Fairy Tale

☆~twenty-one~☆

[fushihearts]

(,,>﹏<,,) bring your kid to work day + nanami! ✦⋆💼.˚

“my love, are you absolutely sure about this?”

you giggle, turning from where you’d been preparing your daughter’s mini lunchbox so that you’re facing your husband. his face is taut, a subtle sense of worry set in his features.

“kento.” a small, exasperated smile plays on your lips. “she’ll be fine. besides, you know how excited she’s been about this — she’s been talking about it all week!”

“i know, but...what if she gets bored? or if she wants to go home midway through the day? you know i can’t exactly take her back whenever i please.” nanami tugs at his tie a little, smoothing down the edges absentmindedly: a nervous tell of his that you’ve grown accustomed to by now.

you lean back against the kitchen counter, raising an eyebrow.

“she literally clings to you every time you work from home,” you counter, rolling your eyes at the memory of her behaviour just last week. she’d followed him around all day, pacing back-and-forth alongside him and just barely avoiding tripping him up while he had been taking important business calls. you had tried to pry her away just long enough for your poor husband to finish at least one business call without any disruptions, but that only resulted in tears. a lot of them.

in fact, she’d cried for an hour after that, sulking in her father’s arms as he empathetically stroked her hair in an attempt to calm her down.

okay, so nanami supposes you may have a point, she’d probably be just fine at his workplace.

he rubs his temple, regrettably all out of arguments. instead, he gives in and chooses to finish packing his bag for work, shoulders lowering a fraction.

you both hear several loud, unceremonious stomps coming down the stairs, and you simultaneously turn to see your daughter reach the foot of the stairs, all ready for her day out. she has a huge grin plastered on her face, and her hair is in two neat pigtails — thanks to nanami of course — complete with two bright hair clips.

“i’m ready! let’s go!” she rushes to him and tugs at his leg, eyes wide and expression excited. she extends her arms in a silent plea to be carried, and who is your husband to deny his sweet daughter?

“see you after work!” you smile, pressing a quick kiss to your daughter’s nose and waving them both goodbye.

-

nanami leans back slightly from where he’s sat at his desk, staring at his computer screen and inspecting the values in the spreadsheet. it’s monotonous work, just about as boring as always — as should be expected of a 9-5 office job. unlike a typical work day, however, his desk has several colourful drawings scattered across its surface today. the first is a drawing of a flower, spirals of bright yellow crayon forming what he can only assume are the petals. alongside the flower picture are two other drawings: a drawing of a huge, wonky heart coloured in yellow, and then another sheet of paper with a drawing of a stick figure with blond hair, a serious expression drawn onto its round face.

averting his gaze from his desk, nanami moves to lift his breakfast (a pesto-mozzarella baguette) to his mouth, chewing slowly and watching his daughter doodle. she’s got her tongue stuck out as she scribbles in determined silence, her crayon in one hand and a chocolate chip muffin in the other.

the bakery workers had both worn a look of poorly-contained surprise upon hearing his order change from his usual baguette sandwich to both a baguette and a muffin this time. they’d always taken him as a man heavily rooted in routine, and so to see him stray away from what was typical of him was…odd.

“what are you drawing now, sweetheart?” nanami murmurs softly, watching her hunch over yet another sheet of paper, her grip firm on her crayon.

“me and papa at work!” she responds. he raises his eyebrows at that, a tiny, barely-perceptible smile crossing his features as he watches her join up the arms of the two stick figures so that they’re holding hands. she doesn’t lift her head from her drawing, too engrossed in adding his blond hair perfectly atop his head and drawing her own smile just right.

after about fifteen minutes or so, she’s done.

“tada! that’s papa, and that’s me!” she exclaims proudly, glancing up at nanami for approval and beaming when she sees him smile softly back at her. he strokes her hair, quiet for a moment before speaking.

“okay, now that you’ve finished your drawing, why don’t we take a break from playing so i can go get a coffee?”

“it’s not playing.” she corrects him, blinking up at him with solemn eyes. “i’m working, just like you do!” at that, your daughter puts a hand on her hip, looking up at her father with an unimpressed expression. while nanami’s not quite sure that he’d put gruelling office work on the same level as scribbling a few drawings, he decides it’s better not to debate on the matter.

“okay, i’m sorry, honey. let’s take a break from working and go get a coffee.”

“yay! okay!”

your daughter skips down the hall with him, speaking excitedly about her day as they approach the coffee machine.

“do you want to press the buttons for me?” he looks down at his daughter, and she nods excitedly. nanami carefully lifts her up, securing her in his arms so that she can reach the machine properly.

“an americano, please.” he places a mug under the machine before lifting a finger to point at the correct button. the four year old girl presses it with a tiny delighted giggle, clearly pleased with herself as coffee begins to pour out into the cup below.

“i want one too!”

“it may be a little too bitter for you, shall we get you a hot chocolate instead?”

that catches her attention. with an excited squeal, she agrees enthusiastically, turning to face the machine and trying to figure out which button to press. she hesitates, unsure which is the hot chocolate.

“that one, sweetheart.” nanami gently guides her finger to the right button and she turns her head to face him in awe as it pours out, eyes wide and surprised.

a couple of minutes later, your daughter skips back down the hall, nanami following close behind with two mugs in his hands, trying to match her pace while also making sure not to spill anything.

she slides happily into her seat next to his desk, tapping her hands on the tabletop expectantly as she waits for her father to put her mug down before pulling a sheet of paper and a crayon close to her.

“okay. now i’m in work mode! no distracting me, okay?” she blinks sternly up at him. she’s sat about as professionally as a four year old can be, her mug at her side and a stack of papers in front of her.

nonetheless, over the span of the next 5 or so minutes, your husband can’t help but notice one problem.

“is the hot chocolate too hot?” he asks gently, watching as his daughter reaches out for the drink a third time before quickly retracting her hands again.

“…mhm.” that earns a small, empathetic sigh from nanami.

“here, let me help.” he murmurs. gently, he lifts the mug to his lips and blows for a few minutes before taking a small sip.

“there. it should be fine now. try it.” she does so, meanwhile he brushes her hair away from her face tenderly.

“yeah! all better!” she shuts her eyes contentedly and takes the mug from his hands happily, kicking her legs back and forth in between excited sips.

after several minutes of being sat like that and sipping her drink, your daughter looks up from her hot chocolate to face nanami.

“i like working with papa!” she beams at him, showing off the mess of hot chocolate around her mouth and cheeks in the process.

nanami’s expression softens at those simple words.

“yeah, i like working with you too, sweetheart.”

a/n: idea creds to my lovely hazel @hangenism i love this idea and i love you thank you sososo much !!! girl dad papamin you are SO dear to me ˊᗜˋ && this is a semi filler post while i try to get rid of my writing block

[liahcharms]

yes ma'am.ᐟ 𖤓

⋆˚🌴🌺🌊⋮ Husband Nanami loves his older wife more than anything else in this world! Especially when she acts like a bitch <𝟑 .ᐟ

⋆ 𖤓 ⋆˚ content & warnings: ꒰ MDNI 18+ :: age gap :: Nanami is 27 :: reader is 37 :: fem reader :: super bossy and dominant reader :: Nanami is down bad :: summer vibes :: set in Malaysia :: cowgirl :: doggy :: breeding :: belly bulges :: 3.5k words ꒱ ⋮⋮ requested

Ocean breeze smooched his cheeks softly, while the first peek of sunshine slipped through the open window. The long rays cast a warm halo over your lovely face, still buried deep in the pillow's plush.

A sudden, sweet cry reached his ears, and so Kento knew that your daughter had just woken up.

Your forehead furrowed as a soft sigh slipped past your lips, yet you knew there was no need to wake up so early, especially on a Saturday morning, as your husband was already rolling himself out of bed. But not before leaving a kiss on your temple and pushing away the loose strands of hair that tickled your forehead.

A peaceful smooch, soft and gentle, letting the lovely, angelic features finally come into view and grace your husband's eyes. Without the irritated wrinkle battling between your eyebrows, without a tsk slipping past your plush lips.

In a moment like this, Nanami always thought of the first time you had met. Of that chaotic, messy evening, full of irresponsibility and haste, when he pledged his devotion to you for the first time. After only a few glasses of wine and a few hours of knowing you.

But it was enough. Of course it was, because back then he knew he would never, ever meet a woman like you again. And if he didn't convince you to marry him, then damn him! He would kick himself for the rest of his days.

That day was warm, as always. The evening before, he landed in Malaysia and stayed here, in a luxurious hotel, for the next week. Nothing but him, drinks, quiet and peace.

The first time he saw you was at the beach, beneath the warm sun, basking in your bikini-clad body, with gentle rays dripping like sizzling waves down your skin. Your hair lifted and clipped, sunglasses high on your nose and a magazine in your hands, as you flipped through it with little to no interest.

Oh, you looked so beautiful. And older. Much, much older, surely, and twenty-seven-year-old Nanami felt a sort of uncertainty, a foolish desire to approach a woman of your sort.

Going out with younger women was easy. Of course it was, as he was utterly handsome and tall, with a wide, muscular back filling out his shirts and a body that smelt strongly of a mixed cologne. It was easy to find someone for a night, to have fun and let the work stress go away, with one woman or another.

But this time, as he looked around at all the empty chairs on the beach, trying to find a quiet place to sit with a drink and a book, his eyes immediately fell on you.

And by pure accident, there was indeed a free chair right next to you.

So he decided to risk it all. Let the nervousness leave his body together with a cough, muscular arms tense just in case, his classic, handsome smile tugging at his lips.

"Is this chair free?" he asked, at his most polite, expecting to hear a lovely, almost motherly voice from your glossed lips.

But, oh well, how surprised he was when your head shot at him, fingers pushing the sunglasses up, and the most beautiful, definitely the most frightening, eyes looked at him with a furrow.

"What do you want?" you snapped, your voice dripping with disinterest and clear dissatisfaction. "What's wrong with the other chairs?"

His breath trembled, fingers clenching around the book he held. "N-nothing," fucking hell, and now he was stuttering. He cleared his throat, thankful for the sunglasses that hid his eyes. "Nothing, sweetheart. I just thought you might like some company."

He never felt a gaze heavier than yours. Not from other managers at his company, not even from the CEO himself. The aura you projected made him stand to attention in an almost military way. As if each word of yours held a mysterious, unfathomable power that immediately straightened his back.

A man almost two metres tall, with a broad back like a mountain, stood nervously in front of the loveliest yet dominant woman who probably ever walked this earth.

You hummed, taking your bag from the second chair and turning back to the magazine. "Sit down, then. Let's see what your company's worth."

He fell almost immediately, as if your gaze alone pinned him to the warm chair. The umbrella over your heads was wide enough to shelter both of you, protecting your skin from the Malaysian sun's sizzling burns.

The ocean waves rolled quietly, children's laughter carried through the air, and salt and wetness clung to his naked chest. Yet he couldn't focus on anything but the way your fruity, refreshing perfume wrapped around his nostrils with a tickling sensation.

"So, you're also on summer holiday?" What a stupid fucking question. It was the middle of July, of course you were on holiday.

"Mhm," you hummed, eyes not leaving the magazine.

"Alone?"

Great, and now he was acting like a creep.

"Alone," you murmured, uninterested in keeping the conversation going. Yet, to his surprise, your head turned his way, eyes lingering a moment longer on the muscular chest and the light, happy trail leading down below his trunks. "Why? Are you trying to feel me out?"

He bit the inside of his cheek, and you giggled sweetly, seeing how quickly you caught on to his nasty intentions.

"Don't worry. You're not the first one today," you said, before taking a melting drink that had been waiting on the small table between your chairs and sipping a bit of a fruity cocktail. "The youngest one? Probably."

He knew you were older. It was clear in the way your eyes watched him carefully, like a viper, with a mature, wicked gaze that warmed the pads of his fingertips. There was something sensual in the way you talked, moved, and wriggled in the chair, with your plush body relaxed and soft, as if waiting for him to bite it with devotion.

"How old are you, then?"

Your eyes shone, lips bit down on the plastic straw. "Guess."

He chuckled. Chestnut eyes ogling your face, as if trying to capture each plushness, each curve that could give him even a slight hint. His blonde hair caught the rays of sunshine spilling through the thatched wooden umbrella.

"Thirty?"

You tsked. "Don't sugarcoat me."

But Nanami wasn't doing it. You truly looked young. And beautiful and smart. Even then, as he tried to appreciate your wit, his eyes could barely keep from drifting down to land on your suncream-coated breasts. He looked at them – quickly, shyly – before looking back into your squinted, amused gaze.

"You can look at them," you said, turning to your side on the chair. This way, your breasts pressed against each other, almost spilling out of the tight swimsuit.

His breath whistled with each puff, cheeks blushed with rosiness. "I'm sorry. That was rude."

But you only shook your head, taking another sip of the cocktail. "Hm, you're just a man, after all. And I know you approached me with filthy thoughts."

There was something wicked behind your eyes. Behind a smile that, although lovely and sweet, curled on your lips with almost devilish intent. Something looped in your mind. And he could see it, in the way you suddenly sat straight and tilted your head.

"I think we can make it work," you hummed, eyes shamelessly drifting up and down his body. Beefy thighs, a bulge in his trunks, big hands and full biceps. "Are you healthy?"

His sandy brows arched, yet he still nodded.

"Any chronic diseases?"

"Uh, no."

"Syphilis?"

His head shook.

"HIV?"

He almost choked on his own saliva. "No, I test myself regularly."

You nodded, clearly satisfied. "Mental illnesses?"

Nanami thought that his only mental illness, by far, was how balmy and horny he felt beneath your dictatorial tone. "Not that I'm aware of."

Your lips curled into a smile, gaze mellowed, as you grabbed your magazine and unfinished drink. As you stood, you let his gaze take in the fullness of your body in a split second. You watched him, amused, as a blush crept up his thick neck and into his chestnut eyes, mingling with desire. Almost like a kid who looked eagerly at the sweetness that seemed to be out of his reach.

"Good. See you at six p.m. in the lobby's main restaurant, then."

And so you walked away, leaving him speechless and bewitched, his eyes fixed on your slowly disappearing figure. At the wave of your hips and hair kissing your neck, as you didn't look over your shoulder even once.

He groaned, covering his face with an arm. Gaze dropped to bulging trunks – a wet, sticky stain clearly visible on their blue material.

That fateful evening would stay in his mind for a long, long time. It was the best, the most humiliating, yet the most passionate night of his life. He would return to it months later, cheeks burning and cock straining his briefs tight.

He met you at six p.m. sharp, dressed in a bluish shirt and elegant brown trousers. Smelling of heavy cologne, blonde hair neatly slicked back, an expensive watch on his wrist.

The hotel was one of the most luxurious in Malaysia, and so were its restaurants, dripping with lavishness. Yet it wasn't the dark, silver, quiet sort of restaurant. No, its luxury was in the view of the setting sun stretching right in front of the tables, painting the sky pink, blue, and yellow, casting a warm glow on your lovely face. The sea hummed longingly, and fire burned in the torches that led him deeper into the restaurant. The wooden, thatched ceiling bent over small tables, held up on columns wrapped with lush vines.

The waiter led him straight to one of the white tables, with a single candle in the middle and a tall palm looming over it, its fronds making gentle swooshes.

"Apologies for being late," he said, drawing your attention.

You sat, watching the slowly setting sun, before turning your head towards him.

"You're not late," you smiled, looking at your watch. "It's six p.m."

He joined you at the table, his heavy, musky cologne immediately wrapping around your senses. Warm, cozy, carrying a woody, snug fragrance.

"It would be more gentlemanly to arrive before you." He chuckled, admiring the woman seated directly in front of him. "You look stunning."

Because you did. Dressed in a long black dress that clung to your body in all the right places. Hair falling loosely along your cheeks, neck draped in a gold necklace. The warm flame of a candle bathed your face in glory as you tilted your head and let a sweet hum slip past your lips.

"You don't look bad either, Mr, who still hasn't told me his name."

Oh dearest.

Nanami sighed, head falling between his shoulders.

Of course, he started to hit on you before even exchanging the most basic pleasantries.

You giggled at his embarrassed face. Ears slightly warm, cheeks flushed rose as he crossed his muscular arms over his chest.

"Forgive me, sweetheart. It seems your presence makes me lose my mind." Something in your eyes flashed, and he caught it immediately. "I'm Kento."

Your name reached his ears in reverse, while the waiter brought two glasses and a bottle of wine to your table.

"Hm, pretty," he smiled, not even trying to stop his gaze from drifting between the heavily cut neckline. Another move of yours, and the nipples would spill past the black material any second now.

"The name or my tits?" You took a sip of red wine, lips curling cheekily.

The wit and confidence of your persona seemed to slowly influence him, and so a low "Both" hit your heated cheeks. "Is that a proper answer, madam?"

You giggled, the sweetness of your laughter sending warmth down his spine. Straight to slightly tight trousers as he shifted in the chair.

"I'm not old enough to be called madam," his arched brow pushed you to hum, and so you finally admitted, "I'm thirty-seven."

Ten years older than him.

"So how old are you, sweetheart?" you asked, gaze squinted.

Nanami bit the inside of his cheek, arms still crossed over his broad chest. Your gaze dropped to his creamy buttons, dangerously close to popping right into your face.

"How low do you usually go?" He asked.

"No lower than thirty."

Fuck.

"Then I can be thirty," yet when your arms crossed over your chest and eyes stared at him intently, he sighed. "I'm twenty-seven."

It was only a three-year difference. No more. Although Nanami didn't feel fully worthy of your glorious attention, he needed it. Fuck, he needed it desperately, and a sensation in his mind told him he was ready to crawl on his knees if it meant gaining your acceptance.

It seemed, however, that there would be no need to do it.

Because a minute later, he felt something slip up his leg. Warm, soft, brushing his calf, knee and thigh. Only after a second did he feel your foot pressing against his cock, straining his trousers.

He trembled, taking a deep breath with a whistle.

Burning pleasure spilt over his loins, heart pounding madly, upon seeing your witchy, devilish smile and eyes shining with wickedness.

"I ordered for us, but are you truly hungry?" Your voice rolled low.

Oh, he was. Starving.

"What's on the menu?" The words barely escaped his throat, mixing with a faint groan as your feet pressed harder against his cock.

Your head tilted sideways, lips pushed lovingly. "Only the sweetest stuff."

It sounded like a promise. Like something offered to foolish men like him, who were easily trapped within the wicked embrace of your warm arms.

Nanami doesn't quite remember how everything turned next.

He wished to pay for the uneaten yet ordered dinner and the surely expensive wine, yet you simply said it had been paid. You paid, and he never, ever felt more humiliated in his entire life. Yet it seemed you didn't mind, truly. You simply overlooked the five-numbered bill as if your card could handle it just like that.

