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[hachiluvv]

winner winner | bakugou katsuki

summary: it was just a stupid bet, so why did he care so much? ft: katsuki x fem!reader notes: part 1 of my L-O-V-E valentines special! lots of fluff, and if you read all of them there's one thing that connects them haha w.c: 2.5k

to no one's surprise, bakugou katsuki thought valentines day was dumb as fuck.

in the days coming up to the aforementioned holiday, class 3-A were chattering away in their classroom, gossiping about who would be confessing to who, and what they planned to do for the occasion.

"would you extras shut the fuck up?! it's just another holiday made up to make you buy more crap you don't need," bakugou exclaimed from his seat. you and the girls pouted at his negativity, arguing that it wasn't about the chocolate or teddy bears, but about love. bakugou scoffed; earlier in the hallway he was almost hit square in the head with a heart shaped arrow, but yeah, this holiday was totally about love.

"you're just salty you don't get as many confessions as todoroki!" kirishima piped up. he and kaminari shot each other a look and giggled behind their hands.

this was a highly debated subject around this time of year, they were no doubt the biggest heartthrobs at U.A. every february, without fail, the two would open their lockers to a landslide of love letters, chocolate and stuffed animals. junior girls would chase the two down in between periods, and the perfume from the assortment of gifts would make the corridor reek of a sick floral scent for weeks.

whipping around to his two biggest ragebaiters, the irked blonde's palms began to spark, and the rest of the class braced for impact. fortunately for kirishima and kaminari, the door slid open to reveal a mess of capture tape and unkempt hair, as their teacher strolled up to his podium.

"enough," aizawa said in his usual monotone voice, rubbing his temples. "it's not even nine yet and you're already doing my head in." taking your seats, the class's chatter subsided and attention was on aizawa as the school day started.

bakugou was pissed.

unfortunately for him, the rest of his day was preoccupied thinking about those idiotic valentines confessions. of course he got more love letters than that stupid pretty boy, it wasn't even close. the very thought that todoroki would surpass him at something so trivial and meaningless was annoying him to no end. he groaned at the thought of having to haul the unwanted chocolate and teddy bears back to his dorm room, or better yet, the dump.

the morning of valentine's rolled around, and as usual, he and todoroki were at their lockers, large trash bags in hand. the scent of roses lingered in the halls, and you could tell both boys' lockers were full to the brim. the corners of pink and red envelopes stuck out from the edges of the metal doors, some scattering the ground like cherry blossom petals. you and the others laughed at the annual sight.

"the kitchen's gonna have chocolate for months!"

"save some chicks for the rest of us!"

"look out, avalanche!"

bakugou growled while todoroki just sighed, neither of them particularly thrilled about this yearly occurrence. from the corner of your eye you spotted a huddled group of freshmen girls whispering ecstatically and eyeing the boys like hawks, no doubt fuelled by delusion and fantasy. before either of them could turn the handles on their lockers, hands slammed on the metal, stopping the two. they both turned to see sero, a wicked grin gracing his face.

"now now, don't you wanna settle this debate for good this year?" the two gave the taller boy a blank stare. bakugou lit up, opening his mouth, getting ready to yell at him, before kirishima and kaminari popped up behind him.

"let's place a bet!" the red haired boy exclaimed. "to see who really gets more confessions!"

"winner gets dinner, on us!" kaminari continued, giving his best smile to persuade the two.

bakugou clicked his tongue. what a pain in the ass. now, not only was he going to have to haul all this shit back to the dorms, he was going to have to count them while all these losers were watching! he briefly considered blowing up the entire row of lockers, when a gentle nudge in the arm caught his attention.

"that's kind of a fun idea, right kats?" he turned to see you, looking up at his with those big eyes he always found himself looking for. the use of your nickname for him made his heart do a flip. he glanced away, hoping you wouldn't notice the pink that began to dust the tips of his ears. he looked to todoroki, who muttering something about soba; the bastard was actually considering the stupid bet.

bakugou, being backed into a corner, reluctantly conceded, letting out an annoyed grunt of affirmation. "whatever, nerds. it's obviously going to be me anyways." at least he could get a dinner out of this.

cheers erupted from the trio of boys as they ran off, having already risked their lives to ask such a stupid thing from bakugou; if they stayed around longer, who knows what would happen. you beamed, giving bakugou a bright smile along with a tingling feeling in his chest before following after them. if bakugou was visibly red, todoroki didn't say anything.

they finally opened their lockers, only to be hit with a wave of sickly sweet scents and girly envelopes - some pink, some red, one… with a lock of hair taped to it — gross. the familiar sight elicited a sigh from the two boys, now up to their knees in romance themed and heart shaped goods. bakugou began shoving the gifts into the trash bag, not caring that they were crumpling up in his iron grip.

just like last year, and the year before, he kept a sharp eye out, wondering if any of them were from you.

the class gathered excitedly in the common room as the sun began to set. word of the boys' valentine's bet spread, and they were more than eager to see who was truly more popular among the student population at U.A.

"it's gotta be todoroki, he's got that tragic backstory, plus he's super handsome!" hagakure's floating clothes waved around excitedly.

"i wouldn't count katsuki out just yet," you rebutted, the girls turning to look at you. "he's got that delinquent look, girls love a bad boy!"

the others hummed in agreement, and continued theorising about the winner of the bet. you took this opportunity to glance at bakugou sitting across the room, his bag of confessions haphazardly thrown beside him. he caught your gaze and made eye contact — had he heard what you said? choosing to play it cool, you gave him a smile and a thumbs up, causing him to look away.

sero stood with his hands on his hips at the top of the room, his smug grin indicating he was clearly pleased with himself. as the rest of the class settled on or around the couches, he cleared his throat.

"ladies and gentlemen!" he said with a flourish, akin to a circus ring leader. you caught bakugou rolling his eyes, which made you giggle quietly. "we are about to settle this once and for all! bakugou verses todoroki: who's U.A's biggest heartthrob, the most eligible bachelor, the shining prince-"

"will you just get on with it!" bakugou cut him off before it went on for too long. sero flinched before nodding to kirishima and kaminari. the duo produced the large bags of confessions, rustling the contents for added effect. oohs and ahhs echoed around the common room. the confessions were promptly dumped on opposite sides of the table, an assortment of gifts and letters spilling out.

yaoyorozu and iida, the only two students trusted to be able to count properly, took seats at either end — thus, the bet began. the class watched with wide eyes, on the edge of their seats. to be honest, they were counting envelopes, it wasn't that intense, but the tension and atmosphere said otherwise.

"57, 58… 59," iida put down the last letter from bakugou's pile. the class's eyes shot over to yaoyorozu on the opposite end of the table. she gently set down the last piece of paper in her hand onto todoroki's side.

"… 59 as well," she said with a sigh.

the class erupted, hell broke loose.

"what a cop out!"

"a tie! are we deadass?!"

"there's no way! recount!"

the class was split down the middle, half roaring with laughing and the other half outraged at the result. todoroki looked wistfully into space, no doubt mourning the loss of his free soba. bakugou scoffed at his peers' reactions.

"tch, told ya there was no way i'd lose to half n' half" he leaned back and crossed his arms.

"well, you didn't exactly win either bro," kaminari replied. the blonde jumped out of his seat, and you let out a hearty laugh, watching as bakugou chased his friend around the common room, sparks flying.

with the bet over and no conclusive result, you and your friends continued to chat and hang out in the common room. one by one, everyone retreated to their respective rooms, turning in for the night. you watched from your spot on the couch as bakugou got up to head to his.

bakugou closed his dorm room door behind him, sighing. at least he didn't technically lose.

a more harrowing thought plagued his mind as he took a seat on his bed — none of those confessions were from you. he closed his eyes and imagined a scenario wherein you shyly handed him an envelope, a confession, before he dismissed the thought. he was certain you didn't see him the way he saw you - he chalked up the long talks at night and your smiley attitude towards him as you two just being good friends.

the thought of you made his chest tighten. how he wished even just one of the hundreds of love letters he received over his years at school were from you. he'd rather to blow himself up than admit that though. he flopped back, eyes still closed and near falling asleep, when a rhythmic knock at the door jolted him awake.

he grumbled at the sudden intrusion, ready to bark at whoever dared come to him when he was trying to sleep. he swung the door open, full of anger, before coming face to face with his favourite pair of eyes. his gaze instantly softened at the sight of you at his door.

"sorry for coming over unannounced, i should have sent you a text!" you gave him an apologetic look. he sighed, mumbling a soft 'whatever' as he stepped aside to let you enter. you took a seat at the edge of his bed, looking around. you noted that everything was in the same place as the last time you had seen his room, right down to the pens on his desk.

"whaddya want?" he huffed, taking a seat an inch or two away from you. you felt warmth radiate from him, and a faint scent of caramel.

"i just wanted to see you!" and there it was, the smile that made him weak in the knees and red in the face. "how'd you feel about the whole valentine's thing?"

he scoffed in response, trying to hide his true expression. "its a buncha bullshit. the bet was stupid anyways."

you giggled and he felt that feeling in his chest again. he was for sure losing it.

"it was pretty silly. though, i don't think you should feel down about it, considering you won," came your reply.

his head snapped up to look at you, while you looked back at him with a knowing smile on your face. you were hoping he was too focused on what you just said to notice the blush slowly invading your cheeks. he opened his mouth to question your obviously lacking memory when you turned your whole body to face him.

with the slightest trace of a tremble, you reached into your pocket to produce a small orange envelope, complete with a tiny red heart seal. you quickly shoved it to his chest, knocking him back a little. your cheeks flushed, feeling his toned muscles under his shirt. bakugou just stared at you back at you, wide eyed, the letter laying forgotten in his lap.

"there," you said quietly, close to a whisper. "that makes 60. one more than todoroki, so i guess you won after all." after what felt like forever, bakugou's eyes broke from your figure to look down at the paper. a shade of orange identical to his hero costume, with his name written in your handwriting on the front. his fingers pressed into the paper, his grip gentle as if the whole world was contained in whatever was in this envelope.

"is this… from you?" you turned to look at him, only to find him already staring intently into your eyes. nerves suddenly taking over, you could only nod in response. his eyes bounced between you and the letter you just gave him.

"well, who else would it be from?"

you felt heat rise to your face, and a twisted feeling in your stomach area. a silence fell over the room, the only sound you could hear was the mechanical whirr of the ceiling fan above you. your mind raced in tandem with your heart that was beating so hard you thought it was trying to claw it's way out of your chest.

the boy in front of you inched towards you, moving to you until you could feel his warm breath against your face. "kat-"

his reply to your confession came in the form of a kiss; his lips met yours and instinctively your hands reached to pull him closer. they tugged at the hair at the nape of his neck, causing him to deepen the kiss, his hands rubbing circles on the small of your back.

you finally pulled away, and bakugou let out a noise that almost sounded like a whimper. he gazed at you like you hung the stars outside his window yourself, before pressing another kiss to your lips.

"it took you long enough." he pulled you to his chest, mumbling into your shoulder. you let out a soft laugh.

"just please tell me you won't throw it out like the rest of them"

bonus!

the next day at breakfast, bakugou sulked on his stool at the kitchen island. he mindlessly scrolled on his phone while kirishima gave the boy powerful thumps on the back.

"lighten up bakubro! its okay you didn't win the bet!" he exclaimed way too loudly for the morning.

bakugou opened his mouth, retort at the ready, when you walked into the common room from bakugou's room. eyes followed you as you casually strolled in, sporting bed head, wrinkled pyjamas, and a black zip up hoodie that was way too big for you.

"mornin'" you yawned, raising a sleepy hand up in greeting, before opening the fridge in search of breakfast.

kirishima gawked at you, before turning to stare at bakugou. the blonde didn't look up from his phone, not even acknowledging your arrival. breakfast in one hand, you came up to him and squeezed him in a tight hug with the other. his arm snaked around your shoulder, mumbling a 'mornin' gorgeous', as he planted a kiss on your cheek, before letting you go to sit with the girls. he shot a disgruntled, but more so smug, look at his friend.

"didn't win my ass."

yayyy the first part of my valentines event!

i heart kats sm, argh i just love writing for him!!!!

⋆˚࿔ make sure to check out the other fics from L-O-V-E!

[blkkizzat]

❝ HIS CINDERELLA CAUSE I MAKE IT FIT ! ❞              ⤷ Enjin x Fallen Spherite!Reader

>>>>>> Apparently Enjin has all the 'luck' when it comes to finding Spherites in No Man's Land. This time he's found you—a stuck-up Spherite noble—cast out with the trash. You're prissy, needy and an overall pain in his ass. Definitely not his type—but that slutty pussy sure is. ♡

>>>>>> 𝐦𝐝𝐧𝐢 𝟏𝟖+ for filthy enjin smut. enjin & reader are delulu & down bad. big dick!enjin. size queen!reader. bimbo!reader. sex under the influence. public sex. breeding. bjs. enjin is overall diabolical. but there's also a bit of plot too with some romance/fluff/humor. no spoilers for anime/manga. >>>>>> 𝐰𝐜: 13.1k

𝐚𝐧: major special shoutouts to @honeybunnnnie my trash daddy partner in crime, who beta'd for me and gave me lots of good lil' gems I incorporated here. we share one horny brain cell when it comes to this man and the amount of headcanons we have made based on this that I didn't even include is INSANE lmfao.

You aren’t Enjin’s type. 

That much is certain the moment he stumbles upon you after being called to check out a disturbance in No Man’s Land. Scanning the terrain of garbage, Enjin wonders if he’s hallucinating.

Still high from the night before—or maybe there’s a leak in his full face?

Either way he had to be tripping absolute balls right now because what the hell else could explain the giant kaiju-like plushie with bunny ears, wide beady eyes, and jagged teeth ripping apart trash beasts in the distance like they were wet paper towels?

But blazed or not, Enjin still has a job to do. Umbreaker sweeps him across the trash dunes in a speedy blur, but by the time he arrives he is already too late and the show is over. 

All that’s left is you: a young woman passed out in a pile of demolished trash beast remains and other junk. The giant kaiju-like plushie—now inanimate and no bigger than a hand—lay beside you tethered to your person by a keyring. 

Happening upon another giver in No Man’s Land wasn’t out of the ordinary, sure, but if Enjin thought he was high from seeing your jinki in action he had to be damn near in the clouds once he recognized your clothes.  

Similar to when Enjin discovered Rudo, he could immediately tell by your dress you are a Spherite. But unlike the threadbare attire of the scrappy tribesmen teen, yours practically screams wealth. They are the finest clothes Enjin has ever laid eyes on. Appearing as if they are woven from gold itself, despite the fresh layer of grime that settled on them.

You aren’t just any ol’ Spherite—you’re a Spherite noblewoman.

Keh, interesting. 

With a shake of his head Enjin scoops you up, heading back to HQ. They aren’t gonna believe this…

Enjin digs out a backup mask from his satchel—clearly not made for your face, because it slides right off. With an annoyed sigh, he holds it in place himself. Guess that’s his job now… at least until you wake up.

Although Enjin soon discovers a pattern of how unnecessarily difficult Spherites can be upon arriving to the Abyss—as the first thing you do upon waking in Enjin’s arms is to slap the everloving dogshit out of him. 

Fuck, you have a mean right hand. 

Enjin tongues a tooth to make sure it’s still there. 

“Let me go this instant, you filthy kidnapping degenerate! I demand you to take me home!” You cry out. 

Tears fog up the mask on your face as you clearly mistook Enjin for some kind of criminal with his ‘full face’ on. Enjin sighs, tightening his grip on you and taking the not-so-painless beating you’re dishing out until you reach the nearest city. 

The very second you both are in a habitable area for breathing, Enjin unceremoniously dumps you to the ground. He catches the mask, yet he leaves you to fall straight on your ass. The fall shocks you but Enjin’s sure what’s really got you stunned is the strange bustling city surrounding you.

Removing his fullface, Enjin crouches down to eye-level with you. Overwhelmed and overstimulated by the foreign place, your eyes dart around helplessly. You’re frantic, looking everywhere for some sort of bearing of where you are and avoiding the man in front of you.

Yet Enjin just waits, clicking his tongue and rocking back on his heels, for you to quiet your hysterics enough for him to get a word in.

When your eyes, still wide with panic, finally meet, he has the nerve to raise a brow—like you’re the one being dramatic and not the guy who literally kidnapped you.

“So, as you may have noticed by now…this ain’t the Sphere,” Enjin says, balancing a cigarette between his lips. 

You look at him skeptically—he says it like it’s nothing, while your world is actively falling apart. What is he even talking about?!

“I know this ain’t the welcome wagon you posh Spherites are used to but…”

Enjin pauses, exhaling smoke to the sky. Your gaze follows up, widening once you see the oddly shaped dome covering the city, a strange yellow fog in the atmosphere.

“....welcome to the Abyss, Girlie. Name’s Enjin.” 

Blankly staring at Enjin, you say nothing. The both of you in a mini stare down. Although you’re the first to give by suddenly bursting into sobs.

Rolling his eyes, a thought briefly flashes in Enjin's head that he should have just left you for the raiders. Hell, he could still leave you now—you’re calling way too much attention to yourself.

However, Enjin also figures that with you all but swimming in luxury on the Sphere, you probably thought of the Pit—your so-called Hell, or its inhabitants as mere fairytale.

Enjin’s inkling is confirmed when you calm down enough to piece together that your now ex-husband had hired a bunch of shady tribesmen to kidnap and dispose of you—all to collect your inheritance. 

Yeah, not your fault.  Enjin thinks and cuts you a break. 

For your own sake, Enjin somehow convinces you to come back to Cleaner HQ with him. He can’t return you to the Sphere himself—but he knows another Spherite who’s trying to make their way back. That small glimmer of hope is enough to lift your spirits, just barely. This time, you follow him willingly—though you still cry the entire way to HQ.

Shame how prone to hysterics you are, otherwise Enjin actually thinks you’re pretty hot. Noting how the expensive silk of your dress clings so damn well to your every curve. He’d sell your clothes while you were near the shopping district—but unlike Rudo, he doubts he could talk you out of them. 

At least—not yet.

But that thought is drastically short lived as Enjin spends more time in your presence. Sure, you could have gotten along. You could’ve even been Enjin’s type. Yet there’s one glaring problem: 

You’re an annoying, needy-ass brat.  

Besides looks, you tick off nearly every one of his dealbreakers. You’re ditzy, dependent and whiny. Basically Enjin’s nightmare.

Plus your snobby little ass never once thanked nor apologized to him over the following weeks.

Not after he saved you.

Not after he brought you back to HQ where you were welcomed with skeptical, yet open arms—as a new, very reluctant (you had no other options really) recruit in-training.

And you certainly never thanked Enjin, even after all his shit luck, when he was assigned to be your teacher and look after your haughty ass. You have the most indignant pout on your face when Corvus announces that since Enjin found you, you're Enjin’s problem.

“You have to be kidding me? I’m stuck with Trashy Poppins here!?”

“Yo, Trashy—what!?” The reference doesn’t land with Enjin but he knows it isn’t good.

Semiu nods curtly in agreement of the pairing, amused that Enjin finally has someone to keep him on his toes as she ushers you off to get settled in.

The fuck?! 

Lamenting being stuck is supposed to be Enjin’s line. Enjin had figured the logical move was to pair you with Zanka—the closest thing to nobility among the Cleaners—and let you bond with Rudo, a fellow Spherite, even if he was a tribesman.

But it doesn’t take long to realize neither boy can handle a grown ass woman like you. One flutter of your lashes and they’re useless saps—like the big sister he never had, you could soothe Rudo’s worst moods with a mere head pat. 

While Zanka, older and appreciating your more ‘robust’ qualities, trips over his own tongue trying to talk to you.

Both ready to do anything just to earn a few sweet coos—unless someone steps in.

It had to be Enjin. He was the only one who could ‘resist’ your charms.

Still, Enjin’s got his work cut out for him when it comes to you—especially training you for combat and figuring out how the hell you’re supposed to use that so-ugly-it’s-almost-cute vital instrument.

He tries not to judge. Really, he does. Jinki are personal—he knows that better than anyone. But still…the fact that you even have one? That’s wild.

A Spherite? A noble Spherite, no less—the same pompous assholes who treat the Abyss like a dumping ground—actually caring enough about something to pump it full of anima?

Yeah, that’s impressive, he’ll give you that. What wasn’t though was the name you gave the lil thing: Bubu.

Tsk. Wack as hell. Vital instruments deserve names with some bite. Something like—Umbreaker.

Still, credit where it’s due—you’re picking things up faster than expected. 

However, that doesn’t spare him from your nonstop bitching, though. The complaints come daily: the strange smells your hair absorbs, the absence of your sacred skincare routines, not being able to take a 30 minute shower, and how everything down here always tastes just a little off.

But the most absurd? The cherry blossoms.

You complain the most about not being able to frolic in your lush, petal-covered garden full of rows of cherry blossoms. Enjin’s never even seen a damn tree like that, let alone the acres of grass and flowers you describe like some bedtime fairytale. You haughtily anoint yourself as a floral herbalist, an expert when it comes to your pretty little flowers.

It’s shit like that on top of everything else that irks Enjin when it comes to you.

And yet?

Enjin thinks the most irritating thing about you is the fact that he can’t seem to stay away from you. 

Sure, you’re annoying as fuck—but in spite of his own objections, Enjin keeps finding ways to keep your time occupied. He makes up excuses to train you longer and drags you along on missions that are solely meant for him. 

Moreover, since you can never keep that pretty little mouth shut, anyone you meet clocks you as a Spherite within seconds—which means you need Enjin’s constant protection, whether you like it or not.

Enjin ends up spending less time drinking or chasing women, finding a far more amusing pastime instead—the way your face twists in indignation every time the Ground doesn’t live up to your so-called “noble standards.” 

He gets a kick out of it, really. Agitating you on purpose, just to watch you squirm.

“Goddamnit, Enjin! Watch it!” 

You’d shriek every time your short skirt went flying from a sudden gust of wind he’d whip up with Umbreaker. Enjin saves that lil trick for No Man’s Land when the others’ backs are turned.

“That’s Enjin-sensei to you, Princess.” 

“Choke—slowly, Trashy Poppins.”

You’d lunge for his mask like you actually meant to rip it off, but at 6 '3, Enjin’s tall enough that you never have a chance at reaching it. It’s all worth it too—Enjin’s already got every pastel scrap of lace you own burned into memory, each one tucked away like a reward for getting under your skin.

It’s a little sadistic, sure—the way he taunts you nonstop, delighting in soiling that polished image of yours to grind you into the dirt of the ground right along with him. 

There’s a fire in your eyes every time Enjin dubs you as “Your Royal Trash Princess”—or just “TP” if he’s feeling lazy. You never fail to rise to his bait, eager to prove yourself—and prove him wrong.

Enjin feels he’s owed a bit of amusement for all his troubles.

Doesn’t mean anything.

Yet the more Enjin pushes, the harder it is to ignore that your bratty spark isn’t just an attitude problem. It’s energy. Real, raw passion. The kind that could actually cultivate anima. He sees it best when you’re snapping at him, flushed and defiant, too stubborn to back down.

It’s trouble to be sure, but fuck if Enjin doesn’t love coaxing it out of you.

All it took this time to get you going was him doubting your so-called knowledge of plants and remedies— “what kinda ‘floral herbalist’ hasn’t toked one?”  

So now here you are, in the HQ lounge, about to smoke your first joint as a ‘pre-game’ to the happy hour Corvus organized for all the Cleaners.

You and Enjin sit shoulder to shoulder on a worn, black quilted-leather sofa that’s seen better days. The cushions creak as you nervously smooth your skirt and settle in, unhooking your jinki—Bubu—from your belt to set her gently on the table.

Enjin rolls a few joints with unhurried precision—like he’s got all the time in the world, and watching you squirm is part of the ritual.

“Bet ya didn’t have anything like this in your lil’ garden, eh TP?” Enjin quips, breaking the silence.

Nose already upturned, your face scrunches as Enjin tosses an extra bud from his stash into your open palms. You hated the nickname ‘TP’ most of all, too easily mistaken for ‘toilet paper’ and Enjin knows that.

You shoot Enjin a dirty look before letting your focus drift back to the brittle sprig in your hands—the first real plant you’ve touched since becoming a Ground-dweller.

You think you actually recognize it. 

Back on the Sphere, your family was among the wealthiest, and your garden was massive. You took pride in your green thumb—like Delmon, whose garden you’ve been meaning to ask about. You want to help, if only to see what kind of plants can survive in conditions this toxic. But Enjin never gives you the space—always hovering, always cutting in before you can finish a full conversation.

You brush off those thoughts but your frown stays as your fingers trace the bud’s dry veins. Even for a dehydrated sample, it feels wrong—brittle in a way that hints of sickness. 

“Hmm. We had something like this—I think. But it’s just another weed.” You say shrugging.

“Heh,” Enjin smirks at your cluelessness, “Would you believe me if I told you ‘weed’ is exactly what we call it, Princess?”

You roll your eyes at the inordinately simple name. It probably has a proper scientific designation—but expecting Enjin to know it? Please.

“We always uprooted them—weeds are unsightly in gardens, you know. A weed, let alone one sick as this, would definitely be pruned right away so as to not syphon nutrients from the other plant life.”

“HAH?!”  

Mid-seal on his joint, Enjin stops cold, staring at you like you just dared to commit some sort of sacrilege before exhaling a theatrical sigh, shaking his head in pure betrayal.

He can’t believe Spherities are probably pissing away the dankest shit ever cultivated. The thought was maddening.

When Enjin’s eyes do meet yours again, there's no amusement as he takes a rather chastising tone with you.

“Princess, for your own good, never repeat that in front of anyone down here…I mean it.”

You huff, but Enjin doesn’t blink—just starts sealing the joint again, eyes never leaving you as his tongue drags slowly across the edge of the paper.

You squirm, and that’s all the reward he needs. 

“See somethin’ you like?” Enjin drawls, holding the finished joint out toward you like it’s a gift—and not a trap with your name written all over it.

Turning on teacher mode, Enjin decides to school you.

“I know we mostly have ‘reggie’ down here, but still, it’s worth its weight in gold for its purposes. Not just for fun ya know—chronic pain, nausea, anxiety—gives a bit of relief from the ailments of Abyss-living you Spherites have so graciously bestowed on us.”

From his pocket, Enjin produces a lighter, shoulders curling as he bows into the flame to set it alight.

Your eyes flick over the sinewy stretch of Enjin arms, the way his jacket strains across his shoulders—reminding you just how solid Enjin really is beneath all that shapeless fabric. Built like a weapon, hiding in plain sight.

You watch as his ringed fingers lift the joint to his lips. Drawing in a slow, steady breath, Enjin sinks back into the sofa like gravity’s got a tighter hold on him than usual. Smoke pools in his chest before slipping out in a long, deliberate exhale.

His gaze follows it, distant—like he’s chewing on thoughts far heavier than anything you said… but somehow still set off by it.

“That’s the problem with you Spherites….you don’t see things the way they are—you see things the way you are.” 

Enjin chuffs at his own words, closing his eyes to let his high settle. Not even completely stoned yet and he’s already spouting off pseudo philosophical one-liners.

“Everything else is collateral, amirite?”

Ouch.

Toeing at the floor, you sulk in silence. Wounded from the verbal licks Enjin just dealt you. Mulling over his words in silence though, you know it isn’t that simple. Horticulture can be complicated even in the most ideal conditions. Just because a plant is viable doesn’t mean it belongs in every garden—some plants are just incompatible.

However…

You sit silently, your teeth worrying your bottom lip as you study the brittle bud in your palm.

…that doesn’t make it worthless.

Instead of exploring any potential use, you tossed the so-called "weed" out—just like everything else the Sphere deemed useless. Not even considering how valuable it could be. You can see why Enjin wouldn't want you repeating that mistake. Enough people already looked at you with disdain as it is. 

Sure there’s a lot of things you miss about it, mostly superficial things that had to do with vanity, but overall life up there was super sterile and dull. You’d never say it out loud but you are glad you fell, it was hard on the ground but it was liberating.

Sighing, you quietly concede. You hate anytime Enjin actually has a point though. It’s the worst thing imaginable—for your pride and for his already unbearable ego.

Cracking an eye open, Enjin curses under his breath. Switching tactics, he decides to replace the long look on his Trash Princess’s face. Annoyance would do just fine. Besides, there was no need for you to pout over it, you actually had a shot at redemption here… heh, the kind that might just work out in his favor, too.

“Y’knowwwww, we’re always learnin’ better ways to grow things down here, faster too...”

Enjin moves so quietly, you don’t realize how close he is until you turn—and he’s right in your face, barely a breath away. Swiping his ringed thumb across your cheek, Enjin’s touch is surprisingly tender. However his expression is entirely obnoxious, full of amusement from how fast your pouty little face flusters.

“...could be a nice little hobby that would do alotta good…and if anyone could figure out how to grow this shit properly down here—”

Enjin plucks at the heat of your warm cheeks, pinching just enough to tease and drag the moment into something more lighthearted.

“—I do believe it could be you—Trash Princess.”

Your eyes catch something deeper than just teasing in his golden gaze—but before you can dwell on it, instinct kicks in. You jerk back, swatting his hand away, shoving whatever that was out of your mind.

Enjin just laughs, unbothered, as you glare at him.

“And why can’t you get Delmon to do it?” you counter, arms folding across your chest. By now, you’ve learned Enjin usually has an angle for everything.

Right on the mark, for a beat, Enjin actually pauses. He hadn’t expected you to bring up the obvious—Delmon, the gentle giant practically martyred to the idea of saving what’s left of the Abyss. But Enjin’s roguish grin slips back into place, spreading wider as he leans in, unapologetically invading your space.

“Why? Well...’cause I asked you, Princess. The ol’lug has enough on his plate as it is. You can handle it alone, can’t ya?”

Truthfully, even knowing your interest in Delmon never strays beyond roots and soil, it still irks every time Enjin catches sight of you with him. You look every bit the noble—graceful, composed, eyes soft and curious as you gaze up at Delmon, eager to learn. It grates on Enjin more than he’d admit, knowing he’s never once gotten that look, despite monopolizing most of your time.

“Ya know—unless, your skillset just ain’t up t’par?” Enjin finishes with a shrug.

Wholly unconvinced, you see this for the bait it is from a mile away. Nevertheless, you can’t deny that you are eager to get even the tiniest bit of normalcy back in your life from your old hobbies. Planting something, anything, would be nice—even if it ends up being contraband for Enjin. Although you still aren’t quite sure why you can’t consult Delmon. 

“Ugh! Fine!”

You fall back onto the sofa and Enjin follows, his arm settling behind you, practically draped around your shoulders. You don’t even flinch. He takes another slow hit, smoke curling toward the ceiling, but this time there’s a wicked glint in his eye as he watches you. Deciding he’s babysat the joint long enough, he leans in with a lazy smirk and holds it out to you.

“Enjin—your eyes!” You blurt out, disregarding his invitation. “Is that just from smoking!? I can’t go to happy hour looking like some kinda zombie!”

Enjin sputters mid-laugh, coughing as wisps of smoke leak from the corners of his smart ass grin.

“Eh, well duh. Why else would they get so red when I smoke?”

Enjin coughs out a few more chuckles. You roll your eyes.

“I don’t know, Trashy Poppins…I didn't make the connection since the air quality down here is 80% pollution! You could have anything.”

While Enjin is amused by your sass, the joint continues to burn down. Each second unsmoked is wasting precious bud. Leaning in, his voice drops to a low purr—the kind that makes your stomach flip.

Heh, time to pull out the big guns.

“Aht-aht-aht, c’mon now, Princess, you know the golden rule…”

You sigh, thinking you need that happy hour drink more than ever right now.

“You’re not serious.”

But you know he is, and of course you remember the silly motto Enjin makes an unspoken rule for his team. Although he mostly just uses it to get you to do something you’ll usually regret later.  You sigh, knowing you’ll never make it to happy hour until you appease the big man-child in front of you.

Enjin’s golden eyes shine with even more mischief than before and together like some damn mantra, you both repeat:

“...it’s not peer pressure—it’s just your turn.”

Resigned, you click your tongue, swiping at the joint in his hands. But Enjin is much faster as he pulls back with infuriating speed. You glower at him, snark locked and loaded.

“Nah, actually I’ll help you out since it’s your first time, Princess.”

Innuendo coils around his words, heat radiating off him as you tense under his gaze. You don’t want to argue with him though, the sooner you smoked, the sooner you both could be at happy hour.

“Open.” 

Enjin’s fingers graze the corner of your mouth as he holds the joint to your peach-glossed lips, eyes darkening when you part them obediently for him.

“Now breathe it in, nice and slow…deeper. Yeah, that’s it—hold it. Don’t let go until I say—good girl.”

You want to scoff at him, but you can’t—not with tears stinging your eyes and smoke burning its way down your lungs. By the time Enjin gives you the nod to exhale, you’re already choking, coughing it all back up in ragged plumes.

Yeah, this was nowhere in hell as easy as Enjin made it look.

The buzz rises in your head almost instantly, an airy haze creeping into your consciousness.

“See? Not a terrible cherry pop, eh?”

The glare you throw at Enjin is more of a squint. Still recovering from the fire tearing down your throat, your coughs earn you a few heavy-handed smacks on the back from Enjin. If it’s out of comfort or mockery, you can't tell. 

Everything in the room is spinning and becoming more distant, like a daydream.

“Easy there, breathe—it’ll hit easier when ya figure out how to grow it right, Princess. The dank shit won’t burn this hard.”

You want to bite back that even if you do figure out how to grow the damn ‘weed’ plant, you’d never touch it again. But the sudden heaviness seeping into your limbs drags you down, tilting your head on the axis of equilibrium.

“I think, no—I know, I need to lay down.”

Not waiting for permission, you flop down onto the worn cushions beneath you, curling up awkwardly with your head leaning against the armrest and your legs dangling off the seat at an angle. 

Enjin doesn’t miss a beat though—he scoops your legs into his lap, tugging off your boots so you can be comfortable.

Leaning back, perfectly at ease, Enjin holds the joint in one hand while the other rests on your stocking-covered shin, giving it a casual, reassuring pat. The way your arm drapes over your face tells him everything—yeah, you’ve got the spins.

“Keh, you’ll make it, Princess. Just let it all ride out.”

You’d make it alright, but not to happy hour anytime soon. Enjin supposes he might’ve let you take a bigger hit than you were ready for. 

Whoops.

Silence stretches in the aftermath but it’s not uncomfortable. Enjin takes a few more lazy tokes, one golden eye cracked open just enough to watch you, taking stock of your state. 

It’s in moments like this—rare ones, when you’re quiet—that he remembers just how fucking smoking hot you are.

Especially in that Cleaner uniform. Man, God bless August.

The eccentric tailor took special care in designing it thanks to a sudden burst of inspiration—August even convinced Enjin to allow him to keep some of the trim from your Spherite clothes that he repurposes. The outcome of your uniform is shinier, more fitted and much sluttier than standard issue. 

You took to it immediately, without much fuss and actually complimenting August. That was August’s gift though—whipping up pieces to suit even the finickiest of tastes—and Enjin had to admit, the man did his big one. 

But the real surprise wasn’t the craftsmanship. It was you—his oh-so-prim little Trash Princess—strutting around in something so damn naughty. Dressed up like a treat that Enjin can’t help but eat up with his eyes.

And whaddya know? Enjin has the munchies bad right now.

Left to his own devices, Enjin takes his time devouring the sight in front of him. His gaze lingers down the length of your legs sprawled across his lap, to the soft, exposed flesh of your thighs—spilling over the edge of your stockings just enough to make his jaw clench.

Fuck, they look so soft. He can't help but wonder how they'd feel locked around his head as his eyes climb to the next indulgence—your crop top. Rucked up to your ribs, the thin white cotton hugs just beneath your tits. Shit, the way your cute little nips poke through the fabric makes his mouth twitch with the urge to say ‘hi’ right back—with his tongue.

Is it hotter in here, or—?

Leering at you for too long is a surefire way for Enjin to pop a boner. Enjin knows he’s not alone in that either. That uniform of yours turns heads in every city you pass through. Consequently, Enjin has split more skulls because of idiots trying to hit on you or cop a feel than he ever has for anyone trying to snatch a Spherite.

Not that he’s jealous or nothing.

Nah. Just doing his job. Watching out for you. Plenty of unscrupulous assholes out there willing to pounce on a clueless little thing like you.

However, right now, Enjin’s just as unscrupulous—‘watching out’ only for a flash of your panties as each restless wiggle sinks you deeper into the lumpy cushions, bunching your skirt higher and teasing him with a glimpse of skimpy lace.

Man, just a little more and he’d know exactly which pair you picked today.

Sobering up a bit more, you sigh at your inability to get comfortable when you could feel the very springs in the sofa. Stretching, you straighten your leg suddenly and—

“Yo! Watch the feets, girl!”  

Though there’s amusement in his voice as he jolts upright, tatted hands grabbing your ankle before you’re able to land another blow.

“Ah, sorry—” You mutter sheepishly, reeling back your foot. “I didn’t mean to kick Umbreaker.”

For what it’s worth, the apology comes quickly—you’ve learned better than to mess with a man’s jinki, especially Enjin’s. You've nearly tripped more times than you can count over that bulky extension of himself that he always keeps within reach.

You know it’s serious too when he doesn’t even bother with the stupid nicknames he usually calls you. Nevertheless, you’re left puzzled when Enjin’s laughter comes out loud and sharp. 

“...that wasn’t Umbreaker, Princess.”

Huh? What does he mean that isn’t— 

You freeze. 

Carefully peeking out from under your arm, your reddened eyes squint down the length of your body and onto his. When the realization does set in of what exactly you kicked, it smacks you harder than any hit of ganja ever could.

“O…oh…—OH MY GAWD!”

Immediately springing upright, your vertigo swirls with how fast you’re scrambling to your knees as you gawk.

Time passes for what seems like a solid minute or two and neither of you speak. 

You’re staring at the crotch of Enjin’s baggy pants and Enjin is staring at you.

“Heh.”

The devious look on Enjin’s face right now could shame the devil himself. Yet you’re still in utter disbelief.

There’s no way that’s his dick!

Still, your brain won’t stop running the numbers—high girl math with clumsy calculations drawn from the fleeting brush of your toes against the long, thick mass hidden beneath the fabric of his baggy pants. Enjin’s words ring in your mind like a gong—‘that wasn’t Umbreaker…’

“You’re burnin’ a hole through my dick, Princess—”

Enjin’s voice unfurls seductively, like the smoke curling from his lips.

“—keep starin’ like that and I’m gonna think you wanna see it.”

Your eyes meet his dead-on. 

“I do.”

“Yeah, I’m sure yo—wait, come again?!”

Enjin’s grip goes slack, the joint slipping from his fingers. He was halfway to some sassy quip, ready to taunt your denial—but your delivery is so honest, with no teasing or angle to play off, he doesn’t know what to do with it.

The embers hiss against his thigh before he even registers he dropped it.

“Tch.” Cursing under his breath, he flicks it aside—it’s all roach anyway—and tries to pull himself back together.

You’re fucking with him. Yeah. That’s it. 

Smug again, Enjin leans into the bit you started.

“Ha ha…right. I know my stuck up lil’ Trash Princess isn’t asking to give me a dick inspection…”

Enjin adjusts his pants in a casual sweep that doesn’t fool either of you. He’s not brushing off the remaining flakes of ash—he’s palming his restless cock that jumped at the idea of you actually wanting to see it.

But both you and Enjin would quickly discover, despite your snobby Spherite upbringing, you lose any type of filter and sense of couth while high—blurting out your thoughts unabashedly. 

“I said I wanted to see it, Trashy Poppins. Or m’not gonna believe you’re actually that big.”

You fold your arms, huffing stubbornly.

There was no way an unbearably annoying man like Enjin was slanging actual horse cock! 

He had to be the one fucking with you here.

Well, wait, no—a cocky, stupidly sexy man having a big dick actually tracks, now that you think about it.

But still—you need to verify. For science, if nothing else. 

Yeah. Science.

Enjin blinks, taking stock of you—kneeling close, your tits straining like they’re about to burst free, and your skirt rides so high on your thighs this time, he swears one more millimeter and he’d see your panties for real. 

“C’mon now…”

Your sickly sweet coos needle at Enjin’s spine.

“...as if you aren’t always upskirting me just to see my panties.”

Shit. You knew it was intentional?

“At least you can show me your undies for a change. If you’re really that big, then I’ll be able to tell.”

The spark alight in your eyes is a challenge to Enjin, who loves pushing your limits. Now he needs to know how far you’ll go. Even if he’s completely unprepared for this turn of events, he’s sure as fuck not gonna be the one backing down first.

“S’that right, Princess? Well, I haven’t even seen yours today so—”

Enjin doesn’t even get the chance to finish before you’re lifting your skirt and spreading your knees wider. You stare up at the ceiling, the popcorn squares suddenly appearing super interesting to you. Enjin’s eyes however immediately zero-in on the pink lace stretched tight across your pussy.

Christ.

With a much closer view, Enjin picks up all the little details he usually misses—like how the hem digs into your soft curves or how the material is thin enough to see the split of your chubby lil pussy lips pressed underneath. 

Goddamn, are you intentionally buying them a size too small? 

Or is your pussy print just that fat?

Enjin gulps, mouth dry. 

His attention caught like a hook to your cunt, everything else is unimportant—including the irony of how he was just teasing you for the very same thing—it’s all utterly lost on him. His priorities shifting rapidly the longer he ogles you.

After a minute, giving him quite frankly more of his fill than he deserves, you let your skirt drop back into place. The alluring spell of your fatma breaks when your  knees snap shut and Enjin is yanked back to a world that doesn’t exist between the apex of your doughy thighs. 

All of his lecherous starring is worth it though—if only to be able to throw his own saying back at him for once.

“Now, how’s it go again? It’s not peer pressu—”

“—Yeah, yeah, I got it, Princess—My turn.” 

Enjin relents, cutting you off with a twisted grin as he shakes his head.

“Ya don’t gotta break my arm to see my dick, babe. Just makin’ sure you’re sure. Don’t need you runnin’ off telling Semiu I flashed ya.”

Semiu is already on Enjin’s ass for teasing you as much as he does. Something about him being ‘too grown’ not to ‘nut up’ and ‘come to terms with his reality’, but Enjin was never listening for long, zoning out as soon as a new lecture was underway. 

However, if your prissy ass really wants to see his dick that bad, of course he’d oblige. Hell, Enjin would get another kick outta watching your horror when you realize for real just how much he’s packing. It had been a minute since he'd seen that look on a woman.

For being as hot and charming as he is, Enjin didn’t get nearly as much play as he should’ve. He isn’t a virgin by any means, but too many women take one glance at his size and back off expeditiously.  

Life on the ground meant hustling to survive for most. Nobody could afford to be laid up for days just because Enjin’s wrecking ball of a cock tore through their walls, rendering them unable to walk—let alone go to work.

Yet with a clink, that all changes as the leather strap of his belt and gear slides free. Enjin lifts his hips enough to shove his pants down past his thighs and there it is—short red boxer briefs with a black waistband, the fabric stretched thin over the obscenely long, thick outline of his dick resting along his thigh.

Simply put, your jaw drops. There’s a static-like silence buzzing in your mind as you process the monstrous mass of phallic muscle before you.

You’ve never seen a dick that huge in your entire life. 

Clocking your shock, Enjin’s chest puffs like he’s just been crowned a king in the room.

“Relax, Princess…” he drawls, smugness saturating every word.

“I ain’t even all the way hard yet.”

Bullshit! 

Your eyes pingpong between his face and his cock before landing on the obvious conclusion—no overthinking this time.

“What are you waiting for then? Get hard.”

Enjin actually chokes for real this time, still not used to how blunt his demure lil’ Trash Princess gets when she’s high. He manages to laugh regardless once he finds his breath as he sure as hell doesn’t hate this new side of you.

“Hah?! It doesn’t work like that ya know…”

Enjin lies right through his fucking teeth. 

Just hearing that vulgar command from your prissy lil’ lips has his blood surging south, his cock swelling at rapid speed. Already on go, his dickprint thickens, straining against the fabric until threads stretch thin to form almost obscenely over him like second skin.

Yet unlike his past hookups you don’t flinch at the sight of him getting even bigger. 

There’s more than enough incredulousness on your face for sure, but Enjin half expected you to backpedal for the sake of your pussy’s self-preservation and book it out the door. Instead, the look you’re giving his dick is more akin to awe than fear.

Truly, though—you are in awe.

Men weren’t like this on the Sphere. Well, your husband certainly wasn’t.

Older than you by over a decade, your husband’s stamina was so poor he never lasted long. His size, his endurance, and his dismissive comments about your sexual appetite being perversely unbecoming for a lady of your station had you wondering if something was wrong with you this entire time—if you expected too much from sex.

But when your eyes drift back to Enjin—catching the thick vein running along his length, visible even through the fabric—you know better now. 

It was never you.

The realization brings a surge of boldness. Your gaze trails the pulse of his cock down to the wet patch blooming at the tip—so much pre spilling it seeps through the fabric. 

Enjin inhales sharply through his nose. He knows he’s proven his size, but your silence and the way you’re eyeing his cock like some kind of museum exhibit is starting to get to him. 

Enjin doesn’t want to back down as he impatiently waits for your final verdict of approval. But if you keep staring at him like that, with those big pretty eyes of yours, he’s going to come in his pants, untouched, like some fucking cuck.

“Well, Princess? Big enough for ya?”

You don’t even hear Enjin, too lost in your own thoughts. Your body, buzzed and reckless, has a mind of its own though. Reaching out, your hand leaves your lap to trace the thick ridges of his cock, mapping its shape through his briefs. 

“Oh, shiiii—” Enjin hisses. 

His lip catches between his teeth as all thoughts vanish the moment your delicate little fingers start stroking him.

“Argh—fuck. Can’t jus’ go grabbing a man’s dick like that ya know.”

Yet Enjin does nothing to stop you as your touch grows bolder. Your palm flattens around his girth—too thick for even your whole hand to wrap around, even through his boxers.

How would someone even get something that monstrous inside them!?

Encircling his leaky cockhead, you giggle as your index finger slowly tap-tap-taps the mess he’s made there, amused at how many of the small, sticky suds you can gather on your finger through the material.

Enjin’s own laugh is strangled. This can’t be real.

“Heh… fuck… you really tryna kill me, huh, Princess? Fuckin’ tease…”

You’re unfazed by Enjin’s provocations – too mesmerized by the obscenely large cock in front of you that has you squirming uncomfortably as your own panties turn swampy with heat. 

“May I?”

Meeting Enjin’s gaze, your polite innocence is accented by a wide-eyed pout that’s far too sweet for the filthy implications of your request. Like you’re nicely asking permission to play with your favorite toy—except you don’t even wait for him to give it,fingers impatiently snapping the edges of his waistband like some cockhungry slut. 

“Uh…” Enjin blanks while his dick is practically screaming at him to respond—even a damned head nod would suffice. Yet his brain blue-screens as it registers that look—the normally innocent, curiosity filled look that he's been craving since he found you in No Man's Land—now twisted into something debased and filthy.  And best of all?

Meant just for him.

Enjin’s so fucking hard right now it’s painful—and hell, if you’re planning to do something about that, he’s not about to stop you.

“Keh. Do you, boo.”

Enjin manspreads, giving you full access. You eagerly pull down his shorts just enough to release his cock, and it springs free, thick and heavy. 

Good God, he’s a big boy! 

Although you knew that, seeing the monster in all of its unleashed glory was an entirely different experience. Enjin’s dick bobs back to curve towards his abs, a shiny pubic piercing shining at his base under its shadow.

Panting, your previously dormant inner size queen activates. You have to swallow down the bucket of saliva collecting on your tongue before you choke—you can’t help but salivate at the thought of what a huge cock like this tastes like… what it feels like. 

You’re pretty sure it could break you in two, and surprisingly, the thought excites you.

Lowering yourself on all fours, the first tentative lick you give Enjin’s length has his toes curling as he grips the sofa, ripping a chunk clean off the decaying material. 

You moan out a depraved 'ahhh' once you reach the top, a little smile playing on your lips as you tongue down the hole at his tip.  Greedily, you lap up all the little dribbles of pre beading at the tip and flowing out.

“W-Woaaah—ugh. FUCK!”

Enjin’s hand flies into your hair as he clears his throat. Sure, your mouthwatering stares made a blowie likely, but diving in this shamelessly? It’s enough to make him feel like he’s losing his damn mind.

You grip his base—an insurance policy to keep him from cumming—while your other hand cups his balls, giving them a gentle squeeze. His thigh jolts beneath you and you simper at how sensitive he is despite his massive size.

“T-There’s no way in hell they taught your prissy ass how to be this much of a slut up there.”

Pouting, you release his balls to cradle his cockhead against your puffed up cheek, uncaring of the amount of pre seeping across your jaw. 

“D-Do…do you hate it? My hus—um, ex said it was a turn off. H-he'd say I have 'the depravity of a slums streetwalker.”

Staring up at Enjin, your eyes are clouded with lust, yet edged with worry—like he’d threatened to rip something precious away.  But it’s only his cock you’re coddling tighter against your cheek, your lips parting just enough to chase the beads of pre that drip close to your mouth.

If you weren’t gripping Enjin’s base so hard he definitely would have blown a load all over your face. Fuck, if the thought isn’t tempting to him though – he doesn’t think you’d even mind in this state.  

Goddamn, you’re so much sluttier than Enjin could have ever imagined. 

And he’d imagined it plenty. 

Especially on nights Enjin stumbled back to HQ drunk and alone, having closed down the bar with Corvus and Gris. Left to sate his own booze-fueled boner, he’d shamelessly rut into his pillow. Yet, no matter where his perversions strayed, every faceless fantasy in the dark insisted on transmuting into you. 

You seriously think he couldn’t match your freak? 

Oh, sweetheart, you have no fucking idea.

“Hate it?” 

Enjin holds back the growl building at the back of his throat. There’s a torrent of thoughts swirling with his high all at once—all coming to settle right back into his dick. 

“Never. Show me who you really are, Princess—n’ I’ll give it right back to ya tenfold—that’s a promise.”

If you weren’t already trembling with arousal—finally free to let your freak flag fly—you might’ve shied away. Enjin’s easy acceptance of you stirs something deeper, something messy that you usually ignore before it can settle. Now, with his scent thick on your face and tongue, you’re not thinking at all—aching with the urge to all but inhale his cock.

You merely nod, flashing Enjin a coy smile before stretching your plush lips to wrap around him. Slowly, you swallow down his girth, mouth hot with suction so deliciously moist Enjin’s hips jerk up. You gag, but his firm grip on your roots keeps your head in place, forcing his length to breach your throat.

“That’s it, baby…open up f-f’er me—g-good fucking girl, Princess…”

Tears prick at your eyes as his cock pounds back of your throat. The stretch is brutal—but some desperate part of you craves more of his filthy praise. What you can’t take with your mouth, your hands make up for—stroking every thick inch your lips can’t swallow.

“Shiiiit, girl! You’re a pro at this.”

If you ask Enjin later, he’d probably call you a throat goat, however most of your “experience” came from the smutty paperbacks high-society wives hid in corsets and swapped under tea tables—not actual practice. You don’t really know what you are doing. You’re just following the book's explicit instructions. 

Still, Enjin doesn’t seem to mind being your test dummy. 

On the contrary, Enjin is more than happy to let you do your thing and he does just that. Although, the longer your head bobs along his cock, the more your skirt rides up—until it finally flips over your hips, giving him a perfect view of the cheeky lace framing your ass.

Enjin groans, gripping your ass with bruising force before sliding his fingers down to palm your pussy over your panties—fuck, you’re already dripping for him.

“Hah—uppity cunt gets this sloppy just from a lil’ dick sucking, eh?”

Enjin laughs, yet the gravel rattling in his voice betrays him. No one has ever fearlessly tried to deepthroat him and actually fucking enjoyed it. 

Unable to respond with your mouth, too busy still trying to do the impossible and fit more inside your throat, your hips respond instead—wiggling desperately against his fingers, begging for more of his touch. 

Enjin doesn’t hesitate. Slipping a tatted finger into your panties, he drags it through your folds, marveling at how wet and scorching you are. Pushing into your core, your walls clamp down, fluttering around his digit.

Oh fuck, even his fingers are big! 

A second ringed finger follows – the rough, callous fingers of a man who's seen too many fights scrape so good against all your gooey spots. Lewd squelches echo from your pussy as your throat tightens around him in tandem. The sounds, the squeeze, the heat—all of it is driving him crazy.

Shit he’s gonna cum for real this time. 

To his credit, Enjin tries to warn you—tries to pull you off before it’s too late. 

He doesn’t wanna risk pissing you off and having you refuse to ever do this again. Enjin still wants to fool around more;, he wants to fuck you. It’s that thought—your pretty pussy lips splitting open to swallow him instead—that has him busting his hot seed down your throat in thick, hot pulses.

“HAHH—FUHH!”

Releasing your hair, Enjin half expects you to pull away, furious he hadn’t warned you.  Instead, your nails dig into his thigh, steadying yourself. You moan around him, the vibrations rippling through his sensitive cock while you work him for every last drop, his hips jerking beneath you.

Only when you’re certain you’ve drained him do you pull back, swollen lips coming off his cock with a wet pop. 

“Allll go-neee S-Sheee? HAhhhhh~♡”

Tits jiggling as you heave for air, you present your tongue to Enjin as proof you’ve swallowed all of him. Every. Filthy. Drop.

“Oh fuck me… you’re a nasty lil’ Trash Princess, aren’t you?”

You can’t help but agree—your throat’s wrecked and your pussy’s aching to be used just as thoroughly. Enjin’s fingers aren’t inside you any more, although they are still on your pussy, running through your folds absentmindedly.  

“Ngh—n-eed m-more,” you slur.

All your decorum was lost to the wind the moment you asked to see his dick—you don’t even care that it’s Enjin of all people that you just gave head to. Suddenly, the obnoxious pain in your ass seems like your only deliverance. Right now, you're more frustrated that you've spent so much time bickering with him when you could have been fucking him.

You much prefer his moans to anything else coming out of his mouth.

You need him to get hard again—immediately!

Enjin, mind mushy with release, takes another joint out to light. As much as he wants to return the favor after that kind of sloppy top, the man needs a minute.  His high has his whole body tingling from the post release sensitivity.

But you can’t wait any longer. It’s been god knows how long since you’ve had a proper orgasm and those were only from your own small, fumbling fingers. Throat achy and raw, you quiver at the masochistic thought of how his cock is going to absolutely obliterate your pussy.

You slide your panties down before flinging off your jacket and top.  Taking a seat on Enjin's lap, you're now clad in just your bra, your skirt that's bunched up at your hips, and thigh highs. Grabbing his cock, you give his soggy, half-hard girth a few encouraging pumps.

Your pussy is already slobbering, a viscous string of syrupy slick drips down from your slit to land on his cockhead, connecting you to him as you line him up. 

Feeling your fingers around his length, Enjin's eyes fly open, balancing the joint between his lips as he quickly shrugs off his own jacket, checking the pockets.

“Woah, woah. Slow your roll there sweetheart—you’re skipping a few steps.”

You aren’t listening though, not giving a fuck what Enjin is talking about as you cry out, grinding your clit against his fat tip, before running it back through your folds.

Enjin grits his teeth, coughing out smoke as he holds the joint in one hand and your hips in the other. You’re being a brat again, not listening to a single word he’s saying. 

“Gotta find my rubbers…also gotta stretch you out better, Princess—you’re gonna split in two if I don’t.”

You whimper, petulant and needy. You press his cockhead against your entrance, swiveling your hips like you’re going to recklessly sink down on him at any second.

“Huh? Rubbers?” You shake your head in confusion, pouting. “m’Ennnnjiiiiin…I can’t wait that long—puh-leaseee don’t make me wait s’long, Enjiiiiin. I can take it, promiseee!”

The way you sweetly coo his name is shattering any sense of self-control Enjin has left. The urge to submit you to the ultimate corruption surges hot through his veins, but Enjin knows how big he is and while he did want to break you, he didn’t want to hurt you in the process. You are absolutely nuts to want to ride him with so little prep—now, on top of everything else, you apparently wanted him to fuck you raw.

Wait—did you just ask what rubbers were? Did you not have condoms on the Sphere?

But any lingering concerns dissipate the second you start fighting to get his tip inside you.

“Too s-slow!” You groan.

Fear is the last thing on your mind—evident in the way you impale yourself on him, defiant even against the impossible stretch. Your pussy is tight around the swollen head of his cock, strangling it as your nails dig into his shoulders. You grind in slow, desperate circles. Tears roll down your cheeks as you bite them to keep from crying out, your body fighting against every inch.

Enjin watches with a dark glint in his eyes – you trying so hard for him makes him want to flip you over and fuck you into the cushions. But he’d let you have it at your own pace…for now. 

Releasing your hip, Enjin spits into his palm, rubbing his slick fingers over your clit in slow steady circles. 

“Such a hard-headed girl—c’mere…”

Enjin takes a long drag from the joint, balancing it between his fingers as he grabs the back of your neck. His lips crash into yours before you can think.

You gasp and Enjin takes the opportunity to exhale the smoke deep into your lungs, taking the harshest of the hit himself. You're left with only the smooth, earthy flavor warming your chest before it melts through your limbs.

But it’s the way he kisses you after that really knocks the ground out from under you. His tongue pushes past your lips, tangling with yours—hungry, messy, like he wants to steal the little air you have left until you’re only breathing him in.

Your arms wrap around his neck, hands buried in his soft buzzed undercut, anchoring yourself. You moan into his mouth and he swallows it greedily, teeth nipping your lower lip before diving right back in. All the while, his thumb keeps grinding into your clit, faster now, like he’s keeping rhythm with the pulse that’s beating under your skin.

Why does it feel this good? How is he doing this to your body? S’not fair! 

Not realizing you could feel this good from a kiss, you're unraveling in real time. Your mind goes blank with every pulse, every word, every inch. You’re not even fully seated yet, but you can already feel the blunt head of his cock grinding against your cervix, the pressure building with each centimeter you drop. You never imagined you could feel this full—like he might actually breach your womb.

The thought alone has you trembling, unstable, your aching thighs giving out, causing you to slide down a bit too fast. The thick veins along his length rake across your g-spot and your body snaps. A sharp, helpless spasm rocks you as your breath catches and a small, unexpected orgasm rolls through you.

Enjin pulls back just enough to let you breathe, though your body doesn’t stop shivering, lost in a blur of pleasure and pain.

“Eh... did you just cum, Princess?”

The question is rhetorical, full of smug amusement, as he can feel the increasing wetness leaking down his cock, making it all the easier for you to slide down.    

Teasing your earlobe, Enjin’s tongue dips in to flick at the shell of it, making you clench.

“HA! Good fucking girl! A lil’ more and I bet she’ll be a real squirter f’er me.”

Enjin beams, proud of his Trash Princess. No woman had ever taken him this deep—not even close. Enjin hadn’t expected you to be any different. And yet…when Enjin looks down, he releases a groan deep from his gut.

The sight alone almost has Enjin nutting in you -- your drooling cunt spread so wide around his girth, sitting almost at his base. A thought flashes briefly – it's kinda like he’s a virgin again. Parts of his dick had never experienced this kind of molten heat so maybe, in a sense, he is? Enjin didn’t fucking care if he was though, as he ain’t about to be with the way your pretty pussy is giving way like it’s made for him. 

“Run that back.”

Enjin takes the final drag, pinching the smoldering end of the joint between his fingers before flicking it aside. He leans in again, slower this time. There’s no rush in how his mouth seals over yours. The second shotgun is less about the smoke and more about the feel of you—your lips parting for him, your breath syncing to his, and the small whimper you make as he sucks slowly on your tongue.

The haze spreads between you both, thick and warm. Simultaneously, his knuckles tease your clit, a soft schlick sound filling the space between you from you getting wetter by the second. By the strength of some unknown force, you finally bottom out, immediately collapsing into his neck. 

You both moan. Enjin feels you quivering from the inside out and you feel him everywhere—shifting your guts into your ribs. 

“I…I did it.”

Your smile blooms soft against his inked skin, lips grazing the spot where you can feel his own pulse hammering wildly.

Enjin’s in no state to congratulate you on your impressive feat. Completely sheathed in you raw, coring out your gummy walls into the shape of his dick—something in his brain chemistry fizzles. Like a bit of pussy juice, acting as a catalyst, slipped into his dick and traveled straight to his prefrontal cortex to corrode all of his previous thoughts about you. The result is clear.

Enjin doesn’t give a fuck if you are a snobby, annoying, needy lil’ brat who never let him get away with shit and bitches at him constantly—the furtherest thing from his type.

Because honestly?

Motherfuck a bullshit-ass type. Your slutty ass pussy is fuckin’ perfect. 

For the first time, Enjin realizes he might be in love with you. 

How could he even look at another woman after this?

One thing if for certain—Enjin is going to make damn sure you never have the desire to even look at another man.

Both his hands trail up your hips, groping and squeezing the plump curves of your ass before settling at your waist. His blunt black nails dig into your skin to pull you back from his neck.

Enjin whistles, admiring the stagnant stream of spittle lingering on your chin. Look at you—cockdrunk just from sitting on him. 

Enjin doesn’t think he’s ever seen you look more beautiful.

“Enjiiiiiin,” you whimper, not being able to hold yourself up. 

But your cries for him only inflame the predatory smirk on his lips, your honeyed cunt hugging his cock so beautifully. 

“Makes sense you fell from heaven, huh Princess?” 

Whether you're ready or not, Enjin forcibly winds you on his cock in slow circles. Your clit brushes up against the well placed pubic ring like a reward for being the first to experience it.

“—cause this pussy’s a fuckin’ angel.”

Your eyes are already lodged in your skull so you can’t even roll them at his cheesy line. But if your pussy is an angel, then Enjin's dick is most definitely a demon—his sinful cock tearing through your insides and condemning you straight to hell.

Moaning loudly, your body moves on autopilot—chasing more friction from the rhythm Enjin set. Good thing everyone was at happy hour or you would for sure be attracting some major attention now.

Although, to be honest you probably wouldn’t notice anyway. You don’t even notice when your bra falls away, your tits spilling out just so Enjin could watch them jiggle in his face. You only register its disappearance once his mouth latches onto one of your nipples, his tongue finally saying it’s ‘hello’.

“Shiiiiit!”

Your hips stutter, then stall when Enjin tugs at your sensitive bud with his teeth.

“Hey…I know my Trash Princess ain’t tappin’ out just yet.” 

SMACK!

Enjin brings a heavy palm down on your ass and your pussy clenches tighter around him. Enjin relishes the way your plush curves mold to his hands, each smack adding to the wet, messy sounds between you. You’ve already leaked enough on his lap to stain the sofa beneath you.

“Nah, ya just got on the ride, baby. Giddy-up.”

SMACK!

“NNNGH!” You weakly glare daggers at him. 

Any softness on Enjin’s face has since been replaced by something far more mischievous. If you thought he was obnoxious before—you’re about to learn he’s a full-blown menace inside of pussy.

Wobbling, you gather together what little resolve you have left to roll your hips forward. 

“HAAH! S’too biiiiiig,” you whine but your body can’t stop.

The juices saturated between you grant enough momentum to finally get a good, smooth bounce going.

“Fuck—that’s it, ride it like it’s yours, baby.” Enjin encourages you.

The way you cream harder every time he calls you 'baby' doesn't go unnoticed.

“Oh? You like me talking sweet to the pussy, baby girl?—Or do you just like being my filthy lil’ trash slut, hm Princess?”

Gritting your teeth, you grab on to Enjin’s shirt like reins, pulling him closer to you. 

“Y-You’re…gonna—ahshiiiit—hafta f-fuck m’better than thisss…if you want m-me to be your ‘baby girl’—Trash Daddy.”

Unfortunately, your sass falls flat—you can barely keep your head from lulling to the side. But Enjin’s thoroughly entertained nonetheless—he’ll take ‘Trash Daddy’ over ‘Trashy Poppins’ any day.

“Bet.”

Electricity runs through Enjin. He’s all charged up—now it’s his turn to unleash.

Your brow furrows from the noise Enjin makes—you’re not sure if he just laughed or snarled. But it's the only warning you get. 

Sliding down the sofa a bit, adjusting himself for stability, Enjin spreads his legs, planting his feet firmly on the floor as he bullies his cock up into you like he's breaking in his own personal fleshlight.

All you can do is go slack, falling forward on his chest. His grip bruising your hips, not allowing you to run from the way his blunt cockhead plows into your womb like a battering ram. 

The couch beneath you groans, its frame creaking under the strain. The wood and leather protest like the entire thing might fall apart at any moment.

“Enjinnnnn, m’slowwww dowwwnnn!” 

Your cries only fuel his frenzy and Enjin knows from the way you’re gushing on him you can take it.

Fuck—this sweet lil’ pussy is just so good for him. Imagine if he never met you. 

If you never—

Enjin cuts the thought off cold. 

Moving before you can blink—your world flips. One second he’s pummeling up into you, the next you’re on your back. 

Enjin peels away his shirt, muscles flexing as he looms over you. His hands curl around your ankles to keep them pinned overhead. A single bead of sweat catches your bleary eyes as it slides down his bare chest, gliding over firm muscle. The bold ink patterns seem to come alive on his skin. He looks so fucking sexy right now and you can’t help but to shamelessly ogle him.

Yet, there’s something much too serious and somber about Enjin’s current demeanor. You’ve been staring at him far too long to go unnoticed. The highly expressive, sassy powerhouse is rarely this silent. He should be teasing you right now, asking some smartass shit like if you’re ‘enjoying the view’. 

“Enjin?”

Your sweet voice hits his ears and instantly you have his attention again. Enjin flashes you a pearly white smile.

“Heh, enjoy the break, Princess? You wont get another.”

Ignoring the question in your eyes, Enjin folds you into a mating press, thrusting to the hilt all in one motion. The sound of flesh lewdly slapping against flesh fills the room, as do your cries.

But there’s still something else burning in his eyes. Enjin knows it’s unfair not to be honest with you, but taking out his unspoken feelings on your pretty pussy is the only way he can express himself at the moment. 

Suddenly, there’s a loud creak followed by a decisive snap and two of the sofa’s legs give out. If your sweat and cum weren't like glue on the old leather you’d surely slide off head first. You yell out in alarm, but Enjin doesn’t give a fuck about the damn sofa.

His mood is still soured by the thought that wouldn’t be shaken away until he confronted it—

If you never fell.

But you did. He found you—and now that Enjin has you under him like this, he needs to fuck the point he’s concluded into you:

If Rudo ever finds a way to the Sphere, Enjin will personally travel there and see to your ex-husband himself. 

Hell, he might even rail you in front of him a few times—show him what a real man could do. Maybe even a real…husband?

If the sounds of sloshing fluids and skin slapping skin weren't ringing so loudly in your ears that it drowned out everything else, you would have thought Enjin had lost his mind with the way he was cackling above you.  He sounds completely deranged, laughing at the idea of him finally wanting to settle down all while continuing to pound you deeper into the broken sofa.

But despite being high off weed and your pussy, Enjin’s mind has never been more clear—he wants to lock you down.

“Hah… P-Princess, can ya feel me in your tummy? Right…” Enjin’s golden eyes lock on the ever-so-slightly distended bulge from the monstrous intrusion in your guts.

“....right, here.” 

Throwing your legs over his shoulders, his large hands splay across your sweat sheened belly. You’re squirming under the heat of Enjin sandwiching your guts between his palm and his cock. Its all far too much—you’re too full, unable to really focus on what Enjin’s saying.

“Ahh, E-Enj—m’ c-cum, g-gonna mmm…” you hiccup, swallowing your tears.

Your nails rake down his arm to ground yourself but your body is thrumming too hard, adrift in the rush rolling through every one of your wired nerves. Your tits bounce obscenely every time your velvety walls devour his cock back down to the base. Enjin’s pubic piercing bucking against your clit has you clutching onto his dick like you were about to break it off.

You feel so fucking good. Enjin desperately needs to feel you creaming on his cock, and you would be soon if your kitten nails raking down his arms– adding more red to his already inked skin– were any indication. 

“That’s it, Princess, hah—fuck, baby, I got you. Squirt for your Trash Daddy.”

As if on command, the knot inside you coils to its breaking point, prickling every nerve, releasing a warm rush of fluids. Your body tingling in ecstasy, you quickly tumble over your peak, eyes blinded by speckles of brightness as you cum.

Yet Enjin hasn't slowed, his continuous pounding forcing more of your cum and squirt to gush out of you—the melody of his now drenched balls colliding with your wet ass only growing loude

“Fuck, that’s it. Pussy cryin’ like she wants my cum, Princess…” 

You’re barely conscious from all the pleasure, eyes rolling back into your head. 

“She’s jealous that slutty throat of yours got all my cum, now it’s her turn to swallow, isn’t that right?”

It’s a rather roundabout way for Enjin to ask if he can nut inside you, but then again, he wasn’t really asking. The thought of breeding you makes him feral. 

“Ahh—f’nnghhhh!”

Non-verbal and fucked dumb, you’d probably agree to anything right now. You’re an utter mess–pussy stretched beyond anything you thought possible, face sticky with slobber rolling down to pool in the folds of your neck. 

“O’course it is…gonna dump all these trash babies into my princess’ sweet lil’ cunt.”

Although you are super turned on by the thought of Enjin breeding you, there's no way you have any idea how serious Enjin is about putting a baby in you. How could you? You don’t even realize the love confession his cock is professing to you.

“FUHHHH—take it!”

Enjin pumps thick ropes of his cum into your tummy as his body thrashes on top of yours. The primal intensity has you vibrating as another orgasm rips through your overstimulated and overworked pussy. Filled the brim, his spunk overflows, sploshing out of your pussy as he rocks his hips, urging his seed deeper to plant right in your womb.

In the afterglow, the two of you lie off-kilter in a tangled heap on the broken sofa. There’s blood rushing to your head— not the worst place for it, you think, all things considered. Enjin’s weight is heavy, his chest heaving into yours, warm and sticky as he wraps you in his arms. 

Just as you feel you both might drift off like this, Enjin stirs. Flinching, you whimper as Enjin wills himself up, his cock sliding out of your pussy with a squelchy suctioning noise. Your knees part for him with zero resistance as he inspects his handiwork, peeling apart your battered pussy lips to reveal your dug out slit. 

“Whewww,” Enjin whistles at the sight of the thick creampie glistening in your core. “All this cum your cute pussy pulled outta me—you’d think she was my jinki.”

Sober, you likely would have slapped him for referring to your pussy as his vital instrument. But ecstasy clouds your logic, so high off endorphins and other substances, you only giggle. It is kinda funny you suppose.

“Yeah—squirtin’ on command like that. Definitely an attack type.”

Spread open, the thick plug of spunk froths out of you. But Enjin simply tuts, pushing it right back in, not wanting to waste a single drop.

“Yeah, how about that, ’mma duel wielder! Yup, definitely gotta name ‘er now—what you thinkin’ I should call her, princess?”

Enjin sees the way your pretty cunny is twitching, and in his pussy drunk mind, it's an approval. The spasms that still quake through you are like tremors of Morse Code—your slutty pussy agreeing with him, begging for more. Flipping you over on your belly, Enjin is more than happy to fulfill any request of his new vital instrument.

“Got it! Cumbringer! The Umbreaker and The Cumbringer. Nice ring to ‘em, dont’cha think?”

Cumbringer!?

Later, you would definitely regret being so thoroughly fucked out of your mind you didn’t put a stop to this. Enjin is most definitely going to be insufferably proud of himself for the next 3-6 business weeks. He’d lord this over you and tease you with not-so-subtle hints around the rest of the cleaners. 

Yet, as Enjin is swabbing his huge cock through your folds, you feel the ache of loss in your core, wanting to be filled again and you can’t seem to find the fucks to care—you just needed more of his dick, like…now.

Pleased with your compliance, Enjin thumbs the dips at the small of your back, perching your ass up so your back arches real nice.

“Trash Daddy’s gonna take real good care of Cumbringer from now on, too. Make ‘er live up to the name.”

When Enjin pushes into you again, the new angle has him bullying against your g-spot with even more intensity than before. Seeing the way you jolt, he holds back from going as deep this time to directly abuse the spot. Slick runs down your legs and despite how slippery the ruined leather cushions are beneath you, Enjin still holds you firm as his cock sloshes through your ruined pussy.

“Say, how much anima you think is in my nut, Princess?”

You don’t respond but Enjin, proving to have the stamina of a beast, feels like he should give you at least two more doses just to be sure.

⛓

Fading in and out of a euphoric stupor, you’re unsure how much time passes. Absolutely cockdrunk, at some point, you’d simply just surrendered. Your pussy clearly has zero complaints about being a jinki for Enjin’s cock and you are too dumb once you get a lil dick to stop him.

Somehow, you’ve ended up folded over the wide coffee table. It’s unstable beneath you, but Enjin doesn’t seem to care what he breaks when he’s fucking you. He only moved from the sofa when the back of it finally broke.

Straining, you think you hear voices but everything feels so far away and fuzzy. The room gets darker and you realize Enjin’s thrown his coat over you. Still sheathed deep inside you, Enjin’s cock plants lazy kisses to your womb as he speaks rather casually to someone.

Hmm, did he get a call? Is that Semiu?

Semiu is likely calling, wondering why you both haven’t shown up to happy hour yet—shit. There’s no way you’re making it in this condition; your limbs are toast. You can’t even move the weight of Enjin's bulky jacket off of you, the heavy material trapping you in the humidity of your own breath and sweat. But in a way, the warmth is comforting. Your cheek resting against the wood, you allow the tent of muggy heat and his cock moving languidly inside you to lull you into complacency— in your delirium, everything feels like a nice dream.

Yet Enjin is fully alert, a shit eating grin on his face as he stares down Semiu and Gris who had just walked in on Enjin shamelessly beating your doonies down. Enjin only spared your modesty by covering you up, but he has no qualms with either Gris or Semiu seeing him in all his glory and doesn’t even bother pulling out of you.

A fact that is painfully clear as he pats the pockets of his jacket draped over you for his cigs—he might as well smoke if he’s giving you a break.

“I win,” Semiu turns to Gris, hand out expectantly.

Semiu’s cool expression never changes but there is amusement in her eyes as Gris fishes into his pockets and places a stack of bills into her hand.

“Tsk, damn…” Gris shakes his head, although he’s not shocked. 

The two of you are down so horrendously bad for each other that this should have happened long ago as far as everyone else was concerned. The tension has been at an unbearable level for those around you, the way the two of you picked at each other non-stop like a kid’s first crush.

Alas, you’re an airhead and Enjin is so stubborn he’s delusional. So the older Cleaner members couldn’t help, but place bets on when and where you and Enjin would finally slip between the sheets. Its a shame that you weren't in one of your beds right now--in between actual sheets--instead of the lounge becoming collateral damage.

“You know, after all the game you talked about winning your money back at poker tonight, Bro said you were a no-show because you knew you were gonna lose…” Gris eyes the boneless, quivering lump that is you under Enjin’s jacket. 

Enjin really did a number on you. Your nonsensical babbles pouting for Enjin to ‘make sure to tell Semiu to bring you back some fries from the bar’ obviously means you have no idea that they are actually in the room.

“But it looks like you have your ‘ace in the hole' for an entirely different game.”

Enjin chortles. His hips stutter forward a bit too hard and you squeak in protest, he just hushes you.

“Awe, so you came back all this way to check-up on us? How sweet,” Enjin says sarcastically, taking a drag from his cigarette.

“Hardly. Rudo accidentally chugged an entire beer he thought was soda—then proceeded to throw it all up over Zanka,” Semiu says flatly. 

Enjin attempts to hold back his laughter as Semiu continues with a sigh. She explains thatGris helped carry Rudo back, promptly putting his little blacked out ass to bed. Zanka locked himself in the bathroom immediately upon returning.

“Although they're sure to be occupied for the rest of the night, since the kids are back in the building you need to wrap this shit up Enjin—she looks like she could use the break anyway.”

Semiu casts a sympathetic look your way. She did warn you about Enjin though, so he was your mess to deal with now. 

“Sure thing,” Enjin says, patting your form underneath his coat, “I’ve trained my new jinki well enough for tonight.” 

Semiu takes one look at the absolutely diabolical grin on Enjin’s face and decides she's already had enough of his shit for the night.

She sighs again. “Just hurry it up, alright?”

Enjin gives Semiu a cheeky salute. Yet the second her back is turned, Enjin mimes a dramatic chef’s kiss to the air for Gris. Enjin’s eyes roll back like he’s just had the best meal of his life. 

Gris snorts, shooting him a wink and a thumbs-up for a ‘job well done’ like a proud teammate before heading out of the room as well.

“One more thing.”

Semiu pauses in the doorway, hands resting on the double doors, surveying the crime scene-like state of the lounge. The sofa is toast, the coffee table’s on life support, and there's a growing puddle under you, spilling over to slowly drip off its edge onto the floor.

“If you’re just going to recklessly rawdog her, at least get her on the pill. Alice can sort that out tomorrow—right after you replace every piece of furniture you’ve both annihilated.”

Enjin simply shrugs, taking another drag of his cigarette.

“I suppose…we can stop by Alice’s too.” 

Semiu just rolls her eyes, only to wrinkle her nose as a wave of stale air wafts by.

“And for the love of god—crack a window. Smells like fresh ass in here.”

Once the doors finally click shut, Enjin rips his jacket off of you and smiles. You’re still blissed out in lalaland while your pussy, Cumbringer, is clenching around him like she has one more go left in her.

Grabbing your arm, he pulls you up. Still sheathed inside you, he sits back on his knees, bringing you with him, your back pressed against his chest.

“Mmmm—*yawns* Was that Semiu on the call, Enj?”

Call? Oh, heh.

“Ha, yeah baby girl, just Semiu on the line,” Enjin lies too easily. 

It’s for your own benefit though–no need to ruin your bliss with anything silly like embarrassment or shame from being walked-in on. Hell, unless Semiu says something, Enjin might be able to get away with not ever telling you.

“She said they ran outta fries though. I’ll get ya some later, yeah? Jus’ need Cumbringer to clock in one more time, Princess...”

Enjin rocks his hips with yours in a slow wave and your pout melts, no longer caring about the fries. Your head tips back onto his shoulder as he wraps his arms around you.

“Ah, mmmm, b-but—ngnh!  She mentioned something about hotdogs and getting pills tomorrow? Is that a mission?”

Enjin hums to keep from laughing as he turns your face towards him. He smirks devilishly against your lips.

Distracting you with sweet chaste kisses, Enjin rubs gentle circles over your womb. You’re gonna be so fucking hot waddling around HQ in your slutty ass uniform, tits leaking and belly full with his brats. 

The only pill he’d get from Alice would be a fertility pill.

“Nothing my slutty baby girl or my Cumbringer gotta worry about, Princess. Leave everything t’me.”

𝐚𝐧: ahh tysm for reading, especially if you are new to my writing. enjin brain rot is lethal. i needed to get this outta my system! jjk girlies forgive me for straying from my wip list and kinktober lol. definitely down to write more of him. i have a p2 and another enjin story (an AU) idea. but i have to focus on my jjk kinktober now! ♡

also, in case anyone is wondering—yes, reader's jinki is a labubu and yes, enjin just guilt tripped reader into growing him his own personal stash djhscjhdfj. banner: mash up of official manga + rororogi mogera 'last mall' doujin panels.

[yinyuedijun]

PERFUME | zanka nijiku x f!reader

After living his entire life as a beta, Zanka goes into his first rut at the age of twenty-two. This complicates his relationship with you—the only omega in all of Cleaners' HQ.

13.8k words of a/b/o romance and smut! nsft tags: solo, multiple orgasms (zanka receiving), piv sex (reader receiving), knotting, shamelessly horny rut sex. warnings: themes of gender-based discrimination, briefly mentions trafficking and pregnancy/fertility (not in a kinky way). a/b/o worldbuilding notes here!

notes: kei urana revealed that zanka smells like incense and within 7 business days I wrote 14k words about it... man.

Zanka should have been an alpha.

His father had never said that in so many words, but he isn't stupid. During his last days at the Nijiku Estate, he could sense his old man’s disappointment with his disposition. Zanka was supposed to graduate at the top of the Academy like Kyouka and Goka. He was supposed to serve in the Hell Guard like Kyouka and Goka. He was supposed to present, at some point between the ages of thirteen to sixteen, as an alpha—just like Kyouka and Goka. Like everyone else bearing the Nijiku name, Zanka had been meant to dominate Kamuatari district in every way possible: as a genius, as a martial artist, as a leader.

As an alpha.

But Zanka never graduated from the Academy, and he never became a Hell Guard, and he also never, at some point between the ages of thirteen to sixteen, presented as an alpha. He ended up a beta and a Giver, and he ran away to join the Cleaners—an organization that is ironically full of alphas. He’s unusual for being a beta, and he guesses he's also unusual for being an all-around mediocre guy surrounded by alphas like Enjin and Tamsy and Semiu. Which should be fine. He's made peace with what he is.

Except you're an omega.

When Zanka first met you, he knew instantly what your presentation was.

Now, you didn't look like the classical image of an omega (fragile, elegant, something meant to be kept in the privacy of a luxurious house or on the arm of a nobleman), but you did have the scent of one. Zanka, himself, couldn't smell you—betas are all noseblind, unable to detect pheromones—but every single alpha in HQ could. To this day, their heads always turn as soon as you enter the room, enticed by whatever honeyed scent trails after you. Some of them openly trail after you, offering little gifts in the hopes of starting a courtship. Even Enjin, who's met far more omegas than most people will ever encounter in their lifetime, sometimes gets distracted by your presence.

“She smells like fresh flowers,” Delmon once told him. “Tuberoses, I think. They're tough to grow—tougher than any other species.”

Zanka understood the attention after that. Flowers are incredibly rare on the Ground, and most species smell foul thanks to the toxicity of the soil and their frequently carnivorous nature. Even the full garden and all the resources of the Nijiku Estate could hardly support more than a handful of lilies. Zanka couldn't tell you what a tuberose would smell like, and couldn't even really tell you what one would look like—but it must be something addictive, with the way you're always turning heads. He can't be sure, though. Zanka won't ever know your scent.

He has no biological reason to look at you as much as he does. No biological reason to be mesmerised by you as much as he is. No biological reason to want you the way an alpha would.

But it's really hard not to want you. Really, really hard. Which is unfortunate, since he has no business looking at an omega.

“You're so old-fashioned about this stuff," you whine at him one day, looping your arm around his and pressing yourself to his shoulder. Zanka’s heart rate ticks up, but he keeps a straight face. Somehow. He distracts himself with your musings. You love to interrogate people about their thoughts on mismatched relationships—alphas with betas, and omegas with betas, and omegas with omegas—and right now he's the focus of your scrutiny.

“What do you mean you’d never date an omega?” you demand. “What don't you like about us?”

Zanka studies your face carefully. You don't look hurt, exactly, but you do look disappointed. He gets it. Exceptionally rare and desirable, omegas have a tough deal in most parts of the Ground. In places like Kamuatari District, you'd have been courted by multiple suitors, then engaged to an alpha soon after coming of age and safely married off long ago; elsewhere, you might have ended up exploited, or trafficked, or worse. It was his old man’s opinion that alphas couldn't be trusted around unmated omegas, and that omegas should be considered a kind of protected class. The rest of Kamuatari district felt similarly; it was unusual for omegas to marry anyone other than alpha suitors who could take proper care of them—except for maybe the occasional beta with enough wealth and rank among the Hell Guard, but those marriages were usually considered a farce. It was also unheard of for omegas to freely talk to anyone without the company of their alpha mate. Zanka’s mother, herself, never left the Nijiku Estate unless it was on the arm of his father, and said that doing otherwise would be “foolish”.

When Zanka first told you about this, you'd balked at him—probably because you seem deeply uninterested in finding an alpha to chaperone you for all your exploits—though you also kind of understood it.

It does make me nervous sometimes that this place is full of alphas, you'd said, seating yourself on Zanka’s lap. He’d tried not to look at your doe eyes or pouty lips, nor the dangerously low cut of your top. That's why I like it when you hold me, you know. You make me feel so safe.

Zanka said he was glad to hear that, and then he prayed to every god in existence that you wouldn't notice his flustered expression or very obvious boner. Just as he is right now, trying to ignore the press of your chest against his arm.

“It ain't that I don't like omegas,” he replies carefully. “But I’d never be able to take care of one as their mate, y'know? Not as a beta.”

“That's stupid,” you say plainly. “What could an alpha do that a beta can't?”

He tries not to splutter. “Ain’t it obvious?”

You stare blankly. “No?”

Zanka wants to die. You have to be playing dumb. But then again, you've never been in a relationship, so maybe you're just astonishingly ignorant about certain mating rituals. He has half a mind to tell you to ask an omega, but then he realises there are none besides you in HQ.

“Like,” he starts, struggling. “We can't scent ‘em so other alphas stay away. Or make ‘em feel protected. Or take care of them during… you know.” During heats, he wants to say, but can't get out. Zanka’s pretty sure that he's already red up to the tips of his ears; if he goes anywhere near the topic of knotting, he’ll probably combust. “Anyway—omegas never pay attention to me. Don't ya think that says something? I'd never be enough for one.”

“I think you’d be enough for anyone,” you grouse. “I wish you'd stop talking about yourself like that, Zanka.”

“Like what?” He gives you a bewildered look.

“Like you’re always looking down on yourself. Saying you’re a mediocrity, or you’ll never be enough, or whatever.”

Zanka shrugs. “I ain't lookin’ down on myself—just sayin’ the truth. Nothin’ wrong with bein’ a beta or a mediocrity, but everyone’s gotta acknowledge their own limits.”

“I think you were raised to believe in too many limits,” you say, actually sounding a little sad. Zanka would hate hearing that from anyone else—his family’s business isn't anyone’s but his own—but he knows you mean well. And anyway, you were probably raised with infinitely more limits than him. You're an omega, after all.

“Doesn’t matter much now,” Zanka tries to console you. “I’m with the Cleaners now, ain't I? And stuff like that doesn't matter to most people here.”

Though it does matter to him. He's not one to forget about his limits. Even if he's fine with being a beta, a mediocrity, a disinherited nobody—he knows it wouldn't be fine for you, eventually. Or at least he wouldn't be fine giving you that kind of life.

Sometimes, though, when you smile too long at him or stare at him in that pretty way of yours, Zanka wonders if that could someday change. After he's different, after he's powerful, after he's more than some failed heir—then maybe he'd have some kind of business looking at you. But it feels pointless to think about it as he is right now.

After all—he's a beta anyway.

Whenever you go into preheat, you ask Zanka for his sweaters and T-shirts. The fabrics of your clothes are so nice, you always say, nuzzling into whatever you've stolen off his body. Makes for good nesting material, you know?

Zanka’s never thought too hard about it. He's always heard that omegas want comfortable nests, after all—it keeps them feeling safe during a vulnerable and sometimes painful time. It's no skin off his back if you want to borrow some old clothes that would make you feel a little better during your heats, especially since yours are so brutal. You're already looking ill right now, before it's even started. Practically shivering on the couch, deep bags under your eyes from all the sleep you've lost over the past couple of days. When he drapes his cardigan over your shoulders, you immediately burrow into it—pull it tight around your body and press your nose against the blue cotton. You breathe in deeply, sighing with relief—something he's seen you do plenty of times.

Zanka’s never quite understood this particular habit of yours. “Why d’ya always sniff my clothes?” he asks. “Is it an omega thing?”

“Kinda,” you murmur. “It's comforting.” You're so tired that you sway a little bit; he allows you to lean against him and rest your head on his shoulder. “Omegas like familiar scents during their heats—don’t you know that?”

“No,” he admits. “Talkin’ about heats was real taboo in Kamuatari District. I know the broad strokes of what happens, but nothin’ else.” Which is probably a good thing: Zanka thinks he’d die if he did learn, in detail, what happened to an omega during their heat. It's a calculated decision when he asks, “Anyway, whaddya mean you like my scent? Betas don't have scents.”

You frown. “What are you talking about? You totally do. It's just very faint.” As if to prove a point, you close your eyes and lean in very close to his nape. He can feel the soft tickle of your breath against his pulse, your lips inches from his throat.

Zanka stops breathing.

Your voice is low, almost velvety, when you speak again: “None of your alpha friends or family ever told you about your scent?”

“N-nah,” he says. He's stuttering and his face is burning, but you don't comment on it, merely staring up at him in a way that’s making him pray—again—that he won’t get a boner. “It was real taboo to talk about scents in Kamuatari District, too.”

You tilt your head. “Taboo?”

“Yeah. Ain't it rude? It's like commentin’ on someone’s body.”

You let out a laugh: faint, tinged with amusement, and maybe derision too. “That’s awfully silly. An omega’s body is already everyone else's business—wouldn’t you agree?”

You give Zanka one of those long, penetrating looks again, leaning into him. He becomes acutely aware of the obvious view down your shirt and tries to think about literally anything else. You always get extra touchy with him during your preheats: you’ve had some downright horrifying experiences with alphas during previous ones, and it eases your anxiety over it when you're physically close to Zanka. It makes him feel extra scummy for checking you out. You're going to him for comfort; he should definitely not be thinking about the way your curves feel against his body.

“Uh,” he replies.

You press your lips to the shell of his ear, voice soft: “Do you wanna know what you smell like, Zanka?”

“Uh.”

You inhale, breathing out a little sigh afterward that has him shivering.

“Like incense,” you murmur. “Sandalwood, I think. It's very pleasant. Calms me down during my heats.”

He swallows. Hard. “Y-your heats?”

“Mhm.” Your hand brushes against his thigh; his heart jumps. “Mine are really bad, you know. It always hurts so much because of how empty I am. But your scent always helps my body relax. Makes me feel better.”

Zanka is going to die.

He knows you're not trying to make any suggestive comments. Incense helps everyone relax; that's why so many people burn it in the first place. And there's no way, biologically, that Zanka’s scent could provide any kind of sexual or physical relief to you during a heat—he isn't an alpha, after all. But holy shit does everything about this moment feel suggestive. He pulls back, face burning, pants mortifyingly tight. Thankfully, you don't look at his lap.

“Zanka?” you ask, blinking. “Is something wrong?”

You look so innocent—and even kind of worried, like you've done something wrong. Guilt floods him.

“No,” he says quickly, trying to adjust his pants as subtly as possible. “Nothin’ at all. You just made me think—aren’t ya uncomfortable right now? Since you're in preheat. Maybe I should get ya more clothes for your nest, and you could get around to making it faster.”

You blink, then smile a little.

“Sure,” you say. “Why don't you help me build it, actually?”

Zanka ends up giving you half his wardrobe and spends most of the evening watching you meticulously arrange and re-arrange a pile of blankets and sweaters on your bed. He can't determine what makes you satisfied with certain parts of your nest and what makes you decide to demolish others, but that's fine since he isn't helping with actually building it. His only role is to rub his wrists along whatever shirt he's donating to your cause, or holding it against the crook of his neck until you deem it ready to use.

“This is how you scent things,” you explain patiently. “You rub your scent glands on it, or you press your whole body against it. Easy work.”

“But I don't have scent glands.”

“Of course you do. How else would you have a scent?” You frown. “Wow, you really don't know anything about mating biology, do you?”

“It ain't like I need to know about it,” Zanka points out, “since I'm a beta and all.”

“It could still come up,” you insist. “Sometimes omegas and alphas will try to mark their beta mates on their scent glands. Almost never takes, but it happens.”

Zanka imagines, almost against his will, the feeling of your teeth and lips on his neck; he can feel his cheeks going pink. “Sure,” he replies, hoping he doesn't sound too affected, “but omegas ain't ever interested in me, alphas don't look my way, and betas don't do any of that. My ex never wanted me to scent anythin’ for her.”

You freeze. “You have an ex?”

“...yeah?” Zanka is understanding, all of a sudden, that he's said something wrong. From the fleeting twitch of your mouth and the way your breath stops, he can tell you're upset. He wonders what tuberose and bitter orange would smell like together; Enjin had once said, when you had shut yourself into your room for three days straight, that it was very easy for him to tell when you were depressed. Zanka had then decided that since he couldn't smell your moods, he'd simply learn your microexpressions instead—and they’re alarming him right now.

“Met her in the city while I was out on a job, before ya joined the Cleaners,” he says carefully. “Didn't last long.”

You relax. “Oh,” you say. “I guess that's fine.”

Zanka isn't sure why his dating history is being judged or the criteria by which you're judging it, but he feels like it's a bad idea to ask. “Anythin’ else I can do to help here?” he says instead, studying your nest carefully. He still can't see any rhyme or reason to how it's arranged, but if he memorises it, he could re-build it for you next time anyway.

You hesitate. “I mean… you could…”

You don't often get shy—at least, not compared to Zanka. It's weird watching you fumble with your words. “I kinda thought… you know, when my heat comes for real… it’s always really tough since I'm alone…”

Oh. Of course. “Is there anythin’ I can get ya?” he knows to ask. He asked Enjin once how to help an omega through their heat, so he knows the basics: “Water? Snacks? Meds? I'll run out and get whatever ya need.”

“No, I've got all of that sorted. But… company would be nice, you know?”

Zanka stares at you for a little bit before he realises what you're asking, and he has to swallow a lump in his throat. “Are ya askin’ me to help you find a heat partner?”

You give him a dumbfounded look. Probably surprised he's already intuited what you're about to ask, given how clueless he is about other mating rituals. “What? Well, I mean—”

“There's a lot of alphas here who'd be happy to help, I think. I could ask one of them for ya, if there's someone you're thinkin’ of?” Zanka tries to sound casual, even though the idea is unsettling to him. Heat partners weren't a thing in Kamuatari since omegas got married so young there, but they make sense out here in East Ward, where omegas tend to stay unmated for longer. Zanka’s not judging anyone for it. The thing is, when he tries to picture you spending your heat with any of the alphas he knows and trusts—Enjin or Tamsy or Semiu—

—he’s realising that he'd want it to be no one other than himself.

Which is stupid. He's got no business looking at an omega. No business looking at you. What could he do to help you through your heat?

Maybe his mood is showing on his face, because your eyes go soft.

“No, I'm not asking for that either. I'm fine spending it alone.”

“But you should have an alpha take care of ya. Nearly all omegas need it.”

“I don't.” Then you give him an uncertain look, which borders on shy, and which makes his heart jump in a way that feels like it might require medical attention. “But it'd be nice if we could talk a little through our chokers, while I'm going through it?”

Your heat runs its course over the next week. You'd ordinarily hole up in your room the whole time, completely alone, and Zanka would have no clue what's happening in there other than the fact that you’re suffering. It always makes him feel on edge. So this time around, it's a relief when you call at night and he hears your voice—even though it's always ragged and exhausted, like you've been completely wrung out by heatsickness.

“Wish you could hold me,” you murmur once, sleepy and wistful. “It always makes me feel better when you do.”

“I don't think I could actually do much for ya,” Zanka tells you, trying to ignore the funny squeeze that his heart’s doing at your words. “Betas are pretty useless for heats.”

“I don't think you're useless,” you say. “And you always do a lot for me.”

Your voice is so small. It reminds Zanka of that one time where things had gone really sideways for you—stranded and alone in the desert due to a trash storm, weak from an early preheat. You were an impossibly good find for the traffickers who came across you: there's nothing on the market more valuable—or vulnerable—than an unmated omega in heat. Zanka, Enjin, and Gris had found you locked up in the trunk of a car, curled into a ball and trembling in pain. Your entire body was burning with fever and fear, and you screamed when Enjin and Gris tried to untie you. You’d been too delirious to recognise their faces or even their scents: all you knew was that there were two alphas trying to grab you, and they could have done whatever they wanted with you.

It was Zanka who'd helped you in the end. He hadn’t had a choice: he was the only beta among them, the only person who didn't smell like a threat. He took you into his arms—carried you, because you were in too much pain to walk—and delivered you to the clinic, your scalding tears pressed into the crook of his neck the whole time. Please don't go, you'd begged, crying against his pulse. I’m scared, I'm so scared, please don't let them touch me. But his mother’s words rang loud and clear through his head—It’s dangerous for an omega to see anyone other than their alpha during a heat—and Zanka had left, in the end, trying not to listen to your wounded pleas.

You hadn't held it against him. If anything, you trusted him more coming out of the whole ordeal: that's when you started getting all touchy with him, clinging onto him because it made you feel safe despite being constantly surrounded by alphas. But he feels shitty about it to this day, and he’s only been thinking of it more since your latest heat.

He thinks that's what’s gotten him into such a bad mood lately. Your heat’s finished up and you're perfectly healthy now—but Zanka feels agitated, somehow, whenever he sees you.

Specifically, he feels agitated when he sees other people near you.

Now, Zanka considers himself pretty friendly with everyone, unless your name is Rudo and you steal Lovely Assistaff and call it a dumb stick. Then Zanka might try to beat your ass. But otherwise, he's never felt badly toward any of his fellow Cleaners. It's confusing, then, how he gets antsy when he sees you talking with Semiu. How he catches himself frowning when you light a cigarette for Enjin. How his eyes narrow when he watches you and Tamsy sparring and you're clearly on the defensive, brow pinched, breath short. He stares at the two of you, hawklike, every muscle in his body tense.

Please don't go. I'm scared, I'm so scared, please don't let them touch me.

You're strung up by Tokushin, wailing at being bound, and suddenly Zanka’s staff has the other Giver trapped against a wall, its spikes dangerously close to his body. Tamsy seems unfazed, whistling—as if impressed. His eyes lose their golden glow; you yelp a little as you fall to the ground, and Zanka’s gaze snaps to you as you land on your feet.

“Zanka?” you ask, running up to him. “What's wrong? What happened?”

Your eyes dart between him and Tamsy. Tamsy shrugs, nonchalant. “Beats me.” He tilts his head, his keen eyes roaming over Zanka’s form. “Did I do something to offend you?”

Zanka realises that he has no answer. He tries to retrace his thought process, but can't come up with anything concrete—it’s like he blacked out between the time you got strung up and this moment, when you ran to his side.

He remembers being worried, though.

“You were bein’ awful rough with her,” he says, voice tight. “Sounded like she was in pain.”

Tamsy hums. “But we’ve sparred a million times, and she always screams like that. You've never gotten so worried before, Zanka.”

There's nothing he can say to that. He feels like a crazy person. He had no reason to attack Tamsy, but he doesn't want to release him—not until you’ve gotten away from him. I'm scared, Zanka keeps remembering. I'm so scared, please don't let them touch me. You weren't just saying that about the traffickers—it was also about Enjin, and Gris, and everyone else in the Cleaners who tried to crowd around you and nearly suffocated—

“Zanka?” you say softly. You touch his arm, and all the tension leaves his body. Anima and rage drain out of his vital instrument; Lovely Assisstaff returns to its original form, fragile and benign. Zanka tracks Tamsy’s movements carefully in his periphery, but stays turned to you.

“Were you worried about me?” you ask, peering at him curiously.

He shifts, uncomfortable. “Yeah. I know it don't make sense, but—”

“That's alright,” you dismiss. “No harm’s been done.” You give Tamsy an apologetic look. “Honestly, I was kinda tired from my heat anyway. Zanka probably just noticed. Let's call it quits and get back to it tomorrow?”

“Sure,” Tamsy says neutrally, then inclines his head to Zanka. “As long as Zanka’s fine with it.”

I'm not, he nearly says, for some reason he can't fathom. Now that he thinks about it, he also can't fathom why Tamsy would ever defer to him in the first place. It's strange, though Zanka's feeling some of the tension leave his jaw, hackles receding. Weird.

He tries to ignore it, turning to you. “Whatever ya feel comfortable with. I just don't want ya tirin’ yourself out.”

“Tomorrow, then.” You tug on Zanka’s arm, leading him away from Tamsy. “Let's get out of here.”

Zanka watches Tamsy the whole time as the two of you leave, tracking the movements of his feet, his eyes, his hands. It's only after the door swings shut behind the two of you that he finally relaxes. He tastes something in the air as you pull him close—sweet, fleeting, foreign. It's gone before he knows it.

It takes Zanka some time to realise that you've started to wear perfume.

“It’s nice,” he compliments you once he does, sitting next to you as the two of you do maintenance on your respective vital instruments. His staff is shiny with linseed oil; its earthy scent layered with your fragrance is pleasant. He finds himself watching you work, his eyes lingering on your nape as you bend over your desk, biting your lip in focus. “Where’d you get it?”

You blink at him. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, where's your perfume from? That stuff’s real pricey, right? S’hard to make.” That's what Enjin told him, anyway: his own cologne was terribly expensive, its ingredients imported from some faraway village. When Zanka asked what was even the point of using it, Enjin said it was just for polish. Then Bro ratted him out and said it was actually for picking up betas.

Zanka hadn’t thought much about it at the time, but now it's making him uneasy. It’d be crazy of you to seek the attention of a beta when you have so many alphas around you, who are much more qualified to mate with you—but then again, maybe that's why you're always so curious about people's stances on mismatched relationships. Maybe you've found a beta you're interested in. You've always been a little unconventional, after all.

He swallows at the thought, thinking back to all the interactions you've had with him. The touchiness, the nesting, the way you seem to long for his presence during your heats. It really wouldn't make sense—not when there’s Enjin and Tamsy and Semiu, not when omegas never look his way, not when you should have been married long ago to an alpha who could take proper care of you—but maybe, just maybe—

“I got it in Canvas Town, from a specialty perfumer,” you say smoothly, watching him carefully. “Can you pick out any notes?”

Zanka frowns. “Not really. I'm not good with noticin’ that type of thing. It just smells sweet to me.”

“Give it a try,” you say. “I'm curious what you get from it.”

You offer your wrist to him, and Zanka studies it, swallowing. He's for some reason mesmerized by the sight of it—staring more openly than he ever has at your legs or scandalously low-cut tops—and his hand almost trembles as he takes it and gently angles your pulse toward his face. He reminds himself that you hug him and sit on his lap and hang off his arm almost every day. It’s not a huge deal to smell your wrist, in comparison. It should be a quick and casual thing.

But then he breathes in and his mind goes blank.

Your scent is fucking heavenly.

Zanka didn't know a perfume could smell so good. Enjin’s cologne is underwhelming to him, as have been most other ones he's smelled. But yours is rich and soothing and beautiful—made from some kind of flower, he guesses. But not one he's ever known. It's strange and overpowering and it makes him feel fucking ravenous—like he wants to drink it all in. Or drown in it.

Zanka only realises he’s pressed his lips against your skin when you make a small noise.

He doesn't know how it happened. It's like he blacked out again—but now that he's awake, he jerks back, as if you’d just slapped him. “Sorry!” he yelps, mortified, because what the fuck did he just do? (Something that was definitely an HR violation, he thinks.)

But you don't look mad. You look… flustered. Your eyes are hazy; your lips are parted, breath heavy. Something shifts, and Zanka glances down to see you pressing your thighs together.

If he didn't know any better, he'd think you were aroused.

Zanka swallows, trying to ignore the thought. But it's hard when you're looking at him like that—eyes hooded by your lashes, pupils blown—and harder still, with how good you smell. You've tugged away your wrist but for some reason he can still practically taste your fragrance in the air—heady and almost cloying, now. Springtime bloom, fresh juice on his tongue. It's painfully distracting.

“It's okay,” you say, clearing your throat. “The insides of my wrists are just a little sensitive. There's a scent gland there, remember? Usually only a mate would touch that spot directly.”

Zanka is going to die. Or he's going to get sued for harassment.

“I’m real sorry,” he blurts out. “I dunno what came over me. I shouldn't have done that—”

“No, it’s really fine.” Your voice is gentle. His panicked breath evens out, and he takes in your new fragrance again: mellow, sweet. He feels himself relaxing, focusing on your questions: “What did you smell, though?”

“Flowers,” he says immediately, “and a couple of other things.”

“Like?”

“I dunno. Honey and fruit, maybe?”

“Citrus?”

He thinks for a minute. “Yeah.”

You give him another one for your long looks. He wonders what you're thinking, but you don't let it on, only nodding to yourself.

“I see.”

Zanka feels like he's going insane.

Whatever new fragrance you're wearing is overpowering. Ordinarily if a fragrance permeated everything like this, it would make him annoyed at best, nauseated at worst. But something about this particular scent—syrupy, heady, the memory of your skin against his lips, the sensation of your pulse beneath his mouth—is driving him toward some dangerous edge. He tastes the air and he thinks of you: fingers petal-soft, eyes citrus-bright, voice honey-sweet. The dip of your collarbones, the soft lines of your body. He feels like he'll fall off a cliff whenever you're around.

It makes him feel so, so scummy—like a real scuzzball. All you're doing is existing around him and it's giving him the worst thoughts about you—thoughts he has no business having.

The worst part is that your scent is ever-present, lingering even when you, yourself, aren't there. It's in the dining hall, in the common area, in the threads of his clothes. It's in the training room, when he's trying to focus on sparring. It's in his sheets when he's trying to sleep at night, hoping he's not gonna have some kind of filthy dream about you—waking up mortified when he does, his cock throbbing and leaking, aching to be inside you. It's even there when he's meditating, trying to focus on the weight of Lovely Assisstaff but thinking instead of how your weight feels on his lap—how it'd feel if you sat there, straddling his waist, moaning pretty in his ear as you ride him.

It makes me feel so safe when you hold me like this.

Man. He really is a scuzzball.

He thinks his guilt over this might be responsible for his bad mood lately. He snaps at people when you aren't in his line of sight. He flattened Rudo during training, the other day, after he spotted the two of you having lunch together. He saw you share a cigarette with Enjin—Enjin! His fucking hero!—and he accidentally crushed the glass in his hands.

Zanka tries to get your perfume out of his clothes, but it's not coming out no matter how much he scrubs things. He's forced to stop trying, because if he wears out the threads then your nests won't be as comfortable anymore. But it's driving him fucking crazy.

He's in the canteen, scowling and sleep-deprived, when Enjin comes upon him and whistles at the piss-poor state he's in.

“Alright,” he says in that knowing tone of his, pulling up a chair. “What's going on?”

Zanka can't respond at first. What the fuck is he supposed to say? I’m smellin’ my friend’s perfume everywhere and it's makin’ me so horny I can't focus? It sounds insane. He feels insane. So he ends up just saying, vaguely, that he wants to get your new fragrance out of his clothes, and it's annoying him that he can't figure out how.

Enjin blinks. “New fragrance?”

“Yeah. I'm sure you've smelled it—it’s everywhere, ain't it?” Zanka wrinkles his nose. “S’nice in small doses, but distracting as hell like this.”

“What do you…” Enjin takes a beat, studying him. Then he smiles. “Yeah, it is pretty distracting. But are you really sure you wanna get rid of it? Lots of guys would love it, you know.”

“‘course I do,” Zanka lies. “I don't want people thinkin’ I wear perfume anyway. Ain't my style.”

Enjin nods. “I get it. Well—perfume like this is hard to rid of, but it's doable. I've done it plenty of times before. You gotta take a really hot shower—scrub your neck and wrists especially. And your hair, obviously.”

“And my clothes?”

“You'll need to go shopping—or use bleach.”

Zanka feels nothing but despair looking at the state of his wallet—being disinherited means he can't spend the way he used to—but he goes to buy new casual wear anyway. He makes sure it's all nice—not only because he's still got the instinct of presenting himself like a noble scion, but also because he doesn't want to loan you anything of shitty quality during your next heat. You should be comfortable.

Enjin’s advice does work. Zanka still tastes you in the air wherever he goes, but at least it's not clinging to him. It's enough to stop his daydreams about you, at least. Most of them. He's still having ones at night, and he's still waking up with raging boners, but at least it's something. He finally has some semblance of nonsexual peace.

The next time you run into him, you freeze.

“Hey,” he greets, waving, “how’d your mission go? You went to Canvas Town, right? I heard that things got kinda—”

You march up to him, ignoring him completely. He squirms under the intensity of your gaze, the tightness of your jaw. You layered a new perfume with your usual one, he notices. The citrus is stronger today.

“Zanka,” you say, “has something been wrong?”

He flushes, because the answer is yes, but he can’t exactly say that his dick gets hard whenever he smells your perfume anywhere—and that he's been smelling it everywhere.

He lies—badly: “N-no…?”

“Are you mad at me?” you ask tightly.

“What? Of course not.” He frowns at the crease in your brow. You're distressed. “What's even makin’ you think that?”

You ignore him—again. “Then are you seeing someone?” you try, and his jaw drops.

“Huh? No! Of course not.” He pauses at his own words—’Of course not?’ Why would it be obvious to you that he isn't? Though it's plenty obvious to him, given that he's been fixated on the thought of you for the past two weeks, and smitten for nearly the past year—but you relax, and he lets it go.

“What’s wrong?” he asks earnestly. “Yer anxious about something.”

You seem to think for a little bit, and then you sigh. “I am,” you admit, voice small, and it sets him on edge immediately.

“What's wrong? Is someone botherin’ ya? An alpha?” He nearly pauses again, because what a weird fucking question. Why would it be an alpha? It's probably more likely all your paperwork for the collateral damage on your missions, which you truly suck at doing. No alpha with the Cleaners has ever given you any issues; Enjin, Gris, and Bro have always made sure of that.

You don't seem to question his suspicions, though. “No, not exactly,” you say. “I can handle it myself, but I've been feeling kind of stressed.”

“What can I do to help?”

You look at him through your lashes, pleading. He realises he'd do anything for you in that moment.

“Can you hold me?” you ask. “Just for a little bit. I just need a hug.”

“Of course,” he says immediately, and you loop your arms around his neck and press your face against his shoulder, hair and breath tickling his jugular. It’s oddly pleasant. He swallows as he's surrounded by that perfume again—pulled in, all dreamlike. He thinks about separating from you, but you take one of his hands and lace your fingers with his. He shivers when your thumb runs delicately along his wrist, lingering on his skin.

His mind feels halfway to fraying by the time you let go. You seem happier. Satisfied.

“Thanks,” you say brightly. “That made me feel better.”

You look content—refreshed, almost. Zanka feels himself relaxing as you wave goodbye, rounding the corner so you can run an errand for Semiu. It's only after you're gone that he’s realising the scent of you is clinging to him again, and he nearly holds his head in his hands.

Back to square one.

After another week, Zanka feels like he's getting close to his limit.

For nearly twenty-one days, he's been suffering from intrusive thoughts of you, most of them wildly inappropriate. And as if it isn’t bad enough to dealing with your new fragrance and the sudden, mortifying spike in his sex drive—he now has to deal with your new wardrobe choices. You have a sudden preference for wearing very tiny skirts, and it’s been giving Zanka catastrophically high blood pressure since you keep bending over and giving him a full view of your ass. He always scrambles to get you to straighten up so he’s not looking up your skirt—and also to stand behind you so that no one else is tempted to do the same.

It’s starting to become a struggle to exist around you—but he doesn't exactly want to avoid you, either. He likes being near you. And he's on edge when he's not. After all—if he, as a beta, is thinking about you this way, what are the alphas around you fantasizing about?

Still. He wishes, at the very least, that you'd stop sitting in his lap and squirming around. It gives him a genuine heart attack every time you do it: what if you notice his dick pressing against your ass? But you seem none the wiser, just rubbing up on him anyway.

It’s torturous. And wasteful. He's running up the water bill with how many cold showers he's taken lately—but he doesn't have a choice. He is not gonna be that creep who jacks off to the thought of his friend, who trusts him pretty much unconditionally even during heats. He’s not a total scuzzball, alright? It's a line he won't cross, no matter how good you smell or how nice you feel or how pretty you are when you smile at him.

Then you return his clothes—the ones you borrowed for your nest—and he finally hits his limit.

You're so nonchalant about it. A little careless, even. “Sorry I didn't get the chance to wash them,” you fret, placing your basket of laundry at the foot of his bed. “I've just been so busy since my heat finished, you know, all these missions and then the paperwork… but you must be running out of clothes, huh? You keep buying new ones.”

