.

Then he saw it was you.

The tension melted from his posture so fast that it almost made you feel shy.

“You’re here.” You barely had time to nod before he crossed the distance between you. Hugging you.

The heat of him was overwhelming. He radiated warmth throughout the entire embrace, chest solid beneath your cheek, hand splayed across your back. For one dizzying second, you forgot why you had come. Oh, he smelled like cold air. Like fire. Like cedarwood. Like something only he carried.

You could honestly get used to this.

Then he pulled back, only enough to see your face. “Sorry,” he said, smiling in a way that proved he was, in fact, not sorry. “I’ve been waiting a very long time.”

His arms slipped from your body, and he stepped back. One step. No more. You were still close enough to feel him. “I was beginning to think you wouldn’t come. I must’ve gotten overjoyed”

You had to take a deep breath before answering. “Sorry...” 

Now that he was facing you, there was the opportunity to get a better look at him. His hair was partially disheveled, and his shirt hung open just enough at the collar, revealing the slope of muscle beneath, and a pale scar curved across his collar-bone.

You looked. You absolutely looked. Did he notice?

A rumble echoed across the mountains. Low, distant. Probably lightning. You tore your eyes away from him. You needed a distraction, asap.

“The lake is nearly frozen,” you said quickly, turning on your foot to crouch and poke at the thin ice with a branch. “It’s prettier in the summer.”

“Is it?” he asked, sounding half-interested. When you glanced up, he wasn’t looking at the lake. He was looking at you.

The rumble came again. Louder. No… this can’t be thunder. You’ve heard it before…

“Rengoku.” Your tone had suddenly changed, enough for his eyebrows to rise with concern. The mountain answered for you. No, the sound wasn’t thunder.

You squinted at the mountains, trying to be sure.  Snow was beginning to tear free from the mountainside in waves, greedily devouring everything in its path. The ground trembled under your boots.

Avalanche.

Though you are no Demon Slayer, you grew up in the Swordsmith Village. You had instincts, and when you realised what was happening, you hardly felt the need to think. Your hand grabbed his, and you ran. His fingers closed around yours without hesitation or question, matching your pace even if you stumbled on the incline. Snow thundered closer, as if wanting to join in on this little sprint.

The sound was beginning to sound monstrous. You nearly slipped, and his grip tightened, steadying you. The cabin was only a short climb up a hill, a few feet away. But goodness, right now it seemed like miles.

You slammed the door open and dragged him inside just as snow surged into the clearing. 

After a few seconds, there was silence.

Breathing hard, you rushed to the window. Snow had piled high, nearly halfway up the glass. You cussed.

Rengoku leaned down beside you, shoulder brushing yours. “Are we trapped?” he asked calmly.

“Yes.”

ஜ⁀➴ ♡

The fireplace crackled to life, warmth spreading through the small cabin. Shadows danced along the walls. The space had an intimate touch to it. One bed, one bookshelf, wooden floors, and a single window that, now, is only framed in white.

Rengoku sat on the edge of the bed, thick blankets beneath him. You stood near the fire, hands out to catch the heat, though you were anything but cold. What type of situation was this? Being stuck in a cabin with a guy you…well… were growing an interest in. It seemed like some kind of joke, really. Completely unreal.

“What bad luck… We’ll probably be here for a while,” you muttered, watching the flickering flames.

“Not entirely unfortunate.” He sounded so casual. There was a pause, as if he expected you to say something. Agree with him, maybe? Though, to be blunt, you were absolutely clueless about what he meant. “We can talk,” he emphasised.

You glanced at him. His eyes looked quite similar to the fire in front of you. They seemed to burn just the same. “I won’t ask again. Will you travel with me?”

The question sat between you two like a drawn blade. With a sigh, you moved to sit beside him. Maybe too close. Did you feel bold? Your legs stretched out in front of you, his shoulders nearly brushing yours. “I haven’t fully decided,” you disclosed. “But I don’t… oppose the idea as much.”

He beamed. “It would only be a month. And, of course, I will protect you.”

The way he said it made your chest ache. Words, as they’ve done repeatedly, failed you. So both of you sat in silence. Though once again, there was this… tension. Thicker than the bathhouse. More intense than at the market. Obvious. 

Hadn’t he been acting a little differently today?

“It’s late,” you whispered. “We may need to stay the night.”

“That doesn’t trouble me.” Of course it didn’t. “There’s a washroom, right? You should wash first,” he added, tilting his head toward the sheathed weapon that leaned against the wall. “I’ll tend to my sword.”

“Okay.”

You rose slowly, dismissing yourself.

The washroom was small but carefully kept. A low shelf was stacked with folded cotton towels. A ceramic basin rested beside a large iron pot fitted into a stone hearth, where the coals beneath were still faintly warm from the last visit. A wooden bucket sat nearby, along with a ladle. You knelt beside the hearth and fed it a bit more kindling, coaxing the embers alive until the water began to warm. Steam had started rising slowly, curling into the air.

Your fingers trembled as you untied your outer robe. You told yourself it was from the cold, not from the man in the other room.

Rengoku. He’s just in the other room.

Layer by layer, you folded the garments meticulously and set them aside. The room felt smaller without them, air brushing against your bare skin in a way that made you hyper-aware of everything.

Of him.

You dipped the ladle into the warmed water, pouring it gently over your shoulders. Heat slid down your back in slow rivulets. The water was warm.

But not nearly as warm as the memory of his arms around you. Was he, too, thinking about you just as relentlessly?

Your hair clung damply to your back as you dragged the cloth slowly across your skin.

His arms around you. The solid press of his chest when he’d pulled you close. The heat of his palm on your back. 

The palm on your back.

The way he hadn’t even hesitated before hugging you. How he clearly wasn’t sorry.

You dipped the cloth back into the basin just to give your hands something to do, watching the water ripple violently from the force. You swallowed and wondered if you were perverted, cheeks burning hotter than the steam that curled around you.

The cabin was small enough that if he spoke your name, you would hear it clearly, even with the door shut. Your fingers dragged more slowly this time across your collarbone, and you wondered how his lips would feel there.

Would he notice if your hair remained damp when you stepped out, like you had the image of his wet hair etched into your mind? If your skin was still flushed? If your breathing wasn’t quite steady?

You pressed your lips together. This was ridiculous.

Yet, if he touched you right now—

You squeezed your eyes shut. Stop. You weren’t a shameless woman. You weren’t improper. These thoughts, you needed to control them.

A sudden knock at the door made you jump, the ladle slipping from your fingers and clattering loudly against the wooden floor. “Are you alright?” Rengoku’s voice came from the other side, as if your thinking had summoned him. “I only wanted to be certain everything was working properly. You’ve been inside for quite some time.”

Had you?

When you didn’t answer immediately, the doorknob shifted. You have no idea if he planned to open the door—perhaps he was just testing if it was locked—but it was still enough to remind you how thin the barrier between the two of you truly was. You hurried forward, pulling the door open only a fraction.

Cool air slipped in, making you shiver.

His eyes lifted, then landed on you.

You weren’t exposed, not horribly so, with a sliver of shoulder and collarbone peeking out. You could feel when his gaze moved.

“I… lost track of time,” you hurriedly said. “I’ll finish up now and be as quick as I can.” Trying to save yourself from the pressure and humiliation, you tried to close the door.

His hand caught it. “What was that noise?” he asked, though his tone had subtly changed. He didn’t seem to care.

“You startled me. I dropped the ladle.”

You offered a small, sheepish smile. He didn’t return it, nor did he move. Did his jaw tighten? You froze when Regoku lifted his hand, fingers brushing gently against your cheek. Then the back of his knuckles traced your jaw. His movements weren’t hurried, as though committing it to memory. His thumb lingered just below your ear. 

When his hand slid to the back of your neck, your breathing hitched.

“I’ve tried. I’ve been really patient.” His voice was low, thumb pressing faintly at your nape (goodness, your knees could’ve given away right then and there). His touch was tender enough to allow you to pull away without guilt. Yet, instead, your fingers found the fabric of his shirt.

His eyes searched yours. “Forgive me. Usually, I’m not this lustful.”

His lips crashed into yours, and he pushed the door open the rest of the way. The way he kissed was something you could’ve never predicted. Rengoku always seemed calm and composed. Neutral or joyful. Yet, his lips were hungry, poor on restraint.

You moaned against his lips, and he groaned in response, almost giving the impression that he’d been craving the sound. That he wanted to hear it again.

His hand tightened in your hair, tilting your head just enough to deepen the kiss, his tongue eagerly sliding into your mouth. Heat surged through you so suddenly it felt like stepping into flame. Oh. Your body. It’s on fire.

His hands felt nothing like you’d imagined (if you’d even let yourself imagine that far). They were rough, strong yet gentle. Fingers that wielded swords against demons now traced your skin with a reverence that bordered on greedy. They wanted to devour you whole, to map every curve and hollow with his touch, to commit the silk of your flesh to memory in a single, fevered rush.

But oh, how his touch lingered: a deliberate graze over the swell of your hips, a possessive sweep along the dip of your spine, thumbs rising daringly to circle the sensitive undersides of your breasts.

You had to be the one who broke the kiss first, panting as you tried to regain your breath—your composure.

Rengoku? He didn't feel a need to relent. No, Rengoku's mouth simply began creating a new path. His lips ran down the line of your jaw, where his teeth teased ever so lightly, sending sparks of anticipation racing through your veins. Then lower, to the column of your neck, where his lips pressed hungry, open-mouthed kisses.

He groaned, the sound deep and guttural, and at last, his hands stilled on your waist. Thumbs dug in, firm and insistent, pressing into the sensitive skin just above your hip. Perhaps in an effort to anchor himself against the tide of his own desire.

"I promise... I wanted to court you first..." He lifted his head, his forehead resting against yours. Those golden eyes, usually so hard to figure out, now smouldered with a sudden desperation as they took in the sight of you flustered. "Should I just marry you instead?"

The words hung in the air like a spell, warmth pooling low in your belly despite the absurdity. "Don't say foolish things.”

Rengoku hummed, showing you that he couldn’t care less about how foolish he sounded. His lips brushed the corner of yours in a light kiss before, agonizingly, he pulled away. 

Well, not entirely.

His fingers intertwined with yours as he led you from the washroom and back into the bedroom.

"You don't mind, right...?" Rengoku murmured, guiding you to the bed. He turned you so that you were in front of him, his free hand settling on your shoulder and pressing gently, urging you down until your back met the cool blanket. You sank onto it, exposed and aching, your naked form a stark contrast to his clothed one. "If we move a little fast?"

The question, in the moment, sounded very suggestive. Was he speaking of the pace of the romance, or the rhythm he intended?

His fingers worked deftly at the buttons of his shirt, fabric parting to reveal his torso, which was marked by scars. Clothes did, indeed, seem like a mere hindrance now.

Especially when one of you was already naked.

He shrugged off the shirt, letting it fall forgotten to the floor, his gaze never leaving yours—intense, unwavering, as if daring you to look away. The muscles of his arms flexed as he leaned over you, one knee dipping into the mattress, caging you in.

It took no time at all before his hands were back on you. One trailed up your thigh, excruciatingly slow, fingertips skating over your skin. Higher and higher. Higher until they brushed against your clit.

A gasp tore from your throat, unbidden, as his thumb circled with an almost mocking pressure, not quite delving in, but letting you consider the idea of it.

"Is this too much?" he asked in a whisper, breath ghosting over your ear, lips grazing the shell of it. “Do you want me to stop?"

His thumb never ceased its circling, the movement lazy and insistent, making sure you would stay responsive. He eased his body back just enough to drink you in, eyes raking over every exposed inch splayed beneath him. 

Your breathing came out uneven.

Words always failed you, but you wouldn’t let it this time.

“No.”

The answer slipped out in a shaky pant, barely even comprehensible. Maybe you were perverted. 

Because you loved the way he let out another low groan, as though your refusal to stop was the sweetest permission he’d ever been granted.

His hand shifted—no longer giving you just the teasing pad of his thumb, but two fingers that slid along your slick folds, parting you with care before pressing deeper. “I’ll make you feel good,” Rengoku vowed, his lips hovering a hairsbreadth from yours so every word brushed your mouth like a kiss. “I’ll reward you. I’ll give you every part of me I can—every breath, every heartbeat, every last drop of fire in my veins.”

Then he pushed inside.

A broken whine clawed its way out of your throat as your walls fluttered around the intrusion, stretching to accommodate the thick glide of his fingers. He shuddered above you. “You feel—” His voice cracked, raw wonder bleeding through. “You feel amazing. So warm… so tight… I need it. I need you.”

He curled them slightly on the next slow withdrawal, dragging along that sensitive spot inside. Your hips bucked upward instinctively, chasing the pressure, silently begging for more. Rengoku obliged, pace quickening just enough to turn deliberate into eager, fingers plunging deeper with each measured thrust while his thumb resumed its merciless circling over your clit.

Inside. Out. Inside again.

He was cataloguing you, noting the exact depth that made your breath catch in sharper gasps, the rhythm that drew louder, needier whimpers, the precise pressure that sent tremors racing through your thighs. Every reaction fed him, stoked the blaze in his eyes until they burned brighter than any flame he’d ever wielded.

Your arms wound around his neck, fingers threading into the thick strands at his nape, tugging him down until his mouth crashed back into yours.

This kiss was ravaging—tongues tangling in an insatiable rhythm that matched the one between your legs. He swallowed every sound you made, drank them like they were offerings, his free hand sliding up to cradle the back of your head, holding you exactly where he wanted you as he kissed you back.

Your legs parted wider without a conscious thought, knees falling open in silent invitation, hips rolling up to meet each thrust of his fingers. The wet sound of it filled the room, mingling with your shared, fractured breaths.

He broke the kiss this time. 

“Cum for me,” he pleaded. “I want to feel you cum on my fingers… want to watch your face when you do. Then I’ll give you more. Everything. I swear it.”

His fingers crooked again, pressing hard against that spot while his thumb flicked faster, merciless. Rengoku wanted what he asked for.

“Rengoku…” His name spilled out of you like you were begging him. 

Before you knew it, the relentless thrusting became too much. Pleasure coiled tighter and tighter until it snapped like a wire. Your back arched off the bed in a curve, a broken wail tearing from your throat as your climax crashed through you in shuddering waves. Your thighs trembled uncontrollably, muscles locking and releasing in a frantic rhythm while your walls clenched hard around his fingers, pulsing with every aftershock.

Your hands—still tangled in the wildfire of his hair—tugged hard without meaning to, fingers twisting in the thick strands.

Rengoku didn’t stop. He didn’t even slow.

If anything, he pressed deeper, fingered you faster, drawing and savouring every last tremor and gasp from you. “Yeah,” he rasped, voice thick with desire. “...just like that. You’re such a good girl… Giving it all to me.”

His thumb pressed down harder against your swollen clit in reward, and the sudden spike ripped another shrill, keening cry from deep in your chest. Your hips jerked upward, chasing the overstimulation even as your body tried to shy away from it, caught in the contradiction of too much and not enough.

Only then did he finally slip his fingers free, leaving you empty and fluttering around nothing. A soft, appreciative hum rumbled in his throat as he lifted his hand and licked them clean.

When Rengoku finished, his cleaner hand found one of yours, which had been clinging to the back of his neck. He pried your fingers free and guided them downward.

First, to the white belt of his uniform pants, letting your fingertips trace the cool leather and metal buckle. Letting you feel the faint spasm in his abdomen beneath. Then lower still—over the straining fabric—until your palm met the thick, insistent bulge of his erection.

He was hard. Achingly so.

The length of him throbbed beneath your touch. Even through the layers of cloth, the sheer size of him was more than impressive. The moment your fingers curled instinctively around the outline, his hips rocked forward into your hand in a single, helpless thrust before he forced himself still.

“Look at what you do to me,” he hissed, forehead dropping to rest against yours once more.

He pressed your hand firmer against him, encouraging the slow, exploratory stroke you’d begun. You felt him twitch and swell beneath your palm.

Your hand began to rub. Up, down. Firm enough to make his breath hitch. Teasing enough to drive him mad.

Rengoku's eyes snapped shut, the sharp inhale sounding like a hiss between his teeth, and his head dropped into the curve of your neck. You could feel the flex of his jaw, the way he had to fight from rutting into your palm like a starved man—the friction you so cruelly presented.

Your fingers drifted back up to his belt, and you undid the buckle with a quiet, metallic click. Then your hand found the zipper of his trousers.

He shifted at once, hips settling heavier against you, the bulge of him nudging insistently at your inner thigh through the last thin barrier of fabric.

"Already?" Rengoku gasped against your neck.

You nodded fervently, fingers hooking into the waistband of his pants, and tugged "You may be patient… but I'm not."

Shame on you for staring. Shame on you for the way your entire body clenched with want at the sight.

He was overwhelming. Thick, veined, and arousal obvious as his cock already glistened with beads of precum. When your hand wrapped around it, it jerked hard in your grip, an unimaginable sound ripping from him—half growl, half broken moan.

"I've dreamed of this," you whispered, thumb sweeping over the slick tip. "But I think the real thing is better."

"Don't—" Rengoku’s voice cracked. His hands found your thighs, fingers digging in with barely-leashed strength as he pushed them wider, opening you completely beneath him. "Don't say things like that. It’ll make me… Oh, it’ll make me lose every shred of control I have left.”

“Lose it.”

ஜ⁀➴ ♡

Never underestimate a Demon Slayer's stamina.

First time:

His cock dragged slowly up and down your folds, the blunt head catching against your swollen clit with every deliberate pass. Each glide sent fresh sparks racing through you, pleasure building in maddening waves that made you squirm helplessly beneath him. He’d sometimes linger at your hole, pressing just enough to part you, to stretch you until a soft, broken whimper escaped your lips. Then, withdrawing completely, with a pleased hum, only to resume the torturous rub along your slit.

He was forcing you to wait. To never know when—or if—he would finally push inside. The uncertainty alone had you clenching around nothing, desperate.

This was entirely your fault.

After all, you were the one who had told him—with needy fingers wrapped around his length—to throw away his control. You’d given him a few more strokes before guiding his cockhead in between your legs, pleading as you whispered that you'd beg if that's what it took... 

It was all your fault.

All your fault, really, for the tension that had been growing between you two. From the spring, to the brush of your hands, to the dress, to the hug, to now.

“You want it, don’t you?” he whispered as the tip of his cock dragged, once more, along your soaked folds before settling right at your entrance. He nudged just enough to part you, to let you feel, but held himself there. “Tell me. Tell me you want me inside you.”

Your mind was already hazy and helpless, so the nod came almost on instinct. 

He clicked his teeth, the sound tender. “That’s hardly enough. Use your words.” His hips rocked with the tiniest motion—just enough to rub against your clit again. “I want to hear that pretty voice of yours. Tell me exactly what you need.”

The ache between your legs was starting to become unbearable. You tightened your arms around his neck, clinging to him as your forehead pressed to his shoulder. “I… I want you…” The words came out shaking and barely audible over the pounding of your heart.

In one powerful thrust, he buried himself to the hilt.

You squealed, high and startled, hands dropping and fingers scrabbling at the blanket under you, clutching it for dear life as he filled you completely—stretching you wide. He didn’t pause, didn’t even give you time to adjust; he simply held himself deep, letting you feel every thick inch, every pulsing vein, the way he throbbed inside you like he was made to fit you.

“Fuck,” he breathed against your throat, the rare curse slipping out like an unexpected confession. “You’re so tight… gripping me...” His hands slid under your hips, lifting you slightly so he could sink even deeper, grinding slow circles that made you squeeze your eyes shut.

Tears welled in your eyes, and he began to move. Slow at first, withdrawing himself almost entirely so you could feel every ridge dragging along your sensitive insides, before slamming back in with enough force to make the bed creak. A loud groan ripped out of him as he found his rhythm. Rengoku started out gentle, but then his pace quickened, his hips snapping forward with growing urgency, the wet slap of skin-on-skin filling the room.

He loved how you felt around him. How your clit was greedy for him. His mouth found yours again, tongues tangling as he pounded into you relentlessly. He refused to break away until one particularly deep thrust made your mouth slip—your teeth catching his bottom lip in a sharp, accidental nick.

Blood bloomed, a faint copper tang between you, but the tiny wound only seemed to ignite him further.

“S-sorry.” The words came out broken.

He didn’t seem to hear.

His tongue darted out, swiping across the small cut on his lower lip. The sight of it sent a fresh, shameful thrill twisting in your belly, and before you could stammer another apology, he surged forward once more, sealing his mouth over yours in another kiss. All teeth and hunger and forgiveness wrapped in ruin.

Your body was flush against his, every inch pressed impossibly close as he drove into you harder, faster, deeper.

Punishing? Rewarding? The line blurred into irrelevance—each brutal hump sending white-hot jolts of pleasure through you. Lewd, helpless moans escaped from your lips straight into his mouth, and he ate them up like they were the sweetest thing he ever tasted.

His hand found the curve of your back. He pressed there, using the leverage to arch you even further against him. Your breasts flattened against the hard planes of his chest, nipples dragging against sweat-slick skin with every punishing snap of his hips. The new angle tilted your pelvis just right; now every deep plunge dragged the thick ridge of him along that devastating spot inside you, over and over, relentless.

Your head fell back on a broken cry, throat exposed, offering itself without thought. He took the invitation—lips and teeth finding the tender column, sucking hard enough to leave a blooming mark, then soothing the sting with slow, reverent licks. The dual sensation—sharp pain blooming into molten pleasure—made your walls flutter wildly around him, squeezing so tight he groaned against your skin like he’d been struck.

“Fuck—do that again. Squeeze me just like that...”

“Come for me,” he begged.

The tension snapped taut—every muscle in your body drawing tight, thighs trembling, breath freezing in your lungs as the wave crested, higher, higher—

And then you snapped.

A wail as your climax crashed through you, cunt clamping down around him in violent, rhythmic pulses.

He didn’t stop.

He rode you through it, prolonging every shudder, drawing out your pleasure until you were sobbing his name. Only then—only when you were utterly spent in his arms—did he falter.

Second Time:

He asked for another round.

His voice turned softer. “One more,” he pleaded. “I promise I’ll be gentle this time. Slower. I just… I need to feel you again. Please?”

You nodded.

And now you were bent over for him.

Knees braced on the mattress, thighs spread wide, body exposed to his hungry gaze. Your cheek was pressed against the cool pillow, breath coming in shallow pants. Behind you, Rengoku knelt—broad shoulders filling the space, flame-colored hair falling forward as he braced one hand beside your waist and used the other to guide himself.

He didn’t rush.

It was almost worse.

Each retreat felt intentionally cruel, for you were oversensitive, and each re-entry was just as unhurried—pushing back in until he was filling you up, hips rolling in a lazy grind that pressed the base of him against your clit with maddening pressure.

He watched, enjoying the little show in front of him.

Golden eyes were fixed on the place where your bodies joined—on the way your slick folds stretched around him, on the obscene sheen coating him every time he pulled out almost entirely before sliding back in. He watched the way you quivered with every entrance, the way your shoulders shook, the way your fingers tightened and untightened on the sheets of the pillow.

Every slow glide sent aftershocks rippling through already raw nerves; every grind against your clit made fresh tears prick at the corners of your eyes. You were so sensitive now that even the brush of his thighs against the backs of yours felt electric. Soft, helpless sounds spilt from your lips with every breath—whimpers, gasps, half-formed pleas that made no sense but seemed to drive him wild anyway.

“Too much?” he asked softly, though he already knew the answer—knew from the way your hips rocked back to meet him despite the trembling.

You shook your head frantically against the pillow. “N-no… don’t stop…”

He hummed in approval.

His hand drifted lower until his fingers found your hypersensitive clit. Slow, feather-light circles. Barely there, really. Yet, perfectly timed to match his movements. The dual sensation was unbearable.

A particularly roll of his hips made you sob, and he rewarded the sound by grinding against you harder for a heartbeat, letting you feel the full pressure of him pressed right against that swollen G-spot.

His name slipped from your lips again, slurred and exhorting.

Despite it, he kept the pace torturously steady, drawing the pleasure out until it felt endless. Your arms buckled, elbows collapsing until your chest was pressed flat to the mattress, your hips tilting up further.

The new angle left you impossibly revealed.

Rengoku hissed through clenched teeth at the sight alone, rhythm stuttering for the first time since he’d promised gentleness—a single, involuntary snap of his hips that drove him deeper, faster than intended.

The sudden plunge drew out a high-pitched, broken whine from you.

“So pretty…” he groaned, trying his absolute hardest to regain his gentle control. His free hand slid over the soft curve of your ass, kneading it possessively as he leaned over your trembling body. The heat of his chest blanketed your back; sweat-slick skin slid against sweat-slick skin. His thumb, which never left her clit, added more pressure now. The circles turned firm.

Even though it was technically nothing, your entire body jolted at the intensified touch, hips bucking back instinctively. The motion drove you harder onto his cock, squeezing him in a tight pulse that earned a rough, gravelly sound from Rengoku.

He was close.

His thumb pressed harder still. He was chasing his own release, yes. But you? Oh, absolutely not, because he made sure to keep you right there on the brink with him, edging you ruthlessly.

Another grind, hips flush against your bottom, holding there while his thumb flicked once, twice, over your clit.

Your thighs were beginning to shake violently as the pleasure built up, muscles locking as you hovered right at the precipice.

Rengoku came.

His hips snapped forward one final time—harsh, deep, grinding—and he spilt inside you in hot, pulsing waves. Each thick spurt dragged a ragged moan from his throat. You felt every throb, every flood of heat filling you, claiming you so completely that it made fresh tears slip down your cheeks.

Third Time: "One more.”

He was still buried deep inside you, cock twitching with the aftershocks of his release, yet already hardening again.

You shook your head weakly, chest heaving, every breath a ragged little sob.

“Rengoku… I can’t… I’m—” The words dissolved into a whimper as he shifted, dragging out halfway only to sink back in with a slow, punishing glide.

“Please,” he pleaded. “One more. Just one more time.”

One more was never truly the last time.

He was too eager. On fire. The Demon Slayer’s stamina was consuming. Never satisfied.

When you finally agreed, he almost impatiently flipped you onto your back with impressive strength, hooking your legs over his shoulders, and drove back into you. Then came the grinding. He enjoyed dragging his hips in filthy circles against you, every ridge of his cock teasing.

When that wasn’t enough, his fingers would join the torment, two thick digits sliding alongside his cock.

He wanted to consume you like you were his last meal on earth.

Teeth grazed your throat, your collarbone, the soft swell of your breast. He marked you with blooming red and purple hickeys that would linger for days. His mouth would swallow every cry, every broken plea, every time you sobbed his name like it was the only word you still remembered.

He fucked you through another shattering orgasm—then another—each one slower, deeper, more devastating than the last, until your body was weak, you no longer caring for the obscene evidence of how many times he’d already filled you.

Only when you were utterly wrecked—unable to let out anything but whines—did he finally let himself go again, burying himself inside you one final time before cumming hard. It spilled from you, dripping down your thighs.

It felt like the two of you had never stopped. Your memory would grow hazy if you tried to recollect it.

When morning finally crept through the window, you woke to exhaustion so bone-deep it felt like gravity had doubled in weight overnight. Every muscle ached, and your body was a canvas of his devotion. Love-bites were scattered across your throat, collarbones; faint fingerprints bruised into your hips; the ache between your legs remained a constant, a throbbing reminder of how thoroughly last night had been.

And still he held you.

Rengoku slept deeply behind you, one arm draped casually across your waist, the other curled beneath your head like a pillow. His flame-bright hair was mussed, strands clinging to his forehead; faint scars scatted across his shoulders and chest, and you noticed a few fresher scratch marks you’d been the culprit of.

You shifted slightly—perhaps to test the soreness—and an involuntary whimper escaped when the movement made fresh heat trickle between your thighs. His arm tightened instinctively, pulling you closer in his sleep.

You let your eyes drift closed again, body sinking back into his embrace. The world outside could wait.

Demons, swords, the journey. 

They could all wait.

[reignpage]

In which you have reunion sex with hubby, Marine!Toji ;)

“You been letting other men touch this pussy?”

Delirious, you answer with a garbled no.

Toji’s chuckle is mean and condescending, and the dastardly sound shoots straight to your pulsing clit. You cream even more around his massive cock, which stretches you out beyond imagination.