Thus, Nanami promised himself to give you the best orgasm you'd ever experience. The one that would make your thighs shake, and head loll back, irises heart-shaped while he would fold you in half on his bed.

Yet a few minutes later, he somehow found himself in a rather different position.

Naked, head propped on the pillow, eyes darting between your breasts shaking right in front of his eyes and drenched pussy swallowing his cock full. You leaned back on his thighs, legs parted wide, head fallen back, as you bounced on his fat, girthy cock.

Plush walls of your wet pussy wrapping him tight, taking every inch, every vein, till your hips met his fat balls with squelching smacks. The nasty, lovely moans slipping past your throat, as you fucked yourself on his cock senselessly, trembling beneath his thumb rolling your clit.

He was in awe. Fuck, he was fully, madly, completely bewitched by the sight stretching right in front of his eyes. Your breasts bouncing softly, belly squeezing around the shape of his cock, bulging right through the skin, pussy leaking, weeping, yet swallowing him fully.

Not many women could take him whole.

But you did. Of course you did, with this wicked smile dancing on your lips and brows drawn in a lovely, blissful furrow.

"Fuck, Kento, you're so fucking big," a moan escaped your lolled head, eyes slightly lidded. "Filling me so good, oh god. I can feel you–mhmm–in my womb."

Your hand touched the softness of your lower belly, bulging with his fatness.

It felt too much. It was too much to hold a sight of you bent in such a slutty position, with an arching back and hips rolling against his, with wetness and sticky juices smeared all over his pubes. Your cunt leaked sweetness, clit swelled beneath his fingers, and ass fit perfectly in his palm, as he helped your bounce faster.

"Look at you," he almost chuckled, trying to muffle the cry that threatened to slip past his lips. "My pretty girl, aren't you a sight–ahhh"

You hummed, leaning yourself farther on his thighs, to give him an even better view of your slick cunt swallowing his cock. "Fuck, I need you to cum inside me. Breed me full till I'll be–nghhh–leaking with your cum. Kento, ahh, I need you to get me pregnant."

You were serious. And he was fucked.

Because he truly wished for nothing more than to make you a mommy, fuck sideways and stuff this plush pussy with his massive cock until you're crying and whining over his body.

His fingers played with your clit a bit harsher, rolling, pinching, massaging it in circles, till your feet curled.

You were close – he knew it because he hit your swollen womb each time your walls clenched around his full shaft, until his leaking head nestled warmly into the soft, plush muscle deep inside you. He heard the splashes deep in your lower belly, saw your lips parted wide, eyes rolling back as you moaned his name with a high-pitched voice.

Your fingers dug deep into his thighs and hips smacked against his, as you suddenly gushed all over his chest. And chin, face, squirting with crystal droplets that drenched his upper body fully, as he filled you with fresh, heavy cum. Filling your womb to the brim, till a few droplets squeezed past his fat cock, filling your plump pussy and landing on his pubes.

"Again," you panted, falling to press yourself against him. Your lips caught his in a long, hungry kiss. "You need to fuck me again. Actually, fuck me every day till you leave. I want to have a baby."

Your eyes shone with tears, fully possessed by the maddening pleasure. And Nanami? He looked no better. Blonde hair messy, lips swollen from your hungry kisses, arms wrapping around your waist.

"So you want me to be your–"

"No," you interrupted quickly. "I want you to give me a child, and then you can leave. Live your life. I don't need a man in mine; I just want a baby."

He suddenly flipped you over. Your chest pressed to the mattress, hips lifted high, as he pushed his leaking cum back into your fluttering cunt.

"I can provide for you. I can stay. I don't know what your job is, but–"

"I'm the CEO of this hotel."

He stilled. Fingers digging deep into your cunt, another hand grabbing your ass.

Fuck, he was hard again.

Your head turned back, eyes squinted, lips curled into their wicked smile. "I'm the boss lady. So you don't have to worry about the providing thing. I can do it."

He leaned over, lips pressing to your sweating spine, head of his cock already catching on your puckered hole. "No, let me stay. Fuck, please let me stay."

He thrusted shallowly, slowly, pulling a soft moan from your tightened throat. "Wh–ahhh."

"Because," he muttered, biting gently at your shoulder. A massive, heavy body lay against yours until you felt the sweet, painful heaviness of his warmth. "You're so fucking sexy when you act like a dictator. And I may be into milfs."

Your giggles mingled with another cry, hips trying to roll back just to feel the rest of his cock push deep into the sticky wetness of your pussy.

"I'm n-not a milf–"

"Not yet," he chuckled, thrusting painfully slowly. Knowing how much you needed him to enter you in a single, quick push, he denied you with satisfaction. "Make me your president. Vice-president, manager, fuck. Just let me stay."

You liked when he begged. You liked seeing this massive man trembling and whining while being deep within your cunt, as you clenched around him a few times, only to push another lovely groan from his throat.

You didn't plan on marrying, again, but… the thought of keeping him for longer sounded rather nice.

So you nodded, with a "Shut up now and fuck me," getting a low, satisfied hum from his lips.

Nanami kissed you sweetly, long before finally stuffing your needy pussy to the brim.

And so, a year later, he suddenly remembered your first meeting, when the warm rays of the sun spilt on your face, and your forehead rested in peace.

His thumb pressed to the soft skin between your brows, rolling soft circles.

"What are you doing?" You mumbled, pushing his hand away. "Go feed her."

You were always grumpy in the morning. Yet he still, nevertheless, noticed a lovely smile tugging at your lips.

And so he kisses you once again, longingly, hungrily, before leaving the bedroom to take care of your dearest daughter.

©liahcharms all rights reserved. Do not copy, plagiarise, feed AI, translate or modify my works.

Dearest anon who requested it – I'm so sorry you had to wait that long, but I truly hope it satisfied your craving <3

dividers by @uzmacchiato art by @/ilameys_1 on ig

[retisaint]

bf!suguru loves looking after his busy girlfriend. nsfw◞mdni ⋮ 2.5k

it’s the busy season in the firm again and you have no choice but to work overtime. a nonstop cycle of morning commute, courteous smiles to your nosy colleagues, and dealing with clients who demand outputs from you before the deadline that they had set even arrives. on top of your boss assigning more clients in your hands, you are also in charge of training an employee that the firm has recently hired.

these increasing work responsibilities were starting to gnaw on you. an utterly demanding pile of load that is slowly causing a detrimental effect on your psyche.

you wake up one day feeling heavy. like a cloud full of rain waiting for downpour—to be emptied out. but it never comes, so you walk around carrying the weight inside of you.

you were sacrificing so much of your time for the job that it had even led to cancelled date nights. and one time you missed an important occasion: your anniversary. but suguru did not get dismayed when you passed out on the bed from exhaustion without greeting him.

you woke up the next day in horror as it dawned on you. suguru just shrugged it off. there will be a next one anyway, he said.

he understands that you need him beside you now more than ever. the date nights and anniversary celebration can wait for all he cares. what matters more to him is that you are well-rested.

suguru is the anchor that keeps things steady, and once you have enough time for him again, you’ll find the boat—that is your relationship—still intact and not swept away.

he tended to everything with an endearing thoughtfulness: heading to the grocery after work to buy food ingredients he will cook for the next few days, all while keeping in mind your current cravings, and ironing your office clothes fresh from the laundry so you won’t have to.

sometimes you would be so focused on a task that you would forget to eat your meal. when suguru unpacked your lunch bag and saw that the food he had prepared remained untouched, he initially felt offended. did you not like the food he packed and decided to eat something else instead? he asked himself. but when he realized that perhaps you had been too busy to even open the bento box, you did not hear the end of his nagging.

now, suguru always gives you a call to remind you of it; you would hear him from the phone describe the composition of your meal with much encouragement to boost your appetite and energy.

he knew better than anyone else that—even though you are right there with him—your mind is somewhere else.

in the morning, you would often forget to return the toothpaste to its right place because you’re already busy making a mental list of your work tasks for the day. and suguru, whose job starts later than yours, would catch the plastic tube resting on top of the sink with its cap still open; he would squeeze it over his own toothbrush and put it back in the mirror cabinet as always.

there was also a time you forgot to mention about the electric disconnection notice; it had been days since it came to your knowledge.

imagine his surprise when he arrived home and was welcomed by a pitch dark apartment. but he didn’t get upset at you, no. pissed, maybe. after all, he was also tired from work.

suguru checked the drawers to search for a flashlight but all he found was old birthday candles—two numbers from when you decided to celebrate in the apartment—just the both of you; it was in that same year that you had moved in together, pockets running dry after the lease payment and buying furniture, but you two have never been happier about the new phase of your relationship. 

sitting in the living room illuminated only by the flickering candle lights, suguru reminisced on the memories you shared in that place you now call home. slowly, the silence of the night and the mental flashbacks drowned out his earlier frustration and replaced it with nostalgia and some scattered photographs on the coffee table.

the condiments. you often put and mix sauces or syrups in your meal but when the bottles gradually ran out, instead of refilling, you decided to just skip it and dive straight to the unflavored dish however bland it tasted.

suguru eventually caught on to it. the following day, he made a quick run at the grocery store after work; he grabbed different condiments, the ones that you prefer.

right at home while still in his white dress shirt folded up to the elbows, suguru would carefully replenish the bottles in the cabinet so you can have some on your dinner.

rarely did suguru ever see you weep unless it is in the presence of a romance film with you sitting on the couch, arms wrapped around a throw pillow as you sob—totally engrossed in the emotional scene.

so he felt like his world crumbled when you arrived home crying one night.

you conducted an audit that day and slipped on the wet part of the warehouse as you were counting inventory. you thought it was not a big deal; people fall on their ass sometimes. but as you step inside of your home, the exhaustion must have caught up with your facade. the tears just started falling like a dam had been broken inside of you.

with only a couple of large strides across the apartment, suguru was in front of you in no time. he asked you what was wrong, the concern contorting his face in ways you have never seen before. when all he got from you were more sobs and a sniff, he checked your body to see if you have any wounds. and there, he saw the conspicuous tear on the side seam of your slacks—your favorite one at that.

on the same night, while you were sleeping, suguru slipped out of the bed and tiptoed to the living room. all his movements were featherlight since he knows you’re a light sleeper.

inside the tv cabinet, he took out a tin storage and carefully removed the lid so as not to wake you up. then he took out a needle and a thread that matches the color of your slacks. for half an hour or so, he mended the tear on the garment so that you can still use it.

but the one that broke suguru to a substantial degree: a few weeks ago in the bathroom, an unusually thicker clump of hair strands started pooling around the shower drain. suguru thought that it was his; it made sense to him because he has long hair and some of it might be falling off every shower without him realizing.

however, as he did a closer inspection, the length seemed to match yours instead. without thinking much of it, suguru would pick it up with a tissue paper and throw it in the trash bin every time—until curiosity got the best of him one night.

suguru searched on his phone what causes hair fall, and an article told him that stress can trigger or contribute to hair shedding. all this time, what suguru brushed off as nothing was actually an alarming sign—a result from the severe pressure you were under at work.

from then on, suguru took notes of the possible treatments. he bought hair care products and supplements in his next grocery run. he also incorporated more nutritious foods in your meals. he tried all tips known in the book, even going so far as to give you massages before bed that often end up with his fingers curling in your wet pussy. if it can help lower down your cortisol, he would do it.

suguru is always there, so he has always been and so he will continue to be. he is a true partner and companion—always looking out for you, caring for your health and well-being.

and while you may not be vocal about your troubles from work, suguru can tell how much it’s draining you day by day. so, if doing the groceries, preparing the meals, and ironing the clothes could at the very least lessen your stress and burden, then he would gladly shoulder it for a while.

suguru just cannot afford to lose you.

for most of his life, he had seen everything as temporary, like pencil scribbles in his journal—likely to be erased. people come and go, he often told himself.

but then you came along and all of a sudden, every succeeding page has your name written in ink, with kiss marks in shades of pink; to be able to spend every single day of his life with you felt like he had won a lifetime subscription of love letters.

RING. RING. RING.

your body makes an involuntary jolt as the grating sound of your morning alarm plays. afraid of hearing another loop, your hands immediately reach to the bedside table. you squint when the brightness of your phone hits your eyes.

darkness envelops every corner of the room like spilled ink. among the shadows, you catch suguru next to you on the bed lying on his stomach, topless and only in his boxers; his one arm rests on your abdomen while the other he uses as a makeshift pillow.

you stare at your lover’s face; even in deep slumber, suguru still looks majestic. it’s in these tiny moments where you remember that there is still one good thing in your life.

like spotting a shed in the middle of nowhere, under a heavy pouring rain.  the relief and comfort of finally finding a resting place; you take respite in it from the strong wind, your drenched and shivering body slowly getting warm—that’s how it feels when you wake up and see suguru next to you, or when you arrive home and catch him in the apartment doing mundane stuff.

he is your shelter from the inescapable, harsh world.

as if suguru senses you gawking at his face, his eyes open slightly which brings you out of your reverie. a smile appears on his lips and with a raspy voice he says “g’morning”.

suguru rubs his thumb over your exposed lower belly, then slowly, he inserts his hands under your shirt, snaking upward until it rests over your chest; he likes to do this every morning—a level of comfort born only after a long time of being together. 

unfazed by your boyfriend’s advances, you whisper to him to stop but there’s no hint of resolve in your voice.

using his forefinger and thumb, suguru plays with the bud of your nipple to elicit more reaction from you, but you just smile—still sleepy. “there you go again,” you say in a reprimanding tone similar to when a preschool teacher is talking to a mischievous student.

right past the bedroom window, you see the skyscrapers; some buildings have lit windows while some don’t. and behind these tall structures, the sun peeks in the horizon, hinting its arrival. 

today is your favorite day of the week: friday. your drowsiness immediately disappears in anticipation for the two days of break away from any workpapers. one more day. one more push. then the forty-eight hours of freedom will be yours.

suguru withdraws his hand from your shirt as you try to sit upright on the bed. he later on followed suit. the both of you on your way to do your respective daily routines: while you get ready for the day, suguru works in the kitchen to prepare breakfast and your packed lunch. he usually arranges the dry ingredients on the kitchen counter the night before so it’ll be easier for him to work his way around every morning.

after an hour since the alarm rang, you’re all freshened up and ready for work.

as you step out of the bedroom, your nose immediately catches a whiff of melted butter and the freshly cooked pancakes.

and there he is—your eyes dart to suguru’s back. he’s flipping another pancake on the pan, hair tied into a quick bun and still in his boxers, but a pink apron now covers his chest.

a view you’d never get tired of seeing every morning.

suguru smiles when he feels your arms wrap around his waist. you interlock your fingers over his apron. “hey there,” he says as he gives your hands a gentle squeeze.

you rest your right cheek on his bare back; his body is warm like a cat’s and smells like your bedsheets—of comfort and rest. you tiptoe and give his shoulder a soft bite which makes suguru click his tongue and chuckle, “you want crushed pancakes again huh?”

while you are hugging him, another silly idea crosses your mind. 

as a form of revenge from suguru’s playfulness earlier on the bed, you withdraw your hug and with a huge grin on your face, you insert one hand in his boxers—your right palm spread out on his buttocks. “hey!” suguru calls you out.

your laugh echoes in the apartment. unsatisfied by his reaction, you give it a couple of firm squeezes. now the both of you are giggling like two idiots. “you’re so silly,” he says while shaking his head.

“you did it first earlier,” you retort, the smile on your face now replaced by a pout. 

a chuckle escapes from his mouth, “that’s fair. touché,” suguru accepts his defeat.

he puts the last pancake on the plate and turns the stove off. then he turns his body around to face you—your hand not leaving his backside, sliding from his right bum to the left one. 

“c’mere,” suguru says as he grabs your face with both hands.

even though suguru’s work starts later than yours, he still insists on waking up with you so he can cook your meal and watch you leave for work. and with the time he has left before he also has to get ready, he returns to bed to get more sleep.

suguru sandwiches your cheeks between his palms making your lips protrude. then he gives you a kiss, “time to eat or else you’d be late,” he pinches your nose.

the both of you sit around the table and you eat your breakfast as usual. surprisingly, there’s a bottle of syrup filled to the brim, but the last time you recall, you ran out of it. suguru must’ve bought a new one.

you take bites of the pancake and give him an enthusiastic thumbs up. pleased by your reaction, suguru flashes you an earnest smile, then he wipes the syrup on the corner of your lips and licks it from his thumb.

suguru's gaze softens at the sight of your cheeks full of food. like a cute bunny, he thinks.

his cute bunny.

a/n. a lil tmi i got the “ink with kiss marks in shades of pink” line from my journal lol i love how this fic has a piece of me ( ᵒ̴̶̷̥́◡ ᵒ̴̶̷̣̥̀⸝⸝) anyway, no plans for a part two atm (>﹏<)

likes, reblogs, and comments are much appreciated .ᐟ

© retisaint do not plagiarize, repost, or feed to ai

[r4venbitee]

Bite the Pillow

synopsis: In which a little noise complaint turns into Gojo putting you on display, and Geto finding out just how weak he really is for you.

warnings: gojo x reader x geto, dry humping, voyeurism, oral, threesome, handjob, creampie, praising, curse words, reader is going to parissss, and i did not proofread this :p

wordcount: 3k

The coldness of Satoru’s dorm room was slowly melting away as the night dragged on.

The two of you were sprawled across his mattress, doing absolute jack shit while he mindlessly scrolled through his phone until his thumb started to ache.

You were lying comfortably on his chest, and his palm was planted on your ass, resting like it belonged there, his fingers digging in to grope you every few minutes without him even looking down.

A soft huff escaped your lips as the boredom finally got to you. You lifted your chin to look up at him, your mouth pulled into a pout.

“Toruuu... I’m so bored.”

“Hmm? That so?” he hummed back, his eyes never leaving his screen as he stayed glued to whatever video was playing. You’d bet your life he didn’t even register a single word you just said.

You tried moving away, attempting to lift his palm off where it rested, but he refused to let go. You blew a breath right at his face and slightly pulled on his snow-white hair, but he still wouldn't shift his attention to you.

He was completely unbothered, treating your antics like little more than background noise.

Desperate for his attention, you pushed yourself up and shifted until you were sitting right on his lap, straddling his thighs.

That finally did the trick.

He clicked his phone shut, tossed it onto the nightstand, and looked up at you. Without his glasses in the way, his piercing blue eyes locked straight onto yours, suddenly very awake.

Your pout deepened as you prepared a whole speech, ready to rumble about how he didn't care about you, how he never listened, and every other dramatic excuse you could construct to make a scene.

But before a single word could pass your lips, Satoru yanked you down by your arms and stole a short kiss straight from your mouth.