Zanka swallows. He hardly wants to admit the fact that he's been trying to smell less of your new perfume—it’d be a dick move, and anyway, it's really nice—so he shrugs and says, “I don't mind it.”

You frown. “I'll pay you back anyway.”

“Nah, don't worry about it.” He nods at the laundry. “Don't worry about this, neither. Won't be a big deal to wash some clothes.”

You smile gratefully. “Thanks. When I get back from this next mission, I'll make it up to you, okay? I'll take you out to dinner. My treat.”

Zanka thinks the last thing he wants to be doing is sitting in public with you, trying to hide his boner under some restaurant table, but he nods. “Let's do barbecue.”

You grin. “You got it.”

He signs in relief after you've gone: your fragrance is a little fainter now in the absence of your body. Just another cold shower later and he’ll be fine—he’ll do it after he gets the laundry started.

Then he actually starts sorting through his clothes, and he almost loses his damn mind.

His clothes are doused in your fragrance, flora and honey permeating every seam and stitch. So sweet it's nearly cloying. So strong it's almost like you're still here with him—breath sweeping across his collar, thumb trailing along his wrist. An omega’s body is everyone’s business—wouldn’t you agree?

He doesn't realise he's buried his face in his shirt until he’s closing his eyes and inhaling—groaning as he does. He nearly throws it on the floor as soon as he hears the noise he's making, because what the fuck is he doing? Zanka absolutely has to stop. But his whole body’s gone hot and his mind has gone foggy and he can't stop breathing in the smell of you—like he's some kind of addict, drunk on just the ghost of your presence.

Then he catches another scent layered into the fabric, and his eyes snap open.

It smells like sex.

He rifles through every piece of clothing in the basket; all of them carry that very specific, unmistakable scent. Like you lovingly built that nest with his clothes and brought someone to bed and let them fuck you in it. Except that doesn't make sense—you hate it when anyone other than Zanka comes near you during your heats, and anyway, he'd have noticed if you'd gotten a heat partner. You spend way too much time around him for him to miss it.

What do omegas do during their heats without a partner, anyway? People in Kamuatari District never talked about it; he’d always assumed they just slept through their discomfort and tried to ignore all the symptoms of heat sickness. He hadn't known enough, at the time, to realise that that wouldn't be very realistic. He hadn't known that heats were so painful until he saw you crying in the trunk of that car, sweating and trembling. Until he picked you up and listened to you whimper against his neck. Until you crawled into his lap two months ago, whispering into his ear: It always hurts so much because of how empty I am, but your scent always helps my body relax. Makes me feel better.

Zanka is a beta. He’s biologically incapable of giving you any kind of relief during a heat. But now he's putting two and two together, your words with your scent, and now he can't help the mental image he's forming: you, in a nest built with his things, panting and filling yourself up to chase away that emptiness. Wet and messy and getting slick all over his clothes. Warm and fragrant as you wear his shirts and take care of yourself with your fingers, crying into his fabrics.

Calling him afterwards, fucked to exhaustion and wrung out by countless orgasms, to tell him you wished he could hold you.

Zanka inhales sharply at the thought. Notices that his cock is fucking aching.

His sex drive has been unmanageable over these past few weeks, but it's still never been like this. His dick is pulsing and twitching and painful, and he can't stop breathing in your scent, and he keeps imagining the little sounds you must make in your nest while you touch yourself, and holy shit he is a scumbag for doing this, but—

—he’s unzipping his pants and freeing his cock.

Guilt wells up in him when he wraps a hand around his length. Shame burns across his face. He’s going to hate himself for this later; hell, he already hates himself. But he's just so hard, already leaking prespend everywhere, and it's only getting worse the more he presses his face into his fragranced shirt. Zanka can't help his reaction when he squeezes his cock and finally starts to stroke himself: he makes a noise that's halfway to a whine, his hips bucking toward his hand. Just the smell of you is making his whole body feel sensitive—almost possessed.

He finally caves with the fantasies. Imagines stuff that would make him die if he actually tried it in real life, but he's now convinced you've been intentionally making him think about: squeezing your curves whenever you sit pretty on his lap in public; rolling his hips against your thighs as you squirm on top of him; bending you over whenever you wear that little skirt around him and taking you like that.

It's confusing. Zanka’s not even really a fan of doggy style. He’s a missionary kind of guy, would want to look at your face and hold your hand if he ever did somehow get to sleep with you. But he’s been thinking nonstop about fucking you from behind lately for some reason, and he's thinking about it now as he fucks his fist and groans into his used shirt, as if drunk on you.

It doesn't take long to finish—he’s been pent up for weeks, after all. His cock is twitching and his hips are stuttering and now he's spilling himself into hand, his whole body burning with shame as he cums to the scent of you. But he's relieved, almost—desperate to be rid of the non-stop tension that's been plaguing him these past few weeks. Finally free of all his fantasies, which he hopes to tuck away and never think of again.

But as his panting subsides, Zanka realises something horrible:

He's still incredibly hard.

After his third orgasm, Zanka reasons that something must be physically wrong with him. He just can't quite figure out what. Did he accidentally ingest an aphrodisiac? Get hit by a weird vital instrument? Went too long without jerking off? He has no idea, and he can't really think well enough to figure it out. All he can focus on is fisting himself toward his next orgasm, face still buried in the shirt that you wore during your heat. He’s already dripping and messy with cum—it’s gotten all over his fingers, his length, and now his abs, after getting rid of his shirt—but somehow he still needs more.

His blood is scalding, his body is aching with tension. He feels like an animal. All he can think about is bending you over and fucking you, and he's glad that you've left on a mission with Follo or else he'd be at risk of going to your room and—

“Zanka?”

His eyes snap open. You're in his room, for some reason—eyes wide, jaw slack. Your gaze is darting between his lap and the shirt he's holding against his face.

Damning evidence.

“What are you doin’ here?!” he yelps. He finally drops his shirt, and fumbles to pull his pants up, face burning. “l didn't want ya to see—”

You do that thing where you ignore him again, opting instead to watch him intently. The door locks behind you with a click, and for some insane reason he can't fathom, you walk over to him and lean toward his neck.

Dread and arousal pool in his gut. His whole body goes stiff; he's trying not to grab you and pull you toward him, which is very hard when he can feel your breath on his neck and smell so much nectar in your hair. He almost can't process it when you look at him and point out, “You’re in rut.”

Zanka blinks. “What?”

“You're going through a rut, Zanka.” Your brow furrows. “Which isn't surprising.”

He gapes at you. “What do ya mean, ‘not surprising’? Of course it's surprisin’, it ain't even possible! I'm a damn beta—”

“No, you're an alpha.” You tilt your head. “You haven't noticed? Most people do, right before they present.”

Zanka’s mind goes blank. He can't be an alpha. He’s a beta—he made peace with being a beta years ago, at the same time he made peace with being untalented, pathetic, a disappointment to his entire family, the laughingstock of Kamuatari: the Nijiku clan scion who turned tail and ran away from the Academy. He’s even come to like being a beta—that’s who he is, even for all the limits it's brought him. And sure, it means he’ll never be enough for you, but at least he doesn't turn into some mindless, aggressive animal over your—

He breathes in your perfume again, and a horrible realization crashes through him.

“You really didn't know,” you say, blinking at his expression. “I thought it would be obvious. Your behavior’s been really odd lately. I wasn't sure if you'd turn out to be an alpha or an omega, but I guess we know now.”

His dick is so hard, he can barely think.

“But I've been a beta my whole life,” he protests—as if you can do anything.

You give him an apologetic look. “Some people just present late. I guess you're going through your first rut, now.” You look at him with those pretty eyes that he's been thinking about nonstop for the past month, and he swallows thickly. Realises that everything adds up. His bad moods, his antsy behaviour when he sees you with other alphas, his sudden fantasies about mounting you.

“Do you want help?” you ask mildly, and Zanka nearly jumps.

“H-help?”

“Yes. Do you want me to help you through your rut?” Your eyes flick downward, where the outline of his straining cock is visible through his pants. “I’ve never been with anyone during their rut before, but I think I could do it. It can't be too different from helping an omega during their heat.”

“No way,” he blurts out, panicked. “If I'm really an alpha”—something that still feels like a lie, even though it's getting harder to deny—

“it ain't safe for ya here, is it? Yer an unmated omega. You gotta get out before I…”

You raise a brow. “Before you do what? Something I've been trying to offer for a while now?” You sound faintly amused. “Besides—it’s not like alphas lose all sense during their ruts. You could turn me down now if you want. I'll leave and lock the door to my room, if you’re that worried.”

Zanka thinks he’ll die if you leave right now—if he's cut off from your scent, your smile, you. Still, he struggles—not only from the pain of his arousal, but also from the mad tangle of his thoughts. Alphas are dangerous for omegas, he hears his mother say. Omegas should be protected, his father echoes. There's nothing more dangerous for an unmated omega than to be near an alpha.

Please don't let them touch me.

“But we aren't mates,” he finally says, jaw clenched, chest torn.

Your eyes soften. “You’re so old-fashioned.”

“I just”—he swallows, suddenly aware of how clammy his hands have gotten and how much he's been sweating—“I just don't wanna mess things up between us. Or do somethin’ we’ll regret. I don't want ya wakin’ up tomorrow feelin’ horrible ‘cause I lost control and knotted you, or somethin’.”

“I don't think I'd mind if you did,” you say plainly, and he chokes. Feels himself going red, a full-body flush. Your mouth curls playfully, and now he's realising that you're a horrible tease. You still have a merciful streak, though: “But we don't need to go that far,” you reassure him. “I think alphas must be pretty similar to omegas—just a familiar scent would probably help a lot, right?”

Before he can reply, you're baring your nape to him, offering him the pretty slope of your neck. It obliterates all thought from his mind, leaves only hunger behind. He's been chasing the ghost of you through your fragrance for weeks; now you're here, in front of him, ripe and offering yourself.

It takes a moment for Zanka to realise that he's pressed his face to the crook of your neck, that his tongue is searing a hot path along your scent gland. You whimper, and the noise goes straight to his cock.

You tug him into sitting on the bed with you, giving him access to every scent gland in your body. He's torn between some animal part of his hindbrain that's screaming at him to pin you down and fuck you, and another part of him that’s too afraid to hurt you. Being rough with you is never something he'd thought of doing before all this. And even with his supposed new, alpha instincts, it feels wrong—this feels wrong. You aren't his mate. He hasn't even courted you a little. He should tell you to leave.

But he's also so horny he could die.

Zanka tries to spend time on your neck, not only because your fragrance is strongest there, but also because he can feel the way you shudder every time his teeth catch on your skin. He sucks gently and breathes you in; your scent blooms beautifully for him. His cock is painfully heavy in his pants, throbbing for you every time you whine.

At some point you must have pulled off your shirt—or maybe Zanka did, eager to access more of your skin. Faintly, he notes that you weren't wearing a bra, for some reason; he's too distracted to linger on it, kissing a trail down to your bare tits, his mouth hungry on them. You cry when he does, back arching as he sucks your nipples. The noise makes him groan, brings back his hindbrain instinct to pin you down and fuck you. But he’s just worried enough to stop himself: afraid of hurting you, knotting you, messing things up.

He starts touching himself instead.

He doesn't notice it until he's begun fisting his cock again, his hips jerking as he continues to mouth your tits. He’s leaked so much by this point—through his boxers, all over his hands, onto the sheets—that there's no point in trying not to be messy. Apparently you don't care much; he feels your hand gently touching his own, trying to palm his cock. He lets you, almost gasping when he feels your thumb playing with the head, teasing him. Then your grip firms up, warm and tender as you slowly start to pump his cock.

He whines.

It's embarrassing. Probably. He’s too desperate to finish right now to really care. Zanka focuses on your touch, on the taste of your skin, on the little noises you're making as his tongue swirls around your nipple. He ends up panting into the swell of your breasts as he climaxes—so hard that his spend ends up covering your fingers and stomach and skirt. He keeps mouthing at you as he cums, littering your honeyed skin with marks.

He only stops when he comes down from his high. Vaguely, Zanka notices that he finally feels better, but not by much. His cock is still weeping, balls heavy even though he's just had his fourth orgasm—his strongest yet. Even though he just got to touch you in a way he never thought he'd be able, something he thought he'd only ever experience in his dreams.

“Sorry,” he pants, “‘m so sorry, I dunno what's wrong with me.”

“It’s fine.” He feels your fingers run through his hair, comforting. “I’m like this during my heats, too. You don't have to feel sorry for what your body’s doing. Just keep going until you feel better.”

The words do something to him. Makes him give up on his self-control, or maybe it's just his alpha instincts winning out over his rational mind. Everything passes in a drunken haze: he's aware of you squirming and moaning as his mouth trails over your body again, as he presses his nose against every inch of you. He smells flowers and incense the whole time, tastes his cum on your skin, licks a path down to your thighs. Desperate to smell more of you, he pushes up your skirt, and breathes a sigh of relief when he sees your pussy exposed and twitching for him underneath it. No panties. Without thinking, he closes his eyes and presses his face against you—nose flat against your clit, mouth salivating against your glistening cunt—and he inhales. Takes one deep, long ravenous breath, then groans. The scent of you goes straight to his cock.

He's not really thinking when he starts to lick.

He's too far gone to use any real technique, guided by pure hunger as his tongue works on you. You react immediately: body convulsing, voice squealing, scent blossoming. Vaguely, he's aware that you're grinding your clit against him, that his hips are jerking against the mattress—humping the sheets as you fuck his face, cock twitching and balls tightening just at the taste of you. He shudders as your fingers tighten in his hair and you pull him closer to you, drenching his face in slick. He licks and sucks at you, drinking it up greedily as be thrusts his hips against the mattress, and he's closer and closer and closer to—

—his vision goes white.

When Zanka comes to, he's vaguely aware of his cock spurting against the sheets, his abs growing stickier as he cums untouched just from the taste of you. There's so much of it. It's fucking unbelievable.

But it's still not enough.

Zanka needs more. He feels like he’ll die if he doesn't get more of you. He keeps eating you out through his impossibly long and messy orgasm, which he's not sure will ever end. He starts sucking at your clit—all instinct, not intention—and you whine and jerk your hips. Your body is so sensitive, pussy gushing with slick. Vaguely, he's aware of you crying his name, thighs squeezing around his head—I’m gonna cum, I'm gonna cum, Zanka, Zanka, oh—

Zanka only takes his mouth off you when you push him away, face pinched and exhausted. He's vaguely aware of you saying something about being overstimulated, but it's neither your words nor the strange quality of your scent that brings him back to reality—it’s the fact that tears have pearled at the corners of your eyes.

“What's wrong?” he says, leaning over you. He rests a hand over your cheek. “Did I—did I hurt ya? Did I—”

“No,” you reassure him. “No, I just—just needed a break.” Your eyes are still shiny, a little wet. Zanka’s never liked it when you cry, but right now it feels agonizing to see your tears, closer to a physical discomfort than an emotional one: as if it's hardwired into his body to fix whatever's upsetting you.

He crawls up and takes you into his arms, allows you to bury your face into his neck. You kiss him there—his scent gland, he guesses, from the way he shivers—and now he can smell the incense in the air changing, somehow. It shifts from sandalwood into something gentler.

“You don't have to worry,” you murmur. “I really am okay.”

“It’s still botherin’ me,” he replies, disconcerted. “I know it don't make sense, but it's freakin’ me out to see you cry even a little.”

“I know,” you reply. “Alphas instinctively can't stand to see their partners in distress. It's the same with omegas. But you'll get used to it. It gets easier to ignore over time.”

He makes a face. “Why would I wanna get used to seein’ you cry?”

You smile at him, looking sly. “Well, most of the crying I do in bed isn't ‘cause I'm sad.”

Zanka feels his brain short-circuit. His concern evaporates, immediately replaced by mental images that fill him with immense guilt, even with the mind-screw of his rut. He can't help it, though—if just his mouth was enough to get you tearing up, then what would happen if he were to use his cock instead? And he isn't going to—he really, really can't—but if he were to knot you—

Zanka inhales sharply. Tries not to let the mental image affect him, but of course he's been throbbing and leaking this whole time anyway. You evidently notice it, rolling your hips against his so his cock is pressed against your abdomen, smearing cum and prespend across your skin.

“You're still hard,” you murmur. “You need more, don't you?”

“I don't wanna bother you no more,” he says. “Yer tired enough already.”

You shake your head. “I'm fine.” Then you wrap your legs around him, adjust your hips and shimmy a little beneath him. “Let me help you, Zanka.”

He has a mind to protest, but his hesitation disappears as soon as you start moving—lining your pussy with his length. You don't push yourself onto him; you just let the head of his cock catch against your folds, warm and sticky for him.

Zanka shudders. He nearly thrusts inside you, but the last thread of his self-control stops him. There's so much cum coating his cock; he'd push it all inside you if he fucked you, and that would be terrible, given how fertile omegas are. Plus there's no way he'd last inside you: he'd cum almost immediately.

“We can't do this,” he grunts out, trying desperately to cling to his senses. “I could get ya…”

“We don't need to,” you reassure him. “We can just do this.”

Zanka doesn't have it in him to resist. He sits up, takes his cock in hand and starts moving immediately—dragging the head back and forth between your soft folds, smearing cum all over your clit. You're so wet that your pussy is making the filthiest noises just from this, squelching with each movement of his length. And somehow, you're getting even more aroused—you whimper as more slick starts to leak out of you, your body unable to control itself.

He can hardly process it. “Omegas really do need alphas,” Zanka says, dazed. “Look at how you're reactin’ just to this.”

You shake your head, voice breathy as you reply: “It has nothing to do with you being an alpha. My body’s just always like this around you.” You gasp as his cock slips inside you on accident; his jaw clenches as he feels your pussy twitching around his tip, and it's all he can do to stay still, panting. Nearly impossible, with how warm and soft you feel. “Even when you were a beta, I was like this.”

His breath hitches. “Y-yeah?”

You nod, looking a little embarrassed. “When I go into preheat and I sit on your lap,” you admit, “I always ruin my panties. And during my heats, when I'm wearing your shirts and smelling you, I end up getting slick everywhere. I can't help it.”

“But I’m—was—a beta,” he argues, even as his cock keeps running between your folds, even as he presses his face into your neck again.

“It doesn't matter,” you say through your panting. “You could have turned out an omega and my body would still act like this. I want you, Zanka—”

Your voice cuts off into a strangled moan. He doesn't fully understand why until he feels your walls squeezing around him, his cockhead pressed up against what must be your cervix. He groans as your slick drips all over his balls, which are now flush against your body.

“Zanka,” you whine. “Zanka, I’m gonna—”

You don't need to finish your sentence. Zanka feels you start pulsing around him, trying to milk him. And he's only been inside you for all of thirty seconds, maybe, but his balls are getting tight and his cock is starting to twitch—and he manages to pull out right as he peaks again, shooting cum all over your body. It splatters all over your breasts and stomach, his scent clinging onto your skin—now stronger than ever, incense and musk—but you hardly react. You're too caught up in your own orgasm, shaking beneath him, covered in his marks and spend.

He's made such a mess of you. He'd be mortified if he weren't being driven mad by his rut—which Zanka is now convinced won't ever end. He's still hard, still throbbing, still needs to be inside you. You look like you're no better off, thighs rubbing together, a puddle of slick beneath your ass. You’re just as delirious as him.

You act on it, too. Zanka’s widen as you roll onto your stomach, then stick up your ass up for him. He doesn't know much about mating rituals but he knows enough to understand what's happening: you're presenting yourself, offering your pussy to him. It's some kind of omega breeding instinct, he faintly recalls. And suddenly he's thinking of all those times you bent down around him, skirt revealing your ass and thighs, lacy panties barely covering your core. It finally hits him:

You've been presenting yourself to him for the past week.

You turn to look at him, eyes glassy, pupils blown. “I want you inside me,” you whimper. “Please.”

Something tickles the edge of his mind. His brow furrows. “But—”

“You don't need to knot me,” you whine, “but I need you to fuck me. Please, Zanka, I'm so empty—I’ve been empty for so long, for so many heats, please—”

The crying does something to him. Again. He needs to take care of you, to make it stop. He’ll do anything.

You whimper when he presses against your entrance again, then moan, loud and guttural, as he pushes inside you. He can't think of anything other than his intense need to fuck you, suddenly: he starts mindlessly rutting into you, his cock splitting open your pussy, wet and filthy noises filling his ears as skin slaps against skin. Zanka’s convinced he's become some kind of beast—unable to focus on anything other than being inside you.

You keen when he noses your neck again, breathes and pants against your scent gland. He can feel your cunt tightening each time he mouths at you like this—your skin between his teeth, fragrance blooming under his tongue. Suddenly he realises he needs to sink his canines into you, his entire body screaming with an instinct he doesn't really understand. There's a distant, human part of him telling him that's a bad idea, but it's drowned out by the boiling pressure of his rut.

Zanka opens his mouth—and he bites.

You cum when he does. Gush all over him, your arms and knees giving out. You're getting tighter and tighter, somehow—almost as if you’re trying to push him out—and it's making him desperate to stay inside you, his thrusts getting aggressive, erratic. He groans when he finally manages to bottom out, cock deep inside you, your pussy impossibly tight. Relief floods him as he finally—finally—spills himself inside you. He collapses on top of you as he does, pumping you full of cum as he licks at the mark he's left on your neck.

Some faint part of him tells him to pull out, but he realises that he can't. Something’s stopping him from moving his hips back, keeping the two of you locked together as he fills you up. He’s got no choice but to lie there, letting his cock twitch and spurt inside you for what feels like forever. He's vaguely aware of you drooling onto the pillow, your eyes glassy, as you're made to take it all.

Zanka's panting and exhausted when he's finally done. Doesn't know much time has passed or how much cum he's given you, but it must have been a lot: his spend leaks out of your overfilled, twitching pussy as soon as he pulls out, and you whine as it does. He flushes at the sound and sight; he doesn't know what came over him, to leave you in a state like this. He’s going to miss being a beta.

Zanka’s so fixated on the sight of you, it takes a moment for him to realise his erection’s finally gone down. The haze of his rut is beginning to recede; he can hear his own thoughts again.

“It finally worked,” he murmurs, relieved.

“Figures,” you mumble. “You needed to knot me.”

This makes him freeze.

“W-what d’ya mean?” he asks, although he's already sorting through his memories of his last twenty—thirty?—minutes. Being locked inside you. His orgasm lasting as long as it did. His sudden, inexplicable urge to bite you: something he's never thought about before.

Then he blanches, looking at the mark on your neck.

“I—” He swallows. “Did I…?”

Every horrible thing he's ever heard about alphas suddenly floods his mind. The things they do to omegas in heat. Taking advantage of them while they're weak. Claiming them against their will. Knotting them and getting them pregnant. Locking them in the back of some trunk, leaving them tied up and crying.

Zanka feels sick.

You seem unconcerned though. You notice the line of his sight and touch your neck where it's still swollen and tender with his bite, wincing. “Oh, this? Don't worry about it. It won't take since I'm not in heat.”

He swallows, still not allowing himself any relief. “But… ain't you worried about bein’ knotted?”

“No—it’s also low risk, since I'm not in heat. And I take meds for this kind of stuff, too.” You smile at him, reassuring. “Promise you won't be a baby daddy in nine months. You can relax.”

But Zanka can't bring himself to, somehow. Now that his head’s clear and his body’s calm, he can't think of anything other than the fact that he's never had any business looking at you—and definitely no business touching you like he has. And it isn't like he hasn't been pining after you anyway—like an idiot—but even in his craziest dreams where he did have a proper chance at being with you, things didn't play out this way.

You must sense his anxiety—maybe in his face or his scent or his body language, he guesses—because you’re frowning at him, now.

“Zanka,” you say quietly. “Do you not like me?”

He stares. “What?”

The question feels absurd. Crazy, even. Zanka just spent a month chasing after your scent and the better part of the evening knotting you. He wonders if you're joking, but you’re looking at him with an expression that can't be described as anything other than hurt.

“You aren't happy about knotting me or biting me,” you observe. “And you've been ignoring my signals for months. Is it that you don't want me?”

The air is starting to change. He tastes citrus now, sharp beneath the sweetness of flowers and honey. Zanka swallows. “That ain't it,” he blurts out. “I—I only didn't say anythin’ for so long ‘cause I thought there'd be no way you'd be interested in someone like me… I mean—you'd be better off with an alpha, wouldn't ya?”

“But you're an alpha now,” you point out, voice small. “Shouldn't you be fine with giving us a chance? Or are you just going to make up some other reason that you aren't going to be enough for me?”

Zanka goes quiet. His first instinct is to argue with you: But you could be doin’ better for yourself. You're surrounded by people who are stronger than him, more talented than him, more than him. You're so sweet and kind. And you're an omega. You could get yourself engaged to any alpha of your choice—not the disappointment of the Nijiku family. Not the noble scion who turned tail and ran away from Kamuatari District. Maybe it'd be different if he’d already overcome all that, like he's trying to do. But as he is right now? Zanka’s got no right to be looking at someone like you.

His jaw tightens. “I ain't makin’ anything up… it’s the truth I gotta be better than what I am. How am I s’pposed to ask you to give me a chance before I make somethin’ of myself?”

You frown. “Is it so hard to accept that I simply want you as you are?” you ask, and every retort that Zanka had lined up dies in his throat.

The air is thick with the scent of oranges; you've pulled your knees to your chest, and you're staring at the door. You're trying not to let it show on your face how sad you are, but Zanka knows every dip of your brow and twitch of your mouth: your heart must be hurting bad.

Zanka sighs. He truly is a scuzzball.

He pulls you in, holds you the way you like during your preheats—with your face close to the crook of his neck. You breathe in deeply, and he feels you shuddering against his body.

“I've been real unfair to ya,” he says.

“You have been,” you agree, and the corner of his mouth twitches.

“I just don't wanna do things half-assed with ya.”

“I know. That's why I was okay waiting for as long as I did.” You look him in the eye, uncertainty in your gaze. “Are you turning me down?”

“No. I'm askin’ if I can court ya.”

Your eyes go wide. You actually look a little flustered: a proper role reversal. “You want to court me? Like—for mating?”

Zanka flushes, probably going bright red. He didn't think this would be such a big deal: it would have been the typical order of things in Kamuatari District. “...well, yeah? You're an omega, ain't ya? And I really like ya. If we do this, I'd be serious about it. I'd make you my mate, if you'll have me.”

You give him a long, disbelieving stare—and then you smile.

“You really are old-fashioned,” you say, sounding endeared. Then you lean up, glowing, and press a chaste little kiss to his lips.

His heart nearly gives out.

Zanka’s eyes go comically wide. His face burns; his pulse ticks up. You blink at his expression, then start giggling.

“Why do you look so flustered?”

His mouth opens. “You just kissed me!”

“Yes—after you fucked me and spent half an hour cumming inside me,” you point out dryly, ignoring the way he chokes. “I thought kissing wouldn't be a big deal after all that.”

He almost splutters. “You know I wouldn't have done that if I weren't in rut!” Zanka frowns as he tries to piece together his scrambled memories of the past couple of hours; the more he recalls, the more he wants to crawl into a hole. The bottom of a well would work just fine.

“...I did this all backwards,” he groans. “This ain't how I wanted things to go.”

You hum, watching Zanka with a glint in your eye that makes him feel wary. You lean toward him, breath sweeping over his mouth, a playful little smile on your lips: “Guess we’ll need to make up for that, won't we?”

For the next twenty minutes, you and Zanka make out like you're teenagers, which actually remains fairly tame until Zanka’s cock starts twitching back to life. He then learns the hard way that ruts can last anywhere from twenty-four to seventy-two hours, and the relief that you can get from knotting an omega lasts maybe thirty minutes, tops. A full hour if you're lucky. His first rut lasts around fourty-eight hours in total; he spends most of those two days inside you, your pussy eagerly warming his cock.

“I'm just trying to give you some relief,” you tell him at one point, voice innocent, and even with his mind absolutely blitzed by rut hormones, Zanka does not believe you in the least.

But you are very good at taking care of him. You make him drink plenty of electrolytes and get Follo and Eishia to bring you both meals. You tell his alpha friends to keep a wide berth from his room, saying vaguely that he'd caught a horrible flu and doesn't want to be disturbed. You drag him to the shower even though all he wants to do is keep you pinned underneath him in bed; you wash his back and hair, trying to kiss the tension out of his shoulders and neck as you do. You take his temperature frequently: it's unusual but not rare for alphas to get fevers during ruts. Zanka dodges this risk, but maybe only because you're letting him knot you so frequently.

Apparently as soon as you’d figured out that Zanka’s presentation was about to change, you’d started “researching” how to care for an alpha during their rut—that is, you asked Enjin and Bro point-blank what you should do. This is probably why, the morning that Zanka returns to work and enters the canteen, Bro gives him a thumbs-up and Enjin mouths a ‘congratulations' at him. Or maybe it's because you're absolutely covered in Zanka’s scent and everyone in HQ can tell that the two of you had marathon sex and that he didn't bother pulling out even once.

Somehow, he manages not to die from embarrassment. But he does come close.

It's not all bad, though. Zanka doesn't mind that people know that he's yours. It calms him down whenever you pass him by and he catches his own scent clinging to you; he'd otherwise be worried about alphas giving you unsolicited attention. When he mentions this to you one day, you blink and give him a little laugh.

“But everyone's always known that,” you giggle. “I've been scenting you for ages. Why do you think omegas have never shown any interest in you?”

Zanka isn't mad about this, exactly, but he’s still surprised. “Did everyone but me know that you were wantin’ me to court ya?”

“Pretty much.”

“Even Enjin and Gris?!”

“The two of them before anyone else.”

His mouth opens, then closes. “Why didn't they tell me?”

“Well, Gris thought we should be left alone to work things out for ourselves, like proper adults,” you say mildly. “Enjin just thought it was funny. And he was wondering how long it would take you to notice.”

Zanka feels like he might die from embarrassment, after all. This doesn't stop him from going to Enjin for advice when you go into preheat though—and Delmon, too, because he's one of the few Cleaners who's been married. The two of them give very good instructions for how to take care of an omega during their heat, and Zanka is endlessly grateful for it. (He does wish that Delmon hadn't yelled it at the top of his lungs, though.)

For several days, he prepares for your heat—the first one you'll ever spend together.

He thinks it'll be fine. Probably. It shouldn't be a big deal. You've had plenty of sex and he's knotted you plenty of times before. You're both on medication so there's no risk of pregnancy. He’s bought enough electrolyte drinks to last a full week. All your favourite snacks, too. He’s also prepped several days’ worth of meals for you—apparently omegas have a weak stomach when they have heatsickness, and the canteen doesn't have any good options for you since HQ is so dominated by alphas. You burst into tears when he got you to taste-test one of his meals, then asked him to claim you once your heat started up.

Zanka is 99% sure that was just your preheat hormones talking, but it still made his entire face go red.

It'll probably be fine. There's no way Zanka could screw this up, right? Taking care of your partner during their heat should be the simplest, most intuitive task in the world. He can't be such a fuck-up that he'd fail you at a time like—

“You don't have to be so nervous,” you say, and Zanka nearly jumps. “It's just a heat. I'll live.”

“Who said I was nervous?”

“I can smell it on you,” you point out. “You smell like cedar-leaf incense when you're upset about something. Sandalwood otherwise. Oh, except when you're horny. Then you smell like agarwood.”

“You can tell when I'm horny?”

“Of course. If not by your scent, then because of your dick. You're really bad at hiding it when you're hard, you know.”

Zanka is going to die. This is one of those moments where he deeply misses being a beta, though not even that would apparently save him from the way his blood rushes to his dick every time he sees you. Truly damning evidence.

He expects you to tease him, but you ignore his mortified expression. Instead, you take one of his hands in yours, your thumb lingering on his wrist.

“It’ll be fine. I promise. I know you'll be a good heat partner.”

You stare at your bed, then, where Zanka has meticulously set up your nest—half made of his clothes, half made from sheets and blankets. He scented every piece of it, of course. He's certain that he did at least this much right, so he's confused when you give him a dubious look.

“Did you make this?” you ask.

“Who else?”

You blink. “But how did you know how to make a nest?”

“From the last time we did it together. I was still a beta, remember—so I couldn't figure out what made for a good nest. I just memorized what yours looked like.” His brows knot up. “I still don't have much of an instinct for buildin’ these things, though. Guess I ain't the best alpha, but I'm learnin’.”

Zanka doesn't expect it when you laugh—nor when you fall into your nest and drag him down with you. You're curled up in his arms, rubbing your face into his neck, when you explain, “That's because alphas don't make nests, Zanka. Alphas can help by scenting fabrics for their omegas—but only omegas do the actual building.”

“Oh.” He runs a hand through his hair, hoping his scent isn't giving away his embarrassment. “See—I still ain't the best alpha. Bet I fucked it up real bad. Let's remake it.”

You shake your head, then place a long and chaste kiss on his mouth. He tastes tuberose and honey in the air, blooming sweetly just for him. You're cradled by cotton and incense, and his heart swells when he studies the lines of your expression: safe, loved, happy.

“No,” you say. “You’re perfect.”

end

thank you for reading all the way to the end, you are truly god's strongest soldier <3 extra notes:

some thoughts on a/b/o and the worldbuilding/themes in this fic

FYI tamsy is actually an omega; he is just pretending to be an alpha. he actually noticed, before everyone else, that zanka's presentation was about to change lol

tuberose is a very commonly used perfume ingredient and is thought to be very sensual

I AM VERY RUSTY

happy holidays!!!

[m0reighn4]

Genuine peak and I don't even LIKE omegaverse all that much!

[dxnheng-deactivated20251203]

combustion theory.

pairing. gojo satoru x fem!reader

summary. you and satoru gojo absolutely do not have a thing for each other. you only spend time together because of your shared affection for his dragon. at least, that’s what you keep telling yourself—because there’s no way you’d ever fall for the most insufferably cocky, sharp-tongued, ridiculously charming dragon rider on the entire isle of berk… right? alternatively, in which a dragon plays matchmaker and you save satoru’s ass.

contains. fluff, mild angst, smut (oral sex, unprotected sex, fingering, riding), action, frenemies to lovers, how to train your dragon!au. pining, idiots to idiots in love. profanity, injuries, blood, reader almost drowns, etc. word count. 16.1k a/n. part of the gojo satoru x httyd!au collab with @admiringlove. art by _3aem. thanks for reading! song rec. test driving toothless by john powell

“Piss off, Gojo.”

Satoru Gojo does not piss off. You’re fairly certain he doesn’t know how to. It’s stitched into his DNA, being an annoying twat on the good days and an all-round prick on the others.

“I would,” he says. “But Sukuna really wanted head pats and for whatever reason, he thinks mine are unsatisfactory.”

The aforementioned Sukuna, of course, refers to his dragon—the last-remaining Night Fury on the Isle of Berk.

“You couldn’t have picked someone normal to bond with?” you ask the dragon.

Sukuna blinks slowly, entirely unfazed, then shifts his massive head a fraction closer to your shoulder. His scales catch the sunlight like dark, wet marble, but the way he’s leaning into you gives him all the menace of a particularly clingy housecat. A housecat with fire breath, razor claws, and the ability to level a village if he ever got bored enough.

Satoru, stretched out on the grass beside him, grins. “Don’t blame Sukuna,” he says, resting his weight back on his palms like he owns the hill, the sky, the whole bloody island. “He can’t help liking you better.”

“Everyone likes me better.”

“Mm. Bold claim.”

“True claim,” you retort. You scratch absentmindedly under Sukuna’s jaw, right where the scales give way to smooth skin, and he lets out a deep, throaty rumble of pleasure. It vibrates through the ground beneath your feet, a sound that would send most of Berk sprinting for the hills. You barely flinch. He’s impossible not to soften toward—something Satoru has weaponised far too often.

“I’m just saying,” Satoru drawls, “you might be his favourite person on the island.”

“He doesn’t have many options,” you say.

“Wow. And here I thought we were friends.”

You roll your eyes. “We are not friends.”

“Acquaintances?” he tries, silver hair glinting in the sunlight and blue eyes far too bright and mischievous and knowing.

“Barely.”

“Brutal,” he says. “You talk to all your barely-acquaintances this much?”

“Only the ones who refuse to shut up.”

“That’s most people, though.”

“Maybe you’re the problem,” you shoot back.

It’s exhausting, really, how he manages to talk in italics, every word tilted just enough to keep you bristling. He’s the single most aggravating man on the entire Isle of Berk—and that’s saying something, considering the place is full of dragon riders who think personal boundaries is a suggestion, not a rule.

You’d like to say you hate him. Really, you would. It would make things simpler. But hate implies he occupies actual space in your head, and the problem—the infuriating, inescapable problem—is that you refuse to give him the satisfaction.

“Why are you even here?” you demand finally, because you’ve learned the only way to deal with Satoru Gojo is to stay on the offensive.

“Sukuna wanted pats,” he repeats.

“Pretty sure Sukuna can find his own way here.”

“Yeah,” Satoru says, grinning wider, “but I can’t.”

You blink. “Are you—are you implying you used your dragon as an excuse to see me?”

“No,” he says immediately, dragging the vowel out. “Definitely not. I have so many better things to do.”

“Name one.”

He opens his mouth. Closes it. Thinks for a second. “…Patrolling?”

“That’s not better.”

“Depends on who you ask.” He falls back fully onto the grass, folding his arms behind his head, one long leg bent at the knee. The picture of ease, like he hasn’t just casually dropped the suggestion that he wanted to see you and then refused to elaborate. Like he hasn’t steadily been driving you insane since the day you met him.

The wind shifts over the hill, carrying with it the salt of the distant sea. Berk stretches out below—scattered houses of stone and tumber, smoke curling from chimneys, dragons wheeling in the sky above the watchtowers. Out past the cliffs, the ocean flashes silver under the sun, calm for now but never for long.

“Illegal trapping’s been getting worse,” Satoru says idly after a moment.

You glance at him. “And yet you’re here annoying me instead of dealing with it?”

“Hey, I’m off-duty.”

“You’re never off-duty.”

“True,” he admits, shameless. “But my boss doesn’t need to know that.”

You roll your eyes. The boss in question is Yaga the Vast, chief of Berk, who has approximately zero patience for stragglers like Satoru and yet, somehow, keeps putting him in charge of things anyway. Probably because when he isn’t being insufferable, Satoru is annoyingly good at his job.

Sukuna shifts closer again, massive head nudging your shoulder with a low whuff. The force of it nearly knocks you off balance.

“He’s so needy,” you mutter, scratching under his jaw again.

Satoru props himself up on his elbows to watch. “You love it.”

“Do not.”

“Do too.”

“Do not.”

“Do—”

“Finish that sentence,” you warn, “and I swear I will throw you off this hill.”

He smiles, unbothered. “Can’t, gorgeous. Sukuna would just catch me.”

“Shame,” you say.

Sukuna rumbles again, louder this time, as if laughing at the both of you. Which is ridiculous, obviously. Dragons don’t laugh. Probably. You’re still scratching absentmindedly at his jaw when the shout comes from below the hill.

“Gojo! We’ve got movement near the cliffs!”

It’s one of the younger riders—Yaga’s apprentice, maybe. You don’t remember his name. He’s sprinting uphill, out of breath, waving both arms wildly.

Satoru sighs. “And here I was enjoying my day off.”

“Trappers?” you ask, already knowing the answer.

“Yeah.” He pushes to his feet. “Looks like it.”

The apprentice finally reaches the top, panting. “They spotted nets near the west cliffs,” he manages. “Could be setting up for a catch.”

Satoru dusts off his hands lazily, like he hasn’t just been summoned to go handle the exact kind of people who would love to get their hands on a Night Fury. On Sukuna. You glance at the dragon, who’s gone very still beside you. His tail flicks once, sharp and restless.

Satoru notices too. “Relax,” he tells him softly, before turning that insufferable grin back on you. “Rain check on the head pats?”

“Not my dragon,” you remind him.

He winks. “Technicality.”

With that, he swings easily onto Sukuna’s back, all long limbs and practiced motion, like he was born in the saddle. Sukuna launches into the sky a moment later, wings snapping wide, dust kicking up in their wake. You watch them go, a dark shape against the sunlit clouds, until they’re nothing but a speck over the cliffs.

You’re still staring at the empty sky when the young rider clears his throat.

“Uh… hi,” he says awkwardly. He’s about your age, maybe a bit younger, with a nervous energy that makes you want to pat him on the shoulder and tell him to relax. He’s holding a map, which he’d pulled out of his pocket and now folds and unfolds with frantic hands. “You’re, uh, you’re the mapmaker, right? The one who lives by the sea?”

“That’s me,” you say, forcing yourself to look away from the horizon.

He nods, relieved. “Right. Yaga said to give you this. It’s the new coastline for the north. He said you’d be able to sketch it out better than anyone else.” He holds out the piece of parchment.

You take the map, unfolding it to see the jagged lines and rough sketches of a coastline you haven’t visited yet. The lines are crude, but the general shape is there. “Thanks,” you say. “I’ll get on it as soon as I can.”

“Right,” he says. “So… you and Gojo. You guys are… close?”

You stiffen. The question is innocent, but it feels like an accusation. “No. Not at all.”

He looks skeptical. “He talks about you a lot. Like, a lot lot. Says you’re the only person who can keep up with him.

You fight the urge to groan. “He’s a liar.”

“Yeah, he is.” The young rider laughs, a short, nervous sound. “But I don’t know. It’s weird. He’s always, like, looking for you. Or waiting for you.”

You don’t know how to respond to that. It’s too close to the truth. You just shrug, then look at the map. “I should get going. I have a lot of work to do.”

“Right. See you around, then.” The rider turns to leave, jogging down the hill with a newfound energy, as if he’s happy to escape the awkwardness, leaving you alone with the silence, the incomplete map, and the lingering scent of ozone and dragon scales.

You look at the map, then at the sky where Sukuna and Gojo disappeared. You can’t stop thinking about the way Gojo smiled when he told you that Sukuna was just an excuse to see you. It was a joke, you know that. He’s always joking, always playing with words. But the way he said it… it felt like there was a kernel of truth in it, a tiny, infuriating admission that you didn’t want to acknowledge.

You trace the lines on the map, but your mind is elsewhere. You’re picturing him, the way he looks when he’s serious, the way he talks when he’s trying to get under your skin. You’re picturing Sukuna, the way he leans into your touch, the way he rumbles with contentment. You’re picturing the two of them, a perfect pair of chaos, a storm of annoying energy.

You shake your head, trying to clear your thoughts. You have work to do, a map to sketch. But you can’t help but wonder if Gojo and Sukuna are okay. You can’t help but wonder what he’ll say the next time you see him. You can’t help but wonder if you’re a little bit relieved that he used his dragon as an excuse to see you.

A soft breeze, smelling of salt and distant rain, carries the sound of Sukuna’s contented rumble. You look up from your work, the firelight from your cottage flickering on the parchment in your lap. The Night Fury, a silhouette against the moon, lands with a soft thud, a dark shadow in the growing dimness. You can’t help the small, reluctant smile that tugs at your lips. It’s a happy sound, that snort of his, and it’s hard not to feel a little bit of warmth toward the gigantic reptile. The smile vanishes the moment you see Satoru Gojo dismount.

He slides off the dragon’s back and lands on the packed dirt with a huff. His silver hair, usually perfectly styled, is now adorned with a scattering of leaves and twigs, as if he’d flown through the crown of a tree. He looks ridiculously pleased with himself.

“Looks like you had a hard day,” you say, voice dry as old leather. You don’t bother looking up from your map, a new survey of the eastern coast that is proving to be a nightmare of jagged inlets and hidden reefs.

“The hardest,” he replies, walking toward the fire. Sukuna follows, a low purr rumbling in his chest as he nudges your shoulder gently. You stroke the smooth scales under his jaw.

“Did you, by any chance, get your head stuck in a bush?” you ask pointedly.

He laughs. “Just a little turbulence. But don’t worry, it was for a good cause.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Oh? And what’s that?”

“Well, you know,” he says, pulling a stray leaf from his hair. “I had to make sure the trappers didn’t get away. Can’t have them messing up the ecosystem, can we?”

“But your impeccable hair and abysmal flying skills get a pass, I suppose.”

“The hair is secondary to the ecosystem, of course. Priorities, you know.” Satoru sits down on a log across from you, the firelight glinting in his bright blue eyes. “What are you up to? Still drawing pretty pictures of rocks and water?”

“I’m creating an accurate navigational chart for the fishing fleet,” you correct. “So that they don’t end up on the bottom of the sea.”

“Right, right. Important work,” he says. “You’d be a lot faster if you had some help.”

“I’m perfectly fine on my own.”

“I’m just saying,” he drawls, “a second pair of eyes could be useful. Especially mine. They’re very, very good eyes.”

You roll your own. “I’m not interested in your help, Gojo. Or your eyes, for that matter.”

Sukuna, who had been contentedly nuzzling your shoulder, chooses that moment to let out a slow, mournful sound, as if he understood the conversation and is deeply disappointed by your attitude. He nudges Gojo’s head with his own, then your shoulder again. He goes back and forth, like a pendulum. It’s slightly annoying.

“See?” Gojo says, a smug grin spreading across his face. “Even Sukuna agrees. He thinks we should be friends.”

“Sukuna thinks you should be less annoying,” you counter, reaching out to pat the dragon’s large head. He lets out a low rumble, pleased.

“That’s a matter of opinion,” Satoru says. He leans forward, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “He told me on the way here that he thinks we would make a very handsome couple.”

You snort. “He has terrible taste. You’re lucky he hasn’t left you for a better rider.”

“Impossible,” Satoru scoffs. “I’m the best. And he knows it.”

“And the most modest, too,” you mutter.

Sukuna lets out a deep, throaty rumble, and gently nudges you closer to the fire. The action is subtle, but a piece of your parchment slips off your knee and lands with a quiet rustle on the ground near Satoru’s feet. He bends down to pick it up, his long fingers brushing against yours as he hands it back.

“Clumsy,” he says, but the glint in his eyes tells you he’s not talking about the paper.

You ignore him, focusing on the map, but your hand trembles slightly, and the ink bleeds on the line you’re trying to draw. You let out an exasperated sigh, and Sukuna, with a loud huff, settles down between you and Satoru. It’s a deliberate move. The dragon’s nothing more than a massive, scaly chaperone.

“Look at him,” Satoru says, his voice softer now. “He’s tired. Trappers, you know. They’re more persistent than usual.”

“Did you catch them?”

“Most of them. They had nets—one almost got Sukuna. If he hadn’t been so fast, it would have been a rough night.”

You look at the dragon, who is now snoozing with one eye open, the firelight catching the dark, wet-looking scales on his hide. A sudden wave of protectiveness washes over you, a familiar feeling when it comes to the dragon. But then you look at Satoru, and see the deep weariness in his eyes, the faint lines of stress etched around his mouth, and that familiar wave of protectiveness becomes tangled with something else, something you refuse to name.

“You should get some rest,” you say, the words feeling foreign and heavy on your tongue.

He looks surprised. “Worried about me?”

“I’m worried about Sukuna,” you shoot back, and the warmth in your stomach curdles into a familiar acidity. “He needs his rider to be in top form. The last thing he needs is to be stuck with a tired, insufferable oaf.”

He laughs. “You wound me. But thank you. It’s nice to know someone cares.”

“I don’t care,” you insist, and you know you’re lying. You also know he knows you’re lying. It’s a game you play, a tense, stupid dance.

Sukuna lets out a snort. He flicks his head towards Satoru, then towards you, as if to say, just talk to each other, idiots. You want to kick him. Affectionately, of course.

“Well,” Satoru says. “I suppose I should go. Duty calls and all that.” He stands up, stretching his arms over his head before shaking it.

“You’re going back out?” you ask, a note of alarm in your voice that you can’t control.

“Nah,” he says, smiling a little softer now. “Just kidding. Yaga told me to stay put until morning, ‘cause he said I caused enough trouble for one day.”

You let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding.

He reaches down and ruffles Sukuna’s head, though his words are addressed to you. “I’ll be back tomorrow for some more pats, okay?”

Sukuna huffs happily in response.

Satoru turns and walks away, a long, lanky shadow disappearing into the darkness. Sukuna watches him go, then turns his gaze back to you, his garnet-coloured eyes flashing. He nudges your hand again. You know what he wants. He wants you to talk to Gojo. He wants you to go after him.

You sigh. “Don’t look at me like that. I’m not his keeper. I’m not yours, either.”

Sukuna snorts, a clear, exasperated sound, and settles his massive head on your lap. He’s warm, a solid weight of comfort in the cool night. You don’t bother to shoo him away. You simply sit there, under the moonlight, and stare into the dark where Gojo had disappeared.

“It’s a fool’s errand,” you say, dropping the rolled-up parchment onto Yaga’s desk with a resounding thud. The Chief of Berk, a man with a beard as formidable as his temperament, looks up from the horn he’s polishing.

“What is?” he asks.

“This,” you say, pointing an accusatory finger at the map. “The north coast. It’s impossible to draw from the ground. I’ve only been there twice, and I spent most of the time trying not to fall to my death. The cliffs are sheer drops. The inlets are jagged and hidden. I need to map it from above.”

Yaga stares at you for a long moment, his gaze unwavering. You hold his stare, a silent challenge. You’ve never been one to back down from the Chief, a fact that both annoys and impresses him.

He sighs. “Fine. You’re right. You’ll need a rider.” He looks around the hall, his eyes scanning for a likely candidate. Your heart sinks into your stomach when he lands on the very last person you want to see.

“Satoru!” he bellows.

Satoru Gojo, leaning against a support beam, in the middle of conversation with Yaga’s apprentice, gives you a little wave.

“Yeah, boss?” he calls out.

“You’re taking our mapmaker to the north coast,” Yaga says. “She needs to draw it from the air.”

“Pleasure’s all mine, Chief,” he says, sauntering over to the desk. “North coast, huh? A little chilly for you, isn’t it?”

You resist the urge to punch him. “I’ll manage. Let’s just get this over with.”

He claps his hands together. “Excellent! My calendar is wide open.”

The next morning is cold and brisk. A light mist hangs over the village, and the air smells of wet stone and woodsmoke. You’re waiting by the flight academy, a satchel slung over your shoulder and your sketchbook clutched in your hands. You’ve been waiting for ten minutes, which is ten minutes longer than you’d like.

Just as you’re about to turn and leave, you hear a loud, familiar whoosh of wind and the deep, throaty rumble of a Night Fury. Sukuna lands right in front of you. Satoru leers at you, seated on his back.

“Ready to fly, gorgeous?” he asks.

“I’m ready to get this done,” you correct.

You climb onto the dragon’s back, settling behind him on the saddle and placing your sketchbook and charcoal pencils carefully in your lap. Sukuna lets out a low purr, a rumble that you can feel vibrating through your body. He nudges his head back, giving your hand a soft, affectionate lick.

“He’s excited,” Satoru says. “He loves when we all go out together.”

“He’s excited about the snacks I brought him,” you say, pulling a piece of dried fish from your satchel and holding it out to Sukuna. He devours it in one gulp.

“You brought snacks?” Satoru asks. “For the dragon, and not for your very handsome and talented pilot?”

You sigh. “You are not my pilot, and you are not getting any of this fish.”

He kicks his feet against Sukuna’s side, and the dragon launches himself into the air. You grip the saddle, your knuckles turning white. The wind whips at your hair and clothes, and you close your eyes for a moment, letting the sensation of flight wash over you. It’s a feeling you’ve never gotten used to, and it’s always a little terrifying, a little exhilarating.

Satoru leans back. “You’re good at this. Not screaming, I mean.”

You grit your teeth. “I’m a mapmaker, not a child. I’m used to dangerous situations.”

“Oh, I know,” he says, and you can practically hear the smirk in his voice. “You’re the one who saved my ass, remember?”

The memory of that night, of his blood on your hands, of the raw fear in your gut, flashes through your mind. You shiver, a cold feeling that has nothing to do with the wind. It’s the whole reason why Satoru has made it his life’s mission to annoy in every possible way; it’s his way of thanking you for finding him in the woods all those weeks ago.

“I’d rather not,” you say.

He doesn’t respond. Sukuna, as if sensing the shift in the atmosphere, lets out a low, questioning snort. He banks left, heading toward the northern cliffs.

The gentle, rolling hills of Berk give way to a brutal, unforgiving coastline. The cliffs are dark and jagged, the sea a churning mass of white foam. You pull out your sketchbook and begin to draw.

You work for hours, meticulously sketching every rock formation, every inlet, every hidden cove. You direct Satoru to turn this way and that, and he, for once, doesn’t argue. He lets you work, his body a steady, comforting presence in front of you, ensuring Sukuna’s movements are smooth and controlled.

At one point, you get so focused on a particular series of sea caves that you lean too far over the edge of the saddle, and almost lose your balance. A long, strong arm wraps around your waist, pulling you back against a warm, solid chest. You stiffen, your body rigid with surprise.

“Careful,” Satoru whispers, his breath warm against your ear. “Don’t want you falling to your death.”

You push him away, heart pounding. “I had it under control.”

“Sure, you did.”

Sukuna lets out a low, knowing chuff, a sound that makes you want to smack him. You ignore him, focusing back on your drawing, but it’s hard to stop thinking about the feeling of his arm around your waist, the warmth of his body against yours.

“You’re quiet,” he says after a while.

“I’m working.”

He hums. “Right. I just thought, you know, we could talk. Get to know each other. Since we’re going to be hanging out more often, we might as well be friends.”

“We are not going to be friends,” you say for what feels like the hundredth time.

“We are,” Satoru says. “We’re a team. You and me. And Sukuna, of course.” He reaches forward and strokes the Night Fury’s head, and the dragon rumbles with contentment.

“He’s your dragon,” you mutter.

“He likes you, too. More than me, I think,” Satoru says, and there’s a flicker of something in his voice—something soft and genuine—that makes you look away from your sketch and at him instead. His eyes are fixed on you, a strange mixture of warmth and… something else. You can’t quite place it.

You look away, your heart pounding again. You can’t handle this. You can’t handle this man, this dragon, this strange, dangerous intimacy that has sprung up between you.

You land back in the village as dusk is falling. The air is colder now, and the stars are beginning to peak out. You slide off Sukuna’s back, your legs shaky from the long flight. You feel a hand on your arm, steadying you.

“You did good,” Satoru says.

“So did you,” you say.

He smiles, a real smile, one that reaches his eyes and makes them crinkle at the corners. It’s a smile that you realise you haven’t seen very often. It’s a smile that makes the hollow cavity inside your chest where your heart lies skip a beat.

You turn away, clutching your sketchbook to your chest. “I’ll bring this to Yaga in the morning.”

“Right,” he says. “I’ll see you around.”

You walk away, but you can feel his gaze on your back. You can feel the warmth of his hand still on your arm. You don’t look back.

You make it to your cottage, but you don’t go inside. You sit on the stone step, your sketchbook still in your hands, and stare at the sky. You think about the north coast, about the cliffs and the caves, but also about Satoru. About the way his arm felt around your waist, about the way his smile made you feel, about the way he wasn’t being annoying for once.

You hear a soft thud. Sukuna stands behind you, a small branch in his mouth. He drops it at your feet. A branch from a Night Fury’s nest. He jabs at your hand with his nose, his eyes fixed on yours.

You know what he’s doing. He’s trying to tell you something. He’s trying to tell you that Satoru is not so bad. He’s trying to tell you that there’s more to him than the smug grin and the witty remarks. He’s trying to tell you that there’s a place for you in his life, in their life.

You reach down and pick up the branch, then look back at the dragon. You sigh, a long, drawn-out sound.

“You’re a terrible matchmaker, you know that?” you whisper to him.

Sukuna lets out a low purr and nudges you again. You don’t know what to do. You’re a mapmaker, a person of logic and order, and this man and his dragon are nothing but chaos. There’s absolutely no way anything good could ever come out of this.

“Head pats? Again?” You shoot Satoru an unimpressed glare, though the effect is rather diminished by the fact that you’re hanging upside down, trying to fix a hole in your roof. “At least come up with a better excuse.”

“Can’t. The dragon wants what the dragons wants,” Satoru says. “And what the dragon wants, the dragon gets.”

You grunt, shoving a loose thatch of straw back into place. Your ankles are looped around a wooden beam, your torso dangling over the edge of your cottage’s roof. The world is a strange, inverted place from this angle. The grass is a vibrant green sky, the clouds are a white, fluffy ground. Satoru Gojo’s annoyingly perfect face is floating in the air below you. He’s leaning back, his hands in his pockets, watching you with a smile. Sukuna is a little ways off, chewing on a large branch.

“And what the dragon wants is for me to risk breaking my neck just so you can make a terrible joke?” you ask.

“No, no, the dragon wants head pats,” Satoru corrects, shaking his head. “I’m just here to deliver the dragon to the head pats. A simple go-between.”

“You’re a go-between for your own dragon?”

“Look, it’s a complicated relationship,” he says. “He’s a very discerning dragon.”

You roll your eyes, a motion that makes your head throb. You pull yourself up, muscles straining, and clamber onto the roof. You sit on the ridge, straddling the peak, and pull a loose piece of wood from the hole. The wood is rotten, and the smell of mold and wet earth makes you wrinkle your nose. A sudden gust of wind snatches a loose piece of cloth from the edge of the roof, and you watch as it flutters to the ground and lands directly at Satoru’s feet.

He picks it up and says, “Lost something?”

“It’s just a rag,” you say.

He examines it, shaking it out with a flourish. “Looks like a perfectly good rag to me.”

“It’s not,” you say. “It’s old and worn out. Just leave it.”

He doesn’t. He folds it carefully and places it in his pocket, before walking over to where Sukuna is lying, and pulls out a piece of meat from his saddlebag. He tosses it to the dragon.

“So,” Satoru says. “Roof problems?”

“No,” you say, “I just enjoy dangling from high places.”

He laughs, a clear, loud sound that makes your stomach feel weird. “I get it. You’re a thrill-seeker. It’s one of your many charming qualities.”

“I’m not a thrill-seeker,” you say. “I’m a mapmaker. I prefer quiet, predictable things.”

“Still,” he says, “here you are, hanging from a roof, and here I am, your friendly neighbourhood… well, whatever I am.”

You groan. “You’re a pain. That’s what you are.”

“And you’re my favourite pain,” he says. “You’re the only person on the entire Isle of Berk who doesn’t fall all over themselves to talk to me.”

“That’s because I have a working brain.”

He laughs again, and you find yourself staring at him. He’s leaning against Sukuna’s side, his arms crossed over his chest. His silver hair catches the sunlight, and his bright blue eyes are fixed on you. He’s the most infuriating man you’ve ever met, but you can’t deny that he’s also breathtaking.

You tear your gaze away, a flush of heat creeping up your neck. You turn back to your roof, your hands shaking slightly as you try to hammer a loose piece of wood into place. You miss, and the hammer clatters to the ground, landing with a soft thud on the grass.

“Fuck,” you say, eloquently.

Satoru bends to pick up the hammer, turning it over in his hands. “For someone who claims to like quiet, predictable things, you have a funny way of living on the edge.”

You scowl down at him from the roof ridge. “I’m fixing a hole, Satoru. Not fighting a dragon barehanded.”

“Could be both, if you fall on Sukuna.”

Sukuna, hearing his name, glances up, tail flicking idly. He looks like he’d catch you if you fell. Probably. Maybe. If he felt like it.

“Very reassuring,” you mutter. “Give it back.”

“Come get it,” Satoru says, grinning.

You glare at him. He leans back against Sukuna’s side, one long leg crossed over the other. He looks like he could stay here all day, bothering you from ground level while you slowly lose your mind above him. You wipe the sweat from your brow with the back of your wrist. The sun’s beating down hard, pressing heat into the back of your neck. Your hands are already splintered from the wood, your hair sticking to your cheeks. You have an entire day’s worth of mapping to do but here you are, arguing with Berk’s most irritating dragon rider over a hammer.

“Fine,” you say. “Keep it. I’ll just tell everyone you bullied me into falling off my own roof.”

“But you didn’t fall,” he says. “Yet.”

You wish you could throw something at him. Preferably something heavy. Like a rock. Or maybe the entire cottage.

Instead, you clamber down from the roof ridge to the small platform just under it, wiping your palms on your trousers. From here, the world tilts alarmingly close. Satoru watches your careful descent with the faintest smirk tugging at his mouth, as though he’s silently grading your balance.

When you reach the edge, you stretch your hand out. “Hammer.”

He taps it against his chin thoughtfully. “What do I get in return?”

“Your continued survival.”

“Tempting.” He tosses it up, easy and careless, then finally lobs it towards you. It arcs through the air, spinning end over end, and you snatch it out of the air just in time, the impact jolting through your wrist.

“Show-off,” you say.

“You’re welcome,” he says.

You don’t dignify that with a response, instead crawling back to the hole and fitting the new piece of wood into place. The hammer thunks steadily as you nail it down, the sound mingling with the wind and the distant crash of waves against cliffs. Satoru hums something under his breath, a lazy, tuneless thing. It carries upward, curling under your skin despite yourself.

You focus very, very hard on the roof.

When the piece finally holds, you sit back, wiping your forehead again. Your arms ache, your knees are bruised, and you can feel bits of straw clinging to your hair. Glorious, really.

“Done?” Satoru asks.

“For now,” you say.

“Good,” he says, pushing off Sukuna’s side. “Because Sukuna’s patience is running out.”

At the mention of his name, the dragon lets out a short, sharp huff, nostrils flaring. The branch he was chewing lies in two neat halves at his feet. His pupils have gone wide, round as coins—his version of puppy eyes.

You narrow yours. “This is emotional blackmail.”

“It’s effective,” Satoru says cheerfully, already strolling over to you. “C’mon, he’s been waiting all day.”

You glance from the dragon’s enormous, hopeful stare to Satoru’s infuriating grin and feel, very distinctly, like you’re being tag-teamed.

“Fine,” you mutter, hopping lightly off the lower edge of the roof. You land in a crouch, knees absorbing the impact, then stand and dust yourself off. “But only because he asked nicely.”

Satoru bows low, one hand over his heart. “As the humble messenger of the dragon, I thank you for your generosity.”

“Shut up,” you say, but there’s no real heat behind it.

Sukuna lowers his massive head as you apprach, scales gleaming like wet stone. He makes a low, thrumming sound as your hand comes to rest between his eyes, the tension in his frame melting instantly. It’s absurd, how such a creature—so fast, so powerful, so feared—can melt into warmth at something as simple as a touch.

You scratch behind his jaw, feeling the rumble travel through your palm. “You deserve a better rider,” you murmur, just loud enough for Satoru to hear.

Satoru presses a hand to his chest. “Wounded. Absolutely gutted.”

“You’ll live.”

He leans against Sukuna’s shoulder, close enough that you catch the faint scent of wind and leather and something warm underneath. “You always say that like you’re sure.”

“I could be wrong,” you say sweetly.

“Now who’s emotionally blackmailing who?”

You roll your eyes. The wind picks up again, tossing Satoru’s hair into his eyes. He doesn’t move to fix it, just grins at you through the mess like he knows exactly what kind of picture he makes—irritatingly golden in the sunlight, with the dragon at his side and the whole damn world under his heel.

“You really are full of yourself,” you say finally.

He tilts his head. “Takes one to know one. Speaking of which, did I tell you about the trappers that thought they actually had a chance against Sukuna? Even I don’t stand a chance against Sukuna, and that’s saying something.”

“Trappers?” You raise an eyebrow, keeping your hand moving against Sukuna’s scales. “I thought you lot scared them off two weeks ago.”

“We did,” Satoru says. “Or so we thought. But the funny thing about pests—” He leans lazily against Sukuna’s massive shoulder, folding his arms. “—is that they always crawl back when you’re not looking.”

You frown, not at him for once, but at the idea of it. “Where?”

“Souhtern Coves,” he says. “A little group at first—three, maybe four men. We figured they were amateurs, probably thought they’d make their fortune dragging a few Terrible Terrors back in cages. Easy enough. Send them running, burn a net or two. Job done.”

The way he says it—casual, dismissive—doesn’t sit right with you. It rarely does, when Satoru Gojo talks about problems like they’re inconveniences rather than… well, problems.

“But then?” you prompt.

“But then,” he says, drawing out the words, “we found another group. Bigger. With better equipment. Grimborn steel nets, reinforced cages, the whole schlong.”

Your hand stills against Sukuna’s jaw. “Grimborn steel?”

“Mhm.” He tilts his head, watching your reaction like it’s more interesting than the story itself. “Not something you find lying around unless you’ve got coin. Or connections. Or both.”

Sukuna shifts beneath your touch, nudging his head into your palm like he can sense the tension in your shoulders. You scratch harder, both to soothe him and yourself. “That doesn’t sound like a coincidence,” you say.

“It doesn’t sound like much of anything,” Satoru counters flippantly. “Could just be a few desperate men pooling what they’ve got. Could be something else. Either way, we’re keeping an eye on it.”

“And by we you mean…”

“The riders. Me, Suguru, Kento, Haibara—the usual suspects.”

You narrow your eyes. “You mean the same group that considers dive-bombing into cliffs a legitimate training exercise?”

“Worked out fine for me,” Satoru says with a shrug.

“Everything works out fine for you,” you shoot back.

That earns you a flash of his grin—bright, boyish, and infuriating. But it fades, just a little, and he says, quieter, “Doesn’t always.”

It’s the kind of admission that makes your stomach twist, because it’s true. Riders don’t always come back. Dragons don’t always survive. Trappers—real trappers, the kind with coind and steel and a hunger that isn’t easily sated—don’t play fair.

You exhale slowly. “You think they’re after Sukuna.”

“Everyone’s after Sukuna.” He says it like it’s a joke. “Last Night Fury, blah blah blah. People can’t help themselves.”

You glance at Sukuna. His pupils are still round, content beneath your touch, but his tail lashes once, like even he knows the weight of those words. A rare thing: fear dressed up as restlessness.

An unease worms its way beneath your ribs. It feels like the calm before a storm, the air just a shade too still, the sea too quiet. The trappers Satoru described don’t seem like scavengers chasing scraps. They’re organised. Equipped. Waiting for something—or someone. You hate it. You hate that Satoru can stand opposite you, hands tucked in his pockets, as though the world isn’t about to tip over its edge.

“You should be more worried,” you say finally.

“I worry plenty.”

“You don’t act like it.”

“Would it help if I wrung my hands and wept dramatically at your feet?”

“I’d pay good money to see that,” you say automatically. Sukuna nudges you again, harder this time, nearly knocking you off your feet. You steady yourself with a laugh that comes out thinner than you’d like. Satoru watches the two of you, his smile softened into something that almost looks like thought. Then, just as you’re about to ask another question, a shrill whistle splits the air from somewhere down the hill.

“Show time.” Satoru straightens, stretching his arms overhead. “Sounds like they’ve spotted another group near the coastline.”

Your stomach sinks. Already?

Satoru clicks his tongue, turning back to Sukuna. “Up, big guy.”

The Night Fury rises in a smooth, terrifyingly graceful motion, all coiled muscle and gleaming scales. His wings snap open, blotting out the sun for an instant, and you step back instinctively. Satoru sings into the saddle. He doesn’t look at you until Sukuna’s already crouching low, ready to launch.

“Don’t worry too much,” he says. “We’ve got it handled.”

“You don’t know that.”

He grins down at you. “Sure I do. I’m me.”

“Again?” You stare at Yaga the Vast like he’s sprouted another head—which, considering the man’s already broad shoulders and beard thick enough to hide a small family of sparrows, would be quite a sight. “You want me to map out the north coast again?”

“Yes,” Yaga’s voice rumbles, his arms crossed over his chest. The firelight in the great hall casts half his face into shadow, making him look even more immovable than usual. “But this time, you go deeper. Past the cove, beyond the breakers, to the inlets we’ve yet to mark. Unless we map out our neighbouring areas, how will we be able to defend Berk?”

You blink slowly, as if stalling will make the task shrink back into sanity. “Defend Berk from what, exactly? The world’s deadliest flock of puffins?”

“From anyone who thinks Berk is ripe for the taking,” Yaga replies. His thick fingers drum against his arm. “We can’t pretend we’re isolated forever. Already, the trappers sniff at our borders.”

You make the prickle of unease that shivers down your spine with a scoff. “So your solution is to send me—me, a humble mapmaker who values being alive—to traipse along the most dangerous stretch of coast known to dragon or man?”

“You won’t be alone. Take that scoundrel of a dragon rider with you.”

You groan, dragging both hands down your face. “Not him.”

“As if there were any other scoundrel I could mean,” Yaga says, almost indulgent.

“Satoru Gojo,” you say, lowering your hands and scowling, “is less of a companion and more of a—what’s the word—parasite. Loud, obnoxious, impossible to get rid of once he latches on.”

“He’s effective,” Yaga says.

“He’s insufferable,” you say.

“Both can be true,” he says. “And if you want Berk defended, if you want us to have some place to safely hide, or if you want your precious maps to mean something, you’ll take him with you. End of discussion.”

You gape at him, outrage coiling hot in your chest. But before you can muster a reply sharp enough to singe even Yaga the Vast’s vast beard, a familiar voice cuts through the hall.

“Did somebody say my name?”

Of course. Speak of the devil and his Night Fury, and both shall appear.

Satoru Gojo strolls in; his hair is a windswept mess of silver, his tunic is half-untied, and there’s a cocky grin already plastered on his face. Sukuna pads in behind him, the great black beast moving silent as shadow, his eyes glowing faintly in the dim hall light.

“Perfect timing,” Yaga says. “You’ll be escorting our mapmaker along the north coast. Deep waters. High cliffs. Dangerous territory. See to it that she comes back alive.”

“Yes, boss,” Satoru replies. His gaze slides to you, and his grin widens. “Couldn’t stay away from me, huh?”

Your hands curl into fists at your sides. “Believe me, if I had a choice between this and swimming naked through eel-infested waters, I’d be halfway to drowning by now.”

“Romantic. You always know how to make a man feel wanted.”

Sukuna rumbles low in his throat, the kind of sound that could be a laugh if dragons were capable of such a thing. You swear he’s mocking you, too.

Yaga heaves a sigh. “Enough. The pair of you leave at dawn. Supplies will be waiting at the stables. Make sure you chart everything—caves, currents, shoals, nesting grounds. The more detail, the better.”

You open your mouth to argue, to plead, to hurl one last desperate objection into the flames. But Yaga fixes you with the kind of look that ends battles before they begin. You clamp your jaw shut.

“Fine,” you mutter. “At dawn.”

“Looking forward to it,” Satoru says brightly, clapping you on the shoulder. “You, me, the sea, a few deadly cliffs. It’ll be fun.”

You glare at him. “You have the worst definition of fun I’ve ever heard.”

He leans down, so close you catch the faint scent of leather and salt. “That’s because you haven’t tried my kind of fun yet.”

Before you can throttle him, Yaga clears his throat. “Gojo,” he says. “I want your usual post-mission report for this one as well. How Sukuna flies, how he fights—everything. Not a single detail should be omitted.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Satoru says. “Wingspan, firepower, mood swings. Got it.”

“Not just that,” Yaga presses. “Every maneuver. Every burst of speed. How he responds under pressure. The trappers are adapting. If they’ve learned to counter one type of dragon, they’ll learn to counter another. We need to be ready.”

“Of course, boss.”

Satoru says it so confidently that it makes you want to hit him with the nearest tankard. He doesn’t care about reports—he’s probably never written anything down properly in his life—but somehow Yaga keeps trusting him with “observations” and “evaluations.” And somehow those “reports” always end up getting him exactly what he wants: more freedom, more lenience, more time spent to annoy you.

“I’m serious,” Yaga says. His gaze sharpens, sliding briefly to you before returning to Satoru. “I want precision. Not exaggerations, not flourishes. If there are trappers along that coast, I want to know how they move, what they use, where they hide. If Sukuna faces them, I want to know every reaction. Understand?”

It’s subtle, that pause on Sukuna’s name, but it hooks in your gut like a barbed fishing line.

“Your last report,” the chief continued, “was ten pages of what Sukuna ate, and a drawing of your own face in the margins.”

You can’t help it—a bark of laughter escapes you. Satoru grins wider, like he’s proud of the memory.

“Historical accuracy,” he defends breezily. “Someday, bards will want to know I was the handsomest man alive while Sukuna was saving lives.”

Yaga doesn’t look amused. In fact, the firelight catches on the hard planes of his face, casting the deep creases at his brow into shadows that look almost like cracks. “Enough,” he says, but this time there’s a finality to it—like stone slamming into place, sealing a tomb.

You should probably let it go. Keep your head down, accept the assignment, and try not to imagine all the ways you might die tomorrow. But Yaga’s words stick in your ears like thorns. He’s always been thorough, sure, but the way he said it makes something twist uneasily in your gut.

Why does it feel less like he wants a record of Berk’s defenses and more like he wants a catalogue of its weaknesses?

You frown, shoving the thought down before it can root itself. Paranoia. That’s all it is. Spending too much time around Satoru Gojo rots the brain.

“Sir, yes, sir,” Satoru says, snapping a salute. “We’ll chart your cliffs, your caves, your currents, your… cozy little hidey-holes. And if the trappers do come sniffing around, we’ll have a nice little map all drawn up for them, won’t we?”

It’s meant to be a joke. You know it is.

Yaga’s eyes cut to him, sharp and assessing, but then—to your surprise—soften into something close to approval. “Just bring me the report.”

You’re dismissed. Or maybe exiled. Hard to tell with Yaga.

Satoru stretches like a cat as you both step out into the night air, his hair catching silver in the moonlight. Sukuna slips behind him, shadow melting into shadow, only the gleam of his garnet eyes betraying him.

“This is gonna be fun,” Satoru says.

You snort. “You heard him. Reports, details, flight maneuvers—like you’re some glorified scribe. What’s he going to do, publish a book?”

“Who knows? Maybe Yaga just really likes bedtime stories.”

“You’re going to fall if you keep bending over like that.”

The words brush the back of your neck, almost lost to the roar of the wind. Satoru’s voice, of course, because if anyone was going to ruin the thrill of flight over the North Sea cliffs, it was going to be him.

“I’m not bending over,” you snap, leaning forward on Sukuna’s broad back to adjust the rolled parchment strapped at your hip. “I’m securing the maps so they don’t blow away. Some of us actually care about documenting this trip.”

“Mm,” he hums, far too close behind you. “You say that, but it looks a lot like you’re presenting yourself to me.”

You jerk upright so fast you nearly throw yourself off balance. “I will throw you off this dragon.”

Sukuna rumbles beneath you, wings slicing through the wind. The cliffs roll past below—jagged teeth rising from the sea, waves smashing themselves to froth at the base. A treacherous coast, all jagged rocks and narrow inlets, the sort of place even seasoned dragon riders avoided unless they had a death wish. But, you remind yourself, you’re riding with Satoru Gojo. Death wishes are practically stitched into his skin.

“Relax,” he says lazily, shifting so that his chin rests on your shoulder, bold as anything. “If you fall, Sukuna will catch you. Probably.”

“Probably?”

“Eighty percent sure.”

You elbow him hard in the ribs. He laughs. The wind whips against your face, tugging at your hair and lashing past your chin. You should be focusing on the coastline, on the cliff formations and hidden coves Yaga wanted mapped. Instead, you’re stuck with Satoru practically wrapped around you like an overgrown barnacle.

Below, the sea shifts from deep sapphire to frothing white, currents curling against each other in unpredictable swirls. You sketch the outline hastily, balancing parchment on your knee, your fingers stiff from the cold. The smell of salt, the tang of brine—it all presses sharp in your nose, mixing with the faint smoke curling from Sukuna’s nostrils as he exhales.

“You’re making that bay too small,” Satoru says, peering over your shoulder. “It’s at least twice that size.”

Your head snaps towards him. “You’re a dragon rider, not a cartographer. Shut up.”

“I’m just saying,” he says. “If you want this to be accurate, maybe listen to the guy who’s actually looking down at it.”

You jab your charcoal against the parchment with unnecessary force. “I am looking down. You think I’m staring at the clouds?”

“Wouldn’t blame you. They’re very fluffy today.”

You grit your teeth. It’s either throw him off Sukuna’s back or commit to your map and pretend his voice doesn’t grate against your spine.

The coastline curves sharply, forcing Sukuna to bank hard. The sudden tilt knocks your knee against the saddle, the parchment slipping sideways in the wind. You swear under your breath, catching it just before it can flutter away.

“Careful,” Satoru drawls. “Wouldn’t want all your precious squiggles to drown.”

“They’re maps,” you snap, tucking the roll more securely under the leather strap. “Not squiggles.”

Sukuna lurches again, this time with a force that wrenches you off balance completely. One moment you’re clinging to leather straps, the next, you’re weightless—dangling over empty air, your stomach dropping out as the sea roars up to meet you. You scream is swallowed by the wind.

Cold air slams against your face, your limbs flailing as the ocean surface rushes closer, white spray licking like fangs. You think, absurdly, that this is it. That Yaga will get his precious map back water-stained and half-torn, and that Satoru will laugh at your funeral pyre.

The sea devours you whole. Salt scorches your mouth, icy shock steals the breath from your lungs, and the water closes like a fist around your ribs. You kick, thrash, but the waves drag you under, tangling your limbs. The North Sea swallows you whole, dragging you down, down, down. Your maps slip free, parchment dissolving into sodden clumps as the current claws them away. Panic claws harder.

Through the blur of bubbles, a shadow streaks above—massive wings cutting the sky. Sukuna. You can just make out the gleam of his scales as he dives, but the current twists you sideways and drags you deeper.

You feel hands.

Hot even through the freezing water, strong fingers hook beneath your arm and haul you against a solid chest. Your head knocks against leather and chainmail. You cling without meaning to, nails biting into Satoru’s sleeve as he kicks upward, legs cutting the water with terrifying strength. The world tilts again, the suffocating weight of the sea giving way to open air as he breaks the surface.

You cough, choking up brine, the cold biting so deep it feels like your bones are splintering. But there’s air—ragged, salty, glorious—and Satoru’s arms are still wrapped around you, keeping you afloat.

“See?” he says, breathless. “Told you one of us would catch you.”

“Shut—” you hack, spitting seawater in his face, “—up.”

With one arm, Satoru signals upward, and Sukuna swoops low, skimming the waves. The dragon’s vast shadow falls over you both, wings slicing the mist. With a smooth, practiced motion, Satoru boost you toward the saddle. You land gracelessly, half-sprawled, coughing into your sleeve. Sukuna steadies his flight. Moments later, Satoru swings up behind you, water dripping from his hair.

You twist, glaring, salt-stung eyes narrowing. “You dropped me!”

“I saved you,” he says.

“If you’d stop distracting me, I wouldn’t have fallen in the first place.”

“Aw, admit it,” he says, tugging you back against him as Sukuna banks into the wind again. “You wanted me to play hero.”

Your jaw locks. You want to scream, the punch him, to shove him straight off Sukuna’s back. But the truth sticks bitter at the back of your throat: without him, you’d be a corpse rolling in the tide right now.

Instead, you grit out, “The only reason you’re still alive is because I’m too cold to kill you.”

“Sure, gorgeous,” Satoru says, far too cheerfully for someone who just dove into the North Sea like loon. He pats Sukuna’s neck. “Land over there, big guy.”

Sukuna banks again, wide wings slicing through the mist as he angles toward a rocky shelf jutting from the cliffs. It’s not much—a spit of grass clinging stubbornly to stone, slick with sea spray and battered by wind—but it’s flat enough for a Night Fury to perch. The dragon’s claws scrape against the stone before he settles down.

You peel yourself upright, every muscle trembling from the cold. Water streams from your hair and sleeves, soaking into the saddle leather, dripping in miserable rivulets down your legs. You feel like a half-drowned cat.

Satoru swings off Sukuna and immediately shivers, shaking out his hair. Droplets fly everywhere.

“Ah!” You swipe your face with your sleeve. “Do you mind?”

“Not even a little,” he says.

You clamber down less gracefully, boots squelching against stone. The moment your feet hit solid ground, the wind slices through your wet clothes. Your teeth chatter so hard it feels like they might rattle loose.

“Right,” you say, hugging your arms around yourself. “Let’s make this quick. I need to salvage what I can of the map before—”

“Before you hands freeze off?” Satoru interrupts. He crouches to scratch Sukuna’s chin, even though he’s dripping seawater like a broken barrel. “Sorry, cartographer, but your squiggles can wait. We’re both shaking. That’s a fast track to hypothermia.”

“I’m fine.” Your voice wobbles with a shiver. “We don’t have time to—”

“You’re not fine.” He straightens, eyeing you in that annoyingly perceptive way of his. “Your lips are purple. You’re shivering so hard I can hear your knees clacking. Don’t make me be the sensible one here, sweetheart—it feels unnatural.”

You glare. “If I die of cold, I’ll haunt you.”

“Oh, you already haunt me.” His grin softens the jab. “Now, strip.”

“I— Excuse me?” you splutter.

“Your clothes are soaked,” he says matter-of-factly, already tugging at the laces of his tunic. “Wet fabric sucks the heat right out of you. Best thing we can do is get ‘em off, huddle together, and hope Sukuna doesn’t roast us in our sleep.”

You blink at him, scandalised, even as another violent shiver racks your body. “You’re insane.”

“True. But I’m also right.” He pulls his tunic over his head in one easy motion, tossing the dripping cloth onto the stone. The setting sun’s light catches across his bare skin—broad shoulders, pale scars scattered like constellations, lean muscle shifting as he moves.

You pointedly do not stare.

“You’re ogling me,” he says.

“I’m glaring at you.”

“Your glare looks a lot like ogling.”

“Die.”

“Already almost did,” he says lightly, wringing out his sleeves. “Your turn.”

Every inch of you bristles at the command. Still, the damp fabric clinging icily to your ribs argues louder than your pride. You peel off your own tunic with stiff fingers, ignoring his wolf-whistle, and spread it on a rock to dry. The wind hits your bare skin, covered only by the slip you’ve worn inside, cold and merciless, goosebumps rising instantly.

Satoru’s eyes flick toward you, lingering longer than you like. He doesn’t comment. Doesn’t need to. The curve of his mouth says enough.

“Don’t you dare say a word,” you warn, hugging your arms over your chest.

“Not one word,” he promises, then adds, “Plenty of thoughts, though.”

You groan, dragging your hands down your face. “This is torture.”

“No, this is survival.” Satoru pats Sukuna’s flank, and the dragon obligingly lowers himself, curling his massive body into a crescent. His wings arch inwards, a living shelter against the wind. Heat radiates from his scaled belly.

“See?” Satoru gestures grandly.

You want to argue. You really, truly do. But your legs wobble under you, and the promise of warmth tugs like gravity. So you crawl into the nook of Sukuna’s body, pressing against his side. Satoru follows, sprawling next to you, then tugging you firmly against him. His skin is startlingly warm, even damp as it is, and his arm slides around your shoulders.

“Move,” you grumble, trying to twist free.

“Nope,” he says, tucking his chin on top of your wet hair. “You’ll freeze.”

“You’re unbearable.”

“So you’ve said. Multiple times.”

You want to snap back, but the heat of him seeps into your skin. Sukuna’s breathing is a thunderous rhythm behind you, the rise and fall of his chest as steady as the tides. Satoru’s warmth presses into your back, his heartbeat steady against your spine.

The shivering ebbs. Your eyelids grow heavy.

You think, just before sleep drags you under, that maybe it isn’t so bad—being held like this, the storm kept at bay by dragon wings and an irritating idiot who refuses to let you drown or freeze. You’d rather die than admit it out loud.

“Oh, my Gods.”

The voice snaps you awake like a slap. Your eyes peel open blearily, gritty from salt and sleep. The first thing you see is scales—Sukuna’s broad, ridged side, still warm beneath your cheek. The second is pale dawn light seeping over the horizone, turning the sea into hammered silver. The third, and the worst by far, is Yaga’s apprentice standing ten paces away, gawking at you like you’ve sprouted a second head.

You jolt upright so fast your skull cracks against Satoru’s chin.

“Ow—fuck!” Satoru lurches back, clutching his jaw. His hair is sticking up in ten different directions, his chest bare, his arm still heavy across your waist. He blinks owlishly, still half-asleep, then follows your line of sight.

“Oh,” he says. “Morning, kid.”

The apprentice—gangly, freckled, barely old enough to grow a proper beard—turns a shade of crimson so bright it could signal passing ships. His dragon, a lumbering Gronckle, looks pointedly in the other direction as though it, too, is practicing modesty. The apprentice’s mouth opens, closes, then opens again. “I—uh—you—Chief Yaga sent me—”

You scramble upright, hugging your damp tunic to your chest as though it might shield you from the apprentice’s wide-eyed horror. “It’s not what it looks like.”

The boy squeaks. “It looks like you and Gojo—”

“It doesn’t,” you snap. Heat crawls up your neck, sharp as the morning chill.

“Actually,” Satoru drawls, still lounging half-naked against Sukuna’s side, “it’s exactly what it looks like.”

You kick him in the shin. He hisses through his teeth but grins anyway. Bastard.

The apprentice makes a strangled sound and stares very hard at the cliffs instead. His ears are scarlet. “Chief Yaga said—he said it was urgent. Two dragons were stolen last night.”

“Stolen?” you ask.

He nods quickly, eyes still fixed anywhere but at you. “By trappers. They slipped past the watch posts by the southern coves. Took a Nadder and a Zippleback. Riders tried to give chase, but they were gone before dawn.”

You freeze, cold in a way seawater could never manage. Images slam unbidden into your head: chains biting into scaled hides, muzzles forced over mouths, wings bound and flailing. Dragons screaming as they’re dragged into cages.

“Shit,” Satoru says, the first hint of sharpness cutting through his lazy tone. He pushes to his feet, water-dark trousers hanging low on his hips. Sukuna rumbles beside him, wings twitching restlessly.

The apprentice swallows, wringing his hands, as his Gronckle hovers above the ground. “The Chief sent me to find you. He said you’re needed immediately—both of you. He was… angry that you weren’t at the watch last night, Gojo.”

You flinch. Angry. Of course he was. You were out here, tangled up in a mess of salt, warmth, and sleep, while dragons were dragged away into darkness. Your stomach knots.

Satoru’s hand brushes yours. “Not your fault,” he murmurs.

You want to believe him. You don’t.

“Which direction?” Satoru asks crisply.

“East,” the apprentice answers. “Towards the mainland, we think. Scouts found broken nets on the tide and claw marks on the rocks, but… there were too many tracks. More than just one ship. It’s—bigger than usual.”

You hug your tunic tighter, your unease curdling into something colder. Too many tracks. Bigger than usual. And Yaga, always conveniently aware of where the trappers struck, always pushing for maps that stretched further, deeper, as though he wanted Berk’s vulnerabilities laid bare on parchment. Something ugly stirs at the back of your mind.

“Great job finding us, kid,” Satoru says. “Go on back, tell Yaga we’re on our way to Berk.”

The apprentice nods and urges his Gronckle away. Silence stretches after his wings vanish into the horizon. The only sound is the crash of waves and Sukuna’s low, restless growl.

You finally tug your tunic over your head, the fabric clammy against your skin. “Two dragons. Gone. While we—” You swallow down the lump in your throat. “While we weren’t there.”

Satoru’s gaze flicks to you. “We’ll find them.”

You want to argue. Want to spill the unease clawing at your ribs—that this isn’t coincidence, that someone is feeding the trappers information, that Yaga’s heavy insistence on maps and watch-posts feels less like defence and more like design. But Satoru swings into the saddle, his hand extended down to you, and all you can do is shove the suspicion somewhere deep down where it won’t choke you.

Later. You’ll think about it later.

The ride back to Berk is wordless. Sukuna cuts through the dawn sky with a speed that makes your bones rattle, the wind lashing your damp hair against your cheeks. The village comes into view—first the crooked rocks of the cliffside, then the smoky thatched rooftops, and finally the wide stone courtyard where riders and dragons gather in knots of uneasy conversation.

Yaga waits at the centre of it all, arms folded across his massive chest. His scowl alone could ward off a sea storm. You’ve seen him angry before, but this—this is something else.

Sukuna’s talons scrape stone. Riders hustle across the square, tightening harnesses, checking saddlebags, shouting clipped reports to one another. Dragons bristle and shift, their restlessness bleeding into their humans. You slide down from Sukuna’s saddle, boots hitting the stones. Satoru follows, rolling his shoulders once.

“Come,” Yaga’s voice booms from the centre. “Where were you?”

“Taking the north coast maps you wanted, remember?” Satoru says. “Thought you’d be proud I was finally listening.”

Yaga’s jaw ticks. “While you wasted time drawing cliffs, two dragons were stolen from right under our noses. A Nadder and a Zippleback. Good, loyal beasts, now likely in chains.”

You open your mouth—and instinctive we didn’t know, we would have been there if—but Yaga’s eyes cut to you, and the words wither in your throat.

“And you,” he says, quieter but no less cutting. “Distracted.”

Your cheeks burn hot as a furnace. You force yourself not to look at Satoru, not to flinch under Yaga’s disappointment.

“Careful, Chief,” Satoru says, stepping forward. “Sounds almost like you’re blaming us instead of the ones who actually stole the dragons.”

Silence. Riders shuffle uneasily at the edge of the square, pretending to busy themselves with tack and gear. Yaga exhales. He gestures with a curt hand, and says, “Enough. We’ve no time for excuses. Gojo, you’ll take Sukuna east. Track the trappers. If they’ve gone towards the mainland, we need to know which paths they’re using. Don’t engage. Don’t be reckless.”

“Reckless?” Satoru echoes. “Chief, that hurts me.”

“It’s meant to.”

Yaga turns to you. You think—hope—he’ll send you with Satoru. You’ve flown the coasts enough times now, you know the currents, the cliffs, the possible landing points. Together, you’d be faster.

“You,” Yaga says instead. “Stay here. The maps you made—finish them. Copy them properly, mark all the coves and hideouts. We’ll need every detail if we’re to tighten our defenses.”

“But—” You start. “With all due respect, I should go too. I was with Satoru when we—”

“No.” Yaga’s eyes harden, the finality in them brooking no argument. “We need accuracy more than we need an extra set of hands in the sky. Your maps will serve Berk better than you will.”

Heat floods your chest: anger, shame, suspicion all jumbled together. The same suspicion that had gnawed at you when the apprentice spoke of too many tracks, bigger than usual. The same suspicion that whispers now: why does he care so much about this maps?

Satoru’s hand brushes yours again, quick, almost hidden. When you glance at him, his expression is unreadable, but his mouth quirks, almost imperceptibly, in reassurance.

“Don’t worry, gorgeous,” he says aloud, stretching his arms. “I’ll bring your lizards back safe. Maybe even some extra, if they’re feeling friendly.”

“Go,” Yaga growls.

Satoru vaults back into Sukuna’s saddle. The Night Fury launches skyward in a storm of wings and air, climbing so fast your stomach flips just from watching. He doesn’t look back, but you feel his absence immediately, like the ground beneath you has shifted.

“Chief,” you try again, forcing the tremor out of your voice, “if there are more ships than usual, if this is bigger than—”

“Finish your maps,” Yaga cuts you off, turning away.

You stand there for a long moment, your fists clenching around nothing, as riders murmur and scatter and dragons snort restlessly at their sides. Something in your gut twists again, sharp and certain. Yaga doesn’t just want you out of the mission. He wants you blind, and you don’t know why.

Satoru Gojo doesn’t arrive back with the rest of the riders and it takes you about four hours to swallow down your pride and admit that something has gone terribly, horribly wrong.

At first, you tell yourself he’s late because he’s lazy. Because he got distracted chasing a gull or decided to nap on Sukuna’s back somewhere over the cliffs. That’s his style, isn’t it? Careless, infurating, utterly impossible to pin down. But when the other riders return—faces set in grim lines, dragons shuffling uneasily on the packed earth—there’s no trace of him.

The knot in your stomach hardens into stone.

The courtyard empties slowly, mutters and wary glances trailing after you as you linger by the dragon pens. You can’t ask them where he is, not when your throat is tight with fear. You can’t ask Yaga either—at least, not openly, when you already suspect he doesn’t want you to know the answer.

Instead, you find the apprentice.

He’s lugging a basket of fish towards the Gronckle pens, shoulders hunched. You stride over and plant yourself in his path.

“Where’s the Chief?” you demand.

The boy nearly drops the basket, mackerel slopping over the edge. “Wh-what?”

“Yaga,” you say. “Where is he?”

He stammers. “He—uh—he’s in the great hall, I think. With some of the elders. I’m not supposed to—”

You move before he can finish. The great hall looms at the centre of Berk. Its roof rises steeply, carved dragon heads snarling from the beams. The heavy double doors are shut, but a warm glow seeps from the cracks—torchlight, flickering against the chill dusk. You shouldn’t be here. Yaga will flay you alive if he catches you sneaking where you don’t belong. But the thought of waiting, sitting idly while Satoru doesn’t come back doesn’t sit right with you.

You slip inside.

The hall stretches wide and long ahead of you, the walls lined with shields and old weapons that gleam in the light. Long tables stretch out across the floor, empty, a few littered with tankards and scraps of parchment. The far end is dominated by Yaga’s chair, carved from mahogany, massive enough to dwarf even him.

It’s empty.

You turn away from the chair—because on the nearest table is your map.

Or rather, it should be there. The stack of parchment you left after your last session of furious sketching is gone, only a faint smear of charcoal dust staining the wood. The straps you’d used to tie them together still sit at the edge of the table, neatly coiled, but the maps themselves have vanished. Your stomach lurches.

The map of the north coast. The one you risked half your life to sketch, nearly drowned for. Every cove, every inlet, every hidden path marked out in careful strokes of charcoal—gone.

Your hand curls tightly around the strap left behind, the leather cutting into your palm. The room spins, your thoughts snarling into one conclusion: if Yaga has the maps, he didn’t take them to protect Berk. And if he doesn’t have them, then someone else does. And Satoru still hasn’t come back.

You hurry out of the hall, past the empty pens, past the wary stares of villagers who pull their cloaks tighter as you barrel through. The sky is already bruising into night, gulls wheeling overhead in harsh cries that grate against your nerves. You don’t think. You just turn—towards the cliffs, the only place that makes sense. The north coast, where your maps pointed. Where Satoru isn’t supposed to be.

The path narrows as you climb. The wind rises, sharp and cold, tugging at your tunic. The sea roars below, white foam smashing itself against black rock. Each gust shoves at your balance, each step rattles your teeth. You know these paths—you’ve sketched them, charted them—but tonight they feel alien, hostile.

Your lungs burn. Your legs ache. Still, you push forward, clutching your side, muttering curses under your breath.

A shadow moves above you, massive fast, cutting across the purpling sky. The figure drops lower, angling towards you. You stumble to a stop, heart hammering, and tilt your head back.

Sukuna.

The Night Fury flies through the dusk, scales glinting dark blue where the light catches. His cry rips through the cliffs—sharp, haunting, enough to send a flock of puffins exploding from their nests. The wind from his wings slams into you, sending you staggering backwards.

He’s alone. The dragon banks sharply, almost skimming the sea, and you see a saddle still strapped tight, leather dark with seawater, reins dangling loose.

He lands on the cliffs just ahead of you, talons tearing furrows in the stone. His wings flare wide before folding in, each movement rippling with tension. He’s restless, furious, his chest heaving and his tail lashing like a whip.

“Sukuna,” you breathe, your voice cracking.

He turns at once, those twin rings of garnet eyes locking onto you. Recognition flares, but it’s not soft. It’s sharp, wild, like he’s on the edge of bolting right back into the sky. His nostrils flare, smoke curling as he huffs out a growl.

Your legs move before your mind catches up. You rush towards him, arms out, words tumbling uselessly from your mouth. “Where is he? Where’s Satoru?”

Sukuna lowers his head, nostrils flaring again as though scenting the wind. His scales are slick with salt, his wings ragged from the flight, his whole body coiled tight with an agitation you’ve never seen in him before. He paces, restless, claws scraping sparks against the stone. The saddle’s empty. Satoru’s gone.

The thought claws at your skull, frantic and ugly, but you push it down, shove it away, refuse to let it root. “Take me to him,” you say. “You hear me? Take me to him!”

Sukuna freezes. His head tilts, eyes narrowing, sharp and assessing. You think he’ll refuse, that he’ll vanish into the sky without you. But he shoves his massive snout against your shoulder, hard enough to nearly knock you flat. His wings flare again. It’s not an invitation. It’s a command.

Your hands fumble with the saddle’s straps as you clamber up, fingers numb, stomach twisting. The moment you’re seated, Sukuna surges forward, leaping into the air and spreading his wings. The world drops away beneath you, cliffs shrinking, sea spreading endless and merciless below. Wind tears at your face, your hair, your clothes. You clutch the straps tightly, the air freezing your cheeks, your heart slamming so hard you can’t tell if it’s fear or relief.

Sukuna doesn’t soar, doesn’t play with the air currents or bank lazily just to terrify you the way Satoru likes to. He cuts through the night like an arrow, wings beating ruthlessly, each downstroke flinging you forward until your stomach lurches. The North Sea yawns before you, and the cliffs crawl past in uneven shadows.

“Where are you taking me?” you shout, though the wind steals most of it away. Sukuna’s neck stiffens, his flight angled low, purposeful.

The further north you go, the rougher the landscape grows. The cliffs rise higher, crueler, sharpened by centuries of waves gnawing at their base. The moon breaks through the clouds in flashes, silvering the rocks. You’ve charted these shores on parchment, every inlet and alcove, but in the dark, they look unfamiliar.

Sukuna dives. The drop rips the breath from your chest and tears your stomach into your throat. You can only cling and pray as he folds his wings tight and plummets. At the last possible instant, he flares his wings wide, landing with a shuddering crash onto a stretch of uneven stone, claws biting through moss and shale.

You scramble down, your boots skidding on slick rock as Sukuna growls. Ahead, the cliffs hollow into a cove, a natural amphitheatre of stone and sea. Torches burn inside, small orange flames that lick against the rock, wrong against the wild dark.

In the centre of it all: Yaga.

The Chief of Berk stands with his arms crossed, broad shoulders squared and cloak snapping in the wind. His great beard glints ruddy in the torchlight. But it isn’t him that makes your heart stutter. It’s what’s at his feet.

Satoru.

He’s on his knees, wrists bound in thick rope, head tilted at an insolent angle that doesn’t quite hide the blood streaking down his temple. Even half-slumped, even gagged with a strip of cloth knotted cruelly between his teeth, he radiates infuriating carelessness—eyes narrowed, expression hovering between boredom and mockery.

You make a sound—something strangled, something useless—and stumble forward, only for Sukuna to block you with a sweep of a wing. He growls again.

“Finally,” Yaga says. His voice booms off the rock, heavy, immovable, the kind of voice that fills halls and commands loyalty. “I was beginning to think you’d abandoned him.”

“What are you doing?” you manage to ask.

“What I should’ve done the moment that creature set foot on Berk.” His eyes cut to Sukuna. “That dragon is too dangerous to be left in the hands of a fool. Or worse, shared between fools. Give him to me, and I may let Gojo live.”

Satoru makes a muffled noise behind the gag, rolling his eyes so hard you half-expect them to stick. You can almost hear his voice anyway: Don’t listen to the old man, gorgeous. He just wants my dragon ‘cause he doesn’t have one of his own.

Your chest feels too small, your pulse hammering against your ribs. “You—you can’t mean that. Sukuna’s not a weapon. He’s not—”

“He’s a Night Fury,” Yaga says. “Do you have any idea what that means? The power he carries? No village could stand against us if he were ours. No trapper would dare threaten us. Berk would be untouchable.”

“He’s not yours,” you say.

Yaga’s gaze flicks past you. “And yet here he stands, listening to your commands. Think, child. You’ve seen the cliffs, the danger at our borders. Berk is one storm away from ruin. I won’t gamble its survival on the whims of a dragon who answers only to Gojo.”

Satoru gives a muffled, derisive laugh that earns him a kick to the ribs. He tips his head back, gag muffling whatever clever retort he tried to spit out.

“Is that why you funded the trappers to surround your own village, Yaga?” you ask, mustering up all the courage you own.

Yaga stills. His boot rests against Satoru’s ribs, his shadow thrown long against the cove wall. His lips twitch beneath his beard—not surprise, not shame. Annoyance.

“You shouldn’t know that,” he says slowly. “The apprentice talks too much.”

“You set them on us. You set them on him.”

A sound splits the night—metal ringing against stone, boots crunching over gravel. From the shadows at the edges of the cove, men appear. Rough-spun leather, ragged furs, nets rolled thick over their shoulders. Their faces gleam with salt and grease, their eyes hungry. Dragon trappers. You know them by the stink alone: fish oil, blood, old smoke. They slip from the dark like wolves, more than a dozen, maybe more, their movements practiced, circling.

The torchlight catches iron chains coiled in their fists. Hooks. Bolas. Shackles built for wings, not wrists.

“You’re working with them?” you say.

“I’m using them,” the chief says. “They have the means, the tools that I don’t have.”

You think of the maps gone from the hall, the apprentice’s trembling mouth, the sidelong glances of riders who returned without their strongest, without him. Pieces snap into place with a sickening clarity.

“You sold us out,” you whisper again. “You sold him out.”

“I did what I had to. Berk survives because I make hard choices. You, girl—you make sketches. You play at your little maps, but I—I see storms on the horizon. Dragons beyond counting. Trappers fattening themselves on our weakness. Do you think a village of fishers and smiths can stand against that? No. But with a Night Fury—with that beast, Berk rules the seas.”

Sukuna’s growl reverberates through the rock beneath your feet. His pupils pinprick, his wings hitch upward, every line of his body coiled to strike. You know he understands enough—tone, intent, threat. He does not know, yet, how to forgive.

“Tell me,” Yaga says, low and inexorable, “what’s one boy’s life against the safety of a whole people?”

Satoru chooses that exact moment to lurch upright against his bindings, muffling something sharp and entirely unhelpful through the gag. You catch the roll of his shoulders, the tilt of his chin, and you know the shape of those words even if you can’t hear them. One boy? Try national treasure, old man.

You almost laugh.

Chains rattle. The trappers are closing in. Their boots scrape the shale, torches lifting higher, nets poised to fly. The scent of pitch and iron stings your nose. There aren’t raiders in passing—they’re hunters, professional, and they’ve been waiting.

You step forward, planting yourself between them and Sukuna’s flank before you even think it through. “If you think he’ll ever obey you, you’re a bigger fool than I thought,” you bite out. “Sukuna isn’t a weapon. He isn’t yours to wield.”

“He will be.”

The nearest trapper lunges. A net arcs through the air, weighted corners sparking as they whip forward. You throw yourself sideways, but you needn’t have bothered—Sukuna’s blast rips it to cinders mid-flight. The explosion lights the cove for a split-second, dazzling white, searing afterimages into your vision. Rock shatters, smoke plumes, men scream.

The Night Fury roars.

The sound is primal, thunder given flesh. Sukuna surges forward, plasma bursting from his jaws in ragged, relentless blasts. Trappers scatter like startled crabs, some diving for cover, others spinning their chains desperately to keep him back. One man screams as his bolas ignite mid-spin, molten metal splattering his arm.

You drop to Satoru’s side in the chaos. He turns his head sharply, eyes catching yours, blue in the firelight, furious and alive. Your fingers fumble at the knots. The rope is soaked with seawater, swollen tight, cutting into your palms as you fight with it.

“Hold still,” you hiss, though he’s hardly moving.

He snorts through his gag. The knot slips at last. The rope slackens, and Satoru jerks his wrists free with a hiss. He tears the gag from his mouth, coughing once before grinning up at you, that same insufferable smile that somehow hasn’t dulled even after being tied and bloodied.

“Miss me?” he drawls.

You shove his shoulder. “Get up.”

“Oh, I plan to.” Satoru’s gaze flicks past you, to Yaga still looming at the centre of it all.

Sukuna lashes his tail, knocking two trappers flat, and wheels his head back towards you both, plasma building in his throat again. The trappers rally, more of them pouring from the shadows at the mouth of the cove, their nets glowing with oil to withstand fire, their bolas gleaming with sharpened edges meant for wings. Their shadows jitter grotesquely against the cove walls, wolfish and endless. Sukuna’s blasts have rattled them but not broken them—they circle tighter, nets at the ready.

A horn splits the night.

It’s high and keening, rolling down from the cliffs above. The kind of sound that makes your chest tighten because you know it: Berk’s call to arms.

Shapes tear through the dark sky. Dragons. Not one, not two—a little less than a dozen, wings beating hard, riders silhouetted against the clouds. Their cries cascade through the air—the iron thrum of Nadder wings, the heavy, beating thunder of a Gronckle, the shriek of a Zippleback.

The riders dive. Bolas meant for Sukuna snap backward, suddenly tangled in fire. A trapper screams when a Deadly Nadder’s spines pin his arm to the cove wall. Yaga’s apprentice clings desperately to his dragon—far too small for this fight, a Gronckle, wings buzzing frantically—but his horn blast keeps sounding, rallying the others.

“Traitors!” Yaga bellows. His face is red with fury, veins bulging in his temple. “Do you side with him over your own chief?”

“Over a traitor, yes!” the apprentice shouts back.

The cove fractures into chaos—dragons wheeling, trappers shouting, nets burning in mid-air. Sukuna tears through them, plasma lighting up the night. You turn towards Satoru—only to freeze.

Yaga’s hand clamps down around your arm, thick and brutal, yanking you off your feet. The world spins; your back slams against his chest, his arm like an iron band around you. He drags you towards the cliff’s edge, gravel skittering into the black maw of sea below.

“Stop!” His roar drowns even the dragon cries. “Or she falls!”

Sukuna halts mid-pounce, talons gouging sparks in the stone. The other riders hover, their dragons’ wings beating the air in slow, heavy pulses. Even the trappers hesitate, chains slack in their hands. The sea crashes below, white foam gnashing against the rocks, a drop so sheer it makes you feel nauseous.

Yaga’s breath rasps against your ear. “The Night Fury, girl. Give him to me—or you’re gone.”

You twist, fighting against his grip, nails digging into his arm, but he’s immovable, a wall of muscle and conviction. He jerks you closer to the edge, and the heel of your boot slips on loose gravel. Your weight tilts towards the abyss.

Somehow, impossibly, you make eye contact with Satoru—astride Sukuna. His white hair gleams in the torchlight. Sukuna crouches beneath him, plasma pulsing faintly in his throat, tail still twitching.

Satoru’s lips move.

Eight percent.

You blink, barely comprehending. “What?” you croak out.

Eighty percent.

Suddenly, you know. He wants you to trust him. He wants you to fall. It’s insane. It’s impossible.

The apprentice screams your name from somewhere above. The riders shout warnings. The trappers lunge forward, seeing their chance. Yaga tightens his grip, preparing to hurl you like discarded cargo into the sea.

You make the choice first.

Your knees buckle, and you let yourself go slack. His grip loosens in shock—just enough. You wrench sideways, twist hard against his hold, and throw yourself forward into the air.

The sea roars up to meet you. Wind tears your scream to shreds. There’s only the bacl water yawning wide, jagged rocks slick with foam—until Sukuna dives down, his wings folded tightly. He rockets down the cliff face, plasma sparking in his jaws. You glimpse Satoru’s silhouette against the stars, leaning low in the saddle, eyes locked on you.

The air sears past your skin, the spray of the sea already stinging your face. Claws close around you.

Sukuna’s talons scoop you from the air. The force of it nearly rips the breath from your lungs, but the relief, the sheer surge of it, blinds you more than the wind. He angles upward in a steep climb, wings snapping wide, hauling you clear from the rocks and the ravenous waves.

You’re pressed tightly against his chest, his claws curled just enough to cage you without harm, his scales hot with exertion. Above you, astride the saddle, Satoru twists in his seat, grinning down at you.

“See?” he calls. “Told you. Eight percent.”

You want to hit him. You want to kiss him. You also want to scream.

Instead, all you manage is a hoarse, furious, “You’re an idiot!”

Your first kiss with Satoru Gojo occurs because of Sukuna.

Not because you wanted it to. Gods, no. You’d rather have wrestled a Gronckle with one arm tied behind your back than admit you were even remotely tempted by the smirk plastered across Satoru’s stupid face. But Sukuna, traitorous beast that he is, decided that enough was enough.

It starts when the Night Fury refuses to let either of you down. You’re sore from the fight, ribs aching where Yaga had grabbed you, salt still drying sticky on your skin. You’ve been through enough for one night, and all you want is the ground. Just solid ground beneath your feet.

Sukuna, it seems, has other ideas.

He lands not on the village cliffs, not near the dragon pens, but on the highest bluff overlooking Berk. A windswept place where he knows neither of you can escape quickly. He lowers his head, eyes narrowing with that calculating look he always gets when he’s three steps ahead of everyone else.

You try to slide off the saddle. His tail lashes, blocking your path.

“Really?” you snap, shoving at the scaled wall of muscle. “I’ve had enough for today.”

“He just doesn’t want us to leave,” Satoru supplies. “Can you blame him? We make such a great team.”

You whirl on him. “You nearly got yourself killed.”

“Nearly. Keyword.”

Your teeth grind. The wind snaps your hair into your eyes, the sea growls far below, and Satoru is—well, Satoru. All flippant grins and infuriating calm, as if Yaga’s betrayal, the trappers, the near loss of Sukuna, none of it left so much as a scratch on his spirit.

You jab a finger at his chest. “You think this is funny? You were gagged and tied and—”

“—and you swooped in and saved me,” he says. “Admit it, you couldn’t stand to see me suffer.”

“You—” you splutter. “I— That’s not—”

Sukuna rumbles, wings settling around you both like a barricade. His eyes gleam faintly in the dark, twin garnets pinning you where you sit. You realise too late: he’s cornered you.

Satoru tilts his head. “You hear that? He’s saying we should kiss and make up.”

“He is not,” you say flatly.

“He definitely is,” Satoru insist. He leans in just slightly, enough to test the boundaries, enough for your heart to betray you by stumbling over itself. “C’mon. Wouldn’t want to upset him. He’s had a rough day too.”

You glare, but the problem is that Sukuna seems to agree. He nudges the both of you closer with the blunt force of his snout, nearly toppling you into Satoru’s lap. The dragon huffs smoke, satisfied, before curling into the stone and laying his head flat as though to say, Now behave.

You should shove Satoru away. You should storm off, make the climb down the cliffs yourself, risk the dark. Anything but this.

Yet. The adrenaline of the fight still thrums through your veins. Your pulse hasn’t slowed since you saw him bound on his knees, blood dripping from his temple, smirking like a madman even then. You remember the feel of the rops cutting your palms as you freed him, the wild terror that maybe you’d been too late.

Maybe that’s why you don’t shove him away. Maybe that’s why you let him close the distance, why your lips meet his halfway in a kiss that’s less a decision and more a consequence, inevitable as the tide.

It’s clumsy, at first. You’re too angry, he’s too smug. But he softens into it, just a little, and you hate the way the ground seems to tilt under your feet, hate how the world narrows to salt air and warmth and the reckless promise of him.

When you finally break apart, breathless, Satoru grins like he’s just won a war.

“Knew you liked me,” he says, blue eyes sparkling.

You shove him hard in the shoulder, though your face burns hot. “That was for Sukuna,” you say.

The dragon rumbles again, smug as any beast can be. Satoru only laughs, tipping his head back, and pulls you in for another kiss.

It’s ecstatic, the feel of Satoru’s tongue lapping at your folds.

His tongue is wet and hot as it laps over the sensitive nerves, and you can feel the way he hums happily as he laps at the juices that drip onto his waiting mouth. You’re sure his face is going to be covered by the end of this, but it seems like he couldn’t care less, if his moans and groans are any indication. Your fingers tangle in his white strands of hair, gripping hard to keep him where you want him. His arms are wrapped around your legs, keeping them open as he feasts on your cunt. You can see the muscles in his back flexing as he tries to get closer, get deeper, and you can only hold on for dear life, feeling the way he drives you higher and higher towards your orgasm.