“’course not. This tight,” thrust, “fucking,” thrust!, “cunt,” thrust!, squelch!, squeeeelch!,“only wants me, doesn’t it?” He looks down to where you’re sinfully connected, tongue wetting his bottom lip at the sight of the glistening white ring around his base. “Yeah, doll. Missed you too. Don’t worry, gorgeous -hngh, fuck- g-gonna take care of ya, alright? Sarge’s gonna fuck you real good. You want that, ma?”

“No,” you moan, ass rocking back into his pelvis, chasing the fullness. “Want Toji to fuck me.” A sudden whine escapes you; you swear his cock just got even bigger.

He hooks a thumb into your other hole, keeping you so full you can’t think of anyone but him. Toji drawls, “You got it, babygirl. Just don't be complainin’ when you’re too sore to lift a finger tomorrow.”

“Whatever, you’ll do everything for me anyway.”

Toji grins. “Damn right.”

His hips are relentless — pummelling into your pussy with no mercy, no respect, no consideration for how many orgasms he’s already rammed out of you. Nothing matters more to him than feeling every part of your body, both outside and inside: not the fact that you’re both drowning in sweat, not the stickiness of your combined juices, and especially not the creak in his bones warning him he should be resting, not fucking his wife into the next year.

Reunion sex always turns out like this: rough and messy and ruled by pure, animalistic instinct. Making love and cuddling come later—when you’re too tired to keep your eyes open, when your stomachs are grumbling, and the light filtering through the curtains shifts from streetlight to sunrise.

Hickeys and bite marks litter both your skins. You love covering his new scars with them — something about pretending he hadn’t been somewhere terrifying, doing things he’d never be able to speak of to another soul again, wondering if he’d ever see you.

Most times, he tires himself out and ends up dozing off on your tits or your back, drooling and still balls-deep inside you. Sometimes, however…sometimes he overstimulates himself into an absolute emotional trainwreck.

“Oh god, baby,” he rasps, scarred lips grazing the curve of your neck, tasting the salt on your skin. “I missed ya. Missed you so -hah-fucking much. Thought I’d —fuck, loosen up for me, baby, gonna make me cum too soon— t-thought I’d lose my mind without you. You ain’t mad at me, are ya mama? Ain’t gonna leave, right? Don’t know -ngh- what I’d do without you, baby. God, never gonna -hic!- leave you again. Promise, gorgeous. Ah s-shit, gonna cum.”

Maybe he cries into your hair. Maybe he doesn’t. Whatever the case, he’s here. He’s home. And he’s holding you like you might slip away.

That's all that matters.

Yearner!Toji... an underrated art

[noyaswrld]

Seen some folks on tiktok say they don’t like Connie always being Dominican in x reader fanfics. Me on the other hand??? Baby, give me fourteen of them right now.

[shawtuzi]

ANGELEYES ꨄ ft. connie springer

a/n: she’s finally hereeee omg i haven’t had this much fun writing something in a minute so i hope yall enjoy it <333 also there is quite a bit of spanish dialogue and it is unfortunately from google translate so just bare w me lmao

synopsis: a tale about two childhood best friends who *gasps* turn into lovers hehe

wc: 16k//// cw include: super fluffy in the beginning they’re so cute, pretty angsty in the teenage part bc well . . . they’re teenagers, mentions of connie being a dealer as an adult, a lot of flirting and banter— now for the nsfw part: kissing, connie being a tease, oral f & m!receiving, fingering, connie humps the bed while he eats it, dirty talk in english and spanish, choking, protected sex turned to unprotected sex, finger sucking, slow sex n’ rough sex, connie cums in and on her pussy, cum eating, aftercare!!!

‘sometimes when i’m lonely, i sit and think about him. and it hurts to remember all the good times.’

february 14th, 2007 . . .

“c’mon y/n! i don’t wanna be late for the valentines party!”

“slow down con, you’re walkin’ too fast!” you cried out, little feet trying their absolute best to keep up with connie’s fast strides. the chilly wind whipped around you both, nearly knocking you over. “make sure you hold on tight to your valentines, i’ll be so sad if i don’t get one from you,” connie giggled, referring to the paper bag full of bratz themed valentines for your entire first grade class.

you responded with a nod, and an obnoxious sniffle, the icy breeze making your nose stuffier by the second. connie looked over at you and giggled once more, “you look like a giant pink marshmallow.” you joined him in laughter, mitten covered hand reaching up to adjust the pink wool scarf your mother had recently just bought you around your neck.

you were wearing a pink coat that was a size too big, along with a big fluffy hat and mittens to match. “momma said i had to wear all this if i wanted to walk to school with you.”

speaking of school, it was just right up ahead! just as you were about to cross the street, connie slammed his arm against your chest nearly knocking you over. “we gotta wait for the crossing guard, remember?!” you looked at him in pure confusion before a woman wearing a neon yellow vest approached you both.

“you two ready?” she asked with a sweet smile. immediately you froze up, the stranger danger sirens in your head blaring. “yes, we’re ready! c’mon, y/n, don’t be scared,” connie took your hand in his, his free hand grabbing onto the crossing guards. as you walked across the street you couldn’t help but be jealous at how connie was never shy around strangers, adults especially.

in his eight years of being on this earth, connie has always been a social butterfly. whether it’d be saying hi to strangers at the grocery store or playing freeze tag with a random group of kids at the park, connie was always a friendly soul to be around.

“thank you ma’am, have a happy valentine’s day!” connie beamed at the crossing guard before dragging you up the stairs to the school.

you immediately relaxed at the warmth that greeted you when you stepped inside. “c’mon, i’ll walk ya to class,” connie gave you a small smile, enveloping your hand in his once more. as connie walked you to class, various students from different grades said hello to him, some of the older kids even fist bumped him! it was amazing in your eyes

“lemme help you with your stuff,” he mumbled, setting his own valentines on the ground beside him. as you took off your mittens, connie unzipped your coat and snatched off your hat, grinning when you whined about him messing up your hair. “momma spent a lot of time making sure my hair doesn’t stick up,” you huffed, running your hand over the slicked part of your bun.

after hanging up your backpack and coat on the hooks outside your classroom, you turned around to see connie giving you a toothy smile, spider-man valentine in hand. you gasped, eagerly snatching the small card with a lollipop taped to it out of his hand. “thank you, connie! i can’t wait to eat the sucker!”

“i have something else for you too, but it’s a surprise! i’ll give it to you at the end of the day, i gotta go!” and with that connie gave you a bone crushing hug before literally sprinting to his classroom, which was just a few doors down.

while you were in the first grade, connie was in second. this however didn’t stop him from trying to see you as much as he could! sometimes when his class was in the hall you’d see that bald little head peek from the door, smiling at you while waving. during passing times for lunch or recess, he’d always look for the girl with the greased up face, and multiple bows in her hair—it was usually pretty easy to find you because you were always the line leader.

“come on, y/n! let’s get this valentines party started!” you heard your teacher call out. with one last glance at connie, your grabbed the bag containing your valentines before headlining into your classroom.

being the enthusiastic seven year old you were, you expected to get quite a few valentines from your fellow classmates, but unfortunately that wasn’t the case. you got a total of eight valentines out of the seventeen children in your class—apparently they thought it would be funny to skip over your basket.

this just broke your little heart.

by the time the day ended you were a puffy faced, crying mess. getting only a handful of valentines had put you in a sour mood, a frown etched on your lips for the entirety of the day. connie had noticed this, and for some reason it made his chest feel funny seeing his best friend in such sad spirits.

as you zipped up your coat you were startled by a familiar voice behind you. “hey! how was your valentines party?! ours was awesomeeee, i got so many valentines and candy—o-oh . . . why’re you crying y/n?”

midway through connie’s sentence you had burst into tears once more, fat, hot tears running down your cheeks and onto your coat. “i-i *hiccup* barely got any valentines *sniffle* f-from anyone,” you covered your face with your hands, tears seeping into the fabric of your mittens.

connie’s mind was racing. what would an adult do in this situation, better yet how would his mom handle it?

without thinking he wrapped his arms around you, pulling you impossibly close. his mommas hugs always made him feel better. he just held you for a minute and let you cry, glaring and sticking his tongue out at anyone who stared at you both for too long. “c’mon, let’s go before a teacher comes,” connie mumbled into your hair.

before you could even process what was happening, connie was dragging you away, holding your hand tightly in his. the second you walked outside and saw your mother along with connie’s waiting for you, a fresh batch of tears brimmed your lash line.

“what’s wrong with my baby?” your mother asked, her lips turning into a frown. you didn’t really pay much attention to the conversation, and you didn’t really care now that your momma was there to make things all better. you just jumped into her arms, buried your face in her neck, and cried your heart out.

“she didn’t get a lot of valentines,” connie muttered, grasping onto his mothers hand.

the walk back was pretty silent on your end aside from tiny sniffles and hiccups. connie held your hand the entire way to your apartment, he tried to make conversation but you just weren’t having it. before you knew it you were finally back home.

“this is for you,” connie mumbled, unzipping his backpack to reveal a pink teddy bear, along with a valentine’s day card.

suddenly the world stopped.

you were still as a statue, your lips turning into a pout as connie placed the items in your hands. “f-for me?” you sniffled, hugging the bear to your chest. connie grinned at you, nodding his head bashfully.

“how sweet! say thank you, y/n!”

you were still for a few moments before throwing your arms around connie’s neck, bringing him in for a bone crushing hug. “those other valentines were probably lame, you can have some of mine from the second graders.” that had you squealing so loud bystanders had to cover their ears.

“thank you con, you’re the bestest best friend ever!” you hugged the teddy bear to your chest again, snuggling it extra hard.

watching your mood do a complete three sixty made connie’s heart swell. which was weird. it wasn’t until lately that every time connie saw you his tummy erupted with butterflies, but . . . he actually liked it?

he liked being around you. he liked the way you always smelt like shea butter and fresh laundry, he liked whenever you would share your snack with him on the way home from school, but what he really liked was that you never tried to dim his shine. connie was a hyper kid, very talkative too, and kids were mean to him for no reason sometimes about it, but you . . . you were never mean to him. you always welcome him with open arms and a smile.

that night, connie talked to his momma about that strange feeling he gets in his tummy whenever he sees you—come to find out it’s called a crush.

“¿explica lo que significa de nuevo, mami?” connie asked, taking a sip of his apple juice. connie’s mom laughed, she folded her hands and rested her chin on them.

“it means you like her, and you care about her, and that’s good! y/n is probably still a little young to understand this, and honestly you are too, but i feel like you’re mature enough to know about this kinda thing. maybe one day when you’re older you can tell her, yeah?”

“yeah, maybe. that stuff is gross though.”

february 14, 2014 . . .

“c’monnnn, y/n. ¡date prisa, chica, date prisa! we’re gonna be late!”

“i know, i know i’m sorry! i totally overslept,” you called out to connie, securing your scarf around you neck. your nose scrunched at the wind that whipped at your face, your lips already beginning to feel dry.

on the decent down the stairs to the sidewalk you nearly slipped, almost busting your butt. “dios mío,” he chuckled, extending his hand to help you down the rest of the way. you quietly thanked him, ignoring the warmth flaring in your cheeks. connie hooked his arm around yours, “hold on to me, i don’t want you to slip again.”

you didn’t protest, you just nodded and quietly thanked him once again. the walk to your school was silent until connie spoke up, “happy valentine’s day.” you looked up at him, giving him a small smile and little nudge to the side. “happy valentine’s day, connie.”

trying to sound as nonchalant as possible connie said, “did you buy any roses to give to anyone? i heard today at nine is the last time to do it.” you quickly responded with a no, your eyes trailing down to the gravel below you.

“do you think you’ll get any?”

you thought to yourself for a moment before shaking your head, “nah i don’t expect it, but that’s okay.” you weren’t bothered by it completely, but you’d be lying if you said you weren’t jealous of the girls who talked about getting roses from their crushes. but all was well, your plan for the day was to bury your nose in the latest romantic novel you purchased. the book was probably a little mature for you, but hey, a little make out scene between two star crossed lovers here and there never hurt nobody.

“what about you? did you buy any? plan to receive any?”

you rolled your eyes when connie burst out laughing, nearly stopping your walk entirely to catch his breath. “you’re so dam—d-dang annoying . . . you’re so annoying,” you huffed, unlinking your arm from his. connie wrapped an arm around your shoulders, pulling you close to his side once again. “nah, nah, don’t be like that. it’s not my thing though. i didn’t buy any, and i don’t plan to receive any.”

you hummed, kicking a nearby rock with your foot. as you were walking you couldn’t help but smell a faint musky scent. you sniffed, and then sniffed again, this time you got a stronger whiff when you smelt connie. was he wearing . . . cologne?

“is that you smellin’ like that?” you giggled, stuffing your nose in his neck, and sure enough you smelt cologne. for the first time since you were kids you saw connie blush, it was kinda cute, but in a friend way kinda cute. at least that’s what you told yourself.

connie rubbed his glove covered hand over his freshly buzzed hair. “aish! yeah, i put on some cologne, but only because my mom sprayed on a little before i left the house,” he muttered, clearly lying through his teeth.

the truth was, he had asked his mom to buy him some for today, and after all her teasing and pesky questions she caved and got him some. he told her it was for another girl in his class, but really, it was for you to notice and you only.

as the years went by connie’s innocent crush turned into a full blown one. by the time he was thirteen, he kinda had a holy shit moment as he finally admitted to himself that he indeed did have a crush on his best friend. how cliche.

“well it’s nice . . . makes you smell, uhm, grown? i don’t know, but i like it,” your cheeks felt hot as you spoke, and you hoped connie didn’t notice the slight shakiness in your voice as you finished talking. newflash, he noticed, and it filled his chest with so much pride he felt as if his heart was gonna explode.

you noticed the grin on connie’s face and kissed your teeth, “don’t be weird about it, weirdo.” connie smirked, he pulled you in real close for a side hug, then released you. “you’re the weirdo. talkin’ about how i smell ‘grown’, whatever that means,” he cackled, running a few steps ahead of you to avoid getting a smack on the back of the head.

the two of you continued small talk until you, unfortunately, made it to school. “take my hand again, don’t want you to fall in front of everybody right?” seriously, you were this close to punching him. but nonetheless you took his hand, graciously thanking him inside your head for looking out for you.

“i’m gonna go, but i’ll see you at lunch yeah?” connie spoke softly, nudging your side with his elbow. you wanted to be selfish and tell him that he should spend the morning with you, but you bid him farewell nonetheless with a smile on your face. the second he was out of sight a frown took over your lips. you couldn’t help but wonder if he noticed you were wearing a new gloss today, or you changed your perfume scent from lavender to coconut. boys were so hard to read.

the day went by slow, as usual, but when the last period of the day came around things got a little interesting.

“valentine roses! we have valentine roses!” you heard someone shout from the door of your classroom. you took your eyes away from your book to see three students wearing various pink and red articles of clothing. “mm, whatever,” you hummed, looking back down at your book.

a few minutes passed, and just when you thought the commotion was over, one of the students approached you. looking up over your lashes, you raised a brow. “these are for you, all from the same person,” they said, giving you a small smile before handing you three red roses.

your mouth dropped, unable to find the correct words. there was no way this was real right? there was no way someone bought three roses for you. “w-who are these from?” you questioned, running your thumb along the soft petals of the roses. the girl tapped on a heart shaped card that was tied to the stems with a ribbon, “they had the choice to write a message in here. they either signed it or left it anonymoussss.” the girl gave you a tiny smile before walking away, leaving you completely dumbfounded.

with shaky hands, you opened the card.

‘U R 2 CUTE’ the card had said in bold, pink letters, and at the bottom in parentheses it said ‘for real :)’.

you recognized this handwriting all too well.

you nibbled on your bottom lip, a giddy smile making its way onto your lips. you couldn’t believe connie had done this for you. after all the smack talk and fake gag noises about anything romantic, connie was the last person you expected to receive a rose from. and what did he mean by ‘for real’ ? did he think you were cute, did he think you were . . . pretty?

for the rest of the period you sat there, admiring your roses. you had to ask connie about it, you had to! so when the bell rang you made a beeline for connie’s locker. thankfully he was there, unfortunately his friends were too.

when he saw you, he couldn’t help but smile, but then he saw the flowers you were clutching in your hand. there was nooo way he could let his friends find out he actually participated in the rose giveaway.

“um, i’ll see you guys around,” he muttered, slamming his locker shut before making his way over to you. once you were in reach he gently grabbed your wrist, “vamos a casa, m’starving and need a snack.” without any protests you let him lead the way with tiny, minuscule, little hearts in your eyes.

“you really got these for me?” your voice was tiny, barely audible, and if connie wasn’t so close to you he probably wouldn’t have even known you were speaking. he looked at you and then the ground, his cheeks turning bright red. “well, yeah. i thought flowers would be better than another teddy bear.” he smiled at the last part, remembering his last visit to your bedroom.

you were already into plushies and beanie babies big time, and he did no favors adding onto your collection. each of six teddy bears he got you were lined up neatly on your bed, not a head or paw out of place. connie, being the fourteen boy he was of course, wreaked havoc on the poor teddys, tossing them around and making them do obscene positions much to your horror. they all had names as well, but you have yet to reveal them to save yourself from anymore embarrassment.

“this was really nice of you con, i really wasn’t expecting you to do this,” you couldn’t hide the giddiness in your voice as you spoke, your lips breaking into a shy smile. “ay dios mío, please don’t make it a big thing. let’s talk about something else pleaseeeee!” connie dramatically threw his head back, his cheeks so hot if felt as if someone had placed hot coals on them.

“whatever, weirdo.” you giggled, gently backhanding his chest.

after a few minutes, connie pulled out his phone and headphones. “wanna listen to music with me?” you grinned at him, nodding eagerly before taking an earbud. connie only really listened to songs in spanish, and maybe some rnb on side, but he only listened to songs in spanish with you to help you learn the language better. you caught on pretty fast to the basics when you were younger from hearing him and his mom interact with each other, but as you got older connie wanted you to know more. sometimes he’d quiz you and sometimes he’d just say a whole sentence you didn’t understand over and over until you got it right—he was actually a pretty good teacher for a fourteen year old.

as you were walking you kept feeling connie’s fingers brush against your own. your heartbeat quickened, teeth clamping onto your bottom lip as you decided if you should engage or not. i mean, what if it was accident and he got creeped out? but then again, it wasn’t an odd thing for you and connie to hold hands outside of school.

your thoughts were interrupted when connie hooked his pinky around yours, securing them together. you didn’t say anything, too stunned and shy to mutter even a word, but you did give his pinky a squeeze to let him know the action was welcomed.

“did your mom tell you we’re coming over tonight?” connie asked, referring to him and his mother. you smiled at him, and nodded. “of course she did! it’s like—”

“trying saying it in spanish, chica!”

you hummed, racking your brain for the right words and pronunciation. “uhm . . . okay, uh, es como nuestra tradición?” connie tapped on his chin and hummed, he had the most unserious serious look on his face it almost made you laugh.

“¡correcto! i’ve taught my student well,” he smirked, giving your pinky a rough squeeze.

before you knew it you were outside your apartment building. “here’s your card, i’m happy you like the flowers.” there was a slight shake in connie’s hands as he held the card out, thankfully you didn’t seem to notice.

you took the card, an eruption of butterflies swarming in your stomach. without saying anything you wrapped your arms around him, and as you pulled away you left a tiny peck on his cheek. connie’s eyes widened, his body tensing. “t-thanks for the roses n’ the card. i’ll be sure to take care of them and, uh, i guess i’ll see you later!”

“b-bye y/n! prepare to have your butt kicked at mortal combat when i see you!” you laughed on the your way up the stairs, you turned around to give connie one last wave and smile before heading inside.

the second the door to the building shut connie exhaled a deep breath he didn’t even know he was holding. “was that my first kiss? nah, nah, can’t be . . . well, it counts a little bit,” he giggled to himself, turning on his heels to make his way home. the whole walk home all he could think about was the peck on the cheek you gave him.

he took off his glove and pressed his fingers against the spot on his cheek you kissed, he was intrigued to find out the area was a little sticky. he brought his fingers to his nose, senses immediately overwhelmed by the scent of strawberries. ‘strawberry lipgloss . . . nice,’ he thought to himself, a blush creeping up on his cheeks.

the second connie walked in the door of his apartment, he made a beeline for the only person worthy of knowing this information: his mom.

he found her in the kitchen, the smell of her famous pollo guisao wafting into his nose. “estoy casa, mami,” he mumbled, giving her a quick hug from behind. “one sec, hijo, i’m almost done with this. feel free to grab a snack, i bet you’re starving.” connie didn’t need to be told twice, his stomach growling at the thought of some kind of greasy snack.

“alright, that should be good,” she hummed, dusting her hands off on his apron before making her way over to connie, who was munching on a bag of chips. “¿cómo estuvo la escuela?” she asked, taking a seat on the couch next to him. connie hummed, popping another chip into his mouth.

it was silent for a few beats until she smacked him on the back of the head. “w-wha? ow! what was that for, ma?” he whined, rubbing the back of his head. “boy, you know what i wanna know. did you buy the flowers for that girl today?” connie nodded, not being able to fight the grin creeping up on his lips.

“it was y/n, wasn’t it? she’s also the one you wanted to wear cologne for, right?” connie’s jaw dropped, his fist unintentionally crushing the bag of chips he was holding. she smirked at him, reaching a hand over to gently run over his hair. “una madre siempre sabe cuando su hijo está mintiendo, mi amor.”

connie sank further into the couch, his brows furrowing in annoyance. how was she able to read him so easily? “whatever, mami, but yes, it was for her. the b-best part though was when he got to her house she kissed me!—well, on the cheek, but still.”

all connie’s mom could do was smile at her son—ah, young love. “you two are so freakin’ cuteeee!”

“mami pleaseeee stop!” he groaned, covering his face with his hands. her pesky teasing went on for a few more moments before she gave him a serious look. “i have something for you, wait here,” she spoke softly, getting up from the couch and going into her room. when she came back out she was holding a rectangular shaped box.

she sat next to connie and slowly opened the box, revealing a gold cuban link chain. “it was yours dads. i scrounged up every penny i had, and bought it for him on our two year anniversary. él llevó esto a todas partes.” she laughed at the last part, her lips turning into a sad smile.

connie took a closer look at the chain, his lips turning into a frown. “you sure, mama? i know his stuff is important to you,” he whispered, but his mom shook her head, letting out a little sniffle. “i want you to have it, mi cariño . . . he would’ve wanted you to have it. just promise me one thing.” she took the chain out the case, and gently placed it over connie’s head.

“excuse my language when i say this, amor—wear this shit with pride, just like your dad did. he was a good man, with a great life, n’ a good family and i want all the same for you, okay?” she chuckled when she saw a stray tear roll down connie’s cheek. “no tears, amor, no tears. just promise me that one thing.” connie sniffled and nodded his head—

“i promise, mami.”

february 14th, 2018 . . .

“this fuckin’ girl,” connie groaned, his head tilting back to look at the cloudy, grey sky. he had a card in one hand, and a bouquet of flowers in the other for none other than you, his lovely best friend. he settled on a bouquet of pink tulips this year, deciding to switch it up from the usual roses he gave you.

his ears perked up when he heard the sound of someone coming out of your apartment building. there you were, looking cute as cute as ever in your oversized baby pink coat, along with a hat and mittens to match. “i know, i know, i’m sorryyy,” you giggled, taking careful steps down the slippery stairs.

“yeah, yeah whatever,” he smirked, looking you up and down before holding up the card and roses. you gave him a toothy grin, happily accepting the gifts from him. “thank you con, eres tan dulce.”

connie tongued the inside of his cheek, “ah, it’s nothin’. c’mere.” connie reached an arm out, tatted hand gently grabbing your coat to pull you in for a hug. the smell of his cologne had you relaxing into the hug, your arms tightening around him.

if any stranger were to see you two right now, it would obviously look like you two were together, but unfortunately for connie, that was not the case. it gets worse, you actually have a boyfriend. some motherfucker got to you before him, and he gets mad about it everyday because he had so. much. time. to make you his. you’ve been with the guy for nearly seven months and connie’s jealousy never dimmed.

“alright, alright, let’s get going before we miss the bus,” you mumbled into his jacket, ever so slowly detaching yourself from his embrace. connie huffed, but nonetheless followed after you.

you didn’t link arms anymore, and he didn’t wrap his arm around you—apparently that was a big no no for your boyfriend. connie kinda understood him in a way, if you were his and anyone laid a finger on you he’d go ballistic. at least you were able to listen to music together on your walk to the bus stop, and on the ride to school.

you whipped out your phone and headphones, passing one to connie. “man, no you’re always listening to those korean guys. i can’t understand shit they say,” his chest puffed up if faux annoyance because he knew he’d listen to whatever you played anyway. “well, i don’t care about none of that so here.”

“mmcht, fine. una niña tan mimada . . .” he grumbled, playfully side eyeing you. he loved getting on your nerves.

“i’m not spoiled.”

“yes you are.”

“okay and what about it, constance.”

“woah, my government name? my bad buddy, didn’t mean to strike a nerve there!” he chortled, raising his hands in surrender. if you weren’t connected by a pair of headphones you would’ve pushed him. “anyways . . . how did it go with your mom last night? i’m sure she was so pleased to see the new ink on your hand.”

connie’s shoulders slumped, “bro, you would’ve thought i killed someone the way she reacted. she was saying shit in spanish that i didn’t even know existed, shit was terrifying.” you doubled over in laughter at this, your hand slapping against his arm for stability.

“tch, it’s not funny, y/n. my head still hurts from how hard she threw her sandal at me,” he whined, tenderly rubbing the back of his head. he was expecting his mom to get a little upset about the tattoo, but figured maybe she’d show a little mercy because it was a tribute to his father—that was not the case. my mans got a very stern talking to, and a sandal to the back of the head.

“tuh, well that’s what you get! you know how she feels about tattoos.”

with a huff, connie waved you off, choosing to tune into the music blaring in his right ear instead. you didn’t have to wait long for the bus to come, though you didn’t mind the comfortable silence. when connie found two seats, he allowed you to go first. he always sat on the outside of seats, or walked on the side where the street was—he was a gentleman through and through.

“are you and your mom comin’ over tonight? i convinced my mom to take your favoriteeee.” you snorted, and looked over at him, “but, connie . . . you hate salmon.” connie shrugged, nudging your elbow with his own.

“i don’t mind it too bad when i know you like it so much.” his heart clenched at your smile, but the feeling soon faltered when you frowned, your teeth pulling your lip back to pick at the skin. he made a noise of disapproval, “hey, don’t do that. ¿por qué te ves así? ¿qué pasa?”

your lip popped back into place, and connie’s frowned deepened seeing a small speckle of blood. “well, like, my mom will be going over there, just . . . not me. i’m gonna be out with—”

oh.

connie’s lip twitched, and then slowly turned into the fakest smile you’ve ever seen. “that’s . . . fine. it’s fine. i probably won’t stick around for too long anyway.” your eyebrow perked up, “oh?”

he adjusted in his seat, his knee no longer touching yours. you didn’t understand why it bothered you so much, but it did. it bothered you a lot, actually.

you poked his shoulder, “did you have other plans tonight?” connie shrugged, his focus now on plastic wrapped about his healing tattoo. “jean and ony were talking about this party goin’ on tonight, and you know, since you ain’t coming tonight i might as well join em’.”

“yeah, i guess.” you mumbled, shrinking into your seat. connie noticed the change in your body notice immediately. you thought he was mad at you, it was written all over your face. it couldn’t have been further from the truth, his anger lied with your boyfriend, the dickhead breaking your tradition for the first time since you were kids and stealing you away from him for the night.

connie grinned at your pouting lips. he tapped your chin, taking it between his fingers. this was probably crossing a boundary, but you surely weren’t in a rush to pull away from him, at least that’s what it looked like to him.

“no te veas tan triste. nestoy enojado contigo, así que deja de hacer ese puchero, ¿sí?” you hated when he did this, his eye contact was always so intimidating. your nod was slow, like you were still unsure if he was telling the truth or not. he hummed, releasing your chin. “i promise,” he spoke softly, grabbing the gold, cuban link chain around his neck, “that i’m not mad.” thankfully you seemed to relax after that.

connie was a lot of things, but a liar was not one of them. he took pride in being an honest, good man, much like his father was. but sometimes people, and by people he means you, are stubborn and not so easy to convince, so he started this little thing that whenever he grabs his his dads chain it means he is telling the honest truth, and nothing else.

your eyes lit up the tiniest bit, your frown replaced with a small smile. “te creo, connie. te lo prometo.”