Predictably, you folded under zero pressure. Whatever grand argument you had staged vanished instantly as you leaned back in, pulling him into a deeper, proper kiss.

Both of his hands slid down your back to grip your ass, taking full advantage of the way you arched into him. The kiss quickly turned sloppier and needier, Satoru eagerly capitalizing on the fact that Geto—his roommate and best friend—was nowhere to be seen.

He began rolling your hips over his lap, the rhythm shameless. A muffled moan caught in his throat at the sudden friction, your body heating up right against him as you felt him harden, inch by inch, beneath you.

His hand darted beneath the hem of your shirt, gripping your waist tight before trailing upward to massage your breast. Every time his thumb and index finger circled and pinched your peak, a fresh wave of electricity shot straight through your body, dragging another soft sound from your throat.

You were so hypnotized by the sheer heat of the feeling that you didn't even hear the dorm room door open. Just the loud comment that immediately followed.

“Eugh... what the fuck is wrong with you two? Get a room!” Suguru stood in the doorway, a look of exaggerated disgust painted across his face as he threw a spare pillow straight at your head.

“Fuck you, Suguru! Just watch or leave!” Gojo yelled back the second he broke the kiss, tossing the pillow back onto the floor without a shred of embarrassment.

You felt heat instantly rush to your cheeks, your face flushing a deep, furious red as the reality of getting caught in such an intimate moment sank in.

“Fucking disgusting,” he spat, tossing his bag onto the floor before jumping face-first onto his mattress across the tiny dorm. He buried his head deep into his pillow, tuning the two of you out.

Satoru’s thumb smoothed over your burning cheek, chuckling softly at how delightfully flustered you were. You glanced nervously toward Geto’s bed, but Gojo gently hooked a finger under your chin, bringing your face right back to his.

“Ignore him,” Satoru instructed softly, his voice dropping an octave. His other hand slid back down to squeeze your ass, hauling you tight against his growing warmth.

“He’s not leaving... so let’s continue where we left off before we got so rudely interrupted.”

He went back to kissing you, far rougher than before, his hands clamping back onto your hips to set a faster pace. You couldn't fully comprehend why he was pushing it this far, knowing damn well you weren't alone in the room anymore.

“Toru... wait! he's—”

Before you could finish, he hushed you by burying his face into your neck, sucking and biting harsh marks onto your skin.

“You fucking weirdo! Are you actually still going?!” his friend shouted, lifting his head from his pillow with a look of utter disbelief.

“You can always leave, you know,” Satoru drawled back, looking straight at him without missing a beat, his lips still firmly pressed against your neck as he left another dark mark.

Geto stared at him for a second before letting out a dramatic sigh. Accepting defeat, he rolled away to face the cold wall, turning his back entirely to the two of you as he dragged the blanket all the way up to his shoulders.

Your boyfriend, on the other hand, had already slipped his hand past your waistband. His palm cupped your wetness before two of his fingers slid lazily over your slick folds.

His fingers quickly found their target, pressing against your tight entrance before slowly pushing inside, stretching you wide open.

You bit down hard into his shoulder, attempting to muffle the raw sounds threatening to spill from your lips.

Moving his fingers faster, a flood of desperate moans began spilling from your mouth, completely beyond your control to hold back.

Suguru had already pressed a second pillow over his ears earlier, but no amount of padding could block your sounds from echoing right into his ears.

“Shut the fuck up!” he snapped from across the room, burying his face deeper into the mattress. He refused to turn around, doing everything in his power to avoid looking over at Gojo's bed.

Gojo let out a quiet chuckle against your neck, completely ignoring Suguru’s shout as he scissored his fingers deep inside you.

“Awww, look at that, Suguru’s giving us permission to go faster,” he teased loudly enough for Geto to hear, grinning when your hips bucked into his hand.

“Fucking leave or stop complaining,” you added, utterly out of breath as you rocked your hips relentlessly against Gojo’s hand, chasing your high for everything it was worth.

Geto finally ripped the pillow off his face and snapped around to glare at you both, adopting a disgusted look. “It's my fucking dorm too, and no, I won't leave,” he barked before aggressively turning back around to face the wall.

Both of you ignored him. You continued to rock your hips frantically against his hand, slick and desperate as heat coiled tight in your lower belly. Your back arched sharply and a loud, shattered moan tore from your throat as you hit your climax.

You collapsed back, burying your head against Gojo's muscled shoulder to catch your breath.

Threading his fingers soothingly through your hair, he leaned down and whispered against your ear, making you shiver to your core. “Don't worry, baby... if he won't leave, we'll make him.”

In one fluid move, Gojo tore his shirt off and cast it aside, immediately following up by stripping off your pants and underwear in a single tug.

He pinned you back into the bed, shoving a clothed knee between your legs to force your thighs apart, looming over you with the scary focus of a predator about to feast.

Then, his eyes lit up with a wonderfully terrible idea. He snatched you up by the waist like you weighed nothing at all and tossed you across the room straight onto Geto’s bed, making the plush mattress bounce under your weight.

Your legs slammed shut instinctively at the sudden drop.

“What the fuck are you doing?!” both you and Geto yelled in unison.

Satoru let out a booming laugh, throwing his hands up in mock innocence. “What? Sharing is caring!” he said as he started unbuttoning his jeans.

“Now you get a front-row seat. You're welcome!”

Words failed him entirely. Suguru stared, hypnotized as Gojo spread your thighs open on his own sheets.

His eyes dragged over the glossy slickness between your legs, the shameless, wrecked look on your face, and the fresh bite marks blooming down your neck.

The temperature in the dorm spiked instantly.

“You're fucking crazy,” he rasped out. It was meant as a condemnation for both of you, though he couldn't even summon the willpower to look away.

Gojo glanced over at him, silently mouthing a wicked “watch this” before pulling down his grey boxers, freeing his rock-hard cock.

You stared down at him, licking your lips as a single drop of precum escaped his flushed tip, landing with flawless precision right on your inner thigh.

Guiding his heavy length directly to your entrance, Satoru pressed forward, his crown pushing relentlessly past your tight ring of muscles to stretch you open.

A whimper tore straight from your throat the second he broke through.

He yanked you closer by your waist, sinking you all the way down on him in one swift, brutal thrust. Seconds later, he was pounding into you like a man possessed.

Your mind went completely blank under the relentless impact, reducing you to a shivering mess of whimpers.

Geto couldn't believe what he was seeing—and to make it even crazier, Gojo reached forward and ripped your shirt off, wanting to watch your breasts spill free and bounce with every deep thrust.He tossed the shirt straight at Geto with a cheerful “catch this!”

He caught it purely on instinct, but his eyes were instantly locked onto your uncovered tits, his jaw clenching as he unknowingly bit the inside of his cheek.

His breathing grew ragged with every passing second, an undeniable tent stretching out the front of his sweatpants.

Gojo slowed his pace slightly, his bright blue eyes flicking over his roommate, notably landing on the unmistakable tent stretching his sweatpants. A cheeky smirk spread across his face.

“Still claiming you want us to leave, Suguru?” he purred, taking one hand off your waist to point directly at the erection Geto was desperately trying to hide under the shirt he'd caught.

“You look like you're about to burst.”

Suguru opened his mouth to snap a response, but Satoru didn't give him the chance. Reaching out, Gojo hooked his fingers into the collar of Geto’s shirt and yanked him straight down onto the mattress beside you.

Before Geto could even brace himself, Gojo caught his wrist and guided his palm directly onto your bare waist.

“I don't mind sharing,” Satoru hummed against your ear before leaning in closer. “Do you, baby?”

All you could manage was a dazed and helpless shake of your head.

Gojo smirked right into Geto’s dark eyes. “So now, stop suffocating yourself and put those hands to work.”

The dark-haired man looked like he was hesitating at first.

His large hand drifted upward over your bare chest, hovering just a breath above your breast as his dark eyes searched your face apprehensively waiting, until you gave him a slow, reassurance nod.

Suguru’s hand closed over your breast at last, squeezing firms and rhythmically in sync with Satoru’s deep, brutal thrusts.

He lowered his face, taking your sensitive nipple into his hot mouth, sucking greedily and letting his teeth graze the peak as if it held the elixir of life.

He dragged his lips upward, biting gently over the dark marks Gojo had already painted across your collarbone, leaving you writhing helpless between the two of them.

Driven by pure boldness, your hand reached down, palm tracing the hard length clearly outlined against Geto's pants.

His eyes widened in shock at your touch, a raspy groan escaping his throat directly against your neck. He pulled back, planting his knees on the mattress as he hastily untied the drawstring of his sweatpants, letting them fall down to his knees.

He couldn't believe this was actually happening.

You, however, weren't surprised at all.

How could you be, when you’d caught how Geto had been looking at you all this time? He tried to hide it, but he was never subtle about it.

Always staring when he thought you weren't paying attention, his eyes burning into you every single time you got too close to your boyfriend.

And somehow, you managed to find yourself getting pounded relentlessly by Gojo, your boyfriend, while giving a handjob to his best friend at the exact same fucking time.

Your hand pumping around his cock faster and faster made whatever bit of control he had left shatter, spilling all over your palm before he could even stop himself.

“Oh my god...” you whimpered, feeling yourself get so dangerously close. The double overload—getting fucked raw while hot, sticky cum spilled over your fingers—was completely overwhelming you.

Gojo felt your core twitching, and just as your wet walls started to clench around him like you’d never had dick in your entire life, he pulled straight out, making you whine louder than you ever had before.

The white-haired man shushed you with a sloppy, bruising kiss as soon as you started whimpering his name and complaining, biting down hard on your lip like a punishment.

“Get on your knees,” he ordered.

You complied perfectly and immediately. Suguru was sitting right in front of you now, leaning down until his face was inches from yours. “Such a pretty girl, aren't you?” he murmured.

His hand cupped the side of your face, kissing you softly while his thumb brushed gently across your cheek.

Gojo’s hand rested heavily over both of your cheeks while his best friend broke the soft kiss, sitting back on his knees to stroke his rock-hard length a couple of times before slowly guiding his tip right to your lips.

“Sorry, sweetheart... but I’m still rock-hard,” he murmured softly.

Needy and desperate, you parted your lips wide, taking him all in as he pushed his full length into your mouth.

You sucked greedily around his swollen, red tip first, swirling your tongue around the sensitive head before working down the rest of his shaft, feeling every thick vein pressing firm against your soft tongue.

“Ah!” A muffled scream escaped your throat around Geto’s length as Gojo drove his hard cock right back inside you without a single second of warning.

Satoru looked down at you from behind, watching you suck his best friend off with an intensely proud, possessive smirk across his face.

“Look at you, taking both of us so fucking well,” Satoru said.

He tightened his grip on your hips, the sharp bite of his fingers digging into your skin as he picked up a faster pace from behind. “Such a good, greedy girl for us, aren't you?”

Suguru let out a groan above you, his gaze locking onto yours as your mouth greedily worked around his length.

His thumb traced over your jawline. “So good, sweetheart.”

Satoru’s possessive streak flared up at the sight of you taking his best friend so effortlessly.

Unannounced, his palm came down with a loud, stinging smack! across the soft meat of your bare ass, the sudden shock echoing sharply through the quiet dorm room.

Before you could even process the sting, Gojo’s fingers tangled tight into the roots of your hair, yanked back hard, and tilted your neck up at a crazy angle.

The sharp tug shifted your entire weight forward, almost throwing off your rhythm on Geto's cock.

Reacting instantly, he slammed his broad palm over your forehead, pinning your head back and holding you completely still as he started fucking your mouth with brutal strokes.

Trapped completely between Satoru’s punishing thrusts rocking your hips and Suguru’s heavy hand anchoring your head around his length, your mind went blank.

Every sensory detail—the sting on your skin, the stretch in your jaw, the wet slap of Gojo’s thighs against yours—overwhelmed your system.

Satoru’s breath turned ragged against your shoulder, his pace turning frantic and unforgiving.

With one final, deep groan, Gojo drove himself in to the hilt, his fingers bruising your waist as he pinned you flush against his chest and filled your cunt with his white, hot cum.

The sudden rush of heat filling you up inside made your inner walls clench frantically around Satoru’s cock, sending ripples of pleasure straight through your throat.

Feeling your body tremble and shudder around both of them, Suguru hit his absolute limit.

Geto dragged his slick shaft out of your mouth, leaving your jaw resting open, your tongue lazily hanging out, breathless and completely hypnotised.

Suguru didn't give you a second to recover. Kneeling right above you, his hand wrapped around his hot, thick length, stroking himself with fast friction right over your upturned face.

His breath hitched, a helpless moan tearing from his chest as he also spilled white ropes all over your cheeks, nose, and open lips.

You instinctively swallowed down every drop that landed on your tongue, completely coated in both of them.

The three of you collapsed on the mattress, Gojo pulling you back against his chest while Geto rested his head heavily on your lower belly.

Satoru hummed against your ear, his chest vibrating as he tightened his arms around your waist.

“Look at what a mess you made of my girl, Suguru.”

[kentosblossom]

a multiversal love story - part one

synopsis: you and your bestie jump timelines, ending up as maids in king nanami's palace while duke higuruma is visiting

content: afab reader, fluff, mild crack, multiverse, royal/medieval au, no curses

w/c: 4.7k

a/n: so excited to finish up and post the rest! hope you enjoy <333

“What the fuck?” You sit up in bed, looking down at the threadbare bedding before scanning the rest of the room.

Small, sparsely furnished, singular window.

A sleeping body in the bed right beside yours.

Your best friend sits up quickly, looking around with wide eyes, “Where are we?”

“Girl-” You start.

“I knew we shouldn’t have shaken hands with that weird guy in that alley,” she sighs heavily, standing and approaching the window. “Look at this.”

You stand up, walking over to her, looking out into a huge trimmed garden. It almost looked like you were in a large estate from those period pieces you liked watching.

A sharp knock against the door had both of you jumping, looking at the door like it might explode.

A petite woman throws the door open, smiling at the sight of you, “Good, the both of you are up!”

You share a look with your best friend, a thousand words passing between you before you look back at the woman who is waiting patiently for a response.

“Yes, we have risen,” you answer, rather clunkily if you had to critique yourself.

Your best friend hardly hides her snicker at your idiotic attempt to speak in the same manner as this woman.

“I understand you both arrived yesterday, but we are quite prompt around here,” the woman had a disapproving look on her face as she surveyed your sleepwear. “Please change into your work attire and meet me in the hallway.”

“We shall be out in a second,” your best friend answered, a smile gracing her face.

You both were in deep shit.

When the door shut behind the woman, you both looked at each other again, fighting the laughter bubbling up from the depths of your souls as you approached the wardrobe.

As you were quickly coming to understand, somehow the two of you ended up as maids in a royal palace, figuring out this era only seemed possible by having your best friend with you.

You both struggled trying to figure out how to put everything on, this time’s idea of underwear was ridiculously complicated, you thought.

By the time you ended up in the hall, the woman had a furrow between her brows.

“If you both will follow me,” she said rather curtly as she took off down the steps.

You both stayed close behind her, constantly eyeing each other as either of you noticed something new about your surroundings. Whatever era you’d ended up in was rather luxurious for whoever occupied this estate.

“The King is very particular about his library, but it is rather easy to maintain,” the woman spoke over her shoulder as you finally reached the ground floor after about five flights of stairs.

Getting back up was going to be miserable, but at least you were sure you were in a palace. Working for the King of this era, whoever that was.

“I will be placing you both with one of our senior maids, Miss Yoshido will help you both become well acquainted with your tasks for today,” she continued speaking as she led you through hallways, both of you fighting your surprised gasps as you finally exited the servants quarters and walked into a large open hallway.

“This is the west wing main hall, you will find yourself here every time you wish to go to your quarters,” the woman continued walking in stride, oblivious to your wandering eyes.

The ceilings were incredibly high, you couldn’t imagine how tall they were in the main part of the palace. Large white pillars framed the perimeter of the walls, intricate paintings placed between each pillar. Plush royal blue carpets were running the length of the floors, gold oil burning lamps and sconces decorated throughout the space. 

She led you towards the large staircase at the end of the hall, a huge window behind the staircase illuminating the entire space. As you both climbed the stairs behind the woman, you wondered how you would get back to your timeline.

If you were even in your world anymore, you thought.

The woman led you through a few more hallways before arriving in front of two huge oak doors, continuing in stride as she threw the doors open revealing the largest library you’d ever seen.

The walls were covered in bookshelves, the domed ceiling an intricate stained glass design that had colorful light bouncing off every surface. There were spiral staircases in the corners leading up to the large second floor, along with plush furnishings spaced throughout the space.

It was a bookworm's dream.

There was a tall woman with a few extra supplies standing near the doors, a smile on her face as she watched your group approach.

“Miss Yoshido,” the woman leading your group waved at her, you noticed she was the happiest you’d seen her this morning.

“Mrs. Sato, thank you for bringing them to me,” Miss Yoshido smiled at you and your bestie, the two of you returning similar grins.

“If you need me I will be in the east wing, the Duke is arriving tonight, there is much to prepare,” Mrs. Sato fanned her face before turning around and rushing back the way you three came.

“I am Miko Yoshido, it is a pleasure to meet you both,” Miko smiled at you both as you gave her your names. “We are expected to dust, polish the floors, wipe all surfaces, adjust any furniture as necessary, everyday.”

“Quite a lot, does one person do this daily?” You asked, your eyes drifting around the massive space.

“It is usually a team of five, but they have taken two for the preparations for the Duke,” Miko laughed nervously as she handed you both dusters. “I will take one side if you two will handle the opposite?”

“Perfect,” your best friend answered, grabbing your hand and rushing over to the opposite wall.

“I don’t know how the fuck we’re supposed to get through this,” your eyes were darting around as you began dusting the lower shelves.

“We just need to find someone to send us back,” she responded.

“Okay, but until then? I don’t know how to polish floors bro,” you whispered yelled at her, working across more shelves with your duster.

“Miko seems nice enough to show us,” your best friend responded, keeping a level head.

“Yeah and then the entire staff will think we’re idiots,” you huffed.

“Better than getting fired,” she answered in a quiet sing-song tone.

The two of you worked through your tasks, Miko indeed showing you anything you were unsure of with a smile on her face. She was a really nice person, the perfect person to have your first day with as she patiently answered any question you threw her way.

By the time the three of you finished, you were all covered in sweat, a nice meal on everyone’s mind as you made your way towards the west wing.

“The west wing of course, houses the palace kitchens, we take our meals in groups in a small dining area down there,” Miko kept her voice low as you walked through the hallways. 

“Down there is where the Duke will be staying,” she pointed to a hallway just down the way from the library. “Him and the King are quite good friends, both of them are kind men should you ever work a dinner service with them.”