Satoru is making a mess of himself, and you know he has a thing for being covered in your slick.

The moment the thought passes through your head, you can’t help the cry that escapes, a full-body shiver wracking through your body. He groans into you, the sound vibrating against your skin, and you feel his tongue move in a way that you know has him spelling his name, over and over again. You tug at his hair, trying to move him, but his arms tighten and he doesn’t budge.

You let out a moan, trying to speak. “Satoru, I—I need you. Inside me. Now.”

He wraps his lips around your clit, sucking harshly. “One more, gorgeous. Give me one more, and then I’m all yours.”

You whine, feeling the heat in your stomach build, and Satoru continues to eat you out. Your back arches off the bed, and you grip his hair tighter. Your thighs start to close around him; he lets go of one of your legs to press two fingers into your heat, pressing right into that spot that has you crying out his name, curling his fingers as his tongue flicks rapidly over your clit. Your body shakes, and you cry out his name, feeling the way your cunt tightens and throbs around his fingers.

Satoru groans, moving his face away from your core and watching as the aftershocks of your orgasm make your body tremble. He pumps his fingers slowly, prolonging your pleasure, and you whine at the sensitivity.

He smiles softly, kissing the inside of your thigh, before removing his fingers, bringing them to his mouth and licking the juices that cover them. He lets out a pleased moan, eyes locked onto yours, and moves to kiss you.

His lips are warm, and you taste yourself on his tongue. It only serves to rile you up more when you feel the way his cock throbs where it presses against your thigh. You raise your legs to wrap them around his hips, and you push him lightly. Satoru moves willingly, letting out a moan as he lies on his back. He grips the sheets in anticipation, watching as you straddle his lap. He groans, feeling the way your cunt settles on his thighs. You smile, running a finger down his chest, and he bucks his hips in response.

You let out a gasp when the tip of his cock rubs against your folds. He moans.

Satoru’s hands grip your hips tightly, and his thumb rubs circles on your skin. You can feel the way he trembles under you. Your hand wraps around his cock, pumping lightly; he whines. You position the tip at your entrance, rubbing it against your clit, and moan.

“Stop teasing,” he groans, and you grin.

“Or what?” you taunt, grinding against his length. “Are you going to punish me, Satoru?”

He growls, hips jerking upwards. You gasp, feeling the tip rub against your folds, catching at your slit, and try to lower yourself. But Satoru tightens his hold, not letting you sink further onto his cock. You glare at him.

“I should,” he says, and suddenly his arms are around you, flipping you onto your back.

He settles between your thighs, his arms framing either side of your head. His hair falls into his eyes, and you can feel his cock brushing against your folds. You move your arms to wrap around his shoulders, nails scratching lightly down his back.

Satoru groans, burying his head in your neck, nipping lightly.

“Fuck,” you breathe out, feeling his hips jerk.

The tip of his cock rubs against your clit again. He lets out a breathless laugh.

“I will,” he responds—only to be interrupted by a loud, keening wail from outside your cottage door.

The sound is so piercing, so demanding, that for a moment you think some villager has wandered into mortal peril right outside your door. But no—no, you recognise that guttural, almost petulant cry. You and Satoru both freeze.

“Was that—” you start.

Another wail, louder this time, rattles the hinges of your cottage, followed by the unmistakable scrape of claws against wood.

Satoru drops his forehead against your collarbone. “You’ve got to be kidding.”

The Night Fury wails again, insistent, tail thudding against the doorframe. You bite back a laugh, half-giddy, half-exasperated, and say, “I think someone wants attention.”

Satoru lifts his head, hair mussed and eyes narrowed. “He’s the worst cockblock in history,” he mutters. “Tell him to go hunt some haddock or terrorise the chickens, or—Gods, literally anything else.”

The next sound isn’t just a wail. It’s a low, mournful croon that slides under your ribs and squeezes. Sukuna isn’t just loud—he’s lonely.

You soften, even as Satoru makes a strangled noise of despair above you. “Satoru…”

“No,” he says, rolling off you onto his back. “No, no, don’t you dare give him those eyes. He doesn’t deserve those eyes. I was right there, gorgeous—right there.”

You’re already tugging your tunic back over your shoulders, laughing despite the ache in your belly. “He’ll tear the cottage down if we don’t.”

Satoru throws an arm over his face, groaning into the crook of his elbow. “I hate him. I actually hate him.”

But when you slip to the door and crack it open, Sukuna is there, his massive head lowered to the threshold, those garnet eyes glowing with expectation. He snorts the moment he sees you, bumping his snout against your chest.

“Alright, alright,” you murmur, your hands automatically smoothing over his warm snout. “Head pats. Happy?”

Sukuna rumbles, pressing harder into your palm. Satoru groans again. “Unbelievable. My dragon. My dragon just stole my girl. I’m doomed.”

You glance over your shoulder to find him sprawled on the bed, hair a disaster, chest heaving, the blankets thrown over the lower half of his body. He’s sulking. You grin.

“Maybe he just knows when to step in,” you tease, scratching gently at Sukuna’s scales.

“Step in? He barged in. He ruined history in the making.”

Sukuna lets out a little huff and nuzzles harder against your hand.

Satoru groans once more, louder this time, dragging the pillow over his face. “I’m moving out.”

a/n (again). a big, big thank you to @admiringlove for agreeing to collab with me, putting up with my endless rants about writer’s block, and refusing to let me abandon this fic. i love u. also, a huge huge thank you to @jeonwiixard for supporting me so much, (also) listening to me rant about my crippling writer’s block and beta reading this as soon as i sent the google doc to her; i love u too. thanks for reading, and be sure to check out sam’s gojo httyd!au installment as well! 🥰

[tonycries]

Pretty Lil' Baby - R.S.

Synopsis. Five times the elders of the Sukuna household are sure their fearsome clan leader is impotent, and the one times he makes them realize - Ryomen Sukuna is feraI. For you.

Pairing. Ryomen Sukuna x Reader

Content. MDNI, fem!reader, clan leader!Sukuna, 5 + 1 things, arranged marriages, Itadori family shenanigans, wingmanning, the elders, helping Sukuna get laid, Sukuna is down BAD, true form, second mouth, oraI (fem rec.), fíngering, spítting, cervíx kíssing, pússydrúnk Sukuna, dp, DÚMBlFlCATION, tummy buIges, he’s big, rough s, riding, manhandIing, p talking, bréeding, creampíes, cúmplay, getting together, pet names, swéaring.

Word count. 11.8k

A/N. Missed their chaos omg-

“Buckle up, boys. This might be the most important event of our lives.” Itadori Jin has never taken his role as older brother so seriously. 

Locked in a team huddle with his father, the elders, and a very reluctant, recently-married Ryomen Sukuna. “Dad- you’re on the romantic music. Council- you’re on the rose petals. I’ll be outside on the phone with the fire department, the exorcist, the-”

“It’s my wedding night?”

“Exactly.”

With a final clap of determination, the group shoves their clan leader towards the bed chambers. Ignoring his grumbles of- “But the ladies love me.”

“Ryo, you’ve been single your entire life.”

“…” Okay, perhaps Jin was right. It’d been a traditional arranged wedding, yours being the only proposal that the infamously cold Sukuna had even looked at, let alone agreed to. 

But he clasps the polished doorknob, “I’ll give ya an heir.” Opening. “Just you watch, I’ll give ya four heirs, maybe five, maybe six—oh.”

Until he saw his pretty wife.

Even more gorgeous than you’d been during those brief formal interviews, between clans and council members who nudged each other at the fact that he had finally chosen a bride. 

You’d swapped out your wedding robes for an actual robe that was much…riskier. Stuck to your skin, glistening in the faint candlelight. You were semi-sprawled comfortably across the bed, having patiently waited for their ‘team meeting’ to have finished. 

And Sukuna would’ve yelled at any of them for gaping stupidly from the doorway, he should have - if he wasn’t gaping stupidly himself, that is. Lips parted, crimson eyes bulging. 

This was the clan leader rumored by some to be a monster, and rumored by others to fight like a monster: now fully frozen at the sight of you. 

It takes about seven different council members and Itadori Wasuke poking Sukuna’s muscular back with his wooden cane to make him move. “Ryo-” Jin hisses in slight concern, fingers starting to itch towards his phone, namely in the sequence of the emergency number he’d memorized for tonight. “Ryo move- you- oaf-” 

Respect for the head of the household be damned, they were deadset on bullying him inside the romantically-decorated room. Finally making him move one foot. Two. 

As soon as he staggers through the entrance, the towering mahogany doors then slam shut behind him. Somewhat snapping Sukuna out of his little reverie - somewhat. He shakes his head free of that vision of you, gaze dropping to the floor- anywhere but where you were sitting, so beautiful and unbothered. 

An heir.

Right, an heir. What was that nonsense about six heirs? Right now, he felt he’d be lucky to get to not faint.

“I uh-” You lean closer with a smile when he starts to sputter out, and the act itself nearly makes him take a step back. Heart rushing to the surface of his tattooed skin, “Ah, I mean-”

He gulps. And almost as if they were sensing the tension inside the bedroom, the group outside abruptly starts up the distant saxophone of a George Michael. It filters through the slight gaps of the doorway and into the thick silence inside. 

You were looking at him with a raised brow, clearly waiting for him to speak first with his interesting reaction.

Which is exactly what Ryomen Sukuna does - exactly why he clears his throat gravely. All seven feet of his figure straightening, toned chest puffing out. Jin had told him to smile before he smoldered, and right now Sukuna does neither. Only asking in grim seriousness-

“So are you uh…open-minded?”

“What?”

“What?”

BANG!

He’d removed himself from the honeymoon suite before you could even blink. 

And as you sat up on the bed in genuine confusion, the clan leader outside - your husband - was crouched against the now-closed bedroom doors. Knees to his pecs, all four palms coming up to cover his face- though, they do nothing to hide the scorching red flushed at the tips of his ears. 

The elders can only gawk; they’d known Sukuna since birth, and never had he acted in this manner. Never had he been so flustered, blushed so bright that it looked like he was steaming from his very skin. Flinching at the touch of his brother, he groans once the older one starts punting him with questions.

Jin squawks, “Is your wife okay- are you okay?”

“Yes- no.”

“Do I need to call the fire department?”

“No.”

“The exorcist-”

“No no no- fuck! She was just so…” Sukuna finally manages to string together more than one coherent syllable, running his hefty fingers down his features, like he wanted to scrub the embarrassment off of him. And the tail end of his response rings out as nothing but a whisper. So small, so shy. “…beautiful.”

He looks up at the circle surrounding him like he was pleading, “So, so beautiful.” Baritone dropping into an even lower volume, he scratches the back of his head like a child recounting a crush. “And she- she smiled at me, heh. What’d I do to end up with a wife like her?”

The elders and family members look at each other. 

Silence.

At least, as much silence as you could get in the Itadori Estate. Because, before long, Wasuke clutches his aged heart and gasps, “No!” Only once every pair of eyes has turned to look at him- “My son has no game.”

The emergency services were called that night. 

Though, it’s more for a health check on his father’s heart than for anything gone wrong with your honeymoon. And Jin thinks that’s pointedly to do with the fact that you don’t have a wedding night - at least, not in the sense of the word. 

After he’d offered Sukuna a general health check-up too (he’d vehemently denied) and a heart check-up in particular (he’d considered) you’d finally ended up walking out of the bedroom. Barely getting through one word of their overlapping explanations before you’d held up a hand. 

“It…actually might be better if I don’t know.” You’d sagely remarked, and quite smartly. Before turning to your new husband, who’d all but cowered at your gaze, “But you need to get some sleep, mister. Don’t think I don’t know about how cranky you get otherwise.”

“Hell yeah, ma’am. So true, ma’am.”

And Sukuna had sauntered back into the marital suite of his own accord, for a night of sleep. Nothing but sleep - though, Jin thinks he caught Sukuna fist pumping in celebration when you insisted he didn’t have to sleep on the couch.

There seemed to be no hope for an heir that night. Or, ever, at this rate.

And the trusty council of elders that were present would later retell the story in the morning after, with varying degrees of humor - some cackling about the fearsome head’s one weakness, others grieving the lack of heirs that the Itadori clan shall now have.

But most had been left with quite a different impression. They eyed each other during breakfast, when you’d come down with no marks, no signs of lost sleep. Surely, there was no other explanation - Ryomen Sukuna was impotent. 

He might not be the sweetest clan leader, or the most empathetic, or clearly the most savvy with the ladies, but he was their leader nonetheless. 

And they had to do everything in their power to help.

.

.

.

“-and then the ol’ man starts playing fuckin- I mean, freaking ‘Careless Whisper’ and then I make a fool of myself-”

“Mhm.”

“-but she was oh-so-sweet about it. Which makes no sense, how can one be beautiful and sweet? I mean, look at me- I’m a right bastard-”

“Mhm.”

“-not that I’m complaining. And then when we shared the bed, heh, she told me ‘goodnight.’ Can you believe that? Goodnight? Obviously, she’s into me.”

“Mhm.” Five-year-old Itadori Yuji looks up from where he’d been playing with blocks on the archery dojo, “Uncle Kuna, can we go play hide-and-seek now?”

But the older man lets go the taut, tough string of his bow- hitting the bullseye of his target dead-on. “You’re right! She’s totally into me- heh, ten points for Sukuna.” It was already nearing sundown, and he’d been cooped up in the Estate’s dojo for hours after the fiasco that was his wedding night a few days ago. 

Nothing else had occurred between the two of you since. For which he was equally as grateful as he was disappointed - obviously you didn’t want to spook him. And obviously he wanted you.

But it wasn’t his fault he’d been trained in the arts of commandeering rather than communication. 

Which is how he found himself with that lil’ nephew of his as a therapist, shooting away arrows with the specialized bow designed for Sukuna’s four beefy arms, and fourfold strength. As if that would help ease the tension.

The clan leader opens his mouth again and it’s enough to make Itadori throw himself back onto the polished wooden floor. Starting off- “And did I tell you that when she told me ‘goodnight’ it was in a tone of like-”

“Ahem.”

If there was anything that could make big, bad Sukuna quieten down, then it certainly wasn’t his advisors, or his older brother, or anything else but you. 

And all you had to do was clear your throat once to signal your intrusion, having wandered your way through the massively sprawling Estate. You’d somehow led yourself straight to him.

You bow politely, “I hope I’m not disrupting.”

“C-course not.” To your surprise, your husband speaks first. “We were just-”

“Talking about you-” You giggle as Itadori instantly runs to cling onto your arms. Excitedly squealing at a mile a minute, “Uncle Kuna says that- that he has a huuuuge crush on you and-”

“No!” Sukuna interjects in panic- that traitor. 

“And- and he liked the way you say ‘goodnight’ and-” 

“Itadori Yuji, I will pay you to stop talking.” 

You’re watching the situation like a tennis match, and Yuji does stop - for about three seconds, that is. Until his voice drops into a conspiratorially low whisper, hands cupping his mouth- “Did you know he also called an exorcist-”

“What the f- I did not?” Husky bass damn near cracking, he rips the little boy away from you. “Scram, gremlin.”

Pushing at his back to make the toddler waddle away and give the two of you some space, Sukuna hastens to straighten up and puff his chest out. Making sure that the loose fabrics of his training yukata would slip aside to flash you with a sliver of his toned pecs, glistened with a thin layer of sweat. 

And when - only when - he catches your eyes dipping downwards, he clears his throat—smooth, Ryomen Sukuna. You’ve made people disappear, you can do smooth- “H-hi.”

His vocals crack.

Nearly passing out from the shame - but you don’t seem to mind. “Hi to you, too. I see you’re working hard?”

“Yeah- I mean no.” As you raise a brow, “Who needs ta work hard when you’re just good?”

“Is that so?” It’s a blatant brag, but one that didn’t go unsubstantiated. Your eyes drift to the side to where targets had been lined along the distant wall, each of them punctured right through the middle with a sharp arrow. “Oh, that’s impressive. I don’t think I could ever-”

“Would ya like to try?”

You’re nearly as shocked as Sukuna at the words that escape his mouth, before he can mull and chew over them first. But that swiftly melts into a look of eagerness once you nod- being handed his hefty bow.

“It’s heavier than normal.” Before you know it, he’s sidled up behind you. Leaned down so close that his warm breath blankets your neck- pointed chin hitting somewhere by your temple, tense core pushed up against you. 

So close. Easily, two of Sukuna’s hands help you hold the weight of his massive bow, and another two fall down to your waist to guide you. “Easy there, mama.”

“Th-thank you-” You’re find yourself stammering from the pure intimacy. And it was just so unfair how pliable he found you - heart racing, mind spinning at the thought - angling you bodily to face the targets. “So I just pull and release, then?”

“Mhm. You pull reeeal hard.” Deep, throaty. You’re noticing just how warm his hands were when they’re on yours, helping you pull, pull, pull back on the feathery edge. “Breathe in reeeeal slow.” You do, and you feel him match yours. “Position it.”

His honed strength helps you find the target, and his hands- oh, but his hands were nearly making you lose sight of the bullseye. “Aaand-” Two of his rough palms draaaagging down your sides for stability for him to tower over you, and then two more gently rubbing over your hands for reassurance as you- “-shoot.”

Schwing–!

It lands dead-center in the bullseye.

He grins, “Hell yeah.” 

“Yes!” You’re hissing, bow still in your arms as you leap into Sukuna’s. It was a brief embrace, just the quickest few seconds - but your husband nearly melts.

With your face tucked into the crook of his neck- his eyes nearly bulge out of his sockets, four massive palms hovering in the air like he didn’t know what to do with himself. In a flash, you’re reaching ‘round your body to let him rest them on your back, and he gasps, “O-oh-”

“Oh?” With a slight chuckle, you pull back, and he nearly whines in agony. But this was the Ryomen Sukuna, of course he can hold it back…to merely a slight grunt of pain. “Thank you for teaching me.”

“Thank you for being my wife-”

“Pardon?”

“Nevermind- I uh-” All four palms come up to cover his face in utter horror- it had been going so well if it wasn’t for the clan leader’s big mouth. Everyday was seemingly an unfortunate reminder that he was related to the blabbermouths that were Jin, Yuji, and…

Speaking of, where was Yuji?

Little did he know that a certain pink-haired toddler was holding a certain group of elders hostage behind the screens that led to the dojo’s entrance. Their bodies, formerly leaned over the doorway to spy on the couple, were now crouched on the floor. 

Disappointed- how could their revered clan leader not take the bait? Impotency strikes again.

But, right now, the masterminds were slightly more occupied with something else. Fingers to mouths, voices in whispers- begging the little boy standing in front of them to remain quiet.

But Yuji only smiles, standing proudly in front of them. He whispers, “Do you wanna play hide and seek?”

The council of the greatest minds in the household look at each other, “Uh…no?” Unsure of what else to say to the boy.

Before their ears are pierced by the most noisy child-like shriek of Sukuna’s name—“Uncle Kunaaaaa—it’s the exorcists!”

An arrow shoots their way. And by the way it strikes precisely into the wooden panels between the elders’ heads, precisely where it didn’t harm anything but their motivations, their egos, and perhaps slightly their heart conditions - they’re guessing it was their loving clan leader that shot it.

.

.

.

Sukuna always did hate stuffy clan meetings.

The ones where documents were piled into columns taller than himself, council men and women spoke over each other to try and earn his attention, and he had to act for hours like he actually tolerated the guest invited that day. All in the name of ah- politics, or whatever. 

And today was much the same - except for one shocking, sudden surprise. You. 

You, seated directly opposite him on the large round table now that you were officially part of the clan. You, perfectly positioned for him to take in every pretty inch of you. You, who he’d give anything just to have beside him and chatting his ear off, or helping with his papers.

And, honestly, with a view like that he wouldn’t even complain about being forced to discuss- what was it again-

“The socioeconomic impacts of clan bonding activities and how they-” Choso - who’d recently started attending for education on the clan - drones in such tired monotone, shrugging at their two-toned guest, Zenin Naoya, without looking up from where he was doodling on some contract. “-could really benefit from those.”

“Tch- don’t talk like I didn’t know that, brat.” Sukuna narrows his eyes down at his eldest nephew.

Only to get a withering eyebrow raise in return, “Well, did you?”

“Yes…” No-

And almost as if he could read the pure lie on his uncle’s face, the middle-schooler has the audacity to put his pencil down and grin. More interested in the happenings of the meeting than he had been in four hours now. “Oh really? Well then, dear uncle of mine, would you care to explain to your nephew who comes up with these bonding activities?”

“The fuck do I look like? Stupid? It’s…Jin.” It was a guess, no one else would do something like that. He turns his face away from Choso and towards you. Politely laughing at something that the person next to you had said-

“And why is it important?”

He grumbles, this damn kid. Absent-mindedly- because oh, how was he expected to focus when your lips move to talk so prettily. As if in slow motion, like in those sappy movies Jin loved. “Uh, socio-something or the other-”

“And what do we hope to get out of today?”

“Erm-” Furrowing his brows, laser-focused on wracking his brain when- you turn his way. All you have to do is look at him for Sukuna to blurt- “Six kids, a summer house, and pets of her choice.” 

In stunned silence, Choso only gravely draws a tally count. 

You: 3

Sukuna: -478

“Oi- I’m at least in the double digits-”

“I think you have bigger things to worry about.” He muters, jabbing a pencil in your direction. “Your wife’s about to get stolen.”

And oh.

Ryomen Sukuna didn’t take kindly to snapping his head over and recognizing that slight glint in Naoya’s eyes; the way his mouth curled up meanly, body leaning just a tad closer to yours whenever you pulled back. Not kindly at all. 

Worst of all, he’d just been hit with the realization that it was that rat bastard who’d been making you laugh while he’d been stuck with duties. 

Simply on opposite ends of the room, and yet, it feels like an eternity until the hulking clan leader rises from his seat. Feet pounding their way over to where you were, your eyes raise instantly-

“Oh, there you are.” You start to smile - only for it to falter, coldly, at the shadowed expression on Sukuna’s face. He looked like he’d just seen a raging ghost, and his expression was downturned as such. 

You couldn’t pinpoint whether it had been the stress or the fact that the future heir to the Zenin clan couldn’t take a hint. But you’re trying to soothe him, “You looked quite busy-”

“I was, ah-” He was always weak to anything you said, “-bonding…activities…socioeconomics.”

Sarcastically, “How riveting.”

“No need to worry, I kept her company, though.” An annoying, grating voice bursts through your bubble. And before you can do anything to stop him, Naoya has his arm thrown ‘round the back of your seat. Around the room, one by one, the elders were starting to turn in their own chairs. Discussions dropping to whisper- “And my father always does commend my networking skills, clan leader Sukuna.”

And you think Sukuna might burst. You think he might just rip into him-

But, no. Instead, he breaks out into a smile, “Ah, young master Zenin, huh? Didn’t notice ya there.” A smile that was just slightly jarring, slightly…dangerous. “I see you have met my wife. Quite charming, isn’t she?”

“Yes yes, quite beautiful.” Naoya waves off with a chuckle, elbowing the taller man where he could reach. Huffing, “Though, I must say, it’s quite smart to let the wife inside a clan meeting. Gives you something to look at, at least.”

You seethe, brows furrowing, “Pardon-” But your husband already has a hand signalling you to seat yourself back down comfortably. A commotion was starting to stir by now, and if anyone was going to make a mess of clan politics and reap the consequences, it would be him.

He could and would take the fall for you.

“Young master Naoya.” He declares in a booming voice, “The Itadori clan has decided that we would so ah- love to indulge you in a practical example of our very own bonding activities.”

As you tilt your head in slight confusion - this certainly wasn’t part of the meeting agenda, and the council seemed to notice it, too, Naoya hums. “Oh?”

“Right now. You’re welcome.”

“What? Now? But-” 

As the lanky man scrambles in his seat, Sukuna grasps the very back and topples Naoya right out of it. “No no, let me.” And all it takes is one hand to lift their guest straight into midair and march him out of the room. 

The door slams shut behind the duo.

And you didn’t need to hear the yelps, or the punches, or the begs for mercy to know exactly what your husband had in mind as a ‘bonding activity.’ 

It seemed the member of the Zenin clan would be leaving here bruised for his words, and it seemed that the elders were strangely…excited at the notion? Buzzing impatiently, tittering to each other. 

It only increases twofold as Sukuna re-enters the meeting hall - knuckles suspiciously bruised, and notably without a pompous heir behind him - and you find yourself fighting back a smile. Muttering some half-hearted lecture about treating guests well, which he seems to lap every word of, you end it off by reaching upwards and kissing the side of Sukuna’s cheek. 

Fleeting and innocent.

But the elders gasp-

“Oh my god- oh my god, it’s happening—”

“My money’s on a girl child being the firstborn-”

“-maybe he’s only half-impotent-”

Keen eardrums catching the whispers and congratulations, you only have the time to catch the tips of his cheekbones smearing bright red - before the clan leader stumbles back out of the meeting room.

“Oh, I think I jinxed it-”

Choso, meanwhile, crinkles his nose and reaches for his eraser and pencil once more. 

Sukuna: -477

“Gnarly.”

.

.

.

“Uncle Kuna—-!” It was inevitable that every single person inside of Yuji’s cute lil’ kindergarten would end up knowing when his father wouldn’t be able to pick him up, and his uncle would arrive instead.

For one, it was all he would talk about the day beforehand. And two, they’d all hear his shrill squeal- except, most students and teachers used to this little ritual were probably shocked at the scream that followed after. “Mama—!”

And you were just as caught off-guard. 

Somewhere, in the distant bushes at the very end of the kindergarten playground, a few elders and Itadori Jin fistbump one another. All those lessons, not gone to waste!

“Ah- Yuji?” You’re fighting the way your voice wobbles in surprise, and it felt like a tiny cannonball had been shot at you with the way he runs straight to you. “What did you say, baby?”

Somewhat confused, two large eyes peak up at you. And his voice is tiny, “Mama?”

Ruffling the curly pink locks of Yuji’s hair, you just-so-happen to glance at the boy’s uncle. Your husband. Who was currently steaming from his ears and flushed bright crimson, veins bulging at his forehead, mouth opening and closing stupidly. “I- you- who-”

He was speechless.

Barely even breathing- honestly, you’re hit with the slight urge to reach forwards and feel for Sukuna’s pulse before a calm voice breaks through. “Ah! I see Yuji’s favorite uncle is here today.” A soft, bowl-cut man claps his hands as he walks up. Your eyes drop down to his nametag and read ‘Haibara.’ “And you must be-”

“My wife-” Sukuna spits out, before another word can leave Haibara’s mouth. “My wife, Jin could never pull anyone like-”

“Excuse my husband.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

With yourself properly introduced - this time with names - you find yourself laughing along to one of Haibara’s anecdotes of Yuji, something to do with a dare and attempting to eat a terribly finger-shaped stick. He smiles breezily at you and hums, “He’s a good kid, and seems to be very fond of you. You should come visit more often.”

“Well, I hope to.” Grinning right back, you squeeze Yuji’s squirming body as Sukuna takes off his tiny back-pack. And you can’t help but think that it all felt so…domestic. 

Evidently, the cozy atmosphere had been obvious. Haibara ponders out loud, “Forgive me for asking, but do the two of you plan on having children soon? You seem like you’d be wonderful parents.”

Oh, you look at Sukuna. And Sukuna doesn’t meet your eyes, though, with his face turned straight ahead- what you could see was the way the tips of his ears were slowly starting to redden.

It seems like ages, it seems like he was waiting for your answer just as Haibara innocently was. And your mouth opens-

“Mister Haibawa, Yuji’s uncle can’t be a parent, he’s already an exorcist.” What the f—the trio of adults snapped their heads down to see that a black-haired boy - another Zenin, confound it - had just tugged on his teacher’s sweater. Butting into the conversation- Sukuna thinks he could recall this boy’s name, something Gummy? Megumi?

“Oh?” Then it wasn’t an orange-haired girl on his other side, “My mommy says he’s unemployed.”

“That, too.”

Somewhere, in the distant bushes at the very end of the kindergarten playground, a few elders and Itadori Jin facepalm. All those lessons, gone to waste!

“Well I don’t think he can be a parent because he looks stupid.” This time, one burly boy with a buzzcut enters the scene. And he was sparing no punches, both metaphorically and literally - he knocks out a good few backhands against Sukuna’s core. 

“That, too.”

“He doesn’t look stupid, Todo.” His nephew whines at him- that’s his boy! 

Sukuna could almost shed a tear, oh, how proud he was. So proud, in fact, that he’s hoisting the babbling boy over his shoulders without a second thought. 

Maybe Jin hadn’t completely failed as a father, after all. Maybe the boy wasn’t a hopeless case and had actually come to appreciate the strong, kind parental figure that was his uncle- “He just looks sorta stupid when he thinks he’ll embarrass himself in front of his wife. Because he does that a lot. That’s all.”

“Like the time with the exorcist.” Megumi nods, sagely.

“Like the time with the exorcist.” Yuji agrees, smacking the top of Sukuna’s head. 

“There- there was no time with the exorcist.” The clan leader tries to clarify to an extremely confused Haibara. 

And the girl - Nobara, according to the nametag on her glittery back-pack - points up at him, accusing. “I like his hair. He also can’t be a parent because he wears wigs.”

Sukuna growls, “You’re just jealous, bob-cut-”

You furrow your brows, “Do you wear wigs?”

“No.”

Yuji giggles, “Will you wear wigs?”

“No-”

“When will you wear wigs?” 

“Never!” Honestly, children these days. He damn near pounces on Haibara, who’d asked that last question.

Megumi - honestly what was this kid’s problem - seems to pipe up for the sake of piping up, “And he steals candy from babies.”

“That was one time-”

“Hey hey-” Without warning, Todo was tugging on Sukuna’s trousers to gain his attention. Snickering as the older man looks down with the most weary face in existence, “You wanna learn how to actually impress fine shyt?”

“What is…fine sh-”

“That’s enough for today. I think.” Their teacher claps his hands, “And Todo Aoi what have I told you about using certain words? Don’t think I won’t have a talk with your guardian again, young man.” Flustered, he throws an apologetic look your way before corralling his tiny students inside. “Now- inside!”

You can finally breathe a sigh of relief - finally, finally. 

Though, you don’t know what bewilders you more - the fact that they listen, or the fact that Todo was the only one that didn’t. And it was all because of the fact that he had Ryomen Sukuna kneeled down to match his height, mouth snarling, but head nodding intently to whatever Todo was whispering in his ear. You look at Haibara, and he shrugs just as helplessly.

“Umm…mister Haibara?” Another one. The pink-haired man’s soul damn near leaves his body as another teeny, toddling monster starts pulling on the teacher’s sweater. 

Likely expecting an encore of the chaos just prior, his smile stretches thin. “Yes, Toge?” And you, too, start praying that it wasn’t any more love advice, or choice words about Sukuna’s character.

Pale hair cut into severe bangs, the boy mumbles in a small voice, “There’s some old men in the bushes.”

Ryomen Sukuna has never run up to a bush to kick it so fast. 

And, later, with Jin left explaining to the teachers and the elders still walking off their bruises, he found himself walking down a softly sunlit road with you. Yuji now fast asleep on his shoulders, and you by his side.

It was a perfect day. Made only more perfect by the gentle tugging of your husband’s fingers towards yours, in midair. In all his years, it’s perhaps the scariest thing he’s done. They hesitate, and then they reach - the slow curves of his digits gliding down your wrist, before interlocking with yours. Warm. Firm. And yet, softer than his palms have ever felt. 

He thinks he catches you smiling, and Sukuna thinks Todo’s advice might not have been so bad after all. 

And from a nearby bush, Itadori Jin pumps his fist in success. Impotency or not, not a complete waste, then.

.

.

.

One night a week later, the elders decide, push should come to shove.

Literally; cold towels were thrust into your hands before you’d been shoved through the damp wooden gates of the Itadori household’s bathroom. It was the largest one, special in the way a large portion of the room was occupied by a steaming hot spring.

And from your position at the very edge of the humid chamber, you could see the toned shoulders of Ryomen Sukuna. Back turned to the door, just the upper half of his body was peaking out of the water. Glistened with dampness, deltoids flexed as he leans his elbows back against the floor.

You’re semi-glancing behind you at the members of the council that had all but thrown you inside- something about ‘marital bonding.’ Which was really just a way for them to take care of their head’s little ah…rumored problem. 

To them, it was perfect - your gorgeous wife comes up to you in a hot spring and…helps. What more could he want? After all, there’s nothing wrong with impotency - there was just something wrong with their clan leader.

You’re game either way.

And you gently knock against the wall to denote your entrance, before walking up to where Sukuna was gawking from now. “Wh-what are you doing here?”

“Helping.” You reply simply, wringing the towels before folding them over his heated forehead. “Do you wish for me to leave-”

“N-no!”

It comes out faster than he’d have liked, more hitched than he would have liked. Honestly, the sentence barely even leaves your lips before Sukuna sits up straighter. Letting sploshes of scalding water drip down his abs, he leans further back against your touch. “I mean- stay.”

“Mhm, I heard you had a long day.”

“The worst, mama.” And part of his response is half-grunted with the way you’ve now situated yourself properly behind him. With your lap now a bed for his damp head, fingers weaving through those coral pink locks. “Had to refurbish the dojo, then take care of the problem with that damn Zenin brat…then donate to Yuji’s…kindergarten, then…promote a few elders… and one I had to…” Heavier and heavier, he was sinking into you with each nimble movement of your fingertips. “-fuck.”

“You fucked an elder before you fucked me?” You raise a brow in humor.

“Huh- no!” He’s growling, steam curling from the water. And as you’d briefly halted your ministrations to tease him, he guides your hands back to move. “I would never…eugh. Shit, can’t even imagine doing somethin’ like that with anyone but you.”

Suddenly, it’s silent. Except for the slow curdle of the water, and the soft grunts that Sukuna was oh-so-desperately trying to bite back. 

Fuck, he was so handsome.

Such naturally chiselled muscles, and dark circular tattoos on just about every joint he had. 

You massage his burning temples, slipping down into the longish length of his hair. “Oh, is that so? And do you imagine it often with me, clan leader Sukuna?”

“Stop being such a fuckin’ tease.” Hissing, Sukuna’s prominent Adam’s apple bobs as he practically begs. And he looked so pretty when he was begging; brows upturned, mouth unintentionally pouty. “How can I help myself?”

“And am I doing anything to stop that?”

“Yes-” Forgoing the massage, Sukuna now stops your right hand. Holding it tightly as he turns his head and presses a kiss to the tender inside of your wrist, hot with water and his blush. “Just existing is enough.”

“Sukuna…”

Your mouth parts, and it’s like a string being drawn- your lips are on his. It’s messy, with the way he’d angled himself from upside down, tilted up just to sliiide the plushness of his mouth across yours. It’s light, like he was holding himself back.

And you knew what he was capable of.

Which was likely what made you reach for the back of his head, pulling him in to deepen the kiss. Gasping, your mouth just barely parts for his hungry maw to clasp ‘round your sugary tongue. Sucking—before-

Before a button clicks, and suddenly the bathroom walls are trembling with lyrics singing ‘I just had sex—’

You could’ve caught whiplash with how fast you’re both staring at the entrance: meeting with the sight of the several elders, Wasuke, and a ridiculously large boombox. Piled onto an embarrassing heap on the floor, they’d seemingly fallen over- likely from their spying over one corner of the door. 

‘And it felt so good—’

“Wrong one dammit- this is what Wasuke was on music.” You’re catching one of them murmur. Just about the only thing they have time for before scurrying away - leaving the boombox very, very behind. And you don’t have to look behind you to know that Ryomen Sukuna was likely seething enough to make the spring water itself bubble. 

Sukuna growls, “Fucking George Michael.”

“Actually I think that’s Akon.”

Sukuna slams his open palm against the edge of the pool, and you have to open up your palms to stop yourself from being splashed. He murmurs, more to himself, “All because I didn’t wanna fuckin’ scare you- not that they’d-”

“Wait, why’d you think you’d scare me?” You ask in confusion.

To which he looks at you in genuine bewilderment, as if that wasn’t even worthy to be a question. “You’re beautiful.” He states, like there were no truer words. 

Before gesturing at himself- those naturally rosy locks, the four arms, the faint slash across his abs where they said his second mouth was to be. Cursed with strength, cursed with power, cursed with looks that defined him as something more than human. “Look at me- just fuckin’ look at me. And that’s not all- how shall I be expected to live a normal marriage when I’ve been cursed from birth? I only ask for forgiveness that I’d been selfish with my choice of you, my wife-”

“Well, I don’t forgive you.” 

It’s silence, and he looks torn between hanging his head in understanding, and taking your words head on.

“Because I think you’re beautiful, too.” You say it honestly. “My beautiful husband.”

And, for not the last time that night, the big, bad cursed Sukuna blushes.

‘Felt so good~’

.

.

.

“Sh-shit—” Your back arches lewdly, allll the way back until your naked, puffy core could reach as much of Sukuna’s mouth as possible. “Think I like it better when you’re like- ngh, this.”

Just a few minutes and one rapid trip to your bedroom later found you with your previous clothes in a heap across Sukuna’s bedroom floor. Your thighs shakin’, hips bucking wildly as you straddled his mouth—no, not his first. 

You were riding his second mouth.

The wildly monstrous one slashed across the middle of his stomach, large and hungry. He’d gaped it open immediately once you’d clamored up his washboard abs, letting the curled tip of his second tongue slide deftly between your inner thighs.

Playfully flickering in patterns straight up to the target of your cunt-

“Haaah, so you’ve decided you like- mmm, this mouth more than me?” One of his four hands teasingly dips downwards to grace your pussy with a solid spank. 

So loud, so wet that it makes his cursed mouth lick its lips in greed. “Really not gonna talk t’me now then? Not even through these lips?” Another one. And it’s letting off the rawest slurp that muffles your own squeal- “Though, I think she disagrees, huh, baby?”

Through gritted teeth, you somehow manage to force out, “Shut up-”

“Alright alriiiight.” Sukuna trails off, seemingly back to focusing on the ministrations of his tongue. 

Your eyes are dangerously on the verge of criss-crossing as he glissades it up every bead of slick escaping you. Laid flat n’ draaaaagging across every inch of skin he could reach, the flexible tip of his tastebuds were just barely touching your treacly folds when-

Spank!

Even harder this time. And your mind whirls stupidly at the stinging sensation that just felt so good- “N-ngh, fuck–”

You were bending so cutely on top of him, and Sukuna can’t help but lean his hulking figure further down the king-sized mattress. “Atta girl.” Bucking up so that you’re fully seated on top of his second mouth now, slick dribbling all down his obliques, his cursed tongue glued to your clit. 

Sticking between your folds, his pinkish tastebuds rover ‘round and ‘round that fat nub where you were most sensitive. Just barely gurgling out, “And here I th-thought you were shy-” 

“And here I thought you were dumbified, hmpf.” With a roll of his eyes, your husband chuckles. “Guess not yet.”

It was as much a warning as he would give you - and it wasn’t a warning at all.

Before the fat girth of his finger is rudely pryin’ apart your pussylips and shoving the first few inches inside. Until you’re being spearheaded by him, he’s trying to scope every inch of you. He’s trying to snake his muscle in until he’s probed into every nook n’ cranny.

“F-fuuuuuck—” Sukuna groans out, watching through half-lidded peripherals at the way your tight hole was trying to suck him up. So thick, he can count every throb of your walls around him, one-two-three-four- “Are we sure yer not dumbified- hah, already? Look how fucking wet ya are, mama.”

“N-ngh, Kuna—”

Your whines are botched with pants, after each time his finger is swabbing its way inside. Fitting in two- moving in the slightest half-ruts just to fit inside- again. And again and again.

Each passing second had him probin’ into a new corner of your pussy - and yet, it still wasn’t enough for the clan leader. Which is why Sukuna finds his tongue slithering back and forth your folds, pushing them apart until he was given a front row seat to your depravity. “See? A damn- fuck- waterpark. Are ya always like this or m’I just special, huh?”

“You’re not gonna be special if you- mmpf, talk so- ngh, much-” The stretch is so incredible that you’re forced to bite down on the gummy insides of your cheek. A necessity if you didn’t want to wake the entire house up tonight.

But Sukuna had other plans.

Rose brows raising in slight surprise, “Ohhhh? That good, huh?” The edges of his sleazy grin twitch once he’s tuggin’ on your dripping wet entrance even further, pumping in the expanse of a third lengthy finger. “M’just gonna take that as a sign m’special~”

“Kuna-”

Oh, you were just so pretty huffin’ and puffin’ atop him like this. It’s enough to make his second mouth slobber with greed, edging dangerously towards the circle of your stuffed hole. “Alright alriiight. Brace yourself, baby.”

“Brace m- wha- oh.”

Before you know it, his fat fingerpads are pushed oh-so-deeply inside. So deep that you think he’s filling out every drivelling orifice, pumping furiously. 

Sukuna fucks you with his fingers like he’s trying to make you remember. Like he’s trying to hook into all of your sweetest spots, the ridges of his joints brush up slightly against your g-spot. You mewl, “It’s so- oh, I’ve never felt so full-”

“Yeahhhh- those fingers of yours can’t do this, huh? Poor thing.” Fauxly cooing, he’s rovering you so open. Your husband’s fingers were so big that he didn’t even have to try to leave you trembling- to leave you whimpering as he pulls out in a quick split-second.

Wordlessly despite your disappointed cries, you crack your teary eyelids open to find that Sukuna was slipping off the silver metal wedding ring off of one of his left hands. And pushing it down onto his slick-glazed right hand- before thoroughly thrusting. “S’gonna be a stretch- gonna be a biiig stretch. You can take it, mama.”

“C-can I?” Your thighs twitch stupidly at the frigid feeling of his ring scraping your soft insides. 

This way, you could pinpoint the exact way he was moving inside of you: in and out in and out, curling to hit your g-spot. 

And Sukuna can tell the exact moment his stirrin’ fingers target your most sensitive spot- because you’re panting, you’re bucking. You’re throwing your head back once he plunges his slick-glazed fingers out to do it all over again and again, until his knuckles hit your pussylips raw. “Hell yeah, ya can. How’re you gonna, mmm, take all of me if you can’t even- oh, take these, hm?”

You’re pouting, “I-I can…”

“What’s that?”

In an effort to prove it to him, you bounce your hips right back into his sloppy cadence. “I can-” And it only makes your cunt squelch even louder the closer you are to his slippery tongue. 

“You can?”

“Y-”

His hips jerk upwards roughly, grazing that ridged texture of his tastebuds from the very bottom of your pussy, up, up, up to the tip of your slope. And it’s loud. “You can?” Your heart races, it’s only then that you realize he wasn’t talking to you - he was talking to your other pair of lips. “Then take it- take- ngh.”

Harder and harder. His probin’ mess was reaching a fever point and you’re rubbing yourself pathetically on the prolonged muscle of his tongue. 

And the more ravenous his cursed mouth became - edging his globular tip nearer n’ nearer to your stretched-out hole - the more ruined he was becoming. Bucking himself up animalistically, two hands of his control the grindin’ of your hips- manhandling you down just enough so that the wetness of your cunt just barely touches his rock-hard cocks. 

“F-fuck!” You’re whining at the feeling of two thick mushroomy tips touching your skin. 

And Sukuna doesn’t touch himself- no matter how many hands he has. Having you on top of him like this would be a sure-fire way to cream himself in his pants before he even started. His pretty lips wobbling, eyes scrunching closer the harder his aching erections throbbed. 

He was so sexy. And you can’t stop yourself from staring- something he notices even when he’s in this state. “Wh-what?” Flinching at the sheer intensity, “The fuck are ya looking at, huh?”

“I’m just th-thinking…” And you have to stop yourself from moaning as he pulls out his plump fingers in punishment. They were glistening, dripping with so much of your juicy sap that Sukuna sucks clean in front of you. 

Before slipping back in—“That I’d- oh- love to make you, mmm, shut up.”

Rolling his crimson eyes, “Oh, you’d love to make me shut up, huh?” And he was so smug. So sure of himself…until the leader catches onto the way you’d been rutting against his second mouth. Riding. And, slowly, those hazy peripherals of his widen- “Fuck…don’t tell me-”

You only nod.

“-you seriously wanna be fucked by my cursed mouth?”

Nodding drunkenly again-

“O-oh.” His head falls back into the satin pillows as you’re slipping it in, the slimy tendril of his tongue finally scouring into where he’d wanted to for so long now. 

It feels incredible. 

Finally hooking ‘round your tight entrance to push in, in, in—he’s just so big that once Sukuna’s unfurling his greedy tongue, it feels damn near never-ending. And you felt so tight pulsing around him, squeezing him inside once, twice, thrice. “Ya- ya really are gonna be the death of me- fuck!”

You start to ride him and it makes the big, bad Ryomen Sukuna mooooan, twitching his way inside of you. Since you were already softened up by his fingers, it was easy work for him to pull out and immediately replace himself with those rude tastebuds of his. 

Straightened out so he can probe around your walls, the length of his cursed tongue was pumping n’ pumping.

You’d never felt anything like this before. And you swear you see the mouth on his belly chuckle darkly as he fucks you like he would with his cocks. Salivating. Sploshing your poor insides until you have him memorized. 

Sukuna’s tongue swerves along your walls until he brushes the very back of your cervix, softly mushing it in. Again. And again. And again—“Fuh-fuuuuck—” You’re gurgling out, wet wads of saliva dribbling down each side of your lips. “Who’s the one dumbified now?”

“Wh-what- ngh-” His eardrums were popped from the pure pressure, barely able to make out your words.

And through the constant rams of his tongue, you manage to string together- “I-I said, who’s the- oh, dumbified one n- oh!”

“You.” In that very moment, he has his bumpy tastebuds glued to your g-spot, his hips arching right off the tense bedsprings, core tensed. Sukuna slashes his cursed mouth into your favorite area and grooooans, “Still you.”

Mouth prattling nonsensically, “Th-that’s cheating-”

“Nuh uh.”

He squeezes your perked clit with the tips of his rude fingers, still with the ring on one of them. And the backs of your eyes explode with white-hot pleasure at the dual pleasure - his tongue fucking you ferally, his digits teasing your clit. “Yes it is- hngh, because it’s gonna make me…”

Cum.

You were so close, you could feel it in each swab of his tongue. Gaped open even wider for the most maximum movements, each thrash is angled just right against your g-spot.

Just right to stretch out your glistening walls until they’re taking the shape of him. And he hums, “Yeahhhhh— all over.” Your clingy slick is drenching his abs by now, like a waterfall that he’s scooping up with a fourth hand. 

One on your clit, two on your hips to move you pliably up n’ down his length, and his final one getting absolutely soaked. Sukuna brings them up to his primary mouth to suck off the layers of candied slick, smearing it all over his lips like some delicacy. “Yeah, allll over now, mama. Make a hah- mess of me.”

Your jaw unfastens as you watch him clean himself off, every single drop. “Oh my…hngh.”

“What? Mmm, jealous?” Ruder, harder. It was just so sloppy how his mouth rovered all over your cunt, slippin’ and slidin’ back and forth at a constant pace. “Maybe if you were, hah, patient, you could’ve gotten that.”

“As if I’d want that…” You’re huffing, stubborn.

“My wife, you’re just- about- to cum- on me.” The space between each word is slashed with a push of his rovering fat tip, and a thorough squeeze on your clit.

To which you’re shooting back- “And you were about to cum- ngh, untouched.”

And you think he’ll tease you back. You think he’ll bully you until you’re driven mad - but Ryomen Sukuna was moaning in agreement.

Speeding up the pace of his velvety tongue, he’s slithering it with a deep bash against your g-spot. Grunting, “Can you blame me?” Harder. Something at the back of his throat cracks. He begs, “Such a pretty, oh, fuckin’ wife like you and- and I’m expected to stay calm?”

Hiccuping, “I- I don’t- Kuna, I’m not gonna last-”

Faster. “M’expected not to get pussydrunk? Expected to not fucking- lose it. F-fuck-” Sloppier. 

And you don’t get to hear what the tail end of his sentence might have been. Because with a few more vulgar strokes, you’re breaking apart—cumming. 

Lids cracking with tears, lips wobbling out whines.

His name, over and over again. Your cute noises are so loud that he has half the mind to wonder whether those damn elders will hear, “Cum—ing-” You announce, belatedly. Body shaking with each peak of your high, “Feels so- so good, oh.”

“Does it, now?” He babbles away, drunk on your honeyed pussy. The sheer primal clench of your walls almost made it hard for him to fuck you through your wave of bliss. “Good- good, atta girl, cream all down my t-tongue now.”

The curvaceous tip of his tongue was constantly pricking your g-spot, and it only drags out your orgasm even further. Until you were nothing but a sobbing mess, “Am- oh, I am.”

“Mhmmm— go ahead.” Your thighs twitch, head dropping backwards as the last few dredges of your high are pounded away. “Go ahead- take it. Take it all out on me.” With a few twinges of electricity that zap down your spine, you can finally manage to crack open your eyes. 

But you notice that just as you’ve reached your high, Sukuna did, too. 

Or, at least, he was trying oh-so-desperately not to.

As your pace lazes, his two hands on your waist glide down to his plump, aching erections. Both sets of thumbs rover on top of his leaking orifices, squeezing just so he won’t leak out in cum. Stopping himself from cumming untouched. 

And that makes you huff, “Kuna…” Your newfound nickname for him makes him flush, and you instantly swat away his hands. “Want it now.”

“Cheh-” Those hazy, blood-red eyes of his narrow, and somewhere in the distance, you can hear the tight snap of his underwear being pulled. “What a spoiled lil’ wife…”

But that wouldn’t stop him from indulging you, of course.

Sukuna breathes in heavy puffs, and you barely even have the time to catch yours before he’s immediately clawing onto the right side of your ass cheek with one hand.

Usin’ that sinful leverage to manhandle you straight down onto one of his plush tips, the thick circumference of his shaft throbs against your hole and you moan. Head snapping down- “Fuck.”

Oh, fuck.

He was so…big.

And that was being humble- you’d come to learn that not only was Sukuna gifted with extra height and limbs, he was gifted with extra size too. 

Two fat, veiny lengths laid between two meaty thighs, they were colored the prettiest tan flush on their tips. Dribbling down heaps of precum that puddled between the two of you. By now, the curly pink hairs at the bottom of his bases were already drenched, and his ballsack was so tight with need. 

 Sukuna was so hard that every throb was visible. So big that it made your thighs squeeze together.

Mentally, you’re calculating just how it might be possible for him to fit inside you. Before his rough tone cuts off your thoughts, “Ah ah- we can count together, mama. Say it w’me now-” 

“Wha- one!” Almost laughable, he’s then bullying in just the thickened front of one cock. They were stacked vertically, and as you get pierced by the lower one, his upper one was rubbin’ primally on your front. 

Sukuna’s mean fingers draw an invisible line from up your treacly slit, measuring. “Mmm- s’more like two inches.”

“Two-” You blabber, “Then how much more-”

“Guess we’ll just have to find out, heh~”

And he meant it.

Before long, Sukuna was fucking up into you furiously. Ferally. Thrust after half-thrusts just to fit his incredible size inside, “Tha’s about four…mmm, more three.” He’s drunk on your pussy, counting away how many solid, sopping inches managed to be squeezed in each time. In a split-second, your poor pussy’s being spanked. “You too, baby.”

“It’s just so- ngh—” Your head throws back for the nth time tonight, singing in synchronization with the creaks of the bed. 

It’s like he was jackhammerin’ you, mazing your slick-filled insides with the globe of his cockhead. Sukuna was so long that it was easy to massage your every sweet spot- again and again. “Whaaaat? Can’t take it? Fuck, wee’re only about-” On your tummy, he measures out how far he’d slid inside by now. “S-six inches, still. About halfway?”

Your eyes bulge—halfway?

It’s a shock so large that the rest of your body loosens up, weakened. Just perfect for him to grab onto your hips, your thighs, one hand on your neck to jostle your cute body up n’ down his cock.

“S’it too much for my, mmm, good wife?” Mercilessly, he’s spitting between your ajar mouth. “Took my tongue but you can’t even take one of my cocks- aw, c’mon now, mama.”

“I-I-”

“I-I-I- whaaaat?” Octaves higher. Your husband leans in until his heated breath burns the shell of your ear, whispering, “Gonna hafta speak up, y’know? Unless ya want me to- fuck- it out- of you-”

And you always did surprise him. Because where the head of the Itadori clan expected to be met with a few sobs, a few pleas, you’re only straddling his toned hips tighter. 

Swervin’ your hips down in a dizzying figure-eight to help him stuff your cunt full of him. And even though it still wasn’t enough to bottom out completely, you look up at him through teary lashes. “I want both, Kuna.”

Sukuna’s pink lashes flutter, his breath catches. “Wh-what?” And he stutters. Oh, you’d made him stutter - just as nervous and awestruck as he was on your wedding night.

“Both.” You can only repeat the word.

Because at that very second– before your response has even graced his very ears, he’s rutting up into you like an animal. Like a dog in heat, Sukuna’s crushing your front to his abs and his cocks to your cunt.

Pap!

“Fuck…” He hisses at the sting of flesh slamming on flesh, “Eleven. What was that?”

And you’re being dumbified by the sheer stretch, not only had he started kissin’ your puckered pussylips with his second cock - he was starting to press inside. No hesitation, no waiting around for you to get used to the stretch. Sukuna was hungry. 

You somehow choke through wads of your own spit, “More- both- oh fuck!”

“What? S-say it again-” He’s like a broken record at this point, and so were his plunging cocks. Deeper n’ deeper. Your drivelling entrance was now stretched out so widely over the circumferences of his bases, sobbing just as much as you were. 

“Bo-”

“Twelve- again.”

It was a damn wonder that he could still spit out coherent words. Stammering. Heaving.

The hand of Sukuna’s that’d been caressing your front was now slithering down to cup both his shafts. Guiding them upwards to press in—“Gonna have ya take it a-all until here-” You snap your head down to see what he was talking about - only to catch a lil’ you’d missed in your observations of his size before. 

Those two ring tattoos at the base ends of his cocks.

The sight itself is so lecherous that it has you moaning- “Oh, yes- both.”

“Yeah? So sit pretty and take it, baby.” They were glistening with your sultry sap, nearly kissing your folds by now. “Allll the way until m’tattoos- got it, girl? Alllll the way until…” Stupidly, you’re nodding. And he can only breathe through clenched teeth, “Fuh-fuck! Thirteen.”

Thirteen.

Thirteen entire inches - each.

You’d finally reached the tattoos. And they were stuffed pretty n’ puffily inside you. Throb-throb-throbbing away against your every tiny orifice, Sukuna didn’t even have to try to mold your gooey cunt to him. 

As you open your mouth to demand him to move, he plunges in two of his thick fingers. Messily dragging himself towards the back of your throat, “Tch- such a dangerous fuckin’ mouth. M’gonna hafta fuck that outta ya.”

You’re whimpering, your jaw dangling agape perfectly for him to spit inside. And then his second mouth—targetting your pussy with a thick glue of spittle.

At least he was nice enough to give you an actual semi-warning this time.

Because before long, two hands are clawing at your sides. Pinning you down so that his two shafts can prick your cervix neatly, bottomed out and yet still trying to go deeper.

When he finds that futile, Sukuna bodily bounces you up n’ down his upright erections. “Oh my god- o-oh my god.” One of his angular shafts was bashing in your sponged cervix, and the other was just below n’ cutely rubbing on your g-spot. “Fuck it just feels so- good!”

“Aaaaatta girl, enjoy it.” With a hand on your throat, he bends you back into an arch. 

The pressure is almost too much - so much. You find your body naturally torn between running away and yearning for more, more, more. Though, luckily, the clan leader’s there to help you make that decision. “Nuh uh, no runnin’, baby. Put your back into it- taaaake it, you see how much she likes it?”

“Can- can hear-”

“Mhm—”

And truly, your overfilling pussy was so loud. Every splatter of precum inside you made the most primal squelches- and the volume? 

The sheer sploshes of his gooey translucent sap was enough to bloat your pussy. But now with two plump, vein-covered cocks of his probin’ your innards, he was fucking a tummy bulge into you. You gasp at the feeling, “I d-didn’t even know that was- hck! possible-”

“Heh, course it is—And y’know how to make that cute lil’ tummy bulge of yours even bigger?” Sukuna beckons you closer, like he’s about to tell you a secret.

Even though, really, he’s manhandling you like a ragdoll. Reeling you in until his scorched hot lips were grazing your own, murmuring. “I just…hafta…fuck a baby into you, my wife.”

Almost on cue - like a little preparation - both of his strawberry-red divots stream out a few beads of precum. Splattered against your walls, they drip n’ cream down the sides of your pussy and make you see stars. “I would like that- oh, I would- I would like that.”

“Mmm— and what about you?”

Evidently, your needy cunt’s in agreement, too. Because the wettest noises suddenly let off from between your legs- and only later do you realize that it wasn’t just because of how damp your pussy was. No, it was because of his second mouth.

Tonguing down the shimmery sheen of slick upon each of your thighs, he licks up every drop of juice you were leaking. Flicking the curly end of his tongue at your clit-

“Ah ah- focus on me.” Sukuna snaps you out of your high with a light spank on your slope, and a literal click of his fingers. 

“B-but how can I when it feels so goood—”

“So goooood, huh?” He drags it out purposefully, pressing his thumping veins against the roof of your channel. 

Sukuna knew the effect he had on you. He knew how to target your favorite spot in strikes so precise that it left your toes curling, vision flashing with white. “Tell me-” Right now, he had one hand smearing apart your folds to better let his tongue slip between them. Another two hands clung onto your waist to help you move, and the fourth and final was grabbing your face. Pushing your cheeks together pathetically, “Can’t focus? Awww, my poor wife. Are that- oh, useless at focusing on anything that isn’t my two c-cocks right now?”

“N-ngh, Kuna—” Cute. How cute. Your dilated pupils were swirlin’ in circles inside the whites of your eyes, comically pounded stupid after each stroke upon stroke.

“S’that the case, huh? Is that why my mouthy girl is so- oh, fuck- quiet now?” He’s almost snickering- it’s so ruthless. 

Heavy hips pressuring up into you. He was pounding you in rough thrusts, all the way from the mazing curve of his cockheads to those tickling tufts of pink at his very bottom. And Sukuna has the audacity to spit—“Fuck, mama. Do you even know your name right now?”

Your brain was too hazy, merely sparking with twitches of pleasure. You’re left blubbering nonsensically for a few seconds, until his tongue slaps your buttony clit. Startling you into answering, “I-I…”

“Heh, do you even know mine?”

“K-Kuna—” You might not remember your own name by now, but screaming Sukuna’s over n’ over had permanently branded his into your mind. 

And so you look up at your husband’s handsome, leering features for any recognition. Only to find him tutting, “Now now, how disa- oh, disappointing. I thought you’d most importantly know who I am, at least.”

“Then…clan leader?”

“Nuh uh.”

Pouting, “B-but ”

“B-b-b-but-” He’s mocking, buttery tongue now rubbin’ your nub raw. You felt overstimulated enough to press your chin between his puffy pecs, like cushions. Sheening out drool all over his skin- “Say my title before you cum, baby.” You listen with bated breath, “M’your husband. And m’always gonna be your husband.”

“M-my husband?” Your mouth drops - and you’re unsure whether it’s because of his words, or the sudden increase of his tempo. Hot and hard.

His twin, rock-hard crowns plummet all the way until you swear you can feel him poke your lungs. Throbbing at a thunderous staccato, he breathes—“Gonna be your husband that fucks you like th-thiiiis—” Punctuated by a few sloppy drags of his vein-decorated lengths, “Gonna be your husband that eats you out like m’starved.” A few hearts that he’s drawin’ on your clit with his extra prolonged tongue.

“Fuck- fuck I’m gonna—”

As your sobs break off, his roughened hand dips from your throat to the slick n’ precum dripping down your thighs. And you faintly notice the way he’s using the moisture to write out his own name—

Ryomen Sukuna. 

Signed off with a little heart on your skin, “And m’gonna be your husband that…” And a second heart right above where your womb was, where he was jackhammering into your womb like no other. Flooding it with copious knots of cum like he was practising for something else soon. 

Sukuna leans down sweetly so that his lips trace your earlobe, whispering. “-breeds this pretty pussy alllll full.” Tapping the front of your pussy, like he was just imagining it.

And that does it for you. That does it.

Before long your head falls into the crook of his neck with a dull thud, so utterly dumbified on your sudden orgasm that you can only blabber. “Kuna- Kuna—!” 

Your thighs were shaking, cunt fluttering with each spasm of pleasure.

And if Sukuna was going to fuck you through your high, he was going to fuck you through your high. Every probe of his rovering cocks increased your bliss tenfold, exact hits to your g-spot. 

Sobbing, “Please-” You can only hold onto his flexed, tattooed deltoids for dear life. Clawing down his skin due to the constant stimulation, you bow your spine backwards and meet his ferocious thrusts. Riding out the euphoria- spark after spark that made your toes curl.

Grunting, he just felt so used right now. And he loved it. “Yes yes yes- let this entire house know. Let that whole council ngh- hear how good of a husband I am to you.”

It lasts until you’re gurgling on your own whines, zaps of electricity still shooting from your cunt. “Let them-” And Sukuna dares to smush your tear-wettened cheeks together to coo, “Fuck, what’s that–? What’s that pretty mouth hafta- hngh, say t’me?”

And you somehow manage out, “I-inside.” A shaky hand of yours snakes down to part your pussylips wider, helping his roverin’ tongue. “My husband…”

Ryomen Sukuna’s eyes widen, his kiss-bitten lips part.

You could almost hear the deep, trembling gasp that he’s inhaling. Letting out only five words—“I l-love you, my wife.”

You aren’t granted the time to formulate a response- before his thick, battered cockheads start spilling out. Flooding your cunt in mere seconds, you’re just dripping down your thighs in thick clumps of his seed.

And his cursed mouth is more than happy to indulge in all the miry ribbons of sap, lickin’ all upwards until a thin, ivory gloss coats its lips. Sukuna looks down and groans, “Oh fuck- oh fuck fuck fuck fuck-”

His flush was scorching, face scrunched in pleasure. You’re purring, “You’re so pretty, baby—”

“Ah, m’so glad I married ya.” He can’t stop the lil’ confession that leaves his mouth. Heart too full- your cunt too full. And if you saw one of the strongest, most vicious clan leaders in existence smile through a fiery blush n’ his pussydrunk tears, then you mercifully don’t comment.

“M’glad I married you too, Kuna—” 

And you’d felt nothing like this before. Having his gluey cum splosh around inside of you, both of his lengths were shoved in so deeply that they were constantly coating your cervix in white. Your womb.

Your deepest orifices that leak out as Sukuna plants a hand on your tummy and presses, watching with bated breath as his seed gushes out of you like a waterfall. “Fuck- didn’t think it would be like th-this, ngh.” He was hypnotized, making an even bigger mess of you. “Didn’t think that it would be s-so…” Addictive.

He doesn’t finish his sentence. For now.

Red eyes teary, Adam’s apple gulping. You’d completely sucked him dry by the time that Sukuna was pulling out of you. The matching mushroom tips of his shafts twitching, reddened and sensitive. 

He hisses as they bob in the air for a few seconds, before-

“Kuna- oh, fuck.”

Before you were flipped over and pressed deep into the mattress. Your legs on his shoulders, your knees near your tits—and his mouth over your overstimulated cunt. 

Letting you cream all down his chin, Sukuna has to swat away his cursed mouth just to get a taste of you himself. And the moment his plush lips touch your glazed folds- you’re trying to run away. Failing. 

“Now now, my wife.” Being draaaaagged back down by all four of his big, beefy arms. Sukuna pecks exactly six open-mouthed kisses on your sloppy hole, his lengthy pinkish tongue coming out to sluuurp—“I remember something about…six heirs?”

Oh. 

.

.

.

“Y’know, there’s really nothing wrong with impotency.”

Wasuke grunts, a few elders nod. “Agreed.”

“But maybe he’s taken a vow of celibacy-”

“Maybe his dicks fell off.”

“Choso Kamo!” It was never too early in the morning for Itadori Jin to squawk at his sons, especially when they were in the middle of what was undoubtedly an exceptionally important subject of conversation - the two of you. 

He wags his butter knife like a weapon, “We do not say those words in front of Yuji, and especially not in front of our toast.” Before reality sets in and he drags a hand down his face, “But yes…that is possible…”

Wasuke deems it to be the perfect time to chime in, “Bah! I don’t care if they fell off or if they multiplied- I just want grandkids.”

“Father, might I remind you that it was you who decided to interrupt their little moment last night?” A vein pops out beside Jin’s temple, and in his periphery can see the other guilty elders shift in their seats. 

The old man does, too, but still in denial. “Slander! That is propaganda that I will not be falling for-”

“Father, we have multiple eye witnesses. I am an eye witness.”

“And what were you doing spying with us?”

“…”

As Itadori Wasuke rests his case, the winding table falls into perhaps the first quiet of the morning. Somewhat tense. Somewhat anticipating. That is, until an oblivious Yuji nearly upturns his bowl of cereal to chime in—“Exorcist-”

“What? Choso, did you let him watch your-” Jin starts- and then stops. Because then he’s seeing exactly what his youngest son was looking at - you and Sukuna.

Well, more like you in Sukuna’s arms. It seemed that you were having some trouble waddling down the Estate’s multiple flights of stairs, painstakingly taking it one at a time to enter the dining room. And he has half the mind to nearly ask what’s wrong, perhaps even get up and help you himself- until he sees it.

Oh, it was hard to miss.

He sees it, and so does everyone else within a five mile radius: the bite marks, the bruises, the slight weariness in both your eyes from lack of sleep. It almost looked as if you two had been thrown to the wolves.

And his younger brother often did forgo a shirt for breakfast, but now he’d haphazardly thrown on a yukata. One that showed off such feral scratches disappearing down his back, his neck, fuck- maybe even his thighs?

Jin drops his butter knife, Choso exits the table, and Wasuke…was he even breathing? Hell, Jin was sure that a few of the surrounding elders had honest-to-heavens fainted right then and there.

Nearly everyone knew what happened.

Except for a beaming Itadori who was the first to gain your dual attentions, squealing out a “G’morning–!” that you both reciprocate in hushed, hoarse voices. Fuck, he even swears he heard Sukuna’s gruff baritone crack.

No one comments, of course, for the dark glint in their clan leader’s eyes promised sure death if they did. Though, Jin does roll his eyes at a few of the whispering council members—

“What a glorious, wonderful day it is. I truly do believe in miracles-”

“My bets are on a girl- but a boy would also be-”

“Akon worked?”

He doesn’t think he can judge, though. Not when he’s immediately pulling out his phone to text Yuji’s teacher, Haibara, about the salacious new updates. Ah, can you blame him? You two would make the prettiest lil’ babies. 

Finally, you and Sukuna finally take your seats at the clan table. Grinning. And by the looks on your faces, Ryomen Sukuna wasn’t impotent. Not at all. 

Though, it wouldn’t have mattered anyway.

The Itadori family sips their tea.

A/N. *Also sips tea* Hope you have a lovely week!

Plagiarism not authorized.

[tonycries]

Meddle About - G.S.

Synopsis. Tall, gloomy, and really good with the g-string. There’s nothing that Geto Suguru - rockstar, campus heartthrob, lead guitarist of the Sorcerers - doesn’t have. Except for a new song idea. And you, his cute new muse.

Pairing. Geto Suguru x Reader

Content. MDNI, fem!reader, rockstar!Geto, rock band AU, meet-cutes, he’s down bad, song-writing, you’re his muse, Geto with tattoos and piercings, parties, body shots, concerts, campus gossip, pússydrúnk Geto, oraI (fem rec.), spìtting, chokìng p talking, fìngering, ringed fingers, he’s feraI, in the backseat of his car, he’s BIG, D piercings, cervìx kìssing, running from it, headIocks, manhandIing, slight impactpIay, rough s, dùmbifìcation, creampìes, cùmplay, getting together, happy ending, pet names, swéaring.

Word count. 11.6k

A/N. Y’all wanted so daddy Tony provided mwahahah…

“P-please…” Drool cascades down your mouth at an incredible pace, and your neck feels numb from how long you’ve been holding it up. 

From how long you’ve just been staring at him—Geto Suguru.

Fresh off of his latest concert, he’s delving his tongue between your folds like an animal. Like he’d been starved all throughout the night- and he can’t seem to stop. He’s got one ringed hand pressed down on your stomach, and the other rovering across your sensitive nub. 

You feel him purse his pretty lips and spit, letting the syrupy knot dribble down your thighs like a waterfall. 

Geto throws his long, inky hair back; that curved piercing on his lip glittering with the wads of your mess. And he groans, “I have to make it up to my gorgeous muse in some way, yeah?” Especially after the best set of his entire life. 

He was insane. 

And you’re wondering how the hell you even got here.

.

.

.

“Fuck-” Geto sighs between his clenched teeth, one hand gripping onto his scribbled sheets. The other runs through his hair until it’s all unruly. A few bystanders swoon- it almost makes him feel better. 

He’s pacing through the corridors of campus, solely because his bandmates had banned him from pacing inside the practice room. Long legs taking about five normal steps a stride, he absentmindedly nods at all the starstruck passerbys, the fans. 

Being in the midst of writing a new song usually does get him this way - for about a day. Two days. Maximum. 

But it’s been weeks and he hasn’t been able to jot even a single verse down, hasn’t scrambled together anything for the upcoming gig. Gojo said it was alright - that they could scrounge up something off the old EP - but Geto knew it rested on him, as lead guitarist, and vocalist. 

Imagine, an opening act with no fresh songs. 

If only he could just write—but what about? Heartbreak? Love? He’d rather write about Yaga.

“Fuck!” He spits again- just in time with your very own startled profanity. A pretty voice. 

A cute bump! before the two of you stumble backwards, colliding into each other. A plumage of papers burst into the air, and start showering the smooth tile below. Geto’s down at the mess and internally groaning; all those half-written, mostly-crossed songs mixed in with what looked like your lecture notes. Perfect.

Without looking up, he’s bending down to rifle through them, when-

“Oh, you’re in a band?”

“Yes?” Geto snaps his head up, somewhat shocked that you’re speaking to him, even though he knows he shouldn’t be. And then Geto Suguru - campus heartthrob, gets a laundry list of numbers after every concert, the untouchable - catches a glimpse of you and just…stares.

With his raven brows slightly raised, and the shapely curve of his mouth parting. Ever-so-slightly. 

“Hi.”

You have to fight back a smile, “Hi.” Was that seriously the red tint of a blush crawling across his handsome cheekbones?

Oh, he can’t stop staring.

It’s long enough that you’re clearing your throat, dropping your gaze as you pick up your own papers. “I should have probably started off with that. Sorry I uh- I just see you’ve been writing songs.”

“Trying to,” he huffs. Half-joking. 

And then the intricate metal of his ring brushes your own fingertips as you hand him one of his sheets; less song lyrics and more ugly caricatures of Nanami. He lingers the touch. It’s electric. 

It makes the forefront of his fingers twitch. Almost jolt. And they itch towards you as if trying to prolong the skin-to-skin contact, as if trying to hold onto a pen. 

It suddenly hits Geto - he needs to write. 

“Hey uh- do you have a- thank you.” His voice trails off as you catch his drift and quickly hand him a pen, Geto then rapidfire scrawls down a few words. Phrases. Not even entire sentences, just an explosion of feelings that pulsed like the thumping of his own heart. 

And then someone calls out his name - perhaps in greeting, perhaps in a yell to move off of the middle of the hallway - and his hand stops writing. Fuck- what was that? He looks at you again, and hands you back the pen, “I promise I’m not usually this unsmooth.” Holding out his hand for a handshake, your palm fits in his and he hears nothing but melodies in his head. “The name’s Geto, Geto Suguru. But you can call me Suguru, all my friends do. I’m in the band ‘Sorcerers.’”

You’re introducing yourself with your own name and he almost has the urge to write that down, too. Humming, “It’s alright, band stuff, I assume?”

“Band stuff.” You were walking with him now, side-by-side.

“Keyboard?”

“Guitar.” It made sense - the tattoos that crept all over his strong, beefy arms, those twinkling piercings. What didn’t make sense was just why he felt the need to show it all off for you; like the minutes before a big concert, his fingers trembled. But he grins, and it’s something devilish. “And vocals.”

Walking backwards now so that your gorgeous, gorgeous face can face him. You slow down your walk and he’s realizing that you’ve arrived at your class. 

He’s realizing that he just might not see you again.

And he wanted to see more of you.

A lot more of you. 

A few of your classmates throw the two of you looks as they pass, walking inside the class. Geto was a bit of a campus legend; and for as popular as he was, seeing him talk to someone outside of his band - especially during his song-writing blues - was rare. Exceptionally rare. 

So he bites the inside of his cheek, “Actually…you think you’d wanna see it in person sometime? Like—tonight?”

“Oh?”

.

.

.

“Man, a grown-ass man should not be giggling like that.”

“I would hate to remind you that you do nothing but giggle.”

“I’m just special like that, Nanamin~” Gojo winks at the blond-haired drummer, who makes to throw down his drumsticks before paying attention to the concert setlist instead. Anything but him.

Unfortunately, Gojo does not have that willpower and was entirely too invested in whatever had his best friend acting like a middle-schooler with a crush. Bright-eyed. Flush-faced. Glued to his phone since before rehearsal started. Skipping around the corners of the practise room—skipping, he swears.

He throws a wadded up ball of paper - yet another one of Geto’s failed lyrical attempts - at the back of his head. It hits. And he doesn’t even notice. 

Shoko herself looks up from her phone, “But in all honesty, what is up with you today?” 

“Did a new type of guitar drop or—” Gojo grumbles from his other guitar station, looking above the metal rim of his glasses. Yes, the ones he wore indoors. 

Geto pulls himself away from his glaring screen with a low, mindless, “Huh?”

“For fuck’s sake what’s got you so-”

“Hi, sorry- I hope I’m not interrupting.”

Just then, you walk in. Door opening; there’s no way you could’ve gotten in without invitation. And there’s no way you weren’t invited by Geto.

Because, immediately, your eyes meet his deep, amethyst ones. Like two ships at sail, you’re beaming a smile at all of them - but the brightest one for him. Going to stand at his side as he plunges his phone back in his trousers. And then he gets it.

Oh, they get it.

Nanami blinks.

Haibara waves.

Shoko takes a picture (with flash, of course.)

Gojo whistles.

And then Gojo promptly gets smacked upside the head - by two different hands, two different people. Geto makes a note of wiping off his palm before introducing the rotation of amateur musicians and visitors to each other. 

“Now what she’s really here for isn’t your dumbasses.” He’s rolling his eyes, pulling on the lightning purple guitar of his. “It’s for the music-” He tilts his head with a smile, “-and me.”

You were here for a few demonstrations, after bumping into Geto and exchanging numbers - to which they gladly pump out the best of their best for a pretty girl. Hell, Geto thinks he even sees Nanami and Shoko putting in a lil’ extra effort, and can’t help but strum even louder. 

Letting the electric twang of his guitar take over.

It still rings in the air after they finish a runthrough of their first three songs. And you’re clapping fervently by the end of it. 

“That was amazing.”

“Why thank you, sweetheart-”

“Why thank you, gorgeous.” Geto quickly takes over, silently glaring at Gojo to leave. He gets the message - albeit reluctantly, and soon enough is being dragged by Nanami, Haibara, and Shoko out for some fresh air and a brief break outside the room.

Leaving the two of you alone.

“So…”

“So.” Geto’s scratching behind his neck, where there was a massive inky tattoo of a dragon. Snaking. Fuck- when has he ever had this much trouble talking to…well, anyone, really?

And he’s clearing his throat, not letting the silence drag out for much longer before the thick fabric of his guitar strap loops over your own neck. Safely swaddled. You’re looking up at him with such adorable confusion as he snickers, “Wanna learn how to play?”

“Hell yeah.” And before long your fingers are twisting over a few chords - tangling. He’s attempting to teach you about the G chord and the E major, and you’re attempting not to fall to your knees. 

After a few unsuccessful tries, he’s catching onto your desperation and gesturing for you to sit on the carpeted floor. Perhaps to teach you hands-on, perhaps to make you relax- but whatever it was, you certainly didn’t expect him to sidle up behind you.

For his toned pecs to press up against your shoulders, you could hear Geto’s gravelly breath graze the shell of your ear. He leans over, his lengthy hair tickling your neck. “Like…” Much larger hands covering yours, “-this.”

And then he’s just so gentle.

You’re not sure what exactly you expected, but he holds your hands in his like glass. Oh-so-softly helping your fingerpads prick at the strings of his guitar, “S’easier this way.”

“Yeah–” you’re breathing out, practically in his lap with the way that his long legs were curling underneath yours, nowhere to go. And his tone core presses against your back, weight leaning slightly on you so that he can see what you do. 

You don’t know what you’re doing.

You grin once your hapless chords actually start to formulate into something that sounds like it’s part of a song. Something slow. Almost sensual. “It’s beautiful- what song is this, I don’t think it’s one you played?”

“Because it’s not.” He’s purring from behind, piercing catching the light as he grins. “You really like it~?”

Something was dripping darkness in his voice, and your breath catches. “Y-yes.” He was taking over completely. Guiding your hands with his experienced ones, they slide looooong and slow down the neck of the guitar. 

From the back of Geto’s throat, he’s murmuring a barely-audible few words. “Come and get it now. Come and get it now.” Lowered eyes gliding in a feline manner to you, “Baby show me what you’re doing- hm.”

You snap out of your little bubble as he stops abruptly.

Looking somewhat sheepish, “It’s a work in progress.”

“I think it might be my favorite already.” You admit. And you don’t know whether it’s your imagination - you don’t know whether you’re projecting - but you could’ve sworn that his heat does a thunderous ba-dump–! from where his chest was plastered to your body from behind. 

You’re yelping, jostled as he pulls you in even closer. “That so? Maybe you can help me write it then?”

“Me?” You balk, “How-”

The plump end of his lips curl, sinfully. It was almost unfair how he could look so attractive without even trying- “Just by sitting there. Just by being here. It helps.”

“By being here with you?”

“Being here with me.” Confirming. And by the way he was gazing upon you through his peripheral vision, fingerpads still tracing your digits, your knuckles, even though you weren’t playing anything. “S’that a problem?”

You find it hard to swallow. “Not at all.”

Close.

You two were too close.

And that wouldn’t have been a problem if you were moving away—but the fact of the matter is that you were moving closer. Your lashes flutter, and his own dilated pupils alternate in a triangle between your right eye, your left eye, your mouth.

Closer.

Until-

“I’m coming in and you two better not be fucking in there- ouch! What was that for Nanamin?”

“You’re a bad wingman, Gojo-senpai.”

“Sorry, Haibara.”

Before the Sorcerers can bustle their way through those soundproof walls once more, you’re hastily scrambling off of Geto’s lap. For now.

.

.

.

“I heard you’ve tamed the cult leader of Tokyo Tech-”

“The who?” You squint at Utahime, trying to figure out whether she was simply trying to raise your blood pressure so early in the morning. No. She was dead serious.

“No need to hide it, Shoko already told me everything. So- about the cult leader of Tokyo Tech?” she repeats, as if that was enough. And when you look dangerously close to an aneurysm, she’s sighing. “Geto Suguru? Tall, tattoos, piercings, dark hair, devastatingly hot- you know who I’m talking about, I can see you fantasizing about him already.”

“I’m not fantasizing.” You’re insisting, though it sounds as if you’ve been caught. Any louder and Yaga would give up on glaring at the two of you, and instead send you out of the lecture completely. Only just started, but already the gossip was hot in class. 

You just couldn’t believe it was about you and him.

With your pitch slightly back to normal, you try to sound as civilized as possible as you say, “I am not fantasizing. Nor will I ever.”

Utahime puts her face in her open hand and shakes her head, “Right. Nor will you ever. So that means you completely, totally wouldn’t fantasize about him walking into this class right now and sweeping you off of your feet?”

Well, you had to admit that class was getting a bit droning…but you had to stick to your claim. It was the principle of it. “Correct.”

“And so that means you completely, totally wouldn’t care about the fact that he just did walk into this class?”

“Corre- what?” Your desk rattles, just a little bit, as you turn your body around to face the entrance. And you find that Utahime hadn’t been lying: not the part about him coming to class, or the part about him being ‘devastatingly hot’ from prior.

He saunters in with such confidence, Yaga himself doesn’t point out that he’s just about fifteen minutes late. And he stands at the foot of the lecture hall, eyes scanning the seat and- you don’t think you’ve moved faster in your life than at that very moment. You’re throwing both yours and Utahime’s bags onto the floor from where they’d been placed on the empty seat beside you.

Ignoring her half-hearted ‘hey!’ you let Geto spot you. Like his eyes were drawn to you. 

It’s then that you’re noticing he’s wearing glasses. You think he should wear them more often.

And he’s gladly taking the seat, his dark, skin-tight arm-cut pressing against your side. “Thanks, gorgeous.” Noticing all the stares, perhaps even a few whispers that erupt. He leans in real close to mutter in your ear, “They’re just jealous.”

Somewhere in the distance, you think you hear your friend gag. After some brief introductions, you ponder, “I didn’t know you were in this class.”

“Never attended.” He slumps in his chair, making himself look almost too lanky for it, almost too big. In front of you, you think you see Yaga’s bushy brows raise at the interaction - and the fact that Geto Suguru was actually here. “Yaga doesn’t count it. Only reason I’m topping the class—” He smiles, showing off his lip piercing. And if you didn’t know any better, you swear you could see that he had a tongue piercing, as well. “-second place.”

“Braggart.”

“Sore loser.”

“Nerd.”

“That I am,” he chuckles. Geto shuffles through his backpack, patch-worked with various pins and decorations of bands—you think you can make out Green Day, Nirvana, The Garden, and a few more that he’s more than happy to show off. 

What he pulls out isn’t his laptop, or a textbook of any kind - it’s his lyrics notebook. And he spreads it open between the two of you, to a page with a few half-written verses. 

Met each other just the other day.

But you got me feeling some type of way.

And then past an empty space where you assume he wanted to add in some more:

I wanna hear you…

I wanna see you…

With your own pencil, you’re making a few tweaks. You finish off that second-last sentence that he seemed to be stuck on—I wanna hear you confess. 

Geto’s pearly white teeth sink into his bottom lip, and he toys with the chunky rings on his fingers for a few seconds. You’re unsure if that meant he was hesitating. If that meant he was thinking. Considering.

Before he leans over and finishes the other line—I wanna see you undress now.

Something zips down your spine, your thighs clench- and you find that he follows them with his own. Bumping his knee against yours. And you push right back against his, following the quiet scritch-scratch of his graphite starting to jot down a few more lyrics.

You got me down on my knees.

It’s getting harder to breathe out.

You always did seem to pull that out of him.

Utahime pinches you as the two of you continue, whispering in your ear so that only you could hear. “What was that about not fantasizing?”

“Shut up.”

.

.

.

A party.

An open bar. 

And the thrumming music.

But you and Geto weren’t anywhere near the dance floor, or the lengthy drinks table, or where the couples sneak off to make out- actually, scratch that. Because you two might just be occupying a lil’ alcove in Gojo and Geto’s penthouse apartment.

With the heady college party raging around you two - one that the band had been the one to invite you to - somehow, you’d found yourself with him. Shoulders against shoulders. Skin against skin. Your hands brushing against his when you pick up the pen from his hands–

“Oh, I like this one better than the last-” You circle the lyric that he’d just jotted down, with a few notes of your own that he always loved to read. Something about ‘churning his gears’, whatever that meant. He was almost done with the song now, it seemed. 

“Mmm, that’s what I was thinking.” He hums, thoughtfully, dark bangs falling across his face. It was no wonder that half the party was split between waltzing past the alcove merely to get a glimpse of him.

And the other half was on the other side of the penthouse, out of pure shyness. 

The thick pads of his fingers scratch out some more writing on his notepad, messy and masculine. His rings glint as he’s scrawling, “If I can figure…it out. I’d take you…back to my house and—” He halts, unsure how the rest of that sentence would go. With his tongue still rolling on those words, he’s glancing at you sidelong.

As you tilt your head in confusion, he’s smirking. “No, s’just funny. You’re already in my house.”

“Mhm, and what are you suggesting?” You raise a brow.

“Ohhh, nothing. Just the song.” And he raises one right back, teasingly. His cherry-vodka laced breath wafting across your features, “And what are you suggesting, gorgeous?”

“Nothing, just the song.”

“Are you sure?” He’s tilting his head down at you, even in the cramped space he somehow seemed to tower over you with his hulking frame. Sheer size. And his deltoid pushes against the side of your body, “You’re awfully close, y’know?” The way that he was leaning even closer. 

And you can only sputter at his audacity- “Are you sure?”

“Oi! You two—” Gojo Satoru always did seem to have a penchant for interruptions. You don’t know if you’re maddened by it or grateful- the air was thick, and you couldn’t seem to breathe as well as you might have. 

Directly in front of you, from the other side of the room right opposite, Gojo’s waving his hand frantically. His booming voice echoing all across the house, “Stop flirtin’ in there and take a shot!”

Oh, you could imagine the rumors that were taking root already.

Geto flips him off. With a deadpan expression that told his best friend that he’d be staying here with his work (and you, mostly just for you), thank you very much.

Gojo trills, “We’re doing body shots~”

“Let’s go, gorgeous.” Instantly, he looks at you.

“Wha- huh?” You don’t know whether you’ve sustained whiplash by how fast he’s changed his mind, or by how fast he’s moving. With his fingers smoothly replacing the pen in your hands with his own set of digits—big n’ warm.

Geto holds both his lyrical notebook and you as close as possible as he’s meandering through the party. Through the slightly taken-aback gasps, the flirtatious waves, and the grinding bodies. 

Gojo looks smugly accomplished by the time you’re making it through the whirlwind party in the middle to reach their table of alcohol. There’s a small group forming now already, cheering on the reunion of the main duo. 

Geto looks at him, and there’s a small flicker of understanding that passes. Invisible but existing.

“You two go first-” The white-haired man then thrusts one full shot glass of tequila into Geto’s hands- then immediately grabs ahold of you and cricks your head side to tap out a line of salt down the column of your throat. A wedge of lime between your teeth, pulp side out. Without any adhesive surface, it was messy, scattering nearly up to your jawline. It tingles on your skin once you realize just what was about to happen.

As Geto’s mouth tightens at Gojo’s rough handling of you, the other finishes off. “-I’ve gotta find Nanamin first so he can do one with me.”

Shoko groans. “You’re a lightweight.”

“Exactly.”

“Kento ran out of the building I believe, senpai.” Haibara beams.

And as Gojo whines his protests, Geto can only shake his head- partially because of his band’s antics, partially to clear his fuzzy brain because of you.

You. You. You.

Oh, what gave you the right to present that sensual neck up at him like that? Your teeth worrying your lower lip as if you were nervous. He catches the way your gaze slightly tracks towards the cat-calling crowd, and one roughened hand of his cups your cheek.

Tilting your face ever-so-carefully to look at him instead of the audience.

His pinkish tongue darts out to wet his lips, and he leans in close- as if he was going to whisper something. As if he was going to kiss you.

Before Geto immediately downs the acrid liquid in the glass, barely even reacting. Barely even finishing his swallow before his long, flexible tongue glides up the salt lining your throat. And then where he didn’t hesitate before, didn’t even slow down: he takes a look at the sour lime between your lips and grins.

Slowly, agonizingly.

He’s moving his greedy maw forwards, the plump edges of his mouth hovering above your own. You feel the pressure on the lime as he lightly sucks—and as your knees weaken, he’s easily taking it into his own mouth.

With just the lightest graze of his lips on your lips.

An indirect kiss? A direct kiss? You didn’t even know at this point.

Geto stares at you through his wispy bangs, dead-straight in your widened eyes when he sucks on the lime. Easily ridding it of all juice, he takes it out. 

Then, like a gentleman, the fat crown of his thumb wipes away the stray salt that dusts your jawline. Somewhere near the edge of your lips that you’re sure wasn’t coated in salt at all. But you weren’t complaining.

Your ears were ringing, and only too late do you realize that the half-drunk students around you were in uproar. Gasping. Fanning. Staring. 

Gojo himself gapes slightly speechless. 

“Meddle about.”

“What?” You startle, it had been thick silence in your little bubble until now–like an extension of the alcove. But Geto was the first to break it.

He’s smiling down at you like he knew something you didn’t, then taps the song notebook in your hands- when did it even get in your hands? “If I could figure it out-” Smoky breaths, like he’d just run a marathon. Pants. Heaves. His eyes draaaag down your body, that special outfit you’d put on just for the party. “-I’d take you back to my house, so we can meddle about.”

Oh.

Oh.

It takes you far too long to recognize he’s talking about the song. The song.

Even if he’s looking at you in a way that shows otherwise.

“Just get a room- honestly-” Gojo whines, but then promptly turns to Shoko. “Tell me you got that on camera- please tell me you got that on camera.”

“I did.”

It was palpable. To just about everyone in the room—including a gruff Nanami Kento who walks back in after a few urgent calls from Haibara, then immediately blanches as he looks around the room. At the two of you.

He turns to run.

And as the three others turn to run as well (towards Nanami, in order to catch him), you turn to Geto- only to find that he’s already looking at you. He takes a long lick of his lower lip, lapping up the remnants of liquor. Something glinting in his dark eyes, as if he was trying to figure something out.

Something.

.

.

.

“Hey, let me try something.”

It was the day of their concert, just before. And you’re looking on in slight confusion as Geto taps away the last few notes of his rehearsal, in the green room. The other quartet had slipped out for last-minute drinks beforehand, it was a somewhat dingy hole-in-the-wall bar, but Geto had told you that the music here was legendary.

You trusted him. So you don’t question it either when he’s dragging you by the hand to sit upon one of the big, boxy speakers they kept in the corner of the room.

Making sure the cable connection with his electric guitar was alright- before he strums.

You gasp—the vibrations were tingling all the way at the tip of your feet, and up to the very crown of your scalp. And everywhere in-between. Especially between your legs.

You gape, and Geto snickers like he knew exactly what you were thinking. He hums, low in the aftermath of the guitar screech. “Pretty nice, huh? D’you wanna sit on one of those while we play up there?”

“A-are you sure?” Could you even handle that?

“Mhm. And I think it’ll help to have you so close, too- when we play our new song.” He’s helping you hop off the speaker and stand on your slightly wobbly legs. Arm still helping support you as you teeter your way towards the green room sofa. 

It was covered in a blanket of parchment. Sheet music, papers, lyrics.

As you silently look through all the different versions of that song he’d been writing, Geto sits beside you. Arms against arms. Thighs against thighs. Bodies against bodies. Shuffling through all these papers, it almost reminds you of the day you met.

“So many rewrites,” you giggle. Looking through all the infinite crosses and scratches on the papers as he wrote, and rewrote, and rewrote. All day and all night, it seemed. And yet he’s found that everything, words especially, just seem to flow easier around you.

“I wrote it for you.” His dark lashes lower, confessing. “They’re all for you.”

Your heart races- a part of you expected it. A part of you still can’t believe it. “You did?”

“Yeah.” He turns to face you, properly, now. With his predatory gaze making a beeline for your mouth, “S’that a problem?”

“Yeah.” You swallow, “And I like it.”

And then your back’s splayed out across the couch, draped all over Geto’s toned front. He’s got one of his knees wedged between your thighs, and you’re yelping at the sudden movement.

You were just so cute- he’d barely even done anything, and yet you were starting to drench those poor panties of yours already. If he grinded his knee any harder, then he’s sure he’d have a splotchy dark spot that all the audiences would see once he’s up on that stage.

But right now, he didn’t care.

Not at all.

One tattooed hand of his pins down two of yours somewhere by the armrest of the couch.

And your cunt twitches when his face starts looming closer. The shimmering tip of his tongue toying with his lip piercing for a few seconds. Eyes partly-closed to watch you through his lashes, and his mouth greedy to taste yours. He throatily whispers, “I think I just finished the entire song right now, gorgeous.”

Like this, you’re raising your head to meet Geto halfway with a whine. Fluttering your gaze shut as you ready yourself to kiss him—

“Hey, d’you wanna shot before we head ou- ohohoh?!”

“Oh.”

“Congratulations, Geto senpai!”

Nanami leaves, the only one out of the four that seemed to have some inkling of respect for your privacy. Though, to be fair, this was the common green room. And as you try your very best to block out Gojo’s screeches, and Shoko’s constantly shuttering camera, Geto dips down. 

Not to kiss you - not right now - but rather, to whisper in your ear. “After the show, m’gonna take you back to my house so we could meddle about.”

.

.

.

After that, it wasn’t just meddling about. 

Hell, after that, the two of you didn’t even make it to his damn penthouse. 

The minute the concert was over to roaring cheers and quite a few bras thrown on-stage- Geto’s meaningful eyes had locked straight with yours. Seated upon the speaker, and dripping wet from what he could tell from your face. 

He doesn’t think he even debriefed with the band or said his goodbyes. 

Just a hand on your wrist, the other on your waist. Attached meanly so that he can give the side of your ass a good smack- Geto’s pushing you into the back of his 2018 jet-black Dodge Demon, parked outside the dingy bar. Thank fuck he didn’t decide to take the bike today.

Slamming you into the leather backseats, pinning your hips down.

You’re fucking them back into him already, just as he cups your drivelling pussy through your panties. Whining, “P-please, Suguru. Don’t tease.”

“Fuck-” He’s hissing, taking his hand off of your cute cunt as if it burned. And it did - not to have you in his mouth and around his fingers, that is. First, he’s letting his dark leather jacket drop to the floor, right along with his undershirt. 

And you take the time to admire how sexy he was.

From the detailed tattoos that trickled down his neck, to the dragon on his back, to the side of his hip that was decorated with one of a sting-ray. Right on his v-line. 

Then he’s moving to take off his fat, silver rings—but you stop him right there. And the look on your face must say enough for you, because just then you’re seeing his features split with such a brilliant smile. Oh, he knew what you wanted. Geto huskily spits, “Alright then, naughty girl. So take it.”

You’re letting off a sudden yelp once he plunges his cold, ringed fingers between your spit-slicked lips. 

He’s swabbin’ them all around like an animal, letting your maw suck on him like your favorite lolly. And, fuck, he can’t lie- watching you drool and whine around him like this might just be the hottest thing he’s ever seen. 

With two glittering rivers of spit dripping down either side of your mouth, you’re moaning once you catch sight of his hand snaking down to his pants. “Mmm, gorgeous, I wanna make you sing.” With only one hand, he’s undoing his chunky belt and the rest of his buttons. 

He looks you right in the eyes - not even the slightest bit shy - as he pushes down his dark pants so that you can see the bulging outline of Geto’s erection through his boxers. Rock-hard. 

And just as you gasp—his fingers reel back from your slobbery mouth, and slightly teases down your slit. You gush with the drag of his thick thumb, all around him till his wrist was all wet with sweet syrup. 

You hold onto his flexing shoulders, “O-oh.” Your hips rutting directly into his hands. 

“Oh- oh, gorgeous.” Geto doesn’t even want to speak too loud, not when your pussy was echoing out the most lewd squelches. “She’s reeeeeally happy to see me, huh? Haven’t had a warm welcome this nice since- ever.” His fingers swirl ‘round your tight hole and watches as you just keep on pushing out wave upon wave of your juices. Swirl upon swirl.

Until his digits were just so glazed in all your cream that he couldn’t help but carnally yearn for a little taste. Just a little - you can’t blame him.

Glistening rivulets of slick travel down his pale forearm as he lifts his hand up- you were just that wet for him. And then Geto sucks—then his eyes widen. Then he pants. Then he almost flinches at just how cloyingly good you tasted on his savoring tongue.

Looking you right in your eyes, Geto licks up every last drop from his fingers. And he gusts out the most primal slurps as he does so. 

“Oh, gorgeous,” he’s repeating, like before. But there was something different this time. Something faintly…wrecked. As the last few dollops of slick disappear down his throat, he groans. Eyes rolling to the back of his head, “Oh, fuck- that’s not enough.”

It all happens at once. All of a sudden, he’s on his knees on the floor of the backseat. Knees digging into the carpet below, your upper half being more or less propped up on the cushion. 

It’s giving you whiplash how fast it happens, and you’re staring at Geto in slight shock at his strength. To which he catches your cute, bulged gaze and answers, “M’not playing around anymore, gorgeous.”

Skirt, panties—everything is torn off of you with only one of his hands. That lacy lil’ underwear of yours in particular catching his interest. He makes sure to put it in his back pocket - then turns on the backseat light. Uncaring, because his windows were tinted pitch black.

Right now he just smears apart your pussylips with his two thumbs. He’s never seen a prettier fuckin’ sight; how glittering and wet you were, with your folds so swollen that it looked like you were pouting up at him.

Geto plants one sweet lil’ peck right in the middle of your cunt and lingers, just smelling the sugary whiff of your body wash. And that primal scent of your pussy—

“Mmm, y’know what they say about guitarists?” He’s murmuring wetly, right against your sex so that you’ll squirm all cutely. 

“Wh-what?” You puff out, a heady breath.

He doesn’t answer- that’s because your wettened pussy is answering for you. With a great, upheaving squeeeeelch he’s sinking inside his lengthy tongue. Past your folds n’ all the way to spearhead into your gooey insides. Muffled, “That.”

It’s barely even registering in your mind, because then Geto’s thrusting his ridged tastebuds in n’ out like he’s gone insane.

In and out, in and out.

With such vulgarity, he’s pressing himself nose-deep against your cunt and breathing you in. Letting the sharp edge of his nose just press on your clit, Geto’s jaw works overtime to prod his bludgeoning tongue. 

Slapping against the roof of your pussy, he’s prolonging his muscle into spots you didn’t even know you had. “Oh my n-ngh, fuck!” And so thick, just stretching out your damp hole until you see white.

You gurgle on your own spittle at the sloppy drags of his tastebuds, and pathetically attempt to push back on his clammy scalp. “W-wait, I can feel a- ngh, don’t tell me you really have a…”

“Have a what, gorgeous?” Just to tease you, Geto jerks his head back- letting his tongue flop out of your pussy for just a second. And you’re missing his size inside you, but most of all you’re awestruck by the cold metal piercing right in the middle of his pink tongue.

And he was proudly stuffing it straightly back into your entrance, this time spitting. He smears the line of saliva that glues to your sultry folds, “A piercing- yeah. S’that a problem?”

“N-no…” Your head starts to drop backwards at the sudden usage of his piercing now. You could feel that circular orb poke into your soft innards, like a cold finger almost. You’ve never felt anything like this. “I like it- oh! I like it, I really do—”

“Mhm, glad we cleared that up, baby.” Geto purrs, and he lightly smacks the front of your pussy in adoration. Watching as specks of pearly slick spurt all over his hand, “Now, how about this?”

Before you know it, he’s squeezing in the crowned tip of his finger past your hole - two of them, in fact. And your elastic entrance stretches with the most rawly wet noises, ones that he leans his ear closer to hear even better. Even louder.

Geto snickers meanly once one of his rings catch on your snug hole, and you flinch. “There we go-” He eases them in with repeated pumps, “Theeere we go. Hah, told you I wanted to make this pretty lady sing.”

“Fuh-fuuuuck, I can’t help it, ngh.” Your entire body breaks out in trembles, and the bottom one of your lips starts wobbling.

Oh, he could write songs- fuck that, he could write an entire album about you at this very moment.

But right now, he had more important things to do. Namely: you. And Geto plucks apart your sticky folds to take a good, long look at your cunt swallowin’ in his fingers. Push after push. Probe after probe.

The knobbly, scouring ends of his fingers delve in deep and send you spiralling. “You don’t need to mmm, help it, gorgeous.” He’s continuing where your conversation had trailed off. “You just need to…”

And he’s gulping wet wads of saliva that just slide down his throat. 

His thick Adam’s apple bobbing, Geto’s flaring his nostrils- making sure to focus his entire aim on exactly hitting that one spot he knew you’d love. That one spot he’s thrusting in with a rough jackhammer and pushing—“-to project.”

And you were projecting that pretty voice alright.

You’re screaming almost feverishly at the sensation of him scraping your inner lining, your walls cling onto him maddeningly. Gobbling him up as he hits your g-spot at a frenzied pace - once, twice, thrice. 

“Please-” Babbling out stupidly, tears cascade down your cheeks when he manages to shove your wet orifice apart. You’re drip-drip-driiiiping gummy wetness once he pushes in a second fat fingertip, the globular edge of his swipin’ each nook n’ cranny of your cunt. “Please please please- I need ngh-”

“Yeahhh, who do you need, gorgeous?”

“Y-you…”

Geto cups his ear with a mocking smile, and he’s crushing your throbbing clit between his front teeth. Just gnawing. “Mhmmm—?”

“You-” You’re sobbing out - squealing. Your back hits the seat of the cushion as you slump over, and he’s forced to push down on your stomach with one hand just to stop you from rovering about. Pinning you down.

“Babyyyy, you know I love to hear your- hah, voice.” He’s drawling out, and his words were just as sloppy as his mouth. Just salivating all over. “I have a feeling you can be louder though.”

“Sugu-”

“Louder~”

Putting all the pressure on your lower body when he sliiiiides every inch of his long, knobbly fingertips inside. The doughy pads of them push into your g-spot just right, until you felt all battered n’ bruised by him. “Please- you- ngh, you, Suguru.”

“There- what did I tell you. Fuck, I wish I could h-have this on speaker.” Groaning. Panting. “Yeahhhh, you like that, huh? Want my tongue, t-too? Oh.”

But then you’re clasping his sweaty forehead and shoving him down between your legs. Where his curving tongue was sloppily zig-zagging all over, and you’re trilling. “K-keep going, mmm.” Cock twitching. Rutting so hard that his damned muscle car jostles.

He couldn’t even catch his breath - and he didn’t want to. “Well, I hafta make it up to my muse in some way, yeah?”

His tongue is so expert, too. You’re easily getting louder - even more than you first thought possible. Partly because of the way his pierced tongue was resting on your overstimulated nub. Flicking your ruddied clit until it felt all raw, again n’ again—you were so far gone by this point that Geto can feel each pulse of your hot core on his mouth.

And he counts it - one, two, three, four. Like the beat of his favorite melody- fuuuuck, he was so pussydrunk right now that he might just memorize it and write it as the next beat of his song. 

“Y-you’d- hck! what?” You’re hiccuping in pure disbelief, unsure if those words had actually (accidentally) fallen from Geto’s mouth, or if he was makin’ out with your cunt so good that you were hearing things. You wouldn’t be surprised.

“Exactly what I jus’ said.”

And Geto isn’t, either. 

Of course, he was bound to be fucking stupid on the sultry taste of your pussy. Especially when you were streaming out wet ribbons of slick with each rovering push of his fingers. 

He vulgarly wets his lips a lil’ in the liquid leaking out, and then promptly plops his open mouth over your sopping hole. Geto had lapped up all the slick stuck to your folds, your thighs, your clit - now the one place left was inside. 

And he was still hungry.

His pierced lip draaaaagging over your quivering orifice, Geto starts to push his tongue in eagerly. Uncaring for the way he was already barreling his fingers inside. Uncaring of the absolutely incredible stretch that was making your back arch. 

N’ he’s so dexterous. Alternating between wet whacks! at the front channel of your walls, and then licking over your clit. He was plastered to your pussy in a way that felt maddening- “Sh-shit, I don’t think m’gonna last, Sugu—”

“Sugu, huh?” He raises a neat brow at the nickname, “I like that.”

And if it was possible, his narrowed strikes are accelerating. More honed, more precise to your g-spot, it’s like a cute lil’ bullseye that he can’t stop hitting. All because it makes you shake and whine like that. 

“Mmm, yeah, just like that. C’mon, gorgeous girl- come and get it-” Geto gruffs now, the back of his throat all hoarse. His baritone voice was on the verge of breaking at this point. “Ride my mouth, would you?”

You’re whimpering, because Geto’s then opening his pretty mouth even wider for you to ride him - but you’re so weak. 

Your limp knees struggling to keep on rutting- only for Geto to then shift a free hand underneath you. 

Feeling all his firm biceps n’ muscles bulge as he keeps you up, just so strong- fuck, was it all those guitar sessions? He gurgles out, “Upsy daisy. Lemme help you cum, baby.” Dragging; he’s just moving you like a ragdoll, push and pull of his slippery tongue. 

Just babbling nonsensical syllables. 

And he’s gluing his upper lip to your clit, to your folds, to your weepy hole. Everywhere and anywhere that you’ll be feeling the most pleasure, then he’s twirlin’ the pointed tip of his tongue inside like he’s reaching for your g-spot with that.

Like he’s fucking you with his cock. Craving to. 

Again and again, it makes you squirm.

Your syrupy goodness starts to drip down his forearm at the sheer pressure, showing him that you’re close. And with each bash of his three fingertip circumferences, Geto grunts. “Lemme help you- let me- ngh, you have to cum, okay? Cum alllll over my tongue.”

“Yes-” Being moved. And soon enough, with a few more vicious thwacks! your mouth hangs open in a silent scream. “S-Sugu, I’m…”

It’s the only thing you’re able to intone at the moment. The only thing that you can even think of - your heavy orgasm. You’re being manhandled, with your hips gyrated onto his face through every burst of pleasure. 

Somehow, you start to wonder whether he doesn’t need to breathe.

And he’s the one who doesn’t care about it. Doesn’t even care if he suffocates just as long as his mouth can remain plastered onto your pussy. Eating you out till he’s feeling dizzy.

And you? You’re seeing white, before it’s a kaleidoscope of color because of the tears.

You hiccup, your chin dropping down to your chest to stare at him through comically swirling pupils. Practically heart-eyes at this point. “Ngh, it feels so g-good, Sugu-” Your thighs start to twitch, feeling his orbed piercing spank down on your clit. Your very own tastebuds water at the stinging euphoria, the way he was scraping your innards. “M’so sensitive.”

“Mhm, and you’re not tapping out now,” he’s challenging. Looking up at you through shaggy bangs, Geto grins around your thoroughly puffy folds. “Because my throat is parched after the concert.”

You squeeze, so hard that he can feel his rings pushin’ against your sultry walls. Oh, he won’t be giving up so easily.

And by the time that Geto’s popping himself off of your treacly cunt - with a wet noise, with a few more kisses to your silvery slope, with a final bite on your clit - you’re run rightly ragged. You can barely even speak, occasionally tremoring at the shockwaves still bubbling through your veins. 

“P-please—” You’re running your fingers tenderly through his dark locks, pushing them away from his face. And luckily for you, what a sight it was. 

Because Geto’s high cheekbones were just cherry red in color from all the blushing and lack of air. From the way he was so pussydrunk on your cunt that it was starting to make him look oh-so-ruined. Eyelids heavy. Lips swollen. 

He had a sheen of your slick splashed from his pointed chin, all the way up his cheeks. His jawline. And his lengthy tongue pops out once more to stretch n’ lick up those clingy wads. Making sure you see.

Bit by bit, your mouth grows more agape. “Please, I wan’ your cock now, Sugu…” And you wanted it badly - that glimpse from before was enough to get you all antsy on his seat.

Slowly, sensually, Geto reaches out his fat thumb - the one from his left hand, that wasn’t covered in your shiny juices - and wipes off the slobber trickling from one end of your mouth. Putting it in his own maw, he sucks it up like he sucks up the slick all over his other set of digits. 

“Anything you say, my muse.”

He sounded husky, even more so than after the concert.

And you barely even have the time to touch whatever was left of the rest of your clothes - before Geto gently repositions your hands away and onto hold his slim waist. He undresses you himself, as if he was opening up a cute lil’ present.

Then he’s patting a thumb down onto the hem of his boxers, where black curls of his happy trail rested. Teasing. 

“Don’t tease.” You have half the mind to take them off yourself. Before Geto finally puts you out of your needy misery, and rids himself of those boxers.

And you were right - his bulging dick-print was huge, but the real thing was even more massive. 

And hard. Rock-fucking-hard. Geto’s plump, puckered cockhead was a bright red that looked angry, and he was flushed all the way down to his heavy balls. All twitchin’ and tight at the thought of being inside you. 

Hell, you swear you could even count the mere throbs of his veins, so far-gone that they seemed to make his decorated cock twitch in midair. But what you were gazing at the most wasn’t all of that - even though it did catch your eye - it was the small, circular piercing that rested underneath the slit of his tip. A Prince Albert’s piercing. 

Geto’s feeling the intensity of your stare and and leaks out a wad of buttery precum, a few droplets of it making it down his shaft. He wipes away the rest of it with the front pad of his thumb, and then pushes it between your gawking lips. “Shut that hah, pretty mouth, gorgeous, don’t wanna catch flies.”

You moan at the slightly salty taste, and it only makes your cunt grow even wetter. Only made you lean in even closer without even realizing - and Geto lets it happen.

He lets your pouty mouth slip all the way across his furiously weeping tip, pressing just one wet kiss in hello before a hand at your throat wrenches you away. “Don’t even worry about it, baby—” He uses his chokehold on you to lift you up.

To flip you around and then smack the side of your asscheeks. You were on all fours now, with him pressing his muscular weight into your arched spine.

Geto gutturally groans out in your ear, “Tonight’s—” And you feel something poke at your entrance. You feel something hard. “-allll about you.”

He rests a hand on the side of your hips, attaching, and then uses the force to drag you back into him. All filling up your gooey orifices with his erection, he’s squeezing himself inside like he’s gone feral. 

Oh, he’s squeezing himself inside like he’s trying to make you feral.

That flared, mushroomy tip of his pryin’ apart your sticky walls, Geto uses his honed shaft to push n’ push n’ push. Too big to completely bottom out for now, but still making your mind spin with rapid, hard half-thrusts. You whine, “Oh- oh!” Voice reaching a fever point. “Please, a-all the way in, Sugu.”

“Mmm, want it all the way ngh, in, huh?” Doing the exact opposite, Geto then slows. He then stops. His cute, orbed piercing rubbin’ the roof of your cunt frigidly back and forth. Ever-so-slightly. Teasingly. 

It’s only once you start huffing and puffing in disappointment that he’s chuckling, thinking that delirious expression was just too adorable on you. And in a low bass, Geto purrs out. “Come and get it now.”

“You’re not seriously–”

“I am, show me how you do it-” His hand on your throat twists your face backwards - all tear-stained and fighting the urge to let your eyes roll to the back of your scalp. The moment he catches sight of your face properly, you feel his blistering hot cock twitch inside you. “-fuck, turn around.”

And he was urging you to fuck your hips back into his. Goading you into it, practically.

Firstly, you start off with a few tentative bounces. Just gyrating your hips, almost shy of his size. “L-like this?”

“Nuh uh, baby.” He’s tutting from behind, other hand scraping down your tummy. He wants to feel himself as he sinks in. “You n’ I both know that you can do muuuch better than that.” And even though he wasn’t moving, his cock seemed to be growing even bigger. Swelling. Elongating.

One of his curly veins rub up near your g-spot and you trill, “But you’re just so…”

“So?”

The most shallow, wet grinds. Not enough to take him entirely, not enough to satiate you. “Big.” 

And then you’re blessed - well, more like punished - with a semi-rut, swabbin’ his thickened tip even deeper. You can’t help but squeeze your plush walls around him, expecting more. “Wan’ it that bad?” Swatting your ass, the force is enough that your flesh jiggles and he grins. “Take it, then. M’all yours.”

So you’re raising your ass up even higher, arms wobbling limply in front of you. You use up all the energy left in your shattered body to perk your waist up just a bit, then slam down the rest of Geto’s length. Hitting his hard v-lines. Bottoming-out. 