“ooo, look at you using your spanish. una chica tan inteligente,” connie smirked, patting your head three times. oh, how connie loved the the language sounded rolling off your tongue. he noticed you sounded more confident nowadays, and it made his heart swell with pride. “heh . . . thank you. now move your behind, this is our stop,” you grumbled, nudging his knee with yours.

when you got off the bus you were elated to see your boyfriend, eren yeager, waiting at the steps for you. you turned to connie, “i’ll see ya later, thanks again for the flowers! i’ll leave them with ms. jones for the day, she’ll watch them for me.”

“i’ll see you at lunch, okay? we’ll get sum to eat, unless your boy toy already has plans with you.” connie’s eyes zeroed in on the brunette behind you, his lips curling up in distaste. he didn’t care for eren if wasn’t obvious. he had a reputation, and not a good one, and you were too sweet to deal with anything of that nature, but somehow the boy swept you off your feet and you were smitten.

when the most popular boy at school asks you to be his girlfriend, you don’t say no, it’s a clear no brainer—connie thought that logic was bullshit, but he kept that comment to himself.

“well lucky for you he didn’t mention any plans about a lunch date, although he didn’t mention dinner plans either . . . but i’m sure it’s just a surprise.” bells went off in connie’s head when you mentioned that, but he stayed silent. you always found the bright side in things, he admired that about you.

“mm, well, i’ll see you later then. have a good rest of your day, princesa.” he squeezed your shoulder tenderly before walking off. he side eyed eren as he walked away, and ugh, the boy just pissed him off so bad. his face looked entirely too nonchalant for having the most beautiful girl in the city all for himself.

the day went by painfully slow, and then it was lunch. connie waited for you in the foyer, already having a place in mind lunch, but you were nowhere to be found. when he checked in with your favorite teacher, ms. jones, he was shocked to find out you had went home early. apparently you weren’t feeling well.

he decided to text you and check up on you, only to find out your phone was on do not disturb. now this was odd. you were never the type to keep your phone on silent, unless absolutely necessary, afraid that you might miss an important call or message.

leaving school early? phone on do not disturb? connie did not like where this was leading.

he opened instagram to look at your profile, and sure enough, his suspicious were confirmed when he saw the highlight you had dedicated to eren was no longer there. connie’s grip on his phone tightened, he was pissed. this man had the audacity to break up with you on valentine’s day? absolutely not.

i’ll spare the details, but just know it was a very eventful lunch period for paradis high.

forty five minutes later . . .

“use this to ice that,” the nurse treating connie muttered, her tone filled with annoyance. connie huffed, slouching back. this folding chair was really starting to hurt his ass.

the door opened and there revealed connie’s very angry mother, her lips balled up so tight it had connie shivering in fear. “Levántate ahora,” she hissed, clenching her fist at her side. connie let out a long sigh, the knot on his head throbbing harder by the minute.

the walk out of the office was very humbling to say the least, his mother wasting no time cursing him out in spanish, and it continued like that until they got home.

“i mean . . . what were you thinking getting into a fight at school?! you know that stays on your record, tu idiota!” connie’s head fell in his hands, an exasperated sigh slipping past his lips. he really didn’t feel like talking about this. he just wanted to see you.

“imagine how y/n will feel knowing you started a fight with her boyfriend, she already must know you don’t like—”

“¡ya ni siquiera están juntos, mami! . . . he broke up up with her.” it was silent for a few beats. “¿lo sabes con seguridad?” connie shrugged, doing his absolute best to explain the situation with you leaving school early, your phone being on do not disturb, and his missing highlight from your instagram. all his poor momma could do was sigh. “this is absolutely no reason to get into a fight, and get suspended over, constance. i’m very disappointed.”

before connie could respond, there was a knock at the door. his mom looked at him and then the door, “yo lo conseguiré, tú quédate aquí. this conversation is not over.” connie slumped back into the couch, his heart stinging at that word ‘disappointed.’

he didn’t pay too much attention to the visitor at the door, until he saw who it was. there you were in your pink and red, heart patterned sweater, the jeans you were once wearing now replaced with hello kitty pajama pants. “i have to run to the store, so i’ll give you two a minute, but make it quick please, y/n. he’s in big trouble.” and with that you two were left alone.

you slowly walked over to his spot on the couch, taking a seat next to him. you sniffled, “ . . . why’d you do that?” he was silent, that only frustrated you more. “do you realize he’ll probably never talk to me again? he already thought i was cheating on him with you, this only made things worse! i know you don’t like the guy, but connie, i like him a lot, i-i think i might even love him.”

this had connie gritting his teeth, and balling up his hands.

“dios mio, y/n, give me a fucking break. you don’t love eren, you don’t even know what love is, you’re seventeen.” this had you scoffing, how dare he try to turn this on you? “and what the hell do you know about love? you’ve never even been in a relationship for goodness sake!”

“i may not have been in a relationship, but i can tell you whatever you and eren had goin’ on was not love. he never took you out, bought you gifts, i mean shit, the only reason the guy posted you online was because you begged him to, and it was only twenty four hour stories. don’t even get me started when he forgot your birthday—”

“that’s enough!” you cried, jumping up in front of him. connie followed suit, his chest nearly touching yours. you two have had your fair share of fights, but this is by far is becoming the most serious one.

“what? can’t handle hearing that your boy toy was a shitty boyfriend?” he hissed, narrowing his eyes at you. your hands balled into fist, your french tips pinching the skin of your palm. “w . . . w-why do you even care so much huh?! why does him breaking up with me effect you so much, con, it’s getting exhausting!”

“¡porq ue estoy enamorado de ti, chica estúpida!”

your body tensed when connie pressed his lips against yours. it was fast, and awkward. it was his first kiss.

when he pulled away, you couldn’t help but feel small under his intense gaze. his cheeks were as red as tomatoes, and his nostrils were flaring—he was breathless. your lips started to wobble, a fresh batch of hot tears brimming your eyes. “connie, i—”

suddenly the door opened, and in walked his mother. he looked at her and then to you. “deberías ir,” he muttered, taking a step back from you. each movement he made was like a hammer to your heart, shattering it slowly with each step.

“m’kay *sniffle* i-i’ll see ya,” your voice cracked at the last part, and it had connie’s heart clenching. this wasn’t supposed to happen, none of this was. when he pictured himself confessing his crush to you, him sending you out of his house a minute later was not apart of the vision.

that night you and connie both cried in your mothers’ laps, hearts aching and yearning to text the other, but too scared to at the same time, afraid it would make things worse.

“lo arruiné todo, mami. probablemente esté muy enojada conmigo,” he muttered, his eyes fluttering shut when he felt her nails scratch at his scalp. she tsked, and shook her head. “you didn’t ruin anything, amor. y/n cares about you so much, you two will work it out. te lo prometo, mi amor.” he muttered out something that she couldn’t quite hear, but she just let him be, allowing him to peacefully fall asleep on her lap.

while connie was asleep he received two messages.

new message from day one : i’m not mad at u, but i think we need to have a talk tmmr about what happened today

new message from day one : i hope you’re okay, ily

you and connie did talk about it, and after a conversation that lasted four hours, you both came to an agreement to not date. connie mentally beat himself up the entire way home afterwards, because that was in fact not how he felt, but just from your tone he figured you weren’t interested. little did he know you were.

after he graduated you two still talked, but not as often, until you just didn’t talk at all. by that time you were freshly graduated, and preparing for a summer full of fun before starting college. you decided to choose one in your city, too scared to leave your momma alone, but you wouldn’t have it any other way.

connie took an interest in selling weed, and has since moved out of his moms apartment, where to? you had no clue.

february 14th, 2024 . . .

“girlllll, let’s go! you got thirty seconds to get down those stairs before i leave you!”

“you better not! it’s hard to get down these stairs with heels on!” you cried out, clutching onto the stair railing as you carefully went down. a sight of relief blew past your lips when you made it down safely. before getting in your friends car you tugged your skirt down, not that there was much to grab onto anyway.

“this skirt is entirely too tiny,” you grumbled, hopping in the passenger seat. anytime you made any sudden movement it was riding up your thick thighs, and you almost took it off, but you knew you’d be crucified by your best friend if you didn’t go through with wearing it.

you were heading out for a night at the club, and since it was valentine’s day, this certain club was allowing ladies to get fifty percent off all drinks.

the entire way there you were fiddling with your skirt, afraid that you were showing too much skin. “don’t worry about your outfit, ‘kay? you look good as fuck, y/n,” you friend grinned at you from the side, giving your arm a tender squeeze. “yeah, you’re right . . . i do look good. really good.”

before you knew it, you had arrived, your stomach doing somersaults when your friend turned the car off. she undid her seatbelt, and turned to you, she set her hands on your shoulders, and looked dead in your eye. “we’re gonna go in there and come out with some cuties, got it?” you let out a shaky breath, nodding your head.

the club was loud, and packed, but nonetheless there were some cute faces in the crowd. luckily your friend found two open seats at the bar, she was quick to secure them and immediately ordered a lemon drop for you. “i feel bad you won’t be able to drink since you drove,” you pouted, resting your arms on the bar.

your friend waved you off, insisting that she wouldn’t need the liquid courage like you would. it was shady, yes, but she wasn’t lying. you weren’t the slickest when it came to men, so it was a good thing you were a pretty girl.

“how’s your mom?” she asked, swiftly thanking the bartender when they set your drink in front of you. you hummed, tapping your fingernails against the glass. “she’s okay, we’re not out of the woods yet, but hopefully she’ll be in remission soon.”

a couple days after your twentieth birthday you had found out your mother was ill, and although you were willing to take a break from college and take care of her full time, she insisted otherwise. ‘this is your time to find yourself, and maybe someone special,’ she had said with tears in her eyes.

your friend gave you a warm smile, “that’s amazing, y/n. i’m really happy for you guys. now where are all the cute . . . guys, ” your brows pulled together as her sentence trailed off, her focus on something, or someone, behind you. “you see somebody?” you asked, taking a sip of your drink.

she nodded with a smirk, “there’s one right behind you. the one in the gallery dept. hoodie. he’s gonna be mine tonight.” you giggled, pushing your hand against the bar to get a look at the mystery man. your eyes widened when you realized it was onyankopon.

“oh . . . i—i know him. i went to school with him,” you muttered, turning your seat back. “were you two high school sweethearts, or something?” she teased, pinching your side. this had you scoffing.

“please. we were never together, but he was friends with my bes—um, ex best friend, connie.” her eyebrows shot up in surprise. “right, right. i remember you mentioning him. do you know if they’re still cool? *gasp* maybe they’re here together! i’ll call him over.”

“n-no, no no no. there’s no need to do that forreal,” it was hard to hide the nervousness in your voice. your friend hummed, tapping on her chin in faux thought. “you’re right, let’s go over there instead,” and with that she was hopping off her seat, her hand wrapping around your forearm.

you were stunned to say the least, your body stiffening as she tried to pull you from the bar stool. “but wait, wait, what if they actually are here together? y’know i haven’t seen connie in years and i just—”

you were silenced by a hand being placed in your face. “my dear y/n, no one on this earth go ahead in life by sitting in their behind, not come onnn.” you whined and protested when pulled again, spluttering out something about how you haven’t finished your drink. it took some serious convincing, and tugging, but your friend eventually got you up, wasting no time making a beeline for ony.

his back was facing you, but that didn’t stop your friend from tapping him on the back. “what’s good—oh, y/n! what’s up, girl?” ony grinned, pulling you in for a hug. you awkwardly hugged him back, giving his back a few gentle pats. “o-oh nothin’ much,” you were very grateful the music was so loud that he couldn’t hear the shakiness in your voice.

“what are you ladies up to tonight?” he asked, beckoning you more into his section. there were a couple other guys, and some girls taking up seats on the lounge couches, all immersed in their own conversations, besides one man. he sat on the farthest end by himself, a blunt perched between two tatted fingers. he was scrolling on his phone, his foot tapping along to the music every now and again.

“oh, you know, just a girls night out. i was actually hoping we could hangout with you? you seem nice . . . really cute too.” you couldn’t help but snort as your friend turned on her charm, ony immediately turning to putty in her hands. “why don’t you go mingle, y/n? i’ll have ony order you another drink, and don’t panic if you see you know who,” she gave you a sly wink before waving you off much to your dismay.

you decided to take a seat next to the loner with the blunt, wondering to yourself if he was even allowed to smoke that inside. your eyes drifted to the rings on his fingers, all coated with tiny diamonds. you leant to the side, close enough to where he could hear you, “i-i like your rings!”

and suddenly you were met with a pair of very familiar brown eyes staring back into yours. “connie . . ? !” you said his name as it were forbidden, your chest tightening. he looked at you for a moment, his brows pulling together as he examined your face, you figured it all clicked for him when he started grinning at you like the cheshire cat.

before you could say another word, he stood up, his reaching down for yours. “uh i—” you looked over at your friend who was already looking right at you. she had a giddy smile on her face, her hand waving in a not so subtle way to tell you to go with him. with no excuse left, you took his hand, the warmth from it sending shivers up your back.

as he lead you out of the section he passed the blunt he was smoking to ony, yelling something about how he’d back right back. while he lead the way, your eyes were focused on the way his hand grasped yours. it felt comforting, familiar.

when you got outside the cool, city air felt like heaven, but it didn’t stop goosebumps from forming on your skin when connie leant against a blacked out vehicle, his eyes zeroing in on yours.

“wow, s’really you.” his head tilted back in a laugh, giving you a small peek at the grills on his teeth. “¿cómo has estado, princesa?” his head tilted, awaiting your answer.

you wanted to speak, you really did, but the words would not leave your mouth. you were stunned to say the least, not only from seeing connie after years, but also how different he looked. he was way buffer, and now had a bit of facial hair, his signature buzzcut stayed the same. what caught your attention the most was the tattoos that covered his arms and neck. his few pictures on social media didn’t do him much justice.

“hello? anybody home?” he chuckled, waving his hand in front of your face. you blinked three times, your mouth opening, then closing.

“hi.”

you sounded strained, almost like you were in pain, it made connie laugh. “hi, y/n.” the way he smiled at you made you feel . . . weird. he was looking at like you like he wanted to devour you whole.

“sorry, it’s uh, it’s been a minute since we’ve seen each other in person. you look . . . different, i-i mean you look the same, but, not? i’m sorry—”

“hey, hey, relax. it’s just me remember? no need to be nervous, even if some time has passed.” he leant forward, grabbing your hand in his, he pulled you closer then let go, your hand twitched at the loss of contact.

he had a point. it was just connie, your childhood best friend, someone you’ve known longer than you haven’t.

you cleared your throat, clasping your hands behind your back. “well, i’ve been good. i’m sure you’ve seen that college is going well. met some new people, had a few failed relationships, you know, typical stuff.”

“thas’ wassup. i heard about your mom, i’m real happy for you y/n. ustedes dos no merecen nada más que bendiciones en esta vida.” warmth spread through your cheeks at his words.

“did that translate, or have you been lacking on your spanish, hm?” he teased, secretly hoping you have in fact been continuing to speak spanish. you giggled, waving him off. “i understand, and i really appreciate it. deberías visitarla algún día, le encantaría verte.”

his grin widened, “yeah? i figured she’d hate me after what happened with you and my mom. i’m sure you’ve heard some awful things from her about me.”

he was correct. whenever his mother did visit his name would somehow come up, and then it would lead to the same speech about how she felt like she failed him and how she hated his life choices. you agreed about the drug selling part, you weren’t very fond he chose that as a source of income, but when it came to the other awful things she spewed about him, you found it rather hard to believe. there was no way she was talking about your connie.

he scratched the back of his neck awkwardly, his eyes drifting to the gravel. “i don’t blame her though, like at all. i gave her hell for months about . . certain things. i thought it was just best to keep my distance after i moved out. she hasn’t reached out to me, and vice versa.” this made you frown, and without thinking you wrapped your arms around him.

“oh, uh, thanks,” he stiff at first, but eventually relaxed into the hug, “feels good to hug you again.” you slowly nodded, sighing with content. it really was nice to be in his embrace again. his smelt different though, more mature, more expensive.

“you know, even though she says all that, she still misses you like crazy. momma told me so herself.” connie squeezed you a bit tighter, his chin finding place at the crown of your hair. “your momma has never been one to lie, so i’ll take your word for it,” he chuckled, leaning back against the car, taking you back with him.

your nose bumped into his sturdy chest, you looked up at him, giving him an apologetic look. he gently squeezed your side, “don’t worry about it.”

it was silent for a few beats. he cocked his head to the side, giving you his signature smirk, “why’re you lookin’ at me like that hm?”

“it’s just really good to see your face . . . i missed you connie. in case you don’t remember, you kinda stopped talking to me the summer i graduated.” connie licked his lips, the feeling of guilt slowly trickling over him. you looked like you had more to say, but as always you cut yourself off, your teeth picking on your bottom lip to stop yourself.

you nearly whimpered when his hand cupped your face, his thumb slowly pulling your bottom lip out. “veo que todavía tienes ese hábito. termina lo que ibas a decir, usa tus palabras.” you melted in his arms. his touch was so gentle, as if he was petting a week old kitten.

you took a deep breath, “well, it hurt connie. it hurt a lot, and like, i felt guilty, but i shouldn’t have felt guilty because . . . well, because i didn’t do anything! you kissed me, and then you ask me to leave like i did something wrong, a-and then when you agree to talk to me you acted like a fucking zombie, just nodding along to everything i said, not explaining literally anything at all. you completely ghosted me after you graduated, and then i have to hear from my mom that you’re fucking dealing?! i mean, what were you even thinking? and i don’t believe the bullshit about it ‘just being weed’, l-like y-you were an actual *sniffle* —

you hadn’t even noticed you were crying, you also hadn’t noticed you stepped three paces away from connie, too wrapped up in your anger. connie let out a shaky sigh, “sigue adelante.” connie was stunned. you were never one to raise your voice at someone, let alone yell at them. in a world full of people who ran over you your whole life, him included, he was more than happy to receive all the pent up anger you had built up.

you sniffled, lips wobbling as you choked down a sob. you probably looked crazy right now, but then again this probably looked like a normal situation seeing as you were outside a nightclub.

“you just left me hanging . . . friends don’t do that connie, n-not best friends that you’ve known longer than you haven’t. there was so much stuff i wanted to talk to you about, but i didn’t even know if you would give me the time of day.” by now you were close to hyperventilating, all the emotions you had been setting aside for years hitting you at once.

connie pushed off the car, outstretching his arms towards you, he pulled you in for a tight embrace, whispering little things in your ear to calm you down. “it’s okay, it’s okay, i’m here. i’m so sorry, you have no idea, cariño.”

“then explain yourself,” your muttered, words muffled by his shirt.

well, here we go.

“i wasn’t . . . i wasn’t being completely honest when we had that conversation. i didn’t want to be just friends, i wanted to be more, but then i thought ‘well, what if things don’t work out?’ so, i pushed you away. you have to believe me when i say dealing was the last thing i wanted to do, but if you want to live a good life as quickly as possible you have to do things you’re not proud of. you gotta understand, i was around some bad people for a while, the kind of bad people that would hurt someone i care about. i didn’t want that to happen, and my mom was already giving me enough shit so i left. i’m so sorry y/n, i wanted to explain but it was just too much, pero estoy aquí ahora.”

you didn’t say anything, so he continued. “el universo nos volvió a reunir por alguna razón, verdad?”

“yeah . . . i guess.”

“so stop those tears. y’know i hate seeing you cry, ‘breaks my heart,” he muttered, wiping a stray tear off your cheek. “do you hate me?” he whispered, and his chest filled with relief when you shook you head.

“nunca podría odiarte, connie”

connie inhaled deeply through his nose, his face moving another inch close to yours. your lips parted, but nothing came out except a weak ‘please’. he hummed, brushing his nose against yours, before softly pressing his lips to yours. it was slow, but desperate, which was expected since he’d been waiting years to do this.

what connie didn’t expect was for you to deepen the kiss. your lips parted, tongue swiping against his bottom lip in urgency. a chuckle rumbled in his chest, how cute.

he grabbed the fat of your hips and switched your positions, your back now pressed against the car. he cupped your jaw, his thumb pressing down on your chin. connie’s tongue traced over your lips before pushing into your mouth, earning a squeak from you.

“heh, te gusta eso?” with a gulp, you nodded. since when did he learn how to do that? it kinda irked you knowing some girl, that wasn’t you experienced these kinds of kisses from connie.

“get outta your head, we’re supposed to be kissing, not thinking,” he muttered against your lips, pushing his front against yours. the cogs in your head started turning when you felt something hard. was he worked up just as much as you?

connie cradled your jaw in both his hands, desperately kissing you with every fiber of his being. “c-con—”

“lo sé, cariño, lo sé. y’have no idea how much i’ve waited for this. from the moment you kissed me on the cheek ten sum years ago, i knew i didn’t wanna feel anyones lips on me, but yours.”

you whimpered. “and as much as i wanna bend you over my car, n’ take you right here, i have a friend who needs to get home safe, and so do you.” he pulled his lips away from yours, a thin line of spit connecting you. he was right, unfortunately.

“i wanna see you again . . . tomorrow, i wanna see you tomorrow. can you make that happen?” you were clutching onto him so tight, afraid he’d slip right through your fingers. connie smirked, his fingers dancing down your hips, and to the tops of your tights. he pulled the material forward before letting it snap back into place, earning a squeak from you.

“i can make that happen. should i roll us a little sum?” you shook your head, “eh, i don’t really like smoking, it makes me paranoid.” you laughed at the last part, and god, it was so nice to hear your laugh. your eyes trailed down to his lower half, then back to his eyes. with a slow bat of your eyes you said, “i like wine though . . . cuanto más dulce, mejor. do what you will with the information.”

connie’s dick twitched. “noted. very much noted, princesa.”

as happy as you were to know you’d be seeing connie again real soon, something kept crossing your mind. “um, connie?” you whispered, playing with the hem of his shirt. he noticed your eyes were avoiding his, you were nervous.

“those people, the bad ones, do you still deal with them?” it was a valid question, connie had a feeling you’d bring it up sooner or later.

“no, i don’t, i got outta that months ago. i found me a new supplier through a friend and now i sell a lil weed on side, nothing big. n’ then once i finish this apprenticeship at this tattoo shop i’m at, i’m done for good. no estaría haciendo todo esto si supiera que tu vida estaría en peligro.”

your eyes fluttered shut when he lips pressed against your forehead. he wrapped his fingers around the gold, cuban link chain around his neck, “you can still be skeptical, i don’t blame you, but just know i treasure your existence too much to play with it like that.”

“i believe you, con,” your voice was small, but connie was still able to hear. he kissed your forehead a final time, “c’mon let’s go inside, it’s cold.” your fingers laced with his, and a warmth that you’ve never felt before coursed throughout your body.

when you got back to his section of the club, you sat in the nearest open spot, your heart beating a mile a minute. after all these years wondering where you two had went wrong, you finally got a little clarity. you still had questions, but decided not to pry. as connie talked about his experience with those certain individuals, you could tell by the strain in his voice that it was a hard topic.

“by the smile on your face, i’m assuming it went well?!” your head whipped to the side to see your friend, a proud smirk on her lips. you nibbled on your lip, your eyes flicking to connie who was sitting by himself once again, blunt in hand. you would definitely call the conversation a success.

february 15th, 2024 . . .

new message from bffie ౨ৎ : i hope you like stella rose black bc that’s what i got

new message from bffie ౨ৎ : send me your addy, ima leave in 20

your stomach twisted in knots as you texted connie your address. you didn’t know what to expect from your hangout, all you knew was that there was going to be sexual tension and wine, a very dangerous combination.

with a shallow exhale, you stood up, quickly making your way over your full body mirror. you examined your outfit carefully in the mirror, it was cute, but something was missing. “ . . . i need a headband,” you muttered, scrambling to find the perfect, pink headband to complete the outfit.

before you knew it, connie was texting you that he was outside your apartment.

“momma! i’m gonna go out with connie for a while, i’ll be back soon.” you pressed a quick kiss to her forehead, and she mumbled something about how you looked like a doll.

when walked outside connie was waiting at the bottom of the stairs for you, flowers and card in hand. “lemme help you down, lord knows what’ll happen since you’re in heels,” he snickered, extending his hand out towards you.

“yeah, yeah, whatever,” you grumbled, taking his hand. you let out a tiny gasp when he pulled you close, his body pressing against yours. “mm, you look cute. i like . . . whatever this is,” he chuckled, pulling at the soft material of your jacket.” you mumbled out a thank you, your eyes drifting to the pink roses he was holding.

he held them out to you, his lips lifting into a sly smile. “i know i’m a day late, but these are for you.” the roses were the prettiest shade of pink, and the card had some cheesy pun about sushi on it. “gracias, connie. they’re beautiful.”

“you’re very welcome, amor. now c’mon, i got your seat all warmed up for ya.” he literally had the seat warmer up full blast, already knowing you were probably freezing your ass off in your skirt.

his car smelt like weed and pine scented air freshener, it was oddly comforting. “feel free to adjust the heat to your liking, it won’t take long to get there though, only like fifteen minutes.” you hummed, placing your hands neatly in your lap.

the ride was pretty silent, but you didn’t mind it because his hand was glued to your thigh the entire time. “m’not making you uncomfortable being too touchy am i?” he spoke softly, giving your thigh a gentle squeeze. you answered with a quick ‘mm mm!’ and eagerly placed both of your hands on top of his.

you were so cute, and you didn’t even know it, you were practically killing the poor guy.

“good . . . good. y’know i’ve come to realize i’m really hands-on when i want something, ‘specially if it’s a pretty girl.” your lips parted, then shut, unable to think of anything to say that wouldn’t make you sound dumb. when did he become such a flirt?

“eh, i guess it just came naturally as i got older.” connie chuckled, and you just about fell out when you realized you had in fact said that out loud. “sorry i didn’t meant to say that out loud, b-but it’s true! you keep leavin’ me flustered it’s annoying!” this had connie laughing so hard the corners of his eyes crinkled shut. “you want me to stop?”

“ . . . no.”

twenty minutes later . . .

“make yourself comfortable and—ah, don’t mind her. she loves meeting new people,” connie chuckled, patting the grey pitbull, that had started sniffing you the second you walked inside, gently on the head. you become quickly enamored with the dog, bending down and cooing at it excitedly. “what’s her name?”

“her name is kali, i got her a few months after i moved in here. she makes good company, very sweet, and very snuggly as you can see.” snuggly was indeed the correct word to use, and you were loving it. “she’s too precious, con, i’m sooo jealous,” you giggled, scratching underneath kali’s chin.

connie’s apartment was very . . . him. dark brown, leather furniture covered the living room, along with a sixty five inch tv mounted on the wall. his windows were huge, giving you a pretty view of the entire city, and along with them was a big glass door that lead to the balcony.

“this is . . wow.” your hands were clasped behind your back as you looked around, what caught your attention next the various pieces of art along the walls. “you’re into buying art?” you giggled, turning around to look back at connie, who was still by the front door. he pursed his lips, a hand coming back to scratch at the back of his neck.

“i dabble in it every now and again. shits way too expensive to have a whole collection,” he chuckled, finally making his way over to you. “which one do you like the most?”

you nibbled on your lip, taking your time to examine and admire each framed piece.

“i think i like . . . this one. the eyes look so real, it almost looks like a picture, and it looks like there’s some emotion in them, but i can’t quite pinpoint it,” you muttered, and connie hummed in agreement. he went on to explain that it was his favorite painting as well, and that it was the cheapest one of the bunch.

“this older guy was having a viewing, and barely anyone was there so he walked me through the whole exhibit. these eyes? they’re his wives, shit, everything he painted in there was of his wife. the day the viewing was held was the anniversary of her death, i thought it was kinda . . beautiful, so i bought it. only cost me fifty bucks, can you believe that?”

your jaw dropped the tiniest bit, you stepped closer the painting, taking in every little detail once again. “so i’m assuming the look in her eyes—it’s love?”

connie nodded, taking a step forward as well, he was behind you now, you could practically feel the warmth radiating off of him. “he said when he was painting this he was picturing the look she gave him on their wedding day, said he saw a spark in her eyes that day that he’d never seen before, and never saw it again. cool as hell right?” he whispered, leaning over to rest his chin on your shoulder.

“y-yeah, s’really cool,” you turned your head, your nose bumping into his, “it makes sense you’d have something like this it, uh, suits you?” connie grinned at your words, now standing up straight.