“Are either of them good looking?” You asked, half thinking about who in the palace might have information on how to get you back to your timeline.

“I do not believe it is my place to comment,” Miko’s face was bright red as she frantically scanned the halls for anyone else.

“Suppose it was your place, what would you say then?” Your best friend asked, nudging Miko’s arm.

“Well,” Miko looked around once more, slowly leaning towards you both as she lowered her voice, “I would say both are incredibly handsome.”

“And?” You prompted, wondering how boring this era must be if you couldn’t gossip freely.

“You will see soon enough,” Miko assured, wiping her hands on her apron as she straightened up.

By the time you three reached the kitchens, you were starving and extremely thirsty. Miko showed you to the water station before showing you how you were expected to serve your food and where to sit. 

You had already finished an entire glass of water by the time you sat down, standing and refilling your glass before sitting down for the first time in hours.

“What do we do after this?” Your best friend asked.

“We are done for the night, you may wander the west wing freely,” Miko answered, digging into her stew.

“Only the west wing?” You asked, a small frown playing on your face.

“We do not need more, the west wing has much to be seen especially since it is your first official day here,” Miko assured you both, a look of confusion painting her pretty face.

“Of course,” you nodded along, worried about raising any suspicion.

The three of you fell into easy conversation, Miko laughing at you and your best friend's odd banter.

“You must have known each other your whole lives!” She said through laughs, her arms going around her waist.

“Feels like it,” you smiled over at your bestie, thinking of all the memories you’d made together.

“Yeah, it does,” your best friend rolled her eyes lovingly, pushing her shoulder against yours.

“I might retire to my room soon, would you like a tour before then?” Miko asked, standing as she gathered your plates and cups.

“That would be lovely, thank you,” you smiled at her, taking the stack of plates and cups from her hands before she led you to the dish washing station.

You quickly washed everything before following her out towards the opposite hallway you’d taken this morning.

“The King is quite generous, he has given us our own library and garden space,” Miko commented, leading you two down the hallway and off to the right. She pointed to one doorway, “In there is the library, and if we continue this way we will reach the door to the garden.”

“Is there anywhere else we should know?” You asked, looking down the hallway towards the doorway leading outside.

“They are having a dinner party tonight, you did not hear this from me if you are caught, but you could possibly roam the castle. If anyone stops you, you lost your way, but again, you did not hear that from me,” she said conspiratorially, looking you both in the eyes.

“Hear what?” Your bestie answered, shrugging her shoulders.

“You two are just so funny! I have never heard anyone speak the way you do, where did you say you were from?” Miko asked with a small laugh.

“Far away, honestly I forget, we moved when I was so young,” you answered airly, hoping she didn’t press anymore.

“We all get that way at some point, I suppose,” she smiled. “Right, I will be on my way to bed. You two enjoy yourselves though!”

“Goodnight,” you smiled back.

“See you tomorrow!” Your bestie waved at her as she turned and started walking away. When Miko was finally far enough away she turned and looked at you with one brow raised, “What are we about to get into?”

“She practically told us to go explore,” you shrugged, leading the way back towards the west wing main hall.

“Basically,” your best friend agreed, staying in step with you as the two of you walked quietly.

When you were finally back in the main hall, you took off down the direction leading towards the gardens you spotted out of your window. The hallways were empty, apparently everyone really was gathered for the dinner service or in bed already.

You passed by plenty of bedrooms, the two of you sticking your heads into them without a care in the world.

“I don’t understand why we can’t sleep in any of these if they’re all unoccupied,” you huffed.

“Unoccupied? Since when have you ever used that word,” you best friend laughed at you, shaking her head.

“Maybe this era is rubbing off on me, don’t be a hater,” you rolled your eyes, continuing down the hallway.

“Bye,” she laughed.

You finally popped into a room that wasn’t a bedroom, the space clearly an art space if the discarded canvases and paint were anything to go by. You wondered if the room was for anyone in the castle now or a visitor, maybe the King had a family.

You’d be surprised if he did, you thought, you hadn’t heard anyone mention a Queen, or even a prince or princess.

“These rooms are pretty boring,” you noted.

“Let’s go to the gardens, we can pick another place to wander to after we get some fresh air,” your bestie suggested, taking your hand in hers as she led the way down the rest of the hall.

The landing to the gardens was massive, a large polished space with furniture and oil burning lamps that were currently lit as the sun began fading behind the horizon. The huge staircase was centered in the landing, leading down to the spacious and well-kept gardens. 

The two of you descended quickly, running into the trimmed hedges to avoid anyone seeing you. When you were sure you were out of view, you found a small archway with a bench underneath, the flowers growing up the arches hanging down over your heads.

“Do you hear that?” You tilted your head, focusing on the music drifting from the palace.

You looked over at your best friend to see her already milly rocking, the two of you froze, staring at each other before you burst out laughing.

“I know you’re fucking lying,” you wheezed.

She started back up, freestyling to the rhythm of the piano and strings that were drifting from what you assumed was the dining room or maybe even ballroom. 

She passed it to you, laughing as she watched you start moving. You let your mind forget where you two were, all that mattered was that you were with your best friend as you danced.

Neither of you were the type of people who needed alcohol to have fun, especially not with each other. You two could let loose and dance sober as hell, though that’s not to say you never got drunk together and danced the entire night.

You passed it back to her, doubling over in laughter as you watched her start to dougie. You had to hold scream into your hand as she kept moving, popping and locking her joints along to the music.

“They are rather interesting,” the most beautifully deep, charming voice came from way too close for comfort.

The two of you froze, looking around the gardens with wide eyes.

“Yes, I am rather inclined to agree,” a voice somehow deeper, and just as smooth spoke next.

Your hands found each other, wondering who had caught you. You two were being pretty careless thinking you were in the clear because it was getting dark and everyone was inside. Whoever caught you could easily ask where your dances had come from, then what would you say?

All thought was lost when the two most handsome men you’d ever seen stepped into the dim lighting surrounding the archway. 

The taller one was clad in a royal blue tunic, the silver stitching intricate across the fabric. It was tucked into perfectly tailored trousers, his leather boots looked luxurious and finely crafted. His blond hair was styled neatly, a soft smile on his lips as he looked at the two of you.

The other man, not that much shorter than his companion had such a distinct nose you couldn’t help but find your mouth watering at. His clothing was just as fine, his tunic in a forest green color. His tired eyes watched you both, a piece of his brown hair falling across his forehead along with a stoic expression on his face.

You kept blinking, hoping they would both just disappear as your best friend's grip on your hand tightened. 

“I’m sorry, we were lost,” you blurted, your bestie slamming her hand against her face to hide her cringe.

“They even speak differently,” the brown haired one noted, tilting his head slightly as he studied you more.

“Speaking about someone when they’re right in front of you is rude,” you quipped back, narrowing your eyes at him.

The blond one laughed, as the brown haired one furrowed his brow, “She is not wrong, Hiromi.”

“Thank you,” you said smugly, turning your chin up just a little as you continued glaring at the brown haired one. Hiromi, the blond one had said.

“I suppose I cannot argue,” he rubbed his jaw, his hand drifting back to his neck.

“Though you want to, I am sure,” the blond one laughed lightly, slightly nudging Hiromi.

“I might wish to redeem myself,” Hiromi rubbed his neck, offering you a placating smile.

“Keep wishing,” you crossed your arms, watching as his eyes widened slightly.

“Maybe we should be nicer, they look like they’re important,” your best friend whispered near your ear, nudging your arm.

“Whispering is considered rather rude here,” the brown haired one eyed you both, earning another glare from you.

“Don’t start,” you pointed at him, earning a shocked look as he gazed at his friend. 

“Perhaps assuming I was the crass one was a bit ahead of ourselves, Kento,” Hiromi commented, still looking at his friend.

“Do not start an argument before we figure out who these delightful women are,” Kento, the blond one, responded as he offered you and your bestie a dazzling smile.

“Why should we tell you anything?” Your best friend stepped forward, narrowing her eyes at Kento.

“For starters, you two are wearing palace uniforms, so I can assume you work here,” Kento continued like your bestie hadn’t spoken, earning himself a glare from you both. He smiled, “Would you please indulge us with your names?”

“Why? So you can fire us?” You asked, warily watching both of them. 

“I only wish to call you by your name,” Kento answered, his gentle tone and amused smile disarming you by the second.

“What about you?” You looked at Hiromi.

“The same, darling,” he offered you a wolfish smile.

“Work on your flirting,” you rolled your eyes, earning a chuckle from Kento.

“You wound me, beautiful,” Hiromi was still smiling at you, the amusement clear on his face.

“If it keeps you from calling me those ridiculous petnames, fine,” you offered your name to them, both of them nodding before looking at your bestie.

“Fine,” she huffed before offering hers, eyeing the two men.

“I think I have become rather partial to the ‘petnames’ as you called it, darling,” Hiromi winked at you, earning another eyeroll.

“What would you call it?” You asked, raising a brow.

“Endearments,” he answered immediately.

“You don’t even know me,” you waved him off, ignoring the warming in your cheeks.

“I would like to,” he shrugged, offering you a small smile.

“Can I ask the two of you where you are from?” Kento asked, looking between you both.

“You can, doesn’t mean you’ll get an answer,” your bestie shrugged as you nodded along with her words.

“It is not from here, perhaps not even this time,” Hiromi commented, this time Kento nodded along to his words.

“We should ask Sorcerer Gojo, he is sure to know something,” Kento continued nodding, as he voiced his thoughts.

“There’s a wizard here?” You held up a hand, looking at them both for some confirmation.

“Sorcerer, but yes,” Hiromi addressed you quickly before turning back to Kento. “I agree he should have some answers for us.”

“What if I want answers too?” You stepped closer to them, noticing how put together they truly were. And handsome, you thought. 

“You mean to tell me you have no idea what is happening, darling?” Hiromi raised a brow at you, his head tilting ever so slightly as he studied your face.

“Yeah, exactly that,” you mimicked his movement, studying his face now that you were closer. You could see the bump in the bridge of his nose, along with the firelight reflecting in his chocolate brown eyes.

“Can you take us to him?” Your best friend stepped up beside you, looking towards Kento. “Please?”

“I would have, even if you had not said please,” Kento answered her, an intrigued look in his eyes as he watched your friend smile at you. “Would you please tell us everything you know before then?”

“Can we do that inside?” She looked back at him.

“Of course, please walk with us,” Kento gestured to the path behind them. 

The two of you stepped between them, linking arms as your friend stood beside Kento, and you beside Hiromi.

The walk back to the palace was quiet, no one uttering another word even as your curiosity was burning inside of you. Even a small fire of hope was lit in your chest at the possibility of going home.

When you began approaching the palace, you noticed guards who were not stationed by the entrance earlier moving to open the doors before you reached them.

As you stepped inside there was a flurry of movement, Mrs. Sato red in the face as she took in the sight of you and your best friend with the two men.

“Your Majesty,” her eyes looked as if they would pop out of her head before she bowed deeply.

You and your best friend stopped immediately, looking at both men with eyes just as wide as Mrs. Sato. Your mouth slightly parted as you locked eyes with Hiromi, the Duke, who was even more handsome in brighter lighting.

“You did not ask,” he shrugged before leaning closer to you, whispering in your ear, “you look entirely beautiful when you are surprised.”

“Your Grace,” Mrs. Sato bowed towards Hiromi before addressing the King, “King Nanami, please allow me to escort them to their room.”

“That will not be necessary Mrs. Sato, I thank you for the offer though,” King Nanami smiled at her, her face turning impossibly red. “If you would not mind, could you have two adjacent rooms prepared for our new guests?”

Mrs. Sato looked between you and your best friend, a look of utter surprise still on her face as she quickly nodded, “We will see it done, Your Majesty.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Sato, please send for the ladies when it is finished,” King Nanami extended his hand towards your best friend, her own reaching out to his tentatively.

“Duke Higuruma, beautiful,” your hand was swept up into a warm, calloused one, a quick kiss placed to the back of it before your arm was wound around Duke Higuruma’s.

The two men led you down the familiar hallways towards the library, once again letting silence descended as you processed this turn of events. A King and a Duke. The King allowing you both to stay as guests. A way home.

By the time you were sitting in the plush arm chair near one of the fires in the library, your mind was still spinning.

“I apologize for withholding our titles from you both, it seemed necessary given the,” King Nanami trailed off as he searched for a word.

“Hostility?” Duke Higuruma offered, his eyes on you as they gleamed with amusement.

You scoffed, “Have you ever been slapped?”

“I have not, but I do see myself enjoying it, if a certain beautiful woman were to do it,” he sat in the chair opposite you, resting his ankle on his knee as he propped his elbow on the arm of the chair, resting his chin on his fist.

“You’re shameless,” you rolled your eyes.

“I believe the word you’re looking for is open minded,” he smiled at your glare before looking at the King, who was currently sitting himself beside the Duke.

Your best friend took the chair next to you, her eyes going anywhere, but the handsome King sitting right in front of her.

“Tell me about the wizard,” you prompted, looking at both men.

“Domineering,” Higuruma smirked at you, earning another glare.

“He is said to dabble in things that are not of this world,” Nanami offered, clasping his hands in his lap as he looked at you both. “I assume he will be a great help in this situation. Despite your lack of information it is quite obvious to us both that you are not of this world, so to speak.”

“We’re not,” your best friend murmured.

“Ready to share the nitty gritty?” Higuruma raised a brow as he looked over at her.

“Hush,” you held a hand up in Higuruma’s direction, looking over at the king as you spoke, “All we know is we shook hands with a dodgy man in an alley, went to bed that night, and woke up here this morning.”

“Dodgy?” Nanami wondered aloud.

“It means questionable,” you supplied before quickly turning to Higuruma, “do not ask why we did that.”

He merely held his hands up in mock innocence, “I would not dream of such, darling.”

“What time are you from?” Nanami asked.

“Our modern day would be in the 2000 years,” earning a wide eyed glance from both men as she gave the exact year that you left your world.

“What?” You looked at both men, watching as they shared a silent conversation between themselves.

“I apologize, but we have not passed the threshold of one thousand years, though I do believe we count time differently,” Nanami answered, rubbing his jaw as his brow furrowed in thought.

“The fine details don’t really matter, we’re going back anyway,” you answered with a shrug.

“Yes, well, the Sorcerer will begin his journey here tomorrow, it will take about four days or so by horse. Until then you both are more than welcome to stay as guests,” Nanami smiled softly at you both, “I do hope you will allow us both in your presence in the meantime.”

“Maybe just you,” you answered with your own smile, looking over to see your bestie hardly meeting his eye as she smiled.

“I suppose I have at least four days to change your mind, darling,” Higuruma noted, sitting up in his chair as he smiled at you.

“Good luck,” you gave him a cheeky look.

“What you do not know is that I do love a challenge,” he winked at you.

“I will have clothing other than your current attire, in your bedrooms by tomorrow afternoon,” Nanami answered, ignoring whatever was going on between you and Higuruma.

“Thank you, Your,” your friend took a breath, “Majesty?”

He laughed, the sound so rich and beautiful, you found yourself smiling, “You do not have to use formalities, I have gathered it is not the custom in your world, you may call me Kento.”

“How forward of you,” Higuruma noted quietly before he looked at you both, “Please, call me Hiromi, I could use more normalcy in this lifetime.”

Mrs. Sato rushed into the library, a smile on her face as she looked at the four of you and bowed, “The rooms are ready, Your Majesty.”

You all stood, each man taking a step towards you both.

“Enjoy your evening,” Kento murmured, taking your best friend's hand and placing a soft kiss on it. The two of them sharing a loaded look.

You were unaware of this as Hiromi stepped towards you, brushing a piece of your hair aside as he leaned close to your ear, “Goodnight, beautiful.”

Your eyes were wide as he took your hand, raising it to his mouth and pressing a kiss to it as he held your gaze.

“Goodnight, Hiromi,” your voice was breathless, earning a dazzling smile from the man.

The walk back to your rooms was quiet, you and your bestie following close behind Mrs. Sato. 

When she showed you both rooms, you thanked her, before turning and rushing into one of them.

All hell broke loose the moment the door shut behind you both.

taglist: @alebrasil0101 @ane5e @mimicosmos8 @icyshadewhisper

art by @/ilameys on ig

[satorussolace]

GOLDEN BROWN

With the political crisis your kingdom is in, your father arranges you into an unwanted marriage with the notorious Prince Gojo—an elegant solution to keep two powerful kingdoms from tearing each other apart. Despite your hopes for the kind of love you’ve always dreamt of, Prince Gojo is everything the rumors said he was: lustful, untouchable, and emotionally closed off in ways you couldn’t begin to fathom. And when the suffocation of court life finally drives you beyond ballroom walls and polished smiles—you find yourself wandering in the palace gardens. It is there in those gardens, that you find your true salvation in a man who looks at you in the way you’ve always craved—like a human being rather than a title.

pairings: suguru geto x princess!reader x prince!gojo

content/warnings: renaissance au, arranged marriages, toxic relationships, angst, tension tension tension, the patriarchy, love triangle, infidelity, morally grey characters, reader is in an arranged marriage with satoru, emotional manipulation, political drama, fluff, deception, not super accurate to the renaissance era

notes: fanart is by ladycapuccino on Pinterest! I always think of the 2015 Cinderella movie when writing this fic like it’s so fucking perfect. Sorry this is shorter than I expected but I was dealing with some preeetty bad writers block

<<chapter one — masterlist — playlist — chapter three>>

comment to be in the taglist !

Soft morning light spilled across your room in warm gold, but it did nothing to soothe the lingering unease in your chest. You had barely closed your eyes before the memory of the garden resurfaced, causing you a particularly restless night. You sat up slowly in bed, throwing off the heavy blankets.

For a moment, you simply sat there, enveloped by the mocking silence of your chamber. A sigh escaped you at the sound of a soft knock at your door. You just woke up and you were already needed for something.

“Your highness,” a voice called gently from the other side. “His majesty has requested you.”

Your stomach tightened immediately. “Now?” You asked, despite already knowing the answer.

“Yes, your highness. He said it was urgent.”

You exhaled slowly, forcing yourself to steady. Of course it was urgent. You rose from the bed, shakily smoothing down your night gown and trying to ignore the way your thoughts immediately spiraled. Whatever your father wanted, it couldn’t be worse than what your imagination was suggesting.

He couldn’t have possibly found out. Gojo hadn’t pushed anymore after the ball, and Geto certainly wasn’t foolish enough to announce what had happened. The garden was secluded, hidden behind hedges and vines. No one had seen you.

The reassurance did little to settle your nerves. As you dressed for the day, your father’s summons lingered at the forefront of your mind, turning every possibility into something malevolent.