Taking him all the way from the fat, split-ended tip- down, down, dooooown till his hairs tickle your slope.

Geto raises a brow at the way you’re mewling uncontrollably by taking all of him, then his right hand starts to push n’ pull you with the restraint at your neck. “S’it that big? Hah- ya like it thaaaat much, gorgeous?”

“Yes- oh, f-feels so good having you like this.” You moan, every time he was elongating his words, Geto made sure to glide the cold metal of his piercing down your spongy cervix. “Fuck, can barely even ngh! take it.”

And you have the feeling that if he could reach even further than that, then he would in a heartbeat.

“But you are.”

Before you know it, a wet splat! of something strikes your cunt folds. You’re turning your head over your shoulder to find out that it was Geto spitting on your already-dripping pussy, an invisible string of it still connecting his mouth to your entrance. 

“Because m’proud of you, my muse.” He drawls out, and he sounds drunk. Geto swerves around the tip of his thumb all over your pussylips, just like he was stirrin’ around his cock by now. 

Circle after circle. Prodding into hidden spots you didn’t even realize were there- he then catches the slightly pouty curve of your mouth and coos. “Awww, what’s the matter, baby- fuck.” In response you only clamp down on him, the textured ridges of his shaft so sensational that it leaves your mouth ajar. His lip curls, “Oh, I get it.”

“H-huh?”

Just then he leans over, and it leaves his curvaceous tip poking in even deeper. Melting his sweaty abs on top to the back of your spine, Geto purses his lips and spits. Straight into your mouth, then he smiles all handsomely like he’d just done you a favor.

You look at him with bulging eyes. He’d read your mind. 

“Fuck, you’re getting even w-wetter.” He’s sputtering out- fucking up into you. Chasing your pussy. Every hard thrust of his left you shoved forwards a few inches, and Geto’s reeling you back in just so he won’t lose you.

Just so the feeling of your pulsing, velvety walls won’t be lost- soon enough, he’s wrapping his beefy left hand over your neck to hold you in a headlock. “Gonna hafta give me a show- we can do that, ngh, can’t we, gorgeous? Gonna drive me wiiiild w-with that pussy, huh?”

“O-oh my god-” you’re blabbering out. A sparkly sheen of saliva forming down his forearm, trickling from the front of your mouth. “I think you’re doing the- driving wild- oh.”

You could barely even string together the sentences.

Your entire body twitches at the sudden change in angle; with him bent over and leaning his weight into you like this, you felt like you were being crushed in the best ways. Geto’s constant pummeling reaches deep into the back spots of your cervix, leaving a cute lil’ bruise of his circumference. 

He kisses the side of your head sloppily- and you’re realizing that Geto had forgotten to take off one of his silver chains. Or maybe he didn’t want to. Because there was just the rhythmic, cold bang-bang-bang of his jewellery that was greeting the back of your neck in time with his furious ruts. 

All the way from his hard, globular tip n’ dooooown to where his shaft was the thickest. His drilling pace left your plush insides being all straightened out on his length. His girth. 

Just fucking you like an animal.

You can feel your head start to slowly tip forwards, too heavy and filled with cotton. But Geto would never let you get off that easy, “Hey, hey—look at me.” Pulling you back in with his headlock.

Geto’s tone was firm, he meant it. 

You struggle to blink your lids open properly, all sticky with the residue of your tears. Yet once you look at him, you can still make out the sultry twinkle in his eyes. 

He lifts his right hand up to your bleary line of vision, “You see this?” And you have to take a few seconds to note that he’s talking about that tattoo that slithers across his entire arm - a snake. With its fanged maw wide open where his thumb separated from the rest of his fingers, “Mmm, nice, huh?”

Absent-mindedly, you nod.

That’s when you register what’s happening - the snake. With its mouth wiiiide open, creeps down to your pussy, and he’s cupping your delicate folds. Almost as if to swallow. As if to strike. 

Geto’s pounding you into the expensive backseat of his car like he’s devouring you. Pinpointing each n’ every leaking crevice with his buttery precum, letting the mound of his palm slide back and forth down your slit. 

You gush out a wet splatter! of syrup straight into his palm and he grins, “Really- oh, ya really are drivin’ me wild, baby. Look into my eyes now.”

He wanted to stare away into your beautiful, stupidly dilated eyes as he mazes his entire length inside you. The forefront of his piercing acting like a searchlight, you can feel the exact moment that Geto smears apart your walls n’ precisely bashes your g-spot.

“S-so unfair that you have a- hck!” You can’t even finish your sentence. You’re choking on so many whines n’ copious amounts of drool that wash down the front of your chin like a fountain. 

Geto himself finds it adorable how you’re cockdrunk already. And it almost feels like that night at the party when he leans in, parched tongue licking up your web of drool - why waste it? “I don’t hear her complaining.”

“M-maybe she is-” You insist back stubbornly, just for something to say.

And at that very moment, one of Geto’s long fingers extends so that he can drag them down the dribbling crevice of your pussy. The edge of his middle finger slide-slide-slides between your slit with the loudest, most primal slurp. “Mmm, I don’t think she is. Not when she’s- ngh, singing f’me.”

His words are enough to make your eardrums pop at the filth - but then again, so is the way he was driving his hips into you. Repeatedly, like a train. And so was the way the crowned tip of his ringed fingers start rolling over your clit.

You prattle out, just when he uses his large index to draw a heart on the very tip-top button of your nub. Just the pressure felt too good. “S-sooooo cocky–”

“Damn right n’ you’re full of it- literally.” 

Perhaps it was the way he said it - reminding you of the thick, solid inches that were filling you up - or perhaps it was his newly-drawn patterns on your clit, but you’re growing even wetter. Dripping in thick, glittering wads of slick that trickle down Geto’s own legs.

Feeling the sloppy wetness, he’s looking down- and then immediately grinning to himself. He whispers, “Wonder if I can…”

“What are you-”

“Shhh, told you tonight was all about- hah, fuuuuck- you, my muse.”

Oh, you don’t know how well that boded for your poor pussy. Or your walking abilities for at least the next week. 

In a mere few nanoseconds, Geto has his hips churning out an interesting angular cadence. Not only was he pumping his red, swollen cock into you- he was also shiftin’ his hips in grinding movements so that the edge of his Prince Albert’s piercing would swab its way ‘round and round.

Sticking his glazed tip into each spot, the icy circle of his piercing was just driving you wild. Making your toes curl and your feet anchor- almost in an effort to run–

“Ah ah-” Only for him to pull you back in with his constraining headlock, flexing so that his sexy biceps are squeezing your neck even tighter. “We’re getting- ngh, doooown and dirty, girl. Don’t run.” Then he’s repeating the scrape-scrape of his decorated crown down your walls, red n’ rude. 

“F-fuck, could you feel that, gorgeous?” Geto’s voice breaks at some point, after a particularly drawn-out drag of his rovering tip. And he has the audacity to giggle, “That one was a heart.”

Your eyes snap open, mouth plummeting out a low- “Oh, fuck.”

Because Geto wasn’t just fucking you with his pierced cockhead anymore; he was using that orb at the beginning of his slit to draw on you. Right at the very end of your sponged cervix, in ravenous strokes, he was buttering you up. Painting you.

Next, he glissades a swooping motion that makes his veins push up against your roof. Uttering a low hiss, “Mmm- my- hah, my name’s a bit harder…”

“L-let me help.”

And that makes Geto’s heart skip a beat.

He slides his hand up n’ down your slit, prodding at your clit lovingly. “O-of course, my muse.” Letting you push backwards in a figure-eight, until his dark happy trail was rubbing your ass cheeks raw. “Harder-” A vulgar spank to your ass. “Harder. Show me how you can d-do it.”

“M’going- ngh, fuck. Wan’ more, Suguru.”

Anything you say. Anything you do- fuck, he almost thinks he could cum right here, right now. That’s why he’s instead focusing his attention on manhandling your body back in ruts, to hit his massive girth with such rough recoil.

Again. And again. And again and again—

Until you’re feeling his pulsing mushroom tip glue up against your womb, carving along a whalloping bruise. And you swear - with whatever frenzied brain cells were left within your skull - it formulates the zig-zagging motion of an ‘S’

“And thaaaaat was my n-name.”

Maybe he got lucky. Maybe he was just that good.

Sobbing, “F-fuck!” You don’t get to find out whether he’s able to finish off the rest of his name - whether that was even possible - because immediately you’re bucking back n’ forth. “Oh my god- i-it’s almost- ngh, too much.” That lecherous action sending sparks of pleasure to your brain. Having him try n’ claim the very back spots of your pussy. Those hidden crevices. 

“Easy, eeeeasy there, baby. What did I say—don’t run.” Pulling you back with his headlock, “Don’t make me- ngh, choke you like that- gorgeous-” Even though he already was.

You’re getting easily dumbified as he repeats those movements a few more times. Needily moving faster to chase those sparks he’d erupted before, “Please- please want it- ngh, close-”

“Nice try.” Body so weak that he was the one predominantly in control now. He’s matching your pace- surpassing it, all with a thumb that tweaks your clit until you see white. That snake. Maw ajar. “But you’re the one that’s gonna, mmm, cum first.”

You whine. Geto was just so mean- was he always this mean? Because he surely was fucking you like it; now three different points of pleasure. From your throbbing clit, to your g-spot being massaged by his decorative veins, then that lewd lil’ pattern he drew at the back of your cervix. So much. Too much. 

You’re so close that you’re slobbering out in waves at this point, and he has his mouth slipped to the side to lick up any n’ every sap you were leaking. 

Pierced tongue slimily slithering allll the way down the side of your lips, you mewl. So filthy. “Fuck- y-you’re right-” His blushing red tip twitches at those words. “M’gonna- gonna…”

You can’t even finish your sentence. 

With a few more sinful strokes, you’re falling apart on his creamy cock. Letting the heatwave of your high take over you- you throw your head back, resting upon Geto’s collarbone, toes curled, mouth shrilling out his name. 

After each and every sloppy drag of his vein-covered cock, he was fucking you through your high so perfectly. The frigid tip of his piercing pushin’ into your g-spot, that makes you last even longer.

Even more. 

And Geto himself was just as drunk on your pussy- “F-fuck, m’gonna cum.” He moans, tonality hollow in a way that made him sound so wrecked. Just then, you’re feeling something warm and gooey fill up the nooks and crannies of your cunt.

Webbing you up from the inside. It sticks to you like a second skin and he’s overfilling you to the point where you can feel a sheen of white drip down the insides of your thighs. Gluing them together. “Shit- don’t even have enough, ngh, space.”

“Oh, you will.” Through labored pants, Geto looks down where you were taking him - and he doesn’t think he’s seen a more heavenly sight. With your damp folds glazed in ivory, glistening after each pump of his hips. It’s forming a ring around his bulky base, soaking his happy trail.

He smears the droplets of cum that are part of the spillage, layering them onto the padded top of his thumb. Then, immediately, you gasp as you feel the stretch of him pushing those knots back inside. “Listen to that-” The loudest wet noises. “Wonder if I’ll be able to hah- sing as good as that at my next concert, hm?”

“Shut up.”

Geto doesn’t stop just yet. 

Not until his ravaged, red cock feels raw—oversensitive. Not until he’s properly fucked you through the hazy peaks of your high and you’re left merely trembling. Not until he’s squirted every ounce of pure white cum inside you, n’ you can’t do anything but perk your hips up from the seat and take it. Take it. 

He has tears in his eyes by now. The rockstar pulls back his hand from your clit after you start wriggling with overstimulation. 

And then makes sure you watch - make sure you can see his looooong, pink tongue slither out to suck up every sullied dewdrop of slick and cum from his digits. From his rings. Lastly, he slaps his cleaned, moisturized fingers against your ass. Groping. 

“I could write albums about that, gorgeous.” You still haven’t gained the ability to speak since being completely dumbified. 

And Geto sets you free from that headlock, finally. You’re dropping to the plushness of his car seat like you’re boneless, barely even able to look up as he seethes. Through labored pants, he smiles, “So…still wanna go back to my house so we can meddle about?”

Not even pulling out of you yet.

He throbs from the inside. Plump n’ probing. Awaiting your answer- you start to wonder whether he’ll be able to write out the entirety of his name on your cervix.

“Fuck yeah.”

.

.

.

It was no surprise that Meddle About topped the charts. All of them.

Someone had recorded it back at its debut concert, to which it had gone viral overnight. Then came the record deals, the studio sessions, and the official album launch (of which Geto claimed that all those love songs were about you.)

And it was also no surprise that that was what launched the Sorcerers from being a regionally famous band, frequenting the local bars and gigs, to being internationally-known. To touring all ‘round the world. 

But what did come as a slight surprise - a pleasant one - was when he’d asked you to join him.

Somehow, some part of you had imagined that once Geto got a taste of the high life, the fame, the music, the travel; that meant he’d simply indulge in it. Without you. Without even a thought of you - little did you know that you were all Geto Suguru could think about.

Seriously. It did endearingly irritate his bandmates. 

So when Geto asked you to join him, after some arrangements with your life back at home, you’d said yes. Of course.

And then there was another surprise. At the very first concert that you’d attended with him- and then for each one thereafter (it grew to be a little tradition, you see) there was this…

“And tonight- I have someone very special in the crowd for me- yes, Satoru, she’s here for me, not for you.” The crowd buzzes, peering over each other’s heads for a glimpse of another collaboration act, perhaps. Some even waited for one of the band members to stage dive. 

But what happens is that Geto Suguru - rockstar, worldwide heartthrob, lead guitarist of the Sorcerers - smiles. A slow, soft smile that they don’t think they’ve ever seen on him before, not this sort. 

And he’s pointing somewhere to the VIP seats, the closest ones at the very front row. Where there was you; you could feel the stares now. The whispers. The phones recording. Surely, this was about to end up on just about ten different social medias- just when you had gotten used to the campus teasing. This was about tens of thousands of more eyes. Honestly, having a rockstar boyfriend was not for the weak.

But he did make it so easy. So, so easy.

Geto continues on, a gentle chuckle leaving his mouth at the way you squirm under the spotlight. He says your name, “My muse, my lover. I love you. This one’s for you, just as they all are.” 

There’s a tumultuous wave of ‘aww’s’ that ring out, and screams, perhaps a few faints.

“Let’s meddle about, shall we?”

A/N. FHSJHKS I NEED HIM SOO BAD NGH-

Plagiarism not authorized.

[zikariogirl]

MASTERLIST

s a n e m i s h i n a z u g a w a

f i c s

the bodyguard and the secret | ch 1, ch 2, ch 3, ch 4

o n e s h o t s

lost without you (angst, fluff)

between the silence (fluff)

training day trouble (comedy)

hurt | pt one, pt two (angst, fluff)

silent storm (angst)

one bed, one night (angst, fluff)

poisoned desire | pt one, pt two (slight smut, fluff, comedy)

brotherly conflict (angst)

unexpected touch (slight smut)

just say it (fluff)

seamstress trouble | pt one, pt two (fluff, comedy)

matchmaker (fluff, comedy)

a quiet birthday (fluff)

flirting disaster (comedy, fluff)

don’t talk about yourself like that (fluff)

my wife (angst, fluff)

a dance of blades (fluff)

hashira training trouble (comedy, fluff)

winters touch (smut, fluff)

late night arrival (fluff)

training under the wind hashira (fluff)

things we can’t drown (fluff, comedy, angst)

the only one (angst)

not her (angst, fluff)

wrapped in him (fluff)

grandchildren of the wind (fluff)

hear you me (angst, fluff)

there’s nobody new (angst)

you’re not worthless (fluff)

a quiet night (fluff)

[togeppy]

the waiting game ;

tsukishima kei x reader

reader is childhood friends with tsukki, and has an ongoing bit where she'll ask him out periodically. she's grown used to him saying no, and doesn't expect it when he actually says yes.

You would easily consider Tsukishima Kei your closest friend. You grew up on the same street, went to the same schools, and were in the same class on multiple occasions, so your frequent proximity had forced the two of you to become very familiar with one another. Though he had a personality that others may find sour, knowing him for so long meant that you had seen every version of him, and knew that there was more to him than the reputation that he had gained. Sure, he was arrogant and standoffish a vast majority of the time, but you knew that he was also kind and considerate towards those he cared about. 

You didn't think that it was possible to gain feelings for a friend so close to you, but over the years you couldn't help but find yourself growing more and more intrigued with the idea of being in a relationship with your best friend. You cherished the friendship that the two of you had, but you couldn't help but wish that it could blossom into something more. Even as a child, you knew you wanted to make a move, but were held back by the fear that he would take it negatively, and you would lose a friend that meant the world to you. Sure, you both had other friends outside of each other, but a life without Tsukishima Kei by your side was not something you wanted to risk. 

The first time you asked him out was a joke to test the waters. The situation had been perfectly laid out for you, so you figured you might as well give it an attempt. 

At twelve years old, you, Tsukki, and your deskmates sat chatting about how White Day was approaching, with some members of the conversation more enthusiastic than others. One boy excitedly announced that he had started dating another girl in the class, and was planning on surprising her with candy on the special day. One by one, each of the boys rattled off who they wanted to give a present on the holiday, while the girls helped pitch ideas on how they could make their surprises even better. 

"Who are you getting a present for, Tsukishima?" a voice sounded next to you, a bright eyed girl addressing the one member of the circle who had not made a contribution. 

Tsukki stared blankly at her, before shaking his head, "No one, I don't have a girlfriend." 

The boy seated next to him accusingly pointed a finger in his direction. "There's gotta be someone you want to get a gift for. It's White Day, this is your chance to get one!" 

Your best friend scoffed, folding his arms in defiance. "It's a made up holiday, and a girlfriend right now would be a waste of time and money. Why would I buy chocolates for someone I don't have any interest in?" 

Sounds of protest came from everyone sitting at the table. Upon hearing his thoughts, you supposed that should have been a clear enough answer to whether or not he had an interest in anyone, but you couldn't help but think that he was only staying quiet because you were present at the table. While somewhat disappointed, you knew that this was your chance to prod him further and get a more concrete answer.

"Date me, I'm your best friend and I'll gladly take the chocolates," you half-joked, trying to play it off as cool as a twelve year old possibly could.

Your answer came quickly, not in the form of an answer, but in the ease of him brushing you off, not even considering the possibility that you could genuinely mean what you had just said. 

"I'm not getting anything for anyone, find someone else to buy your chocolates." 

Following that conversation, it had been a whole year before you took another chance at proposing the idea of a relationship, fearing that you would be shot down once again. It was a similar situation; the environment had given you the chance to casually slide the idea into the conversation, and you couldn't give up the opportunity. 

You and now-thirteen-year-old Tsukishima Kei stood in a convenience store on your way home from school, picking out snacks after you had spent a long day with your clubs at school. You were in the art club and had to take home a painting that you had done on a disproportionately large canvas. As you decided you wanted a barbecue pork bun, Tsukki picked yours up on your behalf, seeing as your hands were fully occupied with your artwork. Standing at the till, he gave the payment to the store owner, an elderly man with a strong gaze, and took the bag that was handed to him in return. 

"Young man, why don't you give the food to your girlfriend and carry that massive painting for her instead?" the elderly man chimed as the two of you began to pull away from the counter. 

Both your eyes widened, and you could see that the taller boy's cheeks had gone slightly red at being criticized by the man before you, along with the realization that you had been incorrectly identified as his girlfriend. He opened his mouth in protest, but the store owner gave him a pointed look, forcing him to place the bag back on the counter and take the painting from your arms. A large grin broke out on your face as you picked up the buns and gave the man a toothy smile while the two of you gave him a small bow before exiting the store. 

"That's more like it," you heard the owner's voice carry from behind you as the doors to exit the store chimed while you walked into the evening air. 

The second you were out of earshot of the man, you broke out into laughter, immediately turning to the boy who had turned an even deeper shade of red. 

"Hear that Kei? Carry the massive painting for your girlfriend," you mocked, taking your bun out of the bag and taking a bite, ensuring to make a grand show of the amount of freedom your arms had in that moment. 

"Tsk," was the only response heard from the boy as he turned his face away from you to try and hide the red that was slowly disappearing from his cheeks. 

"I say we should start dating so that you can become my personal artwork carrier," you quipped as you skipped ahead of him along your path. 

"Never going to happen," his voice sounded from behind you, unamused. 

"Go out with me!" you called back, continuing to skip ahead of him. 

"No." 

That incident had begun the joke that ran between the two of you. You would ask him out, and he would respond with some form of deadpan denial. Your friends had grown accustomed to it, expecting you to make the joke from time to time. On the days you spent with both Tsukishima and Yamaguchi, the shorter boy would even occasionally play along. 

"What in the world is that poster for?" you asked one day, noting an obnoxiously coloured poster stuck to a pole near the corner where you and Tsukishima split off from Yamaguchi on your paths home. 

"A couples dancing competition," the green haired boy read off with a laugh. 

"I wonder what the turnout would be, based on how ugly that poster is," your best friend commented, leaning forward to get a better look at the image before the three of you. 

"The two of you should sign up," Yamaguchi responded jokingly, matching the smile that was growing across your face, "It would be a sight." 

"You're so right, both of our incredibly above average dancing skills would blow the competition away," you joked, "the only thing we're missing is being an actual couple." 

"I'm not going out with you." 

"It was worth a shot." 

As you grew older, the two of you continued to remain best friends. You had shared sentiments over schoolwork, had jokes shared between each other, and you knew the ins-and-outs of each others' lives. You were closer than ever, but the fact that you two had only grown closer meant that it hurt even more that the two of you wouldn't be anything more than friends. As far as you were concerned, he only thought of you as a cherished friend, and all the times you had asked him out were nothing more than a gimmick resulting from a comfort level obtained from your level of friendship. You loved having him as a friend, but as you grew older and more mature, your feelings grew with you, and your childhood crush developed into infatuation with the boy living down the street. 

When high school came around, you both joined Karasuno together, acknowledging that it made sense for you to attend the same school once again. After the incident when you were thirteen, he had formed a habit of helping you carry your larger paintings on the walk home, and in turn you feigned some interest in the volleyball club, hearing what he and Yamaguchi had to say about their matches. 

When the boys volleyball team qualified for the finals of their tournament, you joined your school in supporting your two friends as they faced the top school in the prefecture. You were one of many loud voices cheering the boys on, though you liked to believe that amongst them all, you were cheering the loudest. When Tsukishima made the first block against the opposing ace, you felt a burning pride to see the boy you liked finally begin to show some emotion on the court, your excitement visible from the stands. 

Though you didn't understand the game well, it had you on your toes; everything that took place was crucial to the boys' success in the game. So encapsulated by the gameplay, and cheering on the series of blocks that Tsukki had done only moments before, you were confused when murmurs started to pass through the crowd and the players began to crowd around the tall blonde. It took a few seconds for you to realize that he was injured and was gripping his hand while the others spoke to him. Concerned, you left your spot amongst your classmates and approached his brother, who had a matching look of concern etched upon his face. 

"Akiteru, did you see what happened? Is Kei injured?" you questioned, standing next to the older Tsukishima brother. 

"I hope not," he muttered back, eyes carefully watching what was going on below. 

You both watched intently as your friend wrapped a towel around his hand and began to walk towards the gymnasium exit.

"C'mon, let's go see what happened," he stated, as you both left the stands along with the first-year Karasuno manager to go meet his younger brother. Walking down the steps you could feel the anxious energy radiating off of all of you, and you tried to shake it off so that the injured boy would not sense it too. The three of you met him outside the doors of the gym. 

"Kei, are you okay?" you asked, somewhat redundantly; of course he wasn't 'okay' if he was leaving the game because of an injury. 

"I'm fine," he quipped back, trying to act more nonchalant than you could tell he felt inside. You observed your friend as he had a back and forth with his brother over his physical state. He commented on how it was nice to rest after all the sets- you could tell that there was some truth to the statement, but you could also see that he had finally found his groove, and really wanted to be back in the game. As he began to walk away, you could see the frustration emanating from his stance, and you and his brother decided to follow him and the older manager to the infirmary.

You ran up to catch him, and walked alongside Tsukki, Kiyoko and Akiteru. You walked in silence, knowing that the middle blocker was busy ruminating on the events of the game, and could only think of getting back on the court, despite his efforts to pretend otherwise. As the four of you arrived at the infirmary, you sat beside him and the two others stood near the door behind you while the nurse took a look at his hand. You could tell that he was scared that the nurse would announce his hand was too severely injured and he would have to sit out the remainder of the match. 

To try and ease some of the nerves that he would be feeling, you grabbed his non-injured hand and gave it a small squeeze. 

"I'm sure it's fine and you'll be back soon," you whispered so that only he could clearly hear, "and once you get back, you'll win the game and go to nationals." 

You gave him a small encouraging smile, finally meeting his eyes, and for a few moments the boy did nothing but stare back at you. 

After a short pause he finally responded with a nod, "I hope so," before dropping his eyes as the nurse analyzed and dressed his wounds. The remainder of the visit, you four sat in silence, the volleyball player evidently deep in thought over what he would do when he returned to the match, however his eyes occasionally fluttered away, as if something were distracting him.

Soon, his finger had been wrapped and immobilized, and the nurse announced that he would be allowed to return to the game. The four of you sprung up, and began jogging back to the gym, Tsukki slightly out-pacing the rest of you. You and Akiteru stood by the doors as the other two ran to the coach to explain his condition and request that he be put back in the game. You and the other Tsukishima brother ran back up to the stands to watch upon seeing him take a seat on the bench, the substitution card in his hand. 

You watched as the remainder of the match unfolded, Tsukki back on the floor, knowing that he was still in pain though he tried to hide it. You didn't think it was possible, but you were even more captivated by the game in front of you, every movement drawing you closer and closer to the edge of your seat, more and more in awe of your best friend’s tenacity. When the final point was scored and Karasuno were announced as the winners, you jumped out of your seat, cheers and hollers all around you as your entire section cheered on the victory of your school's team. 

The victory party had begun, with Karasuno staff and students overjoyed alike, excitement filling the air. The team bowed to your cheering section, and you let out more cheers to your two friends before you. You first made eye contact with Yamaguchi, who had found you in the crowd sooner and you gave him a smile and a thumbs up to show your congratulations. Noticing his teammate's line of vision, your best friend found you as well and you beamed even more, changing your thumbs up into a heart that you made with both your hands. You could almost hear the half-laugh, half-scoff that came from the boy as he immediately turned away from your antics. You couldn't help but laugh as well when you turned away from your seat and started to join the crowd that had begun to trickle out of the stands. 

When everyone had finished mingling in the lobby, you excused yourself from your other friends to go greet the volleyball players who were dispersed outside the gym. You easily spotted the blond head of hair that stood taller and slightly apart from his teammates, the green-haired boy nowhere in sight. 

You decided that the best course of action to get his attention was to launch yourself at his back. So you did, and he let out a yelp as he caught you behind him, a small exasperated laugh being let out. You let go of him and gave him a proper hug, but from the front, despite his protests. 

"What did I say, go back soon, win the game, go to nationals," you said matter-of-factly, pointing a joking finger in his face once you had finally freed him of the hug, "I think I can see the future."

"I mean we were already so close to winning, the prediction was right in your face," the boy responded sassily, obviously trying to get back at your outrageous remark. 

"I don't know, I think I have a gift," you continued joking, "I'll show up to all of the nationals games and start predicting who's going to win, just you wait and see." 

"There are too many games going on, you'd never go to them all," the boy responded, trying to shut down your new aspirations. 

"No, I'll do it, just you wait and see. I'll go to all of yours too, up until you win it all." 

"You'd look like a stalker, the crazy fan of Karasuno who won't leave us alone." 

"Hmm... no," you responded back, "The best course of action is for us to start dating because then I would no longer be a crazed fan and instead a loyal girlfriend there to support my boyfriend." 

"Mhm okay." 

"And then if anyone asks I could just say that I... wait did you just say okay?" 

You had continued on your rambling, so focused on the dumb situation that you had thought up, that you had completely failed to notice the boy's response, or the way that he had been looking at you since the moment you had met him outside the gym. 

He now stood, smiling smugly at you, and you realized that while you had been going on and on, he had been looking down at you, a newfound admiration on his face. You couldn't say when exactly the change had been made, but you realized now that he was looking at you in a way that he had never once before, and you began to feel the butterflies in your stomach. 

"I did say okay," he stated plainly, placing a hand on the top of your head, making light of the fact that he towered over you. 

You were speechless and could do nothing but stare back at him in confusion. 

"After all this time, did you want me to say no again?" he asked, when almost a whole minute passed without a response from you. 

"NO, no not at all," you said finally, accepting that he wasn't just messing with you and actually meant it, "it just caught me off guard." 

The boy removed his hand from your head and smiled once again, less smug this time. 

"Okay, so now I'm expecting you to show up to all our games at nationals and be the supportive girlfriend cheering me on constantly." 

"Girlfriend already?" you retorted, once again taking his non-injured hand in yours, the difference being that now he held it as well, the feelings no longer one sided, "What happened to taking a girl out on a few dates before claiming that title?" 

"Did you really ask me out all those times just to not even want to be called my girlfriend?" he asked back, eyes narrowing in disbelief at the comment that you just made. 

"Nevermind, girlfriend it is." 

Bonus:

A week had passed since the volleyball team had won the game against Shiratorizawa. The boys had been busy following the win, so you finally had a moment to treat both your friends to a congratulatory dinner. The three of you walked in the direction of the restaurant on a Sunday, with you standing in between your two friends. You passed a hideous poster, identical to the one that the three of you had previously joked about. 

"Now that we've mastered volleyball, I think it's time for you two to take up dancing seriously," Yamaguchi smiled, recalling the previous joke that you had made over the poster. 

"I wholeheartedly agree," you said back, "this time we even meet the couple criteria." 

Yamaguchi stopped walking, turning to look at the two of you. You innocently looped your arm into Tsukki's, though your boyfriend stood still, no reaction evident on his face or through his body language. 

A few seconds passed before Yamaguchi unfroze and continued walking, a smile now plastered on his face. 

"Congratulations," was all he said at first, before he finished his train of thought, "but it was really about time." 

[madamechrissy]

Rent-a-Boyfriend

Pairings - Fake boyfriend! Satoru x F!Reader

Summary - You bribe your best friend Satoru Gojo with Digimon Merch into pretending to date you for your sister's wedding. In order to get your parents off your back about being a loner, you feel they'd buy it - you've been friends forever, after all. You all go full out, fake kisses, and sharing a bed - problem is that you both have feelings that are far too real.

Warnings - fluffy and cute, idiots in love, thigh riding, a fk ton of sexual tension, Toru being sweet, nerdjo mention. Oral ( f receiving) reader is a virgin, so first time with Toru (yay!) girl on top hehe, fingering, teasing, creampie, multiple orgasms, talking you through it -happy end of course! Oneshot - wc- 13k

This won the poll for the 25k event! thank you all so much for following me and being so amazing <3 got a girl blushing!

“Come on, please?” You tug at Satoru Gojo’s dark blue jacket, pouting up at him, he just rolls his pretty blue eyes.

“Don’t you make that face, I won’t give in this time.”

“I’ll buy you so much Digimon merch!” He scoffs, shaking his head. “Toru!”

“Don’t you ‘Toru’ me,” he crosses his arms, leaning back in the seat – the two of you are in a little cafe together, the one you meet up at once a month. It used to be once a week, but life has gotten ahold of you all pretty good, now that you are twenty three and out of college, both so busy it’s hard. 

Satoru’s been your best friend for as long as you can remember, and you never want to lose him.

“Toru…”

“Stop using that to your advantage,” he looks at you again, pouting with those glossy lips of his. “You know I always do anything when you give the puppy eyes.”

“Pretty please,” you bat your lashes, so cute Satoru can’t say no. He was going to relent anyway, but he loves to get you going.

“Oh fine.”

“Yay!” You hug him tightly, that way you always do that makes it difficult to hug you back, you’re too close, pressed against him, making him feel too much.

Satoru’s been close to you forever, he can’t lose you because you’re just so pretty, you smell so good. Can’t lose you because your touch makes him ache more and more over the years. All of that, bad ideas, especially when you’re one of the closest people to him. His hand comes to the small of your back, inhaling the sweetness of your shampoo, letting it fill his senses.

“Are you sniffing me?”

“Huh, what? No.” Satoru so was, you pull back and giggle all cute, eyes lit up when you kiss his cheek. His hands tense, shoving you playfully. “Yuck.”

“Oh what, I still have cooties?” You raise a brow at him, he shivers in feigned disgust.

“Worse than ever now.”

“Psh,” you sip your drink, his thigh is brushing against yours, and you don’t move away like you should. Satoru’s body feels far too good against yours.

Your parents seem to think you’re hopeless, since you really haven’t ever dated, but how can you, when Satoru exists? It’s a hopeless state of affairs, loving someone you’re so close to, literally in the damn sandbox together. Even if you crossed that line – Satoru’s never shown any interest.

How embarrassing would that be?

“Maybe it will be fun, you think of that?” You tease, trying to feign a little more ease than you have.

“You just wanna lay in bed with me,” Satoru brushes his hair back and winks, grinning when you glare at him. “Admit it.”

“Yeah, never happening - but we will have to share the room to make it believable for sure.”

“Are they really on your case that bad?” You wrap your lips around your straw, addling Satoru’s senses so badly he can’t even look at you.

The feelings just grow more and more, and pretending to date you would just make him want what he shouldn’t. “They are on my case, they think I’m just wasting away and gonna be a cat lady.”

“You do give cat lady energy.”

“Hey!”

He’s chuckling now, sipping on his own drink, you watch how the sunlight filters in through the window, casting shadows across the hard planes of his face.

Sometimes Satoru is just too handsome for his own good.

“Did you hear me?” He waves a hand in front of your face, and you realize you spaced out looking at his lips too long.

“Sorry, what?”

“How much Digimon merch?” You laugh, shaking your head just a bit.

“However much you want, but you’ll have to be very convincing, you’ll have to kiss me and everything,” you tease, smacking your lips at him, he tenses a bit then, picturing his lips all over his best friend. “Will it be that bad?”

“The worst,” his voice is soft, hoarse with desire that he almost lets spill from his lips. “Bet you suck at it.”

“Bet I’m better than you,” you lean close, far too close, a hand on his chest then, looking up at him under your lashes, his heart races just a bit even as he puts on a casual smirk. “Wanna practice?”

“I’ll require so much merch, in fact you’ll have to come to the con with me – all dressed up as one – if you want a kiss before I have to.”

“You’re so bratty, Satoru Gojo,” he exhales when you pull back, realizing he’s now throbbing under his damn jeans in a coffee shop with his best friend. “Fine, we’ll wait until we have to.”

“We’re staying three days, right?”

“Yes, mom and dad love you anyway.”

“How will you break it to them when they find out it’s not real?” You wrack your brain, sighing then.

“I’ll think of something, but at least for this wedding, I'll be in your debt forever.”

“That’s tempting, I can’t wait to take advantage.” You both laugh, and Satoru tries to figure out just how he’s going to handle ‘pretending’ with you. 

*****

“I’m never letting you drive again.”

“I wasn’t that bad!” Satoru pouts at you, damn near running out of the car when you all step out.

“Horrible, god how’d you get a licence,” you glare, and he snatches your keys up, holding them high. “Hah! Can’t reach?”

“Who can, you giant!” You’re hopping while he laughs, but then your tits just bounce too much, so he falters, letting you tug his arm down. “Got 'em!”

Satoru tries not to focus on that, quickly looking away and rubbing the back of his neck, the last thing he needs to do is let his gaze linger longer than it should. “You really almost killed me, I’m driving back.”

“That’s fine, eight hours sucked anyway,” you stretch just a bit, and so does he, turning and avoiding how your shirt lifts just a bit. “Are you ready for this?”

You walk up next to him, he’s snatched up your bags on one shoulder, you hold his other hand, feeling it tense in your grip. He pauses, looking down at you then, gripping your hand just a little tighter, memories flashing of all the times he’d snatched your hand and run out of class when you were younger. Why does it feel so different now that you’re both older?

“Make it look real, remember? I have the merch all picked out,” you wave your phone around just a bit, earning him squeezing your hands just a bit. “There you go, we got this yeah?”

“Yeah…” You both walk up and are greeted with your very surprised parents, the house just full of your entire family, all bustling and fussing over your sister and all the planning. “Hey there.”

“Satoru Gojo!” Your mom tugs him in for a hug, your dad snatches the bags and sets them down in the living room. “Look at you, you’re taller!?”

“I know,” he laughs a bit, slipping up his black shades to rest on those snowy locks, while your dad hugs him too. “Hey pops. Ah, hey sis.”

Your sister comes out, hugging you tightly, then peeking over at Satoru. “Gojo, you finally admitted you’re in love huh?”

“What!?” He pulls back, your dad and mom are laughing behind their hands, and you mouth to Satoru silently.

Remember!?

Digimon!

“Oh, hah – yeah I guess we really have been in love,” he snatches you up, arm wrapping around your shoulders, smacking a kiss on your cheek. He feels it warm under his lips quickly, the little breath catching in his ears. “Aren’t we, pookie?”

Pookie, huh?

You wanna laugh at that, but you instead put a hand on his chest and tiptoe, giving him a kiss on his chin. You wonder if you’re imagining the blush that decorates his cheeks for just a moment, but it’s distracted by all the commotion.

“You’re finally dating someone!”

“Mom!?”

“I’m just so happy baby,” you want to fall into a hole, as aunts, uncles and cousins all come to just express their surprise. Satoru’s snickering so you decide to ‘accidentally’ stomp his foot, earning your six foot four friend hopping one one foot.

“Oops, sorry baby.” Satoru’s so gonna get revenge later on you, with your bratty little smile.

“It’s fine, sweet sugar bear!” You almost snort out loud, he smacks a kiss on your cheek and damn near slobbers on you.

It’s a flurry of action while everyone sinks their teeth into Satoru and you, all nosy and curious, many of them making comments like you’re an old maid when you’re still young. Your family is a little too traditional, and they’re all in love with Satoru so much you’re damn near ignored, he eats up the attention like he always does at these sort of things.

You can’t say anything about it, Satoru’s parents have been so distant his entire life, you actually love that your family is so close to him.

“Do you wanna freshen up before dinner?” Your mom asks, you nod gratefully. “Perfect, we set up a room for you two.”

“Um… one room?” You ask, seeing Satoru chuckling, slinging an arm around your neck.

“Show us the room, mama.”

“Of course Toru!” You roll your eyes a bit, no one loves Satoru as much as your mom does – aside from you.

But you can’t admit that.

A part of you starts enjoying just how easy it would be to make this a part of your life, at least this aspect, your family, and likely all of your friends. Yet you know fully that it’s a bit of a show, yet it makes your mind drift off – imagining too much, so much so you almost bump right into his back when you all come to a stop in front of the stairs.

“Oof!”

“Clumsy,” he teases, catching you before you tumble back with ease, one arm shooting up and wrapping around you. “Clumsy little pookiekins.”

Oh jesus.

Does he have to feel this good?

Your mom leads you up the stairs, their new house is still a little unfamiliar, you’ve only been there a couple of times since they moved. It’s a pretty room you’ve slept in before when you stayed, cream colored walls and perfectly clean, even the little throw pillows are all arranged. “Do you need extra pillows, Satoru?”

“No, that’s perfect, I appreciate it.” Your mom doesn’t ask you if you need anything, but then she’s always loved Satoru – you joke that it’s more than she loves you all the time.

“The shower is right in there,” she points to where the room connects to a little bathroom. “Get washed up for dinner, I’m ordering your favorite Satoru.”

“Um, hi? What about me?” Satoru is snorting practically.

“Honey, you know I’m just excited, I haven’t seen Satoru in a year!”

“I see how it is.” You narrow your eyes, earning your mom kissing you on the cheek.

“I will order your favorite dessert.”

“I’m an afterthought.” She laughs and shuts the door, leaving the two of you alone, Satoru sobering up just a bit as he sits on the bed, you turn and look at him then, suddenly feeling so nervous.

He’d spent plenty of nights on the floor or couch at your childhood home, but not in the same bed, taking it over when he lays down, crossing one ankle over the other. “Nap time.”

“Nap time, huh?” You sigh and scooch his big body over, lying down next to him, yawning just a bit when you snuggle against the pillow. “I’m tired too.”

“Are you?” You nod, eyes fluttering shut, leaving Satoru to study you carefully. “You think they bought it?”

“With ease,” you snuggle a little too close to him, making his heart race in his chest, fingers itching to caress your cheek. You look at him with sleepy eyes, breath right against him, tickling his neck. “They were convinced I had a crush on you when we were younger, sis tortured me about it.”

“Aww, that’s because I’m so pretty,” Satoru bats his long snowy lashes, you snort a bit, whacking him with one of the pillows. “What, not gonna admit it?”

“You’re conceited is what you are,” he smacks you with a pillow hard then, you gasp, getting on your knees and whacking him back. “You’re also the biggest brat to exist.”

“That’s you! Hah, and you’re weak.” Satoru yanks the pillow from your grip, tossing it on the floor and then smacking you with one again. “Can’t win against me, can you?”

“Don’t count me out, ruining my nap!” You hop down on the floor, grabbing it and hitting him right in his pretty face. “I’ll make your face prettier.”

“Swear to god-” You pounce on him, the bed springs creak just a bit, while you smack him again, only for him to yank you down and start tickling you. “Hah, I know all your spots.”

“Stop, stop!” You’re trying to get out of his grip, the tickles on your waist too much, you can’t stop laughing, wriggling until somehow…

You land right on top of him.

Satoru’s laughing softly, before he realizes it, that you’re straddling his lap, thighs pressed on either side, and your heat is against him. You’re still giggling, his fingers pausing then, looking down nervously and swallowing. “What is it, my turn?”

You lean over and begin to run your fingertips teasingly over his lower abdomen, he’s always ticklish there, but he just grips your hands in his hold, not making a sound. You blink a bit in confusion, breathless from the battle – one you both frequently had as kids – until you feel it.

You follow his suddenly intense gaze down, to where he’s pressed against you, hard and thickening by the moment, your breaths come even quicker, hands still in his grip as you feel him. Your eyes both lock then, his dilated in a way you’ve never seen, lips parted just so, and it’s not like he’s ever looked at you.

You should get up, you should move right? Yet you’re stuck there, unable to do more than blink rapidly and open your lips to say something, anything at all, but both of you don’t speak. The silly laughter has quit spilling from your lips, left with hot desire clenching your tummy at the sensation – at just how good Satoru feels against your cunt, aching for more.

You try not to roll your hips, you try not to shift, when he lets go of your wrists, and his hands slide down, across to your hips, an exhale escaping his mouth. You watch his chest rise and fall with his breaths, his fingers curling around the curve of each hip, and you realize you’re soaking wet embarrassingly fast.

“Satoru, I’m sorry…” You shift to move, earning a little moan from his throat, cock leaking pre against his boxers as his cock insistently nudges between your lips, just your panties as a barrier.

“Fuck, don’t… don’t move,” he whispers then, you tense, struggling to just stay still. “You’re making it worse.”

“Making… what worse?” He sighs, leaning up on his elbows, your breaths both mingling together, in a way that makes you question everything.

Could Satoru feel the same?

He doesn’t speak, instead he gently presses you down, watching your eyelashes flutter, your hands gripping his shirt so tightly the material is balling up in your grip. You move your hips just a bit, making him groan again, ever so softly, noses touching, foreheads resting together. You swallow, throat gone dry at what you feel, the nerves, the desire, the worry for ruining the most important relationship you have.

“Toru, um- ah!” You jump when your sister just opens the fucking door, and you fall right off the bed with a thud since Satoru jumps too, like two kids caught.

“We were… talking!?” Satoru covers his bulge with a pillow, and your sister just bursts out laughing, wearing a tiara and a sash that says bride to be.

“Get out!” You throw a pillow at her, knocking her tiara clean off, Satoru would laugh but he’s still throbbing and it fucking hurts.

How would he ‘pretend’ to kiss you!?

“Rude, it’s my wedding you know.”

“Why are you barging in?”

“I wanna see my sis and her pookie,” she’s giggling, while you start shoving her out the door. “Don’t you miss me?”

“Not really, annoying little sisters still suck, even when they get married.” She winks over at Satoru now, laughter still coming out and making you heat up in embarrassment.

“Looks like you two are next, I could feel the tension!”

“Out!” You shove her unceremoniously, resting your back and the door and huffing, you’re far too cute like that, and doing nothing for his situation. Your eyes meet his, before you look down a bit, pushing off the door to stand. “Sorry, she’s as much of a menace as ever.”

“She certainly is,” he teases, smiling a bit at you and feigning ease. “Um… I’m sorry that…”

“No, no it’s cool, um… it’s just a normal reaction for a guy, right?” You’re so clueless you wouldn’t even know. “Aren’t you experienced?”

“Callin’ me a slut?” He raises a brow.

“Not a virgin, is all.”

“You’re… are you…” You blush furiously, this whole thing is more embarrassing every freaking second. “Oh.”

“Yeah, oh.” You sink down and cover your face, Satoru wills his damn cock to fully go down so he can get up, but he’s toxic and thinking of having you first.

Stop that, stop it, go down.

Down boy.

He finally just adjusts it up into his waistband and comes up to you, sitting right on the plush carpet and wrapping an arm around you. “Why be embarrassed, what’s wrong if you’re picky?”

“I’m twenty three, that’s what’s wrong,” you peek at him then, and he just looks too good in that moment, your body still throbbing from sitting on him. “I’m the forty year old virgin.”

“You are not,” he’s snorting in laughter, playfully pulling you close, tilting two fingers under your chin. “I could fix that for you.”

You pause just a moment, lips parted, eyes wide.

“What!?”

“I was kidding,” he lets your chin go, before raising a brow. “Unless?”

“You’re annoying!” He gets shoved away, laughing at himself like he’s just so funny, but all he does is embarrass you more, confuse you more.

What dumb idea was this?

“Do we need to practice kissing too?”

“I’ve kissed, you know.” Why are Satoru’s lips so glossy?

“Plant one on me, rockstar,” he taps his lips with that annoying smirk of his. “Don't want the first to be in front of them, what if they know?”

“Oh fine, you brat,” Satoru smooches his lips all dramatically, when you get on your knees, hands on his shoulders. “Pucker up then.”

“I'm scared!?” You both laugh then, you've always been so comfortable with each other, until your lips land on his.

You both pull back, his hand slipping up your back. Your lips tingle, this little shock you can't explain, looking down at glossy lips. “There, I kissed you.”

“You did, a little peck. That's all you know?”

“You're an ass,” he chuckles, trying to ease the tension, but you felt too good. “I can kiss.”

“Lemme see, bet I'm better.”

“You always think you're the best at everything,” you roll your eyes, then your little hands are on either side of his face, kissing him deeply. He exhales, tongue slipping against the seam of your lips, you damn near squeak, pulling back quickly with a gasp. “What're you doing?”

“Kissing you,” he captures your lips again, hungry as he pours all of the desire he's had into it, tilting his head to the side to dive deeper. You’re trembling, hands gripping in fists at your sides, struggling to collect yourself. Your tongue moves back against his, lashes fluttering shut, letting him drink up your little sighs.

His hand entangles in your hair, tongue dancing along your teeth, his taste so sweet it’s intoxicating. Slipping closer, a hand on his thigh, letting him overtake you completely, gripping his thigh and clinging for some sense of normalcy. Whatever you’ve imagined this kiss would be like over the years couldn’t have prepared you – your heart hammering, desire clenching your tummy.

He pulls back a bit, just as lost as you it seems, but only a moment – then it’s a little smirk and a raised brow. “Mmm. That's how you kiss.”

“Not in front of people you don't,” you stare up at him, dazed, seeing a blush form on his own cheeks. “You wanna have your tongue in my throat in front of them?”

“What!? No… I was showing you for… later.”

“Later.”

“Mmm,” he brushes the air next to your cheek before he gets up quickly, clearing his throat. “I need um… a shower.”

“Right, go ahead,” he darts to the bathroom, leaving your legs trembling, your lips tingling from him. Just what was that!?

****

“So, when did you two know you were in love?” Satoru almost spits out his drink the same time you do, simultaneously panicking and looking at each other.

“We didn’t figure out a story!” You whisper in his ear, trying to look like you’re being loving, a hand on his thigh driving him to insanity.

“Well, she confessed her love to me,” you scowl, Satoru holds your hand with a devious grin, keeping it on a well muscled thigh that’s fucking your sense. “She told me she’d loved me since… let’s see, kindergarten!”

“Called that,” your sister says, snuggling up to her fiance while she sips on champagne. “She said you were - the cutest boy she ever- hey!?”

“That’s quite enough,” you mumble, launching a little garlic knot at her head, Satoru’s snickering and it’s hard to pretend you don’t wanna punch him. “So yeah, kindergarten, but he’s the one who confessed first.”

“I did?” You stomp his foot, he hisses and scowls. “Oh yeah, I did… I told her I love how mean she is.”

“That’s an odd love confession,” your mom says, looking between you both with an amused expression. Satoru kicks you back under the table and you yelp. “Are you two… good?”

“So good mom! Aren’t we Toru?” You nuzzle his cheek but that little act makes his heart race, his stomach tense from just how good it feels. “Answer.”

Your whisper reminds him of the goal here, he smiles and turns then, pressing a quick kiss to your lips, and the two of you freeze. You’d practiced in the room, he was curious if it was the nerves of the first time together, but nothing felt like that, like the sweetness of your lips under his, eyes looking right at him in shock when he wraps an arm around you.

“Aw!” They’re all cooing over you both, Satoru pulls back and you both fail to compose yourselves for just a moment, before Satoru grins.

“We are good, aren’t we pookie?” He murmurs, you shake yourself out of it, remembering what you’re doing here.

“Yes, for sure. When is the rehearsal dinner?” You ask, looking at your sister now, who launches a garlic knot back at you. “Hey!”

“You started it,” you both stick your tongues out at each other. Satoru snatches the flung knot and pops it in his mouth, sighing.

“Yummy.”

You giggle at that, but he licks the buttery garlic off his lips and fucks up your head instead. You’re trembling just a bit at his tongue rushing across his lips, yeah it affected you before – you’ve had it bad for Satoru for a long time, but now it was even worse than before.

“Want a bite, little shnookums?” Satoru teases, forking the spaghetti and swirling it around. You go to say no when he raises his brows.

“Oh, of course pookiekins!” He snorts just a bit in laughter, but when your lips wrap it and you take it in your mouth?

Fuck.

You have just a little sauce on the corner of your lips – Satoru wipes it without thinking, making your eyes dart up to his contact. “You’re messy, sugar shnookums.”

“Thank you, pookie bear.” You murmur teasingly, ignoring how good his fingers feel on your face.

“Oh you two are disgustingly in love,” your sister makes a face, Satoru just feeds you another fork full. “When are you gonna pop the question?”

“It’s new!?” You say in between bites – at this point Satoru is feeding you. Your aunt and uncle start going on and on about how much they love him – who doesn’t love Satoru?

The plan is working perfectly, they aren’t bothering you about dating someone, and they buy the friends to lovers story easily. Overall, it’s already a big success, which Satoru can’t help but gloat about when you step into the room, wearing your pajamas, which are just a shirt of Satoru’s you stole and a little pair of shorts.

He pauses as you step out of that bathroom, running a brush through your hair, the lights soft from behind you, making your skin look that much prettier, every inch revealed where that shirt hits mid thigh glowing. Your nipples are pressed against the thin, soft material, he struggles to rip his eyes off them.

You can’t get your eyes off him either, just wearing a pair of sweats with little digimon all over them and nothing else - chest bare. You’re used to that, his chiseled frame and narrow torso, however right now it makes you press your thighs together just a bit, tension so thick in the air it’s hard to even breathe.

Act normal.

This isn’t real.

“You stole my shirt?” He breaks that silence, raising a thin brow at you, you manage an eye roll, heading over to the bed and lifting the cover.

“Of course I did,” it makes you feel close to him, god it smells like him. “I love your bougie ass shirts, so comfy.”

“Tch,” you giggle, looking far too cute when you snuggle, and Satoru hesitates just a bit. “You want me to sleep on the ground?”

“No, no that’d be so rude, we can share right?” He eyes the bed again, sighing at how narrow it is.

He’d be pressed against you if he turned one wrong way.

Satoru slips in under the blankets next to you, laying on his back, studying your face carefully before flicking off the lamp on the bedside. “Think they bought it?”

You look at him, yawning a bit. “I do, pookiekins.”

Satoru snorts in laughter, ruffling your hair annoyingly, you smack at his hand and sit up a bit. “What’s the plan when you have to tell them the truth?”

You frown a bit then, brows drawing together. “I haven’t thought that far, I hope it won’t hurt them…”

“Can’t pretend forever, y’know,” you nod a bit, turning back to your side now, ass damn near touching him, making his heart thrum in his chest. “We can just tell them we’d rather stay friends?”

“We could,” your fingers trace the sheets in front of you, contemplative while the soft cotton runs under your fingers. “Don’t worry I won’t make you keep doing this or anything, I know it’s already annoying.”

“It’s…” not annoying. “I actually…” love this too much. “It’s not a big deal, you’d do the same for me.”

You look back with a pretty little smile – almost a sad one, making him contemplate that expression far too much. “Of course I’d be your fake girlfriend.”

“Aww, we’re bonding,” he rests on his side, grinning at you, making something in your heart flip before you turn back around. “What if I kick you off the bed by accident?”

“Psh, wouldn’t be an accident, you’re evil,” Satoru chuckles, feigning an ease he no longer feels, when your shoulders gently move up and down, falling asleep quickly. “Night Toru.”

“G’night…”

He slips the covers over your shoulders as you fade out.

One bed.

You’re both sleeping in the same bed.

Satoru can inhale your scent, feel the heat of your body when you're so close, hear your light little snore, and everything in him aches to tug you closer, to feel you against him. How would it feel to hold you in his arms? It’s like you belong there, truly, he can’t imagine how you’re not then, how he restraints himself.

Life moved on for you both, once inseparable, but you both always made time for each other, whereas when he’s had break ups, it was done for good. Satoru can’t risk losing you just because he can’t hold back anymore, he has to remember you just wanted to get your parents off your back, and that the kisses were just for show.

Everything changed when your lips met.

His fingers hover just a couple inches away from where the blanket covers your skin, tracing the curve of your hip, where he'd love to tug you against him, wrap his arm, before he lets it fall and turns to face the other side.

It's impossible to fall asleep next to you and not hold you.

*****

You wake up with Satoru Gojo’s heavy arm and thigh wrapped around you like a monkey, trapping you down with his heavy weight. You wriggle just a bit, blinking sleep out of your eyes while soft light filters in through the slots of the blinds.

Turning, you see his Adam's apple, his chin, pulling back to look up at him, far too pretty to exist. His snowy lashes are long and lush, the sharp plane of his jaw illuminated by the sun, his plump lips just the tiniest bit parted. He shifts just a bit when you try to disentangle yourself, a hand pressing on your lower tummy and tugging you against him.

That’s then his thigh comes between yours, and the hard muscles press against your cunt, you gasp and wriggle again, only enhancing how fucking good he feels. Satoru murmurs your name softly, you worry he’s awake - but he’s still knocked out, while you’re drooling down his bare skin.

Fuck.

You push at his big ass arms, ignoring how good those biceps feel underneath your fingertips, but Satoru just increases how tightly he’s squeezing you, burying his face against your neck like you’re a body pillow. You’d laugh if you weren’t stupidly wet against your best friend in the world.

“Satoru, wake up,” you manage to murmur, despite him squeezing you so tightly you can’t breathe damn near. You take several breaths, shutting your eyes and trying to ignore how good it feels here. This was your idea – to fake date, to put yourself in a position like this, acting as if your feelings were gone.

They’re clearly more prevalent than ever.

He shifts once more, his scent enwrapping you just like his long limbs do, steady thrum of his heart and his deep breaths against your back moving ever so slowly, pressing his thigh higher. At this point it feels so good you can’t help but flutter your eyes shut, just stuck with him, biting your lip to try to hold back a filthy little moan when your slit drags against him.

Fuck, stop moving!

“Hmm,” he’s humming in his sleep, hand slipping up now until one grips your breast. “So soft.”

“Satoru!” You smack at his hand, hissing damn near when he squishes it in his grip, just making you wetter. “Get off!”

Satoru finally stirs away, realizing just how compromised your position was, blinking sleep out of his eyes and leaning up, feeling your soft breast in his hand, your heat against his thigh. He’s already throbbing just waking up, but then he feels you dripping against him? He sucks in a breath, frozen behind you, hand no longer gripping but not moving.

“Shit,” he grumbles, pulling his hand off reluctantly, ignoring the fact that your nipple grazed his palm like it did. “I’m so sorry.”

“You’re suffocating me,” you shove his arm off you, but his leg stays, and you heat up when you realize how wet you got, embarrassingly so and there was no denying it. “I um… you’re… it’s…”

“Natural,” he murmurs softly, sleep making his voice raspy, making the situation a million times worse between your thighs. “I must have just wrapped around you, I usually hug like three pillows.”

“Yeah,” you can’t say anything else, his hand hovers over your hip, not touching but sitting there. He pulls back a bit, eliciting a whimper from your throat before you can stop yourself, covering your mouth and shutting your eyes. “Let the earth fucking swallow me now.”

He laughs just a bit, hand finally settling on your thigh, pressing it up against his hard muscles again, pressing right up between your folds. You look back at him with a glare, his smirk widening. “Need some help?”

“I swear I’ll beat you,” your lashes flutter when he moves again. “I didn’t make fun of you yesterday.”

“You were wet then too,” you glare now, just looking far too pretty. “Do you need me to take care of you?”

“Take care of… you’re Satoru and… fuck stop that!” You’re whining out again, slamming a hand on your mouth again, when his hand drags you on your thigh. “This is mortifying.”

“Been a while?” He’s acting like he’s not dying, leaking so much pre his shorts are stuck to him, an easy grin on his face.

“You’re a dick,” you sigh, burying your face in your hand now. “Your fake boyfriend skills do not need to extend to this.”

“I see, you don’t need any help at all,” he brushes his thigh up again, pushing down on your hip so you’re grinding on him now, you’re trembling, wanting to punch him as much as you want to hump his leg. “You could use me while I’m here.”

“Use you?” You look back at him, shifting your hips and watching his pupils widen, the only sign he’s affected at all.

“Mmm, could be a perk of the fake dating.”

“Fake orgasms?” You tease, then he leans low, lips almost brushing yours. Your heart hammers in your chest, you know he’s teasing you, but it’s impossible to maintain any calm right now.

“No, they’d be very real,” Satoru’s fingers slip up a bare thigh under the blanket that’s all askew and half kicked off, keeping that smirk on even though if he touches your pussy he’ll probably just cum. “I can show you how and everything, what are friends for?”

“You think I don’t masturbate because I’m a virgin?” It’s his turn to barely be able to form a sentence. “Just because no one has gotten me off doesn’t mean I don’t.”

“Ah,” the thought of you touching your pretty pussy is enough to make him bust and leak out all over that ass nestled against him. “So you’re good then, no need for my best friend services?”

“You joke too much!” You turn and shove him, until he flops off the bed, scowling up at you, you just giggle, trying to forget the fact that you humped his leg damn near. “Stop playing.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he stays on the floor, just leaned back on his hands, legs crossed at the ankles, studying you, suddenly quiet.

“What is it?”

Satoru opens his lips, then shuts them, then opens again. “It’s just that… I didn’t agree to this for-”

“Who’s ready for a shopping trip!?” Your sister annoyingly bangs on the door, you roll your eyes and shake your head, getting up and walking over to open it before looking over at Gojo.

“What was it, Toru?” You ask softly, he stands then, looking far too good when you study his muscled back, making you ache in ways you can’t admit.

Satoru was going to tell you he didn’t agree to this for ‘merch’ or just because you two were best friends.

He wants more, he wants this to be real. Fitting in with your family like a glove, feeling loved from you and them, the closeness you two share that leaves a void any time he ever tries to date. What you don’t realize is he has been dying to get the courage to ask you out, but he’s always hit one road block.

Losing this forever.

Best friends can get through anything, but relationships scatter, they fall apart – they drift away, and he can’t imagine not having you near.

“What is it?” You’re smiling curiously, but he just shakes his head.

“It’s nothing,” he pats your head with a sad little smile, making the inner workings of your brain fire off in a myriad of signals. “Better get that.”

“Right,” your sister soon drags you out to shop, bombarding you about Satoru while he relaxes at home with your parents.

“Should we get lingerie?”

“Oh god,” you’re grumbling when you two pass a lingerie store, the mannequins up front wearing the most delicate lace that covers nothing. “No way.”

“Don’t you two…” You’re a flustered mess, your sister’s brows raising. “You’re not fucking yet?”

“Shut up!?” You cover her mouth, embarrassingly looking around to see who is within ear shot, she’s laughing against your palm.

“He must be a gentleman, well I’ll get you the sluttiest-”

“We’re here for you, not me, I already have my dress.”

“I’m the bride,” you roll your eyes at her. “What I say goes. Ooh! That screams - fuck me daddy.”

“I’m so done with you,” you’re laughing though, your sister is anything if not a fucking trip, younger and more experienced, a free bird truly. “Fine, one outfit.”

“Yay!”

*****

“Make a toast!” Everyone is urging you that afternoon at the rehearsal dinner. As the maid of honor you absolutely had to do just that, prepare the first toast.

You look over at Satoru, who’s sipping on champagne while you all sit around the banquet table, his Adam's apple bobs with his swallowing of the bubbly, fruity concoction. You smile at him, earning his little wink that just didn’t feel fake at all, a hand squeezing above your knee gently.

How could you separate what’s for show, what’s friendship, and what could be…

More?

Shaking that off, you focus on the bride and groom to be instead, who are both nuzzling each other’s noses. They’re sickeningly cute, naturally doing the things you and Satoru are pretending to, the longing fills you then and you despise it. You should be happy for her, not envious because you’re scared you’ll ever get that.

Not when Satoru exists.

“I’d like to toast to our soon to be newlyweds. To the two lovebirds, who have shown us all what it means to love someone unconditionally, and who have had the nerve to make it look easy,” your sister gets a little teared up then. “I don’t know how you deal with her crazy ass – but you do it well.”

“Hey!” They’re all laughing a bit, you smile over at her.

“I love you, and I love to see your relationship blossom,” a little more serious again, everyone settles in. “You both make me want that love.”

Satoru’s heart hammers in his chest while he watches you, in that pretty pink dress you’re wearing, the same shade as the blossoms decorated along the white tablecloth. You’re soft like this, usually so feisty and cracking jokes – this is a more serious side of you, the side that’s always pulled him in and intrigued him.

He’s avidly listening to every word that lingers from your lips, lost in how much he wishes they were for him, about him. He puts on a perfunctory laugh when he has to, mingling in with your family, trying to ignore how perfect and easy it all feels, but everything was easy with you, it always had been.

It was terrifying, how easy it was to hold you in his arms.

“How’d I do?” You whisper, leaning close – too close.

He gives you that easy grin, leaning over to press a kiss on your cheek, feeling it warm under his lips. “You did great sugar plum.”

You snort at the nickname, but all you can think is one thing –

You should have taken him up on his offer.

Soon the dance instructor is guiding all of the bridesmaids and groomsmen, along with your sister and her groom, but they of course set their sights right on you and Satoru. You could swear your sister was part demon – how could she at one moment shove you both together, then the other quite literally cockblock, you’ll never know.

“Dance you two,” your sister practically shoves you and Satoru to the wide space in the banquet hall, and the instructor steps up. “They don’t know how to dance, can you give them the basics?”

“Says who!?” You and Satoru demand at the same time, she snickers a bit.

“Says me seeing you two awkwardly shuffle every school dance.” You and Satoru flush then, he clears his throat a bit when the dancer takes his hand.

“One on her waist,” he murmurs, all seductive with some french accent that makes this all the more intimate. “And one on her hand, like this. Ah, so romantic!”

Satoru looks at your entwined fingers for a moment, how his hand swallows yours with his long, thick fingers, before he looks down into your eyes, seeing how dark they’ve gotten. Your heart races so quickly he can feel it when the instructor presses you both close together, his fingers squeezing your waist just a bit, feeling your skin burning underneath your dress.

“Ah, that is young love,” he blinks back tears, you’re so embarrassed then, even emotional when your mom is almost crying. You start to feel terrible for this little game, knowing it will hurt them.

You were so selfish, dragging Satoru in this too, who’s looking at you with those blue eyes that you could never figure out the shade of, holding your hand in his while pressing you against his firm, hard frame. You’re hardly able to form a word or a typical joke you two usually share, not like this, not when you believe this dance instructor’s flowery words.

Love.

You’ve loved Satoru for so long in so many ways, as a friend, as damn near family, as a confidant. Yet the love keeps changing, shifting and just growing with every moment you exist next to him, drinking up every bit of what Satoru Gojo had to offer – which was so much, too much.

Over the years watching him date, you tried your best to remain detached, and he never let your friendship go. You have been a priority to him since you both made friends on that playground back in first grade, he makes you feel so…

Special, seen, heard.

Even when he’s joking, teasing or annoying you, he’s been there to hold you when you cry, to distract you from your low times, whether he helped you study or he just sat there next to you in the quiet. Yet he never crossed the line, never even touched you like he has this week, in your little game that feels too perfect, making you realize that you’ll never have this with someone.

How could you feel this, the length of time you’ve known each other, the comfortability even as you’re physically on edge. The familiarity when he spins you on the floor tentatively, you misstep just a bit, yet he catches you with ease. He always has caught you in your clumsy bouts, usually teasing or making fun, but when his arm wraps your waist?

He’s too stunned to think.

You already look too pretty in that dress, you’re so serious tonight – not the goofy girl he usually spends his days with. That flush that spreads across your cheeks and nose, the lights dancing across your bare skin in that dress, he avoids looking too fucking long at it, at the pretty necklace resting between your collarbones.

He wants to trail his lips across them – then lower, to the pretty breasts he had in his hand this morning, the mere memory almost makes him misstep, narrowly catching himself beforehand. You look up at him as if you’ll say something, the eyes of the entire rehearsal dinner on you, before you look back down at his chest, worrying your lower lip with your teeth.

“Am I a good partner, sugar bear?” He teases, lightening the mood then, you sigh and plaster on a smile and a nod, but it feels fake.

This is fake.

Why are you so absorbed, so lost in the cerulean depths that look down at you, twinkling just a bit with playfulness, yet when they briefly sweep down across your chest, you heat up under their gaze. Satoru spins you as instructed, bringing your back against him, hands joined while you look at each other, ending the dance.

Everyone is clapping, earning the slight embarrassment of the two of you, but it’s worse when your mom pulls you aside, hugging you tightly. “I’m so happy for you, to see you both so in love.”

Ouch.

You’re gonna hurt her.

You’re gonna hurt yourself.

You and Satoru sit through the rest of that dinner with ease, his arm casually thrown over your chair, leaning close to pull off the roll that will be done soon. You don’t want this to end, the way he treats you, looks at you – as if he truly does feel the way he’s merely pretending to.

“Everything all right?” You look at him then, concern on his features. At your little nod his lips press together, eyes narrowing. “No you’re not.”

He knows you too fucking well.

“I’m good, promise!” You put a hand on his thigh and squeeze just a bit, smiling brightly up at him.

He doesn’t buy it of course.

*****

Later that night back at home your family is still enjoying drinks and talking, you two are thoroughly exhausted. Satoru is setting up blankets and pillows on the floor, you guiltily sit in the bed, tugging the covers up to cover your chest and sitting up. It’s probably fucking better he does lay on the floor for your own sanity, yet you can’t stand the thought of not enjoying him in your bed for this short amount of time.

“Satoru, I can take the floor.”

“No way I let you do that,” he looks up at you, shirtless and wearing his pajama pants only, the way that makes you ache. “I clearly in my sleep grab your tits and cling like a monkey.”

“Yes you do,” you laugh a bit, and so does he, self deprecating as always, then a quietness settles in the room. “We could put a pillow between us?”

“I’ll probably still attack,” he’s teasing, eyes glittering with humor. “Should probably keep me on the floor.

You want him in bed.

You want him to ‘help’ you, as he called it just this morning, taunting and teasing you until you almost begged him. Yet you can’t just blurt that out – what part had been kidding, and what was serious? What crossed the line with the two of you anymore, could things just be at some ‘friendship’ level truly? Or would it just ruin everything to have a taste of him?

“Is it because I was so wet?” The word almost makes him whimper, eyeing you with those baby blues gone round.

“Is it… huh!?”

You press your legs together, looking away nervously. “Wet, I was soaking wet on you this morning.”

He swallows then – as if he needed a fucking reminder, as if he didn’t desperately run his finger down his own thigh and lap your juices clean off it the moment he was away. Sucking it so desperately and pathetically it was damn near laughable, just how badly he wanted you.

Why do you have to look so pretty on that damn bed?

“No, no that didn’t bother me at all,” he rubs the back of his neck, cursing the way you make him feel like that nerdy little boy he was the first time he ever tried to kiss you, way back during junior prom. The sweaty palms, the shaky hands, the awkward shifting of his feet. “I promise.”

You exhale, shutting your eyes. “I am making things all so weird.”

“You’re not,” you cover your face then, wincing a little bit at yourself. “Hey, promise you aren’t.”

The bed sinks underneath his weight, Satoru sits next to you – brushing your hair back softly, before grabbing your wrists and lowering your hands, making you meet his gaze. It’s quiet, so quiet you could hear your heartbeat in your ears, the gentle sound of his breathing mingling with your own.

“Your offer to help, is that off the table?” Satoru almost cums at the mere thought of touching you, but he’s so in shock he just stares, mouth wide open, until you feel so embarrassed. “Shit, forget I said that…”

“What do you need help with?” His voice is hoarse, just a bit scratchy, he clears his throat, still holding your hand, thumb brushing across your knuckles.

“Won’t it make it awkward, weird? I don’t want to fuck our friendship up, ever Satoru. It’s important to me.”

He cups your face gently. “Tell me what you want,” his raspy command almost destroys your resolve. “I’ll give you it.

You almost say – ‘fuck me please’ – Almost.

“Some relief you have so graciously offered,” you tease him a little, hand slipping up and down his chest. “I could return it.”

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

He’s staring at your mouth now, picturing it wrapping his cock for a moment, then he pictures busting inside your mouth in one fucking second. He quickly shoves that idea out the window, he damn sure wasn’t gonna waste the moment he’s been waiting for since high school being embarrassed.

Your lips would feel so good. He shakes that off, pushing your back down on the bed and spreading your thighs before you can think. You gasp, his arms on either side of you, silky white locks falling over a brow, so close you feel his heart thrumming against your breasts, feel his heavy weight, touch burning your thighs, fingers pressing in.

“Satoru?” You manage a whisper, his hands slip up under his own shirt you stole, biting back a gasp when he realizes.

“Nothing under this?” You flush, looking down now. “Look at me.”

Fuck.

You just follow what he says when he’s like this, all the years of sweet nerdy best friend Satoru culminate in the man before you – still every bit Satoru Gojo – but this side of him you have never seen. A side you imagined so often, but nothing even prepared you for his fingers gliding up your thighs, causing them to tremble, slick dripping from your cunt from just the proximity.

“I’ll never not be here for you,” he whispers softly, as if sensing your every fear. “If you want to have a little experience with me, I’ll gladly give it and expect nothing in return.”

Your throat goes dry. “But why?”

“Why?” He reveals your cunt then, bare and glistening for his view, failing to control his hands from gripping you so tight you wince, from exhaling at how pretty it is. “Fuck… why what?”

“Why would you?”

“Hah, why would I?” He doesn’t even know where to begin to answer your nonsense.

“You’re looking at it!”

He laughs softly, nodding then, eyes affixed to how pretty your pussy is, touch trailing along your inner thigh, at the apex of it. “You want me to stop?”

“No.”

Your eyes are locked, his fingers grazing little trails up and down smooth skin, until he almost touches your core, teasing but not fully, making you throb with need. “Then tell me what you want me to do.”

“Make me cum – oh my god I just said that! Out loud!?” You cover your mouth and he almost bursts into laughter, even as he’s pressing his cock against the bed for friction, at how cute you are, instead his lips quirk up.

“Shh, want your parents to know I’ve got you spread wide?” His words are too much, the way he says them, the way he moves lower, so low you tug at his hair. “Do you not want that?”

“You’re… down there… and…”

“It’s so pretty.”

You ease a bit at those words, eyes shutting in relief, Satoru sees the tension ease just a bit. “It is?”

“God, yes.”

You swallow nervously, breaths coming in little pants. “We will always be in each other’s lives, this won’t fuck it all up, will it?”

Satoru kisses your thigh then, tongue flicking up to lap up a little of the slick that’s dripped down, a sensual mark of his saliva glittering when he pulls back. “I’d never let you out of my life. You think I’d not be your friend?”

“Just can’t lose you,” you whisper, before moaning softly, the sound so sensual Satoru almost can’t handle it. “I thought you could um… finger me?”

“I can do that too,” he kisses even higher, breathy moans escaping his lips. “But I am very, very fucking good at this.”

“The best at everything, hmm?” You manage to tease, acting like his nose brushing up your folds wasn’t almost enough to end you, your fingers gripping the sheets underneath you.

“I am the best at everything, it’s true,” he smiles all devious and cute, while your hands slip up his shoulders, feeling the muscles tense underneath your touch. “Wouldn’t I be the best friend in the world if you came on my mouth?”

Your own mouth goes dry, your answer lifting and spreading your thighs for him, he inhales your scent still looking at you. “I want you to, please.”

Satoru uses this as the permission to do something he’s been dying to for as long as he’s known what it is – to lick your pussy, the prettiest one, the yummiest one, a stripe straight up your slit. He maintains eye contact, you’re struggling to keep them open, his tongue soaking up the juices that start pouring then, until the tip of his tongue flicks your little clit.

“Ah!” He shushes you with a little shh that tickles you more, your teeth grip your lip, watching your best friend start lapping at your cunt. “Oh my god…”

“Mmm,” Satoru’s tongue is filthy as it runs up and down your slit, collecting every drop like it’s precious – and it is to him. The taste of you on his thigh hadn’t come close to this, to just how sweet you were going down his throat. He eyes you, parting your folds, watching your face screw up in pleasure, brows drawing together.

Best friends just don’t eat pussy like this.

He’s fucking you with that tongue, nose bumping your clit that’s aching for more, twitching in response, and you know this is so dumb, you know there’s no coming back from having those blue eyes look at you like that. Signing your death sentence – your cat lady sentence – with three more flicks, until the wet muscle is gripped by your gummy walls.

“Satoru,” you’re whispering out his name, struggling to hold back all the moans that threaten, instead releasing them in little shaky spurts under your breath. Your core is tightening with every fuck of his tongue, gasps escaping your lips when he shoves your thighs up, smiling down at you for a moment.

“Hold ‘em up f’me.”

You’re so exposed, holding your thighs as he orders, opening up even more for him, he moans at the sight, pressing messy kisses to your clit now, over and over in little circles, causing your hips to jerk. He smacks your cunt, looking down at you under those snowy lashes, lips coated in your gloss.

“Stay still,” he swirls two fingers in that arousal that’s pouring, running them up and down your slit ever so slowly, inching them and stretching you out. “Fuck, you’re so tight…”

“Mnh…” You are gripping him too much, he eases his fingers out with a wet sound that echoes, spreading you wide again and spitting right on your cunt, using that to sink his fingers back in.

“Better?” He murmurs, you nod quickly, eyes rolling back in your skull. Fingers pressing up on that soft spot over and over, earning your weak little mewl as a response, he smirks down at you. “That’s a yes, I take it.”

You nod again, words escape you, how can you talk when he’s flicking his tongue over your clit and moaning against your skin?

He’s so focused, so intense, his blue eyes never leaving yours, even as his mouth works you over with a hunger you never knew he had, one he’s just held back. You’re mad anyone ever got this. Stupid thoughts, selfish and greedy, your fingers now entangling and tugging at his hair, just making his moans vibrate on your little clit again, sending jolts of pleasure up your body.

Satoru’s thick fingers slide in and out with greater ease despite how fucking long they are, curling inside you, pressing that spot that makes you want to scream out – barely muffling it with teeth that are sinking into your lower lip. His tongue is relentless, swirling around your clit, then flattening to give it a firm lick that almost undoes you completely.

“Taste so good, fuck,” he whispers then he fucking just dives back down.

The ecstasy makes you weak while the pressure builds, coiling tighter and tighter in your belly, your thighs start to tremble while you hold them up and he adds a third finger, stretching you even more, filling you up until you can’t take it anymore. You arch your back, your hands tightening their grip on your thighs as you open more for him, gasping out.

“You’re close, huh sweetheart?” The way that word feels, the way he’s watching you, fingers still pumping in and out.

“Please, Toru,” Satoru almost cums at that little plea, so sweet and pliant, holding your thighs up like a good girl. He presses a kiss on one of them, rutting his cock against the mattress for any pressure.

“Mmm, then cum for me.”

Like some obeyed command it hits, your pussy clamps down on his fingers, pulsing around them as you ride it out, screaming into your palm, white hot stars behind your eyelids. You’re barely able to contain those pornographic little moans, so sensitive you’re jerking when he pulls those fingers out.

He doesn’t stop, though, continuing to lick and suck you hungrily, desperately, drawing out every last bit of your climax until you’re a writhing mess, twitching underneath him, clinging to his hair to pull him off. Satoru’s so drunk off your taste, your scent - you.

He almost can’t unlatch his mouth until he realizes how overstimulated you are, your aftershocks die down but he slips a finger back in just to feel you pulse, moaning softly before he finally slips it back out, plush lips giving your clit one last gentle kiss before sitting back and sliding up.

“So, how amazing am I, hmm?” He drags out those words, chin coated in your slick, you swipe some of it off just for him to nip at your thumb.

“Fuck… you are amazing at it,” you earn his dopey grin, he licks the rest of you off his lips, making you flush. “Don’t get so cocky.”

“I knew you’d admit it,” he eases your shirt down, your fingers trail across his abdomen, watching the muscles tense, tentatively touching him. He grips your wrist then, shaking his head. “You don’t have to do all that.”

“Don’t you want me to?” You ask curiously, his gaze zones in on your mouth again, picturing just brushing his tip on it and cumming.

“In what world wouldn’t I? But I don’t want to overwhelm you, you’re a cute little virgin you know,” he taps your nose, chuckling at your glare. “Pussy is perfect, in case you ever worry.”

“Oh,” you snuggle up to him while he wraps an arm around you. “Thank you, that was insane…”

“I’m at your service.”

“More figures incoming.”

He chuckles, hugging you tightly, you feel so good in his embrace, as you both feign an ease you don’t feel. “Are you all right with what happened?”

“Yes, very,” you look back and smile sleepily. “Are you?”

“Mmhmm,” he can’t very well say he’d die to be inside you, he doesn’t want to push this too far, unsure of where you all stand. “I’ll miss this weekend.”

It’s quiet, save for your breaths.

You shift a bit, hand running up and down his veiny forearm, tracing a few of them, hearing the hitch in his rhythm. “I’ll miss it too.”

Satoru just holds you tightly, inhaling your scent in his lungs and sighing. “Are you excited for the wedding?”

“Very, they’re so happy, you know?” You yawn a bit, it’s too comfy here, so comfy you wonder if you’ll ever sleep good again, knowing he’s here.

“They are,” he leaves it quiet, scared and unsure what to say, aside from murmuring - “Good night.”

“Night, Toru.”

Satoru can hardly sleep, remembering the way you felt underneath him, it takes a while to let himself drift, when he knows that he won’t get you in his arms again, and he just wants to savor every moment. You’re lightly snoring, turning to face him, slinging an arm around his waist, your cheek against his chest.

He just holds you close, studying a face too precious, wishing he wasn’t so afraid to just admit what he feels.

*****

You woke up in Satoru’s arms again this morning, and it felt far, far too good to be there.

You’re not even sure where you stand with him, exactly what last night was for you both, but you know it wasn’t normal to feel that way. It went beyond any pleasure or skill, the way you fucking felt when that man looked at you was inexplicable. Not just a product of beautiful eyes, no there was something in the way you felt last night that’s lingering.

You heat up with the memory even now, you’re both at your sister’s reception – the game is almost over, the show is almost done. You’re struggling to keep it together when you watch your sister dance with your dad, when you watch your new brother in law dance with your mom, then with each other.

Love.

You love your best friend, Satoru Gojo, and you knew going into this how bad it would hurt, yet you set yourself up like a glutton for punishment. This morning he’d smiled so sweet, teasing you and joking before you all were basically summoned with the sheer insane amount of things that had to be done before this wedding began.

It was too perfect being held by him, as much as you loved him licking you, you loved him holding you, grinning against your skin. He was in full ‘fake boyfriend’ mode, full best friend mode, just being Satoru Gojo, the boy you’ve always known. Yet now there was more shared between you both, more than you can even comprehend and it fucking scares you.

A boy from your childhood strikes up a conversation while many of your old friends go talk to Gojo, a part of growing up together meant you both knew almost everyone here. The boy asks you to dance, holding out his hand then, you hesitate though, looking over at Gojo, who’s watching you while he sips on his drink.

What were you two?

You’re overthinking it, maybe it was just fun for him, maybe it was curiosity that had him worshipping you like that. You eye his glossy lips across the elegant ballroom, him in this sleek black suit looking far too handsome, so handsome he takes your fucking breath away.

You can’t do this.

You can’t stand to see a girl’s hand on his shoulder, something you’ve seen plenty of times before, but now it was different. Now it didn’t feel okay, it didn’t feel right, and you know it’s foolish. You smile and let the boy lead you out, trying to remember that this was all ending tomorrow night, and would just be a memory.

Satoru can’t stand to see you in someone’s arms.

He almost crushes the glass in his hand before he sets it down, catching your gaze when the boy is stumbling damn near, probably due to how pretty you are. And god you’re beautiful under these lights, glimmering off your hair that’s all done up, the dress molding to your body in soft, shimmery satin, making him want to fucking rip it off you then and there.

Last night meant too much – was it just experimental for you, just that you trusted him to be your first in that way, comfortability? He was overthinking it, he knows that when he is dancing right across from you, hand on a waist he doesn’t want, other hand entwined with a hand that’s not yours.

It fucking hurts.

He got a taste of what could be his, and he’ll play it off like it’s fine, like you two are just the best friends in the world and he wasn’t hopelessly in love.

You look up at your sister dancing, she’s getting bent over her new husband’s arm, giggling and waving at you. You smile at her, wanting to feel more joy and not this envy, before your eyes lock back to Gojo’s seeing him spin her in his arms. You don’t expect it to hurt like it does in that moment, to see his arm around someone else’s waist.

He’s looking at you over her shoulder, blue eyes lowering just a bit.

Your heart shatters.

Your mom comes up to you, smiling and cupping your face then, “I feel soon we will be planning your wedding.”

You pause, mouth opening then shutting, tears burning the back of your eyes, when you realize you’ll have to hurt her. You’ll have to hurt them all, because you’re so fucking selfish, and mostly you’ve hurt yourself. Getting a taste of what it would mean to have the boy you’ve loved for as long as you can remember, being greedy with all of those tastes.

Satoru would move on from this, live his life, but you’re not sure you can, how do you get over him, over his touches, his kisses? How he held you, how he looked down into your eyes? Even now, he’s watching you, like he’d rather dance with you in his arms – utter nonsense in your fucking head.

You’re mistaking it all.

“Honey, are you crying?” Your mom frowns, brushing her fingers up and down your cheek, and you realize you are.

“The wedding, it got me so emotional, um…” You’re lying through your fucking teeth right now. “Can I have some air?”

“Of course,” she looks at you concerned when you run out. Satoru excuses himself and rushes to her curiously. “I think this wedding is making her a little emotional, Satoru.”

“Yeah, I’ll go check on her, okay?” He touches her shoulder affectionately, she nods and he rushes out, seeing it’s drizzling out – looking at your retreating form in that frilly pink dress just standing against the lit gazebo, head resting on one of the wooden pillars. “You’re gonna get sick out here, it’s gonna downpour soon.”

“I’m fine,” your voice is weak and hoarse, and Satoru swallows down the pain he feels when you look at him. “Go have fun, this is almost over, you don’t have to ruin opportunities.”

“Ruin what now?” His teeth clench together, the rain spattering gently over the two of you, dripping down his hair as it pummels you. “You danced with someone too.”

“Yeah, I did, that’s what we should do. Right?” Satoru’s hands come to grip your shoulders, chilled from the night air, the lights from the gazebo dancing across your skin.

“Is it what we should do? Is it what you want?”

“It’s what you want.”

“You don’t even know what I want,” he presses your back against that wood pillar now, a hand against it braced, taking the pummeling rain on his dress coat to protect you, making you cry even more. “Was last night the only time?”

“Was it… you want to do it again?” You’re heated up, looking down shyly. “I thought you regretted it.”

“Regretted? Hah,” Satoru tilts your chin up now, making your eyes meet his, brushing a thumb over your lip. “All I regretted last night was not sinking my cock inside you.”

“Satoru…” You blink tears down your cheeks, a hand coming to his chest, he takes it and holds it close, while your body responds. “But it means too much, I can’t just do that as a… friend.”

“So be more,” he lifts you before you can blink, holding you with one arm around your hips like it’s nothing, carrying you up those steps. “And stop getting soaked, unless it’s from me touching you.”

“Fuck,” you grip his face, kissing him deeply, he sets you down, walking you back until the backs of your legs brush against the bench. “Toru…”

“I love you, okay?” Satoru’s voice is muffled by the pounding rain on the gazebo that shelters you both, droplets of water slipping down his skin, you’re sobbing then, so overwhelmed. “I have loved you.”

“I love you, so fucking much, it’s why I’ve never…” You trail off, he’s leaning down and cupping your face, studying you with eyes glassy with emotion. “There is no one for me when you exist.”

He kisses you deeply at that, you shiver as he slips your straps down, eyeing the pretty white lace and exhaling. “You’re wearing that underneath this?”

You say nothing, speechless as Satoru tugs your sopping wet dress down your chest, pulling out a pretty tit and moaning. You gasp out when he sits down, pulling you to straddle him, sucking one nipple hungrily in his mouth. Hands entangle in damp white locks, heat building, that heat that’s pressed against his thick cock, pressing so insistently.

“Wanna bury myself inside you,” he murmurs, looking drunk off you, sucking on the other nipple, his hands slipping across your hips. “I want her to know my shape only.”

“Satoru,” you kiss him again, he’s hastily slipping that dress up over your hips, sinking two fingers in with ease. “Ah!”

“Soaked,” he whispers in wonder, curling them up and looking up at you the way only he does. “Stop me before I fuck you the first time in this gazebo.”

“I don’t want to stop,” your whisper is met with a sharp whine, fingers curling in your messy hole. “Want more.”

“Want me to eat you out again?” He whispers, pumping those fingers while you hastily undo his zipper. “Fuck, you need more prep, don’t pull him out, I’ll fucking shove it so deep.”

“Good, do it,” he’s whimpering when you touch him, stroking your hand up and down, finding that pre and swirling your finger. “He’s so pretty.”

“Don’t praise me too,” he huffs, you manage a little giggle, and in that moment – you all are still best friends, every bit of the comfortability – but there’s more. So much more. “I don’t wanna hurt you.”

“You would never,” he pulls out his fingers, sucking them and moaning out at your taste, before kissing you again.

“You wanna take me?”

You’re a flustered mess now, overheated and damp from the rain, chest rising and falling while lightning flashes all around you both. “The first time?”

“I’ll help you,” he grips his cock at the base, running that velvety tip against your soaking wet cunt, moaning. “You can take as much as you want of me this way, I won’t hurt you.”

You’re emotional again, how much he cares. You’re kissing him while tears fall, rocking against his tip while he whispers your name. “Ah!”

You’re barely taking the tip, stretching your cunt out so good, the burn something you’ve never felt. You pull back to look down at him, his hands are gripping your hips under your dress, thumbs pressing into your pelvis, the sweet ache and pressure building, he eases you up a bit, then down, sucking in a few inches of him, your head falls back, scream echoing quietly in the rain.

“You all right, sweetheart?” He kisses up your collarbone, cock wrapped by your tiny little cunt, already milking him.

“Need help getting… it in…” He exhales, lifting you again, pressing the tip back in, then further, this time it burns less – but the pressure. “So much… too much…”

“Relax baby,” he’s calling you baby. You blink rapidly, letting him guide you up again. “Sit down on it, take what’s yours.”

Your hands grip his shoulders, fingers grabbing the soaking wet material of his jacket, eyes locked while you take more, his gaze lidded and dilated. “That’s it, look how fucking pretty you are.”

You feel so pretty, working up and down again, whining out at how full you are, how deep he’s getting, cunt leaking more and more arousal to accomodate. You feel him everywhere, so deep in your tummy, he’s kissing your chest, your throat, lapping up the rain from your skin, whining out softly under his breath when you roll your hips.

“Is that good? I…”

“It’s perfect, god,” he guides you again, his lashes fluttering shut at the ecstasy of your cunt rocking up and down. “You’re doing so good, sweetheart.”

“Mnh!” You’re taking more, easier every time, your thighs tensing with each thrust, taking more and more until you bottom out, screaming.

“Fuck,” he rests his forehead on yours, hands slipping to grip your ass, a cheek in each of his big hands. “Can’t hold back.”

“Don’t.”

Satoru moans, kissing you again, pulling you towards his chest and leaning back on that bench, starting to fuck up into you now, slamming your cervix. He’s whispering your name while he’s got you stuffed, stretched out on his thick length, he’s just as lost in it as you are, whining out right with you against your lips. Hands pressing in bruisingly while he drags you down.

“Using you like my pretty toy, you like that baby?” He’s completely done for when your eyes get wide, lips parted while you whisper a little yes. “Feel her stretching out?”

“Y-yes,” you gasp again when Satoru slams you down hard. “Toru!”

“Hold on t’me,” you do just that, clinging to Satoru when he flips you to your back on the plush cushion of the bench, tie hovering over your skin so silky. You tug it, bringing his lips to yours. He lifts a leg, sinking back inside you, you’re taking me easier and easier, messy cunt opening for him. “Want you to cum, can you sweetheart?”

Your nod is his answer, he exhales, already close with how tight you are, trying to hold out so you can chase that high, because he wants to see it, wants to feel it. Satoru shoves in deep, rolling his hips just so, when the pressure is too much, fucking unbearable. You shatter underneath him, pleasure rolling over your body even more intense than his mouth had given you.

Violently shaking, you’re drunk off him like he is off you, kisses and mumbles, while his cock works you, wrecks you with every stroke, slower and more calculated, letting you ride that orgasm out. And fuck you’re beautiful underneath him, damp hair splayed, lashes casting shadows on your cheeks, exposed breasts all littlered with marks from him.

“You’re so pretty like this,” he whispers, kissing you again, softer strokes slowing down and feeling those aftershocks grip his cock. “Mnh, baby m’close.”

“Cum inside me,” he needs no further fucking invitation, Satoru does just that, whining out your name against your ear when he buries his face against your neck, shoving in deep. “Ngh!”

Cum coats those slick walls in white, so hot and so much, you can feel him pulsing and thickening, pouring more cum deep. You try to catch a breath, but his leaky cock and the warmth spilling from your sensitive cunt have to cumming again, a little smaller but more sensitive, gripping him tightly.

Satoru eases back, your name on his lips, running his fingertips across your cheek and sighing, cock still snug inside you. “I never pictured this, in all the ways I’ve imagined taking you over the years.”

“Oh, how many ways?” You tease, hand entangling in his damp locks, while he presses kisses along your jaw.

“I’ll show you them all on one condition,” you blink now, a little sleepy, the rain slowly dying down. “You’re not my ‘fake girlfriend’ anymore.”

“Real?”

“Real,” you blink back tears, kissing Satoru again, when he pulls out of you and moans at the loss, sighing and studying you. “I still want that merch though.”

“You’re such a jerk!” You shove at him, he’s laughing and the sound melts your heart, the boy you’ve always loved resting on top of you, soothing kisses like little apologies. “Fine, I’ll get you anything you want.”

“Right now, I just want to kiss you some more.” He does just that, and soon your ‘fake boyfriend’ becomes entirely real.

Thank the 25k of you SO MUCH again for always hyping my ass up and motivating me to put these out :') I rly love yall and hope you enjoyed this fluff hehe <3

Kofi link if you wanna buy me a glass of wine

tags- @liddolwhynot2000 @lafleurperdue @yihona-san06 @valentinegab3 @itsme3rin @gojodickbig @mizquito @dreamingoftomorrow @surethingmoto @ethereal-moonlit @muisno1simp @melancholicreaper @strwbrrymoonwrites @thelostkira @myabae @yomama2089 @angelarchves @pinkypantherlily @milawritess @therealisttheillest @cl3xr @msniks @spiralingnino @theonly1-4u @gojosfangrl @kitassecretgf @kamuihz @yumemp44 @tataluvscaleb @starzbrii @jo-potter1 @felixmr @venussdovess @ilovebeansyay @lovesickchoi @kalulakunundrum @artbligh @pandabiene5115 @hyori2 @velouria17 @a-very-fictional-girl @dojodogg @blitziwitch @shoruio @princess-bblgm @etsuniiru @hwngez @imyourightnow @l4nasl1fe @kore-sunrise

[peachdues]

THE GREAT WAR

PART I ♤ SECRET PREGNANCY AU

A/N: After seven months, it's finally here. Part I of Giyuu's Bundle of Joy. This fic involved a ton of research and tears. I hope you all enjoy. Special shout-out to @squishybabei @kentohours @homo-homini-lupus-est-1701 @ghost-1-y and @xxsabitoxx for letting me bombard your DMs with endless snippets from this fic for feedback. Note that this is a multi-part fic, and it will be a non-linear story.

CW: explicit sexual content ☼ MDNI ☼ loss of virginity ☼ unprotected sex ☼ protective/possessive Giyuu ☼ canon-typical violence

LISTEN TO THE PLAYLIST HERE

January, 1915

The moon’s rays filtered through the sparse canopy of the trees from above, bathing that small portion of the forest in its silvery glow. There, about twenty paces ahead, Giyuu locked eyes on his target.

A demon; one he’d been pursuing through the dense forest separating his Manor from the base of a great mountain for the last several miles

The demon had yet to notice him, for it was focused entirely on its own prey — a human woman, who was frantically zigzagging as she ran in a desperate effort to evade its clutches. 

She was succeeding rather well in her endeavor, managing to dart out of the beast’s reach right as it snapped its sharp, deadly claws at her back. But the girl then miscalculated her movements and stumbled over something — whether it was a tree root or her own feet, he could not say — and she went airborne. For one, sickening moment, Giyuu feared he would not be fast enough to save her from falling victim to the demon he was readying to kill.

The girl squealed as she fell, just narrowly managing to avoid the swipe of the beast’s claws as they cut uselessly at the air where her back had been only seconds before. Something long and wooden flew from her hand as she sprawled across the forest floor – a broom.

Odd. 

Steps quick and even, Giyuu’s thumb flicked his sword free from its scabbard. Within seconds of him drawing his weapon, the Slayer’s blade sliced seamlessly through the demon’s neck, its head thudding pathetically to the forest floor before the beast could comprehend the threat.

He landed swiftly on the balls of his feet, the Water Pillar quickly shaking his blade free of the demon’s blackened, rotted blood before sheathing it at his hip. A quick job – that was how he liked it; free of fuss. 

Behind him, he heard the leaves coating the frozen ground of the forest shift and crack as the human girl he’d rescued rose to her feet. He grimaced; while helping rid the world of the blight inflicted upon it by demons was his life’s sole and true purpose, and one he fulfilled without hesitation, he was little more than a fish out of water when it came to talking to those he helped. 

The girl had yet to flee; Giyuu suspected she might be in shock, if not a bit simple, and he sought to prod her along. After all, the sooner she left the forest, the less likely she’d end up a demon’s meal and waste his efforts in preserving her life. 

“You should be fine now. Please return to your ho-,” The dark-haired Slayer’s words were cut off with a sputter as the head of the woman’s broom whacked him sharply up the side of his skull. 

Giyuu stood there for a moment, dazed and slightly confused as he turned towards the woman whose life he’d just preserved. 

The Water Pillar had not paid her much mind upon discovering her seconds away from becoming the slain horned demon’s newest meal, his attention having been entirely focused on eliminating his target. But now, without the distracting threat of a man-eating beast, he could see she was clad in the traditional attire worn by Shinto priestesses, though she looked far too young to have achieved such a status. Instead, she appeared to be much closer to himself in age. The front of her red hakama pants were streaked in mud and dirt from her fall, and several strands of hair had fallen loose from where they’d been gathered in a ribbon just below her shoulders. 

And she was glaring at him. 

“What are you?” She demanded, and the Water Pillar noted the faint tremor in her voice that she worked to conceal behind her defensive stance, her broom braced in front of her like a blade. 

A slow blink. “I am Tomioka.” 

It baffled him that he let his name slide so freely when he’d never been one particularly keen on sharing it. Yet, he’d thought that perhaps the exchange of names would get the wild woman before him to calm, and perhaps lower the sweeping tool —-

“What the hell is a Tomioka?” 

Giyuu wondered whether the — Miko, that was what young priestesses in training were called — had hit her head in the fall. “My name.” 

A faint dusting of red spread across the Miko’s cheeks as she realized the absurdity of her mistake, though she still did not lower her weapon. Rather, she jutted it towards him in what Giyuu thought may have been an attempt to be threatening. 

“And what was that thing just now, Tomioka? And what are you?”  Quickly, her eyes swept behind him, scanning. “Are there more?”

Idly, Giyuu wondered why he was bothering to indulge in such a silly conversation to begin with, chalking it up to the mere fact that they were still in a dark forest, with dawn still several hours away. 

The foolish girl would end up a snack for another demon if she did not turn around and go home. 

“It was a demon. I’d been tracking it for several miles when it stumbled across you. You can count yourself lucky — do not hit me again.” He cut off with a warning, eyes narrowing as the Miko drew the broom back up over her head. 

There was a tense moment as the two regarded one another, Giyuu’s eyes locked on the Miko’s trembling arm as she stared distrustfully back at him. 

The girl’s hands twitched as the broom cleaved through the air once more, but Giyuu knocked it easily away, sending the cleaning tool flying uselessly to the side where it rolled under a bush. 

“Are you finished?” Giyuu asked, irritation creeping into his tone as he stared coolly at the flustered Miko. 

“You’ve stripped me of my only weapon, so I suppose I have no choice,” the young woman sniffed, her tone as frosty as his glare. 

Giyuu grimaced. “You would not have lost the privilege had you simply done as I asked.” 

The Miko folded her arms stubbornly across her chest and glowered at him. “You would truly leave a woman defenseless in the woods? With nothing to protect herself?”

Giyuu scoffed. “You are not a woman; you are a menace.” 

The young woman’s mouth opened and closed several times as her face flushed several shades deeper. “Y-you!” 

A crack! somewhere in the woods made the sputtering Miko fall silent with a small squeak, and Giyuu was bemused to find that the woman’s hands shot to him for safety, when only moments before she’d tried to clobber him away from her. 

“You said that…that thing earlier was a demon, yes?” She whispered and Giyuu nodded, tense as his eyes swept through the shadowy line of the trees, searching. 

“Do you think there are more?”

“So long as we continue sitting here like a pair of lame ducks, more are bound to come sniffing.” The wary Pillar replied. “Which is why I suggest you return home — without bludgeoning me further.”

The young Priestess continued to cling to his arm, her eyes wide and anxious. Giyuu cleared this throat, and when the woman’s attention snapped back to him, he pointedly glanced down at her white-knuckled grip on the sleeve of his haori. 

“Apologies,” the Miko blushed, and her hands quickly relinquished their hold on his sleeve. She wrung her hands nervously before her. “Might you escort me back to my Shrine? It’s not far from here – less than two kilometers.” 

Still within his territory — albeit at the opposite end of the forest where is own Manor stood. He grimaced, but nodded stiffly. His efforts to save the woman’s life would be in vain if she walked away from him and straight into the waiting, eager claws of another beast that lurked in the shadows.

The Miko smiled brightly at him and offered her name. Giyuu elected not to reply, and the girl settled into step at his side, a small frown pulling at her lips.

“I’m sorry for earlier — for hitting you with my broom.” The girl — Y/N — said a short while later, the faintest trace of shyness in her tone. 

Giyuu did not think the apology warranted a response, and so he gave none, but the chatty little devil prodded him once more. 

“Did I injure you?” She gestured to the side of his head where her broom had caught him. 

Giyuu snorted, raising an eyebrow at her. “The day I am hurt by a mere broom is the day I retire from the Demon Slayer Corps.” 

Y/N hummed in contemplation. “And what exactly is the great and mysterious Demon Slayer Corps?” 

The Water Pillar’s eyes remained forward. “I should think the name is self-explanatory. There are demons who eat humans. We slay them.” 

Inwardly, Giyuu cringed at the harshness of his words. It did not happen often, but there were times when he wished he was better with them, when he wished he did not come off quite as aloof and callous — 

“You do not know how to talk to people very well, do you Tomioka-sama?” Y/N’s tone was not judgmental; it rather had a mild curiosity to it, as though she were merely commenting on the weather or the quality of a cup of tea. 

But the Water Pillar did not know how to answer her. Kocho once told him that others disliked him, but Giyuu wasn’t sure that was entirely true; after all, no one had ever said so much to his face. 

Then again, if the young shrine maiden’s words were anything to go by, then perhaps the Insect Pillar’s scathing assessment hadn’t been too far off the mark. 

“What even brought you into the forest so late at night?”  Giyuu did not know why the question needled at him, but he found the pressing silence of the trees more disconcerting than the Miko’s voice, and so he was desperate for the distraction. “And why a broom?”

Y/N herself seemed surprised at his sudden interest. “Night-blooming herbs,” she said plainly, as though it were the most obvious thing in the world. “They are critical for certain rites and medications. And I cannot collect them any other time. The broom was for protection, obviously.” 

“I wasn’t aware shrines still performed rituals,” Giyuu pushed an errant tree branch out of their way, and ahead, faint lights began to swim into view. The Shrine. “Are you not a mere relic of a time long since-passed?” 

“I’ll have you know that we still perform basic cleansing rites for those in the village,” Y/N bristled. “And we provide medical aid, since there is no hospital nearby.”

She shot him a cold look. “Modern medicine would not have developed but for ancient practices such as ours.”

Giyuu frowned. He hadn’t meant to insult the woman. “Be that as it may,” he said flatly. “Demons prowl at night. You wandering into the forest none the wiser  is akin to you waltzing into their territory with a giant sign that says ‘Eat me.’”

Y/N grimaced. “Then what would you have me do? Neglect my duties?” 

He could sympathize with that. “No, I’m not saying you should forsake your obligations,” he furrowed his eyebrows at the thought. “Perhaps it is simply a risk you must take. But you should at least be aware of your surroundings.”

Y/N looked upon him with a miserable expression. “You’re of little help, you know that?” 

Giyuu only frowned, perplexed as to why she couldn’t understand the import of his words.

An awkward silence ensued, punctured only by the faint hoot of an owl. For that, the established swordsman was grateful; noise meant the absence of predators, which meant they were safe – for now. 

“You mentioned tracking the demon earlier – how long had you been doing so?” 

“A while.” 

The girl was relentless. “And you just so happened to track it here? Where it was conveniently chasing me?” 

“I patrol this region. Your rescue was nothing more than coincidence and luck on your part.” 

“My gratitude is endless,” the shrine maiden said drily. “Forgive me for not falling to the ground in prostration.”

At that, Giyuu fell silent and refused to engage in any further conversation. The shrine maiden, for her part, seemed to take his cue that he had no interest in her or exchanging meaningless pleasantries, and so she too, went quiet. 

The forest floor eventually began to slope gradually up, and before long, Giyuu found himself walking along a carved rock path that curved through the trees until it widened at a great set of stone stairs. At the very top of the steep incline, he could spot a great Torii gate.

Y/N turned to him with a beaming smile. “Allow me to introduce you to the Shrine." Tomioka opened his mouth to protest, but she quickly added, “You should at least know who it is you have dedicated your life to protecting.” 

“I’d rather not.”

But she was already leading him up the stairs, his wrist pinched delicately between two of her fingers. Realistically, Giyuu knew it would take him no effort to shake the woman’s hold and disappear into the night. But to his own bemusement, he allowed her to tote him behind her as though he were little more than a useless pet. 

The pair passed under the Torrii and into a sprawling courtyard. Though night sky was a deep, inky black, the perimeter of the courtyard was dotted with several stone lanterns -- toro -- each of which had been lit with a generous flame. Giyuu's quick perusal of the Shrine, however, was cut short as the Miko led him into the Shrine's main structure -- the honden -- and tugged him down a narrow hallway. Based on his rough appraisal of the building, Giyuu surmised she was taking him to the center of the honden, likely where the girl's master was.

His theory was proven correct when Y/N drew up to a great slat of shoji panneling. The Miko knocked softly on one of the wooden beams before she slid the door aside, revealing a great, open room that was littered with scrolls, half-dried pots of ink, and burned incense sticks. There, in the center of the room, knelt the head Priestess of the Shrine. She was an old, shriveled, wrinkled thing. The white hair that she’d gathered into a knot at her neck was as wispy as the thinnest clouds, and a quick glance over her hands revealed swollen joints covered by skin spotted with age.

But the Priestess did not appear to be a gentle elder by any means; her thin mouth was curled down into a sneer that was directed at the Miko at his side, and her eyes were hard and cold.  

"Head Priestess," Y/N bowed to her elder. "This man is called Tomioka, and he helped save me tonight in the forest."

Giyuu resisted the urge to snort. Helped, indeed.

The old woman's eyes shone bright with an emotion he could not name as the Miko continued. "A creature attacked me as I was returning home. Tomioka says he is a swordsman whose occupation --"

“I know what he is, girl,” the Priestess snapped at her student before she turned those beady eyes to him. “A member of the Demon Slayer Corps will always be welcome at this Shrine – particularly one as esteemed as yourself.” 

The Water Pillar straightened at the old woman’s casual mention of the Corps. “I was not aware that of any Shrines so affiliated with the Corps.” 

“There was a time when the Demon Slayer Corps would partner with shrines such as this to carry out its mission,” the Priestess replied evenly. From his periphery, Giyuu spotted Y/N’s head snap toward her mentor, her jaw slack. “Once, priestesses were akin to shamans who offered a variety of rituals for cleansing and protection. You slayers relied on our connection with our communities to operate more effectively, and we in turn, counted on your protection to fight what we could not.”

Despite the distinct scent of sake that clung to the elderly shrine keeper like a cloud, her eyes remained sharp and fixed upon him, and her wrinkled mouth pulled into a rueful smile. “Now, it seems, our wise and benevolent government has forced us both to retreat to the shadows to operate in secret.”

She bowed her head. “You have nothing but my respect, Lord Hashira. You are always welcome here.” 

Giyuu did not respond, but he inclined his head toward the Priestess in polite acknowledgement. 

Y/N gaped at her Master. "Lord --?"

The old woman poured another generous serving of sake and brought the choko to her lips. “Though we are honored by your visit, young Lord, I’m afraid your presence is nothing more than a calculated effort by this one,” she nodded pointedly at the young shrine maiden at his side, whose cheeks pinkened. “To keep herself out of trouble. My apprentice was not permitted to leave the grounds, you see.” 

“Oh hush you old drunk,” Giyuu’s eyes snapped to the irate Miko in surprise. “I told you earlier I was going to the village market –” 

“Telling me while I am in the middle of lessons with the younger girls and sprinting off before I can respond is hardly me giving you permission,” the Priestess’s mouth curled into a sneer. “You’ve defied me for the last time, girl.” 

The old Priestess turned away from her apprentice, dismissive. “You will take the rice bundles and hang them in the drying shed – every last one, for the next three days.” 

“You hag!” Y/N fumed, her face pinched in outrage. “I was on rice duty all last week without an ounce of assistance –” 

“And you apparently have yet to learn your lesson,” the old woman retorted bitterly, shooting the seething Shrine Maiden a withering glare. “Considering you still think it seemly to mouth off at any and every opportunity –” 

The Miko spat a curse at the elder Priestess so filthy and colorful that even Giyuu could not mask his surprise, raising his eyebrow. But if Y/N’s outburst shocked the Shrine’s head, the old woman gave no sign. Instead, she only glowered at the young woman as the latter turned and shoved the shoji door harshly to the side. Giyuu, ever the unwilling observer, was left to be pulled by his wrist back into the hall behind the young Miko before she whipped around to face her senior once more. 

Giyuu had thought himself stunned by the crassness of the Shrine Miaden’s language before, but nothing prepared him for the sight of the obscene gesture she made at the old woman before she slammed the door firmly shut. 

A telling crash on the other side of the wall signaled the Elder Priestess had hurled her empty sake dish at the door with all her might. “And work on your aim!” Y/N snapped before turning sharply on her heel to stomp out of the honden, tugging the Water Pillar helplessly behind her. 

“She seems unstable.” said Giyuu once they were a safe distance away from the main Honden. 

Y/N brushed aside his concern with a flippant waive of her hand. “Granny is harmless. As her charge, I suppose I instigate her nearly as much as she torments me.” 

Granny. It made sense, then, the curious affection the girl held for the rancorous head Priestess, even if he could not bring himself to fully understand it. 

“You are more than welcome to stay the night,” the Miko’s mood lightened considerably the more she put distance between herself and the drunken head Priestess. “We serve breakfast at sunrise, but of course, you’re not obligated to attend.” 

The ravenette’s mouth quirked down in a faint grimace, the only sign of his discomfort. “I should return to my own home.” 

“It’s quite late,” Y/N glanced up at the night sky, now awash with stars that surrounded the fat, glowing moon like thousands of glittering jewels. She turned back to him with a radiant grin. “At least allow me to show you around.”

—

If anyone had asked him, Giyuu Tomioka would not have been able to explain the series of events that had led him here. 

He distinctly remembered telling the vexatious young Shrine Maiden no, that he could not stay the night, yet somehow he’d found himself in the Shrine’s old, musty guest house, already prepared for his stay, a lantern flickering merrily in the corner. 

He glanced warily at the fresh sleeping kimono folded beside his futon. The possibility of him actually sleeping in such an unfamiliar place was nil and while the Water Pillar certainly had no issue in appearing impolite to others, he thought that perhaps the Shrine was affiliated with the connection of Wisteria Houses dotted throughout the land, and he didn’t want to risk offending the head Priestess and cause her to shut her gates to other slayers in need of lodging. 

So, Giyuu paced the floor of the small guest house, restless. Though his eyes remained carefully trained on the window of his room, waiting for the slightest hint of movement that would give him an excuse to leave without offending his hosts, no sign of either his crow or any demonic threat  manifested. Though, he supposed with a frown, it shouldn’t surprise him that he’d not heard from Kanzaburo; the ancient bird was likely flitting about the forest, lost.

He continued to pace until finally, the sky in the East began to lighten signaling that dawn was fast approaching. Stealthily, he slipped out of the small hut that had served as his temporary accommodations and made his way toward the Torii under which he and that Miko — Y/N — had passed upon their arrival.

He’d almost cleared the gate when he saw the elder Priestess standing beside the Torii, apparently waiting for him. Giyuu nodded his head at her, the only expression of courtesy he was willing to give, but he was halted as the old woman flung out a single arm in front of him, her hand flat and palm turned up, waiting.

And that was how Giyuu learned the Shrine was not, in fact, a Wisteria House; not as he was forced to fork over a considerable sum of his earnings into the Priestess’s expectant hand. 

Wisteria Houses meant Corps Members stayed free of charge; the price the Shrine’s keeper demanded in exchange for his brief stay bordered extortion.

At least he’d had the money; if he’d been of any lower rank, the old woman would have cleaned him out.  