“thank you, y/n . . . you want some wine?”

you were quick to nod, your feet swiftly turning to follow him to the kitchen. he rummaged through he cabinets and pulled out two glass cups, “now i don’t have wine glasses, so these’ll have to do.”

as he poured the wine, you went ahead and made yourself comfortable on one of the bar stools at the kitchen island. your feet slowly swung back forth, and when connie slid the glass over to you, you wasted no time taking a long sip. “s’good? es lo suficientemente dulce para ti, linda niña?” he asked, leaning on the island.

you felt your cheeks get hot, recalling your comment from last night. “yes, it’s sweet enough, thank you.” you made brief eye contact with connie before looking back down at your glass, twirling it carefully in your hands.

suddenly you blurted out, “you have a lot of tattoos now.”

connie smirked, taking a sip of his own wine. “yes, yes i do. you wanna see them?” you nearly choked on your spit, breaking into a fit of coughs. see connie’s tattoos? you didn’t know if your heart, or your pussy, could handle that, especially at the rate you were drinking this wine.

connie took your silence as a yes, and before you knew it he was shedding his hoodie, leaving him in thin tank top. he was completely jacked now, the swirls of ink around his arms and chest only adding on to his attractiveness. he looked like a completely different person.

“wow, you really wasted no time taking your clothes off huh?” you giggled, raising two fingers to beckon him closer. connie kissed his teeth, he tried his absolute best to look annoyed, but he couldn’t! not when your laugh sounded like the prettiest of symphonies.

“man, whatever. now you wanna see just my arms, or do you want so see everything?” his eyebrows raised up mischievously, and you knew right then and there you were absolutely done for . . . and you were gonna need more wine. “um, i guess everything since you’re already stripping, but gimme some more wine first!”

after a topping off your wine, connie removed his tank top, revealing more inked skin. you eyes were as wide as saucers, your jaw nearly dropped to the floor. “oh my goodness, connie! didn’t this shit hurt?!” without thinking you extended your hand, you ran the tips of your fingers over his chest, shuddering at the thought of a needle piercing his tan skin all over.

connie’s breath hitched. “y-yeah, it hurt like bitch. took two sessions to finish too, but it’s hard right?” your head bobbed up and down in a mindless nod, your hand still glued to to his chest. “this one didn’t hurt too bad,” he grumbled, pulling the waistband of his sweats down slightly to reveal a tattoo that said ‘muérdeme’ right on his v-line.

“bite me . . ?” you mumbled, fingers trailing down to trace over the letters. connie let out a low hum, goosebumps rising all over his skin. “you like it?”

you blindly reached for your glass and took a small sip of the wine, you looked into his eyes while you swallowed before nodding. “i like it a lot, i love all your tattoos, s’making me a little hot actually,” you giggled, leaving connie stunned, and a little turned on. the wine was definitely giving you a little extra confidence.

he took a step towards you, and then another until your knees were touching the tops of his thighs. he didn’t lean down, no, he waited for you to tilt that pretty head up and look him right in his eyes. when you did you wanted to look right back down at the floor. he was staring at you like he wanted to eat you whole.

“should i put my shirt back on, or do you want me to keep it off?” he didn’t laugh, he give you that signature smirk, he looked more serious than you’ve ever seen him. his thumb tapped against your bottom lip, “¿me oyes, linda chica? ¿on o off?”

you let out a shaky breath, “o-off. off please.”

connie was quick to grasp underneath your thighs, and pick you up, his hands moved downwards to cup your ass for a better grip. “if you want me to stop you better tell me now,” he spoke lowly, setting you on the island. before even kissing you the first thing he did was nuzzle his face into your neck, inhaling your familiar, but now slightly different scent.

your hand gently cupped the back of his neck, “you still like me?” yes, you completely ignored what he said, but that question had been burning in your brain since the second you locked eyes with him the previous night.

he lifted his face out of your neck, now standing at his full height. “um . . . did you not see how quick i was to kiss you last night? or how quick i was to start taking off my clothes just now? c’mon, y/n, usa esa linda cabecita.”

your lips pushed into a pout, “don’t be a dick, just confirm it for me so i can have peace of mind.”

“yes, y/n, i do still like you, love in fact. i’ve only ever loved two women in my life, you and my momma, and that’s how it’ll be until i’m in my grave.”

“b-but connie, you’re only twenty four . . . don’t you think you might love another before your time comes?” he quickly shook his head, not even bothering to give your question any thought. “you and my momma. that’s it, that’s all—well, kali too, but you know what i mean,” you both laughed at the last part, but you were soon interrupted by connie smushing his lips into yours.

“mmph! w-well i have no other questions so please continue,” you panted against his lips, you shakily reached your hand down to tug him closer by the waistband of his sweats. your panties were starting to feel uncomfortably sticky, the soft cotton sticky lewdly to your folds.

connie wasted absolutely no time lifting you up once more, he mumbled something about taking you to his bedroom before making the slow, but successful journey there. his lips never once left yours, happily swallowing up every whine and moan you let slip out.

you eventually had to pull away for air, though he did not make it easy, his lips chasing yours each time you pulled away.

“i—i like your room!” your lips parted in a squeal when he dropped you on the bed, your headband flying off somewhere behind you. “not cool, eres tan molesto,” you huffed, sitting up on your elbows.

connie’s chest rumbled with a laugh, you were really too cute.

“what, you think just because i’m in love with you i won’t give you shit? estas muy equivocada, mami.” connie softly grabbed your ankles, pressing a kiss to each one before pulling you forward. “you mind if i peek up under there?” he chuckled, slowly getting on his knees.

“n-no go ahead, just . . . be nice. it’s been a minute since i’ve gotten a wax, m’goin’ for a more natural thing you know?” no, no he didn’t, but he truly didn’t care if you were bald down there or not, he was gonna eat it regardless.

his hand reached up to the button of your skirt, “i don’t care if you got a little hair down there, y/n. we’re both grown, yeah?” as he was speaking he undid the button, then the zipper. you didn’t say anything, instead you just nodded and lifted your hips up, allowing him to slip your skirt off.

connie slowly ran his hands along the insides of your thighs, his mouth watering at the sticky silhouette of your pussy. you gasped when he pulled your panties to the side, your dripping pussy on fully display for him. “dios mio . . . she’s prettier than i thought,” he mumbled, his fingers brushing over the small tufts of hair on your mound.

“constance. don’t p-pet it . . . that’s . . . w-weird . . .” your sentence trailed off into nothingness the second you felt his tongue circle around your clit. he was going soft, so soft you barely felt anything, and then he licked a fat stripe up your folds before sucking your clit into his mouth.

your elbows eventually gave up, and you flopped back on the bed with a soft thud. connie hummed against your pussy, his fingers tugging your panties to the side more to get his proper fill. when he felt your hand nearly smack on top of his head it gave him the biggest fucking ego boost.

“f-faster please,” he heard you sigh out, and he was more than happy to give you what you wanted, except your panties were starting to become a bother. “no problem, gorgeous, i just gotta—”

RIPPPPPPP

you picked your head up to see if your ears were deceiving you, and unfortunately they were not. connie had completely torn your panties in half, he tossed the garment aside like it was nothing and looked back up at you, a dopey smile on his lips. “you have absolutely no manners,” you panted out, too embarrassed to even glance at your torn, discarded panties.

he kissed the inside of your thigh, mumbling something you couldn’t decipher into the skin, probably something snarky knowing him.

“spread your legs mama, i’m gonna take my time with you—unless you have somewhere to be after this?”

you shook your head, grabbing the back of your knees to open them as wide as you could. “i texted my mom not to wait up on the way here, she’ll call if she needs me. now no more talking,” the last part came out rushed, barely audible to connie as you pushed his head between your thighs.

despite the well rounded man he had become, connie was still a little shit at heart, always teasing you even during moments like these. every time you’d moan, he’d moan just as loud, every time your hips raised the slightest he’d push them right back down, rewarding you with a nice pinch on the thigh.

he was a messy eater, not ashamed in the slightest at how sloppy he sounded, but at the same time it didn’t help that you were practically leaking like a faucet either. each time his tongue swiped over your clit another gush of wetness dribbled out of you, waiting to be lapped up by connie.

his cock throbbed in his sweats, tip drooling at the thought of you wrapped around him.

“o-oh connieee,” you gasped out, your head tilting back into the mattress. you were so wrapped up in your pleasure that you hadn’t even realized he pushed you further up the bed, making just enough room to lay between your thighs. the pressure felt sooo nice on his dick—now he could really enjoy this.

“te sientes bien, baby?” he asked, spitting on your clit, earning a shy whine from you. his hips started to rock into the bed, and with each movement it had him moaning into your pussy, the vibrations bringing you closer and closer to your peak.

you moaned out a weak yes, your hips circling around his tongue. he gave you full control now, allowing you to move your hips, and fuck his mouth as you pleased.

you nearly fell out when you suddenly felt him push a finger in, curling it almost instantly. he let you adjust at first, making sure you weren’t hurting at all before adding another finger.

shlick! shlick! shlick!

you were so close, he could feel it. you were dripping all onto the sheets, creating a creamy puddle beneath your ass, and if connie weren’t as pussydrunk as he was, he would’ve definitely teased you for it.

“i-i’m—!”

suddenly a hand wrapped around your throat and connie was towering over you, his chain dangling right over your nose. “do it, i wanna see your face when i make you cum for the first time. ven en mis dedos, princesa, déjame ver esa cara.” your eyes rolled back, hands grasping at connie’s wrist as you came a cry.

“there it is—mierda, such a pretty girl,” he groaned, slowly sliding his fingers out of your pussy. he rubbed three fingers between your folds, simply feeling you up now. “mm, i like your pussy. she’s cute n’ soft, just like you, i can’t get enough of either of ya.” your back arched into his chest when he pinched your clit, “you’re so responsive too.”

“t-thank you, can we—can we do some more?” you could spot the huge print in his sweats from a mile away, and you were just about done waiting to see what was underneath. you cupped his bulge gently, giving it a soft squeeze. “lemme see, con.”

“m’kay, baby,” he muttered, giving your lips three kisses before getting off the bed. with shaky arms you sat up, giving his lower half your full attention.

wow.

“what?”

“what?” you asked, blinking multiple times. he was looking at you like you had sprouted a second head. “you said ‘wow’ and i couldn’t decide if it was a good wow or a bad one, so i’m asking . . . duh.”

you kissed your teeth and scooted closer to the edge of bed, you couldn’t help but internally cringe at the wet sounds your pussy made as you moved. “come closer,” you whispered, moving to sit on your knees. he took two steps forward, his palms feeling clammy when you leant forward, nose nearly touching his cock.

he was hung, thick too, almost intimidatingly thick—but you were no bitch, and you liked a challenge. he let out a small breath through his nose, it sounded like a laugh. “¿crees que puedes manejar eso?” he mused, raising a thick brow. you looked at him through your lashes, “yes.”

your tongue poked out, giving his drooling tip an experimental lick. oh, you liked that.

connie’s head tilted back, his adams apple bopping with you wrapped your lips around him, your tongue caressing the underside of his cock. “d-don’t do too much, i don’t w-want to—fuck, bust in your mouth so . . . soon.” all thoughts, or any concept of one were wiped from connie’s brain when you started to suck, little droplets of drool spilling from your mouth and down his shaft. he was too far gone.

you made a noise around his cock when his hand cupped underneath your jaw, the other finding purchase on top of your head. he found a grip on your hair and slowly started to move his hips. you moaned around his dick, and relaxed your jaw, allowing him to sheath more of his cock down your throat.

“good fuckin’ throat,” he grunted, pushing your head down as low as he could get you. your hands smacked against the bed, hot tears brimming your lash line. you choked around him, and that earned you a very deep groan from connie, his head tilting forward to get a good look at you. you looked stunning with a mouthful of dick, his dick specifically.

he yanked you back by your hair, allowing you to gasp for some very much needed air. “you’re— you’re good at that *pant* so fuckin’ good at it.” he slapped his cock against your lips and cheeks, smearing any excess pre and spit on your lips and chin.

“how do you want it?”

you already had a position in mind. “f-from the side, please.”

that’s how you ended up on your side, stark naked, with connie behind you, his chest feeling scorching hot against your back. “im’a go slow at first, but after that i can’t tell you what’ll happen,” he chuckled, pressing a kiss to your shoulder. he took your hand in his, mumbling lowly for you to hold your leg up for him.

despite being on birth control, you both decided it was best for him to still use a condom, but that logic slowly faded away when you felt his dick slip between your dewy folds, fat tip nudging against your swollen clit. “goddamn, y/n,” he groaned into your shoulder, shallowly his hips back before pushing them forward.

“t-that feels nice,” you hummed, nuzzling your face into his pillow. connie tapped his tip against your sticky clit three times before aligning himself with your entrance, “you ready, mama?” you nodded, moaning out a pathetic plea for him to hurry up.

when he finally pushed inside you both gasped. you could already feel your arm getting weak from holding your leg up, and he wasn’t even fully inside you yet. “i got you,” you grunted, putting his hand over your own.

he started slow at first, real slow, making sure that you felt every vein and ridge that he had to offer you. it didn’t take long for your pussy to adjust, and before you knew it he was giving you slow, but swift thrusts. “joder, eso está apretado,” he all but growled, his fingernails digging into the fat of your thighs.

“y—you don’t know how long i’ve waited for this, to be close like this. eres un sueño, amor.” all you could do was moan, and nod along to his praises. you wished it was possible to be even more physically closer to him than you were, but this would just have to do to.

your hips suddenly had a mind of their own, moving back to meet connie’s swift thrusts. “yeah . . fuck me back, c’mon mami.” his eyes flicked between your bodies, your hips moved back against his with so much desperation it was almost too precious.

“c’mere.” his arm slipped underneath your head, his hand snaking around your throat. he hiked your leg higher, and pulled you closer, fully sheathing his dick inside you. “o-oh!” you squeaked out, hand coming behind you to cup the back of connie’s head. he let out a pretty moan right into your ear, his tongue lolling out to lick over the shell of it.

his pace had changed drastically, he was now fucking you like he hated your guts. his strokes were quick and shallow, his pudgy tip slamming against your g-spot each time he pushed in. you couldn’t help but think how nice this would be raw . . . fuck it.

“c-connie,” you whined, patting the back of his head softly. connie’s thrusts halted, he still deep inside you, cock throbbing almost painfully at how tight you were gripping him. “what’s the matter, mi cariño?”

“off . . . i wan’ you to take the condom off, if that’s okay.” it was silent for few beats, the only thing being heard were your labored breaths. “look at me,” connie whispered, not moving an inch until your eyes were on his. he slowly pulled out, gauging your every reaction as he did so. he quick to rip and condom off, blindly tossing it in the nearby trash can by his bed, and he was even quicker to thrust inside you once more, your mouths dropping in synch. you finally got feel him, all of him.

connie resumed his brutal pace, his grip on your throat tightening the tiniest bit. “h-harder,” you choked out, resting your hand on his. he snickered, squeezing your neck roughly before releasing it, “you like that? you like getting choked by me?” you head shook furiously, a raspy ‘uh huh!’ slipping past your kiss bitten lips.

the squelching of your pussy got louder and louder, alerting connie of your oncoming orgasm. “shit, you’re about to cum—aren’t you?” his question ended with a squeeze to your neck, and that’s what triggered your second orgasm of the night. your eyes crossed and your body spasmed, your pussy was clenching around connie so tightly it almost had him cumming.

“f-fuck yeah, get that nut out, baby. feel good f’me.” connie milked your orgasm as long as he could, even going as far as pushing down on your lower tummy to make sure you got it all out.

your body trembled in his arms, and to soothe your whines he whispered praises left and right into your ear, some in english, some in spanish.

it wasn’t long before that fluttery feeling in your tummy came around again, and just like that you were all over connie, your lips smushing against his sloppily in a clash of tongue and teeth. “l-lets go again, i wan’ you on top,” you words were muffled by lips, but he understood loud and clear.

he wanted you to feel him as deep as possible, so that’s why he had you hanging halfway off the bed, your knees pushed to your ears while he beat your guts in. each clap his thighs against yours had your skin tingling, your nerves feeling as though they were on overdrive.

“ohhh f-fuck,” you sobbed out, tears free falling from your eyes. connie’s thighs were practically shaking. he’d been holding back his load for so long there was no telling when he’d lose it. “tu coño es tan bueno mami, tan tan bueno, me encanta.” his eyes zeroed in on the way your pussy struggled take his cock, your folds were all soaked n’ puffy, you looked divine.

“m-me estás follando tan bien, connie, vas a hacer que me corra otra vez!” your hand smacked against his chest, fingers nails digging harshly into the tatted skin. that had connie pulling out with a hiss, a stray spurt of cum shooting from his tip and onto your tummy.

his head dropped pathetically, chest having as if he just got done running marathon. “can’t say stuff like that, baby, y-you don’t know what you’re doin’ to me,” he grunted, pushing his hips back so his cock was laying directly between your chubby folds. he slowly pushed inside, his eyes fluttering shut at the warmth that enveloped him.

his head drooped down, his lips capturing yours in a searing kiss. “we got all night, con, jus’ do it. i won’t be going anywhere, don’t worry.” you words brought him bliss, a feeling of relief washing over him when he realized you weren’t going to allow him to slip from your fingers ever again.

he rolled his hips forward, teeth clamping onto his bottom lip so hard he was sure to draw blood. his hand found its rightful place around your neck, squeezing it roughly every now and again. “that’s that fuckin’ shit, so damn wet for me, mama,” he cursed, pressing his body into yours. he was so deep now, you could practically feel him in your tummy.

the air was suddenly pushed from your windpipe when connie squeezed your neck, his hips stilling as his orgasm washed over him. he wasn’t quick enough to stop himself from finishing inside, but still he pulled out nonetheless, jerking himself off until the rest of his cum covered your pussy.

connie wiped his forehead slowly with the back of his hand, his body feeling almost completely numb. he smirked at the white substance dripping from your hole, and without even thinking he scooped some up and brought to his lips.

“ugh, connie, don’t be nasty,” you whined and shut your thighs, only for them to be forced open by connie. he swiped his fingers over pussy again, this time he was offering you some. “c’mon just a little taste, you almost begging for some before, so here,” he pushed his fingers closer to your lips. with a huff you wrapped your lips around the digit, your eyes not once leaving his.

he smiled down at you, giving your head a soft pat, “buena chica.”

sometime later . . .

after a much needed shower, and some hot tea to help your sore throat, connie had you bundled up in his bed, wearing nothing but one of his t-shirts. an episode of friends was playing quietly in the back on his tv, but you were more interested in watching the man laying next to you.

“con?” you whispered, poking his naked chest gently. his eyes slowly drifted to you, his lips lifting into a small smile. he had smoked before joining you in bed, the smell of weed still slightly attached to him. he raised a brow at you, “yes?”

“what are we?”

“y/n.”

“yes?”

“you wanna be my girlfriend?”

your lips parted then shut again, too stunned to speak. you couldn’t wrap your head around the situation at all, you went from speaking everyday, to not speaking for years, and now after just reconnecting he was asking you to his girlfriend—literally what the hell.

“yes . . . y-yes i’ll be your girlfriend connie. just stay out of that shit, i want us to be happy, lavish lifestyle or not,” you mumbled, brushing your nose again his. connie gentle stroked your jaw with his thumb, “you don’t gotta worry about me getting back into that, i got too much to lose now.” with a dreamy sigh you nuzzled into his touch, lashes fluttering shut.

that night for the first time in six-something years, connie got a full good nights rest, with you tucked by his side.

[tonycries]

Knight of Roses - G.S.

Synopsis. You, heir to the throne and fated to be married off to a royal you’ve never even met. Gojo Satoru, your personal knight and the one man that will not let this happen. He will not.

Pairing. Gojo Satoru x Reader

Content. MDNI, fem! princess! reader, knight! Gojo, childhood-friends-to-Iovers, PINING, arranged marriages, Naoya is awful, Gojo YEARNS, flower language, politics, slight víolence, slight angst, matíng presses, cervíx kíssing, creampíes, cúmplay, PÚSSYDRÚNK GOJO, oraI (fem rec), he goes FÉRAL, cúmming in his pants, manhandIing, spítting, biiig stretches, dúmbifícation, cúmflation, p talking, p sIapping, overstím, proposals, happy ending, pet names, swéaring.

Word count. 12.7k

A/N. What happens when ya let a girl listen to Golden Brown by The StrangIers.

“You are not to speak, you are not to look.” The king intertwines his decadently ringed fingers on his lap, the royal signet glinting pointedly amongst them. “You are not to so much as breathe in the princess’s way from tomorrow onwards.”

And it’s only with his hard-earned years as your knight that Gojo stops himself from shuddering where he knelt, head bowing to hide the clench in his jaw.

Though, surely something must have flashed across his features - because the next few words have a familiar warmth that twisted Gojo’s heart much more than his royal timbre, “Satoru, my boy, you understand that this is your duty? Yes?”

“I understand.” The answer is instant, as is the raise of the other man’s brows. 

“And do you understand that this marriage is my daughter’s duty?” Your father barks out a disbelieving laugh into the barren throne room. “We wouldn’t want Prince Naoya getting the wrong idea between the princess and a- a knight.” 

The words make his eyes prick wetly, and Gojo can’t help but bend even lower as he whispers. “I…I understand, sir.”

After all, it was the second thing that Gojo Satoru had drilled into his mind from the very moment he first met you.

The first being that he’s loved you ever since. 

Which - retrospectively speaking - might’ve been an incredibly bold declaration coming from the scrawny, fidgeting six-year-old you happened to catch sneaking in and stealing lilac blooms from the royal garden all those years ago.

He remembers how you’d giggled, looking positively like a little blossom in all those gauzy layers of gown. Piping up from under the lilac tree he was latched onto, “My father says that’s not allowed.”

Gojo had fallen then - literally, startling about six feet from the branch he’d been straddling and straight into a scratchy pile of leaves with a dull thud! Back hurting, head spinning, it was a wonder that he hadn’t sprained anything, but right then and there he remembers thinking he was in heaven.

Because here was a pretty lil’ angel his age ogling down at him, speaking in a regal accent so different from his. “My father says that’s not allowed either.”

Your grin beamed down on him and warmed his skin even more scorchingly than the balmy rays of sunlight filtering in through the leaves. And for the first time ever in his life, Gojo Satoru had stuttered. 

“Yer- yer father sounds stupid.” He had spit out, chubby cheeks puffing out the more you stared at him. What? He was sure he looked ridiculous with all those stray sticks and leaves stuck in his cloudy locks, but did you really have to look at him like…that? 

“My father…” Your lips curled even further, as if you knew something he didn’t. “-the king.”

Oh.

Oh. 

And it’s only then that Gojo notices the thin, silver tiara on your head, a delicate wreath of jeweled flowers that twinkled almost as bright as your eyes. It reflected specks of light into his gaze almost mockingly.

Idiot- it felt like someone had thrown a bucket of icy water over him that chilled him to the very bone. 

Even at the tender- well, wise and sensible age of six, Gojo had heard from the adults in town all about the torture chambers and p-prisons that the royal palace was home to. 

Just why did he feel the need to escape from his mother at the market to bring her a batch of those wispy, amethyst flowers anyway? 

Sure, they were her favorite but- the royal family would have his head before even she did. And he didn’t even get to butter her up with the lilacs!

“Forgive me!” Gojo had squeaked out in a cry so shrill that you hurriedly took a step back, eyes widening once the interesting boy in front of you dropped to his hands and knees. “Ah- I mean uh- forgive me, your highness- your princessness.” Drooping into a bow so low that his soft tufts of hair brushed the warm ground. Words tumbling out a mile a minute, “It was an accident- I must’ve been um sleepwalking and I pinky-promise won’t do it again-”

“Those lilacs haven’t bloomed yet, y’know?” You’re cutting him off smoothly, and Gojo remembers feeling a pang of irritation- let him recite his apologies before you throw him in a cell, dammit! Right before flooding with confusion, eyes snapping up to meet yours hesitantly. 

Pointing at a pretty white gazebo, overlooking the lake only a few meters away, you’d shrugged your shoulders. “The garden staff puts the best ones in a bouquet over there.”

At which, he’d replied with an exceptionally eloquent, “Huh?”

“Well, what my father doesn’t know won’t hurt him.”

It’s only after hours upon hours of picking every lilac flower in sight and chatting about all the worldly topics a pair of six-year-olds knew that you were dragged away by one of your worried attendants. 

And he almost felt…sad about it. Weird. 

The yolky setting sun that day cast shadows for Gojo to hide himself in behind one of the gazebo pillars as he peeked at your retreating back. In-step with an older woman muttering about “losing her job oh- the king will banish her.” 

And if there was one thing that he would never forget - well, amongst everything else - it was the way his heart banged selfishly against his ribcage with a repeated turn around turn around turn around-

You did. And you’d smiled, and Gojo hasn’t been able to step away from your side since.

Well, he had to - to go home that evening and proudly proclaim to his thoroughly cross mother how he’ll become a knight, that is. 

Honestly, even the colossal lilac bouquet did little to deter her scoldings about running off. But despite how bad it was - and the fact that he was sentenced to be confined to his room for a whole month - it didn’t matter.

Gojo visited you the next day, too. 

And the day after that, and the day after that- and again and again no matter how many times you’d teased him about coming so often to see you. Because you were right there no matter what royal duties or lessons dictated, waiting in the lilac garden for him. 

Every day.

When Gojo was eighteen he’d applied for a position in the royal guard, breezing through the demonstrations of physical strength because of course, he did. He’d been training for his very day for years.

And it showed - oh, how it showed. 

It showed in the way he stood almost a head above every other man lined up there, veering numerous inches above six feet. All sculptured, Herculean muscles and arms toned from years spent climbing the palace orchards with you. The strongest. 

He considered himself exceedingly humble, too, of course. 

Humble enough to not brag outright in your face once Gojo had climbed the treacherous way into being your personal knight before the age of twenty. 

“Hah, I can tell your father- erm, his majesty all about where you sneak off to now.” Gojo snickered, flicking your forehead in a way that a princess simply shouldn’t be treated. “Perhaps I’ll bargain titles with him- tell the courts about the way you climb trees, and ride horses and-”

“Snitch”

“Harlot.”

“Knave.”

“Hobgoblin.”

“Satoru.” You’d deadpanned up at as six foot four inches of white-haired nuisance clinging onto whimpers out a dramatic ouch, that one hurt. Desperately trying to keep the smile off of your face, “You’re with me each and every single time.”

Well, was. 

It seemed like the king was to be putting a stop to that very, very soon. With your looming- he gulps to keep the leaden ball of tears away from his throat, your engagement. 

“Toru—” Your voice snaps him out of his hazy little reverie, and he finds himself straightening his back into a respectful posture outside of the throne room. Warily eyeing the way you bound up to him, “What did my father want to talk to you about so suddenly?”

“Ah…” Gojo’s throat feels hoarse. Parched. The smile plastering onto his face wobbly, “Just- just security measures for the visitor we’re going to have, your royal highness.”

Your brows quirk upwards, pretty lips falling open just enough for him to realize you were about to comment on his use of that. That title. 

“Now if you pardon this knight, ma’am-” Gojo pipes up before you can bludgeon him with questions, striding down the luxurious hallway to his newly-assigned post at the royal treasury. Far, far away from your chambers. “-I have been called by Knight Commander Yaga to my-”

“Satoru- wait.”

He should’ve known better than to have thought he could escape you - not when even his own heart didn’t want to.

Lurching up in an almost-nauseating swoop the moment your voice echoes from behind, hitting his glinting armor. “You…are you okay—? You haven’t called me any of those silly formal titles since we first met.” Words practically dripping with concern, fuck- he was sure your face was furrowing. And if it was up to him he would kiss away every tense crevice. 

But no, that was not his place. 

His place was to stand rooted to the spot, face turning only a half-degree to grace you with a soft bow. Gojo knew it wasn’t the epitome of respect, but a singular look in your face right now and he would break.

“I am in perfect condition to carry out my duties, ma’am.” He’s nodding, voice oh-so-brittle in his throat for how hardened it thundered.

“That’s not what I mean.” Stubborn.

Gojo turns back to the winding corridor in front of him, “Then if that is all, I shall be on my way. I hope you have a good day, ma’am.”

“Satoru.”

And if his cheeks were cold and encrusted with a few streaks of salty tears when he reached the treasury, Gojo was only grateful that his fellow knight Ijichi was too afraid of him to say anything.

.

.

.