You left your chambers and made your way through the palace corridors. Servants hurried past with food trays and armfuls of linens, bowing politely as you passed. Normally, the familiar morning bustle would be comforting but today it only made you feel more exposed.

By the time you reached your father’s wing of the palace, your stomach was twisted into knots. You sounded a soft knock on those massive wooden doors, the juxtaposition of the sound against the grand doors almost feeling laughable.

“Enter.”

You stepped inside, offering a respectful bow. Your father sat behind his desk, his posture as rigid as his personality. No matter how old you’ve gotten, the fear that you harbor for your father had never gone away. Whispers of the king during wartime followed him for years, weaving themselves into court gossip and soldiers’ tales alike. They spoke of a ruler whose mercy was scarce and whose judgment was absolute. A king who never hesitated to take the life of anyone who stepped in his way.

As a child, the truth of those stories had terrified you.

As an adult, they still did.

“Father,” you greeted quietly, somewhat afraid that your responses would anger him.

His sharp eyes lifted from the documents scattered across his desk. “Sit.”

The command was calm, yet you obeyed without question, lowering yourself into the chair opposite of him. A heavy silence stilled between you as your father studied you for a moment, his expression as unreadable as his eyes.

“There is a matter we need to discuss.”

The seriousness in his tone pulled the knot in your stomach even tighter than before. You straightened slightly, “W-What is it?”

He folded his hands atop his desk, pursing his lips lightly. “Our negotiations with the northern kingdom have concluded.”

You paused, fighting the urge to break your poker face. “I wasn’t aware they were ongoing.”

“They are no longer.”

Something about the way he said it made a razor sharp feeling of unease crawl up your spine. Your father leaned back in his chair, never once looking away from you. “You will be relocating there within the next month.”

The words landed with crushing force, your throat tightening painfully like something was lodged inside. “…I’m sorry?”

“You heard me,” he declared, his expression never faltering as he looked at you like you were nothing more than some poor servant girl.

Your heart sank, within a month you would leave behind everything you’ve ever known. Your palace, your bedroom, your precious garden. You felt small compared to him, your word meant absolutely nothing to him. There was no other option but to obey, he wouldn’t even think twice about saying no to a compromise.

“Okay,” you whispered, staring down at the floor like it could swallow you up and save you from this moment.

“You may leave,” your father ordered, sparing you one last look before focusing back on the hundreds of documents scattered around his desk.

You stood up, hesitating in the door way. You sulked like a little girl, the weight of his words hung down on your shoulders like two heavy stones. You let out a shaky exhale, two small teardrops escaping before you could blink them away. Your fingers curled on the doorknob before moving out of his study.

Your footsteps felt heavier on the way back to your chambers, everything blurred together like a color swatch on one of your royal portraits. Within the safety of distance, your composure started to fracture.

It was unfair—how easily the decision had been spoken. How easily your freedom was cast away. You turned a corner too quickly, nearly brushing past a passing attendant, but you didn’t stop to apologize. You couldn’t. If you did, you weren’t sure you’d be able to even speak clearly.

By the time you reached your wing, your hands shook. You pushed your door open and stepped inside your room, letting it close behind you. Your breath came unevenly as you crossed your room, ripping off the corset that strangled your ribcage.

Then you stopped.

Something was there, laying on your windowsill.

A delicate envelope, sealed with a black wax seal. There was no name nor address on the envelope, absolutely nothing to indicate who the person who wrote this was. It wasn’t a royal seal or one of your father’s court, it wasn’t from anyone that should be able to reach you.

You furrowed your brows, lifting the envelope in the direction of light shining through your open window. You picked open the seal and unfolded the piece of paper inside.

The parchment was smooth, smoother than any paper you’ve ever touched. The ink was dark and deliberate, the handwriting completely flawless. Your fingers tightened slightly at the edges as you began to scan the words.

My princess,

If you are reading this, I’m assuming you are alone. Completely alone.

I have spent the better part of today attempting to convince myself that what happened last night was nothing more than a pleasant distraction. Yet, I haven’t been able to get my mind off of you since you left me under that willow tree last night.

It is a rather humiliating thing to admit, considering we have scarcely known each other a day and you’re betrothed, but every thought seems to find its way back to you. I remember the sound of your voice more clearly than conversations I have held for years. I remember the way your lips felt against my own. Most troubling of all, I remember how reluctant I was to let you go.

I should be satisfied with one single evening and leave it as one fond memory, I’ve tried but I’ve failed miserably. I find myself wondering what you are doing at this very moment. Whether you’ve even thought of me or that kiss at all.

Perhaps I’m a fool. If so, indulge me in one more act of foolishness.

Meet me tonight at dusk on the east side of your palace, near the hidden lakeside pavilion. If you do not come, I’ll accept that I’ve imagined something more than what it really was.

If you do come, I wish for the chance to get to know you beyond a stolen evening and mask. Until then, I remain hopelessly distracted by the thought of you.

There was no name on the note but you knew who it was from, Geto. A sigh escaped your lips as you massaged your temples, the folded parchment resting in your lap. You should have thrown it into the fireplace, that would’ve been the sensible thing to do. Instead, your fingers traced the edges of the envelope, lingering on the wax seal he had perfectly placed just for you.

Something in your stomach fluttered at that thought.

Curiosity won, despite your clear efforts to fight it back. You unfolded the paper once again, your eyes drifting over his elegant handwriting.

You pressed your lips together, staring at the words. The man had known you for less than a day, yet the words felt painfully sincere and intimate. The corners of your mouth betrayed you with a faint, giddy smile.

Your smile drifted as reality set upon your shoulders. Your father would never approve, your husband certainly wouldn’t. Despite these circumstances, your thoughts drifted to that little pavilion past the east wing of your palace.

A knock sounding from your door interrupted your thoughts. “One second!” You shouted, stuffing the note under your pillow.

“It’s me, your highness,” Nanami informed. “May I come in?”

“Yep!” You replied, shuffling to act like you were busy with something.

Nanami stepped inside your room, shutting the door as gently as possible. “I’ve come to inform you that you have brunch with Prince Gojo in roughly 20 minutes,” he told, briefly glancing at the watch on his wrist. You huffed, giving him a look that told Nanami you’d rather do anything else.

“It’s mandatory.”

“I know,” you sighed, biting the inside of your cheek. “It’s fine, really. I just hope they have my favorite fruit tarts.”

“I’m positive they couldn’t forget again after the fit you threw last year,” Nanami joked, still standing awkwardly near your door.

“I was having a bad day,” you defended, snorting lightly. “Will you sit down somewhere and stop looking so out of place?” You said with a laugh.

“I’ll have to be going soon, I have other duties beside your well being, your highness,” he added, the faintest hint of amusement hidden in his voice.

A quiet disappointment settled in your chest before you could stop it. “Of course,” you continued, “are you ever going to stop with the formalities, Ken?”

One of Nanami’s brows quirked up, “No.”

You groaned, palming your face in your hand. “Come on, we’ve known each other since we were kids.”

“You are still a princess.”

You sneered at him, “You didn’t use titles when I was 13.”

“You also used to hide frogs in my desk when you were 13,” he deadpanned. You gasped playfully, clutching your chest. “That happened once!”

“It happened over three times.”

“Allegedly,” you added, shaking your head in disapproval. Nanami sighed, though there was no real irritation behind it.

“Regardless, your highness. Some habits are difficult to break.”

You folded your arms across your chest. “And calling me by my title every other sentence isn’t a habit?”

“It is,” he faintly shrugged.

“Then break that one?”

“I’ll consider it.”

“You won’t.”

A faint smile appeared on his tired face, “No, I won’t.” The answer came so quickly that you couldn’t help but laugh in his face.

For a brief moment, the unease that had followed you since the meeting with your father eased from your shoulders. Nanami had always possessed a strange talent for grounding you, even when he was being impossibly stubborn.

His expression softened slightly. “Now, I suggest you start getting ready for your brunch. Looks like I’ve cut down your time to 15 minutes.”

The reminder was enough to make the warmth leave your chest. “Right.”

“It’ll be okay,” he kindly said before leaving you alone in your room. A frustrated sigh escaped you, but you were grateful none of your maids had rushed in to help you get ready.

Inside your mind, you were already refusing to put on any corset for the brunch. Your mother would just have to suck it up. She always insisted that you wear one daily, to ‘keep up your look’. Quite frankly, you thought it was unnecessary and uncomfortable.

You scurried to your wardrobe, skimming through dresses. Soft fabrics brushed against your fingertips as you passed gowns in muted pastels, deep jewel tones, and the occasional elaborate piece reserved for court appearances you’d rather avoid.

Despite the copious amount of clothing you had, nothing felt quite right. Your fingers paused on a lighter dress tucked slightly behind the others. It was simpler than the rest: a soft green with faint gold threaded along the hem and sleeves. Looked rather comfortable too.

You pulled it free and held it up against yourself in your mirror, quietly admiring the way the green looked against your skin tone. The neckline was modest, the sleeves short and breathable. It wasn’t meant to impress anyone and that was enough comfort for you to throw it on your body.

You dressed quickly, smoothing the fabric as you went. With a press of a couple pins in your hair, you were ready for a torturous breakfast. A sudden knock at your door pulled you from your appearance.

“Come in!” You called, smoothing down your dress once more. It was Shoko, the head maid, who came quietly into your bedroom.

“Your highness, I’ve came in here to make sure you’re ready for the brunch with the Prince,” she informed softly. “Are you?”

Shoko Ieiri was your personal favorite servant, her calm demeanor and sharp wit made her a welcome presence among the suffocating formalities of palace life. She reminded you of an older sister you’d never had, like someone you can go to no matter what.

“Yes, I’ve gotten ready myself today,” you replied, sending a soft smile in her direction.

Her eyes lit up slightly at your appearance. “The dress is beautiful, your highness,” she said, coming up behind you in your mirror. “You’ve grown so much, I can’t believe you’re married now.”

You looked down at the solid gold ring that sat on your ring finger. A soft sigh escaped your lips, “Me neither.”

Shoko frowned, brushing aside a piece of hair from your forehead. Somehow, she knew everything you were feeling by one look. Maybe it was the friendship you two harbored since you were little children, clueless of titles that determined your lifestyle.

“Come on,” she muttered. “It’s time to go.” She gave you one last understanding glance before pulling the chamber door open. The chatter of servants and the distant echo of footsteps instantly flooded into the room, reminding you once again that your brief moment of solitude would have to come to an end.

You nodded your head and stepped out your room, greeting the guards outside of your room with a smile. They immediately straightened, bowing in synchronization.

The palace halls were already alive with the daily bustle you were used to. Sunlight poured through the tall windows, spilling golden patterns across marble floors. You winced as the light hit your face, holding up your hand to shield your eyes.

You smoothed your dress as you walked, trying to ignore the small flutter of nerves in your chest. It was only brunch with Gojo. Your husband. A simple meal between two betrothed strangers.

You had actually spoken to Gojo a few times before being engaged, all of your interactions being at lavish galas and balls. It was enough to know he possessed an effortless charm to every woman that even glanced his way. He was so quick with a joke or flirtatious remark, so it wasn’t a surprise when your father announced the engagement(considering the massive amount of rivalry between your father and Gojo’s father).

The rivalry had been brewing for decades, passed down from generation to generation. It finally ended up blowing over last winter when a violent dispute over trade routes erupted into open conflict. Soldiers amassed over each border as whispers of war echoed through every noble court.

Neither kingdom could afford it, even if Gojo’s kingdom was more wealthy than yours. That winter had been significantly unforgiving, harvests were poor, villagers were hypothermic and dying from famine. Both crowns knew that prolonged conflict wouldn’t do them any good, so peace became the only sensible pass.

The peace treaty was drafted within days, its final condition written in the most elegant ink at the bottom of the parchment. A marriage: his eldest one and your father’s only daughter. Two signatures were all it took to end years of hostility. And with them, your future had been decided.

The dining hall doors loomed over you. Two well equipped guards stood perched in front of them, awaiting for your arrival. You bowed briefly, sparing a quick smile.

“Your highness,” they said, perfectly in sync. The towering doors swung open, revealing the dining hall bathed in gentle sunshine. Unlike the grand banquets held in this very room, only a small section of the endless table had been prepared. Fine porcelain rested atop crisp ivory linens, polished silver gleamed beneath crystal glasses, and an assortment of fresh fruit, warm pastries, honey, cheeses, and tea had been carefully arranged between bouquets of white lilies.

It almost felt…intimate.

You had to bite back a scowl as your gaze drifted to the lone figure sitting at one of the two seats that had been prepared. Gojo lounged comfortably in his chair, one arm draped lazily over the carved wooden armrest as if the whole palace belonged to him. His white hair sat unruly atop his head, almost the complete opposite of the way you saw him last night.

At the sound of the doors closing, those unmistakable cerulean eyes lifted to meet yours. A familiar grin spread across his face. “There you are,” he smirked. “I was beginning to think you’d escaped through a window.”

You couldn’t help the amused smile tugging at your lips. “I’m afraid the guards would’ve noticed,” you added softly, trailing across the dining hall.

“They do tend to ruin all the fun, hm?” He said, rising to his feet. His eyes sparkled with amusement as he pulled out the seat across from him. “You look…beautiful,” he complimented, raking his eyes over your figure.

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“Come,” he instructed. “I’ve been instructed not to begin without you, and I’ve already spent the last ten minutes arguing with the chef over whether it’s acceptable to eat pastries before the main course.”

“And who won?” You asked, sitting down on the chair he pulled out.

“The chef,” he sighed dramatically. “For now.”

You bit back a chuckle that threatened to escape you, shaking your head slightly. “Right.”

“Well,” he said, lounging back into his chair as a servant poured tea into his cup. “I think it’s time I get to know you, yeah?”

You blinked.

“All I have is observations,” he explained. “I have no clue who my wife is,” he added, his expression softening just enough for you to notice.

A soft sigh escaped from your lips, knowing deep inside that everything he said was right. You would have to get to know your husband sooner or later.

“What do you wish to know?” You asked plainly.

“Hmm.” He rested his chin on his hand, tilting his head as he studied you with exaggeration. It wasn’t long until his eyes lit up, like a lightbulb being turned on inside his brain. “Let’s start with an easy one! What’s your favorite color?”

You snorted at his enthusiasm, this is the man who has women from all over fawning over him? “I don’t have one,” you deadpanned.

His smile faltered. “What?”

“I said,” you cleared your throat. “I don’t have one.”

“That’s impossible, everyone has a favorite color,” he defended. “Like, my favorite color is blue, obviously.”

“It’s definitely not impossible, I’m living proof?” You shrugged, taking a bite of a pastry.

“There has to be one that stands out from all the others.”

You rolled his eyes at his stubbornness. “Okay, fine.”

He posture straightened instantly, eager to hear your answer. You could practically see an invisible tail wagging behind him.

“If I had to choose, it would be a light green,” you told.

“You look like a green person.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” You defended, squinting your eyes at him.

“You just look like you like green.”

“Okay, forget it.” You said, rolling your eyes(though the smile on your lips contradicted that). “It’s only fair that I get to ask you something about yourself now.”

“Excellent,” he spread his arms dramatically. “Ask away, I have nothing to hide.”

“Nothing?”

“…very little.”

You raised a skeptical brow.

He sighed in defeat. “Nothing important.”

A quiet laugh escaped you. You rested your chin lightly against your palm, pretending to consider your options. There were countless questions you could ask. About his kingdom. His childhood. Whether he had wanted this marriage any more than you had.

You took one last bite of your pastry before dusting the crumbs from your fingertips. “What are some of your hobbies?”

His ivory lashes dusted over his eyes, blinking at you. “That’s your question?”

You nodded. “It seems reasonable.”

“I was wanting something scandalous,” he sighed dramatically. “Well, one of my favorite things to do is fencing. My father insisted on me learning before I could even spell.”

You faintly smiled, imagining the arrogant man as a little naive boy. “I’ve heard you’re quite good.” Despite the rivalry between your kingdoms, rumors never failed to spread to your land. Satoru Gojo—a universal fencing champion, being one of many.

“I’d certainly hope so after all these years,” he blurted, dragging a hand through his hair. He began counting on his fingers. “I enjoy riding whenever I can escape the palace, reading—only about things I don’t already know, and I also dabble in archery every now and then.”

“You read?”

He gave you an exaggerated look of offense. “Yeah, how shocking.”

“I just can’t imagine you sitting quietly with a book in your hand,” you snickered. “The more you know.”

“My parents couldn’t either,” he agreed, earning another snicker from you. “What are your hobbies?” He countered, sipping off his tea.

You sighed in thought. “I love to explore the palace—all the places left undiscovered,” you informed, fiddling with your hands. “I also enjoy reading poetry.”

Gojo rested his face in his hand, listening attentively as you went on about your hobbies. “Exploring the palace?” He asked. “is that what you were doing last night?”

Your hands stilled.

“I was.”

A knowing smile tugged at his lips, yet he didn’t seem to comment on whatever plagued him. “I thought so,” he replied. “You’ll have to take me with you sometime, yeah?”

“We’ll see,” you countered, sipping off your tea. “Will the entree be ready soon? I’m starving.” You said, trying your best to change the topic away from last night’s events.

As if on cue, the grand doors opened, it seemed like the universe was on your side today. A line of servants in practiced formation, each carrying a platter of arranged food. The fragrant aroma of freshly baked bread, roasted herbs, and butter drifted through the room at their arrival.

Gojo inhaled dramatically, “perfect timing.”

The servants carefully replaced the breakfast pastries with the main course, setting steaming plates before the two of you.

“Thank you so much, it looks amazing,” you said to the servants with the biggest smile you could conjure up. “I was beginning to think I’d have to raid the kitchens,” Gojo admitted.

You glanced at him over the rim of your cup. “Would a prince truly do that?” You replied.

“Oh, absolutely.”

You almost laughed. “And what would the Royal staff say about that?”

“They’d sigh,” he answered without missing a beat. “Then make me a plate anyway.”

You hummed in acknowledgement, “I can’t say I’m surprised.” You grabbed your silverware, slicing into the honey-glazed ham on your platter.

The conversation drifted easily after that, and you can’t say you were upset with it. Between bites, Gojo recounted a disastrous experience with his horse which ended in him having a broken leg and cracked ego, while you shared stories of getting lost around the palace. The longer you spoke, the less the silence between you seemed forced.

Before either of you realized it, the servants had already cleared away all empty dishes and replaced them with tea. Gojo leaned back in his chair with a contented sigh. “I think that was the best meal I’ve had in weeks.”

You scoffed, fighting the urge to roll your eyes. “You’re from the wealthiest kingdom, you’re telling me they don’t give you good meals?”