He scowled as he departed but his irritation quickly fell away as he finally laid eyes on Kanzaburo, who nearly collided with his Master’s head as he struggled to pant out his orders. 

And so, as the Water Pillar trekked through the forest and toward his new assignment, the view of the Shrine faded behind the dense canopy of the mountain forest, and so too, did any final, sparing thoughts of it, or its inhabitants.

———-

Nearly a month passed since Giyuu stumbled across the strange shrine maiden in the forest separating his Estate from the old Shrine, and the Miko had nearly faded from his memory. Not that such a feat was difficult; the raven-haired Pillar’s mind was far more occupied with tasks like patrol and chasing down leads that could potentially lead the Corps to an Upper Rank demon to focus on much else. 

He’d intended only to find a decent meal and then depart the village before nightfall to investigate rumors of women disappearing in a small town to the south. Night was rapidly approaching, however, and he’d yet to find any vendor that sold anything he liked, much to his chagrin. He was about to cut his losses and continue on, when he spied a familiar blur of white and red idly perusing one of the stalls, apparently oblivious to the impending sunset. 

Without thought, his feet carried him toward her, his annoyance sparking to life. 

“What do you think you’re doing?” 

The Miko’s – Y/N’s – head turned back and her eyes widened in surprise at the sight of the Pillar standing behind her. 

“Tomioka-sama,” she greeted with a polite bow. “I did not expect to see you so soon.” 

He ignored her greeting, choosing instead to take a step closer. “I asked what you were doing.” 

If she was taken aback by his terseness, she didn’t show it. “I am returning to my shrine after an afternoon of errands,” she replied smoothly. “As is usual for me.” 

“It is nearly dark.” 

“An astute observation,” and to his annoyance, he saw an amused twinkle in her eye. “Do you also know that tonight is also a full moon?” 

Said moon had already made an appearance above them, growing brighter and brighter as the sky faded from twilight to night. 

Giyuu had never been one for rolling his eyes, but the young woman’s knowing smirk grated at something inside him, made him feel as he often did whenever Kocho would make a sly comment with that smile of hers, that for some reason made him feel like he was the butt of some joke only she knew. 

He grimaced. Teasing; that’s what the shrine maiden was doing. She was teasing him. 

“It is nearly dark,” he repeated. “And I did not think you’d be naive enough to risk traveling after sunset.” 

“I believe it was you who insisted I did not have to ignore my duties, so long as I paid attention to my surroundings.” She replied coolly. “So that is exactly what I am doing.”

He resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Fine. If the stubborn girl wanted to be bait for whatever awaited her in the forest once the sun finally set, then that was her choice. He’d saved her once, and he’d given her sufficient warning; what she did from then on did not concern him. 

He was about to bade her farewell when a slurred, boisterous voice boomed her name from across the market. Several heads turned toward the source, including Giyuu's, until he found a round faced, piggish man stumbling away from a sake stand, his cheeks flushed a bright red.

The man repeated the Miko's name in that grating, sing-song voice of his. "Whe're you goin' all by yourself so late?"

He didn't know what possessed him to ask, but Tomioka turned to the shrine maiden. "A friend?"

“His name is Susumo,” she said airily, though she could not conceal her scowl as the man drew closer. “He’s merely the village drunk who forgets to keep his hands to himself.”

The shrine maiden’s eyes narrowed accusingly at the villager, and the Miko remarked, in a raised voice, “And he is not welcome at the Shrine, though he pretends to forget otherwise.”

Susumo only held his hands up, as though in surrender. “You can’t blame a man for wanting to know what lies under all those layers,” and as if the implication of his lechery wasn’t clear enough, he gave the Miko a leering once-over. “Can’t say I was disappointed.” 

“But your friend is right,” he slurred, a smirk forming on his lips. “The dark is too dangerous for a pretty thing like you to risk walking back alone —“

“I shall escort her,” Tomioka said abruptly and she whipped back to him, her mouth falling open. “After all, I’m welcome at the Shrine.” 

Susumo, too, gaped at the Swordsman. The Miko recovered quickly however, unwilling to allow the opportunity to pass or for the Slayer to suddenly come to his senses and realize he’d rather leave her to fend for herself in the forest. 

“You have my gratitude, Tomioka-sama,” and she gave him a small bow of her head. Relieved, she flipped her braid over her shoulder and smiled warmly up at her raven-haired companion. “Shall we?”

She did not wait for Tomioka to answer, nor did she give any further acknowledgment to Susumo, who only continued to stare at the Hashira, his face bright red. With a feigned indifference, she breezed past him, but a sudden yelp from behind caused her to snap back in alarm. 

The first thing she noticed was the proximity of the back of a dual-patterned haori as it stood between her and the village drunkard. The Water Pillar’s shroud nearly brushed the tip of her nose, forcing her to step back. Cautiously, she peered around Tomioka’s rigid form, and her eyes widened at the sight before her. 

Susumo, it appeared, had tried to grab her, only to be cut off by the Water Pillar himself, who snatched him by his wrist. Though it did not appear that Tomioka was using a great deal of effort to restrain him, it was clear Susumo was struggling — greatly so — against the ferocity of the Slayer’s hold, given how a vein bulged in his forehead, his face,  rapidly turning purple. 

Her gaze flicked to the Swordsman’s hand, and she felt herself blanch at the odd angle of Susumo’s wrist. 

She was no doctor, but she knew wrists weren’t meant to twist as his did in Tomioka’s crushing grip. 

“Leave.” the Water Pillar ordered coldly, and there was a darkness in his eyes that matched the brutality of his hold. “Your presence is unnecessary and unwanted.”

“Y-you! Susumo sputtered.

But Tomioka’s grip only tightened. “Now.”

And then he released him, Susumo half-stumbling back from the Swordsman. His eyes were wide with both fear and loathing, and he muttered incoherently under his breath as he massaged his rapidly-swelling wrist.

The Water Pillar, however, did not pay any more attention to the red-faced villager. He turned only to the shrine maiden, who remained frozen in place, her eyes wide. "Shall we?"

Numbly, Y/N nodded and the two set off down the path that led back to the Shrine. Dimly, the Miko noted that the Slayer kept noticeably close to her as they walked, as though he was unwilling to let her wander too far away. The air between them as they traveled was thick and tense. She was on edge enough thanks to Susumo and his oily words, and she was desperate to do anything to distract herself from the buzzing mounting under her skin. 

She cast a sly, sidelong glance at the Swordsman walking at her side. He’d not been receptive to her small-talk the last time he’d escorted her back to her Shrine, but saying something — anything — would be better than this stifling quiet threatening to choke her.

“How old are you?” Before the Swordsman could decide whether to answer, she continued on. “If I had to guess, I would suspect you’re around my age, and I just passed my nineteenth birthday.”

She hummed aloud. “You seem quite young, yet you’ve achieved some level of status as a swordsman, according to Granny.” Her eyes fell to the blade secured at his hip before she lifted them back to his profile. “Yet you’re as withdrawn and taciturn as an old man.” 

Her words, thankfully, seemed to irritate him into responding. “Are you always so forthright?”  

The Miko grinned. “Perhaps I am like you, Lord – what was it? Hashiba?”

“Hashira.” 

“Yes, that. Perhaps I am like you, Lord Hashira – utterly lacking in social ability.” There was a mischievous twinkle in her eye as she brushed her shoulder against his bicep. “But at least I make up for it by talking.” 

“Talking is a distraction,” Tomioka monotoned, his eyes fixed resolutely on the hidden path of the forest before them. “It only serves as an interference to one’s duties.” He looked pointedly at the Miko’s profile, but inexplicably found himself unable to look away. “Or an excuse to ignore them.” 

But she was unflappable. “And yet you are the one who decided to escort me all the way back to my Shrine – so who is the one ignoring their duties, Tomioka-sama?” 

“I think you enjoy diverting my attention,” the Water Pillar retorted, though Y/N could see the rising annoyance in his eyes. 

She felt his gaze bear into her as she flipped her loose hair behind her shoulder. “It’s not possible to distract someone unless they find the diversion in question captivating, Tomioka-sama.” 

The Water Pillar almost looked amused. “And you are certainly that, Y/N.” 

The Miko ducked her head to avoid that piercing gaze, so that the ravenette would not see the faint rosy blush creeping across her cheeks. “I did not think you had the constitution for teasing, Lord Hashira.” 

Tomioka looked at her fully then, a frown tugging at the corner of his mouth. “I do not jest.” He hesitated for a moment, eyebrows furrowed as he scrutinized her. “Nor do I lie.” 

Y/N’s lips parted. There was something about the way the Swordsman beheld her that made her stomach flutter. In her last encounter with the enigmatic Slayer, she’d been so rattled by her close encounter with the demon, that she hadn’t truly noticed much about the man who’d saved her life, apart from his bland detachment and rather unfortunate social skills. 

But now, the Miko was struck by how handsome the raven-haired Hashira was; she was mesmerized by the deep azure of his eyes, as vast and deep as the sea. His skin was a delicate alabaster, and, contrasted with the flesh of his hands which were calloused and scarred, his face had not a blemish in sight.

She blinked, clearing away some of the fog that had crept into her mind, put there by the vexatious Slayer. “I must return to my duties,” she said softly.

They spent the remainder of their journey back to the Shrine in silence. She was quick to break away from him the moment they passed under the Torii, though not before she muttered that he was welcome to stay, should he so choose.

She busied herself with her duties, but even the neediest obligations could not fully distract her from feeling the burning heat of his stare as the Water Pillar’s watched her fiercely from across the courtyard. And nothing, nothing at all could have prepared her for how he eventually  joined her in carrying out her duties, 

The Water Pillar stayed the night once more, departing sharply at daybreak. Later, as Y/N swept the courtyard free of loose brush and clutter long after his departure, she noticed a crow sitting high in a tree, its black eyes watching her every movement. Though its gaze was sharp, the presence of the great, sleek bird did not disturb her, though not as much of a feather twitched from its perch upon the branch as the Miko continued through her day. 

As she’d readied for bed later that night, she realized she’d felt oddly comforted by the crow. She imagined it a silent protector, a new guardian of the Shrine, no different than the statues of the gods which dotted its grounds. 

She settled into her futon with a great yawn, the image of a certain dark-haired Swordsman flickering in the back of her conscience until she was swept into sleep’s sweet embrace.

Just outside the Shrine’s sleeping quarters, the bird remained, eyes carefully tracking every shift in the shadows, waiting. 

And then the first light of dawn broke over the horizon, and the threat of night receded once more.

But the crow remained. 

———

Spring, 1915

The crow became a permanent fixture at the Shrine, though it always seemed to keep strictly to a single tree at the edge of the property, one that gave it a full view of the courtyard and structures surrounding the main honden.

Despite the bird's constant presence, more than a month passed before the Water Pillar returned, though he'd seemed even more sullen and withdrawn than he'd been during their previous two encounters. Y/N did not consider herself a friend to Tomioka by any means, but she was the only one brave enough to approach him as he'd lingered by the Torii, apparently unsure whether he should seek out their hospitality or return to the forest.

"You are welcome to come and sit for a hot meal," she called cordially, though she maintained a tentative distance. She frowned when he did not respond. Instead, the Water Pillar continued to stare unseeingly at the cracked stone path leading to the Shrine's courtyard.

"Tomioka-sama?" She pressed gently and the Swordsman's attention finally snapped to her, as though he'd just become aware of her presence.

The haunted look in his eyes sent a chill up her spine. The Miko cast one, cautious glance up at the sky, and her eyes narrowed at the wall of black clouds steadily rolling in from the east. A shift in the wind brought forth the distinct, metallic scent of rain, and if she listened hard enough, she swore she could hear the distant rumbles of thunder. “You know, there will be a storm tonight — please consider waiting it out here, where it’s safe.”

Tomioka only stared at her for a moment before he nodded. His hand twitched into a vague gesture inviting her to lead the way, and Y/N escorted him to the Shrine's elder, in search of her permission.

Granny Priestess agreed to let him stay, but on the condition he paid for his imposition. The Water Pillar had silently agreed, producing one small money bag from his pocket and placing it squarely in the Priestess’s outstretched, waiting hand. 

The heft of the bag had made Y/N frown; it seemed a great sum in comparison to their meager lodging offerings, but the Swordsman did not object, so she held her tongue. To comment would only serve to irritate her Master, and the old hag was scornful enough to assign her to duties that would isolate her from the raven-haired Slayer.

Only after the old Priestess sauntered off, leaving behind nothing but the lingering, bitter stench of sake, did the Miko speak again. 

“I’m glad to see you in good health, Tomioka-sama,” she bowed, though she thought she spied the corner of his mouth twitch down at her formal greeting. “I trust your patrol went smoothly?” 

The Water Pillar’s expression was tight; dark. “It did not. The demon I was tracking managed to get away.” His jaw clenched tight. “But not before it slaughtered an entire family in the mountains.” 

All at once, the world around her seemed to slow. It had been easy to assume the dark-haired Swordsman before her always managed to find his target just in time, before it could slaughter its victim. Now, as she beheld the lethal coldness that had settled over his features, Y/N knew her assumptions had been wrong. 

Perhaps, she noted with a shudder, her rescue had been the exception and not the rule. 

Beneath the icy stoicism limning the Water Pillar’s eyes, the shrine maiden noted a distinct heaviness that weighed down his shoulders; made them curl slightly forward, defeated.

She resisted the urge to reach out to him, in comfort. “I won’t offer you empty platitudes,” she murmured. “But I can invite you to offer your prayers for those who were lost.” 

He looked at her, brows drawn, and she knew his instinct was to decline, so she added, “I will do it regardless of whether you join me.”

All at once, any protest he had was snuffed out within him. Instead, he was left with a curious softness as he regarded the shrine maiden, so assured and earnest in her invitation. 

He didn’t know why he’d sought out the Shrine.

He’s been angry; angry at himself for not being faster, for allowing innocent people to die on his account of his failure.

He still felt angry. Yet, as he followed Y/N into the Shrine’s haiden to light incense, he also felt a solemn gratitude for the Miko, who’d not let him indulge in his self-loathing but instead requested he act, and act with her. 

So he had; and somehow, the weight on his chest, the one that threatened to suffocate him, lightened bit by bit until Giyuu felt like he could breathe once more. 

Later that night, Giyuu spotted the shrine maiden from his window as she darted around the courtyard to light the tōrō to illuminate the Shrine grounds. A deep rumble of thunder, however, signaled the spring storm had finally arrived. Y/N, however, only continued with her task, huddling over herself to strike the matches needed to finish lighting the lanterns as rain began to dampen the landscape around her.

He was about to go outside and demand she return to the warm, dry haven that was the girls’ sleeping quarters lest she catch a cold, but then the last of the lanterns were lit and the shrine maiden straightened.

And then she tilted her face up toward the sky, allowing the rain to wash over her. 

And she grinned. And Giyuu was mesmerized; so much so, that he had not stopped staring at where she’d stood, laughing in the rain, even long after the Miko retired to bed.

-

Y/N awoke well before sunrise the following morning and spent hours laboring over the hot stoves in the kitchen. By the time the sky finally lightened, she'd only just finished her task and was in the process of boxing up her creation when she spotted one of her fellow shrine maidens passing by the entryway.

The Miko called out her name. "Has Lord Tomioka awoken yet?"

Her sister trainee lingered in the doorway. "Oh yes, he's been up for a while," and the girl looked back over her shoulder. “But he is already on his way out —“

The Miko swore viciously under her breath as she slammed a lid atop the small bento and hastily wrapped it in the small cloth she’d swiped from the laundry. 

“Move,” she barked at a small group of trainees that had gathered in the hallway outside the kitchen. The girls flattened themselves against the wall as Y/N sped by. She hurtled up the stairs, nearly tripping in her haste. Just as she burst into the courtyard from the honden, panting and winded, she spotted him.

“Tomioka-sama!” Y/N called, hurrying after the retreating form of the Water Pillar before he could pass through the shrine gates. “I have something for you!” 

The raven-haired slayer turned back to her, his face neutral, though Y/N could tell, by the slightest raise of his brow, that she’d piqued his interest. 

“Thank goodness you hadn’t left yet,” the Miko said brightly, holding out a small bundle wrapped in furoshiki cloth. “I was worried this wouldn’t be ready before you did.”

Tomioka’s eyes dropped to the parcel in her hands. “What is it?” 

Y/N motioned for him to take it, and to her slight surprise he did, holding it slightly in front of him as though it were liable to burst open. “A meal for the road. Granny and I prepared it this morning — as thanks, for everything you’ve done.” 

But the Water Pillar was already shaking his head, trying to press the package back into the shrine maiden’s hands. “I need no thanks; I do my job, and your shrine happens to be part of it.” 

If his words disappointed her, Y/N did not show it. “And yet we are grateful all the same,” she said firmly, arms crossing in front of her chest to avoid taking the small bento back. “Besides, it’s salmon; it will only go bad if you don’t eat it.” 

Had she not been watching him, Y/N would have missed the slight widening of his eyes, or the way his hand twitched back towards himself, bringing the packed lunch closer to him. 

Cerulean eyes watched her for a long moment, before dropping as Tomioka tucked the bento into his pocket. 

“Thank you,” was all he said before he turned away and continued through the gates of the shrine, setting off on the path which would lead him through the forest. 

If she hadn’t known better, she would’ve sworn the Water Pillar looked happy as he departed. 

———

The Slayer returned exactly one week after she’d given him the home-cooked salmon – but he did not return empty-handed. For there, wrapped in the same furoshiki cloth, was a strange, oblong object, sitting in the palm of his hand though if he thought it heavy, Tomioka gave no indication. 

“What’s this?” Y/N leaned curiously over the Pillar’s outstretched hand and squinted, trying to discern what the cloth could have been concealing. 

Tomioka pushed his hand toward her, beseeching her to take the parcel from him. “A knife.” 

The Shrine Maiden looked up at him in alarm, pulling away from the Water Pillar. “Why on earth would I need a knife?” 

He rolled his eyes. “Protection.” 

“From what?” The Miko wrinkled her nose down at his offering, though there was a mischievous twinkle in her eye. “As I recall, I walloped you just fine with my broom.”

Tomioka shot her a dull look. “Be that as it may, cleaning tools are useless against demons. Without the sun, the only thing that works against them is decapitation with this — its metal is unique.” 

He parted the folds of the cloth to reveal a simple blade, though Y/N found it daunting all the same. The hilt was basic, an unembellished metal handle wrapped in plain black leather. The blade itself was an unassuming silver, slightly longer than her hand. 

The Slayer motioned for her to take it, though she only shrunk away. “You know how to use one, yes?” 

The Miko’s eyes met his, wide and anxious. “For domestic uses, of course, but not –” 

Tomioka’s fingers closed around her wrist and lifted, guiding her hand toward the dagger. His hand moved to cover hers, wrapping them both around the hilt of the blade before squeezing. “Grip it like this,” he held their joined hands up for her to inspect. “Keep your hand in a fist; do not lift your fingers away from the grip – that’s the best way to injure yourself instead of your target.” 

But the shrine maiden could hardly focus on the Pillar’s instructions. Her attention was directed entirely at the way her hand was swallowed by his, his skin warm and his grasp firm. She studied how his calluses – thick and forged from years of brutal sword training – pressed against hers; how, despite the roughness of his fingers and palms, and his solid hold still remained gentle. 

“-- and thrust like this,” he remained oblivious to her distraction as moved her arm in a sharp jab, a second and then a third time, before dropping her hand.  “Now do it yourself.” 

His command startled her out of her trance, a heat creeping up her neck from beneath the collar of her kosode. She held out the blade awkwardly before her as scrambled to recall the Water Pillar’s words. To her dismay, all she was able to conjure was the memory of his touch, and how cold she suddenly felt without it. 

Lamely, she mimed jutting the knife at an invisible enemy, the blade gracelessly wobbling through the air. Though she was by no means a swordsman, even she knew something was off, her movements disjointed and clumsy.

She glanced shyly back to the raven-haired Demon Slayer and deflated as she was met only with bemused resignation.

Tomioka shook his head in disdain. “Perhaps you would fare better with a broom.” 

The Miko bristled. “I am not a swordsman —“

“You’ve made that abundantly apparent.” 

“— and I do not have the basics you seem to take for granted.” She finished, glaring indignantly at her raven-haired companion. “So teach me.”

The Water Pillar considered her for a moment before he gave her the slightest, almost imperceptible nod of his head. 

“Watch me.” He turned his body toward the Miko and mimed getting into a defensive stance — feet ajar, his weight evenly distributed on each leg, and bent. 

He looked back to the Shrine Maiden expectantly, and she parroted his movements, crouching into what she imagined was the perfect mirror of his position.

It wasn’t.

“No — you need to—“ Tomioka straightened and huffed, impatient. He moved quickly behind her, and without thinking, his hands shot to grip her hips to guide them into the proper stance, until her weight was evenly distributed on both feet. 

“Like that — now bend your knees.” The ravenette pushed down on her hips until her legs bent, apparently oblivious to the way the Miko flushed crimson.

He was close; far, far too close. She’d never been touched the way the Water Pillar touched her. Tomioka’s hands were twin brands, burning her skin even through the layers of her shrine attire, and it sent every nerve beneath her skin buzzing.

She was aware of every inch of him pressed against her; of his arms, caging her in, his hands twin brands against her hips as he turned and pulled her into the proper stance. She was aware of how warm he was, of how formidable his presence felt, even though to her, he posed no threat. Every movement of his was precise and fluid, like the water he’d claimed to style his techniques after.

And if his touch wasn’t distracting enough, his scent threatened to overwhelm every last bit of sense she’d clung onto. Y/N didn’t know how she hadn’t noticed how good he smelled — like mahogany and citrus — so rich and so warm; a stark contrast to his otherwise cold and aloof nature mask.

The swordsman, however, appeared to remain oblivious. “There,” he finally said, having satisfied that she’d achieved proper form. For moment, the two of them lingered there, with Tomioka’s chest against the shrine maiden’s back, his hands remaining steady in place on her hips. It was as though they’d frozen: Y/N, out of a mixture of shock and red-cheeked embarrassment, and Tomioka out of utter cluelessness.

Another beat passed before the Water Pillar finally realized the compromising nature of their position. His hands dropped quickly from her hips, and there was a rush of air at Y/N’s back as he swiftly stepped away, putting distance between them once more. 

The raven-haired Slayer gruffly cleared his throat. “You should also keep wisteria on you.” And Y/N gulped down her embarrassment to turn back toward him. 

Tomioka kept his face neutral and cool, but the tips of his ears had turned pink. “Check your perfumes for it or ask one of the other shrine girls if you can borrow theirs – oil would be better. More concentrated”

Any residual awkwardness that may have lingered fell quickly away. The Miko only stared blankly at him, her head tilted slightly to the side as her eyebrows pinched together. “Perfume?”

Tomioka blinked. “Yes. As all women have.” 

It was an effort to fight off the smile twitching at the corners of her lips. “Exactly how many women do you know, Tomioka-sama? Such that you would know their perfumery habits, that is.” 

His mouth thinned into a firm line. “Enough.” 

And though Y/N supposed he’d meant to sound self-assured and confident, the Slayer was betrayed by the slight doubt in his voice, as though he’d been questioning his own answer. 

The shrine maiden only continued to look at him, her eyebrow slightly raised, amused. The longer the silence stretched between them,the more awkward the ravenette grew, his discomfort plain from the way he shifted under her stare. 

“You seem like someone who would use it.” He finally offered, after another moment of quiet.

It was her turn to blink, taken aback. Her smirk quickly slid from her face and with a grimace, she felt her right eye twitch, ever so slightly. “Apologies, then, for disappointing you.” 

Tomioka frowned and he made like he was going to respond, but the Miko squared her shoulders and stalked briskly past him. 

“I must return to my duties, and I’m sure you need to do the same,” she paused in the doorway of the garden hut and cast one, sidelong glance back to where he stood, clueless. “Until next time, Tomioka-sama. Thank you for the blade.”

With that, the Miko paced briskly away from the garden hut, her spine stiff. The Water Pillar remained in place for a moment, stupefied, before he collected himself once more, before setting off back toward the forest; to his Manor.

And as Giyuu retreated through the rusting Torii gate, he could not quite shake the distinct impression he’d done something wrong, though he knew not what. 

–

The Water Pillar returned the following week, though to a decidedly cooler greeting than that which he’d steadily grown accustomed to receiving. 

That wasn’t entirely true — the majority of the Shrine’s residents had welcomed him warmly, their kindness always far more than he thought he deserved. Only one hadn’t greeted him as enthusiastically as the others, and to his annoyance, that one was the only person whose opinion of him mattered, even if he couldn’t quite articulate why.

She hardly stopped to acknowledge his arrival, only gracing him with a brisk nod, though she’d refused to meet his eyes. Bemused, Giyuu followed her across the courtyard as she made her way to the Shrine’s small storeroom. He leaned against the doorway and watched as the Miko began pulling jars of dried herbs from the rickety shelves lining the walls and stacked them on a sizeable work counter that cut halfway across the room. All the while, she continued pointedly ignoring him, humming lightly under her breath as though she could not see or hear him as he shifted against the doorframe, waiting.

Her obstinate silence grated at him. “May I assist you?”

“No, no, I am perfectly fine, thank you.” She turned away to browse the shelves once more, before finding what she needed: a stone mortar and pestle.

The grinder settled against the wooden counter with a heavy thud and the shrine maiden snatched up one of the jars she’d stacked and dumped its contents into the bowl, followed by another bottle of herbs. Pestle in hand, she set to work grinding the leaves together, mixing in a vial of fragrant oil she’d kept in her pocket to create a thick paste.

Giyuu watched her quietly as she worked. “You’re…” he frowned. “You’re behaving strangely.”

Y/N glanced up at him. “In what way?” 

“You’re trying to avoid me.” 

“Am I?” She straightened, rolling her shoulders. “Only because I’ve not yet bathed today. I didn’t want to risk offending you with my stench.” 

Giyuu paused. “Why would that matter?” 

“You made sure to point out you thought I needed perfume during your last visit.” 

He pushed off the doorframe, eyebrows knit together. “For protection.” 

The shrine maiden rolled her eyes. “Yes, and apparently, because you believe I am the type to need it.” When Giyuu only continued to stare at her with that same, mildly lost expression, Y/N groaned, exasperated. “You implied I stink.” 

The Water Pillar’s jaw slackened as he gaped at her. “That is not –” 

“It is what you implied,” she repeated, turning away from him to focus on her task of grinding herbs, though the force with which she ground the pestle was perhaps greater than necessary.

Giyuu rounded the small countertop of the Shrine’s storeroom to face her head-on. “I like how you smell.” He insisted. “It’s nice.” 

The Miko’s irritated churning of the stone paused and her eyes finally lifted to his. For a long moment, she watched him, head slightly cocked. 

“You are very odd, Tomioka-sama.” 

But she said it with a small smile that he almost wanted to return. 

Before long, things between them returned to normal once more, with the Miko directing him to collect her gathering basket from where she’d left it in the Shrine’s infirmary and bring it to her. Once he returned, he helped her grind charcoal to make incense sticks as she chatted happily away. 

Surprisingly, Giyuu found himself not only engaged in her musings about daily life at the Shrine, but offering her small personal anecdotes of his own, though he was not nearly as proficient as she when it came to story-telling.  

Once the sun began setting once more, and he received no new orders from Headquarters, he simply sought out the Shrine’s head Priestess and silently passed her a small money bag. 

And then Giyuu retired to the guest’s quarters for the night. 

—--

As spring warmed into summer, the Water Pillar began making bi-weekly visits to the Shrine that quickly melted into habit; expectation. Once a fortnight, a thrill would settle over the young maidens in anticipation of the arrival of the stoic yet handsome Slayer, with girls of all ages eagerly looking toward the Shrine gates in hopes of spying him the moment he crossed beneath the Torii. The elder employees of the Shrine had learned to time Tomioka’s arrival by listening for their excited gasps, exhaled as a collective as brooms and rices sacks were dropped where their handlers stood, the girls far too interested in rushing to greet the exalted Slayer than they were in completing their tasks. 

“I do not see the reason for such excitement,” she sniffed, though even she wasn’t stupid enough to think her fellow trainees bought her bluff. “He is only a swordsman.” 

“A handsome one,” a wispy trainee named Miyoko sighed dreamily. “And no doubt strong and capable.”

The group of maidens dissolved into another fit of giggles, concealing their blushes behind their hands.

“His face is attractive, but his hair is odd,” another commented. “It looks like he’s hacked at it with his own blade.” 

“Oh, who cares about his hair? I’m far more interested in what’s beneath that uniform —“

“Enough,” Y/N snapped. While her friendship with the Water Pillar was tenuous  at best, the suggestive way her sisters-in-training spoke of him left her feeling decidedly discomforted.

Though, if she were honest with herself, she’d admit that she, too, wondered whether Tomioka’s strength was the product of a finely-hewn tuned physique. But she wasn’t, so she bottled that thought up and tucked it tightly away, where it belonged. 

Slowly, her cohorts all turned to look at her.

“You seem to spend a great deal of time with him, Sister,” Miyoko directed at Y/N, who felt her cheeks heat. “Is there anything you’d like to share?”

“Tomioka-sama always asks where Sister Y/N is, the moment he arrives!” A tiny voice chimed, and Y/N’s eyes slid shut in an effort to fight off a wince.  “Sometimes they even do chores by themselves!”

Komatsu. At only ten, she was the Shrine’s youngest trainee, and followed Y/N around like a shadow. Not that the shrine maiden minded all that much; she tended to spoil the girl a bit, when she could. But as pure as the girl’s intentions surely were, she’d yet to lose that childlike earnestness that made her prone to revealing information that Y/N rather remained a secret. 

“Alone with a man?” Miyoko repeated, her eyes shining with malicious glee. “How scandalous — even for someone without a family to embarass, dear Y/N.”

“Careful, Miyoko,” she warned softly. “Don’t go speaking on matters of which you know nothing.” 

“Or what? What would you do?” 

As fond as Y/N was of her sisters-in-training, one did not make it through the Shrine’s rigorous education and training without learning how to trade in the kind of currency young women valued most.

Information; specifically, gossip. 

So the shrine maiden only leveled Miyoko’s own smug smirk with one of her own. “Or I shall tell Granny how you spend your afternoons kissing the boys from the village, rather than tending to your lessons.” 

The other girls gasped, their stares turning back to the gossiping shrine maiden. She savored how quickly the girl’s prideful grin slipped from her face as the weight of the threat settled. 

While Y/N, parentless and thus without anyone to truly care about her propriety, was being primed to take over Granny Priestess’s position overseeing the shrine, her position was unique. She was parentless and thus, without anyone to truly care about her propriety or whatever other ridiculous expectations of modesty that were often attached to other young women her age. In being no one, Y/N was relatively free to do as she pleased, and that freedom almost made up for her lack of belonging.

But the other girls residing at the Shrine were different. Families across the region sent their daughters to the Shrine for training, not only in their cultural practices and arts, but also for education; to become well-rounded women who would then serve to be valuable marriage prospects once they returned home. 

Scandal would not affect her; but it would affect someone like Miyoko.

“How do you think your parents would feel, to know their heir was behaving so brazenly in public? Risking her reputation on the marriage market before she’s even entered it?”

Truthfully, she liked Miyoko; had gotten along well with her, in fact. But she would not risk those sacred few moments she spent with the Water Pillar in an effort to keep the peace with another trainee. Not when those few instances she spent in his company were the only times she’d felt connection — true, human connection and belonging. 

Her sister-in-training ruefully fell silent, and Y/N savored her victory. Later, when she was left with nothing but the company of her own thoughts, however, the exchange played back in her mind.

In all her posturing, she’d managed to avoid having to answer for Miyoko’s lofty observation. 

You seem to spend a great deal of time with him, Sister. 

She did; and, to her slight horror, she realized that she had no interest in stopping. 

She only wanted more.

–

It was past dawn when Giyuu trudged under the great Torii gate of the Shrine, exhausted and aching. 

It had been a long while since a demon was last capable of wounding him, but he’d been blown backward by a delayed attack that hit after he’d beheaded the damn thing. As a result, he’d been sent flying back, slamming through a dilapidated wall of the abandoned hut he’d tracked the creature to, resulting in a sizeable gash to his shoulder. 

He grit his teeth in mild annoyance. He would need some treatment of his wounds — not that they were deep by any means, but they were substantial enough that he knew infection could spell trouble for him, should it spread. 

Some small, irate voice in his head snidely reminded him he could have just as easily gone to the Butterfly Mansion for treatment — that, in fact, the Insect Pillar’s estate had been much closer to the location of his mission than the Shrine had been. He’d rationed that, as much as he admired and respected Kocho, he was still a bit raw from her mocking about how unliked he truly was among his comrades. 

Besides, he groused. Kocho was not the one he really wanted to see, anyway. 

He found Y/N in the Shrine’s storeroom, seated upon the floor with a detailed ledger spread out before her as she took inventory of various scrolls and texts.

Giyuu did not bother to announce himself. “You have medical training, do you not?”  

The Miko startled, the charcoal stick she’d been using to tally the ledger clattering to the floor. She blinked up at him in surprise. “Tomioka-sama — welcome, it’s been a few weeks — forgive me, I did not see you come in.” She quickly rose to her feet, shutting the store ledger and tucking it under her arm. 

Her eyes found the blood-stained shoulder of his hair and widened. “I have some; I can stitch and dress wounds —“

He nodded. “Then I require your assistance.” 

—-

Y/N led him to a small office inside the honden that served as the Shrine’s unofficial infirmary.  “Take a seat,” she nodded at a small stool that sat under the room’s solitary window, right by a modest working table. “Let me see what we have.” 

Tomioka sat upon the stool with his back to her as she busied herself sifting through cupboards in search of supplies. “What sort of wound is it?”

She turned back and nearly dropped a tin of medicinal salve she’d located as she beheld the Water Pillar strip himself of his clothing from the waist up. 

There, across his right shoulder blade, she saw it — saw his blood. Quickly, she located thread and a needle and she grabbed a roll of cloth that could double as wrappings and she crossed back across the room.  

She spread her bounty out across the table, right beside the neatly folded pile of his clothing. Silently, she set to work cleaning the gash, and she breathed a quiet sigh of relief when she saw that it was little more than a shallow flesh wound.

“Lucky you, this won’t need stitching,” she said lightly as she wiped away the last of the dried blood from the Water Pillar’s skin. “But I shall need to wrap it so it won’t become infected.”

Tomioka only gave her a curt nod. She stepped back to work open her tin of medical salve, and as she warmed the substance in her hands, she let herself fully examine the Swordsman sitting before her. Her eyes trailed over the sculpted planes of his back. It surprised her how muscular he was, given his leanness. Yet, without the layers of his uniform shirt and haori, she could see he was well-built, each muscle defined. 

She didn’t know why it surprised her that there was a man beneath the mask of the Slayer, but what a man he was. Her mouth went dry at the thought. It was an effort not to allow her eyes to wander lower; to ponder what he might look like under his uniform pants, stripped and fully bare before her — 

“What is that scent?” Tomioka’s sudden question startled her away from her increasingly treacherous thoughts. 

She’d never been more grateful to be facing away from him. That way, he could not see the blush coloring her cheeks as she hastily slathered the salve across his wound. “Anti-septic; I know it’s rather stringent, but — ”

The Water Pillar shook his head. “I know what antiseptic smells like. I mean you. The scent you wear.” 

She pursed her lips for a moment before she recalled the distinctly floral scent of her cleansing oils. “Sakaki blooms, I suppose.”

“What properties does it have — what are its effects on others?” He pressed. She was surprised at how insistent he seemed, and there was almost an urgency in his tone that unsettled her. 

“None, to my knowledge — why do you ask?”

The tips of Tomioka’s ears turned pink and he turned away from her, lips pressed into a firm line. “Forget I said anything.” he muttered after a moment, his shoulders and spine stiff.

Neither one of them spoke again as Y/N finished treating the Water Pillar’s  injury and wrapped it. 

“You're done,” she said after a moment, tapping him lightly on his other shoulder. 

“You have my thanks,” Tomioka quickly refastened the buttons of his uniform shirt as the Miko stepped aside, pointedly wiping her hands clean with a small cloth. She only looked at him once he lifted his haori from where he’d carefully laid it atop the small examination table, but her eyes narrowed as he rose from the stool, shrugging the material back over his shoulders. “I am happy to pay you for the resources you used —“ 

Y/N did not appear to be listening, not as she leaned forward and pinched the sleeve of his haori between her thumb and index finger. 

“You have a tear,” she frowned, rubbing the fabric between her fingers. “Right here, see?” 

There, on the side bearing his sister’s half of his haori, right where his sleeve met his shoulder, was indeed a small hole, the threads around it broken and shifting slightly in the wind. 

The Miko’s hand fell away, and she squared her shoulders, mouth set in a firm but determined line. “If you’ll give me a moment, I assure you I can have it repaired in no time –” 

“Not necessary,” the Swordsman said abruptly, twisting back from her. “I can figure it out on my own.” He would not part with it, would not so much as let another put their hands on it and risk ruining his most cherished possession. 

Y/N only stepped toward him, ignoring his attempt at distance. “There’s no need to be prideful,” she huffed impatiently. “Truly, it would take no effort at all –”

“No.”

“Why are you being so difficult?” She snapped, but her hands continued reaching for him, for his sleeve – 

Tomioka snatched her wrist mid-air and held it there, halting her. “No one touches this. Understand?” 

Y/N’s lips parted in faint surprise at the Water Pillar’s severity. Her eyes darted to where his fingers were locked tight – uncomfortably tight – around her wrist. When she glanced back at the stone-faced Slayer, she felt a chill lick down her spine. She’d known he could be intimidating against threats, even without saying a word. It was his eyes – his eyes would harden, with the lapiz hue of his irises darkening to something more akin to indigo, as he stared down an opponent. She’d witnessed it the very first night she’d met him. 

She just hadn’t thought she would ever be on the receiving end of such a cold glare. 

“I understand,” she said softly, and she began flexing her wrist against his grip in an effort to work herself free from his hold. “Please forgive my indiscretion, Tomioka-sama. I overstepped.” 

The raven-haired Slayer blinked and quickly let her go, her wrist falling limply back to her side. Just outside the infirmary’s small window, he heard the familiar, urgent cry of a crow.

He’d never been more grateful for a distraction.  “I must be on my way.” His tone was stiff; clipped. 

“But — you’ve only just arrived —“ 

“Farewell, Y/N.” Giyuu gave her a curt nod.

Helplessly, the Miko watched as the Water Pillar stalked out of the small office, his hands curled into fists at his sides. He did not so much as spare a glance back, leaving Y/N to wonder whether she would see that odd patterned haori again.

The thought she might not made something cold and heavy sink into her gut.

—-

(One week later)

It wasn’t often that Giyuu Tomioka found himself annoyed, much less angry. He much preferred channeling his existing emotions into slaying demons, allowing them to taste a fraction of the rage and hatred he felt deep within, a vicious fire he so rarely let bubble up to his service.

Until that evening. After the fiasco that was Mount Natagumo and the subsequent chaos at the Master’s mansion as a result of the Kamado boy and his demon sister, Giyuu had finally noticed that the previous day’s trials had resulted in the tear along the shoulder of his haori that he knew could no longer be ignored. 

He grit his teeth; the battle against the Lower Moon spider demon had hardly required him to exert any energy — yet the demon’s last ditch attempt to preserve its life had managed to enlarge the small hole in his most prized possession, and the Water Pillar was utterly without the skill to repair it. 

So, he’d been forced to sit through the meeting with the Master, the hole in his haori feeling more like a gaping wound that only festered with every passing moment, until finally, finally they’d been dismissed. 

Giyuu hadn’t wasted any time departing swiftly from his Master’s estate, though that hadn’t stopped him from catching the tail end of Shinazugawa’s biting remark of how fuckin’ typical it was for him to leave without so much as a farewell to his comrades. He tried not to let the Wind Pillar’s words get to him; but he was unworthy of their company regardless, so he supposed it really didn’t matter what they thought of him. It shouldn’t. 

And so, that was how Giyuu found himself padding silently along the cracked, stone pathway which led to the Shrine at the edge of his designated territory, ready to eat crow and ask for assistance from a particular Miko whom he felt certain would not hesitate to remind him of how he’d coolly rejected her help only days earlier. 

Hence, his irritation. 

So, his movements stiff and his mouth twisted into a firm grimace, Giyuu stalked under the Torii and into the main courtyard of the old Shrine. It was coming upon midday, though there was a thick cover of clouds overhead that threatened that open up at any moment and shower rain across the region. He ignored the respectful bows of the Shrine’s various inhabitants and staff, eyes sweeping over faces in search of her. 

He located her near the storehouse, chatting with one of her fellow trainees as the pair worked to clean vegetables. Giyuu trudged over to her, eyes locked unwaveringly on her serene, easy smile, as he tried to ignore the way it made something in his gut clench and churn. 

He drew to a stop right before her and her Shrine-sister, the latter looking up at him with wide eyes, her hands stilling over her work as she looked up to the Slayer in awe. 

Giyuu cleared his throat but Y/N only continued wiping the dirt from carrots with her cloth. 

The ravenette tried again. “I am in need of your assistance.” 

Y/N’s comrade nudged her with her elbow, but the Miko only continued to clean, pointedly ignoring them both. 

Giyuu pursed his lips. “With my haori. The tear has grown larger —“

“I am busy.” Y/N’s tone was clipped. “Perhaps there are others who might assist you.”

“Please.” 

The Shrine Maiden’s hands finally stilled and she lifted her chin to face him. The moment she beheld the pleading sincerity in his eyes, coupled with the hard set of his jaw that betrayed just how desperate he was, her gaze softened.

She sighed. “Very well then,” she rose, brushing her hands free of any residual dirt. She held her chin high and squared her shoulders, determined not to show him how he’d bruised her ego; how he’d frightened her. “Follow me.”

—

The Shrine sat at the base of a great mountain. But, nearly half a kilometer up the winding, twisting path leading up the mountain and carved into its side, was a grassy hilltop that then plateaued into a small overlook that boasted a phenomenal aerial view of the Shrine below. 

The summer grass had turned a vibrant shade of emerald, broken up only by dots of tiny white and blue wildflowers that had gathered in small clusters sprinkled throughout the overlook. At the back of the clearing stood an ancient willow tree, its trunk gnarled and knotted with age, its wisps swaying lazily in the wind.   

It was her favorite spot; a little ways away from the hustle and bustle of the Shrine, which meant they would have some privacy as she worked. Y/N settled down against the grass and pulled a needle and a spool of thread from her pocket. She turned her face up toward the Water Pillar where he stood over her. “I’ll take that haori, now, if you’ll please.” 

Wordlessly, Tomioka carefully slid the garment from his shoulders and handed it to her, though he hesitated in letting go as she took it gingerly into her hands. 

It was clearly very important to the Slayer, and perhaps that was why she felt the need to reassure him. “I promise to take care of it.”

He nodded stiffly and let go of the fabric and the Miko quickly set to work repairing its torn shoulder. The Water Pillar lingered awkwardly beside her for a moment longer before he too, sat in the grass next to her, though his back remained straight, his posture rigid.

She glanced at him as her needle wove the haori’s fabric back together. “I suppose this happened because of your occupation?” 

It was faint, but the shrine maiden swore she saw his mouth twitch into something reminiscent of a grimace. “Yes.”

“You should be lucky it wasn’t your flesh.”

At that, Tomioka scoffed. “I would not allow such a weakling to get close enough to try.”

“My, I’d not pegged you as the boastful sort, Tomioka-sama.”

“It’s not boasting; I speak only the truth.” He retorted evenly. 

The shrine maiden only hummed as she worked. “And what of your family? Do they support your path as a Slayer?”

The Water Pillar turned his head away, his form stiff. For a moment, the Miko feared she would be left to repair his haori in silence, with nothing but the faint whistling of birds to keep her company. 

“I have none,” Tomioka’s voice was soft, nearly swallowed by the wind. “There is no one left to object, even if they wanted to.”

Y/N’s hands paused their work as she thought. “You are alone?”

It would be nice, she supposed, to find another who, like her, belonged to no one; a kindred spirit of sorts.

“I suppose,” Tomioka spoke up after a moment, his eyes squinted in thought. “I have a mentor. But it was he who trained me to join the Corps.” 

“I should hope he’s more sober than mine,” Y/N drawled. “And less irritating.” 

The Miko’s attention was so fixed on her careful stitching along the hole in his haori, that she didn’t see his faint smile at her words. 

——

The Slayer and the shrine maiden continued talking long after she’d finished repairing the tear in his haori. It was only when Tomioka had realized nightfall was a mere hour away that the two reluctantly descended the hillside to return to the Shrine.

“I almost forgot.” The Water Pillar said, halting in front of the honden as Y/N escorted him back to the Shrine’s entrance. He dug into his pockets and pulled something free. “Here. For you.” 

The Miko gaped down at the fat red fruit that sat heavily in his palm. “This is -“ she said breathlessly, “A pomegranate!” 

He nodded, arm still outstretched towards her as he waited to drop the ruby fruit into her hand. 

She shook her head. “No, Tomioka-san, I cannot accept something so expensive-“

“I insist.” The Water Pillar withdrew a small knife and split the fruit in half, staining his hands crimson with the juice that spilled over its soft flesh.

Hesitantly, the young Miko accepted the half he offered her, and thumbed some of the fat, glistening jewels loose. The moment she brought them to her lips, Y/N sighed, contentedly, and for some reason, Giyuu found his cheeks heating as he watched her savor the sweet fruit. 

She lazily opened her eyes after swallowing her first mouthful, but she was startled to see the Hashira staring at her, unwaveringly, and she realized he’d moved closer towards her than he had been only seconds earlier. 

Tomioka’s azure eyes were fixed hard on her lips, as he leaned in close to her, Y/N flushing as he drew nearer. 

Is he going to kiss me? Her traitorous heart thundered at the idea, and it caused her no short amount of grief to know she was uncertain whether she wanted him to do so. As her emotions warred with her logic, the Water Pillar’s gentle fingers cupped under her chin, and his thumb brushed delicately across her lower lip. 

“Pomegranate juice,” he said, but Y/N could still feel the warmth of his breath still as his hand lingered under her chin. His eyes were wide as though he, too, could not believe what he’d just done. 

“Yes,” she breathed, before she felt her cheeks heat. “I – I mean, thank you.”

The Water Pillar’s gaze dropped to her lips and her stomach twisted violently. All at once, awareness seemed to come crashing down upon him, and he then stepped back, his hand falling from its hold on her face and back to his side.

The shrine maiden remained frozen in place for a heartbeat longer. “Are you certain you’re unable to be our guest tonight?” Her voice was little more than a pitiful squeak.

Her eyes lifted to his and she knew the answer before he spoke it. “I cannot,” and to her surprise, he almost looked as disappointed as she felt, but he added hastily, “But I will be back. Soon.”

“Soon,” she echoed, feeling rather dazed. “Yes. Of course. I — we — look forward to it.”

She was thankful that Tomioka had already turned away from her as he made his way down the long, winding steps that led to the main route out of the forest; that way, he could not see the way her cheeks burned crimson, or how she buried her face in her hands as she cursed her own embarrassment.

—

Giyuu was grateful his back was to the young Miko as he retreated through the Shrine’s gates and back to the path which would lead him home. It meant she could not see as he stared at his thumb – the thumb he’d used to clear away the small bead of pomegranate juice from her lips – or how his eyebrows pinched together. It meant she could not hear his heart as it beat wildly in his chest at the memory of how soft and full her lip had been beneath the pad of his thumb, soft enough that some treacherous part of his brain had urged him to lean in, to see if her lips would feel as good against his – 

He shook his head, trying desperately to dispel his wild intrusive thoughts. It was ludicrous; he did not think of the young shrine maiden in that way. Not when she frequently sought to needle him, not when she frustrated him to no end. 

His collar suddenly felt tight; his skin, far too hot. His gaze dropped back down to the hand that had touched her, and it clenched. 

A pomegranate. It was only a pomegranate; nothing more. 

“It was a thank you gift,” Giyuu declared, as though speaking the words out loud gave them more force. “It is nothing more than an expression of gratitude.”

And even his crow, ancient and dull as he was, scoffed at the obviousness of the lie.

——

Late Summer, 1915

Summer blazed hot and humid. But neither the sweltering heat of the sun nor the most arduous missions he took exhausted Giyuu more than the complicated, tangled mess of feelings that had taken root within him. Because with every day that passed, the Miko of the Shrine at the edge of the forest occupied more and more of his mind. And Giyuu did not know what it meant or what he should do about it. 

She’d not just repaired his haori or made him salmon; she’d somehow wormed her way into his every waking thought, and to his great confusion, he found himself almost unwilling to think of anything but her. 

Admittedly, Giyuu Tomioka did not have the requisite tools in his social arsenal to successfully navigate human interaction. He hadn’t quite known the extent of his ineptitude however, until the Insect Pillar had so cheerfully pointed out that none of his comrades, in fact, liked him. That revelation had made him doubt every interaction he’d had since, made him wonder whether even the lower ranked Slayers viewed him with the same apathy, if not the same outright hostility toward him shared by Shinazugawa and Iguro.

He’d come to doubt them all — except her.

Y/N was different; at the end of each visit to the Shrine, the Water Pillar did not find himself feeling drained or unwanted.  He felt lighter; rejuvenated, even. She was a breath of fresh air that Giyuu found more difficult to go without with each passing day. 

She still picked at him, but she did so without the malice he’d normally come to expect, even from those he considered friends, like the Kocho. The young Miko had a way of teasing him that did not leave him feeling decidedly othered. Rather, her japes only spurred him to respond with his own, though admittedly, they tended to fall flat.

He’d known, from the moment she’d attempted to bludgeon him with her broom, that there was more to the Miko than met the eye; but he hadn’t imagined he’d find himself as drawn to her as he was, unable to tolerate going more than a handful of weeks without paying her a visit.

And, given the way she’d blushed after he’d thanked her for repairing his haori, perhaps she was drawn to him, too. Perhaps he hoped she was.

But he would have to wait to find out, for his obligations to the Corps had taken him to a village a considerable distance away from his designated territory. He’d been tasked with investigating a series of disappearances of young women in the region, but his orders had come abruptly enough that he’d not been able to spare a visit to the Shrine before he departed.

He was anxious — eager — to return, though not before he took care of the demon likely behind the mystery plaguing the village he now patrolled.

Nightfall was still a little ways off, and so Giyuu found himself wandering the streets to pass the time. He made his way to a sizeable outdoor market, still packed with shoppers oohing and ahhing over vibrant displays of silk, crafted jewelry, and sugary confectioneries.

Idly, he too, joined other patrons in browsing the small vending stands that lined the bustling village streets, though his perusal was disinterested, if not bored. But his eyes snagged on one small bauble displayed on the merchant’s small stand upon a swath of silk. It was small; unassuming. But the carefully crafted decoration was painted in a startling shade of crimson that he found hard to ignore. 

The image of a certain Miko flashed through his mind. He couldn’t leave without it. he wouldn’t; not when its paint so perfectly matched the color of Y/N’s hakama trousers.

I spend the year longing for autumn. That was what she’d told him, that day on the hillside after she’d repaired his haori. 

He almost smiled to himself. This would be a way for her to enjoy her favorite season even in the scorching heat of summer or the biting cold of winter. 

He waited for the merchant to notice his presence, his fingers twisting around the small money sack he kept tucked in his pocket. His eyes flickered back to the small trinket. Idly, Giyuu wondered when he’d begun associating the color red with the shrine maiden and not with the blood he’d always imagined stained his hands. 

He continued to stare the merchant down until he finally managed to catch the vendor’s eye, who flinched at the intensity of his unblinking stare.   

Giyuu jutted his chin toward the small token. “How much?” 

—-

He found the Miko a few mornings later, relaxing on the hillside overlooking the Shrine. She laid amongst the late summer wildflowers that had bloomed, her form framed against the grass with petals of soft blue and bright marigold. 

Giyuu wordlessly settled beside her, and he tried to ignore the thunderous beat of his heart against his sternum as she rolled her head toward him to greet him with a sleepy smile. They exchanged pleasantries and settled into a comfortable silence, both content to watch the sun rise higher over the horizon.

Easy; it was so easy for him to sit beside her, like it was the most natural thing in the world. 

“So, you are to take over the Shrine, one day?”

Y/N’s head turned to the Water Pillar in surprise; though he’d grown steadily more talkative over the months since she’d met him, it wasn’t often that he initiated conversation. 

She settled back against the cool grass of the hilltop overlooking the Shrine, enjoying the precious few moments of quiet in the early morning before the chaos of the day called her away. “Yes,” though there was a slight uncertainty in her voice. “I’m sure it’s the expectation, after all. I have to repay Granny for her kindness.”

Giyuu frowned. “But is that what you want?”

“What I want is irrelevant,” the Miko folded her arms behind her head and tilted her face up toward the sky. Her eyes tracked the great, fluffy clouds that drifted lazily by, though the Water Pillar suspected she was attempting to avoid having to meet his eye. 

“It’s not irrelevant,” he countered. “If nothing else, you should be allowed to consider other possibilities.”

She did not answer him, and the silence between them stretched enough that he thought to drop the subject, not wanting to press her any further. 

“I think,” she said in that faraway voice that Giyuu had come to learn meant she was trying to conceal some deeply felt emotion. “I think should like to belong somewhere.” Her eyes shone. “No, that’s not it — I want someone to belong to me, and I to them. 

“A husband.” He said flatly. 

The Miko shook her head. “I have never belonged to anywhere or to anyone. I’ve no family to call my own - only an old woman who took pity on me as an infant and raised me. I wonder — what must it be like?” She laid back on the grass and closed her eyes. “That is the one thing I would change. I belong nowhere because I’m no one — nobody’s.” 

Giyuu frowned. “I don’t think that’s true—“

“It is true,” she insisted, though she said it with such ease and conviction, like it was the most obvious and natural thing in the world. “I am here for a moment and then I will be gone, and no one will ever know or remember that there once was a shrine maiden named Y/N here. I’ve made peace with that.”

I would, Giyuu wanted to tell her. I would remember and I would tell them all. 

“I am nobody as well,” Giyuu admitted quietly after a moment. “And I have no one left to belong to.” 

The image of her face, so kind and sad and full of understanding at his words, had stayed with him for the rest of the morning and even as he settled in for a few hours of sleep in the Shrine’s guest wing.  

And in his dreams, her face remained a constant.

—

The sky had turned a vivid shade of orange by the time the Water Pillar emerged from his guest lodgings, ready to depart and resume his duties.  Y/N had been helping another shrine maiden tote firewood across the courtyard when she heard a quiet call of her name.

She turned and saw the raven-haired Swordsman standing near the great Torii gate. 

She looked back to her fellow trainee, who waved her off with a knowing smile, and Y/N brushed her hands clean against her hakama pants before she approached him. 

“Leaving so soon?” And she tried to mask her disappointment at the shortness of his visit. 

Giyuu nodded. “We’ve been stretched thin, in light of a few…changes to our ranks.”

The Miko nodded grimly. He’d told her that a fellow Hashira had been slain a few months prior, and another had retired following a rather violent battle that had destroyed part of a far off city.

“But I wanted to give you this.”

She glanced down to his outstretched hand, where a small parcel was wrapped in plain furoshiki cloth. Stunned, she took the package from him, her eyes flicking between it and the Water Pillar watching her intently.

Gingerly, she unfolded the bundle and unveiled a long, but fragile metal and wood reed.

A hairpin, she realized with a soft gasp. Y/N could scarcely bring her fingers to run over the exquisitely crafted ridges of the leaves that adorned the top portion of the pin, afraid that even the slightest pressure from her touch would cause the Water Pillar’s precious gift to her to crumble. 

I spend the year longing for autumn, she’d told him. She hadn’t thought he’d been particularly interested in listening to her talk; but as Y/N cradled the delicate ornament between her palms, she felt a blush begin to creep across her cheeks. 

As her fingers traced across the delicate ridges of a cluster of maple leaves, lacquered in a thick coat of scarlet paint — a perfect match to the hue of her traditional Miko hakama pants — Y/N realized that perhaps Tomioka had been paying more attention to her than she’d realized. 

For the Water Pillar had given her a piece of autumn to hold onto year-round. 

“Tomioka-san, you do not-“ 

“Giyuu.” The ravenette interrupted her. “Please, call me by my name; it’s Giyuu.” 

Y/N’s mouth closed, but she smiled softly, considering. “Alright. Giyuu — please, you do not need to feel obligated to bring gifts for us — it was only salmon.” 

But Giyuu only shook his head. “I don’t bring gifts for everyone; just you.” 

Y/N turned scarlet. 

“Please, just-“ Giyuu frowned, and Y/N could have sworn she saw the faintest glow of pink coloring the Hashira’s cheeks. “Just take it.” 

“Okay,” her voice resembled a mouse’s squeak as she cradled the pin delicately between her hands. “Thank you. It’s beautiful.” 

“And it wasn’t just salmon.” 

Y/N looked to him in surprise, her head cocked in curiosity. “Pardon?” 

Giyuu exhaled harshly through his nose before stepping closer to her. “This is not only because you made salmon.” Her eyes tracked his hand as it rose to grip the front fold of his haori in his fist. “This – this is all I have left of my family.” 

“My sister,” he gestured to the red half of his haori. “She died protecting me.” His hand drifted to the green and orange patterned half of the garment. “And this belonged to a dear friend. He also perished protecting me – and others.”

The Miko’s lips parted, understanding and sorrow flooding her eyes. “Tomioka-san — Giyuu — I had no idea —“

“They both died because of demons – because I could not help them. And now this is all I have left to remember them by.” And then he did the unthinkable; he grabbed her hand and pressed it against the checkered portion of his haori, right over his heart. His hand was warm and firm. Gentle, though she could feel his callouses against her knuckles as he held it in place. “So it wasn’t just salmon.” He repeated, and there was a heat in his eyes Y/N had not seen before, one that stoked a fire in her belly. “And you are not just anyone.” 

A soft exhale blew past her lips at the sincerity of his words. For the first time in all her nineteen years, she wondered if this was what it meant to mean something to someone.

“Thank you,” she breathed, eyes wide and sparkling with unshed emotion. “I will treasure it.”

She swore she saw a faint blush creep across the Water Pillar’s cheeks, but she brushed it aside as nothing more than the shadows of the sky as twilight darkened the horizon. 

Tomioka nodded. “I must get going now; I will see you soon.”

She did not want him to go.

But the shrine maiden concealed the pang she felt in her chest with a breezy smile. “Farewell, Tomio-“

“Giyuu.” 

She blushed. “Yes — Giyuu. Until next time.”

—

“I cannot believe he lets the old woman charge him an arm and a leg to stay a single night,” Miyoko said in awe as the pair watched the retreating form of the Water Pillar through the shrine house gates. 

The hairpin clutched tightly in her hands suddenly felt like a stone weight. “I’m sure he stays here only for convenience’s sake,” Y/N replied airily, turning sharply away from the egress to the shrine to hide her warming cheeks.  

Miyoko snorted. “Hardly. The Demon Slayer Corps has tons of safehouses throughout the country. Corps members get medical treatment, hot meals, and lodging free of charge.” Y/N’s sister-in-training grunted as she heaved a hefty bag of rice flour from the storeroom to the girls’ side, no doubt hauling it out to prepare the evening meal. 

“I’ve heard of at least four such houses in this region alone. As a Hashira, Tomioka-sama could go to any one of them and be treated far more kindly than he is here.” 

Y/N frowned. “I wonder why, then, he continues to return here so often? Surely our shrine is some distance from his home, given that he stays the night each time.” 

Miyoko shot the young shrine maiden a knowing glance. “Perhaps he tolerates the Granny’s abuse because he is fond of the company.” 

Y/N only felt her face grow hotter as she ducked down, though she felt Miyoko’s amused stare burn through her back. 

—-

The Water Pillar had returned from his intel assignment and promptly journeyed to the Shrine, its inhabitants abuzz as they prepared for the arrival of autumn and the colder months, now only mere weeks away. 

He found the shrine maiden of his interest inside the main wing of the manor, back in the kitchen as she prepared herbs to be incorporated into various salves and medications. Y/N smiled brightly at him as he’d sidled up beside her, taking a handful of dried greenery from the bunch next to her and deftly pulling the leaves from the stem and handing them to her. 

“Is it your day off?” The Miko gratefully accepted the leaves he’d stripped and dumped them into the rocky mortar to join the others. 

Giyuu felt his stomach clench as his fingers brushed against hers. “I have completed my duties for the time being, yes.”

"You're welcome to help me, as long as you do not mind a bit of busy work."

He didn't; of course he didn't. In fact, as he accepted the heavy stone pestle from the Miko and set to work mashing the leaves she handed them into the mortar, Giyuu rather supposed he would do just about anything to remain in the shrine maiden's company, even if that meant assisting her in a task as banal as grinding medicinal herbs. And though the Slayer and the Miko fell into their well-practiced habit of quietly tending to Y/N's duties side by side, there was a notable absence of the bright chatter he'd grown accustomed to hearing during his visits.

The Water Pillar frowned. “You’re quiet.” It was not a question. “There is something on your mind.” 

“Is there?” Y/N hummed loftily, her hands continuing to strip leaves from their stems. “Perhaps I am simply focused.” 

Giyuu found his eyes wandering to the side to study the Miko’s face more often than usual. Though she maintained a pleasant smile as they worked, he could see that it did not fully reach her eyes. And even her sage expression could not conceal the way the troubled look in her eyes, hands pausing their work as she stared at something behind the walls of the small shrine kitchen. 

“Something is bothering you.” Giyuu took the bundle of herbs clutched in her hands and replaced them with his pestle, allowing her to work her frustrations over the paste forming at the bottom of the stone bowl. 

She blushed and refocused her gaze, grinding the pestle hard. “Nothing is wrong!” She chirped. 

“You are a dreadful liar.”

The Miko replied with an airy laugh that made his throat tighten. “So I’ve been told — often, in fact.” 

“There is…trouble in the village,” Y/N said carefully, though she kept her hands busy as she continued to grind herbs into a thick paste. “It is nothing we can’t handle, but it has put many of us on edge. Particularly Granny.” 

Giyuu frowned as he handed the shrine maiden another bunch of leaves from her basket. “What sort of trouble?” 

She hesitated. “It is petty village drama, nothing more.”

“You won’t give any further details?” 

The Water Pillar could not explain it, but he found himself troubled by the way the Shrine Maiden forced a smile and a far too casual shrug of her shoulders. “There are none worth re-hashing.” 

He frowned, but he did not press her further, resolving instead to poke around later. Perhaps he would see whether the Shrine’s head Priestess’s tongue was as loose with information as it was with vulgarity once she’d properly indulged in her sake; he’d make certain she was well-stocked in advance. 

Giyuu furtively glanced back at the shrine maiden’s profile, in part to see whether he could deduce anything from her expressions, but he found himself instead studying her, puzzling over a change in her appearance he hadn’t noticed before.

Sensing his stare, the Miko turned to him with a light smile that then  faltered. “What –?”

“You changed your hair.” It took everything within him not to reach out, to see if her hair would feel as silky in his fingers as it looked shifting softly in the wind. “I’ve never seen it down.” 

“Oh!” Her smile turned bashful, a pretty pink dusting spreading across her cheeks. “I wanted to wear my hairpin – see?” 

She turned her head, the long curtain of her hair rippling smoothly with the movement. With her back to him, Giyuu could see the pin he’d given her neatly tucked into the long strands of her hair, pinning half of it back. The red of the pin’s maple leaves posed a lovely contrast with the hue of her hair. 

Y/N was already quite beautiful, but with her hair partially down, he thought she looked softer; younger. She peeked over her shoulder at him, fingers nervously combing through her tresses. “It’s not practical for every day, of course, but I thought since you’d likely be arriving soon –” 

His eyes widened and Giyuu became acutely aware that his heart now thumped wildly in his throat as Y/N choked off with a squeak, apparently realizing what she’d revealed. Though she hurriedly turned back around, Giyuu could see how the tips of her ears burned bright red. 

Despite her efforts, her admission hung like a cloud in the air between them. She’d worn it – the hairpin – for him. 

Giyuu swallowed thickly. “I like it.” He cleared his throat and turned, allowing his own unruly hair to obscure his face. “On you, that is.” 

For once, the Miko had neither a quick remark nor barb to lob back at him. Instead, she only turned back to her task of grinding her herbs, a thick curtain of her hair concealing her face from his sight.

Once she'd finished bottling up her new medicinal salves, Giyuu helped her carry the tins to the Shrine's storage house, directly across the courtyard from its main wing. The shrine maiden remained curiously quiet, even in spite of his own lame attempts to converse with her. He'd finally given up after his dry comment about the weather went ignored. But every so often, he let his eyes wander to her as they returned to the honden, and that nagging feeling returned as he watched her gnaw incessantly at her bottom lip, a faraway look in her eyes. 

Giyuu was not a nosy man, but the Miko's clear distraction unsettled him. He was about to pull her aside, to demand she tell him exactly what it was that had chased away the smile he so longed to see when they were approached by Y/N's haughty Master.

“Lord Tomioka,” the head Priestess nodded curtly at him in greeting. “I am glad to have run into you — I am in need of your assistance.”

The old Priestess turned to her young protégée. “Go assist the younger ones; they need to give their offerings before dinner.” 

Y/N’s mouth opened to protest but the head Priestess cut her off. “Now.”

To his surprise, the shrine maiden did not argue with her Master, only turning to him to give him a helpless shrug before she began to make her way toward the Shrine’s honden. 

The Water Pillar grimaced. He tried to convince himself the pit in his stomach was only because her odd behavior gnawed at him; that he was only curious to learn what it was that troubled her.  But as the Miko cast one last, reluctant look over her shoulder at him, Giyuu found that he was as unwilling to watch her go as she was to leave. 

If the Shrine’s head priestess noticed his inner anguish, she paid it no mind. “You will accompany me in the kitchen.”

—-

The first thing he noticed was the conspicuous absence of the scent of sake, which he’d grown accustomed to following the Priestess around like a pungent cloud of perfume. He resisted the urge to scowl; he would have to find another way to get the old woman to talk.

Giyuu followed the woman into the small structure that stood adjacent to the honden that served as the Shrine’s kitchen. He watched silently as she pulled a cleaver, large and deadly sharp, free from where it was stored in a cabinet and laid it atop a butcher’s block. The elder stepped outside of the kitchen and returned a moment later, a recently de-feathered and skinned chicken in hand.

“Things around here seem…tense,” Giyuu observed carefully  as the old woman slapped the chicken on the counter for preparation. 

“Tense is one word for it, I reckon,” she bit, taking up her cleaver. “The world we live in is dark. I should think you would know that better than most.”

The corner of his mouth dipped down. “But even your girls seem unusually subdued; distracted.” 

Her eyes flashed to his, piercing and sharp. “You mean Y/N.”

It wasn’t a question. 

“She is always restless this time of year,” the old woman sighed. “Though she loves autumn, she despises winter — or, rather, she despises how it reminds her of what she does not have. And winter is well on its way.” 

He nodded, recalling what the shrine maiden had revealed to him that day, on the hillside.

“But your observation is correct — that is not all of the reason she is so distracted,” the old Priestess said darkly, and Giyuu was surprised to see how alert and focused the normally soused elder seemed. “A man from the village — Susumo — has been following her. Demanding her.” 

Giyyu straightened. “What do you mean by ‘demand?’” 

The haggard woman cursed below her breath as she broke down the chicken’s body. “I mean in the way that men often feel entitled to women — especially angry drunks like him.” 

Every hair on Giyuu’s body stood straight as the weight of the Priestess’ warning settled. 

“I have forbidden her from venturing out in the dark alone,” the Granny continued, harshly wrenching a joint on the fowl. 

“She is a Priestess in training; surely that status affords her some protection?” Giyuu’s knuckles turned white where his fists clenched at his sides. 

“I’m not sure the shrine is enough to keep him out for much longer. He’s been lingering — and threatening consequences, if I do not agree to hand her over to him for marriage.” The old Priestess grimaced. “Her status does her no good if he burns this place to the ground.” 

The old woman set her cleaver next to her with a heavy thud, her frustration palpable. “The girl is of age, and I am not her blood family; there is no one here who can claim authority over her, not like a parent or an elder sibling.” When her eyes lifted to his, Giyuu could see a hint of fear underlying the hard anger in her gaze. “These days, I half-expect to awaken and find that she’s been stolen in the night.” 

The Water Pillar felt his jaw clench. It was rare that he felt the burning flush of anger and it was not directed at a demon, but the idea that Y/N was being harassed and threatened by some village drunkard who felt entitled to her, lit something hot in his stomach. For as vexatious and confounding as he found the young Miko to be, no one deserved to be stalked like prey. 

Especially her. 

“I’ve had a crow stationed here to alert me of any demon attacks for months,” Giyuu began, and the old woman looked to him in surprise. “But I will assign more to keep watch during the day. If there is anything strange afoot, they will tell you.” He paused a moment before adding, “And they will alert me, too.”

The head Priestess laid down her cleaver to look at him, long and hard. “Then she may have a fighting chance yet, Lord Hashira.”

————-

By the time he found Y/N once more, dinner was over and the moon had risen high in the night sky, casting the shrine grounds in its pale, silvery glow.

He’d told her, rather tersely, that he was unable to stay the night, and he tried to ignore how his chest tightened at the crestfallen look that flashed across her face. Despite her tangible disappointment, she insisted on escorting him out of the Shrine, desperate to cling to every second that might be spared to them.

“You are rather quiet tonight,” the Miko observed, walking him to the grand Torii. “More so than usual.” It was an understatement; the Water Pillar had been downright sullen and withdrawn from the moment he’d returned from whatever takes Granny had insisted she help him with. 

Rather than give her any explanation, Giyuu halted his step and reached for her wrist, stilling her. “You did not tell me you were being harassed.” 

She looked up to the Water Pillar in surprise. “How did you —?” 

He released her from his grip in favor of drawing closer to her. “Why didn’t you tell me?” 

Y/N opened and closed her mouth, struggling to find her words. “I suppose,” she began, but her mouth quirked down in a frown. “I did not think you needed to be burdened by something so insignificant.” 

Giyuu stared at her as he mouthed the word insignificant, the look he shot her giving the distinct impression he thought her an idiot. “I do not think your safety is insignificant,” Giyuu’s hand drifted to the hilt of his sword, clenching it tight. “Nor do I think you are insignificant.” 

“Compared to your other obligations? I should think I’m very unimportant.” Y/N turned away from him, fiddling with a gathering basket she carried on her hip to avoid having to look him in the eyes.

But the raven-haired Pillar caught her wrist and turned her back to face him, not willing to be ignored. “If you call for me, I will come to you.” 

Y/N’s heart lurched at the Water Pillar’s words, spoken with such conviction and sincerity that it made her falter in her step. “Tomioka-san,” she said breathlessly, her eyes wide as she turned to him. “You have far more important duties to see to than to concern yourself with than mere village drama —“

But the raven-haired Hashira only shook his head as he took another step towards her, his expression severe; calculating. “You have the knife I gave you, yes?” His eyes dropped to her pocket, and Y/N felt compelled to show him that the small blade was indeed tucked safely within the folds of her hakama pants. 

“Giyuu,” she pled, and she noted the way that he twitched towards her at the sound of his name falling from her lips. “Please, don’t worry —“

“I do not make promises I cannot keep,” the Water Pillar cut her off, closing the distance between them until the tips of his zori nearly grazed hers, his head bent down towards her as the heat of his stare threatened to consume her. “So I repeat: if you call for me, I will come to you.” 

Any thought of arguing faded from her mind as Y/N became keenly aware of the lack of space between their bodies, of the way her hands, clasped in front of her chest brushed against the folds of his haori as it shifted softly with the wind. 

“I understand,” she breathed. Y/N held his gaze for a long moment, though it was in part due to the battle waging within her not to allow her eyes to drop to his lips.

She would not let herself acknowledge how close they were; how soft they looked, or how warm they might feel against hers; her skin. 

Giyuu lingered as well; after a pregnant pause, he finally stepped back, blinking as though coming out of a trance. “Good,” he nodded, and he glanced furtively over her shoulder. His eyes narrowed and he nodded as though satisfied before he turned crisply on his heel to begin his trek towards his duties and away from her. “Do not forget.” He called one last time over his shoulder, before the shadows of the woods swallowed him whole. 

As Y/N dazedly made her way back towards the shrine, a crow following closely behind her, she almost laughed at the suggestion she could. 

——-

Autumn, 1915

The weeks passed by without much fuss, and soon, the palpable tension that had settled over the Shrine as a result of Susumo’s lingering threats subsided. Soon, life at the Shrine returned to normal, and Y/N often found her mind wandering to thoughts of raven hair and endless blue eyes. 

Until that night.

It had been a normal evening at the Shrine; autumn, blissful autumn had arrived, heralding forth crisp winds and golden skies. Though the days were steadily growing shorter, Y/N found herself rejuvenated by the new chill, especially as she watched the leaves of the trees shift from green to gold to ruby. 

The leaves on her hairpin indeed had been a perfect match to those which were steadily drifting from the tall maples dotting the Shrine. Though she couldn’t wear her hair down the way she had the last time the Water Pillar paid the Shrine a visit, Y/N had found new ways to incorporate his gift into her daily life, weaving it through her plait or tucking it behind her ear. 

That night had been one like any other; after dinner, the girls of the Shrine had scattered to tend to their evening duties.  The shrine maiden had been walking alongside her Master, planning for the upcoming festival in the nearby village, during which the Shrine would seek new patrons to keep it operational. The women mulled over which families might be more inclined to assist them, and settled on a prominent merchant known to frequent other shrines on his travels through the country.

That was when they’d spotted the smoke.

“Fire!” A shrill voice cried, and both the old Priestess and Y/N blanched. “The honden is on fire!”

All at once, chaos broke out across the Shrine grounds as girls darted to and fro, frantic. Granny began barking at her charges, ordering the younger ones to gather in the courtyard while instructing the older girls to assist in putting out the flames.

"The granary!" Someone else cried. "The granary has gone up in flames!"

The elder Priestess snatched Y/N's wrist in her weathered hand. “The scrolls!” Granny's expression of horror was a sure match to her own. “They’re in the storeroom near the granary!” 

The scrolls in question had been in the Shrine’s custody for over five hundred years, carrying sacred inscriptions of the gods and prayers essential to its operation and legitimacy.

They were priceless; irreplaceable. 

“I’ll go!” And before her Master could protest, the Miko had already turned away and began sprinting toward the fire that was rapidly engulfing the granary near the back of the property.  

Thankfully, the storeroom had yet to catch fire, but if the one steadily consuming the granary was not dealt with soon, it wouldn’t be long before it spread to consume the small wooden hut. 

And Y/N knew it wouldn’t take much to reduce the storeroom to ash. 

Coughing, she pressed her arm to her nose and mouth, using the large bell sleeve of her kosode to block some of the smoke that burned her eyes and nose. She pulled her other sleeve over her hand to protect it as she pushed the storehouse’s door aside. 

Inside was dark; quiet. Though the nighttime made it difficult for her to see the scrolls and prints carefully rolled and tucked away into tiny cubbies lining the hut’s walls, Y/N wasn’t stupid enough to waste time searching for a candle to light. So, with only the flames eating away at the granary at her back to light her way, she began pulling handfuls of scrolls free from their storage, tucking them under her arm. 

She turned to take her first armload of priceless Shrine artifacts from the storeroom and nearly tripped over a collection of heated coal pans that had been stacked in the corner to keep the scrolls sealed within the room at a stable temperature. She managed to hold onto her scrolls, however, and she quickly moved them away from the hut, placing them safely on a nearby rock that was still far enough away from the storeroom should it catch fire. She returned to the hut to survey what else she needed to salvage, but a familiar, tiny yelp and the flurry of movement in her periphery made the Miko’s stomach twist.

“Komatsu!” Y/N turned and saw the anxious younger girl lingering at the storage hut’s door, her tiny hands trembling. “Get away from here! It’s not safe!” 

“B-but Sister,” the girl cried, hopping anxiously from foot to foot. “This is too much to do on your own —“

“You need to go find Granny,” the shrine maiden ordered. “I will join you in a moment.”

The girl’s lower lip wobbled. “But —,”

“Now!”

With a great sniff, the girl turned away, leaving Y/N alone once more. The Miko sighed and resumed her hasty perusal of the hut’s shelves, searching for anything else that could not be replaced. 

There was a rustling near the doorway and Y/N bit her lip in an effort not to swear in front of her younger peer. “Komatsu, what did I say —“ 

She turned to admonish the girl, but her reprimand dried instantly on her tongue. For there, in the entryway to the storeroom, was Komatsu, her eyes wide and her face bone-white with a terror that matched Y/N’s own.

Because the girl was not alone.

Wrapped around her bicep was a hand, as large as a small boulder, and tipped with long, wicked claws that threatened to pierce Komatsu’s bicep. The hand was attached to a forearm, inhumanly thick and muscled. Slowly, Y/N’s eyes dragged up the length of the monstrous arm to behold the sinister face that grinned at her. 

It was Susumo — only it wasn’t Susumo. Y/N recognized the vague features of the face that had once belonged to the village drunk and her personal tormentor. His hair was the same as was the general shape of his face, and the cruelty of his smirk, but that was where the resemblance to the Susumo she’d once known ended.

Now, he boasted a row of sharp fangs that distended nearly to his lower lip. And his eyes — no longer were they a cold, soulless black; now they were crimson red, and his pupils were cut into catlike slits.

Demon. A voice whispered in her mind. Demon.

“Enjoy my fires, Priestess?” Even Susumo’s voice had changed, forming a growl that matched his monstrous appearance. “I set them for you — I knew you would not be able to resist seeing such a spectacle.”

“Komatsu,” Y/N ignored him in favor of addressing the young girl, though her voice was unusually high though she fought to keep it as steady as possible. “Please go find Granny and help her with the honden.” 

The young trainee trembled but Susumo’s clawed hand only tightened around her arm. “I’m afraid I can’t allow that, sweet Priestess,” the demon crooned. “You have something I want, you see.”

The slick, oily look in his eyes made his desire clear.

Y/N’s eyes darted quickly around the hut, finally falling on a series of coal pans stacked to the side of the room, only a few feet from where she stood, paralyzed. Her quick, cursory glance at the pans revealed iron that was slightly red, and she swore she could see the air around them distorted by the heat.

Hot; they were still hot.

The Miko looked back to where the demon continued to leer at her, ravenous. “Fine,” she said coolly. “I will go with you, Susumo.”

Komatsu looked between her and the demon in horror, but Y/N only kept her eyes locked with the demon’s. She edged closer to where the coal pans were still burning hot, eyes not daring to drop his as she drew closer to the demon and the younger trainee. He grinned, revealing cruelly sharp and bloodstained teeth, and his yellow eyes shone with a triumphant smugness, believing the Miko was surrendering to him at last. 

As she brushed past the pans, Y/N furtively reached out a hand and closed her fingers around one of the handles. “Komatsu,” the Miko kept her eyes carefully trained on the demon. “Run.”

Her hand seized around the coal pan and with every ounce of her strength, she swung it toward the demon. The hot iron of the pan slammed into the side of his head, forcing him to drop his hold on the younger girl. There was a struggle between the older shrine maiden and the demon, who fought to wrench the pan free from her fierce grip, but Y/N would not relent. 

“Run!” She shrieked at the girl again, and Komatsu darted away. Y/N’s fingers stretched to close around the tiny lever on the handle of the coal pan, and with a snarl of fury, she managed to latch around it, squeezing it with all her might. The lid of the pan opened and red-hot coals spilled forth over the demon’s head. Susumo howled in fury, and Y/N dropped the pan, letting it crack against his head as she shot past him, desperate to escape the tiny storeroom.

The faster she got into open air, the better chance she had of living. 

But a claw, sharp and deadly sunk into her bicep, and yanked her back. She could not help the small scream that tore from her throat as she felt his talons rip at her skin and the sleeve of her kosode was shredded into ribbons beneath his nails.

“Sister Y/N!” Komatsu’s tiny, terrified voice cried out from several feet ahead. 

The shrine maiden swallowed her building panic. “Go!”

The little girl hesitated again and Y/N knew she could not follow after her, not without risking her safety once again. With a defiant scream of rage, the shrine maiden tore her arm free of the demon’s razor-like claws, fighting back the bile that rose in her throat as she felt blood run down her arm, hot and thick. 

The demon grasped wildly at her but found only air. Thinking only of the safety of Komatsu and her fellow trainees, Y/N turned on her heel and ran for the trees, away from the chaos unfolding at the Shrine. 

And the demon, still snarling and panting and undoubtedly enraged, followed her into the forest.

Shit, shit, shit!

Y/N hurtled over a snarled root as she ran, her life dependent upon every stride as she fled the newly-demented Susumo.

In the back of her mind, the Miko knew her efforts were in vain; because for every inch she managed to gain, the angry demon at her heels seemed to gain a foot.

“You’ve denied me for far too long!” The monster’s voice growled behind her, far too close for comfort. “I will have you!”

Y/N palmed the small nichirin knife tucked safely within the deep pockets of her hakama pants, and wildly she wondered whether it was possible to decapitate a demon with such a small blade. Perhaps the Water Pillar should have left her a sword. After all, a sword could not really be that different from a broom, and she’d walloped her fair share of handsy drunkards and would-be thieves with the cleaning tool.

If she lived through the night, she would tell him as much the next time she saw him.

Y/N’s musings did nothing to help her avoid the root of an old tree that jutted out from the earth, snarling around her ankle and sending her flailing to the forest floor. Angry tears of frustration clouded her eyes. Although she knew these paths like the back of her hand, that knowledge did her little good in the dark, as she fled for her life.

Scrambling up to her feet, Y/N caught sight of a pair of eyes watching her from the brambles, dark and inky.

A crow. The image of a certain Hashira flashed before her eyes, as Y/N recalled the way that the members of the Demon Slayer Corps used crows to communicate.

Perhaps this crow was so affiliated, and she was desperate enough to try. “Please!” Y/N begged, sobbing as the crow stared down at her with those black eyes. “Giyuu!”

———

The night had been unusually peaceful for the Water Pillar.

His ambling patrol around his territory’s perimeter hadn’t revealed so much as a whisper of demonic activity. But the absence of any conspicuous threat did not mean his guard was down; his eyes remained sharp, his ear finely tuned, listening for any shift in the wind, any sign that something was amiss and required investigation —

A sudden rustle of leaves sounded from his right, and Giyuu’s hand moved reflexively for his blade, bracing against its hilt in preparation. A small shadow burst from the canopy above him, its wings flapping wildly. He recognized it instantly as the crow he’d assigned to watch over the Shrine — to watch over her.

“Demon attack at the Mountain Shrine!” The crow squawked, circling above him frantically. “Demon attack! Go now — quickly!” 

He hadn’t hesitated to turn sharply on his heel, furiously making his way toward the Shrine. He broke through the line of trees at its edge in record time, and even he’d been taken aback by the chaos that had broken out.

“The honden is on fire!” the old woman cried out to the Pillar as he swiftly landed among the chaos unfolding across the shrine grounds. “The girls were still doing their evening duties – but then another fire was started near the granary!” 

“My crows said a demon had made an appearance,” Giyuu’s eyes carefully scanned the terrified, frantic faces of the Shrine’s residents, his hands braced against the hilt of his sword. “Has anyone been hurt?” 

The head Priestess stared at the Water Pillar in muted horror. “I have not seen – but I haven’t taken any headcount of the girls to know –” 

A piercing cry from near the south gate of the Shrine cut the old woman off, and both Priestess and Slayer whipped toward the sound. A girl, no more than nine, was half-running, half-stumbling toward them, frightened tears streaking down her face. 

“Komatsu!” the old Priestess blanched as she caught sight of the small apprentice’s busted, bloodied lip. With a sob, the young girl flung herself into her elder’s arms and clung tightly to her. “What on earth –?” 

“Sister Y/N!” the girl called Komatsu wailed, and Giyuu felt himself go cold. “Granny – th-that man – he’s a monster!”

The head Priestess paled in recognition. “Susumo?” Giyuu’s gut clenched at the name. The old woman knelt before the girl, her hands clutching wildly at her slim shoulders as she shook her lightly to recenter her. “Komatsu, was Susumo the monster?” 

The young girl nodded. “He was so – hiccup – fast! I didn’t even see him!” She only cried harder. “And t-then Sister Y/N – she grabbed the coal pan and dumped it on him until he let go.” Komatsu trembled as she lifted a shaking hand to wipe at her cheeks. “A-and then she t-told me to r-run –” 

THe old Priestess caught the girl’s quivering chin in her hand and forced her to meet her eyes. “Where is Y/N, Komatsu?” 

Komatus’s eyes were wide with fear. “She ran,” she whispered. “Into the woods – b-but Granny – she was bleeding –” 

The Shrine’s Priestess turned to the Slayer, ready to beg him to follow after the demon and her apprentice, but the Water Pillar was gone. For a brief moment, she feared all hope was lost; that they’d been abandoned and non one would be able to save the young Miko – her heir – from whatever horrid fate awaited her at the ends of Susumo’s crazed, brutal claws.

She caught a flurry of movement right against the dark line of trees that snagged her attention; a flap of the edge of a mismatched haori, and the glint of a blade being drawn, its wielder already furiously making his way into the shadowy depths of the forest. 

The Priestess exhaled and clutched her trembling young trainee to her chest. As she soothed the shaken young girl, the old woman prayed the Water Pillar would not be too late.

–

She was fucked; well and truly fucked.

Y/N had no idea how long she’d spent sprinting furiously through the forest, but she knew she was quickly running out of stamina. Worse, it seemed the demon on her heels knew she was slowing, and was now playing with her. But even his patience seemed to be at its wit’s end; for a sudden sharp blow to her back sent the Miko flying several feet forward until she slammed against the uneven, rough terrain of the forest floor.

Y/N gasped for air that would not come as she tried to push herself up. Crawl! Her mind begged her body. Crawl, damn you!

A dark chuckle from behind sent every hair on her body standing straight on end. A hand locked around her ankle and flipped her over until she was nearly nose to nose with the demon crouched over her. “Got you,” he sang, and the moonlight glinted off the sharp edge of his fangs as he grinned. 

Her fingers found the handle of the knife the Water Pillar had gifted her in her pocket. With a determined grunt, she pulled it free and plunged it deep into the meat of his shoulder, praying furiously to any god who would listen that she might have hit an artery so that he would bleed out. 

The demon loosed an enraged scream and fell away from her, hands blindly fumbling for the blade.  

No longer pinned beneath him, Y/N  scrambled back. Her hands scraped against the broken brush and pebbles below her in her desperate attempt to put distance between herself and the demon rising to his feet ahead of her, snarling. As he began advancing toward her, Susumo gripped the knife she’d buried in his shoulder and with a grunt, he wrenched it free and tossed it carelessly to the side, right along with the last shred of any hope she’d had of making it out of the woods alive.

The demon’s mouth curled into a cruel, savage grin, the moonlight glinting off his long, wicked fangs. “I’m going to enjoy this,” he growled, saliva dripping down his chin as his nostrils widened to scent her blood and her fear. 

This was it; there was nowhere for her to run, no weapon she could try and protect herself with. There was nothing she could do; she was going to die, and there was nothing she could do to stop it.

Just as Susumo drew upon her, close enough that she could smell the rancid, pungent odor of rotted meat on his breath, he stumbled back, startled. 

One moment the demon was standing mere inches from her, ready to devour her whole; the next, he was sent sailing back, his body smashing into the trunk of a nearby tree with a sickening thump! 

A blur of dark matter soared over the Miko’s head toward the monster. Susumo barely had time to stand before the shadow converged on him once more. There was a flash of light — the moon reflecting off metal — followed by a dull thud. The shrine maiden’s heart lodged in her throat as she watched the head of the former village drunkard roll across the forest floor before distingrating, his body following soon after. 

She was nearly hyperventilating as the shadow turned to face her, but the pall of the moon finally illuminated the face of her savior — her Water Pillar.

“G-Giyuu,” she stuttered, her eyes stinging with unshed tears of relief that washed over her all at once.

But Giyuu did not respond, his lapis eyes narrowing in on the dark stain spreading across the white of her kosode. Y/N cowered at the cold, unbridled rage that contorted the ordinarily stoic Hashira’s face as he began to shake at the sight of her blood. In a flash, Giyuu had closed the distance between them and knelt down by her side, gripping her wounded arm in his hand as he tried to pull her tattered sleeve down and  inspect her wound.

“Tomioka — Giyuu,” she pled, trying to wrench her arm from his iron-like grip. “Please, it’s not that bad —“

“Did it get you anywhere else?” Giyuu demanded harshly, and the authority underlying his tone made Y/N fall silent for the first time since she’d known him. “Did it -“ the Water Pillar hesitated. “Did it touch you anywhere else?”

Y/N was trembling, and the Hashira’s hand around her arm tightened. “Ah!” She winced. “No, I promise, Giyuu, it’s just a flesh wound, I’m fine-,”

“You are bleeding. You are not fine.” Giyuu snapped back. “You could’ve been killed, or turned, or -,” the Water Pillar began to hyperventilate, and it shook the young Miko to her core. The Water Hashira was normally so unflappable, so stoic, that his panicked anger frightened her.

“-So do not tell me you’re fine,” Giyuu’s rant continued. “Not when you could’ve — not when I might’ve failed — not again --”

She was at a loss for what to do as she watched the raven-haired man struggle to form words. Vaguely, she recalled the way the Granny-Priestess had once explained to her that when someone panicked, they needed to regulate their breathing, and there were many ways someone could help force another to breathe properly…

Stomach fluttering, Y/N’s free hand came up to grip the fold of the Water Pillar’s haori. Giyuu’s incessant rambling only ended when her lips urgently pressed against his own, his eyes going wide. A heartbeat or two passed and then the Miko pulled away, her eyes serious as she stared at the stunned Water Hashira.

“You need to give me a sword.” She told him, earnestly, her face blazing.

———

Giyuu helped her back to the Shrine, though the Miko found herself needing to bat off the Water Pillar with a stern reminder that she’d only sustained a small arm wound as he’d tried to scoop her up into his arms.

The Swordsman had been rather subdued the entire journey out of the forest, his eyes curiously wide and dazed right until the pair breached the tree line at the edge of the Shrine’s property. The moment they stepped into open ground, they were swarmed by the tearful, relieved faces of the Shrine’s inhabitants. Words of gratitude to him were woven through worries over the Miko’s arm wound as they made their way across toward the small infirmary which, thankfully, had not been touched by Susumo’s fire.

The honden itself was still standing; though the flames had finally been subdued, smoke still curled up toward the sky, blocking any view of the moon or the stars. 

The head Priestess waited for them outside the infirmary. Though her face was grave, Giyuu could spy the relief shining in her eyes. He stood numbly by as the Miko and her master regarded each other warily for a moment, before the elder Priestess reached forward and yanked her charge forward into a fierce embrace.

“Reckless girl,” she chastised gently against the side of Y/N’s head. “Thank every one of the gods that you’re safe.” The old Priestess’s eyes found those of the Water Pillar. “And thank you, Lord Tomioka.”

Y/N was promptly escorted inside to have her wound examined and stitched. Despite the old shrine keeper’s gratitude for his aid in saving the young shrine maiden, that thankfulness apparently did not extend to permitting him inside the infirmary with them, and for good reason. For under the Elder’s withering glare, the Water Pillar realized that Y/N’s treatment would require her to be stripped of her kosode, leaving her exposed and bare. 

As unwilling as he’d been to part from her, the thought of witnessing the Miko undressed and vulnerable had been enough to temper his urge to look after her, if nothing else because the mental image of her in such a state flustered him to no end.

Though, he supposed his bewilderment also had something to do with what had transpired between them in the forest.

Kissed him; the shrine maiden had kissed him. 

His fingers drifted to his lips. They still felt warm where they’d been graced by hers, and he swore he could still feel the softness of her mouth from where it had brushed against his. 

He needed to talk to her; he needed to know what the hell she’d been thinking, kissing him like that. 

But as shocking as the Miko’s kiss had been, there was something else, something far heavier, that weighed on his mind. 

She’d nearly been killed. By a demon. On his watch. 

He should’ve apologized; he should’ve begged for her forgiveness for letting her come that close with death. For letting her get wounded because he hadn’t been fast enough.

I was concerned for you, he wanted to tell her. I thought I would be too late.

No; concern didn’t cover it; did not do near enough justice to his true emotions upon learning the Miko had fled into the dark forest with a hungry, loathsome demon hot on her trail.

He’d been scared; terrified; almost beside himself at the possibility that he’d be too late and find that she’d already been reduced to the beast’s meal, 

He’d been scared he’d never again see her smile or hear her laugh, and that had terrified him more than anything. For it was the memory of both that soothed his anxious nerves each time he startled awake from visions of his dead loved ones, demanding to know why they had died in his stead.   

He’d feared that he would have to add her face to those he saw when he slept — the faces of those he’d failed to protect, who’d died for his sake. He’d been terrified of seeing her image in painstaking clarity, just as he saw the faces of his sister and Sabito every morning. 

He did not know what to do with them, these confusing feelings, so abundant and intense that they’d welled up within him and threatened to spill over. He couldn’t name them, let alone begin to untangle the knot they’d formed within his heart. All he knew was that every one of them were inextricably tied to her. 

His shrine maiden. 

His.

—

Y/N’s arm ached, but it had been properly sewn and bandaged, and there was work to do before she could settle in for the night; and so, she found herself helping her peers with cleaning up the courtyard from the debris of the night’s events. 

Truthfully, she'd been grateful for the distraction. Occupying herself with cleanup meant she did not have to think about what she’d done in the forest. But then Granny Priestess saw her trying to heave away broken wood with her freshly stitched arm and Y/N found herself forced to abandon her fellow trainees as the old bat smacked her upside the head and squawked about how she was going to break her stitching and complicate the healing process.  

The Miko tried not to pout as she retreated, opting instead to grumble over the old woman’s dramatics as her arm stung and her ego throbbed. When she finally returned to her sleeping quarters, exhaustion slammed into her, making her limbs heavy and leaden. Unable to quite rally the energy to crawl into her futon, she slumped against the doorway of the room, her head and her heart a tangled mess of emotions she couldn’t quite name.

What she’d felt the moment the Water Pillar had stepped into the moonlight had been more than mere relief that he’d managed to save her life for the second time. She’d felt safe, so unbelievably safe that the forest itself could have been on fire and she wouldn’t have been afraid; not as long as he was there with her.

Something between them had shifted; that much was clear. In truth, things likely had begun to change the moment she repaired his haori, and she’d admitted to him her deep-seated loneliness and lack of belonging.

She only hoped he felt the change, too.

—

Much to Y/N’s chagrin, autumn was quickly giving way to blasted winter.

Though, the Miko hadn’t been able to fully resent the rapid shift in the seasons; repairs at the Shrine had consumed nearly all of her attention, and as Granny’s heir, she was expected to contribute to its reconstruction more than any other trainee.

That expectation meant Granny left the task of figuring out how to finance the necessary repairs entirely to her young protege. Y/N had spent all of two days agonizing over ways to raise the necessary funds when she awoke to find a mysterious sack of money that had been left on the doorstep of the honden. Inside had been an amount more than generous to cover the cost of repairs from the fire, with a hefty remainder that could be put toward other necessary improvements to spruce the Shrine up, and perhaps restore it to its former glory. 

No note had been left with the money to indicate the identity of the Shrine’s benefactor.  But amid all the excitement of her peers at the thought of being able to afford materials and laborers to assist with the more difficult aspects of the Shrine’s refurbishment, Y/N had spotted a familiar crow perched high in a nearby tree.

That position had afforded the bird with a perfect view of the money sack, allowing it to silently ensure it fell into the proper hands. But repairs had finally slowed, and Y/N now found her days returning to normal. Almost. 

What was not normal was how agitated she'd become in waiting for his return.

Another week passed without any communication from the Water Pillar, and the Miko had grown desperate for any sort of distraction. She found herself one late, autumn morning passing the time in the Shrine’s garden hut. She was pretending to be searching for tools that would help her prune the wilting Shrine garden when something grazed against the small of her back. Startled, she turned and was greeted by familiar, unruly raven hair and a pair of deep azure eyes. 

“Giyuu,” his name slid easily off her tongue, and suddenly she could not remember why she’d called him anything else. 

A ghost of a smile graced his lips. “Hello, Y/N.”

A poignant silence followed, and her cheeks grew hot. "Don't mind me," she said quickly, turning her head away from him as she pretended to organize stray gardening supplies. "I am only just now finishing my tasks for the day."

Though he remained silent, she became acutely aware of the way Giyuu’s eyes followed her as she tried desperately to keep herself busy, to avoid having to meet that piercing, discerning stare. 

“I did not get a chance to properly thank you after the turmoil of that night,” she said casually. Nervously, she hoped that his heightened senses did not alert him to the way her heart fluttered in her chest, or how her stomach flipped in her gut. Her nails dug into her palms as she lifted her head to meet that unnerving, fathomless stare.

But the Water Pillar had already closed most of the distance between them, having moved so silently she’d not heard him, despite even the creaky, uneven slatted floor of the garden hut. “How is your wound?” He asked softly, his hand skirting up the outside of the arm Susumo had wounded. “Has it healed?” 

It took a great amount of effort for Y/N to remember how to keep her breathing steady. But she forced her lips into an easy smile as she rucked up the flared sleeve of her kosode to reveal her bicep. “It will likely scar,” she admitted, her fingers lightly tracing over the three, angry red marks that remained imprinted on her skin, though they’d fully scabbed over. “I consider myself quite lucky, all things considered.” 

“Why did you do it?” 

The Miko ducked her head, willing the sheet of her hair to fall and conceal her mounting blush. She did not need to ask him to clarify; she knew after what he was asking.

But she feigned ignorance all the same. “I don’t know what you mean, Tomioka-sama –” 

“Don’t call me that,” and even though she refused to meet his eyes, she could sense his irritation at her avoidance. “We’re well past such formalities, Y/N.” Giyuu stepped closer to her, his cerulean eyes melting into something more akin to the midnight blue of the evening sky. “You kissed me. That night.” The Water Pillar’s hand glided up the arm that Susumo had injured, caressing softly over the healed skin beneath the sleeve of her kosode.

“I-I did no such thing!” Y/N sputtered, though her reddening cheeks betrayed her. “I was only attempting to help you calm down — you were panicking, and inconsolable.” 

Giyuu’s responding smirk only served to irritate her more. “Should I thank you then, Y/N?” His hand slid from her shoulder to below her chin, his delicate fingers curling to tilt her head up towards his, as he closed the distance between their bodies. “Should I show you how grateful I am that you were able to assuage my worry?” 

Y/N tried to focus on anything but the feeling of Giyuu’s breath — warm and enticing — against her face as he leaned in close. “You had no reason to worry; I was completely fine before you showed up.” 

“Fine,” the ravenette scoffed, his grip on her chin tightening slightly. “So fine that you were bleeding and about to become that beast’s snack — or worse.” 

“But you saved me, did you not?” Y/N whispered, unable to stop her eyes from dropping to the Water Pillar’s sensual, soft-looking mouth before rising once more to meet his punishing gaze. “And then I helped you.” 

Giyuu’s second hand brushed against her waist and the shrine maiden thought she might leap out of her skin. “You did,” he conceded, the corner of his mouth quirking up in a small, half-smile. “Though I apologize that you needed to do so — I suppose I become a little over-zealous when things that are precious to me are threatened.” 

Even if she could have thought of some witty remark to throw back at him, those words surely would have been blocked by her heart as it lodged in her throat. 

Things that were precious to him. She was precious to him.

“So I’ll ask again, Y/N,” Giyuu whispered, and his nose brushed delicately against hers. “Should I thank you for your assistance?” The fingers beneath her chin stroked her jaw. “Should I kiss you?” 

She fought to suppress the excited shudder that licked up her spine. “Yes, Lord Hashira,” she breathed, and her stomach turned cartwheels as Giyuu’s gaze dropped to her mouth. “Perhaps you should.” 

“Who am I to deny the request of a priestess?” Giyuu murmured, and then his lips were moving against hers, warm and soft. Y/N’s fingers flew to clutch the Water Pillar’s rocky biceps beneath the soft cloth of his haori, anchoring him against her. The hand that had gripped below her chin slid to the side of her face, tilting her head so that the Water Pillar could have better access to her as he pressed his lips harder against hers. 

Y/N moaned into his kiss, wanting him closer, impossibly closer to her than he currently was. 

Giyuu broke away from her once, though he kept a hand on the back of her neck to keep her in place. “What are your duties today?” 

Y/N’s fingers curled around the front of the Water Pillar’s haori, her forehead resting against his. “None of import.” She gave him a sly smile. “No one will miss me if I am gone for a few hours.” 

Giyuu returned her smile with a tiny smirk of his own. “In that case,” he tugged her hand and he began to lead her towards the grassy overlook where they’d spent a great deal of time talking and learning one another. “I could use your assistance.”

–

Y/N hadn’t greeted the sunrise with the intent to neglect her shrine duties, but she couldn’t say she regretted how she ended up spending the day.

They spent the day resting on the hillside overlooking the shrine grounds, rolling back and forth upon the browning grass as they kissed each other again and again. 

“You weren’t wrong, that day — right after we met,” Giyuu gasped against her lips as they broke apart, the blush on Y/N’s cheeks a sure match to his own. “I do not find you captivating.”

Y/N’s eyebrows furrowed. Her mouth parted, a protest on her tongue when Giyuu surged forward, his lips brushing against her neck. The Miko’s words choked off with a squeak as the Water Pillar danced his lips to the hollow of her throat, his tongue flicking out once right where her heart pulsed wildly. 

“I think you are utterly transfixing; enchanting,” he breathed against her skin. “You have cast a spell over me that I do not want broken.”

“I find it hard to believe anyone could wield that sort of power over a Hashira,” Y/N’s voice was high pitched as Giyuu’s lips made their way back to hers.

In the back of her mind, Y/N wondered if his words were motivated purely by his physical desire for her. It would not have surprised her if he was only so taken with her because he longed to be touched; held. Like him, she’d gone much of her life without intimacy from anyone. She could not blame him for seeking it from someone so willing to give as she. 

“But you are not just anyone, not to me.” was all he replied, his lips moving softly against hers once more. “You are…everything.”

Y/N’s breath caught in her throat. The Water Pillars words, dripping like honey from his lips, were only sweetened by the fervent sincerity of his eyes as he pulled back to gaze into hers, so deeply, she felt as though he could see every thought in her head.

She wondered if he lowered that piercing, discerning stare, whether he’d be able to see straight to her heart, too; see how it bore his name. 

Even though her breath guttered in her throat at his words, her heart clenched painfully in her chest. The idea that she’d attached more meaning to their relationship than he, that perhaps she’d overestimated her value to him made her tense, made her want to push him away and —

“You’re distracted,” Giyuu murmured against her lips, brushing his nose against hers. “Your thoughts are loud.” 

Her fingers caught the front fold of his haori, fiddling idly with it. “There is nothing for you to repay, you know. You do not owe me your time or your attention. I know the Shrine is simply a part of your designated patrol. I understand if its convenience is the only reason —” 

A single finger pressed itself against her lips, quieting her. “You think and talk too much.” The ravenette chastised. Her mouth parted, a protest forming on her lips, when he cut her off again. “Ah ah,” Giyuu silenced her with his lips, his tongue flicking out to skim along her bottom lip. Above her, he shifted and allowed his weight to fall against her, pinning her beneath him. Reluctantly, his mouth broke away from hers. “It is my turn to speak.” 

“I do not come to the Shrine because it is easy,” Giyuu’s lips brushed hesitantly against her jaw. “Nor do I come here out of any preconceived obligation to repay your kindness.” 

He pulled back to study her, panting and flushed beneath him. As his eyes slowly combed over her, Y/N felt a strange knot pull and twist in the depths of her stomach. “There is only one thing that brings me back here, no matter how exhausted I am after weeks of endless missions; no matter how often certain junior Corps members pester me to train them.” His eyes narrowed at the hollow of the Miko’s throat, exposed by the way her kosode had shifted as the pair of them rolled around the grass. Curious, Giyuu leaned down and pressed his lips firmly against it. 

And then he did the unthinkable;  the Water Pillar moaned, ever so softly, against the fluttering of Y/N’s frantic pulse. The sound, so rich and full of need – of want – washed over her and drowned out all other thoughts, all other higher reasoning from her mind. INstead, the Miko was left with nothing but the sharp urge to press her thighs together, an unknown heat beginning to pool in her most sacred area. 

“Do you know what that thing is, Y/N?” He whispered against the soft dip in her throat, his breath hot as it fanned across her skin. “Can you guess what it is I cannot stay away from – could not, even if I desired otherwise?” 

His fingers dropped to the collar of her kosode, tracing lightly over its crisp, white fold. “When I close my eyes in the mornings, it is your face I see,” he murmured. “It is your laugh I hear in my dreams; your scent I find myself longing for when I awaken.”

The Miko shivered as his index finger traced from her collar up her throat, over her chin until it came to rest on her bottom lip, gently stroking over its curve. “It is you I seek to turn to remind myself that there is still good in this world – good still worth protecting. Why is that, Y/N?” His eyebrows furrowed and he seemed almost earnest in his question. “Why is it that my mind refuses to be occupied by anything but you?” 

“Because I vex you,” she said softly, eyes wide and locked with his. “Because, try as you might, you’ve never been able to fully fit me into a box as you have with others.” 

Giyuu shook his head. “Vex me?” He tsked at her. “Perhaps once that was true. But now? I desire you in ways I can hardly understand, and it drives me mad.”

Her breath hitched in her throat. “What are you saying?” 

“I think I’ve been rather clear,” and instinctively, Giyuu rolled his hips against hers, desperate to relieve some of the friction mounting in his groin. “And it’s that I want –” 

But the Miko did not get to hear what Giyuu wanted; not as he was drowned out by the screeching cry of a bird from high above. Only, this bird was not the dull, graying crow she’d come to associate with her Swordsman.

“I thought your crow was older?”

The Water Pillar frowned as he turned to look up, his eyebrows drawn together. “That’s not Kanzaburo — that’s one of the Master’s —“

“CAW,” the bird circled above their heads in narrow, rapid turns. “Lord Tomioka! Return to headquarters immediately!”

Giyuu’s jaw clenched. “Can it not wait?” 

Y/N, however, only gaped up at the bird flying above them. “It talks —?” 

But the crow only cried again, “Emergency meeting at headquarters!!

With a short, frustrated exhale, Giyuu rolled to the side of the Miko and rose, but not before he extended a hand and helped lift her to her feet.

He gingerly brushed some loose grass from her hair. “I’m sorry.” 

She only shook her head as she reached to adjust his haori, righting it in his shoulders. “It’s your duty, Giyuu. I understand that.”

He scowled back up at the bird still circling above them, bleating a refrain of “Emergency! Go now!”

“I’m not finished with this conversation,” Giyuu said plainly, a frustrated hand working through his hair. Though his annoyance was plain as day, it fell away as he looked back to the Miko at his side, his gaze softening. “Nor am I finished with you.” 

A single finger reached under Y/N’s chin and lifted her head toward him so he could brush another kiss against her lips. “I will come see you – soon.” 

With a shy boldness, the Miko rose on her toes and gave him one final kiss, and Giyuu’s hand tightened where it rested against her waist. “I’ll wait for you, Lord Hashira.”

———

December, 1915

Y/N cursed at the ancient priestess who insisted on using only gas-powered lanterns rather than the newer, much safer, electric powered lights that other shrines had begun using. 

“We are an esteemed shrine dating back hundreds of years,” the old crone had simpered, “Tradition has kept us going this far!” 

Y/N hadn’t helped her cause by asking whether tradition or spite was what kept the hag from dying off and finally leaving her in peace.

And that was how the young Priestess-to-be found herself stomping through the snowy grounds of the Shrine, forced to light each and every lantern by hand using a match and oil, utterly by herself.

She knew better than to levy such an obvious taunt at the old woman, but admittedly, Y/N hadn’t been in the best of moods as of late. 

Giyuu had not returned since that day on the hillside, when he’d kissed her silly and told her he could not stop thinking of her. It was as though he no longer existed; even the crows at the Shrine were no more, having all disappeared one morning before she’d awoken.

As the weeks passed, the weight of his absence had grown heavier, threatening to beat her into the ground below. 

But Y/N had done her best to hold her tongue over the last weeks as her anxiety mounted, and Granny should’ve known that — so really, it was her own fault if she’d taken offense to the Miko’s barb.

She grumbled and cursed under her breath as she trudged toward the small garden hut standing at the furthest edge of the Shrine’s grounds — her last stop of the night. She shoved past the old, rickety door and braced her merrily flickering, hand-held lantern out before her, bathing the small hut in a warm, orange glow.

All was silent and quiet within the small storeroom. The air was cold, though the slatted walls of the hut offered some protection from the howling, snow-dotted winds outside. Determined to complete her task and return to the comfort of her warm futon, the Miko fumbled around one of the store shelves for a small can of oil. 

“It’s you,” a quiet voice startled her from behind, and Y/N nearly dropped the lantern clutched in her hands.

But she did not feel afraid as she recognized the calm, soothing cadence of the voice, that voice that belonged to the one person capable of making her blush. 

The one person who held her heart.

“It’s been a while, Giyuu. I was wondering when I’d see you again.” She turned and saw the raven-haired man standing in the doorway of the garden hut, his face characteristically neutral, though he seemed tense, even more so than usual.

Instantly, she moved toward him. “What’s wrong?”

His eyes tightened, and the darkness which swam within them betrayed his aloof facade. “Things have changed quickly in my world,” he began, and she saw his fists clench at his sides. “We believe the demons are preparing for war — and so we have been as well. 

“War?” She repeated softly, her step faltering. “I hadn’t realized the demons were so…organized.”

Giyuu nodded. “One creature is responsible for all demons. He is the orchestrator; he is the one we must kill, and we believe the opportunity to do so is drawing nearer.”

The monotonous cadence of his voice fell away as he quietly added, “That is why I haven’t been able to return — we’ve been training. This battle — it may start at any moment.”

He made like he wanted to say more, but he stopped himself, pressing his lips into a tight line. 

“And?” She prompted gently, taking a solitary step toward him.

“He hesitated, and she spied how his throat worked to swallow. “And I do not know when I will be able to see you again. After tonight.”

Y/N watched him for a moment, her eyes searching his. “When you say you don’t know ‘when’ we will see each other again,” she began, cautiously. “Do you mean ‘if?’”

Giyuu’s answering silence said more than any words could. 

For a moment, the Miko could not remember how to speak, not as she felt the organ in her chest splinter into a thousand, mismatched pieces.

“I just wanted to see you,” the Water Pillar struggled to swallow around the growing lump in his throat. “One last time.” 

She could scarcely breathe. 

He was leaving and he might never return. 

Leaving to go try and put an end to the scourge of demons that plagued their world. It was a noble thing to do; sacrifice in its purest form. 

But she hated it. 

She was filled with such a deep melancholy that it nearly brought her to her knees. As the Water Pillar turned to leave, Y/N couldn’t stop herself as she reached for him, her arms encircling him as her hands locked over his front, stilling him.

“Giyuu,” she said thickly, her face pressed into the back of his haori as she willed the tears in her eyes not to fall. “Giyuu.” 

He turned in her grasp and looked down at her in awe, a finger rising to brush the errant tear that had escaped down her cheek as he held her gaze. 

The flame within her lantern flickered as Giyuu softly grazed his lips against her own, Y/N’s arms weaving around his neck to hold him close to her. 

His hands were gentle, if not a little uncertain as they found her waist, but once they came to a rest against her, he pulled her close, arms winding around her middle and holding her securely against him as he deepened the kiss. She moaned softly into his mouth, her hands tangling in his hair as she opened up for him, his tongue gliding alongside her own until she was left breathless and wanting. 