Gojo Satoru was avoiding you - marching the other way if he glimpsed you, running around the palace for menial tasks, he wasn’t even your personal guard anymore, for goodness’ sake! Your best friend was ignoring you and you weren’t sure why. 

Was it because you had to skip out on your daily walks in the lilac garden to greet the visiting Zenin royals? 

No, he was always so understanding of the royal responsibilities that you couldn’t skive off. Besides, his strange attitude had sparked up even before Prince Naoya and his family arrived at your kingdom - ever since that meeting with your father.

You were dying to ask the king what exactly was talked about that day, a meeting so confidential that he didn’t even have the royal advisor transcripting it. But your father was always so busy with the older Zenin couple these days, cooped up in office rooms surrounded to the brim with official documents. 

And that left you with…him.

Naoya Zenin. A prince if there was ever any, who couldn’t talk about anything but that. 

“So…um.” Your eyes dart around the palace gardens, you always did love it here - that comforting smell of flowers wafting in clouds around you. But right now you felt anything but comforted. “How are you liking the garden, Prince Naoya?”

He shakes his brown-tipped locks, eyes narrowing. “Rather plebian for a royal palace, if I do say so myself.”

“R-right…” You’re sputtering in an unlady-like fashion, “We do have orchards too if you wanted to-”

“Of course, the gardens in my palace are much bigger-” He’s waving a gloved hand loftily, nose crinkling into a sneer at the bustling gardeners planting beautiful white blossoms everywhere. Honestly, you were informed there was a grand ball soon - but wasn’t this a bit much? “And we teach the help to stay out of sight.”

“Well, I think they’re really nice.” You’re huffing, brows marrying together. 

He scoffs, “Nice- or useful?”

“Both.”You fight the urge to just storm off then and there - it wouldn’t do good to start a war between the two most powerful kingdoms right now. 

“Ah yes yes- nice.” Naoya repeats airily, words warbling as if he was biting back a laugh. “Suppose the low-borns are tolerable if they’re nice.”

A vision of Gojo - tiny and trembling into a bow in front of you - flashed through your mind, and you find your pretty heels digging hard into the dark soil. That was it.

“Perhaps.” Your voice comes out dangerously even, dangerously. Naoya only raises his brows in faint interest, “Yet, even the least tolerable tch- ‘low-born’ would be more tolerable than a pompous, arrogant-”

“There you are, your highnesses!” 

Satoru. 

You would recognize that low, lilting baritone amongst a thousand others. And before you can turn around to face your best friend that had been missing for days, he plows on, “A little gift- from this lowborn.”

Thud!

Before you can even blink, pale hands reach out to unceremoniously dump a radiant yellow flower crown on Naoya’s blond bangs. And you swear Gojo pushed down on his head harder than necessary.

The first thing you register is the warm wall of muscles pushing up against your back, lecherously counting every ladder of washboard abs and Gojo’s plush pecs in your mind. Mindlessly, you’re leaning back even closer, savoring the way his breath hitches. Harlot. 

The second thing you’re realizing is that Naoya Zenin - for the first time in twenty-something years - had gone quiet. Very, very quiet. Suspiciously so. 

You force your words into some semblance of levelness, “Are you…are you alright, Prince Naoya?”

But Naoya didn’t speak - you didn’t know if he was even breathing. Long face growing greyer and greyer by the second, he doesn’t answer you.

No, instead he’s pointing a trembling finger behind you. “You there…you- what shrub have you placed upon my royal head?”

“Laburnum.” Comes the answer - and just as soon comes a drawling, strangled squawk.

Your first instinct is to look towards the shimmering lake not too far away from you, eyes searching for any trace of those familiar ducks- before gasping in surprise and looking back to the prince. Mouth ajar, still making those undignified noises. 

Him? 

“You- you will-” He hisses, so furious that you have to take a step back - right into Gojo’s waiting arms - to avoid his flecks of spit. “-you will pay for this.”

In only a split-second, Naoya had thrown the flower crown onto the ground and wheezed his way up the flowery pathway back to the castle. What a sight it was.

But nothing compared to the way that Gojo comes into your line of sight and preens. One hand tapping at his cheek in thought, the other held behind his back. “Whoops- I forgot that the king specifically informed me that our honored guest was allergic to laburnum flowers. Guess, low-borns aren’t of good memory. Right, my princess?”

“Satoru- you- you ass.” You’re yelping through fits of laughter, not caring for the way the rest of the gardening staff smiles knowingly. “What if that bastard gets deathly sick? The blame would be on you.”

He rolls his summer blue eyes, “Proudly.”

“I should send you to the gallows for this.”

Gasping in faux shock, “Most salacious indeed!”

And for the first time in so long, it feels normal. 

The breezing heat of Gojo’s body against yours feels normal, and you couldn’t bring yourself to think too deeply about it. Too enchanted by the sheer lack of armor - all billowy white poet shirt and flattering cotton pants. 

“Y-yeah well-” Shit- why was your skin burning this way? The sun wasn’t even at peak temperature for today. Absentmindedly, you’re playing with one of his silk lapels, “Thank goodness we’re losing him in a few days, I asked mother and she said the Zenin’s are only visiting until the fast-approaching ball.” 

“Princess-” It all comes out in a rush, “-that ball. The reason for it is actually-”

“Your highness! The queen is asking for a conference with you!” The curious voices of your maidservants drag you away from Gojo’s arms, into a much less scandalous position.

And yet, with only a nod behind - you still stay standing in front of him. You stay.

“Right…” Gojo’s prominent Adam’s apple bobs as he takes a deep gulp. Shadowy gaze darting away, “I should get back to my duties, ma’am. Suguru has been abusing his position as head gardener to work me like a mule.”

The way your face crumples with disappointment makes Gojo’s heart feel sliced open. And raw. “Of course. I’ll see you around, Gojo.”

Gojo. Gojo. 

And of course he couldn’t let you walk away - of course he couldn’t let you leave his life just yet. 

So without thinking, without even realizing, he’s clasping a slender hand around your wrist to pull you back. To reel you in. To him. 

Velvety strands of snow-white curtain Gojo’s eyes, and the doughy fingerpads on your skin shiver. Mumbling, “Before- Before you go, my prin- ma’am. I just wanted to give you-” And you don’t know what makes your heart race more - the cherry-red blush painting all over Gojo’s cheeks and up to the very tips of his ears, or the sunny flower crown clasped in a hand pulled from behind his back. “-this.”

Your mouth drops into an awe-struck oh! It was beautiful - trickling blossoms of every shade of yellow entwined gently together. Embedded with celestially dainty buds of an amber so pale it looked almost white, diamonds on a tiara fit for a princess. 

You had a feeling it would be your favorite one.  

All you could think of was Gojo with his staggering hands, and his battle-worn fingers, making something so delicate for you. 

“Is…is this one just as allergy-inducing as the other, Satoru?” You’re breathing, rustled by a breeze so gentle that it almost hurts.  

“No.” Gojo whispers, just as quiet. As if the slightest sign of a raised voice would break whatever saccharinely thick moment this was, “Yellow acacia and yellow carnation. For you, my princess.”

For the way he’d be losing you just as soon as he loses that asshat. 

And even once you’d adorned his crown and been hurried off by a few palace staff, Gojo stared. Even once you were nothing but a speck of royal satin and yellow crowns, he stared. Even once you were gone, and he was left so very alone, he stared. 

Only thanking the heavens above that you always slept through your flower language lessons. 

.

.

.

Over the next few days; wherever you were, Naoya Zenin was to follow. 

And Gojo was sure that it was pushing the young royal closer and closer to a spectacular aneurysm any time that you called specifically for him to accompany you. Blatantly refusing any other knight that came your way.

The pointed third during “romantic” boat rides on the lake, always the guard overseeing dinners, the one to step in with a blunder if your future fiancé got too…opinionated. Gojo was always there. 

It was more like you spent your time trying to make his dutiful façade crack than supposedly entertaining your guest.

Sneaky princess. 

After all - Gojo found himself pacing and arguing out loud with himself any time you did - he was simply doing his job, right? Even if the aforementioned job went against just a few direct orders from the king himself. 

But these were a direct order from the princess. His princess. And Gojo had stopped his procedural traversing and ranting since realizing this. 

Although- the head chef, Nanami’s, veiled threat about turning him into pig feed the next time he heard stomping may have played a slight part in this, as well. 

And it was on such a day that Gojo found himself stationed to guard the inside of the royal drawing room. Spine ramrod straight, eyes flooded with steel while he took in the sight of you and that bastard- Naoya sketching the other in silence. 

It was a dainty, sunlit room, and the hours might have almost been peaceful - if it wasn’t for the split-haired bastard, that is. 

After that flower fiasco and a thorough telling off for misremembering the prince’s allergies, this was meant to make up for a “bonding activity” according to the king; which to him read more like a desperate attempt to push the two of you together before the grand ball tomorrow night. 

Gojo’s chest caves in with a sudden spike of pain, tomorrow night. Your engagement ball, where you will surely be handed off to a man who wouldn’t be worthy of you in a thousand different lives. 

Fuck, had it really been days since already?

It hurt too much, and so he looks towards the prince’s parchment- how insulting. Hundreds of royal art lessons, yet Naoya still couldn’t capture the exact curve of your smile. And those pretty crinkles by your eyes- they were entirely the wrong number! And Gojo’s sure that any fool could see the way your lips-

He was getting ahead of himself. And reminded embarrassingly of the hundreds of sketches of you over the years stowed away underneath his bed alongside a stubby piece of charcoal. 

And he was leaning over the prince in a way that he was sure would get him strung and quartered in the Zenin palace. Or, at least, that’s what Naoya’s daggered glare was telling him. 

With a sheepish smirk, Gojo snatches a glimpse at your artwork. Stifling a laugh at the way you’ve given up on drawing the other man and started engaging in idle scribblings of weasels and hollies. 

“That one looks like him, don’t you think?” He can’t help but whisper from the corner of his mouth, stomach swooping in delight as soon as your eyes light up. 

Tacking on a familiar hairstyle and sneer onto a particularly shoddy caricature of one of the weasels, giggling. “He does.”

Gojo points at another drawing - this time of a bullfrog- honestly, what interests for a princess. “And that’s-”

“That Jinichi.” You’re finishing off for him, carelessly drawing away a few more - quite frankly, Gojo finds everything you do beautiful, but these were appallingly ugly - scribbles of foxes and goats. “That one’s Oji Zenin, and that’s Gakuganji and that’s-”

“Ahem.”

There was only one person who could make the clearing of a throat sound so snobbish. And that was Naoya Zenin. 

Brows raised, feet tapping impatiently on polished marble as he snatches the parchment from your grip. 

Schwing–!

“Toru- no.” 

Gojo doesn’t even realize he’s pulling out his famed, silver sword until you’re stopping him with a hand to his tense bicep. Shit.

Growling through clenched teeth once more at Naoya while he nestles it back into its scabbard with unsteady fingers - only because you asked. 

But the other man doesn’t even flinch - wearing that perfect mask of regal stoicity, though Gojo manages to catch the way his eyes flicker nervously down at the hilt of his sword. Doesn’t show anything other than the tightening of his thin lips as he gazes upon your humorous drawings. 

The impatient tap! tap! tap! of his feet slowing down, stopping - before Naoya throws your paper down onto the floor and stomps. Gojo would’ve almost found it comedic if it hadn’t been for your startled demeanour.

“Excuse me-” He’s hissing, angling his broad body between you and this unseemly sight. Gojo looks dead-on into Naoya’s spit-fire red face, “-but I would have to hope not to remind a young prince of royal etiquette.”

“Excuse me, sir.”

“No need to call me ‘sir’, your highness.”

Naoya looks up, death in his eyes.

Gojo thought this might be the end. The missed trip to the dungeons all those years ago was finally catching up to him, and he would be thrown in today for drawing his weapon on a royal but goddammit- if he wasn’t going to keep you safe from his ire for as long as he breathes and then some.

But - to both you and Gojo’s surprise, and perhaps even Naoya himself - he simply turns swiftly on his heels and walks out of the room. Letting the heavy double-doors SLAM! deafeningly behind him. 

It takes a beat. One. Two. 

He counts every raging ba-dump–! of his heart against this ribcage- before the terse silence shatters with laughter. 

“Toru- To- Satoru—!” You’re wiping away genuine tears, “‘No need to call me sir-’ where did you even come up with that-”

“Fuck! You can laugh but I thought I was headed to the gallows.” He’s exclaiming, and it was quite difficult to act as if your laugh wasn’t the most beautiful thing he’d heard in his entire life. “Although- it would have been a killer last line. Wouldn’t it, my princess?”

The two of you stare at each other for one singular ba-dump–! Before bursting into peels of undignified cackles that could make an entire court shiver in scandal. 

“Killer- killer alright-” You’re rolling your watery eyes, “This is just as bad as the time you caught Yaga in his interpretive rain dance routine- I thought you were surely dead then.”

Please, Gojo’s stomach and his heart were hurting - though, for very different reasons. “Not as bad as when you wanted to play dress-up with the sacred royal crown and lost it.”

“Don’t remind me, my father was-” That’s when your tear-lathered lashes flutter, a hand coming up to swat softly against your cheek as if to jolt back your senses. You’re groaning over Gojo’s whine, “-my father. Oh no! What will he say about this?” You almost knock your cushy stool over with how fast you’re teetering into a stand, “I must go apologize to weasel- Naoya right away lest relations with the Zenins-”

“Let me.”

Your brows raise, “What?”

“Let me.” Gojo’s repeating, more firmly this time. Thumb grazing briefly down your knuckles as he pulls you back into your seat. 

Just for a split-second - like he couldn’t even think of letting himself touch such a precious treasure. 

He knows you will argue this, he knows your stupidly selfless self will fight to apologize; which is why before you can say a word, he’s marching hastily out of those same doors and towards the luxurious guest chambers. 

Truthfully, Gojo Satoru didn’t give a fuck about Naoya Zenin - but he’ll be damned if you, his beloved, was cast in a hameful light because of his childish actions. 

He has to do something for you, while he still can. While he still has you. While he can still love you.

The corridors are winding, decadent. He takes a deep breath when nearing the slightly-open gilded door of the Zenin suite, that distinctly nasally tone of Naoya drifting in conversation from within. Shuddering in a deep breath, “Pardon m-”

“-drew me as a weasel!” The prince bursts, fury seeping into every hard syllable of his. Gojo stills where he stands outside, hand on the cool metallic doorknob. “I have never met such a vulgar, unrefined-”

“Oh, do bear it until the engagement Naoya.” The gruff voice of a man responds - and he recognizes it from all the recent chiding at palace staff to be the prince’s cousin, Jinichi Zenin. “After that ya can take your time breaking ‘er in.”

What? 

“A boor telling me to break in a wench.” The younger man scoffs, though he sounds much calmer than just moments before. 

Gojo thinks he could throw up all over the gleaming floors, he thinks he wants to keel over and beg at the king’s feet to keep this from happening to you. He thinks he just might. 

But right now, he can’t bring his feet to move a single inch. Pressing himself up closer against the adjacent patterned wall, sharp ear yearning for more shards of the conversation. 

“They’re all the same anyways.” Says Jinichi, “Just give ‘er something sparkly or flowery and keep her sated. Don’t want another one running off before you can dig your claws into the crown, now, do we?”

And perhaps he’s a hopeless fool for praying that Naoya might say something - anything - else. Wishing for the non-existent good in your soon-to-be fiancé, who only grits out a displeased, “Fine. Only because I want to see her pretty lil’ face when I break her to my will.” There’s the sound of urgent footsteps, “But if father doesn’t give me the throne for my efforts then I’m killing her and you, you brute.”

Stood stock still.

Gojo doesn’t think he could move even if he wanted to - and right now, ice-cold spikes of anger were the only thing latching him rooted to the spot, not even flinching once Naoya closes the door behind him and walks- seeing him. 

His jaw clenches, eyes harrowing. “You.” 

And Naoya had very clearly taken the opportunity to arm himself in his family chamber, because his spindly fingers itch towards the hilt of his dangerously glinting sword. Just seconds away from-

“Please.” 

Gojo drops onto one knee, the tendons of his neck aching with how far downwards he had it bent into a pitiful bow. “I ask his highness to please let the princess go- to call off this impending engagement. I- I will bear the brunt of committing an offense, and will gladly take any punishment that is bestowed upon me. I just please beg of you to-”

“The same hand.”

“What?” Gojo forces himself to look up with tear-filled eyes, to face the prince squarely in his chestnut gaze. His delighted chestnut gaze. 

Pointing towards his right hand, “The same hand you were to raise your sword at me, the same hand you used to put that wretched toxic flower crown on me-” And then his blade, “-I order you to repent.”

The other man breathes, “Repent…”

“Repent.” Naoya stands up taller, perhaps the most self-confident that Gojo has ever seen him. A barbarous curl of his lips starting to form, “Repent, and I shall consider ending my engagement with the princ-”

CRUNCH!

Pain. Blinding pain was all that Gojo could feel, and…relief. 

He couldn’t even register the steady trickle of warm crimson on his skin and onto the floor in rose-like splotches - even though he could see it through bleary eyes. Head still spinning to catch up with the nanosecond events of drawing his sword and slicing a wide gash down his forearm. 

Through half-lidded eyes, he puts back his bloodied blade into the scabbard and looks up at the stricken prince. 

Repentance. 

“So you love her.” Is all that Naoya hisses. And Gojo can’t lie, nor can he muddy your name. 

So he simply waits quietly, silence speaking enough for eons. Waiting for you to be set free. And if he tried, he could even manage a smile-

Sniffing insolently - though, it sounded more like a snicker. “How valiant, for a low-born.” All that is said before he spits furiously at Gojo’s feet and breezes past in a swish of capes - as if nothing ever happened. “I might even invite you to the princess and I’s wedding ceremony.”

.

.

.

In a palace of thousands, it was only Gojo Satoru that could manage to stand out. 

None of the royal jesters could make the court laugh quite as loud. None of the other knights - no matter how muscled, or chivalrous - could make the ladies-in-waiting swoon just as much. And none of the other reputable men could make you seek him out in every chamber, state room, or training ground just like this.  

It was strange not to see even the barest glimpse of Gojo for an entire day, and the palace didn’t quite feel like a home without him.

“I’m telling you, Nobara–” You’re wheezing out in condensed puffs as your eager right-hand attendant continues mercilessly tightening away the undergarments of your ballgown. “Something’s probably happened to him or-”

“-or he’s being locked up for offending some uppity duke.” She’s rolling her honeypool eyes, one of the few who wasn’t afraid to express themselves this way in front of you. Flitting about the opulent dressing room you rarely liked to use, “You know how that eugh- Gojo is.”

“Which is precisely why I’m worried.”

Honestly, you didn’t even care for a grand ball when you didn’t know where your best friend was. Whether he was in the dungeons or…worse. 

But Nobara wasn’t here to hear you ramble about Gojo Satoru - you oftentimes got the impression that he irritated her too much for her own liking - she was here to doll you up in costly pale blue silks and muslins that draped off of you prettier than a painting. 

And you felt dizzy by the time she let you be escorted off towards the emanating music of the ballroom - with an excited goodbye and a reluctant promise to keep an eye out for Gojo. 

Hair done more intricately than you could’ve even imagined, your jewelry caught every light in the room, a bejeweled flower tiara weighing heavily on your head. Adorning your face in a crown that reminded you of the one Gojo had made you only a few days ago. 

It was almost a struggle to keep your face held high as you took the first few steps down the winding imperial staircase. To the ball. 

You have to stop yourself from tilting your head down at the thrumming masses of decadently dressed-up nobles and clinking champagne to check whether Gojo was hidden away somewhere down there. 

Manners. Posture. Eye contact. 

It was all painfully practised, and so was the tightening of your features as your own father started reading off your introduction. He never took on this task - what was happening?

“And now, for the most important guest of all-” Booming voice thundering in your ears almost as loud as your heartbeat was. The king addresses the congregation in the middle of the dancefloor, more ruler than father at this point. “-my daughter, princess of our beloved kingdom. And the queen of the next!”

Your hand stills where it had been helping you balance in your heels down the stairway- what?

Thankfully, your father carries on - or rather, not thankfully, considering what his next words are. 

“Yes, my people, this may come as a surprise to you all.” He chuckles above the deafening murmurs, and you slowly find yourself scurrying onto the raised platform your father’s throne was seated on. “But tonight is not only a simple celebration of our nation, it’s a celebration of love. Of two nations.”

There’s a beat of silence as he reaches out a withered hand to you, and you find yourself wordlessly taking it. 

“F-father, what-” you whisper, but there’s no response. Your skin bristles with goosebumps, and you’re not sure whether it’s from the summer breeze wafting from the gardens, or from the speech’s implications.

Letting yourself be pulled right into the middle of the stage,right into the spotlight - where Naoya Zenin was waiting for you. Dressed in his finest suit of white silk, adorned with layers upon layers of military accolades and velvety medals. 

The bright, blazing light of the chandelier was scorching, and your hands clench in unease. What was happening?

“That is right, my people.” The king drags your hand up to mesh in an entwinement with Naoya’s clammy ones, holding it up for the eager public to see. “After much consideration and forethought, our royal families have decided that today my daughter is the beloved princess of our nation. But tomorrow, she will be the future queen of the Zenin kingdom.”

There’s cheering - but you can’t hear any of it. In fact, the entire world could be falling upon you and you don’t think you would have noticed. 

All you can feel is the queasy churning of your stomach, and the stern whisper of Naoya’s voice against your ear. Fingers tightening around your own, bruisingly. “Dance with me before I break this pretty hand, princess.”

You’re like a ragdoll, being puppeteered in a rigid beeline onto the dance floor. 

If it wasn’t for one of Naoya’s hands bracing onto your waist, you wouldn’t even have realized that the royal orchestra had started up a gorgeous waltz. A slow, romantic melody that you might’ve otherwise loved if you weren’t trapped in the arms of a fiancé you never asked for. 

“Looking pretty out of it there, princess.” The prince sneers after a few practised motions of your dance, making your dazed eyes stray from the swooning crowd and onto his pointed features. 

And despite it all, you can’t help but feel betrayed. You thought that the two of you might have rapport at your obligation, if nothing else. “You- you didn’t even tell me. An entire engagement and you didn’t even bother to-”

“As a husband, I don’t owe my tch- wife anything.” His nose crinkles at your wandering eyes, the way your feet itched ever-closer to the surrounding people rather than the dancefloor. “Wishing it was someone else dancing with you?”

“Yes.” You’re spitting out before you can stop, trying oh-so-hard not to let your face twist into even a semblance of the fury steeped inside of you. “Anyone but a husband that I never wanted and never will want.”

“As if you deserve any bett-”

Your nails dig into one set of his fingers enough to engrave deep craters, almost enough to make him bleed. “I wouldn’t marry you if you were the last man on Earth.” 

Naoya seems stunned for a few seconds - but, alas, just when you’re hoping that you’ve shut him up for good, you’re faced with the fact that the universe isn’t that kind to you.

“You mean you would marry the tch- low-born.” He pulls you into an incredibly rough twirl when the music crescendos, pulling you even closer. It’s all you can do to not fight his grip- “I’m not below finishing off his other hand if that’s what it takes to break you.”

“What are you even talking about?”

Each word jagged. “The knight. You love him, don’t act stupid.” 

Raising your chin in defiance, “So what?” And just as much as confusion filled you, as did panic. Because Naoya’s grip was only getting firmer, his moves much harsher. Opening his mouth to spit out- 

“Pardon me, your highnesses.” A deep bass cuts in, startled- you almost give yourself whiplash peering up into those fathomless mahogany eyes. Yaga’s thin brows furrowing into something heavily-set, “May I cut in for a dance with the princess?”

You don’t wait for an answer from Naoya - and neither does Commander Yaga. Swiftly sweeping you into his engulfing embrace as the orchestra changes into something slightly more upbeat. 

Dressed in a thick suit adorned with even more medals than Naoya - ones you knew for sure were real, unlike his. And you couldn’t help but wonder just how good Gojo would look with his own.

“So…” Yaga starts, once more couples join the floor and his words can’t be heard over the shuffling of feet by anyone other than you. His calloused hands let you lead him through a waltz much more mellow than what Naoya had with you. You always did think that the leader of your knights was a gentle giant. “Begging you to forgive my indiscretion, ma’am but ah- trouble in paradise?”

“Trouble in hell, as expected.” You’re shuddering, gaze bouncing off of any flash of sapphire blue around the room. 

The man in front of you nods gravely, “Right right. I might not be a married man, but even I know that times like these often call for a walk in the lilac garden. You know, to- ah, clear your head.”

Quirking a brow, you stare at him. “What?”

And oh, Yaga simply looked like all the gold in the world couldn’t pay him enough for this. 

“Times like these-” He’s emphasizing, boring deeply into your eyes as if to mean every syllable to strike your very core. And it does. You don’t know why, but it does. “-call for a walk in the lilac garden.”

Oh.

“Oh.” 

Yaga’s lips twitch upwards into an almost-smile, and his rumbling voice is soft for the next few words. “Go, your highness.”

So you do.

You’re realizing, with an ache of such gentle appreciation, that the commander had danced you two until you were practically teetering on the massive veranda. Open to the garden; where every prim hedge, bush, and tree was gorgeously decorated until your eyes sparkled. 

Your breath bates…a choice. Head turning back to the luxuries of a royal ball that was none-the-wiser. 

Then, with a brief hug you bully Yaga into, you run - as much as the delicate heels digging into your feet would allow. Faster. 

If this was any other time, you might’ve felt disappointed at how you weren’t even stopping to admire the beauty of the moonlight-bathed garden. But right now, your heart was only pounding to go faster and faster. 

Nothing else mattered. 

Gojo was leaning on one pillar of the same white gazebo - and he was beautiful. If you didn’t know any better, you would have thought he was a faerie of the night. 

Just a lone, tall silhouette that you could recognize so well; azure eyes twinkling, ivory strands of his hair shimmering with the silvery blue of the moon swimming amongst a dark sky. One he couldn’t seem to take his eyes off of until he jolts his head towards the sharp snap! of a twig underneath your rapid feet.

“My…my princess.” He falls onto one knee. 

It all comes out in a whisper - as if Gojo had dreamed of this moment so many repeated times before and wasn’t sure if this was a dream, too.

“Satoru-!”

It wasn’t.

Gojo stands up to embrace you like it’d be the last time he ever would, like you were the one thing connecting him to this life and he was a dying man desperate to breathe. 

Strong arms winding around your waist, you’re pushed against one of the closed-off walls of the gazebo before you can even realize it. Arching off of the cool wooden surface and into his blistering heat. Into every ravenous, panted-out cloud of breath against your ear, “You came.”

He sounded pained. And you were sure you did just as much when you’re whimpering, “You disappeared.”

Gojo lets off a choked-up noise that could’ve been anything from affirmation to blatant shock. Half-lidded eyes boring deeply into yours, he shrugs off the jacket on his non-dominant arm to you with a low bow. 

“May I have this dance, my princess?”

You’re gasping at the sight of starchy white bandages around his other hand, fingers hesitantly falling into Gojo’s heated flesh. “S-Satoru, what happened ah-”

But he drifts you gently into a soundless dance, the distant crickets and swish! of lilac branches your only tune. 

And you never even understood just how much Gojo was a part of your life until he was moving through the exact same steps of waltzing that you’d learned growing up. The exact same once that you used to force him to sit through.

“I thought you were here because you read my letter.” Gojo mutters, lips so close now that they grazed the sensitive shell of your ear. 

You’re having trouble finding your voice, “What letter?” 

“The- the one that I left-” Just for you. His long lashes flutter open in shock, features contorted into something almost devastated. You wonder what made him feel this way. “-the one that I left in your chambers- about the- the prince, and the engagement and-”

“I got prepared for the ball in the dressing room today, I didn’t go to my room.” You’re continuing, voice small. Scared. “Satoru…you knew about the engagement?”

And Gojo’s voice told you everything you needed to know.

You feel your angry flare up hot and red, fists curling into Gojo’s delicate lapels. But that only proves to inch him even closer and make you sound much more breathless than you intended, “You knew about it and- and you didn’t even think to give me a hint that I was being carted off like a prize for some pompous asshat?”

He looked like he didn’t know whether to laugh or cry, lips still so pink in the night, wobbling. “I…I couldn’t let you be married, I just couldn’t. I would give my life if it meant you get the freedom to choose who you wanted.” Your dance had stalled, and you almost feel disappointed. “But I’m a coward, and this-” Gojo throws his hands across, voice hitching, “-sneaking around, hiding, running away is the only way I could ever-”

“You should have told me. Not just in the letter.” You’re insisting, running your hands through your hair. Suddenly, something strikes you, “That arm- it’s because of Naoya, isn’t it?”