Despite the wealth your kingdom carries, the Gojo clan has remained at the top for centuries. Their lands stretched farther than any realms, their ports overflowing with trade. The Gojo trading company logo even spread to your own kingdom, stamped on important crates and merchant ships. It was a quiet reminder that the Gojos’ reach extended far beyond their borders—whether your father liked it or not.

Gojo chuckled, peering at you through his cerulean eyes. “Oh, the food is excellent.”

“Then what’s the complaint?” You sneered, tilting your head. Was he seriously that spoiled?

He shrugged his broad shoulders. “I never said it wasn’t good.”

“You implied it, no?”

“I merely said it was the best meal I’ve had in weeks,” he smirked, enjoying the feeling of proving you wrong. He bit into a fried croissant, closing his eyes dramatically.

“It tastes better when you’re enjoying it with someone.”

The words were so casually spoken that you almost missed them. You swallowed, “How smooth of you, Gojo.”

“I beg of you, address me as Satoru,” he pleaded, giving you a look of satirical sadness.

You snorted, rolling your eyes with no intention of hostility. “It doesn’t work that easy,” you replied almost immediately.

He laughed, unfazed by your words. “So,” he said, taking another bite of his croissant. “May I accompany you on one of your adventures, wife?”

You blinked.

“Don’t push your luck,” you said with a knowing look. “And don’t call me that.”

“I’ll take that as a maybe,” he smiled, glancing up at you. “You’re my wife, can I not call you that?”

You grimaced, the title still sounding foreign from his lips. “It’s just…weird, y’know?” After getting to see him past the facade he presents, it felt easier to talk to him about the marriage—like he would listen. The charming prince you had expected was still there, but the calm interior he refused to show to the public was beginning to bloom in front of you.

“We’ve spent our entire lives as children of rival kings, and then overnight I’m just suddenly your wife?” You offered a small, hesitant smile.

His expression softened, yet you didn’t feel pitied by his gaze. “I suppose it will take time getting used to.” He gave a thoughtful hum, absentmindedly tracing the rim of his teacup. “I won’t force it.”

You blinked at him.

“When it stops feeling strange,” he continued, “I’ll call you my wife without you making that face.”

“What face?”

“That one you’re making right now.”

You gasped softly, immediately relaxing. “Whatever.” He laughed, a genuine laugh that you hadn’t heard from him all morning. It was enough to draw a smile from you in return.

By the time the last of the dishes had been cleared, the warmth of the dining hall had begun to fade into something quieter.

Gojo rose from his chair, adjusting the sleeves of his coat. “Well,” he said, glancing toward the windows where sunlight poured over the gardens. “I have a proposal.”

You eyed him suspiciously. “Whatever you’re gonna say, I don’t wanna hear it.”

“Just give me a moment, I beg!” He exclaimed.

“Fine.”

“Come riding with me,” he proposed.

“Riding? Now?” Your brows furrowed in confusion.

“Why not? Looks like it’s the perfect time,” he stated, referring to the white sunshine that almost blinded you. “Come on, it’ll be fun!”

You tried to hide your smile and miserably failed. There was something almost childish about his excitement, like someone who had spent too long being expected to act like a future king and rarely got to simply enjoy himself. It was cute, you had to admit.

“Besides,” he added, offering you his arm, “you can’t explore the hidden corners of the palace without knowing the land surrounding it.”

You raised a brow, “That’s your excuse?”

“Of course.”

You shook your head but nevertheless, accepted his arm. “Fine.”

His eyes brightened, “Perfect.”

His touch outside the ball felt like something new on your skin. There wasn’t hundreds of wealthy eyes scrutinizing you, nor were there any expectations on how you should act or what you should say. His arm rested between your own, holding you close to him. A slow heat rose up your neck and to your cheek. You tilted your head away from him, hoping he wouldn’t notice the change yet something inside told you he would.

The man walking beside you was still the same prince who charmed every room he entered, but without the pressure of a ballroom surrounding him, he seemed more like a human being.

The royal stables were quieter than you expected. The smell of fresh hay and leather filled the air as horses shifted in their stalls, greeting the familiar voices of the stable hands. Gojo seemed completely at ease and in his element in the stables. Somehow, that made him actually interesting.

“You look surprised,” he noted as he approached his horse.

“I suppose I am.”

“Why?”

“I just didn’t expect you to be so…comfortable here, I guess it’s nice to see,” you admitted, running your free hand over the horse’s mane.

He smiled boyishly, “I just get to be alone out here, nobody to impress,” he explained, his eyes lingering where your hand petted the horse. “I don’t have to be the crown prince, even if it’s just for a little while.”

There was an honesty in his voice that caught you off guard. “You don’t enjoy all the attention?” You asked, furrowing your brows.

He let out a soft laugh. “Don’t get me wrong, the attention is nice,” he said, moving the horse out of its stall. “Expectations are the difficult part, I’m sure you’re familiar with them.”

You snorted. “Tell me about it.”

For a moment, neither of you spoke. The only sounds were the horses shifting in their stalls and the occasional tweet from a bird flying past.

Gojo soon broke the silence.

“You know,” he said, fastening his gloves, “I think everyone forgets that princes and princesses are people before their titles.”

“They expect us to become exactly who they want us to be,” you agreed. He met your gaze, a faint smile returning.

“Well, let’s get going. I want to be back before sunset,” he said, guiding the horse out of the stables. The reminder of sunset made your steps falter. Your thoughts drifted, unbidden, to Geto. In merely a few hours he would be expecting you, in that pavilion, to betray your kingdom. You still were debating on going. Despite the consequences that came with it, you had regretfully considered it. He made you feel something—like you were seen past your title.

“You coming?”

Gojo’s voice gently pulled you back to the present.

You blinked, realizing you stopped in the middle of the stable aisle. “Sorry,” you muttered, offering an apologetic smile. “I got distracted.”

He studied you for a brief moment, concern flickering across his features before his usual easy smile returned. “Well,” he said, swinging effortlessly onto the saddle, “I promise I’ll make this ride interesting enough to keep your attention.”

Despite yourself, you smiled. “I’ll hold you to that.”

“I’m sure you can,” he said as he effortlessly mounted onto the horse. He settled onto the saddle before turning his attention toward you.

“Your hand,” he said, extending his gloved one.

“I can manage.”

“Humor me.”

You sighed before hesitatingly placing your hand in his. Before you could protest further, he pulled you upward with ease. For one brief, embarrassing moment, you lost your balance.

You yelped as his steady hand caught you, right at the waist. Your breath caught the moment his hand steadied against you, the warmth of him spreading against your skin.

“Easy, honey,” he chuckled. “I’ve got you.”

Heat rushed to your cheeks as you quickly straightened yourself on the saddle. “Let’s never speak of this again,” you uttered, choosing to ignore the term of endearment.

“My lips are sealed.”

“Wipe that smile off your face,” you scoffed.

“My apologies, ma’am,” he smirked, gathering the reins.

“You’re so impossible,” you huffed, instinctively grabbing onto his waist to steady yourself as the horse lurched into motion.

His laugh rumbled softly in front of you. “I’m choosing to take that as a compliment.”

The horse carried the two of you away from the palace, leaving the manicured gardens and stone walls behind. Soon enough, the road narrowed into a winding trail swallowed by the forest.

Towering oaks and trees arched overhead, sunlight only peeking through the gaps to create abstract pieces of gold. Ferns and wildflowers carpeted the forest floor, while ivy climbed the trunks of ancient trees. The only sounds were the rhythmic thud of hooves against the dirt path and the steady breath of Gojo.

It was secluded enough that the outside world seemed to disappear. No courtiers prying into your business or expectations to uphold, only the stretch of woodland and the surrounding river.

Gojo slowed the horse to an easy walk, breathing in the crisp scent of pine and damp earth. “This,” he said quietly, “is my favorite part of the kingdom.”

You found yourself smiling as you looked around, taking in a deep breath of fresh air. “I can see why.”

The filtered sunlight caught in his pale hair, painting an ethereal image of Satoru against the emerald leaves overhead. Bathed in ribbons of gold, he looked nothing like when you first saw him. You were beginning to see him like the boy he truly was instead of the renowned prince he painted himself as. Somehow, you found it quite beautiful.

The rest of the ride passed without urgency. You wandered wherever the forest path carried you, crossing narrow streams and weaving between towering pines as the afternoon melted into evening. Ever so often, Gojo would point out something that reminded him of something—usually of his childhood.

You found yourself listening more than speaking. Not because you had nothing to say, but because you liked hearing him talk.

Before long, the sun began its slow descent, staining the sky with shades of amber and rose. The forest glowed beneath the fading light, and the familiar silhouette of the palace came into view beyond the trees.

“I suppose we should start heading back,” Gojo murmured.

“Before they send out a search party?” You snorted.

He laughed along with you. “Your father probably already has.”

“Yikes,” you replied humorously. You smiled to yourself as the horse carried you to the palace stables.

Your day had begun with brunch alongside a stranger—one you had been convinced you would dislike. Now, as you arrived back at the stables, you found yourself smiling at his ridiculous remarks and horrible flirting instead of rolling your eyes. Perhaps, that was the most unexpected of it all.

Somewhere between the forest and the palace, Gojo ceased to seem like a thorn in your side. He was simply…Gojo.

And though you would never admit it aloud, you found yourself looking forward to the next conversation you would inevitably share.

©satorussolace all rights reserved. Do not copy, plagiarise, translate, or modify my works.

@fanfic-consumer77 @dilucsgfriend @pr3ttiesz @nixxy298 @spankmydepression

[sundaescripture]

hyperfemme! reader and emo! choso vlog a date!

y/n l/n | 95K subscribers

video title: park date with my boyfriend❧

view count: 427,194

clip 1☆

you waved softly at the camera and smiled. you were currently in your bedroom wearing your pyjama set. you showed your outfit that was laid out neatly on your bed. there were no sign of any wrinkles, as you’d already ironed them out. laid out was a pink maxi sundress, with all your jewellery surrounding the dress.

once your outfit was on, you did an outfit check in the mirror. your pink hair was styled in a twist out, and you wore pink ballerina flats.

clip 2☆

you first showed the beautiful botanical gardens, then turned the camera around to reveal you and choso. the two of you waved shyly before giggling. he tried to hide behind you but his big frame made it impossible, making you laugh even more.

you recorded choso’s outfit as he awkwardly stood there. he wore a wine red long sleeve button up with a black tie (you tied it yourself because he doesn’t know how), with black flared jeans, a black jacket and his signature new rock boots. his hair was down today, the layers and short hair framing his face perfectly.

“you look so handsome.” you cooed from behind the camera. the compliment made him even more shy and he awkwardly turned around.

he took the camera and recorded you. you smiled widely and spun to show your outfit. choso smiled softly behind the camera, looking at you in a daze. once you caught his look of admiration, you began to feel shy.

clip 3☆

inside the botanical gardens, there was a beautiful display of plants and flowers of all shapes, colours and sizes. the two of you walked hand in hand as you walk through the pathways with waterfalls and fountains on each side. birds chirped sweetly and jumped from tree branch to tree branch.

“look!” you pointed excitedly at the pond with vibrantly coloured fish swimming. choso was holding the camera and documented your authentic awe.

“are they koi fish?” you asked him.

“yeah i think so.”

on the other side of you was a robin bird perched in a tree branch. you looked at it for a couple seconds. and it was almost as if it was looking directly at you.

in the blink of an eye, the bird flew. you felt a weight on your left shoulder, you looked and saw the tiny robin had landed there.

your eyes widened at choso in shock. you stood there in slight fear with an awkward smile on your face as he laughed behind the camera.

“i think it wants to say hi.”

“okay…” you looked at the bird and smiled nervously, “hi.”

as if it was replying to you, the robin chirped. you softly gasped. slowly you began to ease up and looked between the bird and choso again.

“aww, it likes you.” slowly, choso came closer and stood beside you. he let the bird get used to his presence before he took a finger and gently stroked the robin’s head.

“so pretty.” you cooed then stroked its head with a finger, “i think she’s a girl.”

“what makes you think that?” he asked in curiosity.

“i don’t know, a guess. i feel like a princess.” you said.

“you are a princess.”

the bird chirped enthusiastically, as if in agreement. you smiled warmly at the compliment before you felt the robin fly off your shoulder and back to the tree.

“aw.” you waved bye at the robin then looked at your boyfriend. “i want one now.”

clip 4☆

after leaving the botanical gardens, you headed to the nearby lake where there were rowboats. it looked like something out of a bridgerton episode. the flowers were blooming, petals falling into the lake and guided by the wind. swans passed by gracefully the water looked so clean and pretty you almost wanted to jump in.

in front of the camera, choso was seen rowing the boat. his jacket was off, so you could see his muscles flexing in his shirt as he rowed the boat gently.

“so strong.” you said lowly so only the camera could hear. he heard you giggling to yourself and scrunched his brows.

“you’re always laughing at something aren’t you?” he said.

“what’s wrong with that?” you asked playfully. “would you rather me cry?”

“not unless it’s tears of joy.” a small smirk grew on his face, “or pleasure.”

your face dropped. you could see choso trying to stifle a laugh. “can you not please? oh my god.” you fluffed out your hair and looked at the camera lens, posing cutely.

“we should bring yuji here.” he suggested and you nodded, “we should, he’d love it.”

“are you getting hungry?” he asked.

you shook your head, “no, not yet.”

“alright, let me know when you are.” he said then laughed at a thought, “did you know that sukuna can’t swim?”

you furrowed your brows in confusion, “really? that big scary man can’t swim?”

choso shook his head no with a smile on his face. your eyes widened in shock and you laughed.

“wait what— didn’t you guys literally do a boys trip to miami last year for suguru’s birthday? did he not get in the water then?”

“no he did, and when a big wave came he genuinely almost drowned. suguru had to get him out it was—” choso started laughing at the memory, “wait let me find the video on my phone.”

choso found the video and showed it to you, already laughing his ass off.

“i can’t believe i didn’t show you this before– look look!”

unsurprisingly, satoru was the one recording. his almost evil cackle was loud and booming as a big wave came over sukuna and pulled him under. he zoomed in on the big man’s measly attempt to swim to shore, laughing even harder as he kept getting pulled under.

“awwww man.” satoru wheezed out as he laughed even harder. he showed choso behind him who was grinning at his cousin’s panic. it wasn’t until suguru finally went over to pull him to shore that he made it out.

“satoru is so mean, no this isn’t nice.” you covered your laughter with your hand as you replayed the video, “he actually looks terrified.”

“that’s what his stubborn ass gets for not getting in the damn pool.” choso kissed his teeth, “we did swimming lessons together, the fucker just refused to go in. the only thing he did was go on the water slide at the end.”

“kuna if you’re seeing this we love you.”

“and you need to learn how to swim. how can yuji outswim you and he’s only 4.”

“omg yuji can swim?”

“yeah, he’s actually really good for his age it’s insane.” choso told you. “he was asking about you yesterday so i said we’d take him to get ice cream next week that alright?”

“of course, aw i miss that little gremlin so much.”

you laughed out loud and flipped the camera over to you. your twist out had gotten slightly frizzier over time but you didn’t mind. you placed your hand against your cheek to show your nails you just got done.

“my nails.” you whispered to the camera. “he chose the design.”

the sun caught choso perfectly. you turned the camera around so you could fully admire him. with his hair down, dressed formally and this beautiful natural scenery, he looked like something out of a dream.

“you look like a prince.”

“i have to if im gonna marry a princess.” he responded casually, rowing the boat under a bridge.

you pressed your lips together then looked at your ring finger. for a few seconds you imagined the gemstone that would bedazzle your hand, and you could only blush.

clip 5☆

the sun was now setting. your date was now in the final stage: the picnic. a large red gingham cloth was laid out underneath the two of you, with all kinds of food laid out in categorised picnic baskets. like you, there were other friends and couples alike spending time together in the park.

choso looked down at you and noticed how red your eyes were beginning to look, then snickered.

“finally kicked in?”

you nodded then noticed his own red eyes, a common sighting for you since he was a regular weed smoker. the smell of weed mixed with his cologne was something that comforted you, reassured you of his presence.

you held up the camera to record you and choso. his head was resting on your shoulder with you laying on him, your back against his chest. you pulled him closer by his tie and licked his chin with the tip of your tongue.

he held up a slice of pizza to your mouth. you took a bite and looked up with a smile.

“thank you.”

he kissed you on your forehead then took a bite out of the same slice. next, he held a strawberry to your mouth. you were about to eat it but saw it was the last one.

“you have it.” you told him.

“nah i’m okay.” he said.

“it’s the last one. you love strawberries.” you responded.

“yeah but i love you more.”

fuck. he always casually said things that made your heart wanna fly out of your chest. you couldn’t say anything to that, so you took a whole bite of the strawberry and hummed.

he pulled you back by your neck and planted a soft kiss on your lips, the strawberry flavour on your lips transferring to his. his hand went down to your chest, gently cupping your tits.

he broke the kiss and felt your tits in curiosity as they felt heavier than usual. you held back a moan when he felt his thumb press on your sensitive nipples through your dress.

“your period coming?”

“they feel heavier so probably.” you said, “it’s either that or i’m pregnant.”

you felt your boyfriend tense up behind you. he leaned over your shoulder, and there you could see the shock, astonishment and excitement in his eyes.

his mouth started to curl into a smile, “w-wait really?”

you scoffed then laughed, “hell no.”

his expression dropped. the smile on your face grew and you erupted into laughter. he slumped over your shoulder and started looking down at your stomach.

“don’t do that…”

you laughed at the disappointed expression on his face, “sorry, did i get you excited?”

the frown on his face was apparent. he moved his hand down to your stomach and stroked it gently, making you laugh even more.

“oh my god STOP!” you smacked his hand away then sighed at the camera, “i’m not pregnant. i literally had an edible.”

he dramatically sighed and you rolled your eyes, “

“how many kids do you want?” you asked.

a small smile appeared on his face as he looked at you through his peripheral, “5.”

you looked at him then looked at the camera in exaggerated shock. the two of you snickered to the point you almost dropped the camera.

“really?”

“yeah, i’ve always wanted 5.” he said, “3 girls and 2 boys.”

“why 3 girls.”

“i’ve grown up mostly around men so i’ve always wanted daughters. to be honest i wouldn’t mind if we had 5 girls. what about you?”

“i can’t wait to have girls, i don’t mind having boys but i need to have girls.” you told him, “you’d be such a good girl dad.”

“you think so?”

“mhm.” you nodded, “you’d be an amazing dad in general, but you’d be a great girl dad. you really want 5 kids though?”

“honestly… i lowkey want more than 5.”

your mouth dropped. you blinked rapidly, struggling to process what he said.