Vaguely, the Miko was aware that he was walking them deeper into the garden hut, allowing the old door to thud shut behind him, and the thought of not returning to her plush futon suddenly did not seem like such a loss. 

Giyuu’s hands returned to her face, thumbs stroking softly along her cheeks as he broke their kiss to brush his lips against her eyes, her nose, and forehead. Y/N’s hands parted the Water Hashira’s haori from his shoulders as Giyuu’s fingers dropped to her collar bone, sliding beneath her kosode, and grazing her bare shoulder. 

“You have been my most treasured encounter,” he whispered, and she felt her heart seize in her throat, tears threatening to spill anew from her eyes.

A year’s worth of interactions had all led to this moment, but it was not the satisfying payoff of the tension and longing that had been steadily building between them.

This was a goodbye. 

Because it was likely that the Water Pillar would not survive the impending battle; but neither did he want to leave this end untied. 

She had known, deep in her heart, that this affair had been doomed before it had ever begun, but that hadn’t stopped her from falling for the kind, brave, selfless man now kissing her like she was his entire world anyways. 

She would not get to have him in the morning, so she resolved to give herself to him for the night. 

Giyuu’s hands eased her kosode from her shoulders, exposing her to the cool air within the garden hut. His warm hands, however, worked to chase away any chill that spread across her skin as he ran his palms over the curve of her shoulders before sliding down to rest on her bare waist, his long fingers grazing just below the curve of her breasts.

Her own fingers trembled as she fumbled with the buttons on his uniform shirt but in time, she’d worked them open and Giyuu broke their kiss long enough to let his shirt drop to the floor beneath them. 

The two stood there for a moment, chests rising and falling rapidly, as they looked at one another, half-nude and vulnerable. The shrine maiden and the slayer knew that they had come upon a precipice, and if they stepped off that ledge, there would be nothing to break their fall. 

Y/N made the first move, taking a tentative step towards the Water Pillar as she trailed her fingers lightly up the beautiful, sculpted ridges of his abdomen, relishing how warm he was beneath her touch. 

Giyuu shivered beneath her fingertips as the miko’s hand came to a rest against his sternum, marveling the way his heart thundered beneath her hand. “Are you certain?” He breathed, his face was impassive, but his own uncertainty was betrayed by the slight tremor in his voice. His hand rose to gently cup the side of her face, his thumb ghosting over her bottom lip. 

She reached to grab the Pillar’s free hand and brought it up to rest against her sternum, mirroring her own hold on him so that he could feel the steady drum of her own heart — and how it thrummed for him. “Yes,” she whispered. “I’m yours, Giyuu.” 

Once, she had believed the Hashira incapable of expressing anything other than cold aloofness. she’d not been able to comprehend the subtle ways with which his eyes could signal his mood; how they darkened when angry, or how the outer corners turned up, almost imperceptibly, when he was content. 

But she had long since learned to read him, and so, her stomach fluttered at the way the raven haired man’s gaze heated with both adoration and desire — for her. 

Giyu brushed his nose against hers affectionately before bringing their lips together once more, his kiss growing fervent as her hands slid up to tangle in his ebony hair. Y/N gasped into his mouth as she felt Giyu bend down, his hands gripping firmly under her thighs as he lifted her up, forcing her to lock her legs around his waist. Her lips parted, and Giyuu’s tongue slid seamlessly into her mouth.

Her lover locked one steely arm firmly around her lower back to support her as Y/N felt him lower them to the floor to lay her down, the Water Pillar’s free hand coming to brace against the back of her skull, to protect her head from thudding back against the wooden slats of the hut floor. The Miko steadied herself, prepared for the cold bite of the dirty hut floor to nip at the bare skin of her back, but she was only settled against something warm and soft; something that smelled distinctively of the Slayer panting above her. 

Her fingers dropped to her side and grazed against the familiar fabric of Giyuu’s haori; his most prized and cherished possession, spread out beneath her to protect her from the cold ground,  a makeshift bed against which she would let him take her and make her his.

He withdrew his lips from hers to sit back, his cerulean eyes tracing over every inch of her, from the way her dark hair spread out in a soft halo around her, to the blush staining her cheeks. His eyes darkened as they lowered to her bare chest, at the way it rose and fell jerkily as Y/N struggled to control her breathing. 

Giyuu’s long, slim fingers reached out to trace along the top of her scarlet hakama pants, his finger tips just grazing along her ribs and the underside of her breasts. 

“I’d never known such -,” He covered his struggle for words by pressing a sweet kiss against the hollow of her throat, a soft gasp escaping the Miko at the unfamiliar sensation. “Such beauty,” Giyuu’s lips trailed down to skirt across the ridge of her collar bone. “Not until I met you.” 

His face was against her sternum, pressing kisses as he trailed his lips down her skin. “I am sorry I could not give you more time.” His voice was soft, softer than even she had ever known. Before she could respond, Giyuu’s mouth hesitantly brushed against the stiffened peak of her breast, and Y/N’s mouth fell open with a soft cry. 

Azure eyes flashed up to meet hers. “Is this — is this okay?” 

The Miko's eyes fluttered shut as she nodded, unable to trust that she could hold her voice steady if she spoke. Her fingers weaved their way through the Pillar’s thick, raven locks, and she grazed her nails against his scalp in encouragement. 

Giyuu grunted softly at her touch, and he leaned forward to suck more of her soft mound into his hot mouth, teeth grazing lightly against her nipple as he explored her. 

“Oh,” she moaned, her thighs inadvertently pressing together as Giyuu’s tongue and lips worshipped her bared flesh, licking and sucking and nipping at her in his devotion. 

“Beautiful,” he murmured against the soft, sensitive skin of her breast. “So very beautiful.” 

He repeated the movement again and again before he traced his mouth across her sternum and began lavishing her other breast with the same fervor. Her hands fisted in his hair as she mewled for him, enamored with the feeling of his hot mouth latched around her. He gave her more and yet it was not enough; every pass of his tongue over her stiffened peak only amplified the ache between her legs, only made the emptiness she felt more pronounced.

A breathy, whining and needy moan blew past her lips in time with a reflexive buck of her hips against his.  

The ravenette pulled off her breast with a start, his eyes bright and his cheeks flushed as he gazed down at her in awe. “Do that again.”

“W-what —?” She pushed herself up on her elbows to look down at him, her chest heaving.

“Tell me what to do,” Giyuu’s breath was ragged though his fingers continued trailing down her sides, seeking out the ties securing her bottoms around her waist. “Tell me how I might help you make that sound again.” 

“I –” Y/N squirmed beneath the intensity of his gaze, her thighs rubbing together to stifle some of the electricity she felt between her legs. “I want you to – I need you closer.” 

Her eyes drifted to the bulge that had formed between the Hashira’s thighs, and she felt her heart skip in her chest.

Giyuu pressed his groin against hers and ground. She gasped at the spark of pleasured friction the movement stoked between her thighs, and her eyes flew to meet his, only to see they were as wide as hers. 

And just as hungry. 

Her hand gently cupped his face. “Closer. Please.” 

He pressed his cheek into her palm and with a soft groan, his fingers quickly loosened the fastenings of her bottoms and then he was pushing them down her hips and over her legs, discarding them carelessly to the side. Giyuu sat back on his knees and let his eyes roam her, now fully bare and laid out beneath him. 

When his appraisal of her finally reached the thatch of curls between her thighs, the Water Pillar loosed a shaky breath. She had half a mind to cross her legs, to conceal the most intimate part of her body from the raging fire of his gaze as he studied her, but she forced herself to remain relaxed; open.

One, broad and calloused hand stretched tentatively out to run along the outside of her hip and down her leg, before smoothing back up in the inside of her thigh. His eyes flicked once to hers, and then he leaned forward and brushed delicate kisses down her abdomen, over her hip and along her thigh. He continued his descent as he slowly pushed himself back from her, and once he imparted one last, sweet press of his lips against her ankle, he rose. 

The flickering light of the lantern cast shadows along the alabaster of his skin, further accentuating how the muscles of his torso and abdomen flexed and shifted as he worked to free himself of the remainder of his clothes. His eyes did not leave hers, not even as his hands found the buckle of his belt and tugged it loose, and Y/N found herself free falling into their depths.

The ravenette dropped his belt to the floor, and then his fingers were at the waistband of his trousers, pulling and fiddling with their fastening. At last, Giyuu freed his lower half from the confines of his uniform pants and stepped out from the puddle they made at his feet. 

Y/N’s breath hitched in her throat as her eyes raked over his beautiful form, so lean yet solid and muscular. Her cheeks burned with a renewed blush as her gaze followed the small, dark trail of hair beginning just below his navel, and down between his hips, where the evidence of his desire stood proud. 

Her throat went dry. He was large — the flared head of his tip nearly grazed his navel, and his width was a little more than two of her fingers. Her thighs clamped together nervously, as she pondered how on earth she’d be able to accommodate him.

Giyuu noticed her hesitation, and a faint dusting of pink spread across his cheeks. “I have never -“

The shrine maiden shook her head. “Nor I,” she whispered, though the knowledge that this was as new to him as it was to her helped ease the clench in her stomach. For all her nervousness, the Miko could not ignore the heat and longing which burned within her as she lifted her eyes back to his. She found her muscles softening as she saw the same fire within those cyan pools she’d come to love. Y/N laid back against the floor — against the comforting soft of his haori, and let body relax, her legs falling open to him. 

She held her hand out to him, beckoning, “Come back to me, Giyuu.” 

The ravenette did not hesitate as he returned to her, covering her body with his own as he pulled her in for a heated kiss, the weight of his hardened length resting heavily against her hip as he settled between the cradle of her thighs.

Y/N moaned into his mouth, instinctively rolling her hips against him, desperate to feel closer to the man who had claimed her heart before she’d realized anyone was capable of holding it.  

Giyuu groaned, softly, against her as she repeated the movement, breaking their kiss to look down at the flushed Miko threatening to drive him wild with her silken touch. As much as he was desperate to feel her — every part of her — he knew what they were about to do would not be nearly as pleasurable for her as it would be for him. 

“I don’t want to hurt you,” the Water Pillar’s eyes were stormy, a tempest of competing desire and pain at the idea of causing her even the slightest discomfort raging within him. 

Y/N brushed her lips against his once before trailing along his jaw, pausing only to suck softly as the soft spot beneath his ear. “I am only ever undone by you; never hurt.” 

He moaned softly, lowering his head back down to reclaim her mouth firmly with his own, his lips beseeching her to let him consume her. 

She was only too happy to do so, parting her mouth so that his tongue could slide in and dance languidly with hers, as he reached between them, gripping hold of his aching length and positioning himself at her entrance. 

The first brush of his hot, velvety tip against her folds broke their kiss, both gasping at the new yet intoxicating feel of the other’s most intimate area. 

Giyuu braced his free arm by her head, his fingers stretching to run comfortingly through her hair, as he pressed his forehead against hers. “If it becomes too much, just tell me, and we can stop.” His voice shook ever so slightly as he waited for her signal, the ache in his groin becoming nearly painful. 

The Miko grazed her lips against his throat. “Don’t stop.” She murmured. She hitched her legs higher up on his hips, angling herself so the trembling man above her would have better access to her. 

Slowly, so very slowly, the tip of Giyuu’s length began to push into her, and Y/N felt herself temporarily forget how to breathe. Above her, Giyuu’s eyes squeezed shut in a concerted effort not to sheathe himself within her in one stroke. 

“Y/N,” Giyuu panted, unable to stop the shaky moan that fell from his lips as he sunk into her warm heat that wrapped tight, so impossibly tight around him.

The shrine maiden winced at the unfamiliar and slightly uncomfortable sensation of being slowly stretched and filled by the Pillar. She felt as though she was a wave, crashing and breaking and parting around a rocky shore with every inch gained by the press of his hips against hers. 

Giyuu hardly had a quarter of himself seated within her when he felt his head brush against a thin barrier. His eyes opened to look down at the Miko, panting beneath him, her eyebrows pinched in slight discomfort. When she noticed he’d stopped, she peered up at him through her thick eyelashes, her cheeks flushed. 

The hand Giyuu had held at his base to help guide himself within her lifted to grip her hip, her legs relaxing as his fingers massaging soothing circles into her flesh. Giyuu removed his forehead from its resting place against hers and he buried his face into the side of her neck as he pressed his body flush against hers. The hand he’d used to brace himself found hers, and he lifted to rest above her head, his fingers twining tightly with her own. 

“I’m okay,” she whispered, pressing a sweet kiss against the shell of his ear. Giyuu nearly shuddered at her words, and he pressed his hips forward, his cock finally breaching that thin, inner barrier to the rest of her welcoming heat. 

Y/N cried out at the bright spark of pain that flared through her as Giyuu claimed her as his own, but the Pillar held her steady, pressing open-mouthed kisses against her neck. 

A hitched gasp blew past Giyuu’s lips as he became fully seated within her heat, her core gripping him like a vice. He panted against the sweat-dampened skin of her neck as they both adjusted to the sensation, her nails digging harshly into the skin of his back as she waited for the discomfort to subside. 

Giyuu pulled his face back to look down at her, the hand he’d had on her hip rising to cup her face as he brushed his lips across her cheeks and eyes. 

“My beloved, are you all right?” His breath came hard and fast as he panted, the growing friction between where they were connected becoming hotter, more demanding the longer he remained still. 

Y/N’s eyes slowly opened to meet his, he felt her relax as he kissed her, slow and gentle. 

Her lips broke from his and she nodded, shakily. “You can move — just hold me. Please.” 

Giyuu let his full weight fall against her as he wound an arm tightly around her waist, his other hand tilting her face up so he could kiss her fiercely, eager to show her what she meant to him when his words otherwise failed to do so. As she opened up to him, tongue flicking out shyly along his lip, Giyuu rolled his hips experimentally against hers. 

Both the shrine maiden and the Pillar cried out in unison as Giyuu’s movement stoked an intense pleasure where they were joined.

It was like a spark of flame had ignited between her legs before shooting up to her belly, making her insides clench and pulse. 

It was addicting, and, judging by the way the raven haired swordsman above her hissed, he’d felt that jolt of electrifying pleasure, too.

“Oh,” Giyuu moaned as he began to move atop her, his cock sliding in and out of her heat as he worked to set a pace. “You feel – this is –” his stutters broke off  into ragged pants that melted into broken moans with every movement as he found his rhythm.

The grip he had on her hand tightened as he pulled back from her neck in favor of watching her body jolt and bounce with each of his thrusts. 

His head dropped down to study how his length, now coated in something shiny, appeared with every long draw of his hips out before disappearing back into her warmth. 

He threw his head back. “Heaven,” the Water Pillar groaned out, a tendon throbbing in his neck as another cracked moan slipped free from his throat. “You are heaven.” 

Shallow thrusts turned deeper, more purposeful, as the Water Pillar settled into his tempo. Each push of his hips opened her up more, bit by bit, until Y/N’s limbs liquified and she was left moaning and whimpering in time with his movements.

One particular thrust made her cry out, caused her legs to reflexively tighten around Giyuu’s hips as something hot flared deep within her stomach. 

“M-more,” she managed, her voice tapering off with a squeak. She needed to feel that spark again, wanted to feel that jolt of electricity that made her stomach clench. “P-please — ah!— Giyuu —“ 

With something between a moan and a growl, Giyuu  angled himself to thrust deeper, his weight pushing her hips back from the floor. Her legs were forced to hike higher up his waist, her ankles locking instead against the dip in his spine rather than his backside. 

The new angle meant that Giyuu was able to hit at a spot that sent a bolt of lightening between her legs, and she could feel herself tighten around him. 

The combination of her walls fluttering and pulsing around him and the strange fullness she felt was both overwhelming and exhilarating. She did not think she could stand to feel empty again; to not feel him consuming every inch of her.

Gradually, the small garden hut was filled by the sounds of their pants and moans, weaving together to form the melody of a song meant only for them.

Giyuu began thrusting harder, and soon, a dull clap of skin began to reverberate off the hut’s slatted wood walls, adding a steady beat to the rhythm of their pleasure. Though the air inside the hut had been nearly as frigid as what lay beyond its door, both the Miko and the Slayer found themselves coated in a thin sheen of sweat that made their skin glisten in the faint, orange glow of her lantern.

Above her, the Water Pillar was as lost in his pleasure as she. Guided purely by instinct, Y/N arched her lower back away from the floor until her breasts were flush against his sternum, desperate to feel that jolting spark between her legs. 

She felt the walls her of her core clench tighter around Giyuu’s length with her movement, and he answered her with a deep growl as his arm cinched tighter around her waist.

Deep; he was so deep within her, that she wondered whether he might reach her soul before they had to part.

Giyuu’s thrusts quickened, the base of his groin grinding against that sensitive spot between her thighs that had her wanting more as she moaned, her thighs squeezing the Hashira’s hips.

His head was thrown back, his eyes tightly shut as the most beautiful sounds of pleasure Y/N had ever heard poured from Giyuu’s mouth.

“I — fuck.” He growled as one arm tightened around her waist to the point of pain, the other grabbing her hand to bring it to his lips in a futile attempt to stifle the sounds lilting from him like song. 

His name fell from her lips like a hallowed oath and Y/N’s legs fell to the side, allowing Giyuu to chase the crescent of his release, as hips pistoned into her with wild abandon. 

“Y-Y/N,” her black-haired beauty of a lover grit through clenched teeth, a bead of sweat rolling down his temple. “My treasure, I-I’m gonna-“ 

The Water Pillar buried his face into the side of her neck, cradling his groans into her throat, and Y/N could feel his length twitch within her.

As Giyuu’s hips slammed into her one final time, so to did the realization that she loved this; she wanted always to be this close to him, wanted always to be unable to tell where she ended and he began.

She loved him. 

But the bitter truth was that she’d never again get to hold Giyuu the way she was right then, legs wrapped tightly around his waist as she felt something warm gush through her, a pleasured groan, so beautiful and husky tumbling from the Hashira’s lips as he pressed a sweet kiss against her collarbone. 

She would not get to love him past this most sacred rite. 

If she were honest, she’d likely never again experience this intimacy with anyone, for as long as she lived — for how could anyone else ever possibly compare? 

She supposed she’d been doomed to never hold onto the people who were meant to love her since the day she was born. She should’ve known better.

But as the roll of Giyuu’s hips into her heat slowed, and his labored breaths eased, Y/N could not find it within herself to regret it; to regret him. 

Because, fool though she was, she loved him. 

Giyuu collapsed against her, his face nuzzling into the crook of her neck as he came down from his high, still buried inside her as the two panted. 

Her hands moved of their own accord to card through his raven hair, fingertips massaging his scalp as his breathing slowed, his breath adding further moisture to the already sweat-dampened skin of her neck. 

She wished they could remain like that always; that the dawn creeping over the horizon would not herald forth the sun, and they could stay on the floor of the garden hut forever, wrapped in one another’s embrace. She desperately wanted to memorize the tempo of his heart as it beat steadily against his chest, the vibrations of which she felt against her ribs. Such a beautiful melody, it was, and yet it filled her with such despair to know she might never again hear its sweet song; that it might cease playing forever, the moment Giyuu resumed being the Water Pillar once more, and walked through the shrine gates for the last time. 

But Y/N had never had anyone she could call her own, and as much as she loved the man nuzzling her neck as he whispered sweet nothings against her skin, he’d never been hers to keep. 

“My beautiful, beautiful Y/N,” Giyuu murmured, kissing his way up her throat to her lips. “Are you alright?” 

She held his lips for a moment before breaking away, letting her eyes roam his face, and she nodded. “Are you?” 

To her utter surprise, the Water Pillar chuckled softly, his laugh breathy and his smile heartbreakingly beautiful. “Yes, my treasure. I am more than alright.” 

He brushed a kiss against the tip of her nose. “After all, I am with you.”

———-

He’d brought her against his chest and they’d laid there together, simply staring at one another, trading soft kisses as Giyuu traced a finger over every feature of her face at least twice. 

If he was to die, he knew his last thoughts would be of her, and he wanted to be sure he’d committed every last detail of her face to memory.

Soon, far too soon, the deep indigo of the night sky was broken by the first, watery rays of morning light, and both the Miko and the Slayer knew their time was up.

The lovers dressed quickly, their backs to one another as both steeled themselves for the goodbye they could no longer avoid. 

And now, that time had come. Though it was Giyuu who walked to his likely doom, Y/N felt as if she was embarking on her own death march as the pair drew near the towering Shrine gate. Perhaps she was; after all, he would be taking her heart with him, and she was unlikely to get it back.

Y/N did not know whether to lean in and kiss him, one last time, or whether such a display of affection would only scratch at the gaping, open wounds they now bore on their chests, where their hearts had been. 

Giyuu, apparently, did not know what to do either, so the two only stood there beneath the Torii, eyes swimming with emotions neither could bear to voice. 

There was a beat, and then the two moved toward one another, drawn together like magnets as they locked themselves in a tight embrace. Giyuu’s hand cupped the back of her skull as Y/N pressed her face hard into his shoulder. Her fingers dug into the fabric of his haori, desperate to keep him rooted to her — to life, safe and away from demons. 

But he couldn’t stay; she knew that. And so, with a deep inhale in a desperate attempt to memorize that mahogany and citrus scent of his she so adored, Y/N pulled away. She made to step back from him entirely, to put distance between them, but those warm fingers caught her under her chin, tilting her head up to face him before his hand slid to cup her cheek. 

The emotion swimming in the azure depths of his irises threatened to chisel away at the lock she kept on her own. Tears burned in her eyes, but she would not let them fall; she would not make this harder for herself — for him — than it already was. 

“If you do not hear from me, leave the mountain. Go to the city, and do not go out at night. Keep your dagger and wisteria on you at all times, even when you sleep,” Giyuu’s eyes were serious, the hand on her face holding her in place. “Live, Y/N. Grow to be an old woman. Die only from age.”

The shrine maiden closed her eyes as she willed herself not to cry. “And if you win?” 

Giyuu hesitated for a moment and Y/N knew better than to ask him to make a promise he could not keep. 

“Send a crow, if you can.” She whispered, feigning a small smile. “It would be nice to not be afraid to go and gather night-blooming herbs.”

The Water Pillar nodded, his hand smoothing through her hair one last time as his lips pressed against her forehead. “Thank you, Y/N.” 

She didn’t need to ask what for.

She hoped she’d never forget the way he said her name; the longing and the breathless passion that dripped from every syllable, and the way it sent shivers down her spine. 

Giyuu broke away from her and set off towards the east. Y/N watched until he was nothing more than a speck on the horizon, before he disappeared entirely. 

He did not look back. 

————————

He hadn’t trusted himself to look back at her, though every fiber of his being had screamed at him to turn around and behold her beauty one last time. But the Shrine Maiden had become his largest weakness, and Giyuu knew if he’d looked back, he would never make it back to his estate; to the Corps. 

And if you win? She’d asked him, and he hadn’t been able to form the words of the answer he’d so desperately wanted to give her.

Because while Giyuu Tomioka never made promises he couldn’t keep, that did not mean he didn’t hope. Right then, more than anything, his greatest desire was to win this war; win it, and come back and tell Y/N that she no longer needed to fear the night. 

In any other life — if Giyuu had been any other man — there would be no question as to who he’d choose to spend the rest of his days with. 

And so, Giyuu thought as he forced himself to march forward, his eyes burning, if he made it out of this war alive, he would go back to the Shrine and tell Y/N of their victory himself.

And perhaps she’d then allow him to make her his wife.

Keep an eye out for Part II to see if Giyuu comes back and makes good on his promise!

COMMENTS, REBLOGS, AND LIKES ALWAYS APPRECIATED!

[samuraioftheopera]

SUMMARY: The other Pillars are convinced Tomioka has something against the latest Hashira, but have no idea your husband is simply looking for you during your pregnancy. A/N: I think something glitched when I was making the header...didn't crop properly. Anyway, enjoy this trash and I'm sorry if it's not up to my usual standard but I just got the random idea in the middle of the night! WARNINGS: Fem Reader, pregnancy MASTERLIST/PREVIOUS FICS

Everyone was convinced Tomioka Giyuu hated you right from the start.

You were first introduced to the Hashira when Oyakata-sama called them all for a meeting on the latest reports of demon activity, but requested them all to stay a little longer before being dismissed. Amane gestured for you to come forward with a gentle smile and you shuffled out of the shadows with your hands clasped together in nervousness but with a bright bream upon your face. The Hashira’s eyes caught yours in surprise, wondering if you were perhaps a new Kakushi since you weren’t wearing a slayer uniform, but instead a traditional (f/c) yukata.

Then their eyes strayed downwards and changed their minds about that, but nonetheless still remained in confusion.

“This is our newest member, (y/n) (y/l/n), the (b/f) Hashira. She was supposed to join our ranks quite some months ago but due to her sudden pregnancy she will for now be an honorary member.”

The only sign of your anxiety was the blush on your cheeks and the hand rubbing at your swollen abdomen. “Hi everyone! I’m so happy to meet you all! I won’t be on the battlefield for some time and I’m sorry I can’t fight alongside you for now, but I look forward to getting to know you all. If you need anything, I’m always at the (e/n) Estate.”

The ice was broken and you were immediately approached by many of the Hashira. Himejima-san cried and wished you and your child good health, making you feel a little embarrassed but thanked him anyway. The Mist Pillar Tokito simply stared at you, then at the sky, then at you again before asking what were you doing here again (later on, he startled you by appearing behind and questioning you in that airheaded manner of his if he could talk to the baby).

You were also tackled by the Love Pillar who introduced herself as Kanroji Mitsuri and your new best friend as well as the calmer Insect Pillar, Kocho Shinobu, who despite slightly unnerving you with her smile touched you greatly when she said you could always stop by the Butterfly Mansion for checkups or simply a visit.

“How far along are you?”

“About five months, I think!”

“KYAAAAAAAAAAH! Your baby is going to be so cute! What’s it’s name? Do you know if it’s a he or a she yet? I can’t wait to be an aunt!”

“Heh, I’m not too sure yet, but I have a feeling it’s going to be a boy!”

Mitsuri squealed again, causing you to laugh at her genuine happiness. She whipped her head behind her and called out to the silently glowering Snake Pillar. “Iguro-san, don’t you think the baby will be cute? I really wish I’ll have some of my own one day!”

You and Shinobu shared a smirk as the Wind Pillar grumpily slapped his friend’s back and dragged the furiously red Iguro away, muttering viciously about not wasting any more time in hunting a Twelve Kizuki.

“Oh look, there's Tomioka-san. Why hasn't he come and said hello yet?”

“Ah well, a lone friendless wolf as always.” Shinobu didn't see you originally visibly brighten at Mitsuri’s words and turn surprised at hers.

Indeed Tomioka was standing awkwardly as always a little - long, actually - way off. What was not as always was that horrified, slack jawed look on his face instead of his usual blank, emotionless one.

“Tomioka-san? Are you alright? You've been making that face for a long time already…” Shinobu's eye twitched, but you didn't notice, suddenly preoccupied with Muichiro’s intense questioning of whether he could play with the baby when it was born.

“She shouldn't be a Hashira.”

The remaining Hashira found themselves narrowing their eyes at the Water Pillar's blunt, if not rude, words.

That would be just one of the many events that further convinced them of his intense dislike of you.

***

You started going over a lot to the Butterfly Mansion over then next few months, becoming a fast favorite among the girls for your cheerful attitude and your baby; even Kanao cracked a smile at you when you came around. When the other Hashira arrived to be healed you always made it a point to go pay them a visit and in turn you pretty soon had every one of them in your back pocket, including the harsh, loudmouthed Wind Pillar Shinazugawa who constantly gave you a jolt with the complete 360 with his attitude around you, to the point you could call him a good friend.

Being friends with him usually meant hearing him grumble about the stupid waterboy.

“Why doesn’t he ever look at you anyway, turning away like that. So rude, that little (beep) (beep) (beep)-”

“Eheh, Shinazugawa-san, don’t swear so loudly, he’ll hear you!”

You had stopped by to Sanemi’s room when Shinobu had mentioned he was there to be patched up after a mission and knowing how busy she was, had offered to go help change his bandages with the basic medical knowledge you had picked up over the years of being a slayer. Reluctantly she had agreed and so here you were, chatting away with him until he spotted Tomioka passing by (he poked his head in actually, otherwise Sanemi would never have noticed him) and started complaining about him once more, especially when you had called out to him and Tomioka had simply whipped his head to the side to stare into the distance.

Really, Sanemi wasn’t the only one to notice how Tomioka avoided you like the plague with that stupid, vacant, red expression of his.

“He’s just shy, he doesn’t mean to be rude!” You defended the poor Pillar, continuing with rewinding the new wrappings.

“Tch, you should see how he acts at the meetings, like he’s better than us or something,” was the growling reply. “(beep) doesn’t know how to (beep) talk with anyone with his (beep) attitude.”

“I don’t think he thinks he’s better than all of you, maybe it’s just something else,” You hum, finishing up. “That’s all! I’m glad the demon didn’t go any further than a scratch.”

Shinazugawa grunted, then his gaze caught yours and softened. “By the way, who’s the dad?”

“Oh, it’s -”

“(y/n)-san!” Three heads peeked in from the door shyly. “Can you come and play with us?”

“Of course! Bye, Shinazugawa!”

Like always the reply was only a “tch”.

***

Another thing was that he never stopped repeating what he said at the first time everyone met you: “She shouldn’t be a Hashira”, going as far as to attempt to prevent you from wielding a sword, although this was only noticed by Tanjiro.

You had agreed to the Kamaboko Squad’s requests (aka demands by Inosuke and begging from Zenitsu) to train together, despite Tanjiro’s worries which you brushed off. The boys were very rambunctious and did tire you out quite a bit, but you were having so much fun and they were so eager you just went on sparring with them until even Inosuke muttered a plead for a quick break, unable to beat your incredible swordsmanship.

“(y/n)-chan!!! Who’s the lucky guy you married?! You never told us and I want to know how he managed to score someone so beautiful like you so I can do it with Nezuko-chan!” Zenitsu simpered, scooting closer, ignoring Tanjiro’s scandalized look.

“What’s married?” Inosuke’s voice was muffled underneath his boar mask and the mountain of onigiri you had brought he was stuffing into his mouth, so none of you heard him.

You giggle, placing a hand on your stomach. “He’s very sweet, although he’s honestly very shy and doesn’t talk much. I’m sure you’ve met him before! Can you guess?”

“Woah, really?” Tanjiro brightened, wondering who it could be, but his next question was interrupted by an interrogative monotone.

“What are you doing? You shouldn’t be training.” Tomioka stood in front of them, the first time anyone had seen him interact with you without just staring at the ground. His face was as empty as the void but there was a tiny crease between his eyebrows and Tanjiro didn’t have to inhale to smell the worry reeking off him.

“I didn’t know you were so concerned about (y/n)-chan, Tomioka-san.” Zenitsu’s eyebrows shot up, disappearing under his hair while he glowered judgmentally.

Tomioka made no reply, only swiftly grabbing and removing the sword from your hand. “She shouldn’t be a Hashira, much less train. You nearly died fighting a demon not too long ago, you’re in no shape to be doing this.”

With that he abruptly walked off and left Zenitsu and Inosuke to scream at him for being such an un-gentleman and for not fighting with them while you looked away sadly.

Tanjiro wondered why he didn’t once smell dislike on Tomioka. Only fear.

***

“What’s he got against (l/n)?” Obanai joined in on the conversation from his perch on the tree. He’d look for reasons to hate against the Water Pillar all the time, but unlike the others this time round his hatred was justified.

Tengen rolled his eyes flamboyantly. “I know! He’s constantly acting like she’s a pest to be around, but she doesn’t seem to have beef with him. What’s wrong with that bland creature?”

“Oh come on! We don’t actually know if he hates her,” Rengoku protested mildly.

“Then why does he keep refusing to even make eye contact with her?”

“I mean, Iguro, you can’t talk, you only ever look at Kanroji” - Obanai turned away, blushing furiously as Tengen cackled - “but I get your point. The other day I walked in on them arguing. I can’t believe he would keep reminding her of past failures without keeping her current state in mind!”

“Perhaps he only wants to try and convince her to stay safe during this time and discourage her from slaying for now?”

“Rengoku, my best buddy, you’re too optimistic.”

“There’s no other reason he’d give her the cold shoulder 24/7.”

Soon the conversation drifted to other topics, but little would they know Rengoku was the closest to the truth…

***

Shinobu already had enough on her hands with all the screaming, panic and blood, but of course Tomioka just had to show up at the most inopportune moment.

It had been a relatively quiet day as the two of you sat on the engawa, exchanging war stories over tea when with a sudden cry you had doubled over in pain. Your water had broken and you were heading into labour - quickly.

Just barely the Insect Pillar had managed to get you to a bed and sent the Butterfly Girls scurrying for the necessities, hiding her uneasiness at the slight earliness of your boy’s arrival to keep you calm and help you through it. You were doing well under her coaxing to use Total Concentration Breathing, and thankfully Shinazugawa was still around to help you relax with a familiar face.

Then Aoi had burst in with a frantic expression and thundering footsteps from behind that certainly weren’t hers.

“Shinobu-san, Tomioka is demanding to be let in-”

“Keep him out!” Shinobu grimaced, returning her attention to you. She’s heard and seen what he’s like around you, and other than the fact he has no business to be here she didn’t want to send you into a further state of panic. “He doesn’t like her, and if he opens that mouth of his to say anything more I might be responsible for two deaths.”

You dug your nails into Sanemi’s proffered hand, screaming in pain. He winced but said nothing, only looking up with a determined look in his eyes at Shinobu. “I’ll go keep Tomioka out, just make sure she delivers safely.”

Without waiting for a reply Sanemi rushed out to bar the doorway, leaving Shinobu to assure and handle your birthing with the anxious assistance of the Butterfly Girls. The pain in your stomach was surely abominable, intolerable, and Shinobu found herself growing more alarmed with every minute the baby wasn’t coming out.

“(y/n), I need you to push harder, alright? Can you do that for me?”

“N-no - where is he?”

“Your husband? I’ll get someone to call him, don’t worry,” Shinobu lied with dawning horror that in the entire time she had known you…she had no actual idea who you were married to. “But he wouldn’t like you see you like this, right? You can do it. Just keep your breathing under control.”

“JUST (beep) OFF, TOMIOKA!” Shinazugawa’s voice bellowed through the Mansion. His stocky form soon appeared, stubbornly acting as an indomitable barrier against the equally stubborn Tomioka who was desperately trying to barge his way through.

“Tomioka, we don’t need unnecessary people here to worry (y/n) more-”

”THAT’S MY WIFE!”

Whether it was because Tomioka had never raised his voice before or the sheer shock of it all or the fact you reached out for his hand, Shinobu and Sanemi let him through.

***

“I thought I was going to lose you when I heard you screaming like that from outside.” Giyuu nuzzled deeper into your neck, absently stroking your baby’s tiny hand. “Don’t scare me like that again.”

You played with the strands of his hair with a teasing smirk. “You did to, banging into the room like that, with the “That’s my wife!”. It was very romantic of you, Giyuu~”

“I was in a rush.” Giyuu smacked his face into the pillow, embarrassed while you laugh.

“Ara ara~ Are you both done cuddling? I want to perform a quick checkup on your baby now, if you don’t mind, and all the Hashira are here to ask you a lot of things, Tomioka.” Shinobu stood at the doorway with her customary smile, a twitching eye and crossed arms. Behind her were the shadows of the others trying to peek over her shoulder or head into the room to congratulate you on your baby or beat up Tomioka (both for some).

“Ask about what?” Giyuu lifted up his head in confusion. You snort at his obliviousness, cooing at your precious sleeping baby before gently passing him to Shinobu.

“MAYBE ABOUT HOW (Y/N) IS YOUR WIFE AND YOU NEVER TOLD US?”

“KYAAAAAAAAAH! That’s so cute of you, Tomioka!”

“Do you hate us all or something?!”

“No…? No one asked and I thought (y/n) would have told you,” Giyuu said blankly, glancing at you with wide blue eyes. You sheepishly raised your shoulders.

“I tried to tell them but we kept getting interrupted or had no chance.”

“You did make us all think you hated (y/n) with your behaviour, Tomioka.” Shinobu raised an eyebrow. “After all, you rarely spoke to her and when you did it was only to reprimand her, but I can see now it was probably out of worry for your child and her…although rather harshly.”

“Oh!” You burst out laughing, shaking so hard you nearly couldn’t take back your awakening baby Shinobu was handing over. “Giyuu’s just very shy! See-”

You pressed a quick peck to his cheek.

giyuu.exe has stopped working.

[madamechrissy]

Ricochet

You're a young college professor teaching English Lit and history, you don't live an insanely exciting life - no, you enjoy spending time at home with a good book and a glass of red. You're prefectly content until a certain student sets his pretty blue eyes on you - senior Satoru Gojo. Obsessed with you, Satoru starts following you everywhere, observing and waiting. He just wants you to realize that he's the only one for you, and he'll do anything to make sure you throw your 'ethics' right out of the window.

pairings - college student! Gojo x professor! reader

warnings - yandere content, Satoru is completely obsessed with reader, bit of an age gap - Satoru is 22, reader is 30, reverse professor trope, power dynamics, push and pull, explicit sexual content. this part- masturbation (m and f), stalking, manipulation, a fk ton of sexual tension, Satoru being a menace to society, fingering, squirting, self loathing, possessive behaviors and dirty talking, hints of breed kink.

based on College Student! Gojo - mini series, this will be 3-4 parts hehe, comments/rbs appreciated if you enjoy <3 tags open

part one

Satoru Gojo loves to sit in the back of class.

He is actually a little far sighted, even with his glasses, but there's a particular reason he sits way back in those stacked benches. One, a perfect view of your tits in that blouse up here. Two, he can palm his aching cock over his jeans and no one could see.

It's for you, anyway.

He's picturing gripping your tits in his big hands, spitting on his tip and fucking his cock between them. You're so cute you'd probably blush, you'd whine out, probably be nervous until he makes you filthy for him.

Little goodie good, he drives by your house at night - you're his favorite teacher, after all. You're always curled up on your couch with your fluffy white cat, reading a book in one of your cozy sweaters. Even on a Friday night, he'll find you there, like you're waiting for him, and he knows you sense it, the connection. The pull that makes him want to desperately beg to slip up your pencil skirt and lap up your cunt.

He's so sure it's pretty, like all of you is. Your eyes briefly meet his while he palms himself, smiling and watching you shift just a bit when you sit on your desk, crossing your legs just so. He barely bites back a whimper, stroking his cock torturously, picturing making you squirt all over your well organized desk.

Bend you over and cum inside you, yank that little perfect bun and pull your hair, smear your pretty pink lipstick across your cheeks. Satoru’s white lashes flutter, when he almost busts those pent up white ropes of cum from the visions of you, when your murmur - 'class is over'.

Satoru Gojo quickly snaps back to reality then, it’s not just the two of you, like it should be.

You don't know you're his just yet.

He gathers his things, cock sticky against his boxers, the amount of times he cums for you every day is ridiculous, but he can’t help himself, he needs you so badly. Ever since the moment he first saw you, he decided to take another English Lit course he didn’t even need. It was well worth going through the same things he knew to hear your voice read those stories.

He’d do any lecture you wanted, fuck he’d recite all of the Shakespeare and Edgar Allen Poe you wanted against your cunt with his tongue, trace every letter of that nonsense you light up for while he fingered you. Make you recite your favorite poems while he had you gushing across his hand, your eyes all rolled back in your skull.

He hardly can stand being near your scent and not just dropping to his knees for you, and it’s driving him crazier every day that passes. Where once, he could semi function and exist somewhat normally, now it’s all consuming – where are you, what are you doing, who are you with? Things he must know about the only person for him.

He’s the only one for you, after all.

You don’t see him that way fully, he knows that the little difference in age and you being a teacher holds you back, but he doesn’t miss the quickness of your breath, the way your nipples harden under your blouse. Nothing goes unnoticed about you by Satoru Gojo, including the little ticks you have, tapping that pen, uncrossing and crossing your legs, clearing your throat a little when you’re nervous.

Every time he’s near you, he notices more of your body’s reactions, you’re trying to hide it but you can’t fool him, not when the evidence is in the arousal he can damn near smell on you. He knows it would take almost nothing to make you fold, touch those panties you’re getting soaked just being near him, press a kiss against the crook of your neck.

You wear a simple little chain on it every day, the same one, he’d make sure you were littered with diamonds, glittering against perfect skin. Satoru knows one day he’ll have to take over his family business, what better little wife than you? Sweet little english professor, so put together and modest, they’d adore you – and he’d love to fill you with babies.

Surely you’ll be ready for that.

He casually knocks over a pencil, and it clatters to the floor down by your little black pumps, you are so absorbed in writing something down it takes you just a moment to notice. You hear it, feel Gojo near you suddenly, and he smirks when he sees your knees pressing together.

"Teach, you dropped this," your student Satoru Gojo bends down right in front of you where you sit, his breath hot against your thighs.

You don’t acknowledge what being near him does, you absolutely refuse.

He looks up with brilliant blue eyes and a little smile, your heart thuds quicker and quicker in your chest. You haven't gotten used to those eyes and the myriad of shades in the couple of months you've taught this class. You try not to look into them, to focus on your work, but Satoru stared directly at you always.

His eyes flit down your body briefly, you wonder if you're imagining that look, maybe he's just the type that makes too much eye contact, you yourself learned a long time ago that doing so was important. But no matter, he certainly was not more than a student, and anything else were thoughts shoved deep.

You could never be that way.

Being thirty and a professor made you more relatable in ways to the students you taught - mainly Juniors and Seniors in college, but in other ways, it made things harder. Not taking you as seriously, at times you come off a little too laid back and friendly, but never was it more of an issue than with Satoru Gojo putting a hand on your thigh.

He uses it to stand, his fingers long and thick, resting tight above your knee, when he does stand straight with a smile. He has thin wired glasses propped on the bridge of his straight nose, a contradiction to his letterman jacket from football. He did have the top grades in college, and was an easy student to teach, yet his frat was rather notorious for being troublesome.

Satoru Gojo came from the family that practically owned this university, the halls were named ‘Gojo’ so of course he made sure to never get involved in any of that trouble. Despite the little glint in his eyes behind the lenses, and the way his lips quirk up in a knowing little smirk, he was ultimately a perfect student.

A student, that's it.

You were not about to end up on the news as the professor who got with the Gojo family’s son and lost her career. Fuck it was nonsense to think about.

"Thank you, Gojo." He tenses a bit, looking down at you, so tall your face is right in front of his lap damn near, making the images churn in his heated mind.

Imagine tugging your hair out of that little twist, letting it fall across your face before he pulled it, making you cry out while he fucked you throat. He can't help but smirk as he pictures it, leaning a little too close now, hand on the desk while your lips part just a bit, and your eyes dilate behind those glasses.

"You have something…" Satoru's fingers brush against your collarbone, making your breath catch. "Here, got it."

"Oh, um," goosebumps rise where he'd just brushed, you stand quickly, clearing your throat. “Thanks.”

“Hah, was just a hair, don’t worry,” he teases, standing too fucking close to you.

“Right, I'll see you next week, bright and early!” You put on a pretty smile while you start to gather your things.

"Ah, of course you will, you're my favorite professor, you know," Satoru's grin is charming, but there's just something lurking, something that makes you tense up.

Surely, it's your imagination.

"Am I? Not Coach Yaga?" you tease, he picks up a few things for you and helps you slip them in your bag. He usually stays and helps you push in the chairs, or helps you grade papers, so it's not uncommon for you both to be alone, it just feels… different today.

You really need to go get laid, and stop binging love island on your couch with your cat.

"Nah, no way, definitely you," he watches color dance on your cheeks, you can't avoid that no matter how much you try. Satoru can damn near feel the heat between your thighs when you go to move past him, clutching those books to your chest. "Maybe I could get some tutoring this week, if you don’t mind?"

"You should tutor me," he laughs again, moving out of your way so he can watch your ass twitch underneath your modest little pencil skirt, one he can't wait to slip up your hips. "You're good at every subject, top of your class."

"All thanks to you."

"Gojo, you're ridiculous, how much extra credit do you want? You have an A already," you tease, the two of you walking out of your class room, you lock the door, turning and suddenly get too close to him, almost bumping into his chest.

"You could call me Satoru, teach." He draws out those words, you hastily look down for a moment, collecting yourself.

"You should call me Miss," he smiles, murmuring your last name with the Miss title, and it just does too fucking much to you. "If you want, I will be on campus Saturday, but I doubt you want to come here on the weekends. Don't you have your Sigma Alpha whatever parties?"

Satoru chuckles at that, walking through the empty halls side by side, towards the front of the building, holding the door open for you. "I am not that interested in the frat parties, no. Maybe back in Freshman year."

"You're still young, you should have fun on weekends before life really gets you, not coming over to be bored with your teacher."

He can't wait to show you how much fun you could have, tie you up and keep you. He sighs, the sun is reflecting off your pretty face, your hair glimmering just a bit. He can’t wait till he can brush the little tendrils back that have escaped your bun. "You're young too, stop acting like you’re not."

"Mmm, I remember there being no netflix, so I'd say I'm not that young," Satoru laughs again at that, brushing his silvery hair back a bit. 

“You’re right, that’s ancient.”

“Hey!” You laugh a bit with him, tension eased while he slips his hands in his pockets, leaning against the building. "All right I'll be here Saturday at noon, feel free to come in and we'll go over some things for the test, but I’m really only well versed in English and History."

"No, that’ll be perfect," he leans too close, far too close, his snowy lashes lowering over cerulean eyes that catch light and reflect into even more pretty shades of blue. "Have a good night, professor. Drive safe."

"Yes, you too," you can finally take a breath when he walks off, slipping into your volvo, trembling just a bit.

You shut your eyes, shaking it off.

You need some wine tonight.

Satoru lets you drive a little before he follows you, he has to make sure his future girl gets home safe. Isn't that what a good future boyfriend does?

Good future boyfriends make sure their pretty professor gets in safely, and make sure to sit in their cars and observe them just a bit. How else was a future boyfriend to know what she likes? Satoru wants to make sure he has you figured out in every way he can, like how the curtains don’t fully hide the silhouette of your body in the evening.

He’d have to fix that, once you’re his, the way people could catch a glimpse of your pretty body, one that ultimately is his. The swell of a breast, or the hint of your hips, and between those curtains he catches little glimpses of what you wear – he already knows your favorite type of panty, he eyes them any time you uncross your legs while you’re doing a lecture.

Normal cotton ones, when he’d deck you out in delicate blue lace, rope your body so he could feast on you without any interruptions or protests. The thought, along with the silhouette of you makes him hard all over again, god but when isn’t Satoru Gojo hard for his professor?

He releases his thick cock, resting his head back against the seat and moaning your name softly – practicing it against his lips while he spits down, a trail of saliva dripping onto his reddened tip. Precum leaks out of the little hole there, beading at the center, he can’t help but imagine pressing it across your slit, sinking into your cunt and stretching you out.

He knows you’re alone every day, he knows by studying your socials that your last exes weren’t anything, you’ve gotta be so needy, but that’s all right. Satoru has been saving up so much for you – he doesn’t even fuck anyone at this point, it would just be disloyal, and he has no issue waiting.

Picturing how you’ll cry out when he fucks you makes him stroke himself, twists of his hand in circles, eyes fluttering shut while he’s hidden with the dark tint of those windows in his sports car. He’s stroking faster, thick veiny cock leaking so much pre, like it’s ready to fill you up, and fuck he would. He’d fuck you so good you couldn’t leave his bed.

You would never leave.

“Professor, f-fuck, so tight,” he murmurs, it’s a devotion to you really, sitting outside your home, cumming just for you. “That’s it, you can take me.”

He’s whimpering ever so slightly, wondering how good it’ll feel to bottom out inside your perfect cunt, hit your cervix till you drool, make sure you remember his shape and no one else’s. Your name keeps dancing on his lips while he strokes faster and faster, more spit mixing with his precum, the sounds wet and filthy echoing in the little car.

“That’s it, you want it all, don’t you sweetheart, hah – I’ll give it to you,” Satoru Gojo gasps out when he pictures your face, mouth wide open, eyes rolled back, and thinks of how he’ll pump your eager cunt so full. White ropes pouring across his big hands, he can’t help but think how you’ll clean him up, eagerly. “Such a good girl for me.”

After cleaning up, he grins at the sight of you on that couch with your glass of wine and your cat through your living room window. You’re nothing if not consistent, like you’re just waiting for him, surely you feel it too – the connection, the aching need to be constantly near you.

He can’t wait until you realize how badly you need him – you’re not there quite yet, but he can wait for you.  

*****

It’s Saturday morning, you’re stopping by your favorite coffee shop right next to campus, just to run nearly into Satoru Gojo’s chest. You pause and gasp, bracing your hands on it for a moment, he catches you with an arm around the waist with practiced ease, steadying you. He watches you get flustered, not pulling back as quickly as you should have.

“Fancy meeting you here,” he teases, before he grabs the two cups he ordered off the counter. “Here, I was bringing you this anyway.”

“Oh, you’re so sweet! You sure?” He shrugs and hands money to the girl at the counter, she’s swooning over him but he doesn’t seem to pay much attention.

You suppose he just gets that constantly, and why wouldn’t he? If he wasn’t your student, and you just ran into him – you’re sure you’d be too shy and nervous to even talk to him at first. Because you are his professor, it opens up a bit to see him in a different way, not as the gorgeous, tall man he is but as someone intellectually challenging and enjoyable.

You imagine he likely doesn’t have people realize just how smart he is, which is a shame. As the Gojo family practically bought their way into the school, people would assume Satoru didn’t earn his way, but it couldn’t be further from the truth. No one has test scores like him.

“You don’t have on your glasses today,” he murmurs then, walking outside where it’s starting to patter rain lightly. “Why not?”

“I got contacts recently, I thought I’d see how I like them… you don’t have yours on either.”

“I really just need them to read,” it’s too easy to talk to him, it’s too easy to walk next to him. The comfortable yet completely nervous way you feel, heart hammering when he tugs you close. “Careful.”

You realize you almost stepped right into a huge crack in the sidewalk. “Oh god, thanks, I’m clumsy.”

“I noticed that,” he notices everything. The scent you’re wearing today is a different one, a little more floral, it fills his senses while his hand reluctantly drops, and he eyes the sky. “Did you walk from campus?”

“I did, shit…” he knows you did, Satoru made sure to fuck with your car before he got here, while you were still in your class.

“Come with me then,” you hesitate, then slip into his sports car, while the rain starts falling a little more, parts of the sky still blue as his eyes, the others darkening slightly. You hold onto your coffee cup carefully, studying the rim while he makes the quick trip. “You’re quiet.”

“Am I?” He nods a bit, you peer over to find him looking at you in a way he should not. “I’m a little tired.”

“Didn’t sleep well last night?” he turns the steering wheel, parking right across from your car.

“I guess I didn’t, but this coffee will help. Mnh, and it’s yummy,” you take a sip, a little foam on your lips. He leans forward and runs a thumb across them, making you jerk back. “Gojo…”

“Sorry, foam,” he smiles and brings the frothy concoction to his own lips, ruining your fucking brain. No twenty two year old man should be doing that, actually, no one should. Especially Gojo. “Yummy.”

Fuck.

Why are you ovulating this week!?

Focus – studying.

“Let’s run in!” You hop out of the car and dart before he can stop you, scent lingering in the air of his car, he can’t stop his soft little whine at having been that close to you.

He runs after in just a moment, umbrella above him, he shakes it out. “You don’t use one, do you?”

“That would be smart, I’m afraid I always leave mine at home,” you’re a little breathless, blouse slightly damp from the water – white and thin. He can see the delicate design of your bra that’s cupping your tits, a little trail of rain dancing across your chest. “You ready?”

“I’m ready.”

You lead him up to your class, the campus is mostly empty save for a few weekend classes, and your building doesn’t have very many. Maybe five students pass that all say your name, you smile at them all, making light conversation, making Satoru irritated, fist clenching the hook of his umbrella.

“Oh, thanks, I’m so glad!” You say to one of the boys there, who makes eyes at you.

Satoru wants to gouge them the fuck out.

Even the girl there makes eyes, he’s used to it, you’re the pretty new professor, but they all need to stop looking at you, girl or not. Satoru barely composes himself enough to feign the ease he needs to, smiling at you when you open your classroom door, flicking on the lights.

Soon you all are going over every question, open text book as you sit side by side with each other. Of course Satoru nails every question, you expected no less really, you’re not sure why he’d want to study more aside from high expectations. You know his family is pretty ridiculous with them.

It’s been almost an hour, when he’s just a little more relaxed, and his fingers trace patterns along the delicate skin of the back of your hand that rests on the desk when you’re reciting something. Your heart races, his casual touch seemingly natural, as if he wasn't intentionally fucking with your brain. Making you think the most inappropriate things.

“Bet I can guess your favorite Poe quote,” he murmurs, looking at you with a smirk that makes your tummy flip. You pull back your hand, pressing it between your thighs along with your other. “Something wrong, teach?”

“No, you think you can guess it huh?” You plaster on a smile. “Go for it.”

Satoru turns a little, resting his chin on his fist, elbow on the desk, he takes so much space with his long limbs, like he's taking your desk over. His knee brushes your thigh, they  press together, practically trembling when he licks his lower lip and smirks just a bit. 

“All that we see or seem is but a dream within a dream.” You falter, he spits the words that have been your favorite since middle school out with ease.

Surely you've read that to them, but to know it's your favorite?

“What,” he chuckles and sits up, leaning back in the chair. “Did I get it wrong?”

“No, it is my favorite… but how could…” your eyes lock with unspoken questions, Satoru leans far too close, cupping your chin. “How could you know?”

“I told you I'm pretty observant, I saw how your eyes lit up as you read it, how your lips moved…” Worse than desire would be feelings, of being seen for the first time, his thumb brushing over your lower lip.

Fuck.

You quickly stand, ignoring the need pulsing hot through your body, images that should not be there. Imagine ending your career, you have to keep playing that in your mind, never being able to teach because you couldn't keep it together.

“I um… I have to go,” you manage, when he stands so damn tall over you, grabbing some of his books and slipping them in his bag. “We can study more later, but you're already so good at it all.”

“You gotta go, have any plans?” 

You better not. 

He almost had you - kissable lips just begging for his mouth. That heat spent close, your entire body is warm as he looks down at you, smiling with ease and watching you just fall apart.

It was really all according to his plan, to make you needy, weak and wanting, to let your control slip. God how do you unleash when you drop this goody good act, and let your every desire come forth? When your back will arch as you ride his cock, begging for his cum.

You're flustered, not meeting his eyes.

“No plans, I'm kind of… a homebody.”

“Are you?” You nod shyly, and he is feigning surprise like he doesn't know every night you're at home. “I'm surprised, so many people love you.”

“I guess my social battery taps out after work,” you clear your throat, tossing both empty coffee cups in the trash. “Thank you again for that. You know, that is what I always order.”

“Really,” of course he knows your order. What sort of man would he be if he didn't learn everything about the woman he loves?

“It is!”

“Good guess then.”

“Very,” you lead him out, locking the doors behind you both. It's pattering again outside, he's getting his umbrella out. “I'll see you in class Monday?”

Before he can answer you've darted over to your car with a quick wave, he smiles as he pops the umbrella up, knowing you're not going anywhere. But you try, and it's pretty cute, as the rain starts drizzling, you're shivering a bit, opening your hood.

He notices you use some stick to hold it up, frowning at the entire state of your car. He'll make sure you never have to drive again, you can ride in the back of a limo, or next to him in one of his cars. This is purely unacceptable.

“Need help?” You gasp and turn, the rain pattering the umbrella, but he already can see the dampness of your white blouse, your glaringly apparent nipples. “Why are you using a branch to hold this up?”

“The thing broke,” you mumble, sighing then. “It may be the starter going out, sometimes I have to drop the thing into neutral to start it.”

“How long has that been going on?” Satoru hands you the umbrella to hold, you watch him bend over and peer at your car. In a polo, sweater and khakis, he looks too country club to ever do that, yet he has no problem.

“Like six months?”

Satoru peers at you and raises a brow. “You just let it… stay that way?”

“I mean it’s fine! Sometimes the battery gets corroded too, but I pour coke on it.”

“What now?”

“It works!” He sighs then, shaking his head at you.

“I'll try something but if not you'll have to tow it to a shop.”

“Shit, okay…”

“Go sit in the seat and start it when I tell you.”

You do quickly, but it's of no use, the car just won't switch over. You sigh, covering your face when he comes over, polo drizzled with water droplets, some have clung to his silky white locks. His umbrella shields you both from the now pouring rain, so loud he almost has to shout.

“You should let me take you home, I can get your car fixed tomorrow and bring you.”

“No. That's too much! I can call a tow and…” you sigh, realizing your phone has no bars. “Shit, it must be a bad storm…”

“Come on, before we get soaked,” he holds out his hand, you hesitate, even as the rain starts pounding, and the lightning goes off in the sky. It illuminates his tall, imposing frame, those blue eyes darkening. “You'll get sick in that car waiting, especially with no heat.”

“All right,” you take his hand carefully, sighing a bit. He rushes you over to his sports car, opening the door for you. “Thanks, Gojo.”

He slides in beside you then, the windshield wipers quickly turning on and flicking water side to side, the slow hum of his engine softly purring underneath you. You’re shivering a bit from the chill of the rain that’s soaked into your skin, his own hair flicking little clear droplets when he runs a hand through it.

That’s when he looks at you.

You were in his car earlier, but somehow the rain makes it even more intimate, trapping the two of you together, his heated gaze drifting across your body ever so slowly. There is no smirk or little smile, he’s quiet then – his pretty lips parted – you shouldn’t think like that!?

‘Pretty lips’ isn’t what your brain should concoct, especially when his snowy lashes lower and you realize exactly where he’s looking. You gasp a bit when you look down, seeing the thin white material cloying to your figure, showing the lacy little bra you’d bought yourself last week, the first time you’ve worn it.

“Oh god I’m sorry…” You murmur, covering your chest with crossed arms and turning away.

“For what?”

“For…” You curse internally, still shivering. “I’m so cold.”

“Let me turn on the heat,” he leans over, arm brushing against yours, turning it on quickly. “I have a couple shirts if you wanna put one on.”

“No!?”

He chuckles then, raising a brow at you. “No? Wanna get sick?”

“Yes… no… I can’t just get dressed!?” You feel so nervous, as if he’s the experienced thirty year old, and you’re the hopeless twenty two year old obsessed with her teacher.

Something about him makes you feel too much.

“All right then,” he continues easily, starting to drive, his veiny forearm far too pronounced with that dusting of snowy hair dancing across it. You swallow, arms falling a bit, now fiddling with your books, just a little damp from the rain. “What’s wrong?”

“It’s just embarrassing you saw…” You can’t even finish the words, his hand slips to your bare thigh, the contact heating your core up, you eye it carefully, knowing you should move it, yet you don’t.

It feels good on your skin.

Satoru can feel your thigh tense under his touch, see the goosebumps rise on your skin, it’s quiet save from the pulse racing in his ears, and your little sound from the back of your throat. He knows if he slips his hand up just a bit that you’ll let him slide your panties to the side, you’ll let him thrust his fingers deep.

He can’t stop his visions of your throat stretched around his cock, he’d chuckle while you’re just so hoarse in the voice at your lectures – maybe the class would think you had a cold, but he’d know that it was all from him. You’re not there yet, but he knows how desperate you will be for that soon, begging to swallow all his cum like the good little professor you are.

“Embarrased about what?” He asks softly, thumb running in circles, you all come to a red light, barely visible in the storming gray view.

“That you saw me like that.”

“Saw your pretty tits, those nipples? That lacy little bra you’re wearing?” You gasp at that, until now it’s been Satoru teasing you, he’s not fully said even a hint of what he wants yet. “Hmm, don’t be.”

“You… just said… I…” You scowl at him now, earning his snarky little chuckle. “You can’t say that!”

“I can’t say they look pretty?”

“No!” His throaty, full laugh undoes your resolve, while you cross your arms again. “Surely, I misheard you.”

“No, you didn’t, but I can say it again if you want, does it get you excited, professor?” His fingers slip higher, the car starting to drive again, you grip his wrist to stop its trek, but still don’t let it go. “From what I see, at least, you can show me them fully if you want my expert opinion.”

“You’re ridiculous,” you realize you don’t even know where Satoru is currently taking you, his grip tightens under your hold as he turns smoothly with one hand on the steering wheel. “How do you even know where to take me?”

He pauses just a moment, you’re nothing if not smart, but a couple brushes of his thumb on your inner thigh changes that, your lips parted as if they’re waiting for something to suck. He’d give it to you soon, what you so desperately want without admitting it, what he knows you need.

He can’t say he comes to your house every day, can he?

“You mentioned your neighborhood in class, so I figured I’d head in that direction, but you’ll have to let me know exactly where it is.”

You wrack your brain for a moment, perhaps you did share that. “Oh… of course, I think I remember. Do you have friends there?”

“I do have a couple.”

“Girlfriends?”

He smirks over at you. “No.”

“Why not? Look at you - I mean!?”

He’s laughing again, leaning over a bit when he turns the car to the left, like he knows exactly where to go without thinking. “Hmm, look at me, do you?”

“Of course not, it’s just I see… the girls are always giving you so much attention. Even at the coffee shop. I figured you had a little harem.”

“A harem?” He laughs again. “No, I’m afraid I’m a one woman type of guy, but I’m not currently interested in any of the students there.”

“Ah. Well, you’re young, all the time to find someone,” your eyes shut when his fingers start dancing across the little lace garters you put on.

What a day to try to feel sexy, stuck in a car with off limits Satoru Gojo while you’re ovulating. You finally had a date tonight, but your car has made that one have to get cancelled. So now your mind is rushing, his touch feels too good, his scent is too intoxicating, some cologne that’s likely a hundred dollar a spray. Even his car smells too good, it’s too clean, too put together – like him.

When you’re falling apart.

Focus, you’re almost home.

“Do you date anyone?” He asks softly, your lips part in protest, then he raises a brow. “You asked me.”

“Right… um no, I broke up with someone I’d been with for a year a few months ago. I was going on a date tonight but…”

“The car.”

“Yeah. Um but I don’t know him, my friends are all determined to hook me up with him.”

Satoru wouldn’t let you hang out with these ‘friends’.

His jaw tenses at the thought of you with someone, even he did not know about that. Imagine, seeing the woman that’s his in the arms of some loser? Someone who wouldn’t deserve you – only Satoru deserves to have any part of you, your body, your laugh, your pretty eyes looking up at him.

Soon enough it will all be him.

He looks down at you when you're at a red light, the soft red casting a glow on his face, shadowing it in that color. You swallow nervously when he is leaning close – he’s too close, hand moving higher, until he feels your heat, that trickle of slick the telltale sign how ready you are.

He wonders if the change of lingerie style is purely for ‘your date’, but no one would see these but him. He moans softly as he pictures it, seeing your body fully. You look at him then, eyes almost black with how blown out your pupils are. “Y-you shouldn't do that.”

“No?” You nod quickly, when the light goes green, he turns his gaze to the road, the tension so palpable you can hardly breathe. “Why not?’

“Why not, well for one, I’m older than you,” he laughs at that. “I am, you’re young.”

“You’re barely older than me.”

“Eight years.”

“You look twenty two,” you heat up, he notices, eyeing you from the corner of his gaze, watching your flushed cheeks. “I don’t want someone my age, unless it was you I guess.”

“You should, and should stop that,” you shove his hand down, but it slips right back up, this time higher. You feel dizzy from how wet and needy you are, the heat blasting and giving you this fuzzy, heady feeling. “Fine, we aren’t that different in age, but I’m your teacher.”

“My favorite teacher,” he murmurs softly. “Who’s soaking wet.”

“Gojo!”

“You want me to touch you, to tell you how pretty you are.”

“I don’t,” you bite back a cry when his thumb hits the inner part of your thigh, right where your cunt is, so close you can’t take it, eyelashes fluttering.

“You don’t want it, huh?”

“I can’t,” you finish softly, the car is too small, you’re too close, it’s suffocating his presence, filling your every sense. “You can’t.”

“Why can’t I?”

“You just can’t,” his fingers tighten a bit, he feels you press your thighs together, hears your little whine, his thumb finally brushing the soaked material of your panties. 

“Why don’t you take my hand off, if you don’t want it?” You can’t come up with a good fucking reason, other than you’re thinking with your cunt, your ovaries, your muddled feelings rather than your damn brain.

This isn’t you.

You’re cautious, you’re careful, you’re the girl who has always played by the rules. Never got in trouble her entire life, a good girl for all intents and purposes, one who even in relationships has been picky, careful. You can count the men you’ve been with in your thirty years alive with one hand, and they were all established relationships, built over time.

You didn’t just fuck in cars with your damn students.

“You’re not acting appropriately, Gojo,” he grins, his teeth white and glinting, touch lifting so that his fingers get sticky with you. “You’re forgetting I’m your teacher, clearly, a lapse of judgement.”

“Oh, I’m not forgetting you’re my teacher at all,” you take his hand off finally, that took far too long because you want him to.

Fuck.

That self loathing fills your damn brain, surely you can act correctly, but every sound makes your tummy flip. It’s been too long, cunt just drooling against the cotton on the gusset of your panties. Yeah, it’s been forever, and yeah, your sex life was not something to write home about – but there’s not an excuse.

Who would you be if you let your twenty-two year old student just finger you? What would that make you?

“Where exactly is your house, we’re close I think.”

“Oh,” you blink and try to focus, it’s hard to see still with the way that rain is pounding. “Turn right here.”

Satoru lets you guide him, acting like he has no clue that he’s not constantly staring at you for weeks now, parking right in front of your little house – it’s cute and quaint, but just wait till he gets back to his mansion. He’ll make sure you have a staff that’ll take care of everything for you, and if you ever want to go work, he’ll give you so many kids to occupy your time.

You have such a nurturing instinct, really, it’s more than the fact that he wants to fill you with cum, fuck it back into you, and then put more inside. More than he wants to see how flexible you can be, what you look like folded in a mating press under him – and more than the Gojo family line.

It’s because you’d be so happy.

Truly, it’s all for you.

“Here we are,” you manage a shaky smile, gathering up your things hastily, hands trembling. He takes one carefully, undoing your seat belt, fingers brushing your skin. “You should wait a few minutes, let the rain ease up, hmm?”

Satoru murmurs your first name then, ever so softly, a hand cupping your cheek and feeling the heat seep through. “You shouldn’t call me that.”

“No? Aren’t we pretty close though, sweetheart?” You bite down on your lip, he gently tugs it out of the grip of your teeth. “Can I not call you that either?”

You shake your head, not trusting any words at this point, whose to say you don’t beg him to fuck you then and there? His eyes slip down like a caress, across the blouse that still shows too much. The rain is pounding that windshield, bouncing off the glass, enshrouding you two in darkness, the sound of the hard drops hitting mixing with distant thunder.

It feels like you’re completely secluded, and you suppose you are, like this car doesn’t exist in typical space of time, no it’s something inexplicable. His hand on your cheek is cool and firm, big hands with long fingers that just ruin your mind more, picturing how they feel, then cursing yourself for doing so. Satoru clicks those wipers off, letting you both further descend into this car all alone, cut off from everything.

“Question professor, if I may?” He asks, taking your hand and pressing a little brush of his lips on the back of it. All you can do is nod, unable to speak anymore, feeling drawn more and more with every breath you take. “If you met me somewhere, say some book fair you went to, would you kiss me then? If we were just two people, and I wasn’t your student?”

You can’t answer, it’s so glaringly obvious, all you can bring yourself to do is pull back from his grip, looking away. “Don’t ask me that.”

“Sweetheart,” he turns your chin, gripping it tightly, and your eyes still won’t meet his. Satoru runs a hand to the back of your hair, gripping it at the nape, earning your little gasp. “Need you to focus. Can you do that?”

He shouldn’t talk like that, look like that.

“I need to go.”

“Ah-ah, focus,” he forces you to meet his gaze, taking over your body with how big he is everywhere. “Answer me, pretty professor.”

“So what if I would, it changes nothing.”

“Answer, then.”

You scoff, blinking rapidly, his hand slips out of your hair, trailing down your spine. “You shouldn’t want me, you’re-”

“Excuse me?” He glares now, arm wrapping your waist, tugging you against his hard body. Your nipples press out against his chest, it feels far too good. “The fuck you say?”

“I’m older, and… I’m boring, all right? You should want someone younger, exciting, not some teacher who just… stop looking at me like that, Gojo.”

“Like what? Like you’re the prettiest fucking woman I’ve seen?”

“No,” you shake your head quickly, tears pricking your eyes, some mix of desire and frustration. “It’s not true.”

“You know what I’d do, if I got you to myself?”

You just look down, at his jaw, his lips. “What?”

“Fuck every insecurity out of that head, if one round didn’t work, well I’d eat your pretty pussy till you’re ready for another,” you gasp, eyes darting up, his own are so bright they’re impossible to focus on, shaking in his hold. “Then if you had any left, I suppose I’d fuck you till you passed out, cock drunk and fucked out.”

“Satoru Gojo!”

“Mmm, yes… call me that,” his lips are just a breath from yours, you taste sweet mocha from earlier, breasts pressing together even more with his chest. “I like when you use my full name, professor.”

“You can’t know that it’s all pretty or-”

“I’m sure every part of you is,” he slips that skirt up your thighs, ever so slowly, material brushing your skin, you should stop him, but you can’t, especially when long fingers find you over your panties. “Fuck, you’re soaked, I haven’t even touched you yet. Tsk, are you so easy? If I say how pretty you are, you’ll drown me with your cunt?”

“You’re ridiculous,” your thighs spread, making his smirk widen, there’s no willpower, like the heat and Satoru have sapped it. “You can’t say it.”

“But you love to hear it,” you shake your head. “I can tell you every part of you that’s pretty while I worship your body.”

“While you… Gojo,” you push him back gently, but he doesn’t budge, hands gripping the material of his shirt then. Your breaths come in quick pants, lost in the feeling of his fingertips on your slit. “Even if I want it, we can’t.”

“Why can’t we?”

“Ethics- ah!”

“Mmm,” he’s grinning now, pressing that material closer and snugger against your eager cunt. “Ethics makes you wetter, huh?”

You don’t answer, the squelching wetness filling the car speaks enough, you just spread your thighs a little more, for his fingers to slip under your waist band and find your slick heat. That’s when you don’t hold back the little moan, sweet and filling his ears, earning his once he finally gets to touch you, slipping down till he’s right against your hole.

“Gojo…”

“Satoru,” his name comes out breathy. He presses his fingertip inside you teasingly, feeling how tight you clench it, groaning softly, his head resting on yours. “You’re so tight.”

“We can’t, you can’t - ah!” He slips a finger in a little further, leaning over you, your back pressed in that seat.

“Feel her grippin’ me,” he huffs in wonder, he’s never felt anything like you. He’s been with women before you, many back then – but once he saw you it was over, he knew he needed you, and you feel this good? “Could you even take my cock? Cunt is so fuckin’ small.”

“You’re… crazy y’know that, you – mnh!” He’s got it fully in, just that your cunt struggles to take, his fingers longer and thicker than the men you’ve been with. You feel so full and needy, his plump lips trailing across your jaw.

“Let me make you feel good, hmm?” He asks, the windows fogging with your breaths and the heat surrounding you, sucking your breath away while he curls that finger meanly in your walls.

“You can’t,” you’re rocking your hips, head tilting to allow him more access, while he pictures stretching your tiny little hole out, he’s so thick he bets he’ll barely get it in, but he’ll make it fit. “Ah!”

“You work so hard, don’t you sweetheart? You’re always so…” he curls that finger up again, tongue lapping at your skin, the flavor even sweeter than he could ever imagine. “So stressed, so tired, let me take care of you.”

“Gojo-”

“Satoru, when you cum f’me, huh?” You’re blinking rapidly then, dizzy and falling into the madness that’s your batshit crazy student with stupid long fingers, pulling one out and then teasing another. “Can you even take two, your cunt is so pathetic, have you never been stretched out?”

His free hand yanks down your top, still clinging to your skin, bending down to lap at your nipple over the lace, trails of saliva seeping in. Your back arches at the sensation, his fingers barely able to penetrate with just how thick they are. He pulls more of your slick out, eliciting a pornographic sound you’ve never fucking made, gushing down him.

“Let’s see how pretty they are,” he whispers, looking up at you with glossed lips and fucked out eyes already, like he’s just as fucked as you. He slips your nipple out, moaning softly when the bud tightens, his mouth sucking it in. Your hands grip his hair, not pushing him off - no you’re tugging him in.

“This is c-crazy, we can’t,” your words don’t meet your actions, not when his two long fingers press this spot you haven’t even felt, making you see stars. “Oh my fuck.”

“Teach, you have a bad mouth,” he pouts, looking up from where he’s left a round, glossy mark on your tit that’ll bruise. Strings of spit dissolve from where he’d hungrily been sucking on your tit, he moans and gently smacks it, smirking when you jump a bit. “Your tits are as pretty as I could have imagined.”

He’s… sweet, oddly?

“They’ll look so pretty with my cum drippin’ on ‘em.”

Never mind.

“Satoru!” You glare, but that image burns in your fucking brain with his wicked grin, moving his fingers deeper now, until you swear they hit your cervix. “So deep…”

“You can take it, just for me though, okay?” You shake your head, but he’s lost in you, sucking your other nipple, starting to pump into your cunt. “She was waiting, just wanted my touch.”

You’ve never felt whatever the fuck he’s doing to you, cunt squelching and messy, louder with every thrust, so much pressure in your tummy you almost can’t take it. His mouth trails up your skin, across your neck, lapping it up while his fingers wreck your senses. That arousal drips down his hand, making every stroke easier.

Gojo can feel how good you'll squeeze his cock soon, how those gummy walls will just grip him, your cries making him so hard it hurts. He almost cums just touching you, just looking at your pretty face, lost and hidden in the torrential downpour surrounding you both. Your eyes are lidded, when you’re close – and fuck, he can feel how close you are.

“You’re so loud, professor,” he taunts, your brows drawing together while your lashes flutter. “Your cunt, it’s so needy, so desperate f’me, huh?”

You shake your head, he chuckles even while he’s pulsing and leaking pre against those boxers, dying to drag you right down his length. You try to glare, it’s honestly adorable, the lightning flashing and illuminating the car, showing the expanse of smooth skin and your pretty breasts.

You cling to his forearm, whining out. “It’s too much.”

“No, it’s not, you can do it,” you shake your head, feeling his muscles tense with every movement.

He moves that middle and ring finger up and down faster and faster, exhaling against your lips as he watches you. “S’too much pressure, mnh!”

The lightning flashes and hits his pretty face, he looks psychotic in that moment, beautiful and insane, he grabs the back of your neck, tongue lapping a filthy trail up to your ear. “Oh, you’ve never really cum before, have you?”

“I h-have! You’re doing too much and – can’t take it, ngh!” Satoru’s soft laugh tickles your neck before he sinks his teeth, sharp and painful.

“You’ve never really cum before, but don’t worry, I can teach you, hmm?” He pulls back, seeing you sniffling, tears in your pretty eyes, barely able to cling to his shoulders, thigh propped right up on that dash so he can get deeper. “Fuck you’re so pretty like this.” 

That’s when whatever was holding you back the slightest snaps.

You should regret your next actions, dragging him down for a kiss, he’s kissed your tits and neck but not your mouth, and you fucking need it. Need his desperate whimpers against your lips, his tongue delving into your mouth and swirling. Satoru loses it right with you, whatever control he kept.

He presses you back against that leather seat, storm rattling the little car as it pounds heavier, his knee propped on the seat, tongue hungry and desperate. You’ve never felt anything like kissing him, like his messy, sticky fingers coated in your creamy essence, and you feel that knot in your tummy about to release.

“Cum,” he orders softly, kissing you again, biting at your lower lip. “Cum pretty professor, lemme feel you.”

Satoru exhales and eases back, watching the woman he’s dreamt of fall apart under his touch, cunt just gripping him like a vise, watching you begin to shatter under him, lit up just in moments as lighting dances across the street. Your moans are just a bit deafened, but your face, fuck he couldn’t have pictured that.

“Waited so long f’you,” he whispers it so soft you don’t hear, you’re too lost in the pleasure he’s eliciting, so much you panic as you begin to pulse, tightening. “Ah- ah, let go, come on sweetheart, you can make me messy yeah?”

“Satoru,” he moans at that, you crying out his name as you begin squirting all over his fingers, nails digging into his shoulders, he hisses at the pain, looking down at where the clear streams of liquid pour. “Oh my god… I… that’s…”

“Fuck,” he stares in wonder for a moment, before smiling just a bit. “Look at you, huh? You listened to me, now I need you to cum one more time.”

“C-can’t - mnh!” Satoru eases his fingers out with a pop, rubbing your poor neglected clit, so sensitive as you clench around nothing.

“You can, look you did so perfect for me, look at you,” he cups your face as his eyes turn black, just a ring of blue left, before gripping under your chin. “One more time, be a good girl, would you?”

Good girl.

His audacity knows no bounds, but you’re embarrassingly quick to cum again, he moans and pulls back, sucking you off him then, eyes fluttering shut. You gasp at the action, thighs shaking violently, heart racing when he smiles just a bit.

“Open.”

“Open!?”

“Listen for me, would you?” You do it, you don’t know why, maybe you’re too fucked out, but you open wide for Satoru Gojo – your fucking student – to spit in your open mouth. You gasp, but he grips your face tightly, shutting your jaw close. “Swallow it.”

You do that, earning his filthy little moan, making the sweetness of your cunt dance across both of your mouths. Tears spill down your eyes at the release, at what he’d just done to you, which you can hardly comprehend. No amount of that rose vibrator and smut was doing anything like this psychotic student grinning down at you.

“Did I make you feel so good, hmm pretty?” You just nod in a jerky motion, still tasting your own arousal and his spit in your mouth. “You listened so well, and you told me what you felt, you’re just such a good little professor, aren’t you?”

He kisses you again, stroking your hair almost gently. “Satoru…”

“Shh, don’t worry,” he adjusts your panties, your blouse, your skirt so sweetly, like he hadn’t just taunted you, spit in your mouth, fingered you till you were embarrassingly gushing all over. “I’ll bring you to school, and fix that car, yeah?”

You blink rapidly, the rain slowly dying off to a patter, as it all fucking syncs in of what you just did. “We can’t do this,” you hastily try to button your blouse, but he moves your hands away. “We can’t.”

“You need me to help, don’t you? Your fingers are too shaky,” he adores that look on your face, the fear and the tears, you’re realizing you’re all his, and he can’t help but enjoy this moment, smiling with bright blue eyes. “There.”

“Can’t again,” he ignores that, just being so bright, chuckling a bit as he kisses your lips. “Satoru.”

“I love when you call me that,” he murmurs your name, just to fuck you up further, with a lidded gaze. “I’ll see you in the morning, okay?”

He watches you rush out with a dopey grin on his face – he’d masturbate, but he already came when he sucked your juices off, so he instead just cleans up quickly, sighing. He makes sure you get in safe, of course, that’s part of being your everything – but he knows that he’ll have to act unaffected.

You’re not seeing the vision just yet.

*****

It’s been two weeks.

Two weeks since Satoru casually showed up with your favorite coffee, grinning big at you. He’d already had your car fixed, thoughtful and kind, just being friendly like he was before – and nothing else. You suppose you should be thankful he’s listened to you, that he knows that can’t happen again, or it’ll lead to more, and the consequences for you would be heavy.

He’d even joked about it on the way back to campus – ‘So worried I’ll tell everyone our little secret, huh? Nah, no way.’

He’d been completely normal since, aside from little touches, little brushes against your skin in the hallway, being everywhere and anywhere at the same fucking time. Every time you turned, Satoru was there for you to bump into, or he was around to look at you, and you could feel that gaze like a physical touch.

You should be glad he didn’t say anything, that it’s over, that you came sure but nothing you can’t get back from. You’re not having some affair with your student, the namesake of the fucking University. Having to meet his stuck up, distant parents last week was hell enough.

You couldn’t stand them, truth be told.

They’re neglectful, they’re terrible, they don’t seem to give a fuck about Satoru aside from his name, his accomplishments, and worse than desire was the affection you felt when his jaw tensed during that conversation. The way you could see he so clearly felt ignored by the people who should love him.

You can’t feel this.

Yet with every mere brush of his fingers, you’re losing your mind, losing all the caution – fucking throwing it to the wind all for a moment like that again. You touch yourself at night, not to the thought of him, but then he seeps into your mind, you can’t get him out, fingering your hole desperately with no results.

It’s like only he can make you feel that way.

Class is over, and everyone’s saying good bye to you, Satoru lingers like he always does – always sits in the back, observing you with a knowing smirk. You sit there, waiting for him to descend, and you hate yourself for what you do next… or, you should hate yourself.

Satoru’s getting up to walk by, the rest of the class is filing right out, he gives you that little smile, like he wasn’t the man spitting in your mouth two weeks ago, having you squirt for the first time in your life. Like he wasn’t the one biting your lip, tugging at your hair, kissing down your breast – no, it’s as if everything is perfectly normal.

Isn’t that what you asked him to do? To forget it ever happened, because it damn sure cannot happen? Yet you casually knock your pen off with a little flick of your hand, letting it clatter down to the floor in a click that echoes in the room. The door is shut with a resounding, heavy sound, when Satoru pauses, looking down at your bare legs, setting his bag down on your desk.

“You dropped your pen, Professor,” he murmurs, leaning down and kneeling on the floor, his breath right against your inner thigh. His eyelashes lower, when his hands slip up them torturously slowly. You know it’s insane, wrong, but you can’t hold back a soft whine at how good it feels. “Something wrong, sweetheart?”

“N-no, nothing’s wrong,” Satoru spreads your thighs, inhaling you practically, seeing you’re wearing lacy panties today, a first. They’re darkening as his head dips, spinning you in the chair ever so slightly. “You shouldn’t call me that, Satoru.”

“You shouldn’t be this soaked from your student,” you bite down on your lip, he slips up that dress and sighs at the sight. “I can smell how turned on you are.”

“Get my pen, Satoru,” you whisper, thighs trembling when he chuckles a bit, face damn near right against your cunt, but not touching, nose a centimeter away.

“Right, your pen…” he picks it up, when your hand entangles in his white locks, his lips get glossy when he licks them. He drifts the pen up, the cool metal tip slipping up your skin. “Professor, you’ve got something there.”

“Do I?” You shouldn’t fucking do it, you know better, when the pen slips your panties aside for the briefest of moments. “Ah!”

Satoru wants to devour that pretty, slick cunt he didn’t get to see properly before, he knows you want it, sliding that pen down those panties, and watching slick drool out of your little hole. His cock is aching to be inside you, but you’re not quite desperate enough, not quite needy enough yet. You still seem to think you have the upper hand, and though he’s desperate, he also is patient.

He can wait until you realize you need him.

For much more than making you cum, you’ll need him for everything in time, to take care of you, to hold you, to keep you locked up in his home – well, it’ll belong to both of you. Kids, in time, the Gojo family line being remade from the pretty cunt that’s begging for his touch, his mouth, his cock.

“Satoru…” you’re so pretty like this, your brows together, your cheeks flushed, he just pulls the pen back and adjusts your panties with his fingers, just enough to get them coated in your arousal.

“Here you go, teach,” he smiles easily, standing and leaving you on edge, slipping your dress back down. “You all right?”

“Y-yes,” you’re hastily standing, taking several breaths, cursing yourself internally for fucking acting that way. “I’m… um, sorry I dropped that.”

“No worries,” he brushes your hair back behind your ear, leaning low over you, so tall and imposing, yet his touch is incredibly soft. His thumb brushes along your jawline delicately. “I’ll see you in history tomorrow.”

“You’re… taking history too?” You ask, voice a breathy squeak damn near. Seeing him once a week with those vivid memories was torture enough, but twice a week!?

“I sure am, I can’t wait to…” he leans down and his lips brush against your ear, making you tremble, sending shivers down your spine. “Learn lessons from you. You’re just my favorite, you know?”

You can’t talk, when he pulls back to smirk at you, when you realize you damn near were begging for your college student to eat you out. Pathetic, the most unethical thing in the world, and he’s acting nonchalant, like nothing is even bothering him. You’re as embarrassed as you are soaking wet, as self loathing as you’re willing to say fuck everything and give in.

You can’t do it.

“I’ll look forward to seeing you, Gojo.” He frowns a bit at the use of his last name, as you try to gather your wits. “Class is at ten.”

“I’ll be there, teach.” You both walk out of those heavy doors, eyeing each other for just a moment. His gaze slips across your ass when you turn, darting up to the delicate curves and lines of your body.

He’ll give you what you need soon, but not until he’s much more than relief, or something to cum to.

He needs to be your everything, and he’ll make sure it happens.

After all, isn’t that what good future husbands do?

Kofi link if you wanna buy me a glass of wine - it motivates the smut!🍷

tagss- @starryeyedjester @theelegantpotato @saltwaterships @celineko20 @gorf333 @berry-marys @chiyokoemilia @re-tired-succubus @aldebrana @dazed-lavender @seellove @quinny23 @doppo-poet @getofanclub @tojislefttiddies @parasite-b @ic-slxt @melodyssillylittlethoughts @thelostkira @rocketxgirl @theeamazingshaybaby @cherrrylimade @mutsu422 @kitchen-cryptid @luciferlikesducks @vullzo @chewiebee @bogglesbon @sage-ove @youre-my-headliner @whimsicalwriting @liluvtojineteyam @ravenbc @theroyalcrouton @sakisworld @herefor-tojis-tits @thatsgayyouknow @veejiez @satoruspillow @username-irrelevant @abrielletargaryen @night-sky16 @letterstoyoursoul-byrem @sphiee @dfangirr @kodzuminx @julsssssss @ciciley97 @omgitzmami @yenayaps

[madamechrissy]

tags- @blahblahblahhhhhhhhhhhhhh @kitty-yaps @lilypichu11 @pepsicolacoochie @erensdxrling @ravenbc @starlaxyy @monster-effer @tojiswaifu2000 @nonamevenus @newyorkpoint2 @littlebodybigbimbo @5seos @aengelren @glob-bottom @straows @satorupi @lilypichu11 @thelostkira @monarchbutterfly333 @wanna-amani @all-with-angel @applepi405 gojo tags: @itsmeaudrieee @bunheadusa @strychnynegirl @jinjen @stvrf1re4 @forest-nymph420 @twinkling-moonlilie-reblogs @parasite-b @ghostreadersthings

[strychnynegirl]

New mini series by @madamechrissy is out and omfg! This is everything I knew it would be! Satoru is completely unhinged. I love his psychotic ass so much! I need him to come put his babies in me. I have no excuse for myself. How is he so fucking hot? I blame you for the state of my hormones Chrissy! I think he's ruined me. ❤️‍🔥 🫣🤭🥰😘❤️💕

[madamechrissy]

No fr I will give his unhinged ass all the babies he needs to remake the Gojo family line 🤭🤭 He's a FREAK aha he's maybe my most unhinged Toru. My teaching privileges would be revoked so fast lol reader has more self control than me :')

[madamechrissy]

I'll look After You

Pairings: Satoru Gojo x fem reader (reader is a mom)

Summary: You longed to hear from Satoru, After an epic night hooking up in a club bathroom, sure you'd been strangers, but he has your number, he made you feel so special... but... he never contacts you again. Ten months later, you have a beautiful baby named Reign, with those exact blue eyes. You never saw him again, couldn't even find him, so now, you are living your life as a single mom. Messy bun, dark circles, exhausted, you run into Satoru one day, and he sees her, his baby girl, and sees you struggling, he knows then, you're what's been missing in his life.

CW: MDNI- Sweet and emotional story, SO MUCH fluff here, Satoru is a freaking doll, misunderstanding led to him not knowing (nothing is kept from anyone on purpose) Fluffy long oneshot, watch Satoru fall in love with reader and his lil girl. Gojo being a dad and being cute! Explicit smut at the end- warnings- breed kink (it's me???) oral (f receiving) dirty talk, possessive Satoru (When isn't he?) Also some flashbacks to the original bathroom hookup (fingering, dirty talk etc) Sexual tension, 10.6k WC <3

Here is the full oneshot! Comments and reblogs SO appreciated if you enjoy <3

You often wondered about him, Satoru was his name.

As you look down at your baby girl, with her brilliant blue eyes while she’s cooing happily, giving you a gummy little grin, you wonder what he’d think if he knew about her. The random guy at the bar you gave your number to after hooking up in a bathroom, the guy who never called, the guy with no social media of which to speak. The guy you never, ever saw again.

Your baby’s father, the best thing that ever happened to you, surely, but also it was very difficult, being a single mom, you’d have to go back to work soon which you were dreading, spending sleepless nights up feeding, changing her. It had been a rough pregnancy, and a shocking one at that, people had questioned you over and over, some mentioned not having her.

But something in you knew you could do this, you could have this baby, you’re broke as fuck but she has all she needs, and she makes you so happy, but those eyes are unmistakable. No one has eyes like that, except her and her… well was he her dad? You wonder if he’d run ten million miles from you if he knew, or would he have been okay with it?

It’s odd that just a night of fun, alcohol and being on antibiotics created this amazing little girl, but you can’t be upset, not when she brightens your world. But you still ache at times, for her to have a dad, you hope you’re enough. You wonder about him though, the bright energetic man, the one that had made you feel more in one evening than anyone ever.

The last man you’d been with.

Yes, it’s been that long, Reign was two months old, so you’re damn near a year, you say it’s because you’re so busy, but something deep in you knows that you felt something for him, deeper than the obvious physical. Something about how he looked at you, at how he laughed, at how he made you feel so special.

You assume it must have been some act, clearly, here you are, alone after all. You both only knew each other’s first names, it’s true, but he had that number. Maybe it wasn’t all you thought it was? Maybe he just was that sort of guy, the one that made women think they’re his everything with one of his kisses, maybe you were just too drunk, and he was too pretty.

You blink a bit, shaking the haze thoughts of him as you yawn a bit, exhausted from Reign keeping you up all night, her tummy had been hurting. You’re sleepily putting things in the cart, baby items, groceries, the essentials, you catch sight of yourself in the mirror above the produce, wincing then. You have a messy bun and are in pajamas, god help you if you ever wanted to meet a guy.

‘Oh hi, I have a baby with a random blue eyed dude from a bar, I’m broke as fuck, and I wear pajamas to the store. Wanna date?’

Yeah. That would go over well.

“It’s… it’s… you!?” You sleepily look up then, so exhausted you barely register the six foot three man for a moment, then suddenly it all hits.

He stares at you, those blue eyes, the eyes your baby has, wide now, his pouty pink lips dropped open. He’s just as gorgeous as you remember him, like it’s some dream, you feel weak then, chest rising and falling as your breaths come too quickly. He steps closer to you then, he hasn’t seen her yet, nestled in her little car seat on the cart, you’re panicking.

“Do you even remember me? Oh my god, that night my phone broke, and I had just got it, they couldn’t transfer the numbers! And I tried to look you up? But I couldn’t find you… and I never saw you… and then- fuck I’m rambling.” He laughs nervously, swiping his hand through his snowy locks. “Forgive me, please… what I mean to say is… Hi?”

“Hi…” Your baby whines then, and Satoru pauses, blinking and you move to the side then, he steps closer when Reign opens her eyes, grinning at him.

Satoru’s heart pounds in his chest, his entire world tilts on its axis, he was already so thrown off by seeing you again, the girl he hasn’t been able to stop thinking of, but now… he looks at you in shock, you look exhausted, but so beautiful, your eyes tear up then, he watches your shoulders slump, then he looks back at the baby, realization sinking in.

“She’s… is she… there’s no way…”

“She’s yours, I only hooked up with you for the past… year.” You manage to say softly, right in the middle of the fruit aisle, Satoru was finding out you have his baby.

“You did this alone?” He says then, blinking back emotions for a girl he barely knew, but who now has a part of him, a part he wants to know so badly suddenly, shocking him.

“I had no clue who you were, how to tell you, even if so, it’s not your responsibility okay? I take care of her just fine, I make it work.” Satoru’s heart breaks then, seeing how tired you are, seeing the endless baby items and cheap toilet paper, a cheap bottle of wine, is that all you get yourself?

You did this alone, you have his baby alone, altering your life while he’s living his just the same, partying with his best friends, working and living a luxurious life. Satoru was rich, and it’s clear his baby and his baby’s mother are struggling, and he’s here doing what? Could he have tried harder to find you!? Could he…

“We’re okay, you don’t have to worry. I’d never come for you for anything, I am happy being her mommy.” You say with a tired smile, reaching to touch her little chubby cheek, and Satoru has never seen anything so beautiful, the two of you.

He’s felt so empty for this year, is this what he was missing?

“Can I… please… Can I know her?” He asks, gulping now, and you blink in shock, nodding quickly.

“I would love that.” You can’t stop your tears then, sniffling and shaking your head. “Please, let’s talk out of a produce aisle?” You whisper, he nods quickly, unable to take his eyes off you, off his baby.

After paying for your groceries, which you protest to, he’s out by your car now, a little minivan that makes him smile, picturing you as some pretty soccer mom already. You take her out of the car seat then, holding her carefully, smiling up nervously at Satoru. His chest swells at seeing you hold her, some instinct takes over, he instantly knows then.

He needs to take care of you both.

“I thought you’d freak out if you knew, be upset or want nothing to do with…”

“God no, no. I mean I don’t know what to think, but… she’s beautiful. Like her mom.” His words make you flush.

“I’m a wreck, Satoru, look at me.”

“You just need some help, doing it all alone?”

“You don’t have to, okay? I can do it.”

He brushes a tendril back off your temple, sighing as he looks at you, at those dark circles that just make you more beautiful, but show the fragility you’re keeping under wraps as best as you can. “I want to help, this is on me too.”

“It’s not, I was on the pill but… antibiotics.” You grumble, holding the baby to your chest now, she is sucking on her little binkie, bright pink. “It’s all on me, I’d love you to be in her life, but don’t feel obligated to pay for anything.”

“You’re stubborn, will she be too?” He narrows his eyes, and you giggle then, the first time in a long time you’ve heard that sound.

“She’s already stubborn, she gave me a hard time, wouldn’t come out.” She wriggles then, and you step a little closer to Satoru. “Wanna hold her?”

“Can you… tell me how to?” He asks, and you smile at him, for a tall, buff man he’s so sweet and precious, nervous even.

“Yes, hold your arms like this.” He does as you ask, holding his arms out, as you gently place Reign in his arms. “Hold her head just so. There you go, hey Reign, this is your dad.”

“Reign?” He asks, in shock as he looks into her eyes, his eyes, but she has your nose, your hair. His lips. She’s… “Perfect.”

“Isn’t she? Is it okay if I call you her dad?”

“It’s… perfect.” He says again, smiling at you, tears making his snowy lashes spike just so, you feel so complete then somehow. You can’t explain it, seeing this melts you, and Reign is so happy she's cooing, sucking on her binky and staring at him, you watch him melt right with you. “HI there, dumpling.”

“Dumpling? She's got a nickname huh.” He grins so big, nodding.

“I moved out of the city for the past year but I just came back to town. How far are you?”

“Oh like ten minutes. Would you… like to come over tomorrow? I'd say today but my place is a wreck.”

“I'd love to. Can I get her something please?”

“You don't have to… but she can always use binkies she throws these things. Ugh, see?” Reign spits out her binky and Satoru snorts as you catch it. She then touches his cheek, and he chokes up.

“I… oh my god. I love her?” He whispers in wonder, and you exhale, blinking tears that refuse to stop falling. “Is that crazy?”

“No. I loved her when I first saw her too. Fuck I'm a wreck “

“Hey…” He steps closer, handing you her carefully and then placing his big hands on your shoulders. “I am here now for both of you, however you'll let me be. Shh.” He brushes your back, resting his head on yours as you hold her close.

“I never thought I'd see you, tell you. I'm overwhelmed. I'm sorry.”

“Yeah me too.”

Of course he is, fuck. He just found out he's a dad, and he's honestly taking it better than anyone could. He brushes your tears away, and your pulse quickens, you clear your throat then. “We don't even know each other, it's insane huh?”

“Absolutely insane. But… I can't wait to spend time with her.” He says softly, you smile up at him, trying not to read so much into it, so happy he wants to be in her life but you have to remember that doesn't mean with you.

“Come over tomorrow I'll cook you lunch? Please don't break your phone again.” He laughs then, nodding as you two exchange numbers.

“Last name is Gojo. I hope one day hers can be?” And yours, he thinks, but he knows it's crazy to say, as he watches you smile so pretty through your tears.

“Maybe we can do that someday. Well, Reign, say bye to dad.” Satoru kisses her little forehead, leaning up then, thinking of kissing you. You both stand there a moment before he opens your door, and you set Reign back in her little pink car seat. You smile up at him again. “I am sorry I'm in pajamas by the way, ugh.”

“They're cute, little snowmen.” You snort, rolling your eyes as you slide in your car, hoping you will see him tomorrow with everything. “See you both soon.”

You drive away, and Satoru calls his driver and assistant then. “Can you order me everything a baby girl needs? And I need it by tomorrow.”

******

There’s a knock on your door, you peek in the mirror one more time, you took a bath last night, your hair is shimmering and clean for once, you have just a little concealer on for those dark circles, a little lip gloss. You’re wearing clothes and not sweats or pajamas, a little top with a cardigan and jeans, nothing fancy but you look human again.

You can’t believe that Satoru will come, until you open that door and see him, standing next to a tired looking dark haired man holding an insane amount of glittery pink bags. Satoru’s grinning at you, wearing Gucci shades and a dress shirt probably worth more than your rent, only one little bag in his hand swinging side to side as he greets you.

“Satoru, you… what is all this?” You ask curiously, and he shrugs a broad shoulder, handing you the little bag.

“All that is for Regin, this is for you though.”

“What!? It’s too many things!”

“Miss, may I?”

You realize he’s just standing there struggling, and come to then. “Oh, yes I’m so sorry! Put them on the table?”

Satoru and Kiyotaka walk in then, you have a little place, it’s about the size of Satoru’s living room altogether, but it’s comfy and clean, lived in and every bit of it has something of you. He sees pictures of you pregnant on your little silver fridge, pictures of Reign all over, along with Christmas cards all placed with magnets. He sees you’ve baked cookies, too, the scent making him starve.

Almost as much as your scent, so sweet and intoxicating, as he stands next to you, gesturing to the bags. “I wanted to get her something, remember?”

“This is a whole store though!” Kiyotaka leaves now, and you’re delving into the bags, gasping as you pull out the softest, fuzziest pink blanket. “Oh my god…”

“I just had them buy everything for a girl? Is pink good?”

You giggle then, smiling as you pull out a pretty pink dress. “She doesn’t know colors yet, Satoru.”

Of course she doesn’t.

Satoru truly doesn’t know shit about kids, he called and told his mom, asking for advice, and almost gave her a heart attack he thinks. “Of course not, I… where is she? Is she napping?”

“She is, but don’t worry she usually wakes up soon. Oh these are so cute, how expensive are these!? She’s gonna wear them for like a week!” You ask then, pulling out a little baby pair of fancy shoes, then two more. “She can’t even walk yet… ah, but these are so cute though.” You’re clearly conflicted, he chuckles a bit, then you stand up. “Oh my god, I’m a shitty host!”

“You’re cute.” His words, all husky with that deep voice of his, make you flush now, making you even cuter to him. “You look pretty today.”

“Oh thank you, I didn’t want you to think I’m constantly a monster.” He snorts, rolling his eyes.

“You’re cute either way. This was you pregnant?” He asks, as you lead him to the kitchen.

“Yes, I was a whale, oh god.” He touches the photo then, a longing surging through him, he missed this, he missed you like this. He feels an ache washing through him, looking at your glowing face and round tummy.

“No, you were beautiful.” Your breath catches, eyes shooting to his as he looks at you now, feeling something pulling you towards him, it’s like he takes the air out of your lungs just standing here.

“You’re very sweet, Satoru… thank you.” You manage to breathe out the words, when he looks down at your body now, heating it up with his gaze.

“Did you like being pregnant?”

The words throw images in your mind, of him over you, putting more babies in you, fucking insane ones that you shove down quickly. He was clearly caring, and wanting to be involved, you needed to keep your thoughts to that and only that, despite the way your stomach is fluttering at his proximity.

“I did love being pregnant, feeling her move and kick, singing to my tummy and feeling her calm down. But towards the end it was really rough, because she decided she wasn’t coming out.” You say with a little laugh, Satoru can see in how you speak how much you adore her. “Would you like to see more pictures later?”

“I’d love to. You didn’t open what I got you.”

“You shouldn’t get me anything. Oh, do you want some cookies?”

“Yes please.” He starts munching down on them, moaning. “You baked these?”

“I bake when I’m nervous? It gets insane how much I bake.” He smiles then, you’re tucking your shimmering hair behind your ear, grabbing him a glass of milk before you go grab the little bag.

“Open it, now.” He sips his milk as you sit on the barstool by the counter, fingers gently pulling apart tissue paper, until you open a little box and see a gift card.

“To a spa!? I haven’t ever been to a spa? What I can’t!”

“You will. When you’re comfortable I could watch her, so you could get some time to yourself.” You sniffle then, the kindness of him after all the overwhelming months you’ve had is too much, you shake your head.

“I can’t, it’s all too much, you shouldn’t feel like you have to do this!” He walks to you then, brushing a tear from your cheek, exhaling as he leans down so close.

“Sweetheart, I’m fucking rich, okay?”

“I assumed… wealthy with your clothes…”

“No, filthy fucking rich. Let me spend it on my baby and get her mom just a little thing please? How can you take care of her without any care for you?”

“I just do it, Satoru. I just do it.” He brushes more of your tears now, his lips far too close, you still don’t know him truly but the gesture is melting every defense you may have had up.

“Just go relax one day, not now, when you’re more comfortable.” Reign starts crying then, making Satoru back off just as you’d leaned your chin up, and you two had been so close. You back away too, nervously standing.

“I’ll go get her for you.” You say with a big smile, eyes still watery, and then you bring her out, Satoru’s heart swells even more than it did seeing you, he eagerly picks her up this time, versus being so nervous as before. “Dad spoiled you already.”

“Not even close to spoiled yet.” He murmurs, snuggling her to him.

“Have a seat, please.” He sits on the couch with her, you take one of the many little blankets, gently laying it over her and then sitting on the couch with him, as he stares at her in wonder.

“She barely cries?”

“That’s around you, it seems. She likes you already.” Your words fill him with far too much happiness, a happiness he’s never known, but also such a longing.

“I wish I could have been there.” He whispers, brokenly, the handsome white haired man holding your little girl, and suddenly you can picture it, maybe his big bright smile during what was a difficult labor.

“You’re here now.” You assure him, a hand gentle on his shoulder, the caress delicate before you think better of it, pulling your hand back. “I thought about you a lot, I mean… I tried to find you.”

“I wish you had.”

“Really?” He nods then, emotional. “Satoru Gojo, you surprised me, I thought for sure you’d turn and run.”

“Nah, why? Look at her.” She’s blinking her long lashes, grinning at him then. “So what do I like… do with her? Besides holding her?”

You laugh softly then, it’s so easy to have him around, it feels so natural that it’s weird. “Well you can feed her a bottle I pumped, but I breast feed mostly.”

He gulps now, looking at your top, where your nipples were pressing against the thin fabric. “Oh?”

“Yeah, depending on her mood, sometimes she is vicious. I’ll show you.” You gently take your top up, feeling his gaze when you pull off your nursing bra.

“That thing is easy access.” He murmurs, you giggle a bit, nervous for him to see you when you let it drop, revealing one of your pretty breasts to him, leaving him dazed before he snaps out of it, handing you Reign.

It’s very intimate, sitting with him while you feed her, she’s sucking hard, so hard you wince then, her little long nails digging into your breast as Satoru smirks. “You’re gonna laugh at this pain?”

“She’s just like her dad, look at her go. A pro.” You snort, rolling your eyes and shaking your head as Reign aggressively punches your breasts for more milk.

“I wouldn’t know, I don’t think you did that.” You murmur thoughtfully, pushing back flashes of the night while she suckles.

“That’s a tragedy.” You look down shyly, lashes casting shadows on your cheeks, while you feed his daughter, his daughter, it’s still not comprehending, it’s still taking him a lot to conceive it’s real. “Look at her face, oh my god!”

Your heart warms as he leans over, and Reign has stopped drinking, a goofy smile on her face. “She’s milk drunk.”

“What now? She looks high as fuck.” You hold in your laughter so you don’t wake her now, her eyes are shut and she’s still sucking on nothing.

“She does look stoned, it always cracks me up. Do you wanna put her to bed? I’ll show you where she sleeps.”

He nods and takes her again, watching your nipple with just a droplet of milk on it, he swipes it away before he can think better, making you shoot your eyes to him, lips parted. You hastily put the bra back up as a blush pinkens Satoru’s cheeks, slipping down your top, his touch on your sensitive nipples almost ended you just now. The desire for him in every way is almost insane.

You show him to the only room in your little place, it’s got a crib and a bassinet, and a tiny little bed that he assumes you must sleep in. You start wrapping her up in the new pink blanket then, swaddling her so tight, he watches in wonder at it, as you bundle her up.

“She’ll like a little burrito.” You snort in laughter, trying to keep quiet and covering your mouth then, looking up at Satoru in amusement.

“She kind of is? Babies like to be swaddled, they feel comfy.”

“You know so much… Have you had any experience before?” You both watch as she settles now.

“No, I learned all this from lots of books and bugging the shit out of my mother. Though she even thought I was crazy to have her. But something…” You trail off then, shaking your head. “Sorry.”

“No, please go on. Something?”

“Something told me I was meant to have her, it sounds crazy. But… I knew I could do it, even if it’s a lot.”

Satoru’s hand comes to rest on the small of your back, as you turn your head to look back up at him, seeing the emotions written all over his perfect face. “You’re doing great.”

You break down then at that, sobbing against his chest as he holds you, soothing rubs on your back. “I needed that, shit I’m sorry.”

“Shh, it’s okay.” You stay like that for a moment, letting him hold you against his chest, your face buried against his shirt, tears spilling freely while you take several breaths. “You’re a great mom, I can already see.”

“Shit…” You pull yourself together, taking several breaths and leaning back then, Satoru’s cupping your face and it takes everything not to kiss him, this man who you still barely know. “I really appreciate that. It’s been hard so far, but I love her so much, it's impossible how deeply.”

“I can feel it already. You, missy, need that break.”

“I couldn’t…”

“I want to be involved, I want to care for her, and that means her mom too. Yeah?” You shake your head, earning his little glare. “Stubborn little brat.”

“Excuse me!?” You glare right back, and he grins.

“You are one!”

“Me a brat?” Your eyes narrow as you cross your arms.

“Mmhmm.” Satoru tilts your chin up, your head falls back then, and he imagines entwining his fingers in it, imagining kissing you just like that night. He leans even closer and you pull back, clearing your throat.

“We should step out so we don’t wake her.” You murmur, when you’re back in the living room you’re carefully folding all the clothes he’s bought. “Oh, I promised lunch! You up for stir fry?”

“I’m up for anything you wanna make, after eating those cookies.” You set to work, and soon the two of you are eating lunch together, Satoru moans as he devours the food. “My god you’re a good cook.”

“Thank you, I love to cook.” You nibble on your rice thoughtfully. “Ugh, I’m gonna hate leaving her to work.”

Satoru scowls now. “Huh?”

“Maternity leave is over in two weeks. I’m just going to work part time though, so I’ll still see her plenty. Maybe I’ll bring her to work?”

“Where do you work?”

“A library, I’m very exciting.” Satoru grins now.

“You look like a little librarian.”

“What’s that mean?”

“Goodie goodie, despite the bathroom…” You both quiet then, as his mind whirls, and yours spins, remembering.

“S-Satoru!” You’d cried out as his fingers had pumped in and out of your tight little entrance, soaking his fingers as he kissed down your neck, you watched your reflection in the mirror as he pressed you against the sink, free hand gripping you right under your chin.

“Fuck, look at you? So sexy…” He murmurs, the club's music pounding like your heart in your chest. He has a big hand muffling your cries as you soak his hands, dripping all over him. “Hear her?”

His murmur against your ear makes you tremble, shivers sending down your spine as he builds that pressure inside you. You nod, drooling against his palm, when he is hitting that spot that has your eyes rolling back, pressing on it over and over with his long, thick fingers. You’re screaming into his hand, ass arching against him.

“That’s it, pretty, cum f’me huh?”

You both get quiet then, you see it clear as day, your face in that mirror as he’d filled you, and he remembers sucking your juices off his fingers, god it’s been almost a year and he can’t get your taste off his mind. He’d been with a few women here and there since he didn’t think he’d see you again, but they were nothing like it, nothing like you.

How your body responded, every little muffled cry, he remembers dying to get you fully naked, planning it all out when he would call you. He wanted you to not even leave his bed, he’d fully taste you, make you cum with his mouth. He’d get to look into your eyes as he filled you so good, have your legs up over his shoulders while he pumped inside.

It’s like electricity in your quiet little home, the two of you sitting in a daze, your breath comes quicker when he leans across the table, brushing your cheek with his fingers, feeling the heat on them. “Warm?” He teases.

“Um, a little.” You stand then, taking his plate and smiling, acting as normal as you can. “All done?”

“Yeah, thank you.” He watches you wash them then, he can’t even fathom not having a dishwasher, but you’re there with your pretty hands and that sponge. He doesn’t want you to work, he doesn’t want you even doing this, you should just enjoy the baby.

But with how stubborn you are, how independent? He doesn’t know if you’ll even take his offer when he makes it.

“How about you come to my place with the little Dumpling this weekend? Maybe… stay a night? I’ll have her something set up.”

“Stay the night?” You nearly break the dish you’re drying, Satoru catches it, suddenly next to you. “Who are you, Edward Cullen?”

“Pshh, I look like a glittery fucking vampire?”

“A bit.” You’re both laughing softly then, he dries the plates and you show him where to put them up. “It’s nice having a giant around.”

“Almost whacked my head on your ceiling fans.”

“The hardships of being stupidly tall, hmm?”

“Hmm.” He leans against the counter now, snowy lashes lowering as he studies you intently, those eyes that just do something to you, even after this long. It feels like you’ve known him, when one of his hands delicately brushes down your shoulder, feeling the soft knit of your cardigan. “You dress like a little librarian.”

“Do I now? Not that night.”

His nostrils flare just a bit. “Not that night.”

Satoru had you lifted on that sink, sinking inside you for the first time, damn near whimpering in your ear as he kissed on your breasts, trying to yank them out as much as he could but failing. “Slutty little dress.”

“S-slutty? You’re… slutty!” You’re clinging to him as he stuffs you so full, too fucking full, your cunt is drooling down his veiny length as he fucks into you, your thighs pressing against his narrow hips.

“Both are, listen to her… ha…” He’s got one hand cupping your face, looking at you before he slams his lips down, tongues dancing while his cock keeps thrusting, tip dragging your spot, as you fall apart in the bathroom, a tangle of limbs intermingling with muffled cries. “F-fuck…”

“That dress still does things to my mind.” He admits, and you wonder then, how’d you both get so close? How were you nearly flush against him?

“Does it now?” Your attempt at a tease meets with a broken voice, and you clear your throat, looking down shyly. “I don’t think my ass would fit in it now, your baby girl gave me some hips.”

“I bet they’re sexy.”

“She gave me stretch marks too.”

“Sexy.”

“You’re ridiculous.” You shake your head then, brushing a hand up his chest, wondering just what his body looks like. He's clearly built, you can tell he's muscular, but you have to wonder just how he looks. “You… don’t date anyone?”