He doesn’t even have the energy to protest, and that only spurs you on even more. “I-I could have talked to my father- maybe the council and we could have made it so that…”

“So that what?” Gojo’s voice hardens as much as it could with you, which wasn’t very much at all. His fists clench and unclench at his sides like it was taking everything in him to not just…“So that you can be the laughingstock of the kingdom when you marry a low-born knight?”

He was right. They would never accept him, no matter how much you did.

You’re rendered speechless, shivering at the way he rubs his wet eyes with the back of his hand. “Oh, I don’t want you- I need you.” And he was so beautiful like this, just centimeters away from you in the escape of the night. “I need you. I need you, I need you- I need you more than the sun above my head, and the air that I breathe, my princess. You have bewitched me, and I am yours. But you cannot be mine-”

You breathe out, “Satoru…”

“-and maybe in another life-”

“Maybe in this one.”

Soft hands rover their way onto the sides of your arms, and Gojo shakes you feebly as if to snap you out of this hypnosis and urge you to run. Eyes wide, yearning. “I have always been yours, body and soul.”

You always have wondered whether there was a method to shut Gojo Satoru up. And, right now, you think you may have found the perfect answer. 

Because his entire towering figure just melts into your touch the very second you press your lips onto Gojo’s plump ones. Soft. Velvety. 

His nostrils flare through a breathy sigh when you tilt your head mere sultry degrees to deepen the kiss. You were addicted to the honey-coated taste of him, the flat drag of his scratchy tastebuds rolling over your loosening maw. 

“Ngh- my princess…” He’s puncturing your kisses with kiss after sloppy kiss, heavy hands wrapping around your body to wrangle you flush against his hardened ones. And you could count every glissade of his washboard abs through that thin poet’s blouse, “I love you.”

You’re not sure if it’s a fragment of your imagination, or- it’s not. 

Gojo manhandles you - and himself - to sit on the opulent gazebo bench with you plopped into his manspread lap, without breaking the kiss for a split-second. Because it hurt to part from your pretty, candied lips, to let those slippery strings of saliva break in the clouded air between you two.

Even if it was to purr out—

“I love you I love you I love you-” The straight edges of his pearly white teeth sinking into your lower lip, groaning from the back of his throat. And your jittery legs shift needily on his warm, meaty thighs, “-I love you.”

“Satoru—” Just about the only thing that you can say right about now, your tone resounds in Gojo’s ears and makes him grunt. Your fingers tangle into his cushy locks, “T-touch me.”

He snickers, one hand clawing onto the crown of your sweat-dampened scalp and wrenching your face away until you’re huffing and puffing cutely for more. “Mmm, how about we use those princess-y manners of yours, hm?”

“Please-”

“Louder.”

“Please.”

“Harlot.” Gojo slides in a looong few digits past those impossibly endless skirts of yours, making your thighs dampen with treacly webs of needy slick. Letting those doughy fingerpads fringe over the covered mound of your pussy, just the very edges. “That was my f-first kiss, y’know?”

He had been hopelessly saving it for you, after all. 

Your eyes roll all the way to the back of your weighted lids as soon as he teases you, mewling. “Was mine too, so we’re even-” Your hips shift in a lazy back n’ forth on top of his heated core, “-just- just want you to touch me.”

“I dunno…” Gojo drawls - drunken. And you feel the edges of his kiss-bitten lips warp around the very tip of your plummy tongue to suck on like his favorite gummy candy, “Wanna kiss my princess just a lil’ bit more.”

Panting, “K-kiss?”

“Mhm.” 

Your eyes shutter in a heady blink, oh-so-cutely ready to crash back into a filthy, filthy French kiss once more, Gojo pulls away-

A noise of disappointment fresh on your lips and just about to spill out, before he lifts you up easily with only a single beefy hand underneath your body. Splaying you out on the sprawling wooden table right beside you, your back hits the ice-cold surface and makes you gasp into the crisp night air.

The lecherous sound of it almost as loud as the sudden clack! of Gojo’s knees collapsing down onto the floor. Your face contorts into a wince because surely it sent a stinging pain up his legs?

“M’quite used to being on my knees for you, my princess.”

But he didn’t seem to care - didn’t even seem to notice when he was much more enamored with the heavenly sight down there.

“These lips-” He smears away your lacy layers upon layers, budging up to nuzzle the soft skin of your inner thighs. And shit- the filmy glaze over his eyes told you that Gojo doesn’t even realize the way his bubblegum pink tongue lolls out over the splotchy spatters of your juices. “-were tellin’ me they feel a little…left out.”

Your mouth waters with a syrupy lamination of saliva as soon as his murked breath strikes your cunt. And the drag of his rumbling bass is so delicious – you couldn’t help but imagine just how it would feel on you.

“Just- just get it on with it-” you’re hissing, fingers latching onto a few thick locks of ivory to drudge him ever-closer. 

“Impatient.”

As if Gojo himself wasn’t impatient. 

As if he wasn’t just leaking out thick wads of drool from the parted sides of his twisted grin at just the thought of tasting you. Sliding the pointed tip of his button nose languidly up the crevice of your puffed-up slit, he breathes you in and feels his cock twitch-

“Oh, princess.” Gojo can’t move, he can’t breathe if it wasn’t around your needy cunt right now. He’s ignoring those shooting bites of pain up the sides of his arm to tug on your useless garments.

Pulling- shit, he always did fucking hate how many layers you royalty had to wear. 

Pulling and pulling until the slow trawl of your undergarments by his nimble fingers wasn’t enough, and he just had to lunge his cottony head over to plummet his pearly whites into your panties and rip—!

A proper, gaping hole where your teary pussy was- and you looked even more gorgeous down there than he could’ve imagined.

Gojo’s face was blank, eyes wide and locked right at your geysering orifice like a man starved. For eons it felt like, until you were bucking up with pure need.

You’re humming in concern, struggling up onto your elbows to stare down at him. “Sa…Toru?”

And at your pretty voice, Gojo twitches. He gasps - full-bodied, like you’d just sent a zillion volts of shock down his sloped spine just by speaking to him. And he was well and fully intent on acting on it-

“Princess…princess princess princess—” Leaking from between his lips like he couldn’t stop, he hits the cute target of your cunt instantaneously with a fat thud of spittle, one. Two. Three, until your entrance was overflooding. He’s drawling the plummy end of his spit-glossed maw across your folds, “Oh, my princess. Just look at you.”

You feel his mess drool off the side of your plumpened pussylips and smear all across your peaked clit with only a simple touch of Gojo’s round-ended thumb. 

Just down-right filthy when he crashes forward to slot the curvaceous nub of his sweltering hot tongue over the brim of your hole. Drawing all over that snug orifice with slow patterns round n’ round-

“Toru–!” It’s the only thing you know at this point. “Toru.”

“Whaaat? Jealous, my princess?” The words clang in your head- and the realization hits you at the same moment Gojo’s thickly viscous swab of spit does on your own tongue. A soft nudge at your slackened chin urging you to swallow-

And he can’t waste a second, can’t spend even a mere moment away from his favorite spot between your legs. Because now that Gojo got a taste, he wants alllll of it.

Stumbling back down in haste to plant so many uncountable smooches on your bawling pussy folds. Skimming his tastebuds just along your quivering hole.

“Shit- shiiiit–” When you’d heard court ladies giggling about this, you didn’t think it would feel this good. Or maybe that’s just because it was Gojo stuffing himself impossibly deeper between your legs. “M-more, Toru–”

Your voice was cracking just as much as his fucking sanity was. 

Trilling out into frenzied shrills when Gojo swerves his eager thumb to pry open your gluey folds even further and give your fattened clit a flick!

You swear you feel Gojo depart his jaw with a giggle when your hips are bucking up pliably off the splintered table and into the bustling hot cavern of his mouth. More. “Easy there, your royal highness-”

“D-don’t call me that–” You’re whimpering, fingers tugging on Gojo’s bangs in some form of retaliation. But, of course it backfires on you just as soon as the force makes your knight moan.

“Wasn’t calling you that.” Gojo rolls his eyes, and your heart races in anticipation when the pointed edge of his chin strikes the drowned ends of your cunt. Lathering his pretty features in all the collective beads of slick raining fountaining out of you. His summer blue eyes flick downwards - and you can’t help but follow. “Was talking to her. Isn’t that right?”

Fuck.

You were fucked. 

And you were losing your mind when Gojo drags you roughly towards the edge of the table with only an ounce of his strength. Mouth making out greedily, heels digging into the fleshy mounds of his back, you can only sob and beg for more more more-

“S’fuckin’ chattier than my girl.” He’s nodding along with every saturated squelch after squelch! resonating in his eardrums - as if it was a full-on conversation with your noisy pussy. “Let’s hope that fiancé of yours doesn’t hah- f-fucking hear.”

But Gojo was acting like he wanted him to.

“Hope the- the king doesn’t find his princess bein’ eaten out by- ngh- a knight.” Barrelling long, slender inches of his index and pointer past your tight ring of mushy muscle. 

Your head throws back when he digs into the velvety depths of your pussy with just a single quirk-

“O-oh my god, Satoru–” You’re gasping in the flowery night air, tummy aching with every pump deeper because he was just so close to where you wanted him. “More- j-just a bit more.”

And yet, he acts like he doesn’t even hear you right now. 

Cupping over one massive palm over his ear and drifting ever-closer, “Wha’s that? C-can’t hear ya, girl- ngh ya gotta be- louder.”

Louder and louder he was getting with the vulgarly fast thrust graced upon your gummy walls. The sound only makes him giggle all drunk on you, “What’s that? Here? That turn you on? Hmmm…”

And just when you’re letting your vision blur with stars- just when you think it couldn’t get any better-

“Mmmm– wan’ another taste-” 

It’s the last thing your ringing ears hear before Gojo’s lurching forwards and burying his nose into your sensitive clit to give your overstuffed entrance a leeengthy lick. Right at the very split-second the globular edges of his digits scratch at that magical spot. 

“W-woah.” Your head snaps up blearily to steal a glimpse at what had Gojo Satoru’s voice so airy n’ cracking in awe. 

Only to see him fluttering his lathered lashes, the slick-gleaming apples of his cheeks blushing. Like some maiden in love. “Got even wetter f’me, your highness.” He’s breathing out, spitting out another voluminous cobweb of drivel and watching the way it sliiides across with the ribbons of slick pouring out of you. “Ohhhh, even b-better than any candy- better than a-any dessert.”  

You yelp when one rugged and grabs a rough handful of your ass and latches his lips even sloppier against your hole. “T-Toru your arm!”

“Oh? This?” He’s glancing down at the bandages as if he’d forgotten they were ever there. “S’nothing for your- hah- personal knight. Doesn’t even hurt, I’d- I’d rather die than let a stupid injury get in the way of what I’ve been dreaming of for aaaages.”

The dual points of pleasure make your toes curl, every part of your body shaking-

Gojo was out of control now. Crazed.

High-pitched bouts of giggles escaping him, muffling around where his candy-glazed cerise lips were latched around your clit and sucking. He makes sure to hold fatal eye contact while he hollows out his scorching cheeks and drags the fleshy nub. 

 “M-making out with your pussy- your pretty, pretty pussy, my princess.” Your heartbeat echoes in rapid staccato with the vicious thud! thud! thud! of his neatly crowned fingertips pecking your g-spot. Each of his puffed-out gruffs making your tongue loosen in a please, “Making you s-so loud, making you feel so good.”

And without even realizing it, he’s rovering the papping brims of his fingers to give your clit a spank. Letting the syrupy beads slide allll the way down his tongue - letting you watch. 

“S’all me.” Gojo slurs out. “Me- me me me me–” Steady rivulets of slick bubbling from the edges of his tongue when his sinful motions get faster. Harder. “Gonna ask who m-made you feel this way n’ it’s me. Your Satoru.”

More ravenous. 

Swirling around slow probes of his sensory tips, it glazes his skin all the way down to his knobbly wrist in a thick coat of sap. Memorizing every gooey ridge and crevice inside your tight channel - shit, Gojo feels his ruddied tip spurt out a jetstream of buttery pre in his pants. 

He thinks he might just burst in his pants if you don’t finish right this second. 

But luckily - or unluckily - for him, you do. Right this very second, after being wrung dry underneath only a few more lapping slashes of his ferocious tongue, tweaking your buttony clit until you cum.

And oh, you’re so pretty when you do.

Your head throwing back with a broken moan of Toru–! It takes every ounce of trained will in his drunken body to not break off from your gooey pussy and watch the way your beautiful face twists. 

Fucked out.

“O-oh, shit–” You’re practically sobbing at this point, wrist aching with just how hard you were pushing Gojo’s readily used face into your fluttering core. Your vision blurs with sparks n’ stars, “-H-how are you so good. Unfair, unfair—”

Babbling away such nonsense with that smart mouth of yours, Gojo thinks he sees utter heaven when your hot juices flood inside his mouth in generous heaps.

Lugging down an open palm underneath his chin to greedily collect the leaking beads that sprinkly in a shiny sheen off of his chin, he finds himself moaning. “Shhh, your knight’s here. Give it t’me– use me, my princess.”

And use him you were. 

Riding out each white-hot peak of your high with slobbering grinds all across Gojo’s beautiful features. Your clit catches on the poking ridges of his mouth and nose and you squeal- “Ngh- b-better when you’re shut up like th-this, Satoru–”

Just for that, he’s spanking your goopy pussy thoroughly. 

All the way until those shots of electricity down your bowed spine are nothing more but prickly tingles, all the way until your thundering ears calm down and you can hear each damp thwack!

All the way until your high has bated and yet, Gojo is still snogging each swollen fold of your pussy like a feast. “M’sensitive–” You sniffle, and he doesn’t even seem to hear you. “Fuh-fuck, Toru, keep doing that n’ m’not gonna let you ngh fuck me.” 

That’s what finally gets his attention. 

You can feel your lips burst with a slight giggle when all it takes is a quick nanosecond for Gojo’s plumpened mouth to jerk away from your cunt with the snap! of wiry slick.

Scrambling onto unsteady feet, he’s teetering over the edge of the wood ever-so-slightly. Muscular body casting a shadow on yours, and you think he’s never looked sexier.

Fawny strands of frosty white curtaining Gojo’s half-lidded eyes, thick thighs pressing against yours shivering; and even from your position homed towards the end of the table, your eyes catch sight of such a massively outlined bulge. 

Staggering. 

One that made your hands ghost down Gojo’s tensed abs, and he’s throwing his perspiration-dampened head with a whine. 

“Need you, Satoru–” You’re managing out, strangled and messy. You’re sure you sound just as yearning as you feel. Fingers tug-tug-tugging impatiently on his gauzy clothes, “Want- you- out of these-” 

And whatever the princess wants, the princess gets. 

It’s as if on command - Gojo’s shedding his billowy shirt like it burned him. And very, very soon were his snug pants to follow, your layers, his sanity-

“Hngh- please.” He’s gruffing out, flinching just as soon as you cup his cheeks to smear away the remaining traces of slick glimmering on top of his blushing skin. Your touch was electric. Tonality painfully hoarse, “Let me fuck you- wanted it for so long. Let me fuck you please.”

Your drenched pussylips stream out a damp spot right across where you could feel his inflated vein poke between your folds. And he felt so…long. “Yes- yes, please.”

Getting the princess to say please?

He’s nodding his head shakily - Gojo could pass out, he could cu- 

Oh, just a few taps of his mushroom tip on the outer edges of your pussy and he spots something creamy topping over your mound like icing. Sweat-slicked brows furrowing, Gojo nudges in even closer to where pooling splotches of cum pours from the strawberry pink divot right in the middle of his head.

He’s cumming and he couldn’t stop. 

Couldn’t do anything but whine at the tender bolts of bliss aching all the way from his toes to his fuzzy head.

“S-Satoru did you just-”

“Shut up.” Oh, you would have his head later for this. “Shut up- shut up and just…”

N’ so he curls a hand at his bulky base and draws out a thick swab at the torrents of seed decorating your cute cunt. Making sure the milky sap formulated a glossy cap on his crownhead, before pushing rigorously in-

“F-f-fuuuuck–” he keens out, a thin line of sweat trekking down the side of his temples. And if he pushed just an inch further, Gojo could feel his hooded eyes well up with fucking tears- “Tight so tight s-sooo hot- so…”

You’re mewling, “Deeper- c-c’mon.”

He was fucking you like he didn’t even realize it - like he was enchanted by each mindless rut pulled from the carnal depths of his hips. 

Two warm hands latch on in a vice-like grip on the delicious curve of your hips, and he’s holding your body still and pushing and pushing and pushing-

“Sh-shit!” Gojo’s voice pitches up embarrassingly high at the end of his slew of swears, buttering up your insides in a muggy few ribbons of pre in response. “But s-so tight- dunno if it’ll even…even fit.”

He sounded hypnotized. 

“Are you- ngh! are you alright, Satoru?” You’re musing out, eyes glassy with a solid combination of lust and utter concern. Before you know it, your hand is reaching out to stroke the ba-dump–! thudding against his pecs.

“No.”

And it takes only the slightest graze of your doughy fingerpads against his flaming hot skin, the slightest touch from you before Gojo rudely swats your hand away and bottoms out-

You don’t even know what you were mad at- were you mad?

You really can’t even remember. Not when the crowned tip of Gojo’s incredible length was planting a sweet peck right into the sponged ends of your cervix, the entirety of his shaft spearheading you so deep that you think he might just be fucking into your lungs. 

So big that he didn’t even have to try to rub the puffy zig-zag of his veins along your sweetest spots, even the most minute gyrations made your toes curl. 

Splitting you apart. Stroking the weepy base of your slit with the hot, rounded sack of his breeder balls so right that it made you putty in his hands.

“Don’t t-touch me, my princess.” Gojo’s nuzzling his tear-stuck cheek against your own, you could feel the warble of his unsteady confessions. “Don’t touch me or I’ll…I’ll cum.”

And when has Gojo Satoru ever lied to you? Well, the upturned jolt of his split-ended tip right into the target of your mushy cervix told you that he wasn’t.

Gojo’s sinking down the edges of his teeth into his wobbly lower lip, he’s forcing his eyes to narrow down n’ obscure his crystal clear image of you to stop himself from cumming. 

“So beautiful, can’t help it–” His breath hitches once he’s pushing apart your trembly thighs and stretching them over the two ends of his broad shoulders. Your ankles pitching down onto the rippling plush of his toned deltoids. “So perfect.”

“S-sweet-talker.” You whisper, mouth as dry as the Sahara with how his thick circumference was stretching out your rubbery walls until they were seering. 

But if Gojo heard then he didn’t snap back - he was too pussydrunken to.

Moving on instinct, on that carnal twinge inside his brain that forced his powerful limbs to lock your ankles with one hand behind his head. To brace an engulfing palm right beside your head and lower himself down, down, down into a-

A mating press. 

Gojo Satoru had you in a fucking mating press.

“So mine.”

And he was pounding all his aching inches into you like it would be the last time. Like he was mazing through your adhesive-like walls and plummeting the leaky end of his cock to knock against your very womb. 

Gojo’s nose crinkles at the sheer warmth you were coating him in, dripping fresh slathers of slick in rings ‘round his hilt. He shivers as it drools down his tight balls, “I’m…I’m really fucking you- ngh! I’m fucking you, my princess.”

“Yes- yes yes yes—” Your mouth parts ajar, and you don’t know what it floods more with - your pathetic whines, or saliva. Coating a treacly river from each curl of your lips, “More. More, Toru.”

Oh.

You might have just broken him with that. 

Even through your fucked-out stupor, you’re gaping at the way that the hand beside your head curls into an unyielding fist. It has to.

Otherwise, Gojo’s plump cockhead would be sugarcoating your sloppy hole in much more than just copious amounts of sticky precum. He would’ve cum.

“M-more?” You hear from above you, your knight’s bulging pecs vibrating with the plea. Oh, was it a plea - strained, shaking. Gojo sounded as if he was two seconds away from simply bursting into crazed laughter, “More…more. My princess wants- fuck! More?”

Fat ends of his fingers lock around the sides of your cheeks and force you into such an unladylike pout. “Say it- say it, little royal.”

“Shit!” Your core arches up into his hardened one, just as Gojo knew it would when angling his hips juuust right to give your bulging g-spot a long, hard swipe. Your throbbing clit scratching against his pale happy trail. “Yes- ngh yes I want more. Want more, Satoru!”

More. 

And more was exactly what you were going to get. More than you could handle.

Your thighs ache with the struggle to stay open when Gojo tightens his lock around your ankles. Gruffing out a tight, “Take it then.”

He was so sexy, the swelling flex of his biceps enough to make your pussy drool and him slip n’ slide pliantly. Jackhammering away rugged pumps that you feel all the way in your leaden throat.

Your most favorite spots are so bruised that they’re almost tender, curling the base of your spine with tendrils of bliss that make you yelp.

“O-ohhh my god—” The side of his neck dampens as you’re leaving hot, open-mouthed kisses that make the man pinning you down shiver. His sculpted abs twinging with every massage down your front, “Just like that, a-always wanted to fuck you, Toru–”

“Do you even hear yourself?” Gojo hiccups, the expression upon his features plain pained. Voice dipping into a whine, “Don’t know what y-you’re doing t’me.”

But now that you were babbling away, you couldn’t stop. Not even when he’s speeding up his vigorous cadence until the globes of your ass are left stinging, “M’serious– I always wanted-”

“Shut up shut up- shut up- my princess.” You don’t think that either of you were even lucid at this point, and every pap! of skin-on-skin is followed by the screeching creak of the table below you. Gojo rolls his eyes down at you fondly, “Gotta m-make you cum so you can shut up.”

Otherwise you were going to drive him wild until there’s no turning back.

Before you can let off a moan - or fervently agree - he thumbs over the perked hood of your clit. Drawing- circles? Hearts? No, his own name. 

A tedious little S-A-T-O-R-U that makes your gushing walls clench oh-so-tightly around his sweltering length. Tummy tightening into something so close to shattering. 

And Gojo was rough. Snickering at the way you whine, spilling out wadded volumes of spittle between your parted lips. He breathes, “Gonna make you cum- g-gonna make my princess cum.” You swear he nods down at your pussy and grins, “G-gotta be a good girl f’me, m’kay? Gonna be a good- girl- and…”

His hips slap sloppily against yours, overworked thumb stuttering on a swooping U over your sensitive nub. And the tension in the air pulls tight, tight, tight like the most delicate of strings, before crashing- “-cum.”

You don’t know who cums first - you or Gojo. 

All you know is that as soon as your mind explodes with bursts of bliss - his poor cock does, as well. 

Head toppling backwards, overfilled pussy slopping out waterfalls of sweet, sweet juices, it’s all you can do not to sob. 

“Fuck- fuck fuck fuck fuck-” Your nails rake red, red lines all down his expansive back. Pulling him in even closer until all he can manage are dirty lil’ half-thrusts to pound you through your high. “M’cumming, Toru-”

“Y-yeah?” Gojo’s stuttering wetly, sloppily. Pushing the fat battering of his fountaining orifice into the groove of your g-spot over n’ over n’ over. You didn’t know how anything could feel so good. “N’ who made you cum, hm? Who’s f-fucking this pretty pussy, hm?”

“You-” You’re prattling, “You, Satoru.”

“Fuck.” Gojo gapes in wide-eyed craze, breath hitching when you lean over to drag your tongue over the sappy trickle of drool escaping his rose-red lips. “G-gonna make me cum again, swear-”

And he does.

“Can- can we hold hands while I hck! fuck you through your high, my princess?” He bats his lashes, a delicate blush taking over the tips of Gojo’s ears when you lace your fingers together. 

You can feel the splat! of even more heavy seed hitting the bottom of your pussy, swashing a warm second coating to your elastic walls every time Gojo thrusts. He was so solidly inside. Pinpointing specks of pure white with each swab. 

So full. So much of his voluminous ounces that it’s taken to tipping over from between your pussylips and forming a creamy puddle below you. You’re slipping all over it with every slither of Gojo’s cock.

But neither of you can even think to bring yourselves to be disgusted. To care for etiquette. 

Because Gojo drifts his hand over an invisible line where your tummy was being bloated with his length and his cum- and you find yourself aching for more all over again. 

“This looks…” Gojo starts, syllables scratchy and jagged. He’s practically whimpering - whimpering - at the sight of that lecherous cylindrical bulge being fucked into you. 

You’re dripping with him, and his cock twitches ferally at the thought of you all round and glowing. What a pretty mama you’d make. “...looks like the n-next heir to the throne will be a Gojo, my princess.”

Oh, you liked the thought of that.

And looking at Gojo Satoru now - eyes still not fully focused with how ruined he was, skin blushed the same maidenly shade of red that his slobbering mushroom tip was, pretty smile directed at you and only you in this lilac-scented haze - you didn’t think you wanted it any other way.

But, of course, Gojo would never want it any other way, either. Never. 

He clears his throat, sapphire gaze hardening; the intensity of it sending chills sprinting down your spine. Burning with a fervent I love you I love you I love you.

Massive hands intertwined with yours pull into your line of vision, and Gojo takes his dear time pressing a lingering peck onto each n’ every single one of your knuckles. But particularly on the one above your left ring finger.

This was it. 

“My princess…run away with me?”

.

.

.

“Didya hear ‘bout that Prince Naoya?”

“Oh yes- had his bride stolen away by a knight, I hear. Put a knife to his throat n’ took her away in the dead of night!”

“Hogwash! The boy was a looker, she went quite willingly, see- I always did think that Naoya wasn’t good ‘nough for our princess.”

“Wonder what happened after? That Zenin bunch was quite furious I hear, that bratty prince is still out for blood. But ol’ Naobito and some commander came to the rescue- Somethin’ about corruption and Jinichi…”

“Bah! Who cares about that? S’the biggest royal affair of the century- a handsome knight sweeping away the beloved princess? They’re swoonin’ n’ calling him the Knight of Roses already. All I wanna know is how the young couple is doing!”

Yaga rolls his eyes at other rambunctious customers churning gossip-mill, a pint clutched tightly in one hand and a scrap of paper in the other. 

Honestly, he comes to the pub for once to escape from palace duties - and the palace duties seem to want to escape with him! 

And even after so many months since that engagement party fiasco? News really did trickle down slowly when royal scandals were so often covered.

Oh, whatever. He muses, thumb gliding over the glossy parchment- some new innovation from kingdoms beyond the sea, according to what the eagerly-accompanied writing had said. A…a photograph, you had called it.

And Gojo’s surprisingly intricate drawing of you fiddling with the ah- camera gave him an idea of the machinery, though- most of the sketches were of you. All of them, actually.

Yaga gazes on in slight wonderment at the perfect black and white depiction of your smile, rivalling the one of Gojo Satoru’s beside yours. Beaming, sleeves rolled up and fatigued with a day of hard work, so in love. 

It was oh-so-positively sweet.

The cherry on top? Well, Yaga couldn’t quite decide between the matching bands glinting on each of your left ring-fingers, the glimpse of a pretty lil’ cottage behind you two, and the massive bouquet of undoubtedly deep red roses Gojo was presenting you with.

Or perhaps it was the hand you were resting absent-mindedly on the obviously rounded curve of your tummy.

How fortunate, he tucks away the photograph into his coat with a smile and orders another pint. Knight of Roses, indeed. 

A/N. Yearning is my kink mhm. Hope you have a lovely week <3

Plagiarism not authorized.

[almostg]

The truth of it 🤣

[delta-pavonis]

This is literally the inside of my brain like 90% of the time I am writing.

[uncensored-aj]

Bad at writing smut so all of my fics are all plot no porn lmao not sorry gotta stick with what I know XD

[boxofbonesfic]

felt this in my spirit

[animedumpfanfics]

Love that almost all fics with Nanami he’s a doting soft dom husband and then Toji is just a manhandling fiend 😭. Geto is always a mean dom, choso sub!top, and gojo always messy in bed. Messy as in teasing btw

[peachdues]

FAMILY MATTERS

Shinjuro Rengoku x Kyojuro Rengoku x F!Reader

A/N: so uhhh… y’all remember my Red Dress one shot? Well, here’s the continuation of that, except now, it’s Shinjuro’s turn.

There is nothing redeemable about this. It’s pure smut.