“MORE?!”

he looked down at the blanket, avoiding your widened eyes.

your mouth fell and you turned to the camera in exaggerated fear, “guys help this man wants me breed me!”

“okay i did not say that—”

“more than 5?! that’s BREEDING! i’m breeding more than 5 humans out of my vagina—”

choso covered your mouth quickly. not that it wasn’t amusing how blatantly honest and unfiltered you got when you were high, but groups of people managed to pick up on your conversation and were giving you looks, some laughing and some utterly bewildered.

he signed then looked down at you, “you’re getting loud princess.”

you pressed your tongue flat against the palm of his hand and licked. he sighed then pulled his hand away, making you giggle even more.

“you like it when i’m loud though.”

it didn’t take long for you to feel the growing bulge in his pants. when it came to you, it really didn’t take much. you looked up at him and shook your head in pretend disapproval before looking away.

“to be honest, when i see how you are with yuji i do think to myself that i wanna pop out 20 kids for you.” you stroked his arm, “so maybe i am open to the idea.”

his arm curled around your neck in a V. you pressed your lips together and held onto his bicep. you looked innocent to the audience, but he could see the lustful glint in your eyes. the same pretty eyes that he fell in love with in the beginning, and the same eyes that made him hard with just a look.

“i can’t wait to get married. i can’t wait for our house, our kids, our farm.” you grinned, “are we the next nara and lucky?”

“i don’t know about that, you can’t cook for shit.”

you gasped, “yes i can!”

“you bake.”

“i can cook too.” you scoffed.

“chicken alfredo don’t count baby.”

you pursed your lips together and looked down at the ground. choso pat you on your head gently, comforting you at the realisation.

“its okay, i can cook remember?” he gently reminded you.

“oh my god you can!” you immediately perked up, “okay so maybe we can be nara and l— wait… they’re mormon.”

“they are.” he said.

“oh. never mind.” you immediately threw that thought away, shuddering slightly. “we’ll just be us. i’ll just be me. i hope that’ll be good enough.”

“it will be more than good enough. but you don’t have to worry about that right now.” he assured you.

“you’re right.” you agreed, “we can talk about this when we get married.”

as much as choso enjoyed your relationship right now, hearing you be so assured of your future with him made him feel so secure and light. for so long he’d dreamed about the day he’d propose to you, the day he’d put that big diamond on your finger and the day he’d say his vows. it was a day he couldn’t wait for.

in all honesty, if you wanted to get married now he’d marry you in an instant. he didn’t have to wait another two years to know that you were his wife, mother of his children and the love of his life.

you held the camera in his face and said softly in a sing song voice, “kids, say hi to daddyyyyyyyy.”

silence. choso’s jaw clenched then he sighed. you were blissfully unaware of the tightrope choso had been walking all day due to you, but he was now ready to dick bring you back to reality.

“i think we’ve come to the end now.” he said, voice slightly ragged.

“we have?”

“mhm.”

his dark eyes stared directly into yours. you knew exactly what that look meant and knew not to push it further. you hummed then looked at the camera.

“alright, thanks for watching lovebugs.” you smiled, “i hope you enjoyed, i’ll see you next time.”

the both of you waved. a giggle escaped your throat and choso’s hand leaned forwards to stop the recording.

end of video.

[romiiarts]

curse gojo x curse geto AU

[theorphicangel]

grumpy barista!sukuna x reader

a note from angel: im sorry i need to stop making new series this is an addiction of mine that i can't stop, pls sukuna leave me alone, i feel like im making a multiverse of sukunas.

synopsis: trying a new coffee shop didn't end up going your way when a mean barista takes your order. the problem? he's rude as fuck but he's the best at making your drinks. when you end up giving him a taste of his own medicine, you end up in a deal where this grumpy barista finds himself in the habit of making your morning coffee. everyday. for the next seven days.

tags: enemies to lovers, modern au, barista!sukuna, fluff, crack

word count: 3.7k words

Coffee is part of your daily routine.

If you don't start your day with coffee then it can be ensured that the day will be a terrible day.

You're not strict about your coffee, you don't simply stick to one type of drink. You're the type to explore and try new things. From lattes, to espressos, to cappuccinos, matcha, chai tea, hojicha and a lot more. The convenience of living in a big city is that there will always be a bunch of cafes and coffee shops to try with new businesses opening all over the blocks.

You've made it your own personal mission to try as many new shops in the city, not limiting yourself to one place. You want to support as much of the local businesses as possible, staying away from the big corporate brands. You have enough dealing with business and corporate issues in your work life so the least you can do is support your local community in your personal free time.

On your scout to work you happen to come across a new coffee shop. It's slightly hidden on the block but the brand name and minimalist colours catch your eye.

'Fuga.'

You're interested immediately. Coming to a stop outside, the meaning of the shop name is printed in white on the window. 'Fuga — One of the Japanese meanings of this is 'a way of elegance or grace'. We hope to include fuga with every order that we take; there's no rush, just sit back and enjoy.'

The opening and closing times are also unusual. They're open in time for the usual morning rush hour but unlike other coffee stores, they stay open until 9pm. You can't imagine the shifts that their staff must take and how much happens behind the scenes.

Despite being hidden, it is the morning rush hour on a weekday and through the window you can clearly see that there is a queue forming. Underrated coffee shops get discovered pretty quickly these days thanks to social media and it's not long until they'll be announcing a sister location somewhere else in the city.

Stepping inside, a bell chimes overhead but it's drowned out due to the hustle and bustle inside the shop. The scent of crushed coffee beans hits you immediately and the sound of lofi music playing in the background is just about heard over the level of conversations in the store.

Joining the queue, your eyes scan the cafe. It's pretty spacey compared to the other units that most coffee shops rent out. There's clearly more places to sit in the back and all of the window seats are currently taken. There's a handful of students and people in suits either sat working away on their laptops or taking a call. In the corner an old man is sitting back and enjoying a cup of his own hot coffee.

There's three people currently manning the counter and you worry whether that means service is slow but on further observation you notice they work well, weaving in and out of each other. There's a man situated at the till, tall and large you first notice. Then you see that he has pink hair and it's only when you inch closer to being served that you notice he has an array of black tattoos. They're printed on his face as well as around his wrists and you start to wonder how many baristas you've seen with face tattoos.

He seems to be the first.

Behind him seems to be a white haired figure with a plum pink stripe dyed into their hair. It's clear that whoever employs these people are very laid back with how they are presented. The figure moves quickly but also with caution pouring and making drinks before bringing them to the collection section and calling out a name.

You've been so caught up in studying the new environment of the cafe that you don't even realise that it's your turn next. You haven't had the chance to look at the menu so when you finally do, you're left with your mouth open in front of the tattooed man. And on closer observation you find that he's rather intimidating.

"Good morning." you greet.

"What do you want?" he asks in a monotone tone evident that he's been repeating this question for a while. You brush off the fact that he hasn't greeted you back and you simply hum as you stare at the menu.

It's evident that you're irritating the barista by not even knowing what you want, the bored expression on his face and his finger impatiently tapping the counter. Your eyes are scanning the menu until he finally says something that in all of your years of going to local cafes have never heard in your life.

"Can you hurry up?"

"Excuse me?"

"I said," he draws as if it's painfully inconveniencing him to repeat himself, "can you hurry up? There's a queue behind you." It's evident in his tone that he's not asking but rather ordering you to do so and for a split second there's a moment in which you forget that you are in fact the customer.

"I'm aware." you say, "I'm deciding."

"You had two minutes to decide." he retorts.

"I've never been here before, of course I'm going to take my time looking at the menu." you keep a calm tone making it clear that you don't want any misunderstandings.

"Do you want a medal? What's your order?"

Fine. You think to yourself, you're gonna give him the benefit of the doubt.

Maybe it's been a long morning, maybe he wasn't supposed to be on shift today but then got called in, maybe he's just an asshole. You don't care. But what you do care about is getting your morning coffee as usual.

"Vanilla latte with oat milk please."

"We're out of oat milk." he announces keeping his tone flat with enough space to add some frustration into it as if this was your own fault.

"Really?"

He doesn't reply, keeping a blank face that silently asks 'do I look like I'm joking?'

"Uhhh, could I get an iced strawberry matcha then please?"

"We're out."

You hold back a sigh, forcing a tight lipped smile on your face. "Fine. A cappuccino. Any milk you have. Please."

The barista doesn't look up, tapping onto a screen. "Regular or large?"

"What's the difference?" you ask.

He points to the side where the size cup differences are shown and as usual the large is 50p extra.

"Regular."

"Name?"

After giving your name, he mutters something under his breath and if you were in a bad mood this morning then you would have asked him what his issue was but instead you keep quiet, silently wishing he spills lukewarm coffee all over his disgustingly attractive face. Somehow. If it was logical to spill coffee on one's face.

"Four fifty. Tap your card and stand over there." he orders without any patience.

You don't even think twice before tapping your phone and moving immediately. In your mind you continue to curse him forever whilst watching his back muscles move swiftly as he makes your drink. Him and the white haired figure switched places with him making your order and his co-worker now at the till.

You expected a long wait but it takes less than five minutes before he's yelling out your name with impatience.

And he pronounced it wrong.

Whether it was on purpose or he wasn't listening to you at all, you'll never know but you go ahead and take your order. You can't even say thank you directly before he's rushing off and completing another order. Deciding to get out as soon as possible, you grab as many sugar packets you need, a stirrer and you head on out.

"How fucking rude." you mutter to yourself, opening the lid to your cappuccino. There's no latte art and you wouldn't expect there to be given the rush. You pour your sugar in and stir until satisfied, slowly making your way to the office building.

Sure, you know baristas are sometimes not the most welcoming people given the high stress level of their jobs and you've come across some reclusive baristas before but this one…he's just plain rude. You don't usually complain about how people do their job but this one has really struck a nerve.

How was he hired in the first place? Does the manager know he speaks to customers like this? How did he even pass an interview to get hired for this place? Does he act like this with all his customers?

Those are the questions that you continue to ask yourself whilst on the way to work, you get a little distracted after taking a sip of your coffee and coming to find out that your cappuccino is actually pretty good. Usually some cafes don't do cappuccinos the right way but there's something about this cup that makes you wonder what exact type of coffee bean they use.

You make a mental note to check later in your free time and it's not long before you start to feel rejuvenated by your coffee. Despite your bad customer service, you still manage to get a good cup of coffee to support your day and it's almost enough to forget your bad interaction.

*** Almost.

That cup of coffee was good.

Good enough to make you check their company website and check their 'about us' page.

And of course it just so happens that you stumble onto their google reviews.

Fuga Coffee Shop | reviews (54)

Naturally, your laptop cursor clicks onto their reviews. They only opened two months ago so it's understandable why the reviews must be so low, they're just starting out. The reviews are automatically filtered to their top reviews, which is from just over two weeks ago.

ihatemonkeys009

The grumpy tattooed barista is a little anti-social but he makes the best lattes ever! will be coming back again! four stars.

"A little?" you say aloud to yourself, "give me a break."

The review that follows under that is also highly popular.

ghostsarerealiswear2334_67

free wifi and they open early and don't close till late?! best study place ever! (please like my review!) five stars.

kentoforwork89

A nice and newly established restaurant under the Japanese name 'Fuga', the name is fitting for its elegant service and high quality coffee. They have a wide range on the menu and serve food too. The cafe is spacious, plenty of space to study or work and if you use electronics they have power sockets dotted around. Good prices for the service and highly reliable. I will be coming here again as it is not overwhelmingly busy or loud like some other places. I highly recommend. four and a half stars.

ilovesweetssooooooooooomuchhhgojo9838

tHE tattooed barisSta maybe be cold hoever his coffees are the warmest!!!!! xoxoxoxo peefect date location (soz for typos idid this fast on my phone so i coulget fre emochi) FIVE STARTS

You let out a sigh reading the reviews, it's a little cheesy but you get the point. Reading all 54 reviews you've come to find that a lot of people find the same tattooed barista annoying but miraculously all is forgotten once you've tried a coffee from him.

There isn't one totally bad review — maybe from an AI bot who says that the location is in a whole other city but other than that it's clear that this cafe is a new and upcoming contender as one of the best spots in the city.

And that doesn't sit right in your soul.

Taking this personally as someone who runs a company, you understand that if people were talking about your employees in this manner then they would be subject to being fired. You're confused on how this man is still employed even after fifty reviews, surely the owner must be reading them.

You sit in silence for a while as you contemplate.

Should you?

Or shouldn't you?

Hesitant, your fingers hover over your keyboard, testing out a sentence.

i tried this cafe as a new customer — no, no, too cliche, you backspace your sentence entirely.

Thinking for a moment, you reflect on what you want to say. You start typing slowly before it all flows within your fingertips, a mini paragraph forming on your screen. You're writing in the heat of the moment, out of pure frustration and embarrassment. Most people would be able to forgive and forget but well…unfortunately you're not most people.

anonymouscapybara45

this place is relatively new in this city and as a coffee lover i was extremely enthusiastic to try this place out. my high hopes for this cafe were quickly crushed once i was (not even greeted) but completely mistreated by the tattooed barista.

i did not like this service, no matter how good the quality of the coffee was.

i do not think a barista should be talking to customers like this. i felt severely unwelcomed and i am having second thoughts on returning to this place.

there's better and kinder staff in other cafes in the city who i will gladly give my money too.

1 out of 5 stars.

Sure, it's a little…Karen but you feel petty. Highlighting all the adverbs makes you think that your english teacher from high school would be proud. There's a small feeling of guilt in the pit of your stomach as it dawns on you that your review will be the first one star review the company has ever had.

But this is not a baseless review. You actually felt this way at the time. It's a little exaggerated but who cares, they don't know you and they never will because you're not stepping foot there ever again.

There's not much satisfaction in the world that you can get other than pressing post on your review.

***

An hour later you've moved on with your life. You've settled into your home, following your post-work routine and you're now sitting on your couch. Your phone lights up with a notification and your eyes land on the screen.

You get a notification from your gmail that someone has mentioned you in a reply and with your thumb clicking on the message your eyes slightly widen.

The owner has replied to your message.

And for the first time it seems because they haven't seemed to reply to all the other positive messages on the site.

You'd forgotten that this was an option for them, simply thinking that your review would just get the employee removed. Your eyes skim over the reply.

From the Owner of Fuga in reply to anonymouscapybara45

Hello valued customer,

we apologise that you have had this experience recently, it is never our intention to make our customers feel this way. Our company and brand relies majorly on the respect and communication with our customers which is always taught and trained to our employees. We apologise for the actions and behaviour of our barista and on behalf of the company we would like to invite you to have any item on our menu free of charge over the course of the week. We would like to give you a seven day voucher and invite you back to a better atmosphere of our cafe to show you truly how we treat our customers.

Please pop into our cafe at your convenience. We look forward to seeing you and we apologise again for your experience.

Kind regards,

Fuga Owner (Jin Itadori)

Your mind is baffled.

Free drinks…for a week? Because of your bad review?

Not even the other low starred reviews have had this level of response from the owner. You're the first one star review they've had and they haven't even responded maliciously. You can't pass up on this good of an opportunity to have free coffee for the next week? You could be saving a ridiculous amount of money.

You re-read the review a few times to make sure that it still seems real to your eyes.

Maybe it will be the last time that you'll see that barista again.

**

You try your luck the following day. You're a bit more hopeful walking into the coffee shop the next day. It's a little less busier than the previous day and the queue is a little shorter.

But most important of them all, you don't see that tattooed jerk around.

This time serving the till is the white haired figure you saw making the drinks the last time you arrived. Behind them works another person that you haven't seen before who has their back turned making orders.

Soon enough it's your turn to go up to the till.

"Hello." They greet and almost immediately you feel comfortable that you won't be shunned for simply being a customer at this cafe.

"Good morning," you greet back with a smile before explaining your situation. "This may be a bit awkward but uhm, I was the customer who wrote a review of this cafe and uh— the owner said I was given a voucher as some sort of compensation."

For a second you thought you were scammed or that the entire thing was a lie just to catch the poor customer who's written terrible reviews but you watch as the wave of recognition hits the barista.

Instead they nod and say, "one moment" before turning around to head to the back. You shift from one foot to the other, patiently waiting and in the meantime thinking of what you'd want to get as your first free drink.

Your smile soon drops once you see the figure that follows the person that you were speaking to at the till.

That tattooed bastard.

His eyes widen slightly at the sight of you before turning into a miserable frown, clearly he wasn't expecting you to be the customer who wrote the review but there's also something that tells you that he's not totally surprised.

The white haired barista makes their way back to you, "If you go over to Sukuna he can help you with your voucher."

Sukuna. Now you know his name. And now you know he's somehow still employed by this damn coffee shop.

You walk over with hesitation and you can't help but notice Sukuna's eyes watching you as you make your over to a quiet area.

"It was you." he says but there's no bite to his tone. It's merely a statement he's making but you don't miss the judgement in his eyes.

"I was being honest." you shrug, holding your head high. You have no regrets whatsoever, you were merely giving constructive feedback about an environment that felt hostile to you. About a certain someone who was hostile.

Sukuna leans in a little closer to you, one hand placed on the counter as he speaks to you. "Because of you and your stupid review I have to serve you free drinks for a week, which is coming out of my pay by the way."

"Maybe it'll teach you how to speak nicer to customers." you retort back.

You notice his hand turning into a tight fist, gripping the counter, clearly holding back on responding to you. With his other hand he slides over a piece of paper. "Here's your damn voucher and, no I didn't write it, so what do you want?"

You tilt your head a little at him.

Sukuna corrects himself and in a deadpan monotone he starts over. "Hello. Welcome to Fuga. What would you like today?"

A satisfied smile reaches your lips. "Much better. I would like an iced strawberry matcha with oat milk please."

"Regular or large?"

"Hmm since it's on the house, large please."

"It's not on the house…" he mutters.

"What was that?"

"Nothing."

"Hmmmmm."

Sukuna disappears, diving into the hustle and bustle of his other colleagues making your own personal drink. As he makes your drink you look over your voucher, Sukuna's written today's date already and the expiry date is set seven days from now.

Once again, your order doesn't take him long and you spot your green and pink drink in his large hands. Approaching he hands your drink over to you which you thank before taking a sip.

On your tongue, the grassy flavour is immediately sedated by the sweetness of the strawberry at the bottom. There's the perfect amount of ice and matcha in your drink for you to enjoy and it takes everything in you not to fall to your knees and praise Sukuna on how great he's made this drink.

"Not bad." you murmur, downplaying your enthusiasm. "Can I get another free drink?"

"One per day stupid."

"The voucher doesn't clarify that, it's handwritten."

"I don't care."

"Would you like me to write another poor review?"