“Nah. I mean I have had some dates this year, but nothing serious.” He couldn’t say it’s because of you, because he compares women to this random girl he felt such a pull to, and now it’s a million times worse. Even picturing cute little stretch marks from having his baby makes Satoru feral, it takes a lot not to show you, to act cool and calm with a little smirk.

“I haven’t at all. I mean… I’m so busy with Reign, and the pregnancy.”

“Been a while then?” His words are full of suggestion, his hand now brushes the air across your waist, hovering, like he wants to pull you in, and you’d let him, when Reign starts crying. You both step apart, his hands in his pockets, yours nervously fidgeting with your sweater.

“I’ll go get her.” You come back with her now, and Satoru lights up at seeing her in your arms, bending down to kiss her downy soft hair, sighing.

“Why does she smell so good?”

“Baby smell. I know, it’s addictive.” You inhale her scent, smiling as you are once again a centimeter from Satoru’s lips, your gaze goes to them, glossy and plump.

“Will you come this weekend?”

“Y-yeah, I’ll be there Satoru.”

“I am going to learn things, I promise.”

“Satoru, just take it one day at a time. You’re doing great.” He nods then, gulping down his every emotion as he leaves you two, and it feels so awful and wrong to leave you both, every force in the world pulling him back.

“How’d it go, Mr. Gojo?” Kiyotaka asks, as he’s driving him back home.

“Amazing. They're so beautiful.”

“They?”

“I mean…” You both are. “Kiyotaka, do you know shit about babies?” The man smiles tiredly then, shaking his head.

“No, Mr. Gojo, but I see you’re so… happy?”

Satoru has a silly grin then. “I am, I want to set something up for them, think you can order more baby things? For my place?”

“Certainly, Sir.” He smiles as he watches Satoru in the rearview mirror, he never would have pictured something like this, but it’s clear Satoru is beaming.

*****

“Come in, come in!” You pause in awe as you carry Reign inside Satoru’s insanely beautiful home. It's probably ten of your place if not more, sleek and elegant, everything brand new and sparkling clean. He’s instantly taking Reign, who is babbling at him as he cradles her, melting you completely before you even take a step.

“Your place is beautiful.” You murmur, he smiles at you then, taking your diaper bag off your arm and leading you inside.

“Thank you for coming, I missed her already!? Yes I did, dumpling!” He plants kisses all over her face now, Satoru Gojo holding your baby just did things to your heart, rewired your brain, seeing them both light up.

“She missed you too.” You murmur softly, Satoru looks at you then, white teeth glinting under the soft lights, taking in your pretty dress.

“Mama looks pretty.” He whispers, loud on purpose clearly, you’re a blushing mess, when Satoru’s blue eyes sweep over you.

“You’re too much.” You say, but you’re lowkey falling bad, you’d talked with him so much these past few days, as he asked endless questions, but also as you two got to know each other. You’d fallen asleep on the phone last night, Satoru had listened to your light little snore, smiling and falling asleep with you.

It seems too easy, which terrifies you, but so far it’s been Satoru being excited to be a dad, so you keep trying to remind yourself that is what this was, but it’s hard when he looks at you that way. “Too much? You haven’t seen shit. Come on.”

“Oh god.” You follow him now, as he leads you through a wide open hall, winking at you.

“Ya ready?”

“I think so?” He opens the door and it takes your breath for a moment, it’s a fully done nursery with everything a baby could need and more. There’s a pretty crib, a bassinet, a rocking chair even, it’s painted a baby pink with little teddy bears lining the ceiling. 

“I know, I went overboard, I don’t know how to not go overboard when I do things? And I want the best for her? I know you probably won’t be-”

“Satoru.”

“Hmm?”

You smile then, placing a hand over his where it rests on Reign’s lap. “It’s beautiful, it’s so beautiful.”

He exhales in relief then. “Yeah!?”

You’re giggling now. “Yeah.”

“Mommy likes it, yes!” His enthusiasm is infectious, it’s the first time you think you’ve truly been light hearted in so long, as he places her gently in the crib. “I had my mom go crazy and paid for it to get set up, really I did nothing but pay out.”

“It’s the most thoughtful thing in the world.” You hug him then on impulse, before pulling back shyly, your eyes meet each other, his hands on your waist. “But how will she go back to my shitty place? I hope she doesn’t get bougie.”

“I want her bougie.” You laugh again softly, she’s playing with the little ovehanging baby mobile, she’s enamored by the hanging stars. You watch him lean over the crib then. “She’s a princess, you know.”

You can’t take it then, you have to step out, shaking now, struggling to catch your breath, when Satoru steps out with you, looking at you with concern. Your feelings of him are utterly overwhelming, the beauty of Satoru fawning over his little girl puts these thoughts in your mind, of being a real family. As someone who didn’t have a father, and didn’t think Reign would, the hope filling you is so much.

“I got too excited.” He nervously admits, leaning against the wall next to you and rubbing the back of his neck. “I want her to have everything, if my mom didn’t talk me out of it she’d already have a pony.” You snort then, even through your tears. “There, a little laugh.”

“It’s not you, this is amazing, it’s just… I planned my life, I planned it all out with her, alone. And now… we won’t be? I don’t know how to process it, how to really believe it. But I’m so happy she’ll have it.”

“C’mere.” He pulls you against him into a big hug, arms wrapped around you tightly, bringing you against his chest. “I didn’t think I’d have this, a baby girl? I know what you mean, it’s not what I pictured.”

“Exactly. And… maybe I enjoy this too much.” You look up at him now, his lips quirked up at the side.

“Me too much?” He raises a brow.

“Maybe.”

“Hmm.” Satoru leans down close, when the doorbell rings, he exhales then, laughing softly, pressing a kiss on your forehead. “So I may have invited my mom. Is that okay?”

“Of course it is.” You are trying to calm your nerves when you meet her, long silky white hair and bright blue eyes. It's clear those genetics are strong, she surprises you by wrapping you in a hug.

“Where’s this grandbaby of mine?”

Soon she’s melting over Reign like the two of you have been, and Satoru’s made you both hot cocoa, family isn’t something you’ve really had, and to feel this comfortable and good? It’s almost like some dream, as you all are so cozy inside, and Reign is just getting fawned over, giving you a little bit of a reprieve until she’s hungry.

“I have a bottle, do you wanna feed her, Satoru?”

“I can do that?” You smile at him, nodding, and soon he’s got a bottle in her mouth, you position his arm just so as his mom watches you both with a knowing smile on her face.

“You know, I could always babysit sometime. For you two… to go out.” You both blush now, looking up at her.

“Go out?” You almost squeak the words out, sipping your cocoa now that it's gone just a little cold, enamored with watching Satoru.

“Yes, go out. Parents need time away.”

“We’re not… um…”

“I’d take you out.” Satoru says softly, and you feel those butterflies in your tummy going wild.

“Yeah?” You manage to ask, failing at being subtle.

“Yeah.” He smirks a bit, then Reign coughs. “What’s wrong!?”

“She needs to burp, calm down.” You lift her against your chest, patting her back now. “This is what you’ll do, it’s just some air in her tummy.”

“Oh thank god.”

“You three are precious.” His mom checks her phone then. “I have a meeting, but I hope to see much more of you both.”

“Me too Mrs. Gojo!” She smiles, planting a kiss on Reign’s head then yours before she leaves. “She’s amazing!?”

“I know, right? She was dying to meet her.” His hand rubs Reign’s little back, so big it’s as long as her almost, his other arm resting over the couch, brushing against you when he leans closer. “Thank you for having her.”

“Oh, Satoru… I just wish…”

“Yeah, me too.” He inhales and exhales, his eyes swimming with emotions. “I wish badly. I hate that I missed her coming into the world.”

“I’m so sorry… but I swear, she’ll not remember that, she won’t remember it at all.”

“But you remember.”

“Satoru, it's not your fault, don’t dare blame yourself.” He sighs now, his hand dropping off Reign to rest on your thigh over the thin black tights you wore.

“I don’t want you working yet. Will you let me help?”

“Satoru…” You shake your head. “You are not going to pay my bills.”

“Then stay with me? Stay the year with your baby… with our baby, please. She should have her mom home.”

“It’s too much of an offer, I can’t just live here! We aren’t even…”

“If you hate it I’ll get you your own place. I promise. Just let me take care of you… of both of you?” You stand, turning away, Satoru’s hands grip the sides of your arms as he leans close. “Please think about it.”

“I’m not a charity case, Satoru. I’m okay where I am.”

“I know that, okay? But I missed all of the pregnancy, I didn’t get to help with any medical bills, anything. Please just…” He turns your chin to face him, his glossy lips ever tempting as they hover just above yours. “Please think about it.”

“It’s overwhelming, okay?” He nods then, you lean back just so, feeling his lithe body against your back, leaning back just so.

“You’re not alone anymore.”

“Satoru…” He wraps his arm around you, resting his chin on your head. “You don’t have to do all this.”

“I want to.” For you and Reign, but Satoru can tell your pride is getting in the way, and he can tell you’re conflicted. “Give it time, no rush, yeah?”

*****

After a few weeks of constantly being at Satoru’s house, you damn near almost live there. You come over at about the same time Satoru’s off work, and he learns more and more about Reign every single day. He’s learned how to change diapers, how to feed her, and learns what certain cries mean. Reign rolls over for the first time on her mat and you’ve never seen anyone more excited than Satoru.

He takes selfies with her and they are Insta famous, he has Reign’s name painted on the nursery door, though she tends to still sleep in the room you stay in, with her little bassinet. Satoru’s had you in the guest room, but what you don’t know is at night he checks on you both, he kisses Reign’s forehead and tucks you in, he watches how cute the both of you are.

He watches you with Reign, ever attentive, and it’s about the time you’d have to go back to work, he can feel how devastated you are thinking of it, when you all are quietly sitting in the living room, having nibbled on takeout as Reign sleeps. You take a breath then, looking at the man you’re falling deeper for every day, every moment you spend with him.

“Satoru…”

“Yeah, sweets?” His little nickname always does something to you.

“I would love to stay with you, to stay home with her for a few more months, if you’re sure it’s still okay?”

Satoru jumps up then, picking you up and spinning you, you’re laughing breathlessly as he eases you down, and you’re flush against his body. Despite the endless times you’ve ached to kiss him, to do so much more, you both have been a little apprehensive, you both don’t know what’s okay, what’s not. You both feel far, far too much and are afraid of it.

“You’ll stay!?”

“I’ll stay. But I’ll cook, and help pick up, and-”

“Shh. Just stay.” He’s cupping your face, he’s so close you can almost taste his sweet breath, your lashes lowering over your eyes now. “I want you with her, let me do that for you? And… I want you here. All the time I… miss you when you’re not.”

“Are you giving me puppy dog eyes!?” You demand with a grin, and he pouts his lips.

“Maybe. Is it working?”

“It’s working.” You don’t stop yourself, not this once, when you lean up on your tiptoes, pressing your lips to his, and when you do, the eclectic shocks shoot from his lips, it’s just like that night a year ago, but more intense. You pull back nervously, looking away. “I’m sorry, I…”

“No.” Is all he says, pulling you back, bending low and taking over your lips, he moves them gently over yours, big hands taking over your waist and dragging you closer, mouth opening, tongue slipping past the seam of your lips. Your mouth opens in a gasp, and then his tongue delves inside it. “Don’t apologize for kissing me.”

“Satoru…” He’s exhaling against your lips, kissing you again, soon your back is on the couch, and he’s moving over you, his hand trailing your waist, up to your breasts, your hands clinging to his shirt, gripping the smooth fabric as you fall apart from his kisses. They’re sweet, intense kisses, slow like he wants to savor every moment with you, growing more and more insistent.

He pulls up, just looking at you now, your thighs are around his hips, you feel that ache between them, not just physically either, you crave more and more of him, and you have been since you saw him again. You both just look at each other, speaking without words as he slips up your top, and you yank it nervously, earning his frown, stopping your hand.

“Not ready yet?” He asks, you shake your head.

“You won’t… I’m not… I don’t like my tummy anymore.” You admit softly, tears threatening to spill, Satoru lifts your shirt then, leaning down and running his thumb across the little stretch marks Reign left.

“Well, baby girl… I love your tummy. Should I show you?” You shake your head, breaths coming quicker and quicker now. “You had my baby, you carried her for me, and she left you more beautiful than before.”

“Oh, Satoru…” He kisses your tummy then, and desire shoots straight through you, your hands finally entwining in that silky hair you’ve craved to feel for so long, he’s looking at you under lidded eyes, pressing kisses lower.

“You’re beautiful everywhere. I bet it was sexy pregnant.”

You giggle just a bit, making Satoru smile against your skin, fingers tugging down your pants then, earning a little cry that makes his cock so hard it hurts. He’s been dying to taste you on his tongue, to feel you around his fingers, watch that pretty face in pleasure again, but he’s tried to take his time, tried to focus on Reign, but the thing is, he loves both of you.

He’s in love with you.

The way you move, the way you smile, the way you are with his baby? How your eyes brighten when Reign did something new, how you blushed when he gave you a compliment. But also, how your hips are shifting now, how your eyes are getting lidded, dilated with desire, and how the little silver lines run across where his baby was inside you.

“Satoru… that feels too good I… mmm!” You cry out quietly when his fingers find your slick heat, finding you drenched already.

“You this easy for me?” He asks, you want to retort, something witty, but you can’t, you just gasp out in pleasure when he’s got your pants off, and he’s parting your thighs, long fingers pressing in the plush of your skin as he stares at your pussy. “Fuck you’re pretty.”

You’re trembling as you’re fully bare in front of him, his breath on your clit alone makes you jerk, he places a teasing flick of his tongue right on your clit, you cover your mouth to hide the pathetic moan. He flicks his tongue again, thumps slipping the plump lips of your sex apart, watching the wetness pool out of your little hole, he catches it with his tongue, groaning as he tastes you.

Your hands clutch his hair so hard you’re tugging at his head, eyes rolling back in your skull, biting your lip hard not to make too much noise. He looks up at you, slinking his tongue all the way up your dripping pussy now, from your hole to your clit, groaning as you drip all over his mouth, his face.

“It tastes as good as I remember.” He whispers, enjoying that ruby red blush on your cheeks. “You’re so cute like this, sensitive?”

“You’re torturing me.” He chuckles, the hot air making you whimper, a sound that shoots desire through him. “Please…”

“Please what, pretty?” He casually licks you once more, leisurely as if he has all the time in the world, tilting his head just so to flick the underside of it, watching the tiny little clit twitch. “Use your words, sweetheart.”

“Make me cum, please.” He moans then, devouring your pussy, his movements less teasing and precise and sloppy, now, lapping up all the juices that pour as you cry out in pleasure, hips bucking up for more, then you feel his fingers sliding in and out of you now, pressing in deep, finding that spongy spot that makes you shiver.

“There you go, you’re clenching me s’good. Can’t wait to feel you around me.” He murmurs, curling his fingers just so,  your legs are shaking so hard, you’re falling off that edge, chest rising and falling with your breaths.

“M-gonna… Toru…” Satoru moans now, the sound vibrating against your heat, he looks at you then, eyes dilated and dark, leaning up, his chin coated in your slick, shimmering.

“Cum for me, baby.” At that he sucks your clit into his mouth, tongue swirling around it, humming and making you shatter under him.

You come so hard you see stars bursting, eyes rolled back, your mouth in the most slutty O as you gasp out, you’re arching off the couch, his name a quiet little broken scream in the quiet room. You feel his smug grin against your sensitive bud, as he nips at it then with his teeth, making you jerk and whimper, leaning back to study your clenching little hole.

“There you go, so good for me, hmm?” He coles those words, slipping up you now, sliding his finger up and down your drippy slit, kissing you, letting you taste yourself off him.

“Need you. All of you.” You murmur then, he pauses his kisses, looking down at you, and emotions surge and mix with the pleasure, the insane need for him to fill you, over and over again.

“If we do, I want more than just… co parenting. I want more than just sex. I want…” Satoru gulps then, cupping your face carefully, your hand comes to grip his wrist, thumb brushing over his strong, fluttering pulse.

“I want more too.” You admit, swallowing nervously, as one of your hands rests on his chest.

“I want you to be my girl.” You’re crying then, nodding eagerly at his sweet and pure words, when he’s kissing you again, salty tears mixing with your taste. “Will you be? My girl?”

“I would love to be yours.” He moans again, standing then, helping you up, your arms wrap around his neck as he carries you, your lips don’t separate when he backs into his bedroom.

“Want you in my bed, every night.” He whispers, easing you onto the floor to stand, slipping your top off and revealing your breasts which sway just a bit, you eagerly unbutton his shirt, showing every inch of his chiseled, perfect frame. You gasp when you finally see him, fingertips trailing across sculpted muscles.

“You’re perfect, Satoru.” You whisper in wonder, and he cups your face again, kissing you deeply, a kiss so beautiful it ruins you forever, Satoru has ruined you forever, you know now what you knew that night deep down. “It’s only you.”

“It’s only you. You’re perfect.” You gasp as he picks you up again, laying you on the bed, you’re eagerly tugging on his pants, gasping when you see his huge, veiny length, something you’d had inside of you bud hadn’t even seen. You stroke him, earning his soft whine, he pins your wrist above your head.

“Lemme touch him, please?” You beg, earning both your hands pinned, as you laugh breathlessly.

“No way, I’m not busting quick, I’ve waited too long for this.” You giggle, earning his pretty glare. “I’m not.”

“You didn’t bust quick that night?”

“Yeah, I did.” You shake your head at him, gasping when he’s pressing against your entrance, he tenses, muscles flexing, when suddenly you both hear it, Reign on the baby monitor. “Shit.”

“Shit…” You both stay completely silent. “Maybe she’ll stop?”

“I sure hope so. Need to get you pregnant again.”

You blink in shock now, as Reign quiets. “Huh!?”

Satoru grins, a devious fucking grin, as he presses your legs apart, one over his shoulder, sinking in as you bite your lip, so filled by him, trembling beneath him as you roll your hips. “I need to see you pregnant, gonna be so fucking sexy.”

“You’re insane, Satoru Gojo.” You gasp when he shoves his length fully inside you, bottoming out and you’re so full you can’t breathe, clinging to his bare shoulders desperately as he moans, feeling your walls flutter.

“You didn’t know that yet? I’ll have to show you, sweetheart.” He’s fucking you then so good, thrusting in and out of your slick cunt, which is drooling all the way down his veiny length. He’s smirking as he rolls his hips just so, watching you start to come apart. “You love it, huh? Cock filling you so deep?”

“Please…” His leaking tip kisses your cervix, you shudder under him, cumming so hard you can’t tether yourself anymore, and he revels in it, in your pretty face all scrunched up, all reddened as you cry out.

“That’s it, can’t help yourself? Want me to fucking fill you?”

“Please…”

“You’re such a good girl, hmm?” The words short circuit what’s left of your brain, as Satoru leans back on his knees, hands slipping up your body, gripping your breasts, which have little droplets of milk. You whimper, trying to cover them. “Ah-ah.”

He leans forward, sucking them then, you’re so sensitive you scream, thanking everything Satoru has a huge home and that the baby couldn’t hear anything, because the sounds he writhes out of you are filthy. He leans up, licking the little droplets off and grinning again, possessively gripping your throat, hovering over you as his cock slides in again.

“God, even that’s sweet. All of you. Sweet and slutty.” He huffs, you’re kissing him desperately, nails pressing against his scalp as they grip his hair. “My girl, you’re all mine now, hmm?”

“Wanna be… y-your girl.” You whisper, ending him as your cunt gushes down on him, as he feels the tight muscles grip him like a vise, he eases back, shoving your legs up then in a mating press, every instinct making him crave to make you his again. Cum in you, fill you, make you pregnant. “Toru… I haven’t… not a lot of… exper-ah!”

“That’s alright baby, I’ll fuck you so good, all you gotta do is take it, yeah? Look so fucking pretty f’me.” The sweet, emotional and cute Satoru is now feral, psychotic and possessive, his eyes so blue they hurt to look at, but you’re nodding eagerly. You’ve never been fucked like this, not even close, but he assures you, over and over that you can take him. “That’s right, gonna take all of me.”

Your thighs are smushed against your breasts as Satoru fucks you harder, perfect strokes that hit every spot, spots you can’t even figure out, the ridge of his cock hitting again and again until you’re close, already having cum twice. You’re sobbing under him as he leans his weight on your thighs, folding you in half and going deeper, deeper, bottoming out.

His balls slap heavy on your ass, so full and ready to pump his load in your eager hole, you’re a mess, tears on your cheeks, mumbling incoherently, pussy drooling and loosening more and more. You take him, all of him greedily then, as he slows just a bit, leaning up to press your thighs even higher, watching his cock disappear as your cunt sucks him in.

“Oh look, she’s taking me s’good, she wants it huh? You want it, greedy, slutty pussy.” He’s talking to your pussy, but you also can’t care, not when you’re so close, incoherently whining. “Can’t talk, sweetheart?”

“Gonna… cum… again… Satoru!” He moans as you speak his name, using a forearm to press your legs up, angling his cock just so, shoving deep as he presses a thumb to your clit, ending you utterly.

“There you go, cum on lemme fuckin feel her milk me.” He huffs, husky voice hoarse as your orgasm washes over you, full body, you’re shaking and sobbing as your arousal pours down him, making him tense, gasping. “Oh fuck…”

“Cum in me. Cum in me, please.” You beg weakly, and Satoru does then, full mating press, pumping all his cum so deep, filling you to the brim as he leans down, whimpering with you, tongues sloppy as you kiss.

“Feel s’perfect… gonna make you a mommy again, yeah?” You nod weakly, cunt throbbing as he pumps more and more, nails pressing into his back as you both ride your orgasms out, until you’re sensitive messes. “F-fucking… b-baby…”

“Satoru, g-god…” He is exhaling, easing your sore thighs down then, pulling out and watching the mess that pours from your pussy, a mix of his cum and yours, he grins at it.

“You’re so messy, hmm?” He shoves two fingers in your cunt, pushing his cum back in as you scream out. “Aww, you can’t take it baby?”

“Too much, ngh!” Satoru slips his fingers out, sucking on them and moaning, before repeating it, shoving them in your mouth, you moan as you suck them greedily, both kissing again, a tangled mess of limbs.

“Taste us together, god.”

“So yummy.” He kisses you again, again, again, as you struggle to come back down, heart still racing. “My god…”

“Yeah, holy fuck.”

“You’re like… you have a breed kink like bad.” He snorts then, kissing up the side of your neck.

“Could it have to do with the fact that my girl is gorgeous with my baby? And I’d love to really see her pregnant?”

“I want you there too. I do, even if this is insane.”

“Is it?”

“Yes, first we have a baby, then we move in together? What next, a first date?”

“You know… yes. Mom offered?”

You giggle at him. “So is this you asking me on a date!?”

“Mmhmm, with my cum pouring out. Wasting it, tsk tsk.” He starts kissing down your body again, when Reign cries, this time loudly. “Ugh.”

“Ugh.” You agree, brushing back his hair when he kisses your tummy. “You make me feel beautiful, Satoru.”

“You are.” He says simply, kissing you deeply, helping you up. “Most beautiful girls there are.”

“I…” You almost say it, but you’re still so afraid, those words on the tip of your tongue. Satoru smiles as if he knows.

“Go check on her.”

“Yeah.” You are soon all dressed, and Reign is no longer crying once she gets swaddled, her binky in her mouth. Satoru comes behind you, arms wrapping you tightly and pulling you against him.

“So, that date?”

“Mmm, got plans already?” You look back at him, as he holds you so sweetly in the quiet room.

“Yeah, the spa you never went to, brat.”

“Oh! Yes, let’s.”

*****

Satoru Gojo and you have had a baby, then moved in, and then you had your first date, which was both of you getting pampered, you were giggling when Satoru kept eating the cucumbers meant for his eyes, when he moved the masseuse because he got jealous of him. “My girl, I’ll rub your back.”

“So jealous.” You tease, but you then sigh in pleasure as his big hands rub your body just so.

“Maybe I am. Maybe I don’t ever wanna lose my girls.” You pause then, leaning up, breasts revealed as you’re just wearing a little towel. But Satoru’s eyes are serious, when he gently rubs his hands down to the back of your hips.

“You’re not losing us.” He’s kissing you, leaning over you in the spa, when he whispers in your ear.

“Let’s go.”

In the backseat of Satoru’s driver’s car, headed back home, you and Satoru devour each other, his hands on your rib cage, his lips on your nipples. Your head falling back, arching up for more, never, ever able to get enough. He’s filling you again, and you’re soaking him again, he’s fucking up into you one moment, one moment you’re controlling it.

A push and pull, a back and forth, endless kisses, until he’s filled you up again, whispering the lewdest things, picturing you as his wife, picturing you pregnant again, but the words are coming out as muffled, dirty words that don’t match. And you feel the same, you think the same, but you’re too fucked out to speak, too lost in everything that is Satoru Gojo.

That night, Reign is up and down, and you’ve just given her a bath, singing to her and cradling her. Satoru watches you, emotions catching in his throat, as a sliver of moonlight darts through the windows, illuminating the faces of the two girls he adores. Reign is being fussy, huffing, but then she hears you sing, and she’s calming, drifting off just so.

You catch him watching you, smiling at him, laying her back down gently. Satoru leans over, brushing a thumb across her cheek, as she sleeps so peacefully. “I love you, dumpling.” He murmurs to her, your heart aches at his words, as you repeat them softly to her, and Satoru wraps an arm around you.

“I love both of you.” You look at him then, so nervous, but he exhales, kissing you softly, feeling tears fall from his eyes, pulling back to see you’re trembling. “I know it’s a lot, but you have to know that I love you. I love both of you so much it hurts.”

“I love both of you.” Your heart hammers in your chest, as a hand slips up your back, and he leans down, blue eyes swirling with tears. “I’ll take care of you both, always. I… I’m complete now, with you both. I can’t ever lose you.”

“Satoru, never. I never want to be without you again.” Your hushed whispers are followed by sweet kisses, until you both close the door quietly, and Satoru has you picked up in his arms, effortless as you hold onto him, resting your foreheads against each other. “I’m home, here.”

“You are home, here. Want you to have my last name, both of you. Please.” You nod, sniffling as he carries you, kissing you desperately, pressing you against the door of his room once you’re back inside. “Need you to have my last fuckin’ name.”

“We will, Satoru. We’ll all be Gojos, hmm?” He grins so big then, easing you down and turning you, vivid memories of that night filling your mind, overwhelming your senses. Your head falls back as he kisses down your neck, slipping your shorts to the side to find you.

“So ready f’me?” You nod weakly. “Good, need to have a whole fucking clan of Gojos, yeah? Gonna give it to me?”

“Mnh, yes.”

You would give Satoru anything, and finally every piece that seemed so out of sorts is in place, as you found something you didn’t know was missing, and he found a family he didn’t know he had. As he eagerly works you so well that night again, you also know you want to give him more.

Taglist: @tiredofeverythingandmyself @yenayaps @bunheadusa @moonlitwitchdaisy @heartsteelkaynconsumer @zoebella30 @twinkling-moonlillie @iamrgo @sylussss7 @minaa-06 @kindablackenedsuperhero @alygator77 @lilica75 @ufoev3 @bub-ss @ailoveyuta @i-luv-ateez-sm @strawberiicreme @gina239 @uhnosav @myahfig4 @silverfangmarks @stxrlingpearl @gojodickbig @jkslaugh97 @ivyvenus333 @msbfc @karmcrim15 @ap-o-llo @loafteaw @kimkimoruo @gh0stgirl333 @victoria1676 @its-carlerrr @evelynxxo @lynnist @burdened-by-images @safixiovi @nanamis-eyebrow @clqxuds @safixiovi Perma tags: @cuntphoric @n1vi @indiewritesxoxo

Rest tagged in comments!

read on ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/62133598

[pianon0-deactivated20260110]

seven minutes

@levievent's Levi Month 2025 Day 03: "like it or not, you're stuck with me."

Summary: in which you find yourself locked in a storage room for seven minutes with levi, the person you dislike the most— at least, that's what you think.

Word count: 3500w

Content/Warnings: explicit content! drinking, dub-con, lots of licking and sucking (reader receiving), fingering, semi public sex, p in v sex

if you prefer reading on Ao3, click here.

daaaaamn i wanted to put a really sexy gif up there but it doesnt feel right and idk why😂

“Oh! I know who to send with Levi into the stock room!”

There’s a gleam in Hange’s eyeglasses that makes you flinch and nearly choke on your beer when they look at you. That doesn’t look good. You’ve only known Hange for a year and a half, but you already know well enough that that look only means trouble.

You wipe the side of your mouth with the back of your hand.

Hange eagerly shouts your name.

Your face feels hot. You aren’t sure if it’s the beer or your blood is just boiling.

“You can’t do that! You need to roll the dice!” You look at the others for help, but they don’t seem to be against Hange’s decision— they’re all smiling like angels at you. 

When your eyes fall on Levi, he smirks and says, “Like it or not, you’re stuck with me.”

God, you always want to wipe that smirk off his face with a goddamn wet tissue.

“Ooh! This is exciting!” Hange gets up on their feet, fingers curling in anticipation.

“It’s about time you guys make out– I mean, make up!” Nanaba laughs loudly and then dawns her beer.

You kick at the seven-sided toy block showing Levi’s number as you get up. It rolls away towards Miche, hitting him on the shin, then it stops with your number displayed on the surface.

Miche hums, amused. You roll your eyes hard at him, then you follow Hange and Levi down the short hallway leading to a small storage room.

“You better tell me there aren’t any rats in there,” you grumble.

They’re grinning when they open the door. “Sweetie, I’ll have you know that Levi is a clean freak.”

Said man goes in without any hesitation. You follow, glaring at Hange on your way.

They blow you a flying kiss before pushing the door closed with a loud thud and a shout of: “Remember, no turning the lights on!”

The sudden and complete darkness makes you flinch, the clicking of the lock makes you gulp. 

You know you shouldn’t have come here. You don’t really belong in their circle, you just happen to be assigned to the same faculty lounge with them. Sure, you are friends, even eating lunch with them sometimes, but you don’t consider yourself close to any of them. Lucky you, Hange thinks otherwise, insisting you join them tonight. You’d be lying if you said the idea of drinking didn’t sound better than grading test papers from three different sections on a Friday night, especially with a long weekend coming.

The catch though— it was at the house they all rent together. You assumed it would be at some resto bar or KTV downtown, drinking beers and stuffing yourself with good finger foods while singing 90's songs on top of your lungs, not this— playing seven minutes in heaven like you’re some group of horny teenagers.

Your fingers card through your hair as you let out a loud, exasperated sigh. Then you walk, which isn’t exactly one of the brightest moments in your life because your toe hits something.

“Ow! Ow-ow-ow-ow-ow!!” You jump on one foot, the other raised to your hip so you could rub the sore spot. You let out sharp puffs through your mouth, as if it would assuage the pain.

Levi doesn’t even react. You bet he’s in his usual stance— scowl on his face, arms crossed, leaning against some wall, right foot over left. It’s one of the things you don’t like about him— it’s like he’s always daring the entire room to challenge him and he’s confident he’ll win.

You walk again, carefully this time, dragging your feet against the floor. You can’t just stay still. The darkness makes your skin crawl, you feel like something will jump at you and eat you alive. Plus, being with someone you barely know makes you uncomfortable, someone you don’t like that much.

Well, it’s not like he’s done anything to make you feel this way about him. You don’t hate him, but you don’t like him either. He’s got a lot of that already, a long list of teachers — even students — constantly fawning over him. You never understood them, you never found Levi special after all. Sure, he’s handsome. He’s attractive, fine. The way he carries himself with so much confidence is hot. There’s something sexy with the way he stares at you with those piercing steel grey eyes, like he could read your mind or he’s seeing right through your soul. God, even his arms look sexy, especially when they’re crossed over his chest or when his muscles are flexed while doing something strenuous during P.E. (Okay, fine, he’s sexy. He’s the physical manifestation of sexyness. There.) He plays basketball like a pro even when he’s not that tall. He even defeated Erwin in a one-on-one match, which, by the way, you had no intentions of watching, but thanks to the sweat on his face and arms, your co-teachers stopped and started fangirling. (Okay, fine, you stared too.) The way he dribbled the ball, faked Erwin, and shot a three-point shot with only two seconds on the clock was sick (and hot.) He’s also a P.E. teacher and a Math teacher, and he’s also good at Science— which you learned from Hange, who wouldn’t stop talking about Levi to you. Like you give a damn.

Your knee hits something, you try to reach for whatever it is. You feel something soft and–

“Yaaaa!” You shriek, turning away and shaking your fingers in disgust.

“What the fuck are you even trying to do?” Levi’s gravelly voice sounds near. It sends shivers up your spine to not know where he is, how close he is.

“Moving around…” you answer dumbly, turning on your heel. “I’m—”

“Fucking stupid.”

“Jesus, do you always have to be harsh?”

You don’t see his eyes growing wide, guilt blanketing his face for a split second.

“I just hate the dark.” You let out a shaky breath. “And… and it’s… it’s just too dark. I don’t like it.” Your hands fly to your arms, rubbing your skin in an attempt to calm yourself. You could feel it, the panic, your breathing getting heavier. You begin to remember events you tried so hard to forget— your father and mother screaming, fighting about late bill payments, how quickly it escalated when your mom brought up your dad’s illicit affair years ago. Lightning struck the sky, sharp and loud like your mother’s anger, illuminating your dark room in a split-second. Then the breaking of glasses, the screaming, the pounding—

“Keep talking.”

Your breath catches in your throat. The memories stop. You see dark once more.

“What?” Your voice is barely audible.

“Keep talking.” 

You hear the rustling of fabric.

“A-about what? About History?”

Footsteps. Soft taps on the floorboards.

“Whatever the fuck you want.”

You immediately rake through your brain for your favorite history fun facts. “Uhh… well… Napoleon was once attacked by a rabbit,” you say, turning left to right, fingers digging into your arms. “After signing Treaties of Tilsit in 1807, he suggested a rabbit hunt. Rabbits were collected, then released from their cages, but instead of turning to flee, the bunnies—”

You gasp, feeling Levi’s hands on your waist.

“Keep talking,” he says in a much lower voice, his breath that still smells of beer is hot against the side of your mouth.

Jesus Christ.

“Levi—”

He presses his pelvis against yours. Fuck— why’s he fucking hard???

“What are you doing?” You question, hands flying to his arms. 

Muscles. You feel muscles. Holy shit.

His right hand lays flat at the small of your back, the other goes up and settles at the nape of your neck.

“Trying to calm you down.”

His voice drops lower. It sounds so fucking sexy.

Shit. Shit, no.

“What—”

He kisses your jaw. The sound of his lips against your skin makes your insides tingle.

“Levi, you—” 

You’re not entirely sure if you want to tell him to stop or not.

“What happened to the bunnies?” He nuzzles his nose in your neck. He breathes in deeply, like he wants to suck all of you into his system.

“Levi, I think you’re drunk.” You whisper-shout. Your hands shoot up to his shoulders, but they don’t move. He kisses the junction between your neck and collar, and a moan escapes your throat.

“Tell me what happened to the bunnies.” His nose bumps into yours when he slants his face to the opposite side, licking and kissing at your skin.

Fuck, your knees almost buckle, your fingers digging into the back of his shoulders. “They…they ran up the emperor's legs. Some— some even climbed his jacket… so— so the military— Levi, oh my god.”

He keeps sucking on your neck.

You should be pushing him away, but your eyes only roll to the back of your head.

“What about the military?” He pushes the shoulder of your cardigan away, revealing your spaghetti strap blouse over more skin. He sucks a kiss on your collarbone.

Holy shit, his mouth feels good.

“They— they retreated.”

His slender fingers lace at the back of your neck, and then he crashes his lips into yours, effectively sucking the air right out of your lungs.

Your eyes widen like saucers, your nails digging into his shoulders you’re sure they’ll leave marks. 

Levi’s lips move slowly against yours, like he’s in no hurry at all, and all you do is stare into the void of darkness behind his back. You can’t even begin to think to stop him. No, you don’t, because you actually don’t want him to stop.

The realization slaps you so hard you pull him close, as if he’s the anchor that’s keeping you from levitating.

He tightens his arms around you, you shut your eyes tight and throw your arms around his neck, reeling him in as if there’s more gap to close. He slowly and carefully pushes you until your back hits a shelf, and then he’s kissing your jaw again, your neck, your chest, sucking at the skin there. You tip your head back for a breathy moan, and he finally rids you of your cardigan, exposing more of your skin for him to taste.

Levi peppers your chest with loud sucking kisses, like a madman desperate for air and you’re that air. Your fingers rake through his hair, pushing his face deeper into your skin, in the dip between your breasts. You’re wet all over, literally, with his saliva all over your skin. His fingers slip inside your blouse, hands trailing up, pushing your blouse up until it's above your tits. He yanks down the cups of your bra to lick your nipples and then greedily draws one into his mouth.

You gasp at the sensation of his tongue flicking your nipple and then his teeth slightly biting and pulling it.

His right hand trails down the side of your body, settling on your waist, fingers digging into your flesh, while the other squeezes your other tit that’s not being worshipped by his mouth.

You sigh out his name again and again, wanting so much more. You want so much more of him it hurts.

“Fuck, you’re so sweet,” he laughs against your skin, like he couldn’t fucking believe it. His mouth moves onto your other tit, tongue twirling around the nipple, biting lightly, and then sucking hard. You arch your chest to his face, wanting more of his mouth, of his tongue, all over your body. He grabs you by your hips, pulling you towards him, letting you feel his erection.

“Levi.” God, you’re going to cry. “Levi, fuck.”

“I keep thinking about you like this.” His voice is muffled, his lips closed in around your breast. “So fucking soft here, can’t think straight.”

His lips catch yours again, sucking at the bottom and then biting. You cup his face, kissing him back. Your tongue slips into his mouth, and he immediately sucks on it like a lollipop. He tastes like beer, but you’re damn sure it’s him you’re drunk in and not the booze. He’s all that’s in your brain, on your skin— you want all of him inside you, your mouth, your ass, your cunt. Fuck, just thinking about him stretching your walls makes you come. You grind your hips against his and he groans around your tongue and fuck you’re aching down there, aching for his cock. He palms your stomach, fingers sliding smoothly under the waistbands of your pants and underwear until his middle and ring finger reach your clit. You moan into his mouth, his tongue pushes between your lips, and you let him in. You let his tongue taste every corner of your mouth while his fingers rub your hole. He pushes at your right foot with his own, asking you to spread your legs apart.

You do.

Oh, what the fuck is wrong with you?

“Actually, lift your leg, princess.”

What the fuck— no one’s ever called you that before.

He hooks his hand under your right leg, and you replace his hand with yours. Then he’s fingering you again, thumb pressing and rubbing circles on your clit while his middle and index fingers scissor your insides, pushing deeper, and then curling in a ‘come hither’ way.

“Fuck,” you sigh out, cross-eyed and mouth open wide. “Levi, so fucking good.”

You’ve never felt this good before, none of your exes made you feel this damn good.

“Can you take one more?”

“What?” Your throat feels dry from too much sighing, too much mouth-gaping.

He answers with another finger digging into your hole, and then he captures your lips in another tongue sucking kiss right before you could cry out.

Oh, fuck, fuck, fuck. He feels so good, he is so good.

You’re so wet your folds squelch every time his palm hits them. The sounds make you moan, driving you crazy and aching for more. You grind your hips against his hand, meeting each thrust of his fingers. He pushes deeper, digits curling inside your cunt, rearranging your insides like a fucking puzzle. He licks your neck, you kiss the side of his face. He smells nice, so fucking manly, something musky, woody, and citrussy. Something yummy. God, you want to eat him.

“Levi,” you sigh, reaching for his cock. He stops you, grabbing your hand and putting it back over his shoulder. “Levi—”

“No.” He sucks at your neck so hard you’re sure it’ll leave a hickey there.

“But I want you in me so bad,” you beg. 

“Not now,” he forces out, mouth on your tit once more, sucking like a baby. “Want to see your face when we do what. Want to watch your cunt sucking my cock.”

You nearly come at the thought of it.

“But—”

“It’s fine.” He kisses your lips. “Just want you to come around my fingers, princess.”

You press your forehead on his shoulder. “Leviiiii…”

He mouths your tit and sucks. “You have one more minute.”

You press your thighs together, he rubs his palm against your clit and his fingers keep curling inside your cunt in every thrust.

“Levi, you’re so good,” you whine.

“Hm… I thought you hate me?”

God, you’ll die admitting this but— “I thought so too.”

You don’t know, you don’t know, you don’t fucking know anymore. It could be the beer talking. Or your cunt. Oh, fuck.

He smirks against the side of your mouth. “So fucking irresistable.”

“Mhm… want you so bad,” you sigh mindlessly.

He nuzzles in your nose. “Come on.” His breath is hot against your skin. “You’ve got less than a minute.”

“Suck my tits, Levi.”

He kisses your neck before obeying. Your eyes roll to the back of your head as his mouth closes in around your mound, sucking continuously and hard.

“Fuck,” you groan, tipping your head back. You lift your leg higher, spreading your thighs further. Levi hooks his foot around your left heel, and then he rubs his crotch against your thigh.

“Shit, gonna come like this.”

“Fuck me, Levi,” you beg.

He kisses your mouth. “Already am.”

“Your cock, please. Do you like it when I beg?”

“Fuck—”

You let go of your leg, he hastily pulls your pants and underwear down. Then he hooks his arm under your leg again, lifting it up once more. You hook your ankle over his shoulder, slightly wincing at your ligaments pulling taut. You fumble for the waistbands of his pants, pushing them down together with his boxers. Levi hisses through gritted teeth when his cock springs free, then he grabs it, stroking it a few times, slapping it against your cunt while he lines the tip at your entrance.

He rubs his cockhead along your folds, mixing his pre-cum with your wetness. “Will you let me cum in you?”

You nod eagerly, then you remember he couldn’t see. “Yes! Shit, yes.”

He closes the gap between your faces, capturing you in another liplock, and then he thrusts in.

You couldn’t even help the loud moan that escapes your throat. Levi doesn’t seem to care either as he begins to pound relentlessly into you.

“Shit! Feels so fucking good down here,” he says into your mouth.

You grasp at his ass, nails digging into the soft flesh of his cheeks. Levi pulls away to bury his nose in your neck, gritting his teeth as he rams into you, bottoming out in every thrust. You kiss his shoulder, his neck, then his ear, biting at the softest part of it. 

“So fucking good.” His lips graze your neck when he talks.

“You too, you too, Levi.” So good, stretching you oh so deliciously, cockhead hitting your sweet spot every time.

Outside, a timer goes off.

“Fuck, fuck,” he grumbles against your neck, pounding into you harder, more desperately. He grabs your ass, easily lifts you up, and fucks into you like there’s no tomorrow. The shelf rocks behind your back, sending a few of the items dropping on the floor, but neither of you care. Something wet even splashes your leg, but fuck it, fuck everything. You wrap your arms around his neck, he lifts his face and captures your lips in another searing kiss. His tongue slips in, you suck.

There are footsteps outside. Hange must be coming to release you two from heaven.

You don’t want to go down from this anymore.

Levi grits his teeth, brows knitted together like he’s on a high-priority mission. He slams his hips into yours, cock filling you to the brim, cockhead kissing the best part of your cunt. He bites your lip, then kisses your jaw, then your neck, and then sucks hard and—

You gasp, nails digging crescents at the back of his shoulders while your walls clamp down around his cock. Eyes rolling to the back of your head, you tip your head back and moan as loud as you can.

The footsteps stop.

Levi bites at your shoulder, and with one particular thrust, he whines your name and comes undone.

You smile mindlessly at the feeling of his cum spilling inside your cunt.

There’s a soft click, but the door doesn’t open.

“Oh, Levi,” you sigh.

The footsteps retreat.

His thrusts slow down until he’s finished spilling inside you. He lets your feet to the ground first before pulling his cock out, still twitching against his stomach.

“You good?” He asks softly.

You nod, then you kiss him again.

He holds you by your waist, so gently this time you think he’s not the same person who just fucked you senseless. 

“Please tell me that won’t be the last,” you say when you pull away.

He nuzzles his nose in your neck. “Fucking no.”

You laugh, against the side of his head, nose buried in his hair. What does this make the two of you then?

“Let’s get you cleaned up.”

He pulls away, you hear some rustling, and then light. From his damn cellphone.

“What the— you had that with you all this time?!”

He smirks. “I wanted to find out who’d cave in first.”

Mortified, your jaw drops.

He fixes your bra, then your blouse. “Guess what?” He pulls your trousers and panties up. There are paint stains at the hem of your pants. “You just earned a ticket to being stuck with the irritating Levi Ackerman for a long time.”

You think you don’t mind that at all.

He picks up your cardigan. It’s stained with black paint.

“Aw, shit. That’s my favorite.”

He kisses your lips. “I’ll buy you a new one.”

Levi takes your hand, but instead of joining the other, he pulls you upstairs to his room.

“Oi! Gonna fuck like bunnies now?!” Hange calls out. “I deserve a thank you!”

You keep your eyes on your and Levi’s hands, realizing you’ve always wanted to hold his hand like this all along.

[lokissweater]

you noticed me ⚾︎

{mlb!megumi fushiguro x f!reader}

summary: megumi fushiguro is one of the best players on the major league baseball team, and when you finally spot him on the big screen after practically dozing off at every game you went to with your girl friend? you were absolutely IN LOVE, but IN DENIAL that he could ever like you back… but he does, and bad.

warnings: MDNI. afab!reader, NASTY NASTY MEGUMI, oral sex, SMUT, pussy eating in locker rooms HEH, mentions of drinking but like tiny just once, reader is oblivious to the way megumi wants her, DOMINANT AF MEGUMI PHEWW, cursing, flufffff!!, barely any angst, DIRTY TALK, pet names, aged up characters.

word count: 12.1k (IK IM SORRY ITS A CUTE ONE THO)

authors note: you GUYSSSS i love megumi fushiguro i want him so bad and i LOOVEEE this fic!! i worked like a little worker bee for days and i really hope it makes you guys happy :] MWAH!!

want more? you can find my mlb!megumi fushiguro masterlist here!

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・

megumi fushiguro was the hottest baseball player you had ever seen in your life.

and you didn’t even like baseball to begin with, dozing off at every game your girl friend dragged you to because her boyfriend was on the major league team— but the one time you decided to open your eyes and pay attention to the big giant screen in front of you?

there he was in all of his emo glory.

number eighteen.

focused, half lidded eyes resembling borderline boredom as he waited for the pitcher to throw, his forehead glistening with sweat, flushed red cheeks, and his jet black hair slightly peeking over his forehead from underneath his baseball cap.

“my god—” your hand flew and you gripped your girl friends arm tightly, your jaw to the fucking floor as your eyes were gorilla glued to the screen, her quirking a curious eyebrow at you as she matched your frantic nature.

“what? what is it? who did you see? whats happ—”

you pointed your finger up at the screen, him swinging and hitting a fucking grand slam as he proceeded to get four runs with one hit, the one thing you knew about baseball besides a home run.

“that’s a— that’s a grand slam!” you pointed frantically, probably looking absolutely insane as you stood and screamed your fucking head off.

your girl friend laughed loudly, “you like fushiguro? megumi fushiguro?”

you jumped up and down, your girlfriend astonished and laughing as this was the first time she’d ever seen you energetic at a baseball game.

“he’s friends with yuji!” she yelled over the hollering of the crowd. “we can go to their locker room after and you can say hi! i heard he’s kind of mean though—”

“no!” you spun around, eyes wide and terrified. “i already know he’ll eat me alive then! i’m a loser, i can’t talk to him i don’t have game i—”

she rolled her eyes. “you’ll be fine—”

“no i can’t!” you shook your head frantically. “please he looks like the type to love bomb me and then leave me i don’t think i can handle that—”

she snorted. “are you sure?!”

you hesitated for a moment, biting your bottom lip as your eyes trailed back over to the screen, seeing megumi breathing a little heavy from running the field, his hands on his hips as he scanned the arena.

you sighed through your nose. “yeah i’m sure!”

“suit yourself!”

a year. a year you spent continuing to tag along with your girl friend to their games, staring lovesick and sad at the big screen over megumi, and standing outside far far away from the locker room once they scored another big win and not going in like you used to, waiting for your girl friend to finish up speaking to her boyfriend as you tried your best to avoid the chance of running into megumi.

she finally emerged from the locker rooms one day, a knowing smirk on her face.

“i told yuji.”

you blinked. “told him what?”

“that you like fushiguro.”

“no!” you gasped, a hand flying and smacking over your mouth. “please no im about to experience the biggest heartbreak of my life—”

“oh relax!” she grabbed your arm and practically dragged you towards the locker room doors. “he’s not even here megumi already left, but yuji wants to talk to you.”

“why?!” you exclaimed. “to let me down easy? to tell me he’s sorry on his behalf—”

your girl friend just about threw you in and went in after you as you stumbled, eyes blown wide as the air became humid and heavy, several of the players lounging about and refreshing themselves as the sound of lockers slamming shut echoed through the space— deep, broad voices laughing filling the room as yuji spotted you, his eyes friendly and polite. “y/n!”

you relaxed and smiled, “hi! you guys played really well today!”

“megumi also played really well today.”

“oh my god—” you groaned, throwing your head back as you spun around, heading straight for the exit.

“wait wait!” he laughed loudly, jogging up to you. “sorry sorry.”

“what do you want with me..” you mumbled.

he gave you a half smile. “i wanted to tell you that megumi’s weird.”

you snorted, “elaborate please.”

yuji threw an arm around your girl friend before continuing.

“you know we support your feelings and what you want…” he began.

your eyes narrowed. “why are you guys talking to me like you’re my parents—”

“but—” yuji cut you off. “i’m just gonna be straight with you. i’ve never ever seen megumi interact with anyone, let alone another woman, besides the team.”

“i don’t think i’ve ever seen him have a proper conversation with anyone on the team besides you actually…” your girl friend muttered to yuji.

yuji winced. “yeah…” he turned back to you. “back when megumi and i first got signed, he was really popular and a lot of girls would come up to him after games for his number or just to talk to him.”

“well obviously he’s a greek god,” you grumbled. “this is hurting me man get to the point.”

he sighed. “he basically scared all of them off. didn’t give a single one a chance and was kinda mean... he would either ignore them or straight up just tell them he wasn’t interested without them even being able to get a word in.”

you stared blankly.

“i tried to tell him that he needs to be nicer but he’s just not interested.”

you kept staring.

“that’s why i’m telling you this because we don’t want you to get hurt and i feel like if you try and talk to him he’s gonna be a dick and it might…” yuji looked at you sadly. “it might be a lost cause.”

you blinked.

“y/n?”

“that’s fine!” you squeaked, hands tight at your sides. “a part of me already knew. i read about it in an article, and i’ve seen his interviews.”

your girl friend looked at you with concern filled eyes. “are you okay?”

“yeah!” you waved them off. “why wouldn’t i be?”

“because your eyes are red.”

“ppffttt!” you blew out. “i’m fine! seriously. i never intended to talk to him anyways, i’m too much of a scaredy cat.”

you extended your arms out and engulfed the both of them, squeezing tight. “thank you guys for telling me though, i appreciate it.”

“y/n…” yuji trailed off.

“i’m gonna take off though, i’ll see you guys later, okay?” you waved and opened the door. “love you!”

and you scrammed, your heart in a million pieces.

it’s not like you didn’t already know. you knew, so why were you sad? why did you feel like you just got ran over by a double decker bus? why did you pathetically feel so sad?

this was the reality. you never stood a chance.

so why were you crying?

you continued walking down the hall and towards the main exit, utterly embarrassed at your sobbing and trying your best to hide it as you navigated through several groups of people, your vision entirely blurry as you were basically drowning in your tears.

you had barely escaped the crowd when you spotted a little secluded area in the lobby, trudging over pathetically and plopping down on the coushy seat as you wiped your cheeks, staring at the wall in front of you— a huge glass casing proudly decorated with the teams trophies and awards, gigantic portraits of the players on the team adorning the walls with megumi’s serious beautiful framed face right in front of you just making you feel worse.

you already knew, but regardless of megumi’s stand off ish personality, you liked it. you had curiously browsed his interviews and quotes in articles, and you always laughed at his responses, him almost every time offending the staff without even trying or knowing, and you found it so so funny, it only making you admire him and want to get to know him even more, even if it was just a friendship.

megumi fushiguro was one of the best players on the team in history, and as you closed your eyes, silent pathetic tears still slipping down your cheeks?

he never felt so out of reach.

“here.”

your eyes opened, but you literally could not see jack shit as your tears were still blurring your line of sight, you completely and utterly mortified that a stranger caught you sobbing as you wiped your face quickly in response.

“put on my sunglasses if you don’t want people to see you crying.”

the voice was gruff and lazy, but you could not care less as you took the sunglasses and settled them over your eyes, the lenses so freaking dark that you couldn’t see a single thing— your sight worse than before.

but it relieved you, as you figured no one could see your bloodshot eyes and therefore thankfully not notice you losing your mind over something so stupid.

“thank you,” you mumbled. “sorry.”

“for what.”

you felt the plush of the bench shift next to you, figuring that the stranger man sat beside you as you refused to look in their direction out of embarrassment.

not that you could even see in the first place.

“for looking like a loser.”

the stranger man snorted. “s’fine.”

you wiped your nose with your sleeve, sniffling.

“how do you see in these?” you muttered softly. “they’re making me claustrophobic i can’t see a thing.”

“that’s the point,” he hums.

“how come?”

“i get migraines everyday. they help.”

“oh i see.” you responded softly. “have you ever run into a wall because of them?”

you hear him huff out through his nose. “i did once, when i first got them.”

you giggled gently. “did you bleed?”

“no,” he spoke calmly. “i got a bump on my forehead.”

you snickered, “what? loserrr.”

you stood up and carefully tried to walk around a little, testing out how to guide yourself through the dark lenses and trying to be careful and not bump into a wall (which was literally impossible), your hands out, feeling around.

“jesus christ i’m just kidding now i feel bad. i think im gonna bump myself into a wall too so we can call it even.”

you couldn’t see, but the stranger man’s lips twitched at your comment.

“don’t do that.” he murmured. “sit back down.”

you listened and started making your way over, feeling him reach out and wrap his fingers around your wrist carefully and guide you to the bench, you plopping down on it once you felt it.

“thank you!” you responded sweetly. “…i’m actually glad i can’t see a thing right now.” you perked up, pushing the sunglasses back up over the bridge of your nose.

“why is that.”

“so i don’t have to look at megumi fushiguro’s big portrait in front of my face.”

the stranger man stopped.

“…why?”

“because he indirectly broke my heart.”

you heard a little audible laugh, and you smiled to yourself.

at least someone is having fun right now.

“how did he indirectly break your heart?”

“my girl friend’s boyfriend is yuji itadori. she spilled the beans against my will about how i have a crush on him, and yuji told me that he’s mean and he’ll basically bite my head off and tell me to scram.”

“did he?”

“uh huh,” you nodded. “they were trying to let me down easy, but it’s not like i was gonna try and talk to him anyways. i’ve gone a year without saying anything i can go on and on and on.”

the stranger man hummed.

“he’s so cool though…” you murmured, dazed. “he’s gonna be a hard one to forget about.”

“why do you like him?”

“i feel like im being interrogated,” you giggled.

you felt the stranger man lean back against the wall. “sorry, just curious.”

you copied him and crossed your arms, “mmm… because he’s really good at what he does. i admire that most of all.”

you tilted your head. “everyone berates him for being mean but i like that he’s supposedly mean for some reason…. he’s just serious about his profession and he doesn’t want to waste time. he’s also the hottest man i’ve ever seen so that definitely helps.”

the stranger man laughed a little.

“i don’t know,” you sighed sadly. “maybe i’m just demented. i am demented.”

“if yuji itadori told you the exact opposite about him, would that have encouraged you to go up to him?”

you sat in thought for a moment, but ultimately shook your head. “no. it’s too embarrassing for me and i’m also a big fat wuss so…”

you slid your fingers underneath the lenses and rubbed your stinging sore eyes. “maybe in the next life if i’m lucky, ill be reincarnated as a cool baseball man too and i won’t have to deal with this shit.”

“cool baseball man.” he repeated, tone seemingly amused.

“yup.”

the stranger man sighed. “is this why i found you crying?”

“maayybeee?” you dragged out shyly, your cheeks flushing.

it was silent for a moment, your vision completely black but his on your rosy cheeks, oddly staring that if you could see right now, you’d probably call him a creep.

“i’m sorry i made you cry.”

you jumped back.

“no not you!” you huffed. “have you not been paying attention? catch up man—”

you felt a shadow reach up and tug the sunglasses slightly away from your face, your eyes constricting against the bright lights of the hall as they tried to adjust.

and when they did?

megumi fushiguro was sitting right next to you, a tiny smile on his face dressed in all black with his teams baseball cap on.

your eyes widened dramatically and you slapped both hands over your mouth, beyond horrified as everything you had thought you were telling a stranger about him, you were telling him directly, your brain short circuiting and your body heating up like a fucking hot flash.

“oh my god i’m so sorry!” your voice was muffled, you shaking your head in absolute denial.

you immediately sprung up and grabbed your purse, slowly backing up further and further away from him.

his smile widened.

oh my god.

megumi fushiguro was smiling, a sight you’ve never ever seen during his games, practices, interviews, articles, or magazines as your cheeks increased in shade— wanting to mentally take a picture and remember forever as you knew you’d probably never see him smile like that again.

but he was smiling.

“pretend i don’t exist!” you stammered, “pretend this never happened i’m sorry this is so embarrassing keep winning your games okay and i’ll keep being an idiot far far away from you—”

“where are you going?” he chuckled lowly.

“—you’ll never see me again i’m going home and i’m going on lockdown—”

he laughed through his nose, his lips in an amused smile.

“you don’t have to do that.”

“yes i do—”

“you don’t have to forget me either.”

“that i definitely do—”

you were halfway out of the main entrance doors.

“hold on y/n—”

megumi stood, his long legs walking over to you and you froze.

y/n?

you slowly turned around, your face pale and afraid.

“how do you know my name?” you asked softly.

“your best friend is dating yuji, is she not.”

you nodded, eyes blank.

“i’ve been seeing you inside the locker room after our games for like… two years.” megumi mumbled.

oh.

oh that’s right.

you didn’t actually notice megumi until last year, when you decided to finally open your eyes for once during a game and that’s how you spotted him for the first time on the big screen in front of you, in all of his gorgeous handsome entity.

“oh.”

he raised a hand and pressed his index finger to your forehead, nudging you softly.

“dummy.”

“s-sorry..” you gave him a wobbly bashful smile, your cheeks pinky as you rubbed your red eyes.

his eyes slightly softened and he shook his head. “s’fine.”

megumi continued to stare at you, a stone cold face that always seemed to scare off the teams entire fan base, but only made you feel numb and giddy all over every single time.

you smiled wider then, and megumi’s lips twitched.

cute.

“i’m— i’m gonna go now.”

“do you have a ride home?”

you stopped. “no i was just gonna call an uber—”

he shook his head and walked past you, his shoulder brushing gently with yours with his hands stuffed in his pockets as you turned and stared at him.

he paused and looked over his shoulder.

“you coming?”

your eyes widened. “coming? w—where?”

he rolled his eyes. “i’m taking you home.”

“no!” you shot your hands out. “it’s okay! really! thank you thank you i appreciate it but—”

he stared lazily.

“come.”

you pressed your lips into a thin line and tipped your head down, taking tiny painful steps as you followed after him to the parking lot.

megumi led you from the public parking area to a secluded section around the back of the arena, one you assumed was for players and crew members only as you nervously gnawed on your bottom lip, feeling absolutely sick.

you both continued to walk down until you arrived to a private parking garage, megumi slipping out his keys from the pocket of his hoodie as you approached a shiny black luxurious car sitting neatly in a spot.

his car was really fucking nice, and you figured so being as he was one of the most popular players and probably had more than enough money in the bank— your fingers trembling as you gripped the passenger side door, settling yourself inside his plush cool leather seats and all black interior.

megumi pressed the ‘start’ button and his engine roared to life, the motor echoing through the structure as you clumsily tried to put on your seatbelt, your cheeks growing pinker with each passing second that you just couldn’t get the stupid damn thing to— click—

he reached over across the console and took the seatbelt from you, pulling it over your body and clicking it secure without a word.

“thank you.” you said softly, eyes trained to your lap.

megumi gave you a small nod and backed out of his parking space, driving around a couple of rows before making his way out with the night air softly breezing through your hair as he drove, his dash illuminated with blue lines that ran smoothly across.

“can you put your address in—”

“oh yeah!” you jumped. “sorry—”

you reached over and tapped in your address on his big touch screen, watching the way the gps registered the location and gave him the estimated time of arrival.

forty fucking minutes.

“megumi..”

his eyes looked over at you for a second before turning back to the road.

“hm?”

“i live kinda far from here and i don’t want you to drive the opposite way from where you live.”

you leaned a little, eyebrows pinched. “i can take an uber seriously, this is too much trouble i—”

“you’re already in my car.” he deadpanned.

“i’ll jump out.”

he pursed his lips, trying to suppress a smile.

“i have child lock on.”

“child lock?!” you gawked. “is this what you think of me?”

“you’re a little helpless… and you’re a crybaby.” he mumbled. “child lock stays on.”

you giggled after, your eyes shining and filled with mushy feelings for him as you nodded. “you’re probably right.”

he looked over at you then, and he smiled, softly.

“what do you do?”

you fidgeted. “h—huh?”

“do you um…” he ran his thumb over the top of his gear shift. “do you work? do you go to school?”

he’s asking you?

“i go to school!” you responded shyly but kind. “i go to a college that’s about fifteen minutes from your stadium. i usually go and meet up with my best friend after class if there’s a game.”

he hummed. “are you a big baseball person?”

you grimaced.

do you lie? do you tell the truth? do you roll down his window and attempt to jump out of the car that way?

you played with a strand of your hair. “i— i um—”

he raised an eyebrow.

“i— don’t?”

he cocked his head. “you don’t?”

you shook your head no, completely ashamed of who you are as a person as you covered your eyes.

“i knoww i suuucckkk,” you whined. “the only things i know about baseball are home runs and grand slams— which you did!”

you pointed at him excitedly. “last year! i remember you hit a grand slam! i got so excited that for once i knew what the fuck was going on and why everyone was going crazy…”

you fiddled with your fingers nervously, your eyes trained to the road. “i felt so included.”

he chuckled, and unexpectedly, reached over and gently ruffled your hair.

you then stared at him as he did so, doe eyes wide and cheeks pink.

megumi was truly just beautiful— his smooth face that didn’t have a single blemish on his skin shining under the moonlight, his black spiky hair peeking from under his cap that you had no doubt in your mind was soft and velvety.

you hated that you’d probably do anything for that man.

“i’m sorry i made you cry,” he repeated, you recognizing his words from before.

your eyebrows furrowed.

he was still thinking about that?

you shook your head furiously, “you didn’t! i swear it’s okay. i’m just crazy.”

he huffed out a laugh.

megumi thought you were odd, but in a good way. he thought everything you did was a little funny, as you were jumpy and clumsy and a crybaby and helpless, but he also took note of how polite you were. he noticed how considerate you were of him even though you were really upset, and you were kind of sweet… really sweet actually, your personality something that was totally different from the usual girls that came up to him.

well, the usual girls that used to come up to him back when he first started.

megumi pulled into your driveway and shifted the gear into park, the doors automatically unlocking.

you opened the door and stepped out before leaning down and peeking your head in.

“thank you for the ride!” you said sweetly, a cute smile on your face. “i’m sorry you had to listen to my confession against your will.”

he shook his head. “it’s alright.”

you went in to close the door.

“y/n.”

you leaned back down, “yeah?”

“are you gonna stop coming to our games?”

you gnawed at the inside of your cheek, your eyes darting around the interior of his car nervously.

“i— i don’t think so.”

“good.”

megumi watched you close his door and walk back a bit, him shifting his gear into reverse as the corners of his lips turned a tiny bit upwards.

“i’ll see you then.”

as you watched him pull out and drive away, his engine roaring down the street, you could not stop or simmer down the way your heart raced against your chest, so much so that you were afraid it was going to burst through your chest and literally kill you.

the next time you went to a game, you hadn’t told your close girl friend yet as she led you through the crowd and down to the v.i.p. lower level seats like always, a kind courtesy of yuji’s that he did whenever he could.

as you watched, you embarrassingly spotted megumi almost the minute you arrived, stars and hearts in your eyes as you watched him do his thing and work magic through the field with his absolutely insane batting, strong and purposeful as he barked orders or observed the opposing team for leads.

once his and the opposing team switched sides, megumi looked up as he jogged, his eyes seemingly scanning the v.i.p. front sections until he spotted you.

he raised a hand and gave you a little wave, and your eyes widened as you timidly, hesitantly, gave him one in return— your cheeks turning pink.

“who are you waving at?”

your girl friend pressed a cheek against yours and looked.

“who is- fushiguro?!”

you looked at her sheepishly.

as you recounted the story to her, her eyes bulging out of her sockets and screaming her head off every two seconds, her head snapped to the field.

“i have to tell yuji—”

“no!” you gripped her shoulders. “it’s literally nothing! he drove me home and he probably just feels bad for me.”

“megumi isn’t the type to make a crying girl feel better or drive her home.”

“it’s because he knows that we know yuji.”

“mm i don’t think so..” she scowled, crossing her arms in eventual defeat as she stared straight ahead.

that’s how it went for about a month.

you would come to their games, megumi would wave at you from the field or you would catch his attention and wave at him, and you would briefly speak to him casually just after his games, your conversations with him usually lasting no more than three minutes as he was often pulled by his coach or a crew member.

but even though the conversations were short, they were really nice, and the both of you never seemed to notice the people around you wanting his attention until he physically had to get pulled away.

but you still refused to go inside the locker room, knowing that was surely the place where you had to talk to him for longer than three minutes. you were too scared, embarrassingly so as you bid your girl friend and yuji goodbye from just outside the door before leaving every time, completely unaware of the way megumi would stare expressionless at you from inside.

when your girl friend invited you to the team’s yearly banquet, you flat out said no, decision firm and unmoving as she begged you over and over and over again.

“please please you have to go! you can’t avoid megumi forever!”

“what is the purpose of me going though?” you sighed, shaking your head with a smile at the sight of her dramatically on her knees over you. “for you it makes sense because you’re with yuji but what’s the excuse for me? i’m not anybody’s plus one.”

“yes you are,” she got back up on her feet and wiggled her eyebrows, “you’re megumi’s plus one.”

“bye i wish,” you mumbled, plopping down on your bed.

“okay you’re my plus one, or yuji’s! so he has two plus ones!”

she walked over and sat down next to you, resting her head against your shoulder as she sighed. “please come. you don’t have to talk to megumi okay? fine. but just come with me, i’ll have a better time if you do.”

you gave her a silly smile and thought for a moment, her sad tone swaying you as you finally gave in.

“only if you swear you won’t force me to talk to him.”

she nodded eagerly.

“i swear!”

so you stood there, nervous and biting your thumb as you frantically looked around, dressed in a pretty black off the shoulder mermaid style gown with a high slit exposing your leg— fiddling with your styled hair as you waited and waited and waited for your girl friend to come back from the dessert table with yuji.

you hadn’t seen megumi yet as you were trying to keep on a look out, because the moment you did see him all dressed up? you were sure you were going to start pathetically bowing for him on your knees in front of all these people and end your social life forever.

finally, she came back and handed you a little pastry, you thanking her kindly and taking a small bite.

“wait no!” she gasped, turning her pastry around. “fuck, i got the wrong one. i meant to get the vanilla one this is coconut.”

“i can get it for you this time.” you smiled kindly, her looking at you gratefully as you patted her shoulder, making your way over to the dessert table.

your eyes lit up like stars at the sight of it, grand and luxurious as any kind of pastry you could ever possibly think of was present— neat and gourmet-like, each adorned with elegant toppings as multiple huge chocolate fountain stations ran from the sides.

“hi.”

you jumped and looked to your right, megumi standing there beside you with a bored expression, clad in a polished black button up and slacks, his sleeves rolled up to his elbows.

you gulped.

“h—hi.”

“i didn’t think you’d come.”

he lazily picked up a tiny slice of chocolate mousse cake and looked at it.

“i was dragged by my best friend,” you puffed out a laugh. “she said i was her and yuji’s plus one or something like that.”

he nodded, biting his cake slice and swallowing.

“you stopped coming inside the locker rooms.”

you faltered.

he noticed that?

“oh yeah! i just—” you shifted your weight from one foot to the other. “i’ve been really busy with school so i study right after…”

for some reason megumi eyed you carefully, and your cheeks grew pinker the more he blatantly stared at you as you fidgeted.

“are you—”

“fushiguro!”

you both turned your heads to the source, and you spotted an unfamiliar guy, one who you assumed was on the team with them, smiling enthusiastically and throwing a heavy arm around megumi’s shoulder.

“who’s this? i’ve never seen you talk to anyone besides us!”

megumi only spared him a nonchalant glance before he looked back over at the dessert table.

the unknown man extended a hand out to you, and megumi’s eyes snapped to it.

“hi! i’m takuma!”

you cheerfully took his hand. “y/n!”

“are you megumi’s girlfriend?”

you gawked, guilt and embarrassment already filling your body at the thought of megumi finding that comment uncomfortable and being uncomfortable because of you.

at his own banquet.

“n—no!” you shook your head, eyebrows pinched. “i came with my best friend and yuji.”

takuma unhooked his arm and let it rest beside him. “oh nice! you know yuji as well?”

you nodded, “mhm!”

the rest of the crowd began to take their seats for the awards ceremony segment, and the three of you walked over to your designated table by yuji and your best friend, who’s eyes widened at the sight of you next to megumi.

you all sat, and takuma pointed to the empty seat next to you.

“is anyone sitting here?”

“oh no!” you smiled politely. “it’s empty you can—”

“take mine ino.”

megumi pulled out the chair next to you and plopped down on it, scooting up. “it’s closer to the front.”

huh?

“o—oh!” takuma scratched the back of his neck awkwardly. “okay! thanks fushiguro.”

he only nodded in response and stuck his face in his champagne glass, sipping.

and he was right. you watched as takuma navigated through the circular tables before sitting in a seat that was right smack dab in the front.

“that’s really nice of you megumi!” you chirped. “he has such a good view now!”

“mhm.”

your best friend smacked a hand to her forehead with a shake of her head, and you looked at her quizzically.

the awards ceremony was the most fun you’ve ever had, as you were over the moon for all of the players that were awarded prestigious titles and recognitions, and even more excited for yuji and megumi, the both of them combined taking award after award that by the time the event was done, your table was filled to the brim with frames, medals, and trophies.

your doe eyes glowed over megumi’s earnings, pride and admiration bubbling in your chest as you took in the result of his hard work, feeling like he was the most talented person you ever had the privilege of knowing.

he stared at your enamored look.

“you’re so cool, gumi..” you gushed, not even noticing the little nickname you gave him.

but he did.

“cool baseball man?” he responded softly, referencing your words from when you first met.

your eyes snapped to his and you gave him the shiniest smile, nodding quickly. “yeah! cool baseball man.”

megumi looked down at his awards, and after a couple of seconds, picked up a shiny gold medal hung on a baby blue striped lanyard, holding it out for you.

“here.”

your eyes traveled down.

“what?”

“for you.” he pushed the medal forward.

shock crossed your face, and you frantically shook your head, pushing the medal back to him. “no! no megumi that’s yours you earned it—”

megumi rolled his eyes and held on to the edges of the lanyard, effortlessly setting it over your head and around your neck, the medal clinking and twinkling against your chest.

“i have four others. it’s fine.”

“no but—”

he carded his thumbs underneath your hair and gently slid your hair out from beneath the lanyard, setting it delicately over your bare shoulders.

yuji and your best friends jaws were on the floor, but you didn’t notice, too busy ogling over the fact that megumi fushiguro was the kindest person you had ever met, utterly amazed that he selflessly gave you something so precious. you.

your gaze trailed down to the medal, and you softly touched it with the pads of your fingers.

“t—thank you gumi…”

his lips twitched.

you realized then that the music had started and the crowd had already dispersed to celebrate, some dancing in the center while others mingled on the sidelines or hogged the dessert table.

and you spotted your best friend with yuji, the both of them smiling adoringly at each other, laughing and dancing— something bashfully wished for yourself as you grinned softly at them.

megumi followed your gaze, and he huffed an amused small laugh through his nose.

“they met at a party didn’t they?”

you looked to him and nodded, “uh huh! i was with her. she was so scared to talk to him and i literally had to throw her in.”

he scratched his cheek. “i remember. i was there.”

your jaw dropped. “you were?!”

he nodded. “and i remember you too.”

you sat there in silence.

how long had megumi been around in your life without you knowing? how didn’t you ever freaking notice?

before you could press any further, megumi squeezed his eyes shut and pressed his fingers to his forehead in pain, groaning softly.

you jumped, “are you okay? what’s wrong?”

he shook his head. “migraine. the lights are fucking with me a little.”

“oh!” you frantically looked around the table and around him. “where are your sunglasses? the dark ones the ones you ran into a wall with!”

megumi snorted and shook his head again, eyes peeking at you a bit. “it’s fine. i left them at home.”

your eyebrows rose, “you left them?”

he nodded and dropped his hand, sitting up straight and trying to open his eyes fully to seem normal, but his lids only dropped again and his forehead fell to rest against the table.

“i’m sorry,” he mumbled. “just give me a minute.”

“don’t be sorry gumi…”

you figured the rest of the night was going to be like this, and if megumi stayed, he was going to end up dealing with the dull ache in his head for hours on end and not enjoy his banquet.

but you wanted him to enjoy it. this was his night, and you didn’t want him to spend it pissed off and writhing in pain.

“do you want to leave?”

he turned his head to the side and looked at you.

“we can um—” you fiddled with the medal around your neck. “we can go outside? or we can go for ice cream…”

you tilted your head to the side cutely, and you were oblivious to the way megumi’s cheeks went a little pink at the sight.

“ill pay though!” you smiled sweetly. “it’s the least i can do for the medal you gave me.”

he gave you an endearing half smile and nodded.

your eyes lit up. “really?! okay!— wait let me just say bye to my best friend and let her know—”

you quickly stood and walked over to the dance floor, megumi watching after you before picking up his black blazer and holding it underneath an arm, wondering how the fuck he was gonna pick up all of his awards himself.

“y/n!” your best friend gushed. “you’ve been talking to megumi for hours what the fuck is going on—”

you laughed. “nothing! it was nothing but i’m gonna go get ice cream with him!”

“what?!” her and yuji said in unison.

“did he ask you?” yuji pushed.

“no!” your eyes narrowed. “of course not i’m a big fat loser why would he? i invited him because he has a migraine so—”

your best friend hummed, a smirk on her face. “oh i see... use protection.”

“huh?!” your jaw dropped. “no! that’s not—”

“y/n!”

you turned and saw takuma walk over to you, a big smile on his face. “you enjoying the banquet?”

“oh yes! it’s really great!” you smiled kindly. “the dessert table is absolutely insane.”

“right?!” takuma stepped closer to you. “they go all out every year, it’s what everyone looks forward to.”

“i can definitely see why!”

he chuckled and nodded but then turned to you, speaking quieter. “listen um… i was wondering if you were uh— well if you wanted to dance? with me? y’know… maybe get to know each other better and then—”

yuji shoved his lips to your best friends ear.

“he’s stealing megumi’s girl.”

“i know!” she whispered harshly. “what the fuck do we do—”

“i don’t know!”

“well call megumi over—”

suddenly, a tall broad figure walked in between you and takuma, your vision blocked by his back.

“sorry ino,” megumi stepped to the side a little and placed a hand on the small of your back, ushering you towards the exit. “we were just leaving.”

yuji and your best friend gave each other a low high five before their eyes darted around, putting on false ignorance.

“sorry!— it was nice meeting you takuma!” you called from over your shoulder before the both of you stepped out of the venue and into the cool night air.

megumi’s car was parked right out front, him unlocking the doors with a button just like he had done the last time, you noticing how all of his awards were set neatly in the back seat.

“oh i’m sorry gumi! did you carry these over by yourself? i was gonna help you—”

you sat yourself on his passenger side seat, the leather creaking with every movement you made.

he shook his head. “i had my publicist team do it. it’s fine.”

“oh okay…” you mumbled, still feeling a little guilty that you didn’t help him.

you went to reach for your seatbelt when megumi’s arm flew in front of you and grabbed the strap, pulling it over your frame and clicking it securely before his hands wrapped back around the steering wheel, just like he had done a month prior.

you couldn’t make out his expression, as it was blank and stone-like and not a word was coming out of his mouth as he backed out from the parking space, but you smiled at him cutely nonetheless and thanked him.

the nearest ice cream shop was literally down the road from the venue, and the drive took less than three minutes before megumi pulled in and parallel parked on the side of the street.

you both stepped out and walked inside, the shop colorful and vibrant as what looked like twenty different assortments of ice cream were on display, your eyes launching across each flavor excitedly.

“i haven’t had ice cream in a fat minute…” you murmured as you pressed your hands against the glass.

“me neither.”

“which flavor do you want megumi?” you asked him sweetly, your eyes still glued to the flavors that it made him chuckle.

“um…” he stepped forward and scanned the different colors. “i’ll take whatever you get.”

you looked at him and your eyebrows softened, “are you sure? what if you don’t like it?”

the corner’s of his lips turned upward, the sight making your heart skip a beat.

“it’s okay. i trust you.”

you ended up getting your all time favorite flavor that you never skip— cake batter, one that tastes different depending on who’s palette it is, and something you anxiously thought over as you gnawed on your bottom lip and stared, waiting for him to try it as you both sat on a park bench not too far from the shop.

“why do you look like you’re about to cry.” he snickered lowly.

your eyes snapped to his and you giggled. “i might if you don’t like what i picked out.” you plopped a little spoonful in your mouth, the cold ice cream melting and spreading over your tongue as you swallowed. “cake batter is a hit or miss for different people…”

he hummed, “how come?”

“it’s either too sweet or just nasty.”

“i have a sweet tooth.”

your eyes lit up, “so do i! i’m a big sweets person. i love love desserts and chocolate and ice cream… but i’m not the biggest fan of candy.”

“you’re not?”

“i love candy but not how i love sweets… and i wouldn’t randomly pick it out like at the store because i wanted to. most likely i would get a cookie.”

megumi liked how much you talked.

“have you always had a sweet tooth?” he pressed on, looking at his ice cream cup.

you nodded. “have you?”

“not really,” he shook his head. “i didn’t pick it up until i met—” he stopped. “…my dad.”

met his dad?

megumi spotted your confusion and continued.

“my actual dad disappeared. dunno where he’s at. all i’ve heard is that he had a bad gambling addiction so i’m guessing it had something to do with that.”

your eyes softened.

“gojo is kind of like my dad…” he mumbled. “he’s supported my sister and i financially ever since i was maybe five or six.”

“you have a sister?” you murmured, eyes big.

he nodded. “i do.”

he scooped a bit of cake batter ice cream up with his spoon and plopped it into his mouth, smiling softly. “gojo gave me a sweet tooth. he can’t go a day without it.”

you’d never heard megumi open up so much before, and you felt incredibly lucky and special to be the one to hear about his family and share a precious moment with him over eating ice cream, something you wanted to treat delicately and remember for as long as you lived.

“do you like it?” you asked softly, gesturing to his cup.

“i love it.”

you beamed, and he took in your cute smile for a minute as you ate some more on your end.

“i’m sorry about your actual dad… but i’m glad you and your sister got the support you needed when you were young.”

he nodded.

“did he encourage you to do baseball? or was it you?”

“he did initially.” he shook his head. “he was annoying at first, was a cheerleader at every game and was so loud.”

you giggled.

“but i grew to like it… and that’s what i wanted to do for a career. if it wasn’t for gojo’s funding i wouldn’t have been able to.”

you hummed, savoring the ice cream a bit before swallowing. “that’s really nice, gumi. i’m really happy you got the opportunity to grow your skill out like that…” you swirled the ice cream around your cup with your spoon. “what you have is a solid gift, and i would hate to see it not get the recognition it deserves when you’ve worked so hard to make it what it is now.”

you looked at him. “so i’m really, really glad that it does get it.”

megumi stared at you, face blank and a scoop of yet to be eaten ice cream on his spoon, his cheeks growing hot.

“i don’t know why you think so highly of me.” he murmured.

everyone thinks he’s rude.

your eyebrows furrowed. “i don’t think megumi, i know. you’re not a mean person, you’re honest and serious about the important things in your life. and if the medal around my neck that you gave me selflessly doesn’t tell you otherwise? i might have to kill you.”

he laughed, loud, his eyes sparkling. “you might?”

you bit your lip to refrain yourself from freaking out over his smooth laughter. “i might.”

you subconsciously rubbed your hands over your chilling arms then and megumi eyed it before he put his cup down, reaching next to him for his blazer and opening it up as he gently placed it over your shoulders.

you looked at him like he was the world then, doe eyes big and round and shimmering, and megumi felt like he could do anything with that look as long as it came from you— a permanent red tint on his cheeks that was entirely your doing.

“thank you..” you mumbled shyly, your eyes glued to your now empty cup of ice cream on the bench as you clutched the sides of his blazer, the smell of him wafting in your nose that made you absolutely weak.

megumi timidly, slowly, reached up and moved a strand of hair from your eyes then, and you looked up.

“pretty…” he murmured, dazed even.

his hand fell and landed gently on your exposed thigh from the slit of your dress, but instead of moving it, he let it stay there, his hand smoothing over your plush soft skin as he was completely entranced by your heavenly face, his body pulling his lips closer to yours as megumi’s breath quickened with absolute need the higher up his hand trailed up your yummy thigh.

you couldn’t say a word, he practically didn’t let you as his lips pressed delicately and timidly against your plush ones, his mouth moving so slowly and his tongue parting your wet lips for the purpose of devouring more of you, all while his fingertips reached and felt the side straps of your panties— the material alone making him erratic and desperate while his other hand gripped your waist tightly.

your mouths moved faster now, the sounds of wet smacking and lips separating to reconnect with more greed than before muffling your ears as he breathed heavily through his nose, his eyebrows pinched together in pent up everything as he finally had you with him after months of you avoiding him.

and then you pulled away with a wet pop.

“i—i’m sorry!” you covered your mouth. “i didn’t mean to kiss you!—”

what?

megumi’s eyebrows furrowed, both of your chests heaving as his cheeks and lips were blushed red.

he shook his head, “no i kissed you—”

“don’t cover for me gumiii,” your shoulders slumped, your brain so in denial that he could ever like you back that it tricked you into thinking you were the one kissing and all over him. “fuck i’m sorry… that was so disrespectful and— and weird of me and i—”

megumi’s hands slipped away from your body and he shook his head, his eyes dead locked on yours with his eyebrows pinched together. “y/n no you’re not understanding—”

“i’m the biggest creep on the planet man i understand if you don’t ever want to speak to me again—” you covered your face and leaned forward.

megumi stared at you astonishingly as he listened to you ramble apologies and dramatic insults for yourself continuously, his shoulders slowly relaxing and his lips turning into a soft knowing smile, your random speech starting to make absolutely no sense at all and his heart aching at the fact of how naive you were.

“y/n.”

you stopped. “what.”

he reached over and pulled your hands away from your face. “you’re helpless, you know that?”

“helpless and a creep.”

he laughed and shook his head. “stop it.”

he stood and offered his hand out for you.

“it’s getting late, i’m driving you home.”

megumi decided he would properly speak to you about it the next time he saw you… except he didn’t.

you started avoiding him like the plague again, horrendously horrified about what you believed you had done, thinking that it was better if you stayed away from him and fulfilled your initial task of forgetting him, no matter how much it hurt you.

you didn’t want megumi to ever be uncomfortable or experience what you believed he experienced with you. he didn’t deserve that. he didn’t deserve a pathetic little fan girl that never left him alone and hindered his work on the field, even though you wished so badly you could see him again, as the taste of his lips and mouth never left your fuzzy mind.

you kissed megumi fushiguro.

“oh my god y/n, you’re so stupid.”

“no i’m not! do you really believe megumi could ever like me back? no! absolutely not. i kissed him and i fucked up and that’s it. i’m staying away from him.”

your best friend ran her fingers through her hair and almost tore a chunk out in frustration. “it sounds like he kissed you! he had his hand on your thigh—”

“that was for stability! he—”

“no it was to feel you up!”

you shook your head side to side with your arms crossed. “nope nope nope nope—”

“y/nnnn!”

as for megumi, the next game he had he looked for you while on the field like he always did, looking forward to seeing your precious face and giving you a little wave… except he couldn’t find you. after the game, he went around the stadium and towards the locker room, inside and back out, the parking lot, his parking lot—

and he couldn’t find you.

this went on for a full three weeks of game after game nearly every day him doing the same exact thing— him getting increasingly more confused and a bit upset at your disappearance, going as far as to staying hours after his games still in his sweaty baseball uniform and cap with hopes that you’ll turn up.

except you never did.

and at the end of the third week, he had had enough.

“oh hey megumi!” your best friend greeted him, her hand fixing around yuji’s hair in the locker room after a game.

“hi.”

he stood there and said nothing, and your best friend eyed him skeptically. “…yes?”

megumi shifted awkwardly. “have you um… have you seen y/n?”

she sucked in a breath. “uh yeah. i saw her this morning.”

“this morning?” his eyes narrowed. “is she okay? why hasn’t she been coming to our games with you?”

“because—” she stammered. “well because—”

“is it our place to say?” yuji muttered.

“is it our place to know?” she whispered back harshly.

“i don’t know!”

“let’s just tell him!”

“but what if!—”

megumi rolled his eyes and huffed. “nevermind. please tell her to come tomorrow, i need to talk to her.”

your best friend gulped and nodded, both her and yuji watching the way he walked away and snatched his cap off, throwing it inside his locker and slamming it shut with his foot before picking up his duffel bag and leaving, not even bothering to change out of his dirt covered uniform.

“i’ve never seen him so stressed,” yuji commented.

“it’s because he likes her and she’s being an idiot…” your best friend sighed sadly.

so when she came to you the next day and told you megumi needed to speak to you, she amplified how upset he was to get you to feel bad and feel the urgent need to come to the game tonight, which you of course did.

and you were worried. so so worried and scared that he was finally going to tell you off for kissing him, to tell you that you sucked and that he never ever wanted to see you again in his life and that you were a disgusting human being—

but the roar of the crowd pulled you from your thoughts, the team winning once again as many began to pack their things and take their leave. you were completely and utterly shitting yourself, petrified and already heartbroken over the fact that megumi was officially going to cut you off as a friend when you hadn’t even had the chance to try and win him over yet.

and the way he played on the field tonight was way more aggressive than normal. he was louder, meaner, and didn’t take his eyes away from the ball or his opponents as he nearly got into a fight with another player, yuji and a few others needing to pull megumi apart and set him aside to cool off— the cameras and reporters having a field day in regards to him.

and that bothered you like nothing else. why the hell were they so excited over him getting angry? to amplify the brand that he upholds as the teams meanest player? as if they’ve never had a bad day a day in their lives? what was the point?

and it was all because of you, you realized.

you made him upset.

you covered your face with your hands and groaned, feeling like you wanted to cry.

“y/n…” your best friend patted your back. “it’ll be fine… he just needs to talk to you! you don’t even know what it’s about.”

“i can take a wild guess.”

she looked at you worriedly before picking up her things. “whenever you’re ready babe… i think he’s in the locker rooms by now.”

she left you there to gather yourself, and you sat there for a couple of more minutes before finally getting up and making your way to the locker rooms.

most of the fans had cleared out by now, and the sun was beginning to set as you passed and squeezed through crew members and news reporters, gnawing at your bottom lip as you turned a corner and spotted the locker room, many of the players already leaving.

just as you had reached your hand up to open the door, a firm voice called out to you.

“y/n.”

you froze, retracting your hand as you turned to look.

megumi stood there at the end of the hall, his baseball uniform still on and his cap dangling from his belt loop, hands in tight fists with his chest rising and falling, an agitated look on his face that you had never seen before.

“h—hi-”

“are you trying to forget me? is that what’s going on?”

your eyebrows furrowed.

“what?”

megumi took stride full steps towards you. “you finally talk to me, you confess to me, you disappear for a month, i wait for you, you finally show up at the banquet looking like the most beautiful woman i’ve ever seen in my fucking life—”

he stopped in front of you. “takuma tries to steal you from me, i get pissed off, i fall for you at the park, i kiss you—“ he threw his arms up. “and you disappear again!”

your eyes bulge out of their sockets.

fall?

“you what?—”

“so i’m asking you again,” megumi bent his knees to look at you at eye level, his hands coming up to cup your pink cheeks and his face so close to yours you can make out the exact color of his eyes.

“are you trying to forget me? like you said you would?”

you fidgeted.

“i— i was doing it for you—”

“why for me? i never said—”

the feeling of his big hands on your cheeks was making your heart do backflips and trick shots as your wide doe eyes looked at him.

“because when i kissed you i made you uncomfortable and i don’t ever want you to be so i thought it’d be best if i left you alone—”

“okay let’s fix that right now,” his hands tightened slightly around your cheeks and he readjusted his footing, knees still bent. “i kissed you. if anything i should be the one worried if i made you uncomfortable because i put my hand on your thigh like that and for that i’m sorry.”

“no but—”

“yes y/n. i kissed you because you’re polite and you’re sweet and you’re funny, and you don’t see me as rude like everybody else does. and even though you’re naive and helpless sometimes, i like that you are. i like you.”

“but you’re megumi fushiguro…” you squeaked.

“so?”

“and i’m a loser.”

he laughed so cutely and shook his head, his pearly whites fully shining at you so big that it took you back to the first time he smiled in front of you.

“no you’re not you big dummy.”

he let go of your cheeks and placed his palms flat against the brick wall behind you, cornering you in as he let his head hang low, the top of his spiky black hair the only thing in your line of vision.

“i don’t know how else i can make you see…”

he sounded so exhausted, and your heart clenched.

“was it—” you timidly placed your hands on his shoulders. “was it actually you that kissed me?”

he nodded, head still hung.

“and do you actually like me? like— like more than a friend…”

“way fucking more,” he mumbled.

you bit the inside of your cheek as you tried to contain yourself from screaming.

you couldn’t believe it. the megumi fushiguro, number eighteen, the most handsome man you’ve ever seen and the kindest one you’ve ever met… liked you.

“i could’ve sworn i kissed you..” you spoke softly, trailing off.

“you didn’t.” his voice was firm. “i kissed you and i put my hand up your thigh…” his forehead lifted to rest on the crook of your neck as he sighed a deep breath.

“i told— i told takuma to scram at the banquet because i got jealous that you were talking to him more than me. i saw you crying in the hall that first time we spoke and i recognized you and i went up to you because finally—”

he picked his head up slowly, eyes serious. “finally, you noticed me.”

he was so close that your nose brushed gently with his.

“you’re so dense y/n…”

megumi’s eyes flickered to your lips, “i’ve wanted you since the party.”

“the party?” you murmured.

he nodded. “the party where your friend first met yuji.”

your breath hitched as you felt his hands slide down the wall and snake over your hips, holding you tightly against him as the shock of his words made your body numb and tingly.

since the party?

it all seemed to click into place then, every single moment megumi tried to get you to look at him, to talk to him, in his own discreet way that you were completely oblivious to. and you were so fucking caught up in this fog of denial, that a person like megumi could never be interested in a person like you, that it made you push him away for the longest time without even giving yourself a chance.

you were so fucking stupid.

your arms slowly wrapped around his broad shoulders, the rough feeling of his baseball uniform underneath your fingertips and arms as you pressed your nose up against his shoulder shyly, feeling so incredibly bad for avoiding megumi for so long.

“i’m sorry…” you mumbled. “i’m sorry i was so oblivious gumi.”

you felt him shake his head from the crook of your neck silently, the vibration of his heart beating rapidly against you making you sweat and melt at the same time.

“don’t be.”

“i just—” you struggled. “i just thought you didn’t like me like i liked you and i wanted to respect your space…”

“i understand,” he muttered. “but i don’t want you to respect my space anymore.”

you held him tighter.

“and—” your voice was slightly muffled by his shoulder.

“hm?”

“i liked it when you put your hand on my thigh…”

megumi stilled, you playing the night he kissed you over and over in your head again like you’ve done since it happened— the thought making you nervous and timid.

he gripped you tighter.

“did you?”

you nodded, “mhm.”

megumi without parting from you, slipped a hand under your shirt and soothed his fingers over the bare skin of your torso, your breathing stuttering, his rough hand radiating warmth.

“what else do you like.”

you gripped the fabric of his uniform.

“i like… i like the way you kissed me. and how you touch me… like right now.”

your voice was so so soft, practically a whisper as he seemed to shiver under your words, wanting more.

“what else.”

“you,” you mumbled. “your body… your hair… your face… your hands… the way you talk to people.”

“you want me?” he murmured breathlessly.

“more than anything.”

“what else do you like?”

you leaned your head back a little and pressed your lips to his ear. “the way you play ball.”

he hummed, “you like the way i play baby?”

you nodded, your heart hammering.

he lifted his face from the crook of your neck and shamelessly pressed his lips to your cheek, murmuring.

“you wanna see what else i can do?”

“what— what else?”

megumi’s face remained pressed against your cheek as he let both of his hands now snake underneath your shirt and upwards, slowly but roughly groping the cup of your tits over your bra, feeling you up as you gasped.

“uh huh..” he pressed an open mouthed wet kiss to your pink fuzzy cheek. “‘cause i can do a lot more than just be your cool baseball man.”

he roughly spun you around and pushed you up against the wall, his hands coming back up to your breasts to grope you as he shoved and rubbed his hardened clothed dick against your perky ass, your tiny skirt riding up and revealing your pretty pink panties that made him absolutely feral.

“gumi!” you gasped. “s—someone could see—”

“i don’t fucking care.”

megumi buried his nose further into the back of your neck and your hair, him being a little pervert in the most delicious and intoxicating way possible.

he dragged his mouth up against your skin and latched on to the nape of your neck, sucking and biting sloppily against it as he marked you aggressively, no doubt in your mind that a purple bruise would follow soon after as his hands slipped under your bra now, pinching your hard nipples meanly and laughing when you jumped.

you moaned and whined against the wall, your body trembling as you felt your slick arousal slip from your hole and dampen your panties, choked up embarrassment coating your face as he shoved his fingers down your skirt without warning.

“you’re soaked baby…” he whispered. “and all because i grabbed your tits?”

“megumiii…” you whined, and you squeaked as he quickly slipped his fingers in between your pussy lips and pinched your clit.

“gumi,” he corrected. “fix it.”

“g—gumi—”

“good, pretty baby...” he praised, his dick rock fucking solid against your ass at the way his fingers slipped and slid in between your lower lips without much effort, both of your chests heaving and panting as your brains frazzled erotically.

the sounds of footsteps echoed from the end of the hall and you both immediately froze, a gasp slipping past your lips before megumi quickly covered your mouth with the same hand that was just fingering you.

“shh.” he kissed the back of your head.

if anyone were to walk in and see the sight before them— megumi with his crotch pressed up against your ass, a hand pushing your top and bra up, squeezing your bare puffy tit and the other covering your mouth?

they’d drop dead.

without another moment wasted, megumi uncovered your mouth and turned you around, his tongue darting out and licking the patch of wet on your cheek from his fingers before shoving them in his mouth, sucking up your left over juice as he bent down and wrapped his arms around your legs, lifting and throwing you over his shoulder.

megumi was freaky.

your eyes widened as he walked to the double doors of the locker room and kicked it open with his foot, turning around to lock them shut before walking to a corner and setting you down gently on a bench, his palms flat beside you on the smooth wood as he towered over you.

“is— is everybody gone?”

“long gone.” he nibbled at your cheek.

“but— but what if someone wants to come in?—”

he pulled away and got down on his knees. “i’ll tell them to fuck off.”

you panted as he pressed his hands against your thighs and squeezed, spreading them apart slowly with his eyes trained to your drenched cute pink panties.

he slid his hands underneath your thighs and lifted, bending you and pressing your knees closer to you as your back hit the lockers behind you, your hands gripping the bench for dear life.

“has anyone ever seen your pussy?” he gruffed, licking his lips.

you shook your head, embarrassed. “n—no.”

“has any other man touched you the way i’ve touched you?”

“m—maybe in high school?—”

megumi sunk his teeth into your inner thigh and bit you as you yelped.

“thought you liked me.”

“i do!” you sputtered.

“clearly not if you’re being a little whore and letting other filthy men on you.”

your hole clenched.

“that— that was before you!”

he stuck his tongue out and pressed it flat against your pussy covered panties, dragging it slowly and agonizingly up until the tip of his tongue passed and flicked up against your clit, the tip moving around and around your little nub as your thighs shook.

“doesn’t matter.” he let a string of drool fall from the corner of his lips and over your ruined underwear, your eyes fluttering as you felt his warm saliva ooze in between your lips.

“and what about takuma, hm?”

you tried to open your eyes. “ta—takuma?”

“mhm. he was all over you.”

you hiccuped as he wrapped his fingers around the straps of your panties and pulled them down.

“i—”

“bet he wanted to do to you what i’m doing right now…” he hummed. “would you have let him?”

he stuffed his nose into your bare pussy and inhaled deeply, your jaw dropping as you squeezed your eyes shut.

your lack of response caused him to pull away and bite your thigh again, harder.

“would you?”

“n—no!” you shook your head quickly, strands of your hair lightly grazing your face. “i wouldn’t—”

“so who then?” he licked over his bite mark. “who would you spread your legs open for like this and let them see what a nasty fucking girl you are…”

“you gumi!” you hiccuped. “just you—”

“just me?”

megumi finally let his tongue slither itself in between your folds, slowly running over your flaps and clit as your hole continued to squelch out your arousal, pooling on the bench beneath you.

“y—yes!”

he slobbered and spit over your pussy like a starved dog, his face glistening like sugary glazed sweets.

“that’s what i fucking thought,” he hummed. “you gonna try and forget me again?”

“no!” you shook your head. “never! i can’t!”

he gripped your thighs tighter as he absolutely violated your folds then, wet sloshing and slurpings filling the air as he spat and shook his head side to side rapidly on your clit, you squealing and attempting to snap your thighs shut in response, his strong grip not letting you even if you tried.

“i—i can’t!” you cried. “gumi slow please it’s too much—”

“be a pretty baby and stop complaining.” he ran his slimy tongue over your pussy entirely before shoving it inside your hole.

you choked and clasped a trembling hand over your mouth, tears of ecstasy spilling from the corners of your eyes as you squeezed them shut.

you whimpered and moaned and cried so pathetically, so cutely in his ears that he grinned as he pumped his tongue in and out of you filthily.

“you’re so fucking sweet—” he slapped your cunt and you jumped. “good thing i have a sweet tooth.”

your legs shook violently as you began to see stars, your tight hole clenching and sputtering around nothing as you felt your release approaching.

“gumi—” your hand flew back to the bench and you gripped it. “m’gonna cum! i’m— i’m gonna make a mess—”

megumi’s hand shot up and wrapped around one of your thighs so the tips of his fingers met your clit, his digits proceeding to rub and flick it as you climbed and reached your high, a high pitched scream echoing through the steamy locker room as your pussy leaked your sweet cum on his tongue.

you shuddered and jumped at the way he cleaned up your release and swallowed it, running his tongue soothingly over the bite marks on your thighs before coming back up and wiping his glistening face with his sleeve.

megumi leaned in and pressed a gentle loving kiss to your lips, a complete turn around from the feral beast you had in between your legs— you kissing him back with just as much feel and affection.

he pulled back and got back up on his feet, you watching him ditzy as he jogged over to his locker and turned the lock until it clicked open, him rummaging inside for a little before he shut it and came back with a fresh pair of gray sweatpants.

“put these on baby,” he murmured.

you nodded sweetly and took them from him, you slipping off your skirt and pulling his sweatpants over as you watched him bend and look over corners.

“what are you looking for?” you asked softly.

he perked up then and stuck his hand under a bench, pulling out your wet ruined pink panties and holding them up high like a trophy.

“oh my god—” you covered your mouth in embarrassment. “give me those!”

“nope.” he shook his head and walked over to his duffel bag on the floor, unzipping it before stuffing your panties inside. “these are mine now.”

megumi came back up and wrapped his palm underneath your chin, tilting your face up softly before planting a sweet kiss to your swollen lips.

“and so are you.”

and that you were.

you went on many many dates with megumi after that, each and every single one so incredibly lovely and fun, a genuine connection you felt with him and each other that you had never ever felt before in your life, absolutely enamored by the way he gently treated you and made you feel like the only one that mattered in his life.

your best friend was obviously over the moon for you, squealing like a maniac at everything you told her, and always teased megumi about his lovesick face whenever you came to his games or appeared in the locker room to help him change, sort his clothes, or fix his hair.

“megumi…” she snickered. “your cheeks are a little red! are you like— sick?”

he scowled at her and turned the other way, wiping his sweaty forehead as he watched you bounce down the steps cutely and onto the field after one of his practices, a huge smile on your face that replicated on his.

the minute you jumped into his arms, he peppered your little cheeks with kisses as you giggled and ruffled his spiky hair, asking him how he felt about practice and other things after he set you down.

without anyone noticing, a journalist was on the field, and at the sight of megumi fushiguro’s beaming toothy smile as he watched you run to him, they quickly snapped a photo and published it.

one was a perfect portrait photo of his shining white smile (that later became his signature picture) and the other was a photo of his arms out for you as you ran, the both of them causing an absolute uproar that altered megumi’s image from that day forward.

megumi fushiguro was thought to be the meanest player on the team since the day he got signed.

but when he started taking more pictures with fans, kind of stopped offending the people around him, signed more autographs, and smiled occasionally at the paparazzi— all while your pretty self stood right next to him?

megumi fushiguro was sometimes the meanest player on the team.

————————————————————————

want more? you can find my mlb!megumi fushiguro masterlist here!

[neothingss]

what the FUCK how is this so cute

[rawjutsu]

the babysitter

pairing: megumi x fem reader

summary: you babysat little thirteen-year-old megumi once upon a time, but now, ten years later? you spot him at a club looking way too hot to be your awkward kid from the past. you try to play it cool but end up lowkey embarrassing yourself with some accidental flirting. plot twist: he’s actually a new intern at your job, and suddenly the vibe’s all kinds of heat. after a lot of teasing, tension, and some seriously awkward moments, one night the heat finally breaks—and megumi proves he’s way past kid status.

cw: age gap (4ish years), time skips, power dynamics, sexual tension, piv smut, oral (f receiving), fingering, unprotected sex, creampie, teasing, 7.9k wc

the coffee table was covered in greasy pizza boxes — cheese for megumi, pepperoni for you and tsumiki, who was currently flopped upside down on the couch like a melting popsicle, humming to herself with her slice dangling over her face.

you were cross-legged on the carpet beside megumi, pink nails tapping your phone calculator while he aggressively stabbed his pencil at a multiplication worksheet like it had wronged him in another life.

"this is so stupid," he muttered, brows furrowed. “why can’t i just use a calculator like everyone else?”

you gasped, hand on your heart like he’d just offended your ancestors. “excuse me?! megumi fushiguro, did you just try to commit math blasphemy in front of me?”

he stared blankly. “...what?”

you giggled and leaned over to squint at his half-erased answers. “babe, what is this? did you write ninety-nine for nine times nine?”

his face immediately flushed. “shut up.”

you grinned and, without thinking, ruffled his hair.

he jerked away instantly. “don’t do that,” he said, cheeks flaming.

“oh my god,” you laughed, “you’re so dramatic. you didn’t care when i did it when you were nine.”

he didn’t answer, jaw tense, pencil gripped like he wanted to snap it in half. his bangs shadowed his eyes, and he’d gotten taller since the last time you saw him — lanky, a little awkward, but starting to grow into it. thirteen looked weird on him. it made him seem older than he was and younger than he wanted to be.

“ah, y/n! you have no idea how much we needed this, thank you so much for babysitting last minute,” mrs. fushiguro exclaimed, cheeks rosy—probably from a little too much wine.

mr. fushiguro just grunted in greeting, wandering over to play-wrestle with megumi and swipe one of his slices.

you popped up with a bubbly little wave. “hi! don’t even worry about it, the kids were angels.”

megumi looked personally insulted by that.

tsumiki chirped from the couch, “we made megumi do math and suffer. it was awesome.”

“doing math on a friday night is illegal,” megumi groaned, still hunched over the table.

“you’re just mad you thought nine times nine was ninety-nine,” you sing-songed while slipping on your shoes.

mrs. fushiguro laughed, digging through her purse. “so, y/n, do you have a boyfriend yet? you’re too cute to be single.”

you laughed, flustered. “not yet, i’m focusing on school right now—finals season is killing me.”

mr. fushiguro emerged with a mouth full of pizza. “that’s good. boys your age don’t know their head from their ass.”

you laughed again, but then megumi grumbled something behind him—loud enough to catch everyone’s attention.

“what does she need a boyfriend for? she has me.”

no one said anything for a second. then mr. fushiguro broke the silence by yanking megumi into a headlock and cackling.

“so you’re into older women now, huh? gotta type already, little man?”

“dad, shut up—!”

“oh, megumi,” his mom added, shaking her head with a smile, “i think y/n needs another seventeen-year-old to call her boyfriend. not a middle schooler in minecraft pajamas.”

you giggled behind your hand, careful not to hurt megumi’s feelings. even tsumiki was giggling watching her older brother get oddly flustered.

“speaking of,” his mom continued, “y/n, can you just double check that tsumiki brushed her teeth? i need toji to look at something in the garage.”

toji blinked, pizza still in hand. “i thought we were doing that tomorrow—?”

tsumiki was already tucked in by the time you padded back into the living room. megumi was standing awkwardly by the hallway now, hands in the pockets of his pajama pants, gaze fixed on the floor.

“hey,” you said gently. “you good?”

he nodded a little too quickly. “you’re not gonna come over anymore, right?”

you blinked. “what?”

“my mom said... tsumiki doesn’t need a babysitter anymore.”

you tilted your head, smile softening. “yeah, she’s getting big. you both are.”

he didn’t reply. just scowled at the floor like it had offended him. you reached out and tugged playfully at his sleeve.

“i’m gonna miss you, gumi,” you said, voice bright but fond. “who else is gonna argue with me about math and threaten to burn my worksheets?”

he mumbled something under his breath that you didn’t quite catch.

you leaned in with a teasing grin, smacked a big pink kiss to his cheek, and said, “you better not forget about me, okay? ‘cause i’m definitely not gonna forget you.”

then you were grabbing your purse and heading for the door, heels clicking cheerfully as you called over your shoulder—

“and stop growing! next time i do see you, you might be 2 heads taller than me.”

megumi stood frozen in the hallway, cheeks burning, hand lifting to touch the faint imprint of your lipstick.

ten years later

the club was packed—sweaty bodies grinding to half-broken trap remixes off today’s top hits, the floor sticky with spilled cocktails and too much cologne. you were deep in the chaos, laughing with your friends between flirty little conversations that ended in free drinks. not trying to pull. just dancing. vibing. glowing.

you were tipsy and stunning—lip gloss poppin', hair perfectly messy, dress barely hanging on. living your life.

and across the dance floor—

“...megumi?”

he freezes like you slapped him. blinks once. twice. because you’re not supposed to be here. you live in a memory, in warm pizza boxes and butterfly clips and highlighter-pink hoodies. you are softness and warmth and the scent of strawberry body spray from the early 2010s. but now—

now you're grown. glowing. sultry. moving your hips to the beat in a way that has no business being legal. and your mouth is still glossy, and megumi is not okay.

you light up. slap some poor guy’s hand off your ass and practically trip your way toward him—your heels clicking like fate. he’s standing by one of the high-top tables, drink in hand, frozen like he’s seen a ghost with a bbl.

you fling your arms around his neck without hesitation, your tits fully pressed to his chest like it’s nothing, giggling in disbelief.

“oh my god—you're drinking?! my baby is drinking?! stop itttt.”

he stiffens. “you—you don’t have to call me—”

“megumi,” you interrupt, dramatically clutching his shoulders. “i babysat you when you still had spider-man sheets. i used to wipe your nose.”

“you absolutely did not—”

“i did! you were like—‘math is stupid’—and you had crusty eye boogers, and now you’re here drinking, looking all…” your eyes drag over him and you wiggle your fingers teasingly. “...grown.”

you pull back just enough to really look at him—and your giggle falters.

because oh. oh.

he’s tall. and broad. and sharp-jawed and annoyingly sexy in that quiet, effortless, completely illegal kind of way.

you blink. "you got hot."

megumi’s brain blue-screens.

"no—i mean—you’ve grown up! that’s what i meant. i used to babysit you!"

you don’t seem to realize how close you are. you’re swaying into him, arm still slung over his shoulders like you’ve done it a thousand times. fingers casually toying with the ends of his hair like it’s your right. like you’re not wearing a backless dress that megumi is painfully aware could slide off with one wrong move.

you, still blissfully unaware, play with the little chain around his neck now. “you work out too, huh? i knew you’d be tall. i remember thinking that when you were like thirteen—‘this kid’s gonna grow up and be hot.’” you laugh like you didn’t just casually ruin his entire night.

megumi stares at you, eyes wide, face absolutely flaming, hands clenched so tightly around his drink it’s a miracle the glass hasn’t shattered.

and then—

“y/n!” a voice calls from the crowd. “there you are!”

yuki slides in out of nowhere, arm snaking around your waist like a protective older sister on a mission. her eyes flick from megumi to your hand on his chain to the way you’re basically draped over him and then back to megumi, whose expression is screaming please kill me right now.

she leans in and stage-whispers, “why are you flirting with a college freshman?”

you blink like she just spoke elvish. “what?? i’m not! that’s—megumi!”

yuki’s brows lift. “...uh-huh.”

“i used to babysit him!” you laugh, slapping megumi lightly on the chest for emphasis. “isn’t that so funny?!”

megumi is dying.

yuki smiles. but it’s tight.

poor kid. he's standing there, stunned, blinking after you like you just set him on fire and walked away.

yuki sighs to herself.

he definitely had a crush on you.

still does.

yuki disappears into the crowd with a look that says good luck, kid, and you're already turning back to megumi with a dazed smile.

"sorryyyy," you giggle, fanning yourself a little. "she’s protective. but isn’t that cute? that she thought i was flirting with you?”

megumi makes a noise in the back of his throat. it might’ve been a laugh. it might’ve been his soul leaving his body. “yeah. cute.”

you don’t even hear him. you're sipping your drink and swaying to the beat again, head tilted, body language loose and open like you belong in the music. the lights shift pink, then blue, then strobe white—each flash catching the sparkle of your jewelry, your glitter gloss, the sweat on your collarbones.

megumi is trying not to look. he is failing.

“god,” you huff, “i feel so old lately. but you—” you gesture at him vaguely. “you’re making me feel ancient right now. you were a child the last time i saw you, and now you’ve got arms and stubble and shit? not fair.”

you set your drink down and stretch dramatically, your chest pushing out and tits practically falling out . you don’t notice the way megumi’s eyes drop—don’t notice the flicker of panic on his face as he forces himself to look away and adjust the front of his pants like he’s trying to pass it off as casual.

he clears his throat. “you don’t look old.”

you beam at him. “aw, thanks, baby.”

baby. oh god. he nearly chokes on his own spit.

the way you say it—so casually—makes something in his chest seize up.

"megumi," a voice calls—bright, amused. it’s another guy his age with pink hair, followed closely by an even bigger and muscular guy with a black man bun. "you good, man?"

pink hair’s eyes flick between you and megumi and light up. he elbows the bigger guy. "yo, he’s so not good. look at him. dude’s malfunctioning."

"i used to babysit him," you offer quickly, like that explains anything. like that makes this less weird.

the big guy snorts. pink hair looks delighted.