CW: MDNI • 7.2k • explicit sexual content below • cucking • breeding • creampie • Kyojuro sets his fiance up tbh but she’s into it • just nasty filth • doggy • rough rug sex • desk sex •

Senjuro ended up departing for a neighbor’s after dinner, and the Rengoku patriarch retired to bed not long after. Though the two of you should have been well on your way home, Kyojuro had gotten distracted.

“I thought of you all through dinner,” his breath is hot against your ear. One hand flips up the skirt of your sundress as the other fumbles with his belt. “How you sat there, talking to my father and brother while my seed leaked out of you.”

“Kyojuro — oh —“ you’re cut off by his bruising, rough kiss. You break away only with a sharp gasp as your fiance’s practiced fingers drag over the lacy seam of your underwear, your hips bucking into his touch. His mouth only slopes messily down your neck. Kyojuro growls into your skin in approval at the wetness he finds between your legs — a mixture of his cum and your renewed arousal.

“You drive me wild,” the leather around his hips gives way, and his fingers are nimble as they unfasten the top button of his pants.

You can’t hide the way your mouth runs dry, or how your thighs unconsciously press together as Kyojuro pulls his stiffened cock free. A thrill flutters in your stomach at the thought of getting on your knees before him and offering your mouth for his use. That excitement is doubled at the prospect of being inside your future father-in-law’s study, a place you wouldn’t have dared to venture had Kyojuro not led you here by the hand.

But that arousal grinds to a sharp halt when Kyojuro’s fingers curl under the edge of your underwear and yank them down your legs. A quick rustle of fabric indicates he’s shoved them into the pocket of his loosened pants, for safe-keeping.

Kyojuro gives himself a firm pump before lining himself up with your entrance.

“This is — Kyo — your father’s study —“

“I’m aware.” With one mighty thrust of his hips, he forces himself to the hilt inside you. “Keep quiet, my Flame.”

Once he’s confirmed that your hand is braced steadily behind you on the rich mahogany of his father’s desk, Kyojuro pulls back, his fingers deftly pushing the straps of your sundress from your shoulders. He tugs the bodice down to your waist and your breasts pebble at the sudden exposure to the warm air of the home office.

Kyojuro hums at the sight of the marks he’d left behind; the way the light from the fire dances across your exposed skin.

He begins with shallow thrusts that grow deeper, more forceful with every passing moment. Before long, you’re forced to smother your whimpers against the thick curve of his shoulder, your fingers curling under the edge of the desk as it rocks and creaks with his movements.

“Fuck, my love,” Kyojuro groans into your hair. “God, you feel too fucking good to stop.”

He must be desperate, you decide, given the way he steadily lets his weight fall into you until you’re forced back against the flat surface of the desk. If you weren’t too busy muffling your sounds of pleasure by burying your teeth into your bottom lip, you would’ve smiled. Kyojuro was so adorable when he was like this; when he gave into his more base desires to rut fast and deep.

Your fiance quiets his own euphoria by sealing his mouth against your throat. His moans rumble across your skin, chased by alternating flicks of his tongue nips of his teeth His hands grip you firmly by your waist, his fingers digging into your flesh, anchoring you to him as he pushes faster and deeper into you.

A floorboard nearby creaks, but neither of you notice; you’re too enraptured in one another, your body already thrumming with a need for more that hot, saltiness you can’t help but crave that you know Kyojuro won’t be able to resist giving you.

Thank goodness for the card of neat little pills waiting on your nightstand at home; though you’d likely be pushing your luck, you’re optimistic that your fiancé will give you his fill and still get you back in time for you to take your birth control.

Kyojuro tears his mouth away from your neck and straightens, his nails digging into your hips as he jerks you to meet his bruising thrusts.

“What do you think, Father?” Kyojuro’s jovial tone makes you freeze and the sweat which has begun to cling to your skin turns cold. “Is the view better than you imagined?”

Instantly you jolt up, clinging to Kyojuro’s massive frame in an effort to keep yourself concealed.

A dismissive scoff sounds from a distant corner of the study. “It certainly isn’t worse.”

Dread curdles in your stomach as Kyojuro’s father steps out of the shadows. His face is hard and severe, even as he draws closer to the fireplace adjacent to his desk, the light of the flames offering no warmth.

You begin to squirm against Kyojuro, who is bewilderingly still buried snugly inside your warmth. Your anxious little taps against his chest, his shoulders, however, do nothing to spur him into action, no matter how you urge him away.

“Now, now, my Flame,” your fiancé tuts, quelling your protests with a warning thrust, shallow, but firm enough to cease your squirming. “You cannot deny you’ve been tempting him.”

Across the richly manicured office, the elder Rengoku’s eyes burn in silent agreement.

“In fact, I seem to recall you mentioning how fuckable you thought he still was.”

Your mouth falls open in horror. Not only was it an exaggeration of what you’d actually said (he could still get it, don’t you think?), but you’d said it to tease Kyojuro. In private.

“And I think we both know this little dress of yours was intentional. You know how we love red.”

Shane burns in your cheeks. You did. You’d worn the red sundress to bait your fiancé, but you’d also done it knowing the significance of the color red in the Rengoku family. And while your comment about the fuckability of the family’s patriarch had mostly been lighthearted, some part of you had always been curious.

Perhaps Kyojuro was right; maybe you’d been enticing the senior Rengoku just as much as you had his son.

But there’s a faint tinge of jealousy in Kyojuro’s tone that has your heart thumping madly against your sternum. It’s the kind he rarely showed even when you were openly flirted with in front of him, whether the two of you were out on a romantic dinner or simply running errands together. A sort of dominance that only ever manifested when Kyojuro perceived a threat — a person whose eyes lingered too long, or when someone simply got too close for comfort.

It is that possessive anger which shows now that his competition is his own father. Perhaps he is hoping the elder will be exactly that — an old man, limited in his age and unable to satisfy you the way Kyojuro knows how. Though, from your blushing once-over of Shinjuro’s form where he waits across the study, you quietly think perhaps Kyojuro has underestimated his father. While he may indulge in his stash of fine alcohol too often, Shinjuro remains agile as ever, his body, strong.

Your curiosity flames, lashing at you until it can no longer be ignored. For every way Kyojuro’s personality contrasted heavily with his father’s, you could not help but wonder whether that opposition continued in other areas. Namely, the way Kyojuro’s switch flipped the second you got him alone, riled up and heated was in diametric opposition to his ordinarily warm and sweet disposition.

Because, no matter how gentle and kind and warm Kyojuro was, rile him up enough and he turned into a downright fiend when left alone with you.

Shinjuro, in contrast, was anything but sunny and cheerful. At best, he was a crass old man with a habit of letting alcohol loosen his already too loose tongue. Assuming consistency was a variable in play, perhaps that meant he would be softer; more gentle.

Despite your embarrassment at having been discovered, you cannot deny your own longing.

Kyojuro grinds once more into you before withdrawing from your heat entirely. You wince at the loss of his warmth, fingers clawing at air to bring him back, to cover you with the safety of his body once more, but he only steps aside.

“If you’re gonna fuck in my house, little girl, then you’re gonna have to abide by my rules.” Shinjuro’s voice carries that deadly sort of authority you’d only ever heard him assert when dealing with business, and it’s severe enough that you find your spine straightening in answer. “And I believe in sharing.”

Your mouth falls open as though you have any basis to protest when you’ve been caught red-handed, but Shinjuro cuts you off.

“That’s my rule from now on.” He looks to his son. “You fuck her in my house, then it’s free use. That includes your brother, once he’s an adult. Don’t like it? keep it in your fuckin’ pants.”

Shinjuro’s attention slides back to you, and a sharp flutter shoots through the pit of your stomach at the leering desire in his eyes. “And I don’t care if you’re here visiting with your future kids. I’ll fuck you once they’re asleep.“

Any cautious optimism you had that Shinjuro might embrace the softer side of intimacy flew right out the delicately arched window of his study.

And yet, your curiosity lingers.

Hesitantly, you lower your eyes and see the rigid bulge straining against the seat of his pants. It looks almost identical to Kyojuro’s, but from your quick assessment, it seems his father boasts a greater thickness.

The thought of how that thickness might feel, buried inside your makes, makes your mouth go dry.

Warm, gentle fingers catch your chin. “Only if you want to.”

It is a whisper only meant for you to hear, and suddenly, some of your anxiety eases. You know, by the burning sincerity in his eyes, that if this truly was beyond your realm of comfort, Kyojuro would cut it off without you needing to even utter your safe word.

With a light gulp, you nod, the movement almost as imperceptible as Kyojuro’s eyes become unreadable. But he says nothing more; instead, Kyojuro merely steps away, leaving no barrier between you and his father. Predator and prey.

Self-consciousness has your arm jumping to lock itself over your chest, a futile attempt to conceal what has already been exposed.

Shinjuro stalks silently across the rug, drawing short of where you’re still spread atop the edge of his desk. The shadows dancing along the walls of his study do not conceal the way his tongue flicks out from between his lips, moistening them, the longer he stares between your parted thighs. You clench around nothing under the heat of Shinjuro’s gaze, and his eyes narrow like he knows.

Some of that burning desire tempers as Shinjuro’s eyes flick to your face. “You’re not pregnant, are you?”

The abruptness of the question catches you off guard, and you’re shaking your head before you remember to demand why he’s asking in the first place.

Shinjuro’s eyes harden. “You’ve had the nerve to fuck this girl under my roof and you still haven’t knocked her up?” He scoffs, turning his attention back to his son. “I impregnated your mother the first time I brought her here. Have you no shame?”

A quiet anger simmers in Kyojuro’s eyes. “She’s on birth control.”

“No fuckin’ excuse,” Shinjuro pushes past his eldest, his eyes locked between your thighs, still spread wide. “The Rengoku family is known for its virility. You’ve embarrassed that legacy. Go sit down.”

Wordlessly, Kyojuro backs away, his anger burning hotly on his face. He crosses to one of the great, stuffed leather armchairs to the side of the hearth where the fire roars and settles in, his eyes bright.

Shinjuro turns his ire back to you. “You see that ring on your finger? The one paid for with our family’s money?” And your eyes drop to the beautiful engagement ring sitting on your left hand, placed there by Kyojuro. “That’s not just a gift, sweetheart. Deal was you get the ring and you give this family your womb.”

Some fiery, rebellious part of you balks at that, overtakes your own common senses. “The wedding is still a few months away.”

“You think that fuckin’ matters? That ring means you’re part of this family, little girl. And being in this family means pulling your weight.”

He reaches for you then, and it takes a concentrated amount of effort to not flinch away from him, no matter how wetness pools between your legs.

Shinjuro’s fingers curl around your forearm, tugging it away to expose your breasts.

“Not bad.” He clicks his tongue. He palms one in his hand, rolling it, pinching it between rough yet warm fingers, as though testing it. With an alarming swiftness, the tension in your limbs eases, your body turning pliant and supple under his touch, confident and knowing. The faint moans trembling in your throat under your future-in-law’s inspections quickly choke off with a yelp as Shinjuro gives one tit a firm slap.

He smirks. “They’ll be better once you’re good and fat with a kid. What, with your milk and all.” He closes his eyes and shudders. “So fuckin’ sweet. I couldn’t get enough of it with Rukka.”

Shinjuro jerks his head at Kyojuro where he settles into the great leather armchair by the mantle. “He’ll like it, too. Little degenerate, just like his old man.”

He fondles you once more, pulling a small whimper from you that makes him smirk. Shinjuro eyes one of the hickeys near the top of your nipple, left behind by Kyojuro’s earlier attentions and with a faint sneer, he flicks it.

You gasp and arch into him, goosebumps skittering along your skin and you quietly present yourself for more. The way he continues to palm you — rolling each breast in his hand, testing its weight — leaves you with the distinct impression that you’re little more than some prized brooding mare and he, your inspector. That feeling is only amplified when Shinjuro suddenly grabs your hips and forces you back against his desk, maneuvering your body in different positions to see how you bend.

“Arches her back nicely,” he remarks casually, as though discussing something as tepid as the weather. “Feels flexible, too. But none of that means shit if she’s not fertile.”

Shinjuro steps back, his hands planted on his hips, expectant. “Let’s see what we’re working with, girl. On the floor,” When you don’t move, too frozen atop the desk and uncertain of what he’s asking, he nods at the rug. “Go on — present yourself for me. Need to inspect the goods.”

With shaking legs, you lower yourself off the desk. Cheeks flushed with heat, you cast one last, anxious glance at your fiancé. Kyojuro, however, says nothing, his eyes boring into yours as he waits.

You’re doing this; you’re actually doing this. You are willingly lowering yourself to the great, ornate rug sprawled across the floor of the study, knees first, and then your hands, followed by your forearms.

Your heart hammers away at your chest as you wait, ass held high in the air, your cunt on open display. A soft thump of a body lowering itself behind you is followed by rough fingers that spread your ass cheeks, forcing your thighs to shift and widen. The faintest tickle of warm breath fans over your heated, drooling center, and you sink your teeth into your bottom lip to keep from crying out in desperation.

“Pretty little pussy,” Shinjuro hums with faint appreciation. Two, thick fingers swipe harshly through your dampened folds, spreading your wetness from your clit to your entrance. “Glad he at least knows how to get you warmed up. You’re fucking soaked.”

His fingers circle your opening, pressing against it just enough to make you squirm into the rug, but not enough to alleviate the nearly painful way your cunt continues to flutter and clench around nothing.

“How does she take it — oh,” you can hear Shinjuro’s leering smirk as he slips his finger inside your fluttering entrance. “Sucked me right in. Least she knows what to do when she’s got somethin’ in her.”

He pumps another finger lazily into you as you moan your encouragement. “Does she taste as sweet as she smells?” Shinjuro’s voice is faintly hoarse as he addresses his son.

There’s a pause that seems to stretch on for an eternity. “Sweeter.” Comes Kyojuro’s answer, strained, though you cannot see his face from where his father has crowded you into the rug. “Father —“

“I ain’t gonna taste her.” Shinjuro brushes off your fiancé’s warning, flippant. “Don’t need to. She’s ready for a good breeding, I can tell just by the smell of her.” A sharp slap of a hand against your sex pulls a yelp from you, and yet you can’t stop from wiggling your hips in a silent plea for more. “But you have failed your duty in bringing about the next generation of our family. You both have.”

There’s a rustle of clothing behind you followed by the distinct click of a belt buckle. “So I’m correcting it.”

Shinjuro’s fingers find your clit again, his quiet signal that he is addressing you even though he turns your brain to mush beneath his expert touch. “Looks like I’ve gotta show my boy how to properly breed a woman, since he’s yet to put his brat in you.”

Your stomach clenches. If not for Shinjuro’s leg wedged thickly between yours, keeping you spread for him, you would’ve pressed your thighs together in anticipation.

Shinjuro shifts behind you, pushing his pants down past his knees. Your curiosity is too great to resist, and slyly, you throw a glance over your shoulder, eager to see if your predictions about the Rengoku patriarch’s endowments ring true.

Before you can confirm, a rough, demanding hand ensares itself in your hair. With a hard shove, Shinjuro forces your head down, deepening the arch in your back. Behind you, Kyojuro makes some faint noise of discontent at his father’s roughness with you, but he does not interfere.

“I can only assume it’s ‘cause he’s not fuckin’ you properly. That’s what happens when you spread your legs for boys. They don’t know what you need.” He lines his tip up with your entrance. “Need a man to fuck you right.”

With a single, deep thrust, Kyojuro’s father bottoms out inside you.

He does not bother to give you time to adjust to him; he’s moving before you manage to choke out a small sound of surprise, one that’s lost to the fierce smacking of skin meeting skin.

“You need to— fuck — her — like — this —“ Shinjuro grinds out, each word punctuated with a sharp slap of his pelvis against your rear. The fat of your ass jiggles with every lurid thrust, and the elder Rengoku’s balls — heavy and full of cum that you know he’s going to insist on unloading inside you — smacks against your clit in time with his movements.

A responsive moan vaguely registers to your right, and with great effort, you turn your head toward the sound, eyes squinting through the stray strands of hair that have fallen over your face.

You spy Kyojuro, seated in the great leather armchair by the study’s fireplace. His cheeks are pink and his eyes are bright as he watches where his father appears and disappears into your body. In his hand is his cock. Its tip matches the color of his lips, parted as he pants against the languid pumps of his fist.

Shinjuro must catch sight of his son too, and it only spurs him to move faster; harder. “You like looking at her while she gets fucked, don’t you?”

You crane your neck further to watch for your fiancé’s answer, but a pointed slam of Shinjuro’s cock deep into your warmth forces your eyes back into your head. The stretch from him is incredible and unlike anything you’ve ever experienced, even with Kyojuro; a burning fullness that is almost as uncomfortable as it is pleasurable.

Kyojuro must nod, for his father only scoffs in dismissal.

“Yeah, I see why. She’s a pretty fuckin’ thing, isn’t she?” A harsh slap of his hand against your ass nearly sends you jolting forward. “Bet you treat her like a little princess; too delicate to handle a good pounding.”

If you weren’t so fixated on the way your breasts scrape against the coarse rug beneath you in a dizzying blend of pain-tinged pleasure, you might have laughed. Kyojuro was an adventurous lover, and a considerate one at that. But that didn’t mean he didn’t know how to pin you down and fuck you when you wanted him to. Though, even Kyojuro’s roughest moments did not compare to the way his father now brutally fucked you into the floor of his study, his cock fat and heavy; as hard as steel.

Unlike Kyojuro, there is nothing loving about this; no tenderness. Shinjuro’s movements are nothing more than pure domination. He is not demanding your submission; he is forcing it.

The conversation between father and son is accompanied by a score of wet, sticky slaps of Shinjuro’s hips against your ass and the tiny little oh! oh! ohs! that you whimper into the rug. You soon find it impossible to fix your gaze on anything other than the diamond sitting delicately on your left ring finger; the way it glints and shines in the firelight as your fiancé’s father fucks you harder into the floor.

“That’s where you’ve gone wrong, boy. Fertile little things like this don’t want to romanced.” One broad, rough hand snaked up your spine to grip the nape of your neck, pushing your head down hard into the rug. “They want to be used.”

Shinjuro laughs, a harsh, jeering sound. “Just wanna be fucked stupid, isn’t that right?” His fingers tighten around your neck, commanding your attention despite the way he’s fucking your brain numb. “You just want someone to pump a baby into you. You’re desperate for it, aren’t you?”

The skin of your kneecaps burn from the way they scrape against the rug under your future in-law’s unyielding pace, and it’s because of that stinging pain that you’re able to ground yourself enough to manage a single, jerky nod of your head.

“Tch. Then why are you on birth control?” Shinjuro growls between vicious, forceful thrusts, his pelvis slapping hard against your backside. “You holding out on this family?”

Shinjuro draws nearly all the way out before he slams back into you, the blunt head of his cock bullying right up against your sweet spot. A slew of profanities pour from your mouth into the rug below, and your toes curl violently as he shifts his hips forward and keeps himself pressed right against it, stilling his movements.

You want to howl; he’s pushed right against the most sensitive part inside your body, one that Kyojuro knows will have you making a mess of both yourself and him after only a few grazes. And yet, his father, the bastard that he is, has the head of his cock jammed right against it, with seemingly no inclination of moving anytime soon.

Nor does he seem to care how you writhe and whimper into his rug, either. Your legs vibrate against the floor, and your hips move of their own volition, desperate for relief, but Shinjuro’s hold on your neck strengthens.

It’s torture and he must know it. “Answer me.”

“Not ready!” You gasp, your hands balling into fists against the carpet, your nails biting into your palms as the throbbing deep in your cunt becomes nearly excruciating. “We said — ngh — we said we weren’t ready yet!”

You cry out at the sting of a hand smacking hard at your ass. “You’re marrying into an old family, sweetheart.” Shinjuro spanks you again, and tears spring into your eyes. Yet, despite the pain, you only throw your hips back, desperate for more. “Money ain’t a concern. Your job is to birth the next generation of Rengokus.”

Despite his admonition, Shinjuro resumes his movements, easing back into his previous pace as though he hadn’t paused to start. You nearly cry out in relief, your hips circling and grinding against him for more, just more.

“Doesn’t matter, now. Don’t worry, you pretty little thing. You’ll be begging me to put a son in you soon enough. But until then —“ a rough, bruising hand snakes its way into your hair, balling it between his fingers. Shinjuro jerks hard on your head before he mashes it into the rug below, your cheek chafing against the rough carpet. “I don’t want to hear a damn word out of you. My son needs to be taught a lesson.”

Your eyes strain to seek out your fiance once more. Kyojuro’s blush has deepened to a fierce crimson, though his eyes darken at the way his father shoves you down into the floor.

Kyojuro is a passionate lover; while he can and does fuck you hard, he always keeps well behind the line between rough sex and cruelty. His father, it seems, toes that boundary far more closely. You can tell this bothers your beloved fiance by the hard set of his jaw and the wait his teeth grit together.

And yet, as the noises pouring from your mouth out of you slide from high-pitched, breathy whimpers to deep, sultry moans, and the study fills with pointed wet schlicking sound as the Rengoku patriarch continues fucking you without mercy, Kyojuro does not interject.

His hand only tightens around his cock; the tempo of his movements, only growing in speed.

Shinjuro’s grip on your neck loosens before his hand pulls back to rejoin the other at your hips. A low whistle blows past his lips. “If only you could see the way she’s creamin’ all over me, Kyojuro — filthy thing loves being used.”

He grunts appreciatively as he jerks you back to meet his rapid movements. “Does she always make this mess on you?”

A deep, rumbling groan is Kyojuro’s only answer, and his father chuckles.

“I figured. Look at her, suckin’ me in like this. Practically beggin’ me to fuck a child into her.”

A sharp smack cuts through the air like a knife, the skin of your ass stinging as Shinjuro cocks his hand back and spanks you again. Harder and harder he rides you, and the bruising ache blooming between your thighs is one you know you’ll feel for days.

Shinjuro’s next thrust is forceful enough that it lays him nearly flat against your back, his chest heavy and hot, dampened with sweat. The coarse hair covering his sternum scrapes at your shoulders as the elder Rengoku tightens his hold on your hips.

“You picked a ripe one, Kyojuro, I’ll give you that. Pretty little cunt like this was meant to be filled.” A hand winds under you, and Shinjuro’s palm presses flat against your lower belly. “With hips like this, she was made to give this family more sons.”

“Pussy is even better pregnant.” Shinjuro declares to no one in particular, his whiskey-tinged breath hot against your ear. “All the hormones and shit. Makes things tighter. Wetter.” You twitch violently into him as his thumb glides harshly over your clit. “More sensitive too. Ain’t that right, sweetheart?”

“You want her pregnant, don’t you, Kyojuro?” And before his son can answer, Shinjuro snorts. “Yeah, you do. Bet you’ve even beat off to the image of it — her all fat and swollen with a kid, tits leaking, pussy sweeter than wine. I know I would.”

Beads of sweat roll down the thick planes of Shinjuro’s chest and abdomen, staining your back. Each jolt of his body into yours produces a wet thwap that joins the lewd squelching your cunt as it gushes around his cock, as his body suctions to yours.

Teeth, sharp and brutal, nip harshly at your neck. “I like to think I’ve spoiled my boys, Y/N.” Your future in-law growls lowly in your ear. “They may not agree. But they didn’t want for nothin’. And I still like to indulge ‘em, every now and again.”

Shinjuro’s rough hand reaches under you to palm at your tits. “You love being a big brother, don’t you, Kyojuro? How about I put a new baby brother in your fiancé’s womb for ya? How’s that for a gift?”

You clench hard, your stomach nearly convulsing at how tightly you grip onto the thick cock bullying relentlessly into you right as Kyojuro looses a great, cracked moan.

“What my boy wants, he gets.” Shinjuro sounds so casual as he peels himself off you, straightening back up on his knees. One hand moves to press down on your lower back, deepening the arch of your spine until your ass returns to its position high in the air.

His grip on your hips tightens with bruising force as he resumes jerking you back to meet his movements. “You ready to beg yet, sweetheart? You gonna let me breed this tight little cunt? Give your fiancé a new brother to spoil?”

You hardly recognize any of the sounds pouring out of you, unable to concentrate on anything but the way the ache in your groin deepens, your desperate need to be filled becoming damn near painful.

Behind you, Shinjuro chuffs through gritted teeth. “Yeah, you’d like that, huh? You’d love walking around, plump and round with your father-in-law’s bastard, wouldn’t ya? It’d be your dirty little secret.”

There’s a frenzy to his movements now, the more Shinjuro becomes lost in his own fantasy. His balls slap harshly against your clit, the coarse thicket of his hair scraping against your raw flesh as the coil in your stomach begins to tighten. “Everyone would see you and my boy together and think such lovely things; a new family starting out. No one would know — no one would guess that you were pregnant because of how much you like bending over for your fiancé’s old man to let him breed you like the sow you are.”

The image of it — of you, attending some fancy gala with Kyojuro, happy and glowing while his father’s baby grows steadily in your stomach — has you throwing your hips back, circling and grinding with a desperation that makes your fiancé’s father laugh, harsh and bitter.

The sound only makes you clench harder around him. God, you need it; him, of all fucking people.

Shinjuro.

“Please, please, please —!” The request rolls freely off your tongue before you can think the better of it. Across the room, Kyojuro cries out, as wanton and desperate as you.

“Please,” Shinjuro mocks. “Please what?”

“A baby — give me a baby, please! Oh please please —“

“You want to give me another son, huh? Fucking mine isn’t enough for you?”

“Yes!” You sob, the skin of your cheek burning where it mashes against the rug, but you’re far too gone to care. “A son, please, oh please put a son in me! I want to be good, let me be good —“

You’ll do it, you’ll give the Rengoku family as many heirs as they need to know your worth; to know that Kyojuro made the right choice when he got down on one knee and presented you with a ring worth more than your own salary.

“Bout damn time you see things our way,” Shinjuro growls, and he shifts forward, planting one foot by your knee. “I’ll stuff you full.”

He bends over you again, his chest forcing your back to flatten, and you nearly drool at the coarse prickle of chest hair where it rubs between your shoulders.

The scent of woodsmoke and fine whisky clouds your head. “Tell me, do you think my son will still fuck you even while you’re carrying his brother?” Shinjuro’s eyes dart to where Kyojuro sits, his head thrown back and thighs spread wide as he pumps himself, a deep, drawn-out moan rumbling in his chest.

Shinjuro conceals his grin against the side of your head, his teeth grazing the shell of your ear. “Yeah,” he chuckles. “Yeah, I think he will. Your pussy’s too fuckin’ sweet to resist, isn’t that right, Kyojuro?”

“Yes.” Comes Kyojuro’s single reply, little more than a strained groan.

It’s too much; the obvious need in your fiancé’s voice coupled with the way his father so ruthlessly pumps into you, his cock stretching and filling you so perfectly as he hammers away all the right spots forces your eyes back into your head, your fingers clawing at the rug chafing your skin raw. The pressure in your stomach mounts until you feel almost ready to burst, every inch of you trembling as you wait for that familiar coil to spring.

Shinjuro swears lowly, once, sensing just how close you are to breaking apart, before he recovers.

“Just think, boy.” He calls out to his son, his voice boastful despite how he clenches his jaw. “Once her milk comes in, we won’t have to take turns having a taste. All we gotta do is sit her between us and each take a tit. Fun little father-son bonding. Whaddya say?”

Your eyes fly open. The image of it — of you straddled between the two Rengokus, both mouthing hotly at your swollen, aching breasts while your stomach sits round and full with a child that might have been fathered by one as much as the other — is your undoing.

Somewhere in the depths of the Rengoku ancestral estate, Kyojuro’s brother sleeps. You can only hope that his slumber remains peaceful, given the loud, cracked scream that rips free from you, burning your throat as your climax slams into you like a freight.

The coil in your stomach does not unwind; it explodes, blows apart in a mess of shrapnel capped with prolonged cry as your walls squeeze around your lover’s father’s thick, demanding cock.

“Oh fuck, she’s good,” Shinjuro throws his head back, eyes rolling into his head at the way your cunt seizes around him like a vice. “Harder, Y/N. Your father in law wants you to cum fuckin’ harder.”

One hand unlatches itself from its bruising grip at your hip, curling under you. Shinjuro pinches your clit firmly between the roughened pads of his fingers and your stomach seizes. A violent spasm of hot, searing pleasure rips sharply through your groin, sparking gush of sticky fluid to spring forth and coat the rug below.