Now this is what gets Sukuna clenching his jaw together. He takes a pause, calming himself down before speaking to you again. "No anonymouscapybara45 I wouldn't like that because you got me in a lot of shit for this."

You don't flinch when he mentions your username. Ah, so he's read the review then. You quip back, "Your boss fire you yet?"

"No," and there's a slight pout, "he's just annoying the shit out of me at the moment."

"Hmm right, if you make me an iced vanilla latte with oat milk to go I think I might just refrain from writing a bad review about you for today."

You watch as he clenches his jaw in frustration. "Just this once. For the rest of the days you get one drink only."

"And a sweet treat!" you chime in.

Sukuna pauses, mulling over your suggestion. He lets out a sigh.

"A free drink and a snack." He offers.

"Deal." You outstretch your free hand to shake on.

Sukuna looks at your hand in pure disgust like you've just offered to spit in his mouth. "Deal. Just don't make my job harder than it needs to be." he mutters.

"I don't think I can promise that." you reply and you watch in pure satisfaction as he walks away mumbling to himself.

thank you for reading!! i hope you enjoyed :) i won't be running a taglist for this mini series (pls it is mini) but ya comments and reblogs are appreciated!!

[minayans]

⋆｡˚⋆ ✵ ⋆ Slow and secret. ⋆ ✵ ˚｡⋆

Synopsis: Scar!jo's wife misses her husband's touch.

Pairing: Scar!jo x wife!reader.

Tags: [MDNI] Slow and intimate SMUT some fluff and angst sprinkled, voyarism, public sex, exhibitionism, breeding, p in v, reader is a horny little shit, praise kink ig, missionary, overstimulation (can people learn the diff between this and overwhelmed..?) cunnilingus.

From Shibuya and Shinjuku's ruins to the Italian coast is a long, dreadful and sorrowful journey you embarked on with your husband.

Freshly scarred and high from the adrenaline after the showdown, Satoru hadn't realised just who he was after defeating Sukuna.

He wasn't just the strongest anymore.

He was a survivor.

The winner.

But he came crashing down from the peak sooner than he expected.

One look in the mirror.

And he wasn't anyone.

Not your husband, and most definitely not Gojo Satoru anymore.

So for months, he hid.

The characteristic charming and confident man you married was nowhere to be seen the last three months. Buried in the rubble that consumes what Tokyo once was.

Satoru is still somewhat a ghost of himself—you watch him as he stays rooted at the shore, tall frame swallowed by his orange oversized sweatshirt to hide the dents in his canvas underneath that follow his skin until his mid thighs.

Just staring at the horizon of azure blue, a mirror of his own eyes.

Though you can't see his face, or read his thoughts from where you lay on the sunbed shaded behind the creamy, semi-see through curtains, you can tell his gaze is void—empty like it's been for some time now.

Or perhaps foggy with his everlasting fear. Paranoia of ever having to relieve what he did. Unfortunately for you, as much as you've tried to be a reassuring and wife, nothing has quite helped your husband with abolishing that mindset just yet—that he's on the battlefield.

You don't dare to say it out loud.

But you miss your husband.

Your Satoru.

So much.

Not how he looks.

Never that.

But the cheerful, loud and lively version of him. It pains you far too much to see him so far away despite being right next to you.

You press your face further into the plush white pillow beneath your cheek and try to find comfort in it—to no avail, you can only fall asleep on your husband's chest but he's refused physical contact ever since he came home.

It breaks your heart every time.

Because you love him either way—scarred or not—maybe now even more than before after he kept his promise of coming back to you.

He doesn't see it that way though. And he avoids you like it's better for you to stay away and not see the outcome of the events carved into him.

Says he's "not worthy for you anymore." or "unattractive." So you won't need to force intimacy onto him because he hates the feeling of your fingers brushing every dip of his skin that wasn't there before and that only serves as a reminder that he was still weak.

You wish he'd understand he's anything but weak.

In the distance he's still watching the waves, you begin to wonder if today, on the third day of your vacation—the one you forcefully dragged him on, far away from Japan so he'd have a change of scenery (a positive one)—he will finally get inside the water.

Tug off his cover-up, dip himself beyond his feet in the blue and lose himself in the ocean.

The answer lingers in the back of your mind like a pest, you're sure he's not ready yet, but there's a sliver of hope in your chest.

Which disappears and gets overtaken by vast disappointment once he turns around and makes his way to you. A few long strikes and he reaches where you're bundled up on the bed, hair messily sprawled out on the sheets, curtains half drawn to sheild you from the sun.

And he would usually cling onto you immediately. Throw a hand over your waist, press himself against your back and curl into you. Cuddle you until you both fell asleep in this nice weather.

Instead, now he takes the other end of the bed. Swinging his feet up after dusting the sand off and leaning against the headboard—quiet as a church mouse.

Sadness pools in your stomach, an uneasy feeling taking over your every fiber. You try to be strong knowing he has it so hard—but you can't help but feel undesirable at some point.

Swallowing the prickling feeling of wanting to cry, you try to keep your voice leveled—clear of any sentimental emotions—when you attempt small talk with him.

"How's the water, honey?"

He's quiet for a beat before mumbling "I didn't go in."

You hum, a sorry excuse of a smile on your face.

And you can't help it when the tears bubble quickly in you and you accidentally choke out a sob you were meant to push down.

Satoru’s head whips over to your sideways curled up figure on the bed when the sound reaches his ear.

You feel pathetic.

Making small talk with your husband.

Helpless, and feeling incredibly selfish.

For the first time in months, Satoru feels himself live in an emotional fully. Worry spreading through his whole body.

He pushes himself off his side of the bed and circles the bed till he reaches your side and crouches right where your face is hidden in the pillow and from where tiny whimpers are muffled.

"Baby, what's wrong?" You start sobbing at the sound of the nickname. He has no idea just how much it means to you to just hear him talk or look at you.

The tears spill past your waterline like a waterfall with no direction or limit, dampening your cheeks, soon turning your eyes raw from the dryness.

You hiccup into the pillow, muffle sobs that rip straight from your chest while your husband stays crouched next to the bed and rubs your back—unaware of the inner turmoil you actually fight everyday because of him.

Because he’s there.

Yet, he’s not.

And it stings.

“It’s okay, tell me why you’re crying.” His voice soothes in your ear, questioning softly with the underlying care in his words that he always had with you.

That has your heart clenching even more, your chest tightening at how the man you knew only shows up every once a never now.

You feel like a terrible wife for wanting him back.

“I miss you.” You frailly cry out, voice a pitch higher and shaky.

Though you can’t see him, you know he’s probably wearing that face of indescribable confusion. He’s there, so what are you talking about?

“I’m right here, sweetheart..?” He’s unsure as he points out the obvious.

You don’t miss a beat in replying. “No, I miss my husband.”

His mind slowly wraps around the idea he has about what your talking about and something shifts in him.

For the first time since he’s gotten back from the shore, you show your face again. Mascara smudged around the corners, hair messy, cheeks glossy and lips puffy.

“You don’t look at me anymore. You don’t let me touch you. We barely talk. You don’t let me help. We are married for fucks sake, Satoru.”

Your voice breaks as you spill your hearts content out through the tip of your tongue. Months of frustration and loneliness piercing right at the one man you love most in the world.

Satoru falls quiet with a frozen tongue and a paralysed mind. Internally, he feels the gears shift, his mind rewire as he understands you.

And he gets it.

Shit.

Where has he been these last months?

Back at the battlefield while his wife desperately tried to cling onto his consciousness and ground him like the tether she always was to him in his world of curses?

Uneasiness washes over him at the realisation that he can’t erase the past—the last months you’ve spent in solitude with an absent husband at home, constantly nurturing it without reward.

So all he can offer and pray you accept are apologies.

“Shit, babe, I’m so sorry.” His long fingers clasp around your hand against the pillow. Holding tight enough for you to feel your bones being squished against his.

“I’m so sorry.”

But you don’t need his apologies.

He has no need to apologise for. After all, you’re not the only one grieving him. He is too. The life he had, who he was, who the mirror showed him before the slashes.

It’s different though. He doesn’t love who he is now, while you still do.

He’s still your husband. You said “I do.” 4 years ago with the same confidence you’d say it today. Even after all of the hardships and even after all of the forgiving.

“Don’t apologise.” You mutter, shifting on the mattress and sitting upward—moving your weight to sit on your legs—and cup his cheek with your right hand to caress it.

Only now do you realise his eyes are glossy too, guilt swimming in them—regret. The kind that eats at your bones for mistakes you didn’t mean.

Quietly, you confess with the sound of the waves in the background supporting you.

“I’ll always be by your side, Satoru. But you need to let me in. I’m your wife.”

Your eyes follow the way his Adams apple bobs as he swallows your honest words. Their meaning sinking into his marked skin with permission this time.

He nods once—slow and sure—and the knot in your chest loosens. In the blink of an eye, he’s getting off his knees.

The matress dips where he sits down next to you, hand still in hand, his body fully turned to you while your legs—folded beneath you—still are angled straight ahead.

In a slow pace, he draws himself closer to you. The smell of his natural musk that always drove you crazy mixed with the ocean breeze in his milky white hair filling your senses.

His lips brush against you in the comforting way they always did before meeting.

And slowly, he whispers.

“You are so much more than my wife.”

You hum once, curtly.

“You’re my everything.”

And the man you thought you no longer recognised, kissed you like the man you know by heart.

The kiss is impossibly soft. Tender and warm. Electrifying all of your dormant atoms to life, cells buzzing under his touch.

It’s magical. An open door to the world you thought you were shut out of entirely—one with him and your love.

His lips move slowly against yours. Plush skin meeting plush skin in a desperate yet patient reunion.

You didn’t realise you missed it so much till now.

It hurts to part.

Satoru only pulls away for a second to look in your eyes.

Neither of you exchange words before diving back into each other’s essences.

His hands find your waist, your body turns to him completely—back pressing against the headboard as he holds you, your hands fitting on his broad shoulders.

Beneath the tips of your delicate fingers, you feel the dips and uneven surfaces under the thin layer of his sweatshirt.

The kiss deepens once he swipes his tongue under your lip and you grant him that quiet access like you always have under the sun or moon.

You’ve always been Satoru’s.

From the day you saw him on the other side of the train station.

Till now.

And you always will be his.

Your nails slightly dig into his flesh as he explores your mouth, one of his hands now on your chin—tilting your face up—so he can follow the same path he always did.

Tongues fighting, bodies heating up under the daylight, you feel the need to reduce the layers between your thin white cover-up dress and his sweatshirt.

Hesitantly, the pressure on his shoulders caused by your fingers lessens and your hands migrate to the collar of the orange material.

He’s still kissing you as you tug on the zipper.

Then he freezes.

Tongue retreating and lips separating from the heated kiss. Eyes locking together.

You see the fear and hesitation in his baby blues. A silent prayer for you to not see him.

“Satoru, I love you.” You croak out. Voice scratchy and hoarse. The remaining few drops of tears spill from the corners of your eyes.

“I love you so much you have no idea. And I have always loved you and I always will. Even when you change.”

Your husband’s heart shatters.

Loud, like glass breaking against the floor. Unmendable.

But he trusts you.

So he dries your face with the buds of his fingers. Kisses the corner of your damp eye, and pulls the zipper down himself—showing the tainted and raw outcome of his fight.

Pink scars, painfully painted stars in his history.

You see beyond them. See the chiseled body he worked for, the defined v-line that you go crazy for, his rock-hard abs. His determination.

The scars are mere decorations you wish he accepts someday.

“You’re beautiful, honey. Even more now.”

Satoru has doubled in mass since being in the prison realm.

There’s nothing unattractive about him.

Your mind momentarily flashes to the promises of him giving you a family after the fight if he made it.

Every time you think about it, nausea overtakes you.

That dangerous what if that haunted you for nights before the showdown.

What if he didn’t…

No, he’s home.

And that matters so much to you.

That he could come home missing half of his body and you’d still cherish him to death.

Because you know there were others without the gift or the fortune to see their loved ones faces ever again.

Your hands press against the hard surface of his pecks before peeling your back off the headboard and reaching up to kiss him.

You’re caged in between his arms that hold himself up against the headrest. He happily accepts the kiss, lighter than a few seconds ago.

He melts into you again. Your back presses against the cushioned board again as he hovers over you once more.

Hands dipping, your nails feel every dip of his abs. Your legs subconsciously closing as the heat in between them grows.

Satoru bites your bottom lip so he can slip inside your mouth this time, his confidence recovering little by little as he sees the effect he still has on you.

You rein back a whimper that almost escapes once he lowers his lower body onto you. Hard boner pressing against your thinly covered clit—slotting himself perfectly against her.

With the palms of your hands, you push the orange sweatshirt off Satoru and he pulls his hands back quickly to throw it off before latching them on your breasts.

Your mouths dance a ballad you’ve both practiced across different lives.

With no regard for even considering that people might walk by and catch what’s happening through the slightly agape curtains, you slowly plunge your hands inside your husband’s swim trunks.

He hisses against your mouth as your hands wrap around his shaft, sensitive from not being touched or touching himself at all these last months.

Every fiber in you is on fire. His lips leave yours and attach to your neck—peppering your skin with love bites that show you’re his as he works on kneading your tits.

You start pumping his girth at a rhythmic pace, swiping your index finger to collect the small amount of pre-cum oozing out of his tip to stroke him.

Satoru’s face lifts to see you spit on your hand while maintaining eye contact and he feels himself grow harder even when it’s not even possible anymore.

His hand messily pushes down his swim shorts and his cock springs up, hitting him in his lower belly where you immediately grab it and coat it in your spit.

He lets out a deep rumble from his chest that has you twitching around nothing. One large hand pushing your cover up just enough for your bikini-covered breasts to meet the light of day.

A finger hooks under the thin strap underneath them and he sets them free once he tugs the string over your tits.

Your stroking falters when he moves to your nipple, biting as a greeting and then sooting the sensitive bundle of nerves.

You’re dripping—soaking the expensive material of your bathing suit under your cover.

Satoru’s still working on your nipple when his hand pushes up your cover up and moves aside your panties. Long fingers pressing against your warm wetness.

He swears he could cum just for the fact that you’re this wet over him.

A thick, rough digit of his pokes at your entrance before slipping inside. You gasp at the stretch, not having had sex in a long time.

Satoru relishes in the small sound. He pumps the finger once, twice and on the third thrust he unexpectedly adds another finger.

Now, his middle and ring finger stretch you. Wedding ring pressing against your cunt whenever he bottoms his hand out.

His palm rubs against your clit in a way that has you twitching beneath him. Your body jerks at his tongue swirling around your nipple and his palm slapping your bud.

Small moans ring in his ear. With your hands still wrapped around him, he starts thrusting against the mattress, chasing that friction while your mind crashes.

He feels you tense up when your walls start to flutter around his fingers so he pulls them out before you can reach your release.

You feel him lower and latch his mouth onto your pussy before you can process it and whimper for the loss of his digits. Hands letting go of his length as he lowered himself.

Immediately, your hips buck when he flattens his tongue—trying to lap up and consume relish in every taste of his wife’s nectar that she’ll offer him.

You lose all control over the moans and whimpers that leave your mouth—too far gone to even think about others now when your husband eats you up so messily.

Your juices mixed with his saliva soak into the white mattress, staining it, yet the two of you couldn’t care less.

Satoru laps up like a starved man. As he is. His tongue slips past your ring of resistance at times, teasing. Testing to see if you’re ready.

Your nails cling at his back, scratching new redness that he doesn’t mind—not in the way he does with his scars.

His hands are now under your plush ass, angling you upwards and holding you in place as he devours you with the reverence and need he has always had with you.

Your orgasm approaches quickly once he reignites it. Satoru holds the need to smirk against you once he feels your clit twitch and your sweet cunt start to flutter all alone.

He looks up with your bud in between his lips to see the heavenly sight of you propped on your elbows, tits out and glistening, your head thrown back.

His rutting against the bed stops.

You come undone on his tone aggressively. It hits you all at once, shivers overtaking you as your mind falls into pure euphoria.

Satoru doesn’t let a single drop spill.

Not giving you much time to recover, too eager to melt his body with yours, and with you all over his face, your husband climbs over your body again and captures your lips in a kiss.

Tasting yourself on his glistening lips, you shudder and whimper from how sensitive you are once you feel him rub his tip against your entrance.

“ ‘toruuu.” You whine, tears brimming your eyes.

A mock pity pout spawns on his face. His head lolls to the side as he watches your struggled expression—mouth parted, eyes fluttering open and shut when he brushes himself against your overstimulated clit.

“Didn’t you miss me, baby?” He teases.

"I—did-I missed you so much, mmh!" You mewl out in high-pitched stutters. Eyes falling shut and letting the tears spill from your clamped shut eyelids once he bottoms out in one go.

“Oh fuck.” Satoru bites back a low groan that escapes straight from his chest, his thighs pressing against the round and plush skin of your ass.

He wastes no time in pulling back and snapping himself back home. Letting his length disappear inside of you with little to no resistance. “Yeah, baby. Take all of me.”

Electricity sparks every once-dormant nerve in your body back to life.

Your mind momentarily flashes back to the promises he had vowed to keep before the fight. How he’d retire if he won, give you a family and spend the rest of his days cherishing the moments he spends in your arms.

And you snap out of your thoughts once you feel his two hands slide under your thighs, strong forearms locking them against your hamstrings so he can snugly wrap your legs around his textured waist—carved skin firmed up from days in a dark realm where he fought against time and his own mind.

You feel him everywhere. To the veins harshly reminding you how they have a place within your velvety walls ever since he vowed to be the only one who would ever walk the earth to please you—to the heat swirling in your chest out of profound and raw love you have for your husband.

It’s not supposed to be such a bittersweetly beautiful moment as Satoru is keeping your legs folded around him—forcing him to voluntarily slam down and dip his bulging cock back down home, juices welcoming him and kissing his length goodbye when he pulls back—but it’s so painfully good.

The way he’s back within your reach—caging you under his huffing, feral state where you can see the light color of his eyes sparkling as his body is electrified with life for the first time in months—and the way he’s stretching you out so deliciously.

Making you mewl out incomprehensible words that end up being letters melted into each other with no real meaning because your brain can barely form a real thought.

He’s finding the love you have for him in every crevice of you as your tongues mesh together again. Saliva on saliva as he connects his hips to yours without faltering once.

Begrudgingly, he pulls back. Your eyes fall down to his plush baby pink swollen lips that once shined with your release.

His breathing is heavy, chest rising and falling—occasionally shaking as a deep groan escapes him when you suck him in so greedily—for a second, you catch his stare falling to your bodies connecting.

Then he snaps back up—face levelling to you where you’re still giving him that fucked out doe-eyed look that he swears will have him falling over the edge sooner than he intends to.

“Baby?