"cool," pink hair says. "you babysit all your kids like that?"

you shove at his arm playfully, cheeks hot. megumi is still dead silent, jaw tight, hands in his pockets like if he moves them he’ll do something very illegal.

before you can say anything else, yuki materializes behind you, tugging your wrist. "babe, drink. let’s go. enough flirting"

you squawk, "i was not flirting—he’s megumi! i used to babysit him! and he’s, like, twenty-three now!"

yuki glances at megumi—still stiff, still watching you like you’re made of sin—and hums. "right. poor kid."

you let her drag you away, sipping your drink, heart beating a little weirdly fast. but by the time yuki hands you another daiquiri you’ve long forgotten about your run-in with the kid you used to babysit ten years go.

monday rolls around and you’re in the breakroom, adjusting the office keurig like it’s your sworn duty. your mug says "boss babe, brat edition" in obnoxiously cute pink font, and you’ve just finished swirling your creamer in when yuki sidles up beside you, designer sunglasses still perched on top of her head and an overpriced latte in hand.

“god,” she sighs, “i can't wait for the interns to get here. i’m gonna make them do all my paperwork while i take an extra lunch.”

you laugh into your cup. “it’s barely 9am and you’re already planning your escape.”

“self-care,” she shrugs.

a few more of your coworkers filter in, sleep-deprived and carrying folders. you greet them cheerfully, air-kissing a few cheeks and wishing people a good morning like the workplace princess you are. the heels, the lip gloss, the iced coffee—you’re basically the human embodiment of a good linkedin headshot.

you swipe your tablet from your desk and strut your way to the main conference room, where your poor baby interns are waiting for their intro training—which is just twenty soul-sucking slides of hr compliance and outdated office etiquette. it’s tradition. you consider it a hazing ritual.

you push open the door with a practiced smile, ready to greet the sea of nervous college grads with something cute and perky—

and then you see him.

seated near the middle of the u-shaped table setup, black button-up slightly wrinkled, blue lanyard slung around his neck.

no. way.

your heart stutters, and you blink hard like your brain short-circuited. you double-check the clipboard in your hand like it might say surprise! that boy from the club is also your intern now!

but it doesn’t.

and he’s definitely here. megumi fushiguro. sitting tall and tense, jaw tight, eyes wide.

you don’t even realize you’ve said it out loud:

“…megumi?”

the room falls silent. every intern is now watching you two like this is a k-drama scene.

his mouth twitches. he looks like he might simply evaporate into the floor. “...hi.”

you blink again.

hi??

you’re pretty sure your brain melts a little on the spot. this is the same guy you saw at the club three nights ago—the same guy whose biceps you complimented while slurring something about spider-man bedsheets.

and now he’s here.

wearing slacks.

in your intern orientation.

“oh my god,” you murmur. “you didn’t tell me you were interning here.”

“you didn’t give me a chance,” he says, and you swear—he sounds almost smug.

your mouth drops open a little. you blink at him, stunned and pink in the cheeks, and then remember yourself—right, there are ten other baby employees staring at you, and you’re supposed to be the confident one here.

you clap your hands once, forcing your professional smile back on. “okay! welcome everyone, let’s get started, we’re gonna have so much fun!”

you turn to the screen, clicking your little presentation remote like your life depends on it, and you feel megumi’s eyes burning into your back.

and all you can think is:

this can’t be happening.

tuesday

you’re humming to yourself in the elevator, scrolling through your phone, when the doors slide open and bam—in walks megumi.

alone.

you grin.

“well, well, if it isn’t my favorite little intern.”

he visibly stiffens. “you’ve gotta stop saying that.”

“what? that you’re my favorite?”

“that you used to babysit me.”

you laugh and lean your shoulder against the elevator wall, eyes dragging over him shamelessly.

“sorry,” you say sweetly. “i’ll stop... once i’m no longer picturing those spider-man sheets.”

he groans under his breath.

and you? you don’t notice the way his gaze flickers down to your legs, or the way he’s biting the inside of his cheek when you tilt your head just so.

that night, you’re washing your face and trying to unwind when the memory hits you like a truck: the club.

you groan into your towel.

because yeah, tuesday morning you were all smug and flirty in the elevator, but now you’re remembering just how unhinged you were the first time you ran into him again—like three months ago, at yuki’s birthday thing. loud club, slutty dress, way too many tequila shots. you’d been dancing on him. had your hands on his shoulders. called him “grown now” with a wink. maybe even touched his jaw.

and he just stood there all cool and quiet with that unreadable look on his face while you were acting like a full-blown cougar in heat.

“jesus christ,” you mutter to your ceiling. “i babysat him.”

no wonder he looked at you weird this morning. he probably thinks you’re some thirsty, washed-up ex-babysitter with a weird age gap kink.

you bury your face in your pillow and scream internally for a good thirty seconds.

and maybe that’s why, when wednesday rolls around, you start dialing it back.

you were just trying to get coffee. you swear that’s all you were doing.

but then megumi walked in, sleeves rolled up, forearms all veiny and pretty, with his messy black hair pushed back like he didn’t even try—and your brain short-circuited.

the boy you used to babysit is now a fully grown, hot, adult man. and your body is reacting accordingly.

he mumbles a tired “morning” as he reaches past you to grab a mug, and your breath catches because—what the hell. when did his voice get that deep?

you back up a little too fast and end up knocking over the sugar packet holder. classic.

“you good?” he asks, one brow raised.

“yup,” you squeak, scooping up the mess without looking at him. “totally good. just—coffee. haven’t had coffee. haha.”

he watches you for a second, lips twitching like he’s holding in a laugh.

normally, you’d swat at his arm. tease him. call him a brat.

but instead, you keep your eyes fixed on your mug and tell yourself to get it together.

because this is megumi. you used to babysit him. he probably sees you as some weird big sister figure and here you are practically blushing because he said "good morning."

besides—he’s 23. fresh out of college. probably into girls who go to music festivals and do their skincare routines on tiktok. not a tired 28-year-old corporate zombie whose back hurts when she sits down too fast.

even if he is disgustingly good-looking now. even if he smells like sandalwood and makes your stomach do somersaults.

“okay,” you mutter under your breath, more to yourself than to him. “we’re dialing it back.”

and you do. you don’t touch his arm. you don’t mention his spider-man sheets. you don’t call him baby megumi.

you grab your coffee and walk out like a respectable adult woman.

and megumi watches you go with the faintest frown on his face.

thursday 

something’s off.

you’re quieter today. still sweet, still smiling, but... distant.

he’s not imagining it. you used to bump your shoulder when you walked past, used to throw him little teasing jabs, used to light up when he said something dry that made you laugh.

now?

now you’re polite. reserved. a little stiff.

and megumi has no idea what the fuck he did.

he finds himself watching you, trying to pinpoint when the switch flipped.

it’s not like he didn’t notice before—how pretty you are. how funny. how you make a stupid office feel like something warm.

but now, it’s like you’ve put up a glass wall. you’re still right there, but out of reach.

and he hates it.

he catches you in the break room again, smiling too tightly while pouring your coffee.

"you’re avoiding me," he says before he can stop himself.

you blink, startled. “what? no, i’m just busy.”

“you’re not busy right now.”

you glance at him, then look away quickly. “i figured you’d want some space. i’ve been kind of... annoying.”

annoying? he wants to shake you.

instead, he just clenches his jaw and mutters, “you weren’t.”

but you’re already slipping out the door with your coffee, head ducked.

and megumi’s left standing there, wondering if he imagined the whole connection. if he hallucinated your teasing smiles and flirty comments and the soft way you looked at him on tuesday.

he pulls out his phone, types out a text to tsumiki.

her: “wait you saw her again???” him: “she works here.” her: “megumi. omg. did you tell her you had a massive crush on her.” him: “no.” her: “does she still wear the glittery lip gloss???” him: “yes.”

he sighs and closes the thread.

friday 

someone in marketing shouts it out first: “drinks after work? to celebrate the new interns?”

everyone’s murmuring agreement. even your boss nods.

you nudge megumi’s arm with your elbow, slowly grinning. “coming out with us?”

he hesitates.

you tilt your head. “come on. you should go.”

“for what?”

“get to know some of us outside our desks and business casual wear”

“i already know you.”

“megumii.”

“…fine.”

later that day, yuki catches you lingering by the copy machine and immediately clocks the way your eyes flick toward megumi when he walks by.

“you good, girly?” she says under her breath.

you wave her off. “fine.”

“you’re not flirting with your baby intern anymore.”

“i was never flirting.”

she arches a brow. “babe.”

you sigh. “he’s just... not a kid anymore. i realized that.”

yuki hums. “and that’s a bad thing?”

“it’s just weird, okay?” you hiss. “he’s 23. i’m almost 28. i used to make him chicken nuggets.”

“okay but now you want him to rail you into next week.”

you gasp. “yuki—”

“tell me i’m wrong.”

you don’t.

happy hour rolls around, and the bar starts filling up with tired salarymen and even more exhausted hourly workers. your office has a long table pushed together in the back, half your coworkers already crowding around with drinks in hand while the rest hover near the pool table.

you chew the inside of your cheek, debating whether or not to get megumi a drink. he’s over by the bar, laughing at something one of the other interns said, posture easy and relaxed.

you weren’t exactly avoiding him. you were just… setting boundaries. for yourself. trying to be normal. professional. and now, being in the same dimly lit bar as him—tipsy and tired and way too aware of how stupid hot he is—feels like a terrible idea.

yuki slings an arm around your shoulder and groans dramatically. “can you please just fuck him already?”

you choke on your beer. violently.

“yuki!” you whisper-shout, eyes wide as you glance around to make sure no one heard your deranged little menace of a friend.

she just takes another swig from her pint and leans in closer, lowering her voice but still way too loud. “what? you’ve been eye-fucking him since before you even knew he was working here. and you're too naive to notice he’s been eye-fucking you back.”

“i have not been—wait, he’s been what?”

yuki deadpans. “are you serious right now? if you would stop spiraling for like two seconds, you’d see it.”

she grabs your chin, gently but with intent, and turns your head toward the bar—right where megumi’s sitting.

he’s looking at you.

his gaze flicks away the second your eyes meet, but not fast enough to pretend he wasn’t staring. his ears go pink. he says something to the intern beside him, but his whole body shifts like he's been caught.

your stomach swoops.

still, you shake your head. no. nope. nothing’s going to happen. first of all, you work together now. that’s inappropriate. second of all, you used to babysit him, which is… arguably more inappropriate. megumi probably thinks you’re a freak. he’s probably this close to reporting you to hr.

so, you do what any sane, responsible adult would do: avoid him for the rest of the night.

you play pool with the accounting team, gossip with the customer service reps, and keep your eyes anywhere but on megumi—no matter how many times yuki throws you the world’s most pointed looks across the table.

eventually, people start trickling out. one by one. then in pairs. then in carpools. you’re settling your tab and sipping on some watered-down coke when someone slides into the seat next to you.

you look up—and of course it’s him.

megumi. looking warm and flushed and slightly buzzed. his hair a little messy. his shirt rumpled at the sleeves.

“hey,” he says, voice soft and low.

you blink. “hi.”

he’s close enough that his thigh brushes yours every time he shifts.

you’re acutely aware of it.

the warmth of his body. the clean, faint scent of sandalwood and laundry detergent. the occasional flex of his forearm as he nurses his drink.

you’re not even drunk. that’s the worst part.

you’re just buzzing. nerves and want and something heavy curling low in your belly.

“can we talk?”

your stomach dips. you nod once, trying to look normal—cool, even—as if you haven’t spent the past week panicking over every interaction you’ve had with this man.

megumi glances around, then tips his chin toward the hallway leading to the back patio. “out there?”

you follow him outside, where the noise from the bar softens into a low hum behind the glass. the air is cooler out here, a soft breeze carrying the faint scent of street food and cigarette smoke. there’s no one else around.

megumi leans against the railing, arms folded, gaze fixed somewhere out in the distance. you wait, heart beating in your throat.

“you’ve been avoiding me,” he says finally, quiet but direct.

you blink. “i haven’t—”

“yes, you have.”

you pause. then sigh, leaning your back against the railing beside him. “okay. maybe a little.”

he turns his head toward you, jaw tight. “did i do something wrong?”

the way he says it—so genuinely unsure—makes your chest ache a little.

“no,” you say quickly. “god, no. you didn’t. i just…” you trail off, chewing your lip. “i’ve been trying to be professional,”

“i guess i was just scared i was making you feel weird or something this week,” you continue in a murmur, “with all the teasing.”

megumi nods. “i admit, maybe telling half the office i used to wear super mario underwear was a little much at first, but… it’s you. so it’s okay.”

you glance over. “you sure?”

he looks at you for a long beat. then, quietly:

“i’m not thirteen anymore.”

and oh.

it’s like something in the air cracks. sharp and electric.

you laugh, light and disbelieving, because what the fuck kind of answer is that. “yeah, no shit, megumi. i noticed.”

his gaze drops—slowly. from your eyes, to your mouth, then down to your thighs, crossed tightly under the table.

“did you?” he says, voice low.

your breath catches.

for a moment, neither of you say anything. the bar chatter fades to a background blur. you can feel the heat radiating off his skin, the thrum of something heavy and unspoken between you.

you don’t look away.

“why are you looking at me like that?” you ask, barely above a whisper.

megumi huffs a quiet laugh, one that doesn't reach his eyes. “you really don’t get it, do you?”

“…get what?”

he leans in, just slightly. enough to brush his knee against yours. enough to make your pulse stutter.

“i used to wait up on the couch just to see you when you came to babysit. stayed in my room late on purpose so you’d come knock and say goodnight. i used to think about you every fucking day for years.”

you freeze.

your heart is a runaway train in your chest. “‘gumi—”

he smiles, soft but a little self-deprecating. “i used to have dreams about you when i was, like, fifteen. woke up so hard it hurt. and now you’re here. looking like this. wearing pencil skirts and calling me your favorite.”

you stare at him.

he’s not even teasing. he’s dead serious.

and suddenly you can’t breathe.

you feel hot. your skin prickles with awareness. your thighs clench under the table and you don’t know what to do with your hands.

“is this…” you swallow, trying to keep your voice level, “is this you flirting with me?”

“no,” he says simply. “that was me telling you i want to fuck you.”

your jaw drops. you blink once, twice. you’re pretty sure the earth shifts on its axis.

he glances down, then back up. “if that’s not what you want, just say so.”

you don't say anything.

you can't.

because the truth is, your entire body is screaming yes. every nerve ending has been wound tight all week and now he's just offering himself up like this? looking like that?

you scramble to think, to act normal, to not do something that’ll land you in hr monday morning.

but then he says, softly—

“you’re not my babysitter anymore.”

and that’s the last fucking straw.

you grab your purse.

megumi blinks. “wait—”

“come with me,” you say, voice low and tight.

“…where?”

“away from the bar.”

you grab his arm, weaving through the crowd like you’re on autopilot. the second you step outside, you yank him around the corner into the alley behind the bar—hidden from view but still close enough to hear the bass thumping through the walls.

“y/n, i’m sorry— i didn’t mean to make you feel uncomfortable, i just—”

you don’t let him finish.

your hands fist in the collar of his shirt and you drag him down into a kiss so heated it nearly knocks the wind out of you both.

megumi freezes for half a second—just one. then he’s moving like he’s been waiting for this all night, hands snapping to your waist and yanking you flush against him. you moan into his mouth, high and breathy, already addicted to the way he’s gripping you like he’s afraid you’ll vanish.

your fingers roam down his chest, tracing every dip of muscle through his shirt until you reach the waistband of his pants.

he shudders. his breath catches.

you break the kiss and pant against his lips, eyes glittering.

“you’re a great kisser, ‘gumi.”

megumi huffs a laugh and presses his mouth to the underside of your jaw. “wish i could say i learned from the best.”

you blush. blush. at him.

looking away, you clear your throat. “do you… wanna come back to my place?”

megumi lifts his head. his eyes are dark. focused.

“i’ll drive.”

the ride to your apartment is tense and silent—at least, on the surface. but his hand stays glued to your thigh the entire time, his thumb stroking just shy of your inner leg. every red light feels like a test. every brush of his knuckle makes you want to drag his hand higher and make him feel how wet you are already.

by the time you unlock your door, you’re trembling. not from fear—but from anticipation. from knowing this is real.

inside, the door clicks shut behind you.

and suddenly, you hesitate.

you falter. your confidence wavers, like the reality of it all is just now hitting you.

“so, wanna drink something?” you murmur, leaning back against the kitchen counter, fingers tapping lightly on the cool surface, heart thudding with that familiar anticipation.

megumi edges closer, voice low and rough, “no, there’s something else i want way more.”

then, without warning, he’s got you caged in—arms wrapped tight around your waist, pulling you flush to him. but this kiss? it’s nothing like that frantic, desperate one at the bar. this time, he’s slow, deliberate, like he’s memorizing the curve of your lips with his own.

your legs coil around his waist, heels slipping off as he lifts you onto the counter effortlessly.

he nips your bottom lip softly, making you whimper, hands trailing up your skirt, skin warm against your thighs. meanwhile, your fingers fumble clumsily over the buttons of his shirt, eager and trembling.

he hums against your mouth, kisses getting messy and urgent, swallowing your moans like they’re his oxygen.

finally, his hands find the place you crave most—spreading your thighs wider, teasing the sensitive skin beneath. he smirks against your lips when he feels your knees shake under his touch.

you gasp when his thumb grazes your underwear, just barely brushing over your soaked clit.

“fuck—you're soaked,” megumi groans, breath hot against your skin.

you giggle, breathless, “can you really blame me?”

his eyes flash darker. “no. but i want to hear you say it anyway.”

you part your lips, about to answer, but then his fingers slip beneath the band of your underwear and stroke your slit once—slow, deliberate, teasing—and your brain just short-circuits.

“oh—fuck,” you breathe, hips bucking into his hand. “megumi—”

“you’re soaked for me,” he murmurs, nosing at your jaw. “and i haven’t even touched you properly yet.”

“then touch me properly,” you whimper, shameless now, thighs trembling.

megumi lets out a low groan that vibrates against your neck. “don’t tempt me.”

but he does.

he pushes your underwear aside and slides two fingers into you in one smooth motion, the stretch making you keen as your walls clench tight around him.

“fuck—‘gumi—”

he groans again at the nickname, curling his fingers until your eyes flutter. “you always say my name like that?”

you nod, delirious. “only when i’m about to come.”

he smirks. “good. gonna make you say it over and over.”

you cling to him, nails scraping his shoulders as he pumps his fingers steadily inside you, thumb finding your clit like he already knows your body better than you do. you’re panting now, hips rolling into his touch, desperate for more.

“look at you,” he murmurs, watching your face like he’s memorizing every twitch, every gasp. “so pretty like this. s’like you were made to fall apart in my hands.”

you whimper, thighs trembling against the counter as his fingers curl just right inside you.

“you always look this good when someone touches you, or is it just me?” his voice is low, rough, and just the tiniest bit smug.

you don’t answer—you can’t—not when his thumb circles your clit again and your hips jerk, chasing the pressure. but he knows. he can feel your body answering him.

“you’ve been acting so shy all week,” he mutters, leaning in to kiss along your jaw. “thought maybe you didn’t want me. but this?”

he fucks his fingers into you a little deeper. you gasp.

“this says otherwise.”

your fingers tighten in his shirt, dizzy from how fast he’s unraveling you. “megumi, i—”

“i’ve wanted this,” he breathes. “since that night at the club. since the second i saw you again.”

you moan when his tongue traces the shell of your ear.

“wanna hear you say it,” he growls softly. “tell me you want me too.”

you nod frantically, panting, “i do—i do, i just—fuck—was trying to be normal, and—”

“fuck normal,” he mutters, cutting you off with a kiss, all tongue and heat and claiming. “i don’t want normal. i want you.”

his fingers curl again, knuckles deep, hitting something devastating inside you. you gasp, nails digging into his shoulders, your back arching off the kitchen counter.

“you’re so close, aren’t you?” he whispers, thumb rubbing relentless circles over your clit. “been teasing me all week like you didn’t know exactly what you were doing. wearing those little skirts. biting your lip. looking at me like you wanted me to ruin you.”

“i wasn’t—!” you try to argue, but your voice breaks into a moan, heat pooling low in your belly like a rubber band about to snap.

he chuckles darkly, and fuck—you feel it more than you hear it. “no? then what’s this?” he presses deeper, watching your thighs tremble.

your breath stutters. “megumi—please—”

and that does it. that makes something snap in him. the sound of his name falling from your lips all soft and desperate.

“go ahead, baby,” he murmurs, lips brushing your jaw. “let go. i’ve got you.”

you fall apart with a strangled cry, legs shaking, his name breaking again and again from your mouth. he watches the whole thing—soaking in every twitch, every breathy whimper, like it's the most sacred thing he’s ever seen.

when your hips twitch from oversensitivity, his touch finally eases—but he doesn’t move away.

instead, he lifts his fingers slowly, admiring how soaked they are, before sucking them into his mouth with a low groan.

your jaw drops. “megumi—!”

he grins, and for the first time since you reunited, you see it—the boy you used to babysit peeking through the man he’s become. all teasing eyes and smugness and deep, aching affection.

“taste better than i ever imagined,” he says.

you blink. “what?”

his smile softens—just a little. “you heard me.”

you’re still dazed, but you manage to breathe out, “you’ve…imagined this?”

megumi leans in again, hand sliding gently to cup your face.

“i’ve dreamed about this night for years.”

your heart stutters in your chest. “you have?”

“every time i ran into someone who reminded me of you,” he murmurs. “every time i walked past some girl wearing strawberry-pink lip gloss.”

his thumb brushes your bottom lip, gaze flicking down.

“but none of them were you.”

you melt—just a little—before he grabs your hand and starts backing toward the hallway.

“come on,” he murmurs, eyes darkening again. “i’m not done with you yet.”

you let him pull you toward the bedroom, heart pounding, thighs still trembling, a little giggly with disbelief.

“megumi—what are you even—?”

he shoots you a look that shuts you right up. “i just made you cum on my fingers. now i wanna do it with my mouth.”

you whimper.

he grins. “yeah. that’s what i thought.”

he peels the rest of your clothing off you, shedding off his own as well, then lays you out gently on the bed like you’re something precious—until he gets between your thighs. then it's like he changes.

megumi kisses down your inner thighs slowly, reverently, hands strong and sure as they wrap around the backs of your legs to pull you closer to the edge of the bed.

“spread for me,” he murmurs against your skin. “wanna see how pretty you are like this.”

you shiver. “megumi—”

“mm-mm.” he glances up through his lashes, mouth just hovering over your soaked panties. “say it again.”

“...megumi,” you whisper, already breathless.

“no,” he says, nosing at the fabric. “gumi. like you did at the bar.”

your breath hitches. “gumi…”

he groans low in his throat, almost like it hurts. “fuck. you have no idea what that does to me.”

and then he’s pulling your panties down in one fluid motion, tossing them somewhere behind him, eyes glued to your dripping pussy like it’s the first real thing he’s ever seen.

“you’ve been wet for me all week, haven’t you?” he murmurs. “bet you were soaked every time i brushed your arm. every time you ran from me.”

his breath fans against you, and you squirm.

“i—i wasn’t trying to tease you—”

he grins, all sharp teeth and dark eyes. “you did anyway.”

and then he dives in.

tongue flat, slow, devastating—lapping through your folds like he’s savoring every fucking second. you cry out, thighs already twitching around his head, but he just groans and presses in deeper, locking your hips down with his arms.

“fuck, gumi—!” your back arches.

he hums against you, and you feel it everywhere. the vibration, the smugness, the feral little edge in it.

“shit—shit—you’re so good at this—”

megumi pulls back just long enough to say, “you think i didn’t practice for this?”

you stare down at him, wide-eyed, lips parted.

“dreamt about this too,” he pants, mouth already glistening. “used to jerk off thinking about how you’d taste. how you’d sound when i had you like this.”

you whimper, hips canting up—and he grins.

“yeah. just like that.”

his tongue circles your clit, soft at first, then rougher, alternating between slow, torturous laps and quick flicks that have you gasping, sobbing, clawing at the sheets.

“you’re—fuck, gumi—you’re so good—nngh—so good at this, holy shit—”

you swear he moans into your pussy, the praise going straight to his cock. one hand leaves your thigh to slide two fingers back inside you, curling just right, stroking you in perfect rhythm with his mouth.

“want you to cum like this,” he murmurs against you. “all over my tongue.”

you shake your head, barely able to speak. “i—i can’t last—if you keep going like that—”

“then cum,” he growls, low and hungry. “fucking cum for me, baby.”

you fall apart with a sob, hips jerking, thighs clamping around his head—but megumi doesn’t stop. he rides you through it, drinking every drop, licking you like he’s memorizing the taste.

when you finally slump back onto the mattress, panting and twitching, he kisses your inner thigh, then your hip, then slowly crawls back up your body.

“still want that drink?” he teases, smirking as he presses his forehead to yours.

you stare at him, dazed. “i’m gonna die.”

he snorts. “not yet. i haven’t even fucked you yet.”

you're still trying to catch your breath, back pressed to the mattress, chest rising and falling with every shaky inhale. your thighs are slick, still trembling from how hard you came, and megumi’s mouth is shiny with you, lips parted as he pants softly against your inner thigh.

he crawls up over you, body caging you in, and you think you might actually melt into the bed with how warm his weight feels hovering there—how safe.

his face hovers above yours, and you expect another kiss, more filthy teasing—but instead, he pauses.

his thumb brushes gently over your cheek. “are you sure you want this?”

the words are soft. careful. not just asking for permission—he’s giving you the chance to change your mind.

and fuck, that nearly ruins you more than anything else tonight.

you nod, voice barely above a whisper. “yeah. i want you.”

he stares at you for a long second, like he’s etching you into memory. then you ask, just as softly, “do you?”

there’s not even a beat.

“i’ve wanted this since forever.”

it’s quiet. barely more than a breath.

and something in you shatters—your heart, your restraint, whatever filter you had left. your fingers grip his jaw and you pull him down into a kiss so deep you feel it in your toes.

“then show me,” you whisper against his lips. “please.”

he doesn’t hesitate.

one hand snakes between your bodies, and he lines himself up, the head of his cock thick and hot as it brushes against your entrance. he watches your face as he starts to push in—slow, deliberate, careful despite the way his jaw clenches from the effort of holding back.

you gasp, arching into him. “megumi—”

“you’re so fucking tight,” he groans. “shit—you feel unreal.”

he buries himself to the hilt in one long stroke, and you swear your brain short-circuits. he’s thick, stretching you just shy of too much, and you swear you see stars.

he leans in, breath hot against your ear. “i’ve thought about this. every night for years.”

you whimper, arms tightening around his shoulders. “you—fuck—you’re really good at this.”

megumi lets out a dark laugh, cock twitching inside you. “i’ve been dreaming about this night since i was sixteen,” he breathes. “no way i wasn’t gonna be ready.”

and then he moves—pulls his hips back and thrusts in deep, setting a rhythm that’s slow but devastating. every drag of his cock is perfect, angled just right, like he already knows your body better than you do.

you choke out a moan. “oh my god—”

“i wanna ruin you,” he grits, snapping his hips a little harder. “wanna fuck you so good you forget every guy before me.”

you whimper, thighs wrapping around his waist. “you already did.”

that breaks something in him.

he growls low in his throat and starts pounding into you, the soft start giving way to pure, feral want. he shifts your legs higher, hits deeper, and suddenly you’re clawing at his back, gasping his name like a prayer.

“mine,” he growls. “you’re mine now.”

“yours,” you sob, head falling back. “i’m yours.”

he sets a punishing pace, the bed creaking under the force of his powerful thrusts. you can only hold on for dear life, nails digging into his flexing biceps as he pounds into you mercilessly. pleasure builds in your core with each drive of his hips.

his hand slides between your bodies, thumb finding your clit, rubbing harsh circles that send sparks through your spine. your whole body tightens.

“‘gumi—fuck—i’m gonna—”

“i know,” he grits, never letting up. “give it to me, baby. wanna feel you fall apart around me.”

you shudder.

"i want you to cum inside me," you plead, spreading your thighs wider in clear invitation. "i want to feel you fill me up, ‘gumi. please."

his jaw clenches as he battles with himself for a moment before finally giving in with a strangled curse. it only takes a few more thrusts before he's coming undone.

"fuck, yes," he groans, hips stuttering as he floods your depths with his hot seed. you clench around him, milking every last drop as your own orgasm crashes through you.

you both slump into a sweaty pile, tangled limbs and ragged breaths filling the quiet room. megumi’s fingers trace lazy circles on your back, warm and steady, as he presses a soft kiss to your temple—his lips feather-light against your skin, sending a shiver down your spine.

“you okay?” megumi murmurs against your skin.

you stay quiet, too out of it, your skin still tingling where his hands roamed, thighs sticky and trembling, breath coming shallow and uneven.

“shit, i knew it. i went too far—fuck,” he rushes, sitting up, searching your face for any sign he messed up.

slowly, you turn to him, sore but smiling, eyes shiny with unshed tears, lips swollen and gloss-smudged. you meet his panicked gaze.

“i’m good,” you whisper, voice raw but sure. “really, i’m more than good.”

he exhales shaky, collapsing back against you, nuzzling your neck, lips brushing over his mark. “fuck, you scared me,” he murmurs.

you pull him down beneath the sheets, arms wrapping his neck. he follows, head on your chest, breath warm and heart still racing.

“you know,” megumi says softly after a moment, “when i said i’ve wanted this forever, i meant all of it—the nice, quiet parts, too. just holding you like this.”

you laugh, slipping a leg over his waist, skin sticky and warm, pulling him impossibly close. the humid night air clings to you both, mixing with the faint scent of sweat and his cologne. “well, you’ve got me now. heads up—i’m kind of addicted to cuddles.”

megumi smiles, that soft, goofy grin that makes your heart flutter, the warmth of his chest rising and falling under your hand. “that sounds perfect.”

before sleep sweeps over you both, you add with a teasing smirk, “not bad for a rookie.”

he freezes, blinking up at you. you grin.

“rookie?”

you shrug, biting your lip like you’re holding back a laugh. “cute, a little clumsy, but with a whole lot of fire. lots of potential.”

his jaw drops a little—you catch the twitch in his eye.

“you’re messing with me.”

you sit up a little, brushing your fingers through his tangled hair, cool against his warm skin. “baby,” you tease, voice soft and playful, “remember, i’m older and wiser.”

he blinks again, still dazed.

you lean close, breath ghosting over his ear, warm and sweet.

“and just wait. tomorrow, i’m gonna show you what you’ve been missing out on.”

megumi’s eyes go wide, stunned and utterly captivated—as if you just handed him the keys to heaven.

you giggle, pressing a kiss to his forehead, snuggling deeper into his heat and the soft rustle of the sheets around you.

[sixxels-deactivated20260420-dea]

sex with a stoner

fratboy!choso x bestfriend!reader

wc: 16k

smut with so, so much plot.

choso kamo is the kind of boy people notice without realizing they’re staring. he’s not loud, never one to demand a room’s attention, but something about him pulls you in, the lazy grace of someone who’s always just a little bit stoned and completely at peace with himself.

he throws the best parties on campus, the kind that aren’t just about getting drunk or high, but about the vibe. incense burning in the corner, led lights set to red or purple, trap playing softly over speakers. and yet, you’re the only one who really knows him.

you, the sweet girl who never misses a single one of his parties. the one always curled up next to him on the couch with a red solo cup of something you can barely taste, your legs draped over his lap, your cheek pressed to his shoulder. it’s always been like this. ever since freshman year, when you met him during that stupid icebreaker event on campus that neither of you wanted to go to.

somehow, you’d ended up next to him. not even talking at first. just being. and then he’d pulled one earbud out and offered it to you without saying anything, and you’d heard frank ocean’s “ivy” playing soft and crackly from his phone. you’d smiled at him, and he’d smiled back. just a little.

after that, it was like something clicked. you didn’t have to try with choso. you just existed in each other’s space like you were meant to.

you’re sweet, outgoing, a little flirty, always the first one to compliment someone’s outfit or remember their birthday. people love you for your light, your laughter, the way you make everyone feel seen.

but when it comes to closeness, to real comfort? that’s reserved for choso.

it’s a mystery to most people. you, the glittering, glowing party girl, and choso, the stoner boy who doesn’t even have social media. but it makes perfect sense to anyone who’s seen the two of you together.

you show up to his parties before anyone else does. you help him string the lights, pick the playlist, bring snacks no one asked for but everyone eats. you’re the one sitting on the counter while he rolls, sipping from a straw and babbling about your week while he nods, smiling faintly, muttering things like “that’s wild, ma,” or “yo, you’re too nice for them.”

and during the parties, you’re never far. you gravitate toward each other like magnets, slipping into place the way you always do. choso’s usually on the couch, arms stretched over the backrest, and you’re tucked under his arm without even thinking. you lean into him when you laugh. he rests his chin on your shoulder. he passes you drinks and you take tiny sips before handing them back to him with a wrinkle of your nose.

and it’s so easy. dangerously easy.

choso’s never been one to push. he’s got feelings, real ones, deeper than he’ll ever admit out loud, but he keeps them buried. not because he doesn’t want you. he wants you in a way that scares him sometimes. in quiet moments, when he’s too high and you’re asleep on his chest, he thinks about what it would feel like to kiss you. to be yours for real. but he’s content, at least for now. content to have you like this.

you give choso a kind of peace he didn’t know he was missing. before you, things were kind of blurry. background noise. but with you, it’s all color. you laugh and the whole room tilts toward you. you touch his hand and it’s like static electricity under his skin. he pretends he doesn’t notice. he jokes, he teases, he lets it pass.

because he thinks he’d rather have you like this, close and real and warm, than risk losing you completely.

and you? you love him. maybe too much.

you’ve never said it out loud, not even to maki or shoko, but you know it. you feel it every time you see him laugh at something you said, every time he lifts your chin to tuck your hair behind your ear, every time he waits for you outside class just because he felt like it. choso is yours, in a way no one else is. and you don’t know what to do with that.

maybe you’re scared to ruin it too.

it’s not just the friendship, it’s the rhythm. the quiet glances, the shared playlists, the way you always, always end up in his bed after parties, clothes still on, hearts too full.

you’ll lay there in the dark, both of you wide awake, and you’ll wonder if he feels it too. if he notices the way your breath hitches when his fingers brush your waist. if he hears the way your voice gets softer when you say his name.

but neither of you ever says anything. not really. not yet.

there’s something unsaid between you, always has been, something glowing and soft and maybe a little fragile. like the chords of “ivy” hanging in the air, too tender to touch. it’s in the way he looks at you when you’re not watching. in the way you linger at his door after a party, lip gloss smudged and heart aching. in the way he lets his hand rest on the small of your back just a little too long.

it’s a love that’s still blooming. hesitant. deep-rooted. and for now, maybe that’s enough.

maybe not forever.

~

the party’s already full by the time you get there, but you know exactly where to find him.

bass thumps through the floor like a second pulse, red lights spilling down the hallway, laughter echoing from the kitchen where someone’s poured jungle juice into a mixing bowl. bodies press close in the living room, the air thick with smoke, perfume, sweat, but none of it touches you. not really. not when you know where you’re going.

you slip past people who call your name, who compliment your outfit, who try to keep you still, but you’re already moving, already smiling like you’ve got a secret. because you do.

he’s on the couch. he always is.

slouched like he was poured there, long legs spread, a blunt pinched between his fingers. there’s a few people around him, suguru’s sitting on the floor, half-asleep against his knee, gojo’s perched on the armrest talking to some girl, but he doesn’t really look at anyone. just stares at the smoke curling above him, the red light making shadows under his eyes.

until he sees you.

choso’s head tilts slightly. his gaze sharpens, just barely. his mouth softens, corners curling up into something small, lazy, private.

“yo,” he says, voice low and smooth like honeyed smoke. “there you are.”

and just like that, you’re home.

you drop down next to him without a word, tucking your legs up on the couch, leaning into his side like you were made to fit there. his arm lifts automatically to rest behind you, and your bare shoulder brushes against his chest, skin to skin. he smells like weed and citrus and something warm, like sunbaked cotton. familiar. dangerous.

“i brought you chips,” you say, holding up a bag. “because you never remember to feed people when you throw these things.”

he laughs, soft and breathy, and takes the bag, tossing it onto the table without looking.

“you’re the only one who eats at my parties,” he murmurs, dragging the blunt to his lips. “they’re lucky you show up.”

he inhales, slow and deep. lets it sit in his chest for a moment. then he turns his head toward you and exhales, deliberately, slow, a trail of smoke that ghosts over your collarbone. it’s not on purpose, but it is. everything choso does is like that. unbothered. intimate. effortless.

your heart stutters.

“you look good,” he adds, like it just occurred to him. his eyes dip, trace your legs, the cut of your dress, the gloss on your lips. “real good.”

you smile, sweet and slow, like you’re soaking it in.

“you’re stoned.”

he shrugs. “yeah. still true, though.”

you nudge his thigh with your knee, and he smirks that lazy, barely-there grin that never quite reaches his eyes unless it’s you.

the party swells around you. bodies dance in the center of the room, the music gets louder, someone’s yelling in the kitchen about the beer pong table. but in your little corner of the couch, everything is slowed down. hazy. sacred.

he keeps passing the blunt, and you keep refusing with that little scrunch of your nose he always teases you about.

“don’t know how you come to my house every week and still don’t smoke,” he says, flicking ash into a red solo cup.

“don’t know how you survive without eating dinner like an adult,” you shoot back.

he chuckles, tipping his head back. his throat stretches long, his hoodie slipping off one shoulder to reveal the black ink of a tattoo just under his collarbone. you don’t even pretend not to look. choso doesn’t pretend not to notice.

“you missed me?” he asks after a beat, quieter now. the smoke’s made him slow, softer around the edges. more honest.

you glance up at him, lips parted. “i was here last weekend.”

“yeah, and then the whole week happened.” he shrugs, lazily. “i got bored.”

you nudge your way closer. your knee slides between his. “you say that like you don’t have other friends.”

he hums. “don’t hit the same.”

you’re both quiet for a second. it’s a thick, heady silence, not awkward, not tense. just full. full of everything that’s been building since freshman year. everything you don’t say. everything you both feel in moments like this, when you’re a little too close and he’s looking at your mouth and his hand is resting just a little too low on your waist.

you want to kiss him. god, you do. but not yet. not here.

so instead you lean forward, just enough to rest your head on his shoulder. you feel him go still for a second, then relax, melting back into you.

you stay like that. for a long time

later, when the house gets louder and hotter and someone pulls you up to dance, you feel his eyes on you.

you’re not a wild dancer, you move like you’re in your own little world, fluid and soft and smiling. some guy tries to grind up behind you and you immediately peel away, laughing as you shake your head. but when you look over, just once, you see choso watching from the couch.

his eyes are darker now. still lazy, still half-lidded, but focused. pinned on you like he’s memorizing the way your dress moves, the way your hair sticks to the sweat on your collarbone. one hand resting on his knee. the blunt long gone.

you move back to him eventually, of course you do, and he opens the space beside him again like he knew you would.

“have fun out there, superstar?” he asks, gaze flicking over you.

you shrug, settling back into him. “missed my favorite dance partner.”

he raises a brow. “you don’t dance with me.”

you grin. “exactly.”

he snorts, shaking his head. you rest your hand on his thigh, fingers splayed over ripped denim, and he doesn’t flinch. doesn’t move. just lets you stay there. touching him. like you always do.

like you always will.

when the party starts dying down and the lights dim even lower, when suguru’s asleep and gojo’s disappeared and the couch is just the two of you again, you curl into him like you belong there.

he yawns, one arm around your shoulders, hand playing lazily with the strap of your dress.

“you crashing here?” he asks, already knowing the answer.

you nod, cheek pressed to his chest. “if that’s cool.”

he makes a soft sound, something between a hum and a laugh, and dips his chin to brush his mouth against your temple. not a kiss, exactly. just a press. warm, soft. barely there.

“always.”

you smile, closing your eyes for a second. his hand is still resting on your waist, fingers tracing absent little shapes into your skin like he’s not even thinking about it.

you could fall asleep like this. you’ve done it before.

but he shifts a little, murmurs, “come on, ma. let’s get off this fuckin’ couch. my back’s killin’ me.”

you whine quietly as he moves, and he laughs again, a lazy rumble in his chest and slides an arm around your waist to help you up.

“drama queen,” he says, tugging you to your feet with effortless strength.

he doesn’t let go.

you move through the sea of red cups and leftover smoke, past the people half-passed out in the hallway, with his hand still slung around your waist. like it’s normal. like it’s instinct. your arm hooks around his middle, and you lean into his side as you walk, slow and steady, like you’ve done this a hundred times. because you have.

choso’s room is down the hall. it’s the only one with a broken doorknob and a blacklight taped above the bed, buzzing faintly. it smells like weed and clean laundry and him.

you kick off your shoes the second you walk in and collapse face-first into the unmade bed, limbs spread.

he laughs, low and indulgent, then flops down beside you.

“yo, scoot over,” he mumbles, nudgin your hip with his.

“you scoot,” you shoot back, voice muffled by the blanket.

he doesn’t argue. just lets his body melt sideways until your shoulders touch again. you shift your head onto his chest without thinking, cheek to the soft fabric of his hoodie.

and there it is again. home.

“this party was kinda ass,” you say.

“nah,” he says softly. “you were here.”

your stomach flips.

but you don’t say anything. don’t need to. you just lie there, breathing in sync, your hands curled in the hem of his hoodie while his fingers play with your hair, slow, lazy twirls that make your eyelids flutter.

“remember the first one?” you ask, voice hushed now. “the freshman-year party where we met?”

choso smiles at the ceiling. “fuck yeah. you were wearing that little white dress and yellin’ at some guy who spilled beer on your shoes.”

“he ruined them,” you murmur indignantly.

“and i was just sittin’ on the porch, watchin’ the whole thing,” he grins. “high as shit. thought you were hot as hell.”

you lift your head to look at him, one brow raised. “you still say you don’t remember how we ended up talking.”

“i don’t. swear to god.” he shrugs. “one second i’m finishing a blunt, next thing i know you’re sitting next to me like you’d been there forever.”

“i probably just decided you looked safe,” you say, settling back down. “and hot. but, like, quiet hot.”

he chuckles, slow and low. “quiet hot?”

you nod. “like… hot in a way that doesn’t try. like you didn’t even know it.”

“damn,” he mutters. “flirting with me now?”

“always.”

his hand slides down from your hair to your shoulder, warm and broad and steady.

“that’s why i fuck with you,” he says after a moment. “you’re real.”

you blink.

“like, people show up to my parties for the vibes or whatever. you show up to make sure i eat dinner.”

you laugh. “well someone has to.”

“nah, but for real,” he says. “you’ve been showin’ up since day one. always got my back. always know what i need before i even do. shit’s crazy.”

your throat goes tight. but he doesn’t sound emotional. he sounds calm. sure. like it’s just a fact of life, gravity, weed, you.

he doesn’t say it like it’s a confession.

he says it like it’s just the truth.

“you do the same for me,” you murmur, voice small.

his thumb strokes your arm, slow.

“yeah,” he says. “i know.”

the room hums with silence after that. not heavy. not awkward. just real.

he lets you lie there on his chest, the beat of his heart under your ear, the rise and fall of his breathing making you feel safe in a way nothing else does.

you shift after a few minutes, and his hand moves automatically , tugs the blanket up over you both, settles you closer, fingers smoothing over your arm like it’s second nature.

he doesn’t flirt with anyone the way he does with you. doesn’t touch anyone like this. people know you’re close, but they don’t get it.

they don’t know how choso listens to you rant for hours about your classes even when he’s half-asleep. how he always keeps snacks in his room he doesn’t like, just because you do. how he’s seen you cry at 3am and didn’t say a word, just pulled you onto his chest and played with your hair until you calmed down.

how you’ve cleaned up after every party. how you always know when he needs water. how you never smoke but you always light his blunts for him.

they don’t know that you’ve been doing this, just like this, since freshman year.

you’re not together.

but this? this is something else.

“you good?” he mumbles, his voice starting to get gravelly with sleep.

you nod, curled into his side.

“you?”

“mhmm.” he exhales through his nose, deep and slow. “don’t leave before i wake up.”

“i never do.”

he hums, already drifting.

you close your eyes.

"night, cho."

"night, babe."

and in the dark, in his bed, wrapped in the quiet warmth of choso’s heartbeat and the hush of something unspoken between you, you fall asleep.

right where you’re supposed to be.

~

the sun’s too fucking bright.

choso’s got his hood pulled low, hands stuffed in the front pocket of his faded sweatshirt, hoodie sleeves bunched at his wrists like armor against the cold. his airpods are in, but he’s not playing anything. just using them to avoid eye contact. to avoid people.

his chem lecture starts in twelve minutes. he’s not rushing.

he’s never rushing.

the quad’s half-full with undergrads moving in packs, laughing too loud for this hour. he weaves through them like a shadow, dark-eyed and slow-moving, sleep still clinging to his bones.

he hasn’t showered. hasn’t brushed his hair. smells faintly like weed and sleep and your lotion, the floral kind you always keep in your bag.

he’s halfway across the quad when he hears it.

“yo.”

he looks up.

toji.

posted up on a low wall near the main staircase, nursing a large iced coffee and wearing the same zip-up he’s worn every morning since choso met him. he looks good, like he always does, jaw sharp, eyes tired, posture loose in that older-guy way that makes people think twice about messing with him.

choso pulls out one airpod. “yo.”

“you look like shit,” toji says, amused.

choso shrugs. “feel fine.”

“late night?”

“always.”

toji grins. “bet.”

choso wanders over, boots crunching gravel, and leans against the wall next to him. toji’s got that lazy menace vibe, like he could break someone’s nose or fall asleep in the sun, it could go either way. choso respects it.

they’re not close, but they’re good.

“you throw last night?” toji asks.

“yeah. packed out.”

“heard. saw some dude getting dragged out by the neck around one.”

choso huffs a little. “sukuna. again.”

“no shit?” toji laughs. “that guy’s a walking lawsuit.”

“got blood on my stairs,” choso mutters. “ruined the rug.”

“tragic.”

they’re quiet for a second. choso watches a squirrel dart across the walkway. toji sips his coffee.

“how much you make off the door?”

“couple hundred. enough for groceries. gas. weed.”

toji nods like that’s the natural order of things. “you ever think about pledging?”

choso snorts. “nah.”

“you’d run that shit,” toji says. “turn those little rich boys inside out.”

“i’m not good with rules.”

“fuck rules.”

choso grins a little. “you sound like yuki.”

“i taught yuki,” toji says, deadpan.

that gets a real laugh out of choso, low and amused, breath curling in the cold air.

“you got chem?” toji asks after a moment.

“yeah. lab.”

“tough.”

“i'm so fucking hungover.”

toji smirks. “so. last night. you go home alone?”

choso shrugs. “nah. crashed with her.”

toji looks at him. not surprised. not shocked. just curious.

“y/n?”

“yeah.”

a beat.

“you guys together now or what?”

choso looks up, brows drawn. “nah.”

toji raises an eyebrow. “huh. figured that would’ve happened by now.”

“why?”

“you’re always with her.”

“yeah.”

“you sleep in the same bed?”

choso shrugs again, easy and lowkey like it doesn’t mean anything. like it’s normal. “all the time.”

toji whistles under his breath, grinning. “you’re a better man than me.”

“not like that,” choso mutters, looking away.

“right,” toji says, smirking. “not like that.”

choso stays quiet. doesn’t explain. doesn’t elaborate. he just lets it sit in the air between them like secondhand smoke, warm, familiar, a little dangerous.

because it isn’t like that.

not yet.

but toji doesn’t push. just nods, takes another slow sip of his coffee, and claps choso on the shoulder with a rough hand.

“you’re cool,” he says. “but if you ever fuck that up, someone else won’t be.”

choso just exhales through his nose. shrugs.

he knows.

he knows.

~

choso slouches in his stool at station 4B, safety goggles pushed up into his messy hair, long fingers lazily rotating a test tube over the bunsen flame. he’s supposed to be running a titration, but he’s running on three hours of sleep and an edible that hasn’t stopped hitting since breakfast.

there’s a small chemical fire happening at the next table over. he doesn’t care.

his partner, some girl from his gen chem section who only speaks in whispers and perfume, scribbles answers onto their worksheet like her life depends on it. she’s never once asked him to help. choso’s fine with that.

his phone buzzes in his hoodie pocket. he pulls it out without looking, thumb unlocking the screen by feel. it’s instinct. the way he always knows when it’s you.

[10:37am] you: what class r u in rn

[10:38am] choso: chem

[10:38am] you: ew

[10:38am] choso: yea

[10:39am] you: wanna meet up after?? i’m bored

[10:39am] choso: wya

the response comes fast.

[10:40am] you: bleachers behind the field. bring snacks or i’ll cry.

choso smiles.

it’s the kind of smile he never shows anyone but you. lazy. lowkey. like a secret he doesn’t need to say out loud.

he texts back a thumbs up emoji. tucks his phone away. watches the blue flame flicker under the test tube like it’s trying to tell him something.

~

the bleachers behind the athletic field are barely standing. rusted metal, cracked paint, half the steps warped from years of cleat-stomped abuse. it’s one of the only spots on campus that still feels untouched, still feels yours. people don’t hang out here. it’s too open, too weird, too quiet.

perfect.

you’re already there when he shows up, sprawled across the middle row like it’s a chaise lounge, sunglasses perched low on your nose and a bag of kettle chips open in your lap.

you perk up when you see him. smile wide and lazy. “you brought me snacks?”

he lifts a 7/11 bag in greeting.

“you’re an angel,” you say, and you sound like you mean it. choso climbs up beside you, drops the bag between you, and sits with a long sigh like the weight of the whole morning finally got the memo that it can fuck off.

he lets himself lean back on his elbows, head tipped toward the sky. hoodie sleeves pushed up to the elbow. hands ringed in silver, knuckles faintly bruised from last night. jaw sharp, neck tattoo peeking just above his collar.

you glance over at him, bottom lip tucked between your teeth for a second too long.

he doesn’t notice.

or maybe he does.

but he doesn’t say anything.

“what happened in chem?” you ask, voice slow with sunlight.

“almost set the bench on fire,” he says. “again."

you laugh, and it’s the good kind, low and warm and familiar, like something soft you wrap yourself in. “you’re gonna fail.”

“nah,” he murmurs. “i got you. you’ll cry to shoko for me.”

you shrug. “probably.”

he grins.

you eat chips together for a while in comfortable silence. people jog past on the track below, but it’s like the two of you exist in another timeline, quieter, slower, deeper. every time your shoulders bump, he doesn’t move away. every time your fingers brush in the snack bag, he lets it linger.

you pull out a cherry lollipop from your tote. unwrap it with delicate, distracted fingers. stick it between your lips and suck thoughtfully.

choso looks over. blinks once.

his throat bobs. “you eat candy like you’re in a music video.”

“duh,” you say. “gotta stay on brand.”

“your brand is slutty candy princess?”

you flash him a wink. “you know it.”

he groans into his hands. “you’re gonna kill me.”

“you’d like it.”

“maybe.”

you both laugh.

but underneath it, there’s a tension you don’t touch. not yet. not today. not when the sun is this warm and the wind is this soft and the space between you feels like a bubble no one else can pop.

“so what’d you tell toji?” you ask suddenly, pulling your legs up under you. “he asked about us, right?”

choso blinks. shifts.

“how’d you know that?”

“i just saw him talking to you this morning and you rushed of before i could catch up.”

he sighs. rubs a hand over his face. “just asked about some dumb shit, was surprised we aren't fucking.”

“oh yeah?”

“yeah.”

you hum. “what’d you say?”

he shrugs. “told him we’re just friends.”

you nod.

but your fingers are tight around your lollipop stick. “did he buy it?”

choso looks over at you. eyes half-lidded, lazy. “dunno. didn’t really care.”

you don’t speak for a second.

then—

“you know,” you say lightly, “if we were dating, people wouldn’t question it.”

he raises a brow. “you wanna date me?”

you laugh like it’s a joke. like the idea’s crazy. “obviously not. i’d ruin your whole vibe.”

“nah,” he says, quiet and cool. “you are my vibe.”

it knocks the air out of you a little.

you don’t reply.

he doesn’t push.

instead, he pulls a lighter from his pocket. a faded red bic with a sticker of a cartoon frog on the side.

“you mind?” he asks.

you shake your head. “go for it.”

he lights the joint behind the bleachers, careful to block the wind, and takes a slow hit like he’s been doing it his whole life. like breathing.

you watch the way his lips part. the way the smoke curls from his mouth. the way he blinks up at the sky, exhaling slow, like there’s nothing in the world that could ruin this moment.

he passes it to you.

you hold it between two fingers. bring it to your lips, but don’t inhale. you just like the closeness. the ritual. the rhythm of it.

“you always smell like weed and coconuts,” you say absently.

“you always smell like sleep and candy.”

“that a compliment?”

“you know it is.”

you smile.

and then, like always, you shift until your head is in his lap, knees bent, lollipop back between your lips.

he threads his fingers into your hair like it’s automatic. like muscle memory.

you don’t say anything.

you don’t have to.

“there’s a party saturday,” choso says, like it’s just a passing thought. his voice is mellow, dragged slow with smoke and sun.

you squint up at him from his lap, one leg kicking idly off the edge of the bleachers. “yours?”

he shakes his head, dragging another pull from the joint before it sizzles low. “nah. kappa’s.”

“toji’s place?”

“mhm. sukuna’s throwin’ it.”

you make a face. “ew.”

he laughs, lazy and low. “yeah, i know.”

“what kinda party is it?”

he shrugs, flicking ash off to the side. “dunno. probly loud. messy. overrun with freshmen.”

“my favorite,” you say sarcastically.

“come anyway.”

you raise a brow. “you want me to go?”

he nods, eyes still soft from the joint. “yeah. all our people are gonna be there. gojo’s bringing that speaker he stole from the rec center. suguru’s bringing weed from the plug that scares everyone but him. shoko said she’s pre-gaming at yours.”

“she didn’t tell me that,” you mutter, amused.

“she said quote, ‘i’m getting blackout on your floor so you better have mixers.’”

“classic.”

“maki’s going too,” he adds. “and yuuji. megumi. nobara. y’all can take over the kitchen or whatever.”

you snort. “we always end up doing that. turning some random frat kitchen into our private lounge.”

“better lighting.”

“less vomit.”

he taps his knuckle to your forehead. “so?”

you blink at him. “so what?”

“you comin’?”

you stretch your arms over your head, lollipop tucked in your cheek like a secret. “mmm, depends. who’s walking me home if i black out?”

he gives you a look. “me."

“who’s holding my hair if i puke?”

“me.”

“who’s dancing with me when they put on early 2000s throwbacks?”

he smirks. “you already know.”

you grin and nuzzle into his thigh dramatically. “ugh, fine. i guess i’ll go.”

“what an honor.”

“you’re welcome.”

he flicks the roach away and leans back again, hood falling down to rest at the nape of his neck. you stare up at him for a second, at the sharp angle of his jaw, the lashes curled against his cheeks, the faint bruises of exhaustion under his eyes.

there’s something warm in your chest.

like always.

“what time’s it at?” you ask.

“late.”

“when are we getting there?”

“later.”

you smile. “as always.”

“as always,” he echoes.

you reach over, fingers brushing the side of his hoodie pocket where his lighter peeks out, red and fading, sticker peeling at the edges.

he doesn’t notice.

but you do.

you always do.

~

the sun has long since set when you’re back in your dorm.

shoko’s stuff is already half-scattered across your bed, a tote bag overflowing with lip gloss and tequila, her ripped denim skirt folded beside your pillow like it lives here. your bluetooth speaker is charging in the corner. your fairy lights are glowing dim, and the whole room smells like something between vanilla lotion and sharpie markers.

because you’re painting.

your desk is a mess of scattered brushes, scratched acrylics, and an empty matcha can you’ve been using as a water cup. right in the center sits the new bic lighter you picked up after social, jet black, perfectly smooth, untouched.

you’re painting red spider lilies across the front, his favourite.

the petals curl across the plastic like veins, wet with gloss and attention. you’re careful with the details. you’ve looked up references. you’ve done this before.

but this time’s different.

this one’s for him.

you don’t know why, exactly. maybe it’s because his old one’s going dead.

maybe it’s because you love him.

not like that.

not yet.

but in the way you know exactly how he likes his ramen. in the way he texts you “home?” when it’s late and doesn’t sleep until you answer. in the way he rolls his blunts left-handed and always lights yours first. in the way he remembers your mom’s birthday even though he’s never met her.

in the way he makes you feel safe in a room full of noise.

in the way he never tries to make you anything other than yourself.

you lean over the lighter, the brush held steady between your fingers, and add the final line of gold detailing around the petals. your breath fogs the surface. you wait for it to dry.

outside, someone blasts a bad edm remix. the party’s already pulsing down the block.

you aren’t ready yet.

but you will be.

because he asked.

because you always go when he asks.

by the time you and shoko step into the kappa house, it’s already hell in there.

there’s music vibrating the walls, some mashup of jersey club and distorted britney spears, smoke curling from doorways, the reek of beer and weed and something you hope is a vape cloud drifting from the stairs. someone’s already swinging a half-finished bottle of patrón in the foyer, and a guy in a spiked collar is passed out half-naked on the pool table. red LEDs paint the room like a warning.

“jesus,” shoko mutters, pushing through a knot of people. “it’s worse than last time.”

“that’s saying a lot,” you reply, laughing.

you pass a makeshift tattoo station set up in the kitchen, a foldable table, three guys with gloves and prison-grade guns, girls taking shots with their shirts off, someone yelling about cross-contamination. someone else is already screaming into a paper towel, gripping their friend’s thigh as ink bleeds into skin.

“how much you wanna bet that guy’s not even licensed?” shoko asks, pointing with her cup.

a few feet away, a couple is practically devouring each other on the couch, hands in places that definitely shouldn’t be public, their moans barely muffled over the bassline. you and shoko share a glance.

“ten bucks says they’ll be upstairs in five,” she says.

“two,” you shoot back.

you find the rest of your girls near the island, maki’s drinking straight from a bottle of dark rum, nobara’s yelling at some guy for calling her “sweetheart,” and miwa looks like she’s trying to spiritually leave her body.

“there you bitches are,” nobara says, throwing an arm over your shoulders. “i was gonna beat some freshman’s ass for trying to say you weren’t on the guest list.”

“please tell me you’re drinking tonight,” maki says, eyes already glossy.

“i just got here!” you laugh, letting shoko pull you in tighter. “i haven’t even taken my jacket off!"

“well hurry up,” nobara insists, pouring something violently pink into a solo cup and handing it to you. “this night’s cursed already.”

you take a cautious sip, bubblegum and battery acid. “what the hell is this?”

“it’s called the thong dropper,” shoko says helpfully.

“girl.”

you let the chaos swirl around you for a bit, settling into the rhythm of things, catching up on nonsense, swapping wild stories, dodging spilled drinks and clumsy hands. nobara starts talking about some guy she hooked up with last week, rolling her eyes and groaning dramatically.

“his stroke game was so weak,” she says, slamming her cup down. “he kept asking me ‘is that good?’ like—cmon. do you not hear me faking it?”

maki snorts. “you faked it?”

“of course i did. i had to get it over with.”

shoko leans in. “rookie mistake. just tell ‘em straight up.”

“i can’t crush a man’s ego like that,” nobara defends.

“they’ll live,” maki says.

you giggle into your drink, letting the warmth buzz up your spine.

“what about you?” shoko nudges. “you getting any lately?”

you shrug, trying to hide your smirk. “define ‘getting.’”

they all ooh at that, but you wave them off.

“nah,” you add quickly. “just been… chillin’.”

nobara raises a brow. “chillin’ with who?”

you don’t answer.

you don’t have to.

because you just spotted him.

across the room, slouched low on the ratty couch like a king on a broken throne, hoodie slipping off one shoulder, blunt glowing between his fingers, is choso.

he’s got his head tipped back, laughing at something gojo just said, eyes heavy-lidded and hazy, lips pink and glossy from smoke. his legs are spread wide, rings catching the LED lights, and there’s a plastic crown crooked on his head like someone dared him to wear it and he just went along with it.

you hand your cup to shoko. “back in a sec.”

you beeline straight to him.

he sees you coming, of course. always does.

“yo,” he says, voice syrup-thick, laced in that lazy drawl you know too well. “there she is.”

you plop onto the couch next to him, thigh pressed to his instantly, as natural as breathing.

“hey, babe.”

he pulls the blunt from his lips and passes it to gojo. “you look hot,” he murmurs, eyes scanning over you. “like… stupid hot.”

you grin. “you’re high.”

“and you’re hot.”

“so high.”

gojo chuckles. “he’s been saying that about everyone for the last twenty minutes. told sukuna his chains looked ‘shiny as fuck’ and that he was proud of him.”

“and i meant it,” choso says, nodding solemnly.

“sukunas a menace,” you laugh.

“a sweet menace,” choso adds.

gojo tosses the blunt into an ashtray and stretches. “aight. i’m gonna go find the aux before someone puts on country again.”

“godspeed,” you tell him.

choso watches him disappear into the crowd before turning back to you. “you good?”

you nod. “girls are wild tonight.”

“when aren’t they?”

you smile. “party’s kinda gross, though.”

he grins. “yeah. it’s ass.”

“i missed your parties.”

he hums, dragging a slow breath through his nose. “next week. tuesday.”

“a tuesday party?”

“hell yeah.”

you laugh softly, eyes dropping to the front pocket of his hoodie. his lighter’s there again, the red one. the same one from earlier, edges worn down like it’s been used a thousand times.

without saying anything, you reach into your jacket pocket.

he watches you curiously as you pull out the lighter you painted, black and glossy, the spider lilies blooming across the surface in blood-red ink and gold veins.

you hand it to him wordlessly.

his fingers brush yours as he takes it, and something in his face shifts, softens, quiets.

he turns it over slowly in his palm, eyes scanning every detail like he’s memorizing it.

“you painted this?”

you nod.

“ma…” he says under his breath, almost like it’s too much. “yo. this is… this is fucking beautiful.”

“your other one’s dying,” you say, a little shy now. “figured you needed a new one.”

he’s quiet for a second, blinking slowly.

then—

“you’re such a fuckin’ angel.”

you laugh. “it’s literally just a lighter.”

he doesn’t let his gaze leave it. “nah. it’s you.”

you blink.

he says it so casually. so high. so him.

like it’s just a fact.

you don’t say anything, and neither does he. the music swells. the lights flicker. people scream and laugh and break things somewhere in the background.

but right now, it’s just the two of you, and a lighter between your palms.

“you’re gonna make me cry,” you joke, even though the way he keeps looking at the lighter makes your chest feel a little too full.

choso doesn’t answer, just keeps running his thumb over the curves of it like it’s some delicate artifact, black with the glossy gleam of fresh paint, those red lilies blooming across the surface like blood in water.

he flicks it once. flame bursts up.

“perfect,” he mumbles.

“it works?”

“better than my soul, babe.”

you laugh, leaning your head against his shoulder, and for a few seconds everything around you falls away, just the throb of the music, the warm press of him, and the soft flicker of that tiny orange flame between his fingers.

you sit like that for a little while, talking about nothing. him complaining about a group project he hasn’t started. you teasing him for skipping chem lab again. him promising you some “next-level weed” for tuesday’s party that “tastes like peaches and existential dread.”

his voice is slow, syrup-thick, a little slurred at the ends. he’s stoned, clearly, but you’re used to this. used to the way he leans into you when he’s like this, heavy and unguarded, every thought coming out a little slower and more unfiltered. it’s a version of him that doesn’t get tired of looking at you.

he tugs at the hem of your jacket playfully. “you gonna stay with me tonight?”

you raise a brow. “didn’t plan on going anywhere else.”

he grins, that sleepy smile that makes your heart tick funny.

then your name cuts through the room, pitched over the music.

“oh shit,” you say, glancing over your shoulder. “they’re calling me.”

choso hums, not looking away. “tell ‘em i said hi.”

you hesitate for a second, not wanting to leave the warm bubble you’ve curled into. but shoko’s waving you over, and maki’s already halfway across the room with a bottle in her hand and trouble in her eyes.

“i’ll be back,” you say, giving his knee a squeeze as you get up.

he watches you go, eyes dragging over your silhouette, that sway in your hips, the flash of your smile as nobara yells something at you that makes you laugh and flip her off in the same breath.

then he’s alone.

not really, the house is packed, pulsing with bodies and music and smoke, but alone in the way that matters.

the lighter’s still in his hand.

and it won’t stop looking like you.

'she fuckin’ made this.'

that thought loops through his head in lazy spirals. he stares down at it like he’s still not fully processing that it’s his now, the way it fits so perfect in his palm, like you painted it with him in mind, like you know his hands that well.

(which you do.)

'what an angel', he thinks again, your face still ghosted in his mind.

he’s high. so high. his body feels like a heartbeat, slow and deep and pulsing warm. and the lighter, it keeps dragging him back to that moment on the couch, your thigh against his, your fingers brushing his, your quiet little smile when he lit it up for the first time.

'she always does shit like this. just makes stuff better. without even tryin’.'

it hits him all at once, sudden and full-body.

he needs to mark this. this moment. this feeling.

he’s already pulling out his phone before the thought’s even fully formed, scrolling through the camera roll he swore he didn’t care about but secretly checks too often. blurry candids, selfies with you curled against his chest, that pic from two weeks ago when you were looking up at him from the floor of his room with a red gummy in your mouth and sleep in your eyes.

he pauses there.

your eyes in that picture. big, soft, glassy, sexy.

his thumb hovers over the screen.

“yo,” a familiar voice calls, sauntering through the haze. “you look fried.”

sukuna.

choso glances up. “am fried.”

sukuna grins. “figured. that couch is cursed, by the way. guy got a blowie on it last week during pong night.”

choso shrugs. “adds flavor.”

they lean on the wall together, easy silence for a second.

“you see the tat guys?” sukuna asks, chin-jerking toward the kitchen. “someone just got a fucking worm on their calf. like a literal earthworm. said it was ‘symbolic.’”

choso laughs, low and thick. “symbolic of what?”

“dunno. being dirt, i guess.”

he doesn’t respond. just looks back at his phone.

sukuna raises a brow. “you good, dude?”

“yeah.”

“you look like you just had a vision.”

choso finally meets his eye.

“yo,” he says slowly. “you ever just feel something and know you gotta do somethin’ about it right now or you’ll bitch out?”

sukuna squints. “uh. like what?”

choso doesn’t answer.

instead, he pushes off the wall, hoodie slipping off one shoulder again, lighter still clutched in one hand, phone in the other, and starts walking.

sukuna watches him go, a little amused. “damn. alright.”

the air is thick with smoke and bass as he weaves through the crowd, bumping shoulders, dodging a girl dancing with her heels off and her hair in her face.

he reaches the makeshift tattoo stand.

it smells like rubbing alcohol and regret.

“yo,” he says, voice smooth as silk and twice as slow.

the guy behind the table, ink sleeves up to the neck, black gloves, sunglasses indoors, glances up.

“what’s up, man?”

choso leans down slightly, eyes low-lidded and unreadable, body loose and stoned and sexy in that careless way he always carries.

he holds out his phone.

“can you do this,” he asks, “on my arm?”

the artist blinks, then looks at the screen.

it’s a close-up of a girl’s eyes, wide, seductive, yet still glowing with laughter. looking up at the camera like whoever took the photo was the only thing in the world.

looking up at him.

choso taps the screen once. “those are hers.”

the guy raises a brow. “like… your girl?”

choso shrugs one shoulder. his eyes never leave the photo.

the buzz of the needle starts soft, a low, persistent hum, and choso doesn’t even flinch. he just leans back, one arm draped lazily across the armrest, hoodie shoved halfway up his bicep where the artist wiped him down with alcohol. his eyes are half-lidded, bloodshot from whatever gojo rolled earlier, but locked on the phone he’s holding out in his opposite hand.

the picture’s still up. her eyes, warm and wide, lashes curled, looking up at him like she trusts him with her whole heart.

“pretty,” the tattoo guy mutters, angling a small light to get a better look as he sketches the stencil. “yours?”

choso’s mouth curves slow. doesn’t answer right away. just flicks his lighter open and closed, click, click, click, the red spider lilies catching the light each time.

then finally:

“nah.”

the guy hums. “girlfriend?”

he huffs a little, amused. “not that either.”

he sets the lighter down on the table beside him, keeps his eyes on the screen.

“she’s just,” he pauses, then shrugs, soft and slow, “her. y’know?”

the artist side-eyes him. “deep.”

choso smiles again, eyes unfocused. “nah, i’m just fuckin’ high.” the guy presses the warm stencil into choso’s arm, smooths it into place.

“you sure you wanna do this while you’re, uh,” he glances at choso’s glassy expression, the faint grin still tugging at his mouth, “clearly not sober?”

“i’m not wasted,” choso says lazily. “and i’m not dumb. it’s not a mistake.” the artist nods once, respects it. “alright, man.” he flips on the machine again, lines it up.

“you done this before?” choso grunts a laugh. “y’think i got these in my sleep?” he gestures vaguely at the black ink already crawling across both arms, jagged, abstract lines, constellations and waves, some faded with age. some done in basements like this one. “first time sober was the weirdest one.”

the guy snorts. “fair.”

the needle hits skin.

choso exhales slow. doesn’t flinch, doesn’t shift, doesn’t even blink hard. just stares at the wall across the room, jaw slack, hoodie sliding off his shoulder, the buzz settling into the meat of his arm like a low hum of intention. “you ever tattoo someone like this before?” he murmurs after a beat.

“like what?”

he shrugs again. “someone who’s… y’know.” the guy doesn’t answer right away.

choso elaborates, voice softer this time. “she’s not mine. i don’t want her to be. not right now. it’s not like that. it’s just…” he trails off, brows furrowing a little, tongue tucked against the inside of his cheek.

“she just means somethin’. don’t got a word for it.”

the artist doesn’t look up from his work, but his tone’s gentler when he speaks again. “yeah. i’ve seen that before.” choso sinks deeper into the chair, breathing even. the pain’s dull and constant, but it grounds him. keeps his thoughts from spiraling too far out, keeps his high in this exact moment.

“you think she’d be mad?” he asks, voice airy. “if she saw it?”

“dunno,” the guy says. “you gonna tell her?” he blinks slow, head rolling back against the headrest.

“nah.”

another pause.

“not now. it’s just for me.” the tattooer gives a small nod. “that’s real.”

a silence settles between them, the steady hum of the needle, the sound of someone vomiting into a bush outside the window, a muffled scream from the beer pong table two rooms over.

“looks good,” the artist murmurs, wiping excess ink from the forming lines of the eyes. “she’s got crazy lashes.”

choso huffs out a small laugh. “she’d fuckin’ love that you noticed that.”

“yeah?”

he smiles again, softer now. “talked about lash serum for like a week. gave me a whole presentation.”

the guy chuckles under his breath. “sounds like she talks a lot.”

choso closes his eyes.

“she talks just enough.” the buzz continues. the lines take shape. her eyes, right there, etched into his skin. not to claim. not to confess. just to remember.

just for him.

~

the buzz dies down gradually, tapering into a low hum before the artist finally flicks the switch and pulls back. the sudden quiet settles like a heavy blanket over the both of them, just the soft thud of bass from the next room and the subtle scrape of latex gloves against skin.

“alright, man,” the artist says, leaning back with a stretch. “done.”

choso blinks slow, still slouched deep in the chair like he’s been there for hours, like the cushion molded around his bones. he lifts his head, eyes hazy but laser-locked on the strip of bandage being pressed to his upper arm.

“yo, hold up, lemme see it before you cover it,” he says, voice low and hoarse from either weed or reverence, maybe both.

the guy lifts a brow, but obliges. carefully wipes the skin one last time, blood and excess ink coming away in soft red-black smears. the room’s fluorescent lights hit the raw lines at an angle, shining off the freshly tattooed skin like it’s something holy.

and fuck.

there it is.

your eyes.

wide and soft and open, curved lashes sweeping upward in a way no stencil should’ve captured but somehow did. that quiet way you look at him, like he hung the stars, like he’s yours even if the two of you never say it out loud. inked permanent on the soft part of his bicep, nestled between a set of waves and the jagged edge of a half-finished constellation.

for a second, he doesn’t speak. doesn’t move.

he just stares.

it hits him slow, like a good edible, starts behind his eyes, low and warm in his chest, then spreads.

yo.

he’s obsessed.

like fully, all the way, brain-meltingly obsessed.

he turns his arm slightly under the light, eyes tracing the lines, the slight curve of your upper lid, the detail around the corners like you're mid-laugh or mid-thought or both. it looks exactly like you, his favorite version of you. the version that looks up at him like nothing else exists in the room.

god.

you look good on him. not in the possessive way. not even close. it’s not that.

it’s something else. something way quieter. something he can’t even name when he’s sober, and definitely not now, baked out of his skull with his arm still tingling and his hoodie falling half off.

but still, he’s wearing you now. and it feels like something that’s always been true, just waiting for the ink to make it real.

“you good?” the artist asks, half amused, already reaching for the plastic wrap again. “yeah,” choso says, slow, mouth crooked into a lazy grin. “looks fuckin’ sick, dude.” the guy chuckles under his breath. “kinda figured you’d say that.”

“you killed it,” choso adds, finally dragging his eyes off the tattoo. “like, actually.”

the artist nods, pleased. “appreciate it. was fun as hell to do, honestly. you sure you don’t want her name or somethin’? under it?” choso snorts. “nah. that’d make it weird.”

“fair.”

he watches the guy gently press a clean dressing over the fresh ink, tape it up. the sensation’s a dull sting under his skin, not quite pain, just awareness. a reminder that it’s real now. that it’s his, for good.

she doesn’t know. you might never know. and that’s kinda the whole point. he’s not gonna flash it at you mid-party or say anything slick when you sit beside him later like you always do, throwing your legs over his lap and stealing his drink.

nah.

this one’s just for him. a secret under his sleeve, tucked into the curve of his body like a memory.

“you gonna keep it under wraps?” the guy asks, like he can read choso’s whole plan off his face.

“yeah,” choso mutters, grabbing his hoodie and tugging the sleeve back down with a practiced flick. “at least for now. don’t need her freakin’ out or nothing.”

“bet,” the guy says with a short laugh. “i get it.”

choso stands slow, body still heavy from sitting too long and smoking too much. he sways a bit but rights himself, shaking out his arms like he’s just come up from underwater. the whole basement smells like blood and rubbing alcohol and resin, but it’s warm, and the energy buzzes low and steady around him.

he digs in his pocket for a few bills, slaps them into the artist’s open palm.

“appreciate you, man.”

“anytime, bro. take care of that, don’t go dunkin’ it in a keg or anything.” choso grins. “no promises.”

he walks out with his hoodie draped low, sleeve tugged all the way to his wrist despite the heat and the crowd and the chaotic press of bodies funneling in from the hallway. music floods back in slow, a pulse of bass syncing up with his own heartbeat.

but he can’t stop thinking about it. every step he takes, every time the sleeve brushes against the fresh ink, it reminds him.

not of what they are.

but of what you mean.

upu didn’t need to give him that lighter. you didn’t have to think about him in that little quiet way you always did, like he’s more than just a weed plug or the guy you party with every weekend. that little moment, just you in your dorm, painting red spider lilies on a bic you knew he’d never throw away? that shit went straight to his chest. and now you're on his skin. maybe you'd freak out if you saw it. maybe you'd cry. maybe you'd laugh.

maybe you'd get real quiet and never say anything again. or maybe you'd look at him the way you did in that photo. maybe you'd look at him like you knew.

but all that’s for later. for now, he’s just stoned as hell, arm warm and throbbing, and so unbelievably content that it’s almost embarrassing.

he spots gojo again across the room, already perched on the arm of someone else’s couch with a red solo cup and a grin like he owns the house. choso veers toward him, slips back into the noise like he never left.

sleeve tugged down.

lighter in his pocket.

eyes on his arm, just for him.

~

later that night you navigate yourself back to choso after your banter with the girls.

you spot him sunk deep into the cushions, hood half up, curls falling into his face, a bottle of water in one hand and his eyes half-lidded and sleepy with that lazy high he wears better than anyone. he’s surrounded, gojo splayed on one armrest like he owns the place, sukuna lounged sideways with his feet on the table, and suguru perched on the edge, nursing a half-finished blunt.

“yo, look who it is,” gojo grins as you walk up, already clocking the way you move like you’re headed home, not just to a guy. “princess finally found her prince.”

you don’t say anything, just slide right into the little space at choso’s side like it was made for you. his arm shifts automatically, pulling you in like it’s instinct, and you tuck your face into his shoulder, letting out the softest exhale. you can feel the thrum of his voice in your cheek when he speaks.

“hey, ma.”

his hand’s warm against your hip, steady, grounding. he smells like weed and cedar and the faintest trace of paint from the lighter you gave him. it’s in his pocket now, safe like something sacred.

“so anyway,” suguru picks back up like you didn’t just crash-land in choso’s lap, “i’m telling you, the guy had no idea what he was doing. tried to roll with a swisher, no guts, just dumped the weed in and twisted the end like a fuckin’ lollipop.”

“god, not the lollipop roll,” sukuna groans, dragging a hand over his face. “freshman?”

“of course it was a freshman,” gojo says, grinning. “those little guys think watching one youtube tutorial makes them bob marley.”

“yo, remember that one dude at the delta party?” choso says, head tilting back slightly. “rolled a joint with a bible page.”

“amen,” sukuna snorts.

“nah, for real,” choso laughs, hand tightening just slightly where it rests on your side. “he said it made the high holier.” you huff against his hoodie, and his fingers flex like he felt it, like it was the best sound he’d heard all night.

they keep going, weed stories, party war stories, the dumbest shit they’ve ever seen in a frat house at 3am. it’s relentless, loud, chaotic, but you stay quiet, tucked against choso’s side like he’s the only still thing in the room. his thumb runs in slow circles against your waist through the fabric of your top, and you feel the way he laughs before you hear it.

“yo,” gojo says, leaning across suguru to point at choso. “what’s the craziest thing you’ve ever done at a party?”

“besides adopt a girlfriend he doesn’t kiss?” sukuna adds. choso blinks slow. doesn’t rise to the bait, doesn’t even twitch.

“probably that time at theta when i fell asleep in the bathtub and woke up with a raccoon in my lap.” suguru chokes. “you serious?”

“deadass.”

“was it… alive?”

“bro. it was chillin’. just vibin’ with me.”

“you probably hotboxed the tub,” gojo says, wiping tears of laughter from his eyes. “raccoon was just tryna get high.”

choso grins, soft and slow, and you nudge your nose into his hoodie like you’re hiding your own smile. “what about women?” sukuna says suddenly, eyes glinting like he’s fishing. “y’all ever hook up at your own party?”

“you’re disgusting, that's against reg” gojo tells him cheerfully.

“don’t lie,” sukuna drawls. “you know you have.”

“alright, once,” gojo admits. “but i kicked her out after because she tried to name my bongs.” “you’re heartless,” suguru says, deadpan.

“you don’t name the bongs,” gojo insists. “they earn names. it’s sacred.”

“what about you, choso?” sukuna’s gaze cuts sideways. “you got bodies stacked in your stoner dungeon?” choso hums, slow and easy. you feel the low sound in his chest, pressed flush to your cheek.

“nah,” he says. “i don’t hook up with girls who don’t know how to roll.” the boys howl, gojo nearly falling off the couch.

“that’s so on brand,” suguru laughs. “you need standards,” choso mumbles, amused, and leans his cheek briefly against the top of your head.

the lighter’s still in his pocket. his arm’s still over your shoulders. and beneath the sleeve of his hoodie, hidden from the world, your eyes are inked into his skin.

you shift a little, just enough to tuck your legs under yourself, settling more fully into him, and he adjusts without thinking — arm around you tighter now, palm spread warm across your ribs, thumb grazing your side through the fabric. he’s careful. doesn’t let the hoodie ride up. doesn’t let anyone see. the tattoo’s still fresh, still tender, and it’s just for him.

“yo, you good?” suguru asks, nodding at him. choso blinks slow. “yeah man’.”

“that weed hit hard,” gojo says. “i feel like i’m seein’ sounds.”

“you ever tried dabs?” sukuna asks. “that’s when shit gets spiritual.”

“you tryna kill someone?” suguru laughs. “every time i hit one, i feel like my soul’s leaving my body.”

“shit’s a rite of passage,” sukuna shrugs.

“nah, a rite of passage is hosting a rager with a cop at your door and acting like you live there,” gojo grins. “have you?” choso asks, amused.

“bro, i’ve answered the door in a bathrobe before,” gojo says proudly. they all crack up again. you don’t say anything, but your smile’s pressed right into choso’s chest, and he dips his head for a second to nuzzle his nose into your hair.

“she’s real quiet tonight,” suguru says, noticing. “nah, she’s just comfy,” choso says easily. “she don’t need to talk when she’s like this.”

you don’t. not when you’ve got his warmth, his arm around you, his voice rumbling low in your ear with every lazy joke. it’s always like this, like no one else in the room really matters, like you could fall asleep right here and he’d keep the world spinning while you did.

“that’s love,” gojo says mock-serious.

“shut up,” choso mutters. but he doesn’t stop smiling. and the lighter’s still warm in his pocket.

and your eyes are still inked into his arm, safe and secret beneath layers of cotton and smoke.

~

the house is still going when you two finally get up. it’s past 2am, maybe closer to 3, but the music hasn’t let up and there’s still people on the floor, drinks in hand, voices loud and slurred over each other. someone’s passed out with a sharpie mustache, another guy’s making out with a pillow. classic kappa chaos.

choso’s the one who moves first. you feel it in the way his arm shifts, in the soft brush of his thumb against your side like a nudge. he leans in close, voice barely above a murmur.

“you good to dip?”

you nod into his hoodie, eyes half-lidded, heart heavy with warmth and weed.

he helps you up slow, palm steady at your back. when you stand, the cold air from the open back door hits your legs and you shiver a little, instinctively leaning back into his side. he shrugs his hoodie higher and throws an arm around your shoulders like he already knew it’d happen.

“yo,” choso calls out over the couch, voice scratchy and low. “we out.”

gojo perks up from where he’s still posted with a half-spilled drink, eyes bright. “tell your girlfriend goodnight for us.”

you don’t say anything, just press your face into choso’s shoulder again, and he laughs under his breath.

“night, man,” suguru says with a nod, already halfway into rolling another blunt.

sukuna lifts a hand lazily. “text if you end up in a ditch.”

“if i do, i’m takin’ you with me,” choso mutters.

they all laugh again, and it follows you both out the front door, the porch light buzzing weak and yellow above you. the night’s cooler now, quiet in a way that makes everything feel soft around the edges. your heels click against the pavement as you walk, but only for a second, choso notices and without a word, crouches down in front of you, glancing back over his shoulder.

“get on.”

you blink, amused. “seriously?”

“c’mon, ma,” he mumbles, tugging at your wrist. “your feet hurt.”

you climb onto his back with a little laugh, arms wrapped loose around his shoulders, and he stands like it’s nothing, steady under your weight. his steps are slow and sure down the sidewalk, the frat house lights shrinking behind you, the sounds of the party fading with every step.

“you always take care of me,” you mumble against his neck.

he hums low. “’course i do. you're my.. best friend.”

you walk like that for a while, his hoodie soft against your cheek, his hair brushing your face every time the wind shifts. he doesn’t say much, just hums sometimes or comments on dumb shit you pass, a traffic cone in a bush, a raccoon on the curb that freezes when it sees you, like it knows choso somehow.

he sets you down once you’re close, only when his own building’s steps are in sight. his hand stays in yours as he leads you inside, up the stairs, past the other bedrooms where people are either passed out or definitely not sleeping. his door clicks shut behind you with a soft thud, and everything goes quiet.

his room’s the same as always, warm, dim, the faint smell of weed and whatever incense he burned earlier in the week still lingering in the corners. one sock on the floor, a hoodie thrown over the back of his chair. you’ve been here a hundred times, maybe more.

but tonight feels different. softer. warmer.

he pulls his hoodie off slow, careful of the sleeve, and tosses it toward the desk chair. the bandage underneath catches the light for a second, but he turns before you see too much.

you toe your shoes off and crawl onto the bed without thinking. he follows, slower, body still heavy with high and heat and something else he can’t name.

you’re both under the blanket when he finally speaks.

“hey.”

you look over, curled on your side facing him.

his eyes are half-lidded, soft. one arm tucked behind his head, the other stretched toward you, palm open on the comforter like he’s offering it.

“i really fuckin’ love that lighter.”

your heart stutters a little. “yeah?”

he nods, slow. “like… a lot. been using it all night. even switched pockets for it, kept checking to make sure it didn’t fall out or get swiped.”

you smile, something small and full blooming in your chest. “good. it’s supposed to be yours.”

“feels like it.”

he looks at you for a long second. the space between you shrinks until his arm slides around your waist and pulls you in close.

you go easy, always do, settling into him like he’s your own bed, your own pillow, the place you always end up no matter how far you drift.

he breathes in slow, his nose brushing your hair.

“the flowers… why’d you paint those?”

you press your face into his chest.

“they reminded me of you,” you say quietly. “red spider lilies. they’re kind of… complicated. people think they’re about death or goodbye, but they also mean memory. rebirth. starting over. they grow in all the places nothing else does.”

choso’s quiet for a second.

then, soft, “you think i’m like that?”

you shrug against him, voice even softer. “i think you’re the kind of person who sticks. who stays even when shit gets hard. and you don’t always say how you feel but… you’re steady. like those flowers. like fire.”

he exhales slow.

“fuck, ma.”

“what?”

“you’re gonna make me cry or some shit.”

you laugh, a quiet huff against his chest. he wraps both arms around you now, tucking you into the space beneath his chin, his hand sliding up into your hair.

his fingers stroke slow, gentle. again and again.

“you can cry,” you mumble. “i won’t tell.”

he chuckles low, the sound vibrating through you.

“nah, i’m good. just… i dunno. not used to someone thinkin’ about me like that.”

you don’t say anything. just curl closer, your fingers fisting lightly in the fabric of his shirt.

the room settles into silence. soft and slow. your breaths even out together.

his hand keeps stroking through your hair, steady and grounding. like he could do it forever. like maybe he will.

his voice comes again, quieter this time.

“gonna keep that lighter forever.”

you smile, eyes fluttering shut. “good.”

“not even gonna let gojo touch it."

“definitely good.”

his lips brush your hair, a ghost of a kiss.

you feel it all, the warmth, the safety, the way his body curls slightly to fit around yours like a shield, like a home.

his heartbeat’s slow against your cheek.

“night, ma,” he whispers, already half-asleep.

you murmur it back, voice slurred with sleep, breath syncing with his.

his fingers keep moving, slow circles through your hair.

and in the soft dark, beneath the blanket, beneath the silence, his arm curls around you just enough to press the fresh ink on his bicep to your side, a quiet secret. a permanent truth.

just for him.

just for tonight.

just for you.

~

~

it’s been a chill afternoon, sun’s out, classes dragging, brain fried. choso’s walking out of the lab building with his earbuds in, hoodie half-zipped, replaying your last message in his head. a pic of your shoes kicked off under a library table, captioned come save me, three broken hearts. made him smile. still does.

he’s almost past the quad when a shadow cuts across the sidewalk.

“yo, choso.”

doesn’t need to look up to know who it is.

that voice, too smooth. familiar in the kind of way that feels like smoke curling up your back.

he pulls one earbud out and slows.

toji’s leaned against the trunk of an oak tree like he’s been waiting. sunglasses on, black tee snug across his chest, arms crossed like he’s got all day. his smirk’s already half-there.

“what’s up?” choso mutters.

“you got a sec?”

choso gives him a long look. he knows toji. knows the kind of calm that means something’s coming.

“…yeah,” he says anyway.

they walk.

they’ve done this before, that time a few weeks ago before his lab, once or twice after parties, when everyone else was loud and drunk and messy. toji’s always been different. sharper. like he watches the room just to see where it bleeds.

“how’s life at delta mu?” toji asks after a few steps. casual. fake.

“same shit.”

“yeah?” he smirks. “you still throwing those weed parties with your little mascot?”

choso’s jaw ticks. “you mean y/n?”

toji chuckles. “yeah. her.”

he tosses a glance sideways. too casual.

“she’s got some energy, huh? always bouncing around, arms all over you. she like that with everybody or just you?”

choso doesn’t answer. toji doesn’t need one.

“nah, i’ve seen it,” he continues. “always tucked up next to you. on your lap. wrapped around your arm. clinging to your hoodie like it’s the last blunt in the world.”

he laughs under his breath. “kinda cute.”

choso’s fists go deep in his pockets.

“she’s just like that,” he says flatly.

toji hums. “you sure?”

choso looks over.

“what’s your point?”

“just wondering,” toji shrugs, still smiling like it’s harmless. “you’ve told me before, you two aren’t dating.”

“we’re not.”

“but you hang out every day.”

“yeah.”

“sleep in the same bed sometimes, right?”

choso’s mouth tightens.

toji grins like he caught something.

“so she’s single?”

choso stares straight ahead.

“…yeah.”

“good to know.”

silence.

the wind brushes through the quad. students chatter behind them. someone’s playing music from a bluetooth speaker in the grass, something smooth, almost romantic. it doesn’t help.

“she’s just real… open, you know?” toji says. “like, warm. sweet as hell. makes you feel like you’ve known her forever.” choso stays quiet.

“i ran into her the other day,” toji adds like it’s nothing. “outside the gym. we talked for a sec.” his tone is lighter now. teasing. like he’s digging.

“she remembered my name. smiled real nice, too. said she was headed to meet you.”

no surprise there. you always say where you're going. always talking about choso like he’s the center of your world. and maybe that’s why this stings. and toji knows it.

“you ever wonder if she does that for you?” he asks. “tells other guys she’s headed to see you. uses your name like a shield.”

he doesn’t wait for a reply.

“or maybe it’s just habit. maybe she’s comfortable. you ever think about that?”

“don’t do this.”

choso’s voice is low now. warning. toji just smirks.

“look, man. i’m not trying to piss you off. just… trying to understand. ‘cause you act like you’re her boyfriend, but then you say you’re not.”

he tilts his head.

“so which is it?”

choso breathes slow through his nose.

“we’re close. we’ve always been close. that’s it.” toji nods. like he buys it.

but he doesn’t.

“damn,” he says. “you got more patience than me.”

“what’s that mean?”

“means if a girl like that was pressed up on me every night, i wouldn’t be wasting time calling her my friend.” he says it with a grin, but there’s something sharp underneath.

“you really never tried?” toji asks. “never kissed her? not once?” choso doesn’t respond. he can’t. he kisses you all the time, on the head, bebe ron the lips.

because the truth’s stuck in his throat, the way you fall asleep in his arms, the way you hold his lighter like it means something, the way you always come back to him like he’s home. and he’s the dumbass who never claimed you.

“so she’s single, then?” toji repeats.

“yeah,” choso says, barely above a whisper.

toji gives him one last nod.

“cool,” he says. “just wanted to be sure.” and then he walks away. choso doesn’t move. not for a long time.

just stands there, fists clenched, teeth gritted, watching toji’s silhouette disappear down the path like it’s a threat, because it is. he knew.

he knew before he asked.

and now he’s coming.

because choso left the door wide open.

and you?

you’re free to walk through it.

~

choso’s room, late afternoon

your legs are curled under you on choso’s bed, hoodie three sizes too big hanging off your shoulder, his, of course. the windows are cracked open, letting in the soft hum of birds and the echo of some guys yelling down at the basketball court. his room smells like incense, sage and something deeper, something him, warm, sleepy. you’ve been here a hundred times like this. maybe more.

his hoodie sleeves keep sliding past your wrists as you text, thumbs quick, quiet smile pulling at your lips. he’s across the room, digging through a drawer for his rolling tray. you can feel his presence without even looking. always do.

“yo, did you move my grinder?” he calls, glancing over his shoulder.

“nope,” you answer, distracted, fingers still flying over your screen. your phone lights again.

toji [3:04pm]: you looked cute at that mixer last night.

you bite your lip. thumbs hover.

then you type:

you [3:07pm]: oh you're stalking me noww?

you don’t see choso pause. you don’t see how long his eyes linger on your phone. you don’t realize he saw the name, until he speaks.

“who you texting?”

you blink up, tone of his voice unfamiliar.

“hm? oh—” you shift your phone in your hand, instinctive. “just… someone.”

he tilts his head.

“someone, huh.”

you laugh a little. “why do you sound like that?”

he doesn’t answer. he crosses the room instead, slow steps. plants himself at the edge of the bed, arms folded. you look up at him and that warm energy’s gone. replaced with something colder. sharp.

“that toji?”

your breath stalls.

“…yeah.”

choso stares at you. unreadable.

“why?”

“what do you mean why?” you ask, eyebrows tugging. “he messaged me. we were just talking.”

he hums. low. not buying it.

“just talking,” he echoes. “what about?” you sit up straighter. “what’s going on?”

“what’d he say?”

“choso—”

“lemme see.”

he gestures at your phone. you clutch it instinctively. like muscle memory. like guilt? “are you serious right now?” he doesn’t answer. jaw’s tight. eyes dark.

“what’d he say?” he asks again. your fingers squeeze your phone. you feel a flush crawl up your neck. not from embarrassment, but shock.

“you’re not serious,” you say again, this time quieter. he just looks at you. so you speak.

“he said i was cute when i was bored. and i said maybe. that’s it.”

his jaw ticks.

“you flirting with him?”

“what?”

“you heard me.”

you scoff. “no. i wasn’t. it wasn’t even- i didn’t mean it like that.” choso steps back, runs a hand through his hair. pacing now.

“you texting him while you’re in my bed?”

“what does that matter?”

“it matters.”

his voice is sharper now. rough around the edges. not loud, but tight, like it’s fighting to stay inside his chest. “you know how i feel about that guy.”

“choso, he’s been nothing but nice lately—”

“he’s not nice. he’s not interested in being friends. he’s waiting. he’s circling. you don’t see it?” you blink.

“so what, you’re mad ‘cause i texted him back?” he looks at you like you just spit on the floor. “i’m mad ‘cause you’re in my fucking hoodie, in my bed, telling some other guy he’s got a shot.”

you freeze.

the silence that falls is loud.

so loud.

your eyes widen. you stare at him, lips parted. unsure if you heard that right. unsure if he meant to say it.

“a shot?” you echo. he looks away. exhales hard.

“never mind.”

“no,” you say, voice firm now. “say it again.”

he doesn’t. but you both feel the truth echoing off the walls.

you look down. suddenly too warm. like the hoodie’s burning your skin. “…i didn’t know you’d care,” you say, almost to yourself.

choso swallows. “i do.” you glance back up.

“why?”

he doesn’t answer. but you already know. and now the air is thick with it. the unspoken thing. and for the first time, it’s not sweet. not warm. it hurts.

because it means everything he’s never said, everything he’s been, came with conditions you never agreed to. came with borders he never drew, but expected you not to cross.

you breathe slow. he watches you. you speak first.

“if you wanted to be the only one texting me like that, you should’ve said something.” choso’s face shifts. his mouth opens like he’s going to say something, defend himself, maybe, argue the way he always stays quiet because he doesn’t want to lose you,but nothing comes out.

instead, his brows knit together, lips pressed in a tight line. his fingers curl at his sides.

“you really think i don’t wanna be that?” he says, voice rough. “you think this shit’s been casual for me?” you blink at him. your breath catches.

“you’ve never said it was anything else, choso. what was i supposed to think?”

“fuck,” he growls, pacing again. “you were supposed to know. i thought you knew.”

his voice rises, not yelling, but loud with frustration. he’s unraveling in real time, and it’s shaking something loose in you, too. “how was i supposed to know?” you shoot back. “you flirt but you never say anything. you touch me like i’m yours but act like i’m just your best friend—”

“you are mine.” your voice dies in your throat.

he stares at you. and when he speaks again, it’s quieter, but no less intense.

“you’re mine,” he says again, like a confession. like a curse. “always been mine.” your stomach flips.

“then why—” your voice cracks — “why didn’t you ever tell me?”

choso runs a hand through his hair again, like he’s trying to physically hold himself together. like it hurts.

“’cause i was scared,” he snaps. “scared that if i said it out loud, it’d fuck everything up. that you’d look at me different. that you’d leave.” you stare.

“so you’d rather let someone else have me?”

he stiffens. you rise onto your knees on the bed, fire lighting behind your ribs now. “you’d rather let toji of all people try it?”

his jaw clenches. “he’s not gonna have you.” your heartbeat skids.

he moves in fast, faster than he ever has, and grabs your wrist, firm but not rough, like he can’t bear to let the distance exist any longer.

“i’m not letting him have you,” he mutters.

you’re still frozen, looking up at him. something between fear and thrill curling in your gut.

“choso,” you whisper. he doesn’t stop. he pushes you back gently onto the bed, one hand catching your waist, the other bracing against the mattress. he hovers over you, breath heavy, eyes searching your face like he’s begging you to see it, really see it this time.

“i’m fucking in love with you.”

your heart punches into your throat. his forehead dips, pressing against yours, voice hoarse.

“i’ve been in love with you since you showed up to my first party and we listened to that dumb song together.”

you let out a shaky laugh, but your eyes are wet his thumb brushes your cheek.

“i never said it ‘cause i thought this was enough. thought just having you close was better than risking it all. but i can’t—” he pulls in a breath, voice shaking now too — “i can’t sit quiet while other people try to take you from me.”

you’re blinking fast now. breath catching. every inch of your skin feels like it’s on fire beneath his touch.

“you’re my girl,” he says again, softer this time. “you’ve always been mine.”

you don’t answer right away. your chest rises and falls beneath his, shallow and unsteady. your palm is still on his cheek, but your eyes have shifted, staring past him now. unfocused. wet.

“you’re only saying that,” you murmur, “because someone else finally had the balls to go after me.”

his breath catches. your voice is quieter, but sharp now, like you’re trying to convince yourself. like you want to believe it, but the cracks are there, and they’re splitting open.

“you didn’t say anything until he got involved. until he started asking about me. texting me. seeing me.” your hand falls away from his face. “and now suddenly, i’m yours?”

his eyes widen. “no—”

“you had so long to tell me, choso. so many chances.”

“y/n, it’s not like that—”

“then what is it like?” you breathe. “’cause i don’t get to be the girl you only want when someone else does.”

choso stares at you, heart hammering. like you just ripped something raw and bloody straight out of his chest.

he swallows.

and then, slowly, he pushes back, just far enough to sit up on his knees beside you. the mattress dips with the weight shift. his hands fumble for the hem of his hoodie.

he pulls it up and over his head in one quick move. your breath stutters.

there, inked into the inside of his upper arm, where he’d hidden it every time you curled up against him, is a tattoo.

of your eyes.

staring straight back at you.

your real breath, the one stuck in your throat, finally punches out of you.

choso watches your expression shift, eyes flicking from the ink to his face and back. he swallows once, hard, and says:

“got it the night of the party. when you gave me the lighter.” you blink.

“you were curled up on me. whole time i was talking with the boys, i couldn’t stop thinking about you. how close you were. how you looked at me like that was your home.” he swipes a thumb under his nose, like he doesn’t know what else to do with his hands. “so i got up, high as fuck, to the guy tatting people in the corner. told him to ink your eyes on me.”

your lips part, but nothing comes out. his voice softens.

“i didn’t say anything ‘cause i thought it was enough. just having you near. but it’s not. not anymore.”

your heart pounds so hard you feel it in your ears.

he looks at you like you’re the only thing in the room. like he needs you to believe it. really believe it.

“this isn’t about toji. it’s never been about him. i wanted you long before he ever said your name.”

you’re still staring at the tattoo.

he moves closer again. his hand brushes your knee, gentle.

“you think i’d get your fucking eyes on me just ‘cause i’m jealous?” you blink fast.

his hand finds your face again. tender. grounding “you’re it for me.”

his voice is low, raspy. not just from the emotion, but from how hard he’s holding it in, like if he lets go, everything he’s ever felt for you will come spilling out and drown him.

but he lets it go anyway.

“you’re all i think about,” choso says, brushing his thumb over your cheek again. “when i’m high, when i’m sober, when you’re across the room and laughing at someone’s stupid joke, when you’re asleep in my bed, wearing my shirt, you’re in my head all the time, ma.”your breath catches.

“every song reminds me of you. every little thing you do drives me crazy. you don’t even know how much of me you’ve got.”

he leans closer, forehead nearly touching yours.

“you gave me that lighter and i wanted to kiss you right there in the middle of the street. when you paint your nails i stare at your hands for hours. when you fall asleep on me at parties, i sit still like a statue so you don’t move. i’m always lookin’ at you like i already lost you. and it kills me.”

his hand finds your jaw, warm and steady, fingers curling behind your ear. your breath hitches, and he’s close enough to feel it.

“you’ve had my heart since freshman year. and i didn’t say anything ‘cause i thought maybe you didn’t want it. or maybe you already had it and didn’t need to hear it out loud.”

you swallow, shaky. lips parted. cheeks flushed.

and choso looks down at them, your lips, like he’s been holding himself back from kissing you for a lifetime.

and then he doesn’t anymore.

he crashes into you like he’s starving.

the kind of kiss that drags a sound out of your throat before you even realize it, all heat and pressure and ache, all the months and years and everything he’s shoved down, poured out into the way his lips mold against yours. he kisses you like he’s afraid you’ll pull away, and like he knows you won’t.

your hands claw at his shoulders, winding into the mess of his hair, tugging him in even closer. and choso groans, deep in his throat, pressing you down into the bed, slotting his hips against yours.

his mouth moves fast, desperate, lips, tongue, teeth, like he can’t get enough. like the taste of you is something he needs in his lungs.

“fuck,” he breathes against your mouth, dragging his lips down your jaw, “you don’t get it, do you?”

your back arches, lips parting when he sucks lightly under your ear.

“how bad i’ve wanted this. you.”

his hands roam, over your waist, under your shirt, up your sides like he’s trying to memorize all of you at once. and every place he touches leaves a trail of fire.

you moan his name, soft and shaky, and he loses it a little more, bites your bottom lip as he grinds his hips down into yours, heavy and hot and so there.

“say it again,” he mutters, eyes half-lidded, forehead pressed to yours. “say my name.”

“choso.”

he shudders.

“again.”

“cho!.”

he kisses you so deep it knocks the breath out of your lungs. kisses you like he owns you, like you’ve always belonged to him, and like he’s finally letting himself claim what’s already his.

and fuck, you let him.

you’ve wanted this just as long. needed him just as bad.

and now, with your limbs tangled, your body burning under his, your heart thudding like a war drum in your chest, there’s no more pretending.

you’re his. he’s yours. and it’s written all over his face.

choso looks at you like you’re the only thing he’s ever wanted, like he’s starved for you, but still savoring the moment. his eyes are dark, heavy-lidded, but soft. reverent. he cups your cheek with a hand that’s just slightly trembling, brushing his thumb along your skin like he can’t believe you’re real.

he kisses your forehead, slow and grounding, like a promise. then your nose. then your lips, and that one lingers. warm, aching, deep enough that it steals the air from your lungs. it’s not just desire. it’s everything he’s never said until now.

“please let me see you, ma." he whispers, voice hoarse, like he’s been holding back forever.

you nod, lips parted, eyes locked with his. your breath stutters as his fingers ghost over the hem of your shirt, lifting it inch by inch like he’s unwrapping something precious. he tosses it aside, only to pull you in again. his palms spread wide across your ribs, thumbs brushing just beneath your chest.

“fuck,” he breathes, low and to himself. “so fucking beautiful.”

he leans in, mouth dragging hot and open along your neck, kissing and breathing you in, his lips trembling against your pulse like he’s drunk off you. he murmurs something there, a soft, almost desperate, “mine,” before he undoes your bra with one practiced flick.

and when it falls away, he doesn’t touch you right away. he just stares, like the sight of you has knocked the wind out of him.

his hands come up slow, palms warm as they cup you like he’s afraid to break something delicate. “been dreaming about this,” he says. “about you. here. like this. in my bed. lookin’ up at me like you already know i’d give you everything.”

you shiver under the weight of it all, his voice, his gaze, his touch. and then his mouth is on your chest, lips sealing around your nipple, tongue flicking before he sucks — slow, deep, just enough to make you arch into him with a needy whimper.

“choso…”

he groans, hand sliding lower, fingers hooking into the waistband of your shorts. he pulls them down with your panties in one motion, dragging his palms down your thighs on the way. and when he sits back, just to take you in, bare, breathless, flushed, his eyes go wide, like he’s trying to commit you to memory. “look at you,” he murmurs, chest rising with each ragged breath. “you don’t even know what you do to me, do you?”

you reach for him, tugging his shirt up and over his head, palms skating down the strong lines of his chest, stopping only when your fingers find his arm. your breath catches.

your eyes. inked in black and red over his skin, etched like a confession. you won't ever get sick of seeing it.

he watches you take it in, sees the exact moment you understand, and he doesn’t say anything. not at first. he just leans in, takes your hand in his, and presses it over his heart.

“see?” he whispers. “been yours. always.”

your eyes brim, chest tight with something that has no name. and then he kisses you again, slow and deep, tongue stroking yours, hand sliding between your thighs. he groans into your mouth when he feels you, warm, wet, already trembling.

“so wet for me,” he mutters, lips brushing yours. “all this for me, huh?”

his fingers dip into you, one at first, then two, slow and deep, curling just right. your back arches, mouth falling open with a gasp as he starts to move them, watching every twitch and shiver you give him like he’s memorizing the way you come apart. “fuck, baby,” he breathes. “you feel so good, been wantin’ this for so long. just wanted to take care of you. make you feel good.”

his lips trail back down, mouth closing around your nipple again as his fingers keep working you open, the room echoing with your broken gasps and soft moans. he kisses your sternum, your ribs, every inch of you he can reach like he’s trying to make up for every second he didn’t have you.

and when your legs start to tremble, when your thighs squeeze around his hand and you whimper his name into the crook of his neck, he groans, low and sexy, and pulls back just enough to strip the last of his clothes.

his cock is flushed, hard, already leaking, and still, he pauses.

he leans in, pressing his forehead to yours, breathing hard. “you sure you wanna do this hun?”

“i want you,” you whisper, voice cracking. “i want all of you.”

and when he slides in, slow, deliberate, it’s overwhelming. your nails dig into his shoulders, mouth open in a silent gasp, and he just groans, long and low, burying his face in your neck.

“fuck, baby… you feel so fuckin’ good, made for me, huh?”

his hips rock into you, slow and deep, dragging along every sensitive inch inside you until you’re trembling again, mouth parted in helpless moans. he kisses you through it, messy and uncoordinated, full of teeth and tongue and need.

he doesn’t hold back anymore. not his body, not his voice. he’s everywhere, his hands, his mouth, his words, and every thrust is rougher, deeper, hotter than the last.

“been yours since the day i met you,” he breathes against your skin. “you’re mine, baby. mine. no one else gets to have you like this. no one else even fuckin’ compares.”

you believe him. how could you not, when he’s saying it like he’s been waiting years to let it out?

you fall apart first, clenching around him with a strangled moan, whole body trembling as your orgasm crashes through you, and choso follows, grinding into you with a low growl, holding you close as he spills into you.

he doesn’t let go. not even after. he stays buried deep, forehead to yours, one hand cradling your jaw like it’s fragile.

“not lettin’ you go,” he whispers. “not now. not ever.”

~

the party’s already in full swing when you two walk in. the bass thrums under your feet, bodies packed tight in the kappa house. familiar faces flash by in strobes of color and sound, solo cups raised, someone laughing too loud, gojo shouting across the room with a bottle in each hand.

and then you and choso step into the chaos like it’s nothing. except tonight, it’s not nothing. it’s everything. your hand is in his. his thumb strokes over your knuckles like it’s second nature, and you’re tucked into his side like you’ve always belonged there. he’s wearing that hoodie you love, and you’ve got it slung off your shoulder like it’s yours now. he hasn’t let go of you since you walked through the door, and he doesn’t plan to. people notice.

gojo sees first. his mouth falls open around the mouth of a beer can, and he drops it on the counter with a dramatic gasp. “oh my god.” choso raises an eyebrow, smirking. “no fuckin way,” sukuna mutters, eyes narrowing. “this for real?” you don’t say anything. just smile, nuzzling into choso’s chest. and choso, god, he melts. his arm tightens around you like instinct, like he’s not even thinking about it. “you’re kidding,” maki blurts from across the room. she’s half-drunk and squinting, pointing her beer bottle at you two like she’s trying to make sense of a mirage. “you finally fucked?”

“maki,” shoko hisses, slapping her arm, but she’s already grinning. “i knew it. i knew it.” suguru lifts his drink with a slow, knowing smile. “took you long enough.” gojo, meanwhile, is spinning in a circle like he just witnessed a miracle. “wait wait wait,” he says, pointing between the two of you. “you’re telling me this entire time, we’ve been watching you two eye-fuck each other across every frat house on campus, and now you’re just casually showing up like this?”

“what can i say,” choso murmurs, pulling you even closer, “i figured it was time.” “look at his hand placement,” shoko says, leaning into maki. “that’s not friends. that’s boyfriend hand placement.”

“yeah and look at her,” maki laughs. “she looks like she just got dicked down and praised like a goddess.” you duck your head a little, embarrassed, but choso leans in and kisses your cheek, then your temple. it’s so soft, so easy, and when he pulls back, he looks straight at toji who’s staring wide eyed, steady, calm, but with a flicker of challenge in his eyes.

“don’t look at her like that,” he says, voice low. “not tonight. not ever.” toji scoffs, raising his hands in mock surrender, but his grin is sharp. “damn. someone’s possessive now.”

“been possessive,” choso mutters, like it’s not even up for debate. he turns his attention back to you instantly, brushing your hair behind your ear.

“you okay?” you nod. “i’m perfect.” and then he kisses you. not a peck. not for show. it’s slow, unhurried, with his hand cupping your jaw and his lips moving with the kind of tenderness that makes your knees weak. the room could be burning down and he wouldn’t stop. you don’t even hear gojo’s dramatic screech until you break apart.

“yo this is crazy,” he says, spinning around and yelling to no one in particular. “choso is off the market. choso kamo, resident stoner-lover of no one but his weed and his hoodie collection, is now cuffed.”

“what’s it feel like,” suguru asks with a smirk, raising an eyebrow at choso, “to be someone’s boyfriend?”

“feels like i shoulda done it years ago,” choso says. you blink up at him, heart catching in your throat. “yo,” yuuji calls from the other side of the room. “does this mean we’re finally allowed to say you two have been in love since freshman year?” “i always said it,” nobara yells, shoving through the crowd with a drink. “don’t act like y’all didn’t see them cuddled up at every party like an old married couple.”

“wait does this mean she’s moving into his room?” gojo asks, visibly spiraling. “what’s gonna happen to the guest bed? who’s gonna roll for me when choso’s too busy being in love?”

“die mad,” choso says flatly, and everyone laughs. but even through all the noise and teasing and attention, his focus never strays from you. his hand stays on your waist. his eyes keep dropping to your mouth like he’s remembering exactly what it feels like.

“you good?” he murmurs again, like he just wants to hear you say it.

you press your nose to his chest and nod, smiling. “more than good.”

he kisses you again, slower this time, like it’s just for you. like no one else is in the room. like he’s exactly where he’s always wanted to be.

and the thing is — he is.

he’s yours. fully, finally, publicly.

more choso for you >~< 'sticky situation' 'you,always.'

awe wasn't that sweet 👩‍❤️‍💋‍👨 masterlist !!

guys look at this beautiful art @ryololart did inspired by this fic i love her go like it rn omg this is the perfect visual.