“Daddy!” You cry out, too fucked out of your mind to fully register what has escaped your mouth; the slip you’ve made.

Daddy is reserved for Kyojuro — and under specific circumstances. Only after you’d been your most difficult, your most rotten, such that Kyojuro knew you were baiting him, waiting for him to pin you down and give you exactly what you wanted and set you right. Only after you were looking up at him through glassy eyes, so unbelievably fucked out of your head did the word Daddy ever leave your lips.

In a way, you suppose those conditions were present here. After all, it was your fiance who suggested you’d pranced around the Rengoku ancestral estate in your red dress to frustrate both him and his father. And Shinjuro is, in fact, fucking you halfway to hell and back, your brain having nearly liquified in your skull.

So really, he can’t fault you for getting your wires crossed.

“Daddy! Fuck — oh fuck, yes, yes, Daddy, daddy —!”

Kyojuro moans back in response, and that single sound — a ragged, pleasure-delirious thing — only makes you clamp down harder around his father’s thick cock.

“Yeah,” Shinjuro snorts, his laugh dark and cruel. “Yeah, I’m your fuckin’ daddy, aren’t I?”

You continue to howl for him until your voice gives out, quieting down in time with the slow ebbing of your climax, your body turning limp limb by limb. When the last of your orgasm echoes through you, you nearly collapse prostrate into the rug. You would have, if not for the bruising grip of hands latched firmly to your hips, keeping you in place.

You’re only permitted to relax for a moment before Shinjuro decides it’s time for him to make good on his oath to fuck a son into you.

A single, long draw of his hips nearly pulls his cock free of your sopping heat. But before that can happen, Shinjuro’s fingers dig into the fleshy part above your waist and without warning, he slams back into you, hard and brutal.

Air wheezes out of your lungs and you’re forced out of your post-orgasm haze, yanked right from the clouds of bliss and dropped back in the study as he repeats the movement once, twice.

You scramble to find purchase, your arm flailing out before you as you scramble to find purchase. Before you can, however, one rough, callused hand wraps firmly around your bicep, holding you down against the floor. The other snakes to your wrist and wrenches that arm behind your back, pinning it in place at the bottom of your spine.

And Shinjuro fucks you. Hard. Even more so than before.

You’re utterly at his mercy; little more than a toy, bouncing between his body and the floor of his sprawling study as Shinjuro chases his release. Your legs will be rubbed raw with friction, both from the rug beneath your knees and your hamstrings where Shinjuro’s thighs press firmly into yours, his hair as coarse and wild as what grows from his head.

Behind you, the elder Rengoku’s breaths have turned ragged.

“Hold her — fuck — hold her down like this when you cum.”

Whereas Kyojuro’s climaxes are always accompanied by loud, strangled groans, euphoric and lilting, Shinjuro comes with a deep, snarling grunt. With a final, bruising thrust, fiancés father-bottoms out inside you. His hips shove heavily into yours, pushing hard against your ass as he presses his cock as deep as possible. The force of it bends your spine, making Shinjuro distribute half his weight between his hips and his arms where he holds you down. He comes as powerfully as he’d claimed you, his orgasm every bit as punishing and relentless as the rest of him.

Your eyes roll back into your head at the first spurt of his cum, your mouth falling open. Drool leaks from the corner of your mouth, trickling down your cheek and dampening the fibers of the rug.

Deep; your father-in-law’s cock is so fucking deep in you, his cum hot and thick as it coats your womb. Distantly, you hear the pleasured cry of Kyojuro as he reaches his own climax, his seed spilling hot and fast over his fist as he watches his father unload himself inside you.

“Feel me pulsing, doll?” Shinjuro grits through clenched teeth. “That’s me puttin’ our next heir in you.”

The only response you can manage is a faint moan. It takes a moment for you to feel it; the tell-tale gush of cum that always leaks out of you after you’ve been filled, tangible proof of how thoroughly you’d been claimed. And it strikes you that the delay is the result of how deep inside of you Shinjuro had been when he came.

Deeper, you silently concede, albeit begrudgingly, than Kyojuro has ever reached.

But then it comes; a thick trickle of hot fluid spilling over where your bodies are connected, Shinjuro’s balls twitching against your throbbing clit as he continues to unload himself inside you. Dizzy with the pleasure of feeling his cum, so warm and viscous, you cant your hips back into his, mewling your gratitude.

Full; you’re so very full of your father-in-law’s cock and cum. So very sated.

There’s a triumphant exhale behind you, and you don’t need to turn to know Shinjuro wears that self-satisfied smirk of his, the one he always had whenever he successfully trounced his son in front of an audience. His hand releases its crushing grip on the wrist he’d pinned behind your back in favor of rubbing your ass where it circles against his base, though whether it’s out of appreciation for you or a further brag to his son, you can’t say.

The elder Rengoku holds himself in place for a moment longer, ensuring every last drop of his seed is properly deposited into your waiting womb. Only when he’s satisfied nothing remains, does he pull out, not bothering to give you any warning as your body spasms and winces at the loss of his warmth.

The air at your back turns cool, no longer invaded by his lumbering body. A chill snakes down your spine at the sudden draftiness of the study as the sweat glistening along your back and staining your dress cools. Some of your awareness — and your contempt — returns to you as the spell cast over you by Shinjuro dissipates. You focus on each muscle of your body, identifying what you’re still able to love as you prepare to push yourself up from the floor, when two, broad hands latch around your waist.

Shinjuro cares not for your small whimpers and whines as he forces you to turn around on your raw knees, not letting you rest until your rear faces Kyojuro.

“There, that’s a properly bred pussy,” Shinjuro announces with a not-so-gentle smack of his hand against your swollen, dripping folds. “Take a look, son.”

A derisive snort shoves its way through your nose. Of course, it isn’t enough for Shinjuro to have fucked his son’s fiance right in front of him; now he has to show off his work.

But do you resist? Of course not, nor does Kyojuro protest, panting as he comes down from his own high where he sits near the fireplace.

“See that?” Two rough fingers catch a thick bead of Shinjuro’s cum as it slides down your inner thigh. “You want a baby? Don’t let a single drop go to waste. Fingers or your cock, it doesn’t matter — just make sure it stays inside.”

You focus on calming your own breathing, relief settling into your bones as Shinjuro pulls his hand away at last.

A moment passes, undisturbed except for the labor of your mutual breathing, when Shinjuro breaks the silence once more.

“But I’m gonna let you fuck my seed back into her.”

And with that, he leaves you crumpled helplessly on the floor, departing only with a sharp smack to your ass, still held high in the air.

He motions for Kyojuro to move and confounding, his son complies, half-jumping out of the leather armchair in his haste, his pants around his knees. Wordlessly, Shinjuro settles into his seat, one arm folded behind his head, his bicep bulging while his other hand wraps around his drooling cock, still hard and shiny with the combination of your cum and his.

“Go on, boy,” the elder Rengoku juts his chin to where you lay limp on the floor, your red dress pulled down bunched around your waist. He gives himself a firm pump with his fist and his mouth settles into a leering smirk. “Show me what you’ve learned.”

I’ll see you all in hell

[animedumpfanfics]

I literally just read th most smuttest (think this not a word 🤔) fic on this app in a while. I had to share this. I wish I could reach to this level of writing. Holy shit

[chososluv]

PLUG!CHOSO

✎₊˚⊹♡ summary: i got to thinking about weed dealer choso and how you would be his favorite customer ˚ ༘ .˚🌱୭ ˚. ᵎᵎ wc: 4k

🏷 tags/warnings: fem!reader, reader has a vagina, weed dealer choso, you get high, mentions of cannabis, smoking, hotboxing high sex, petnames (ma, mamas) black coded, size kink, choso is big and has a big cock, oral (f/m receive), sex, smut, nsfw, creaming, squirting, also choso has a nose ring, sortve proofread!

Plug!Choso who you have known since childhood. While you never spoke (due to different circles) he always had his eye on you was determined to date you one day. His adolescent years where him and irrelevant friends would discuss their crushes, he always sang your praises behind your back about how enamored he was with you. It got to the point where his friends stopped asking who his crush was because they knew the answer would always be you.

Plug!Choso who grows up to be handsome and dashing. A usual rule follower who turned into something different after graduating High School. College wasn't his thing and eventually he found himself in a situation where he was moving pounds of marijuana. You heard this news through the grapevine and was pretty shocked to hear how the quieter boy turned into something totally different than you expected.

Plug!Choso's information gets passed onto you when you move back to town and need a dealer. One of your trusted best friend's — Nobara — assures you he's legit and pretty reasonable which is hard to find being femme and looking for a trusted dealer in that industry. With your friend's testimony and knowing of him since birth, you got in contact with him one evening when you had trouble sleeping.

Plug!Choso who does not recognize your number when you reach out to him. He starts to ignore it until he sees Nobara sent him a warning text that you would be reaching out to him. Word don't do justice to how wide his grin spread as he typed a reply to your request to cop a quarter ounce.

Plug!Choso who lives up to your expectations the moment you two meet in the parking garage of your apartment. You sat in the comfort in your car, seeing a sleek black Audi pull up next to you. Looking over you notice a devilishly handsome face and it sends your stomach twisting and fluttering. He shoots you a charismatic grin as he was hopping out his car. He stands tall, sexy and wearing all black before he rounds your car. You unlock the door allowing him to slide into the passenger seat.

"Long time no see, ma how you been?"

Plug!Choso who has the nerve to smile after calling you a pet name and you fight grinning back. It's been years since you seen Choso and you had no idea he would be this fine. You saw the photos, but fuck they did not do justice as you looked him over. Daring and badass tattoo on his face — a solid black line that went horizontal across the bridge of his nose and stretched to his cheeks. Not to mention the annoyingly cute silver hoop he had in his left nostril. You weren't sure how much longer you could stay in close quarters with him looking this fine.

Plug!Choso has you playing it cool, offering him a friendly smile before you engaged in a conversation of catch up. The man giving you his full attention before you finished up.

"Dope, that's whats up. I got that quarter you asked for but since I haven't seen you in awhile let me smoke you out first."

Plug!Choso fights a grin when you agree to smoking in your car. He immediately pulls out a pre-rolled blunt and a lighter. You grin, laughing aloud as you start to tease him.

"Came ready huh?"

"I'm always ready, mama."

Plug!Choso and you share a blunt, laughing and giggling at one another. Choso learned that night that you were not only stunning, but hilarious. His stomach hurt from laughing and he tried to ignore the fact that he was getting increasingly turned on the more he spent time with you. You had unzipped your hoodie during the hotbox session, showing off your low cut cami and breasts that sat perky. He swallowed thickly and he tried to ignored his cock that was wanting to join the party.

"You might be my favorite customer." Plug!Choso would say after you made him laugh again. You snort, grabbing the blunt and inhaling generously. You stifle a cough before handing him the blunt back.

"I'm sure you say that to all your femme customers." You would say, even though reading his energy, you didn't believe your own words. However, playing a game you had to see where he was at with his intentions.

"Nah, just the ones I been crushing on since kindergarten."

the information comes to a surprise to you and you look to him with shock plastered all over your face. He only grins shyly back at you, taking a hit from the blunt and letting the cannabis help give him courage to a confession he’s been sitting on for years.

“You f’real?” Was all you could get out of your mouth and he can’t help but laugh. You laugh at yourself too but he nods, deciding one drag wasn’t enough and he needs another to calm his nerves.

“Deadass, y/n.” He says seriously and you can only feel your cheeks heat up. You look at him, holding his gaze as he hands the blunt back to you. You hold it in your hand, silent and taking a moment to gather your words. He starts to panic but then you move your mouth to speak.

“So what you gonna do about it now, Cho?” A cocky smirk on your mouth as you bring the blunt to your mouth. You inhale, hallowing your cheeks as you see the playful expression on his face. You can only think to yourself at how fucking handsome he is. And how that you were in the most ideal situation with said handsome man for something to happen. The close quarters with the cannabis involved…

you were surprised you were still in your seat — but then Choso spoke:

“Whatever you let me do, mama.”

And you lost your self control.

Plug!Choso who contains his excitement when you reach across him to let his seat back. You then climb over the console, sitting your weight fully on his lap as he decided to recline the seat. He lays back as you lean down, sitting on his lap. The thrill outweighing any rational thought that attempted to halt your actions. All those rational thoughts completely ceasing the moment your lips find his.

the kiss are slow, languid but desperate to get to know each other. Choso’s broad hands are finding the purchase of your back, groaning against your lips at how little you feel in his hands. You were the perfect size for him and the way you suck and nibble on his lips he knew you were going to be trouble. But he needed you to himself after having this taste. He couldn’t and wouldn’t let you pass through his fingertips.

Plug!Choso who makes out with you feverishly in your hot boxed car. Your hips want to ride against his cock that pokes against your thigh. You try to feel embarrassed at how desperately you fight against his hold to grind against his print, but the desire between your legs outweighs any decorum to had left. You feel hot and all you want to do is ride Choso in your car.

Plug!Choso is about to give in with the way you continue to lick at his lips. He opens his mouth to speak but your soft tongue slips past, causing him to stop talking and fall back into a tranquil state. Your wet muscle tasting and savoring every bit of Choso and he feels his dick jumping in his sweats. He’s seconds away from pulling his cock out before his phone rings. You pull away, the noise startling you and breaking the kiss. Choso reaches over to see the caller ID, seeing its Suguru.

“Hold on baby, it’s big bro.”

He answers the call and instantly regrets it because when he does it’s dire and requires he leave your presence. You can’t help it and you feel awkward — and let down — as he says he has to bounce. You crawl out of his lap and land back into the driver seat as he gathers himself. He fishes the quarter ounce of weed out of his pocket you originally asked for and he places it gently into you lap before sighing.

“Don’t worry about paying. Sorry I gotta leave.”

You assure Plug!Choso that its fine and that you will pay but when he shoots you a look you smile softly, uttering a thank you instead of continuing to press on repaying him.

“Its okay. That plug life.” You say understandably and he only nods his head. He quickly looks you over, eyeing you up and down as if he's debating something. Before you can ask him anything he brings his face close to yours, kissing your lips gently and knocking the breath out of you. He pulls away, looking in your eyes intensely and then replies.

“I’ll make it up to you.” He promises. Despite having fun, you didn’t hold your breath desperate he would prove you wrong.

and to your amazement, he does

It would be a couple days when Plug!Choso would text you asking you cheekily when would you be free to “run back the other night” (in his words!) and you have to fight with all your might to hide the stupid grin that stretched across your face (and you failed by the way and miserably).

Plug!Choso who pops by your apartment later that night with snacks, weed, and a bottle of liquor. You can only attempt to hide your excitement when he walked through your door, tall and handsome just as the other night. This time he wears a pair of black jeans, hoodie, and jacket thrown over. His hair is down and framed around his face gorgeously and while you try to hide your staring, Choso doesn't hide his. He's taking in your biker shorts that complimented your ass favorably and showed off your legs he was dying to have wrapped around his waist.

Plug!Choso and you have a successful night in. The TV is playing, a irrelevant series playing as you two gave each other your undivided attention. You found out more about each other and the more you two learned, the more you both became infatuated with one another. It had been awhile since a man had caught your attention and held it intensely. And while you thought that about Choso, he thought the same about you.

Plug!Choso who smokes you out to the point where your mind is numb but he's no better. He was pleasantly surprised at your weed tolerance being on par with his. Choso didn't know what he was going to do with you, but he did know he was about to take you off the map. Before he could stop himself his mouth is moving.

"Ma, I just realized I aint ever ask." He would say to you and you would raise your eyebrow. You lift your hand to your mouth, dragging from the current lit blunt you and Choso were working on.

"Ask what, Cho?" You say after exhaling. You take another hit from the blunt before passing it to Choso. He has a lazy grin as he takes the blunt. He looks at you, pausing briefly and his grin stretches wider. You start to ask him what is it before he cuts you off and leaves you speechless.

"You ain't got no one right?" Plug!Choso asks shyly and it has you grinning. You shake your head at his nature.

"No, do you?" You ask him, raising your eyebrow to await his answer. He smiles back at you before taking a soft hit from the blunt. He shakes his head as he exhales.

"Nah, but I'm hoping you could change that."

Plug!Choso who's a smooth motherfucker in how he shows he is interested in you. You can only grin once again. His charisma is something so suave and alluring, yet he was so shy and humble about it. Choso was checking all your boxes and the fact that he was respectful with you thus far, why not give him a chance?

And you do, by leaning forward to kiss him on your couch. He only sits back, grabbing your waist and places you in his lap. You settle like you were made to be there, hands touching his face and holding it with your hands. He has his hands on your waist just like that first night, this time letting you rut against his lap. He groans at the feeling, feeling his cock tense at the sudden sensation. You moan against his lips, feeling that print slowly start to poke at your inner thigh.

"Want you." You said against his lips and those are two words Choso had been waiting to hear for god know's how long. He began to smile in between kisses and he trails a hand up to your hoodie, tugging at the hem. It was two words and sweet petname that left his mouth next that had you on cloud nine for the rest of the night.

"I'm yours, ma."

Plug!Choso found himself on cloud nine with you the moment you wrapped your mouth around his leaky tip. He groaned, your wet hot lips suckling on his angry red tip. His hand is in your hair as you slowly took every inch of his thick cock in your mouth. You never had a cock this big in your mouth before, but it was worth it with the way Choso cussed and moaned above you. Your eyes open, looking up to him and you moan softly around him when you take in the sight of him falling a part.

Plug!Choso who can't believe he's threatening to spill his load down your tight throat the moment you look at him. Your pretty eyes staring at him as you take his cock in your mouth and the sight is so filthy yet so beautiful he wishes he could take a picture. He bites his lip, hand coming to your cheek as he caresses it tenderly. His other hand grabs your hair to pull it out of your face.

"Fuck, so pretty with my cock in your mouth, mama." He praised in that deep husky voice. You moaned in response, rubbing your thighs together at his praises and delicate touches. You wanted him so bad you felt that ache in your cunt that could only be cured with Choso's big cock deep inside you. Hungry for more moans, you take more of him in your mouth, tip nudging its way down your throat and earning what you sought out. Choso curses, toes curling in his shoes as he threw his head back. His head hits the back of the couch with a thud but he doesn't even care. Not with the way you continue to take him in your mouth and then swallow around him.

"Ah, shit —Y/n get up here." He commanded and you let his dick fall out your mouth lewdly. There's spit, drool, and cum around your lips and chin. There is even a small string of salvia connected from your bottom lip to the tip of his glistening cock. You can only grin at him, licking your lips as you wipe your chin, proud of your work

"Was having fun." You pouted, dramatically extending your bottom lip and he runs his thumb across it. A soft smile and a chuckle leaves his mouth before he speaks.

"Ion wanna cum down your throat pretty girl," he started off, "wanna feel that little pussy on me first." Him explicitly mentioning your cunt set something off in you because you got up from the floor. You held your hand out for him to take, ready to have him fuck the life out of you in your room. He lazily pulled up his pants but kicked off his shoes, getting up from the couch and taking your hand. He licks his lips as he follows you to your room.

Plug!Choso who has to eat your pussy before he sticks his cock in. A small reason is because he needs to relax after that immaculate head you gave him, the biggest reason is that he's been dying to have his face buried between your thighs. His tongue eagerly exploring every fold and curve of your cunt. He nose nudging against your clit as he lapped up the arousal that pooled at your entrance. You found yourself moaning loudly to the point where you were sure the neighbors could hear. You couldn't help it. His tongue circled every part of you so delicately you wanted to run away it felt that good.

He continued, snaking his tongue up from your hole to your swollen bud. You whimper, his hot muscle flickering before he sucked on it. You jolt, back arching as you whimper louder.

"Cho, fuck that feels so good." You sighed, the cannabis mixed with his tongue fucking you so good had you floating. The euphoric pleasure Choso provided, combined with the weed from earlier, you were in pure ecstasy. And you were sure you were soaking between your thighs, but with the way Choso sunk two thick fingers inside you, you knew he didn't care.

Plug!Choso who groans at the feeling of your hot walls around his fingers. He can't wait to feel it around his throbbing cock. You bite your lip, arching once more as your eyes screwed shut. Soft moans left your mouth as he continued to suck on your clit and sink a third finger inside.

"Pussy so tight, who you been fucking with baby?" Plug!Choso had to taunt as he was two knuckles deep in you. You moan at his words before mustering up a reply.

"Not you. Change that now please." You said to him, a little fiesty and you opened your eyes to look down at him. He only gives you a grin — clit still in mouth — when you look at him. You two hold eye contact as he lets go of your clit. He gives it one last, fat and wet lick causing your thighs to shake. He slowly removes his fingers, taking those digits and sticking them in his mouth to taste your cream and arousal. He climbs up your body and then kisses you as he settled between your legs.

Plug!Choso who decided he was really going to take you off the map the moment he slid inside you. The way you squeezed him so tightly and moaned beneath him he wanted the moment to last forever. Fuck, he wanted to live between your legs for the rest of is life as he never wanted to leave that tight squeeze of your cunt.

"So big, Cho." You cried beneath him, feeling so full with him inside you. You wrapped your legs around him tightly, arms around his torso as he fucked you into your mattress. You could only moan helplessly beneath him as each stroke sent shockwaves deep within your belly. Tears were already welling in your eyes at how fucking good he felt. He was just getting started but his cock was hitting all those spots in you effortlessly.

"You're so tight baby," he groaned, "imma have to take this pussy off the map." Plug!Choso is pussy drunk off you just after fucking you for a few minutes. He wasn't embarrassed. He's been with plenty of people and none of them made you feel the way he did. So when you said these next words, he damn near fell in love.

"Do it, i'm yours, Cho." You moaned, clenching tightly around him and digging your heel into his backside. He bottoms out, tip nudging the deepest parts of you and you let out a wail. He moves his head to kiss along your face, peppering you with kisses as he continues to fuck you.

"so perfect for me, ma." he praised, "so good so fucking beautiful." Plug!Choso rambled as he continued to fuck you. You could only whimper and moan at his praises as you were too gone and fucked out from his cock. You knew you were only seconds away from cumming all over him.

And those seconds turned to right now when his fingers found your neglected clit, stimulating and unlocking the final push you needed to tumble into bliss.

"Cho—, cumming!" You let go, cumming and squirting all over him. Choso could only swear, your wails so sexy and sensual he had no choice but to pull out and cum all over your stomach. He strokes his cock, moaning as he paints your belly with his cum and the load is huge. You moan as you watch him spill, the scene too hot for you care about the messiness.

"fuck." He sighed out, panting as he sat on his knees. You giggle and let your head fall back on the pillow. A sigh of content escaped your lips, letting your eyes close for a moment before you felt the bed dip and footsteps thud away. You opened your eyes, seeing Choso already grabbing cleaning wipes that were on your sink to commence the clean up. You swooned as you saw the big man dip back onto the bed, wiping your stomach clean before he worked between your legs.

"So glad you came back into town." Plug!Choso said after you two cleaned up and showered. You could only kiss his cheek, beaming at him as he looked at you. You lick your lips before you replied.

"Me too."

Plug!Choso who talks to you everyday after your hookup. He's healthily obsessed with you, texting you good morning, asking if you ate, and always checking in to see how your day was going. Whenever you were having a bad day, he showed up determined to make it better. He's dependable, sweet, and charming, not to mention he spoils the hell out of you by sending you stacks just because he felt like it — or maybe because you rode him good as hell the night before who knows? You two were absorbed with one another sexually and intimately.

Eventually he asked you to be his girlfriend and there was no surprise there. It was a long time coming especially when he romanced you with a dinner and a dreamy getaway to a luxurious hotel. He had you bent over a jacuzzi tub littered with bubbles and rose petals, deep in your cervix when he asked you formally to be his.

"So you gonna be my girl or what, mama?"

Distracted by his girth stretching you out, it took for an ass slap and a repeated question for you to answer. You wailed out an affirmation to which he kisses up and down your neck before bitting down, surely leaving a hickie. That night becoming special as he made you his and vice versa. And he wanted everyone to know it.

Plug!Choso knew hickies weren't enough and decided he needed to get you a iced out Tiffany bracelet. The pretty bracelet was presented to you casually when he stopped by one day at your apartment. You had lost a cheap bracelet earlier that week and was pretty distraught about it. Choso remembered you crying upon losing it and little did you know that night he went shopping looking at replacements. Choso wanted to give himself boyfriend of the year award when he saw that look on your face when you saw what the gift was.

"Baby oh my god its so pretty," you had said, "but wait how much was this because this does not look like a normal Tiffany bracelet." The cost worrying you but Choso shrugged like he didn't spend tens of thousands of dollars to customize the bracelet.

"Plug life, baby. Don't worry about it I gotchu." Choso said to you, leaning down to kiss your forehead and you didn't press any further. You only then asked him to put it on you as you let his words soothe you into not pressing the matter further. You knew he wouldn't do it if he didn't want to. He only does what it does for you because he wants to

after all, you're Plug!Choso's favorite customer!

©kentolesbian 📓☕︎♫₊˚.🎧 ✩｡ ╰┈┈➤ MASTERLIST!

[animedumpfanfics]

Feelin motivated since these past few jjk episodes aired. I still got a week of kinktober left.

[seishihoe]

choso ‘definitely has the prettiest moans out of all the men in jujutsu kaisen’ kamo.

[ririrararuri]

Why is everyone writing all these angsty stuffs. We are already hurting so much. Give us comfort, little bit of hope with your stories writers . Stop breaking our hearts again and again. (Sorry for ranting. I’m depressed )

[animedumpfanfics]

JJK SPOILER!!!

This is when us fanfic readers/ writers stay delulu. Somebody write an alternative storyline cuz I refuse to believe Gojo is done 😭😭😭

[tojisun]

love the idea that you don’t know that you’re into daddy stuff until toji is whispering it in your ear, his voice gruff and deep and dangerous.

“feeling it in here, baby?” toji asks, his rough palm resting on the pouch of your belly. “daddy’s hitting your good spots, aren’t i?”

you mewl, nodding softly, your damp hair sticking on your forehead. toji hums, his voice rich from where his lips are pressed on the shell of your ear.

“that’s right,” toji murmurs. “daddy loves you so much, my sweet girl.”

he’s pulling out slowly, his palm leaving your belly to hold onto your waist, his thumb dimpling your skin. he hisses at the tight cling of your pussy like it’s trying to suck him back in, wanting his thick cock to nestle back in you.

toji chuckles, nuzzling his nose on your cheek. “daddy’s not going anywhere, love,” he says. he plants a chaste kiss on your jaw before he presses back in just as slowly as he pulled out, like he is proving his words.

you hum, satisfied, your lips tugged in a dopey smile. toji doesn’t see it but he feels the way your pussy squeezes around him, your walls fluttering in their spastic clench, and he chuckles again, his heart full of adoration for you.

“c’mon, darling,” toji says as he presses his pelvis flushed to yours. “tell daddy you love him.”

you moan, your voice scratchy and your tongue heavy. still, you persevere. “i love you daddy,” you manage to grit out amidst the dizzying pleasure.

toji presses another fleeting kiss on the side of your face. “daddy loves you too, sweetheart.” then he is fucking you earnestly.

[tojipie]

[bobaji]

HEART THUMPER (m).

who: haikyuu. bokuto x f!reader. hybrid!au.

info: 3.646k words. smut + light hurt/comfort + fluff.

kinks: bunny hybrid!reader, dog hybrid!bokuto, dirty talk, praise kink, pet names, pussyjob, multiple orgasms, light dumbification, creampie

— this is part of @thepetcafe’s first server collab! make sure you check out all the wonderful entries and show them some love!

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+ this blog contains dark content!

Staring was something you had long since gotten used to. The bunny ears that sat atop your head forever gave away your position in society, leading to the burning stares of those around you. From shameless glares to not-so-subtle glances, you were just…accustomed.

The only place you had found solace was in the cute little isolated cafe near your apartment. It was a hybrids-only place, making it feel homey and safe every time you entered. 

Although, you had to admit that one major reason you found yourself going back over and over again, was the handsome security guard hybrid who worked there.

He was big, muscular and always had such a bright demeanor. Not to mention he was pretty easy on the eyes, with bouncy, floppy ears hidden in his mess of hair. His tail always seemed to be wagging, giving away his chipper mood. His golden eyes always had you entranced for a moment when you met them. To put it simply, you had a crush.

Usually, the walk to the cafe was a nice one – peaceful, albeit with the stares of humans and other hybrids making you uncomfortable. Today, however, it was anything but.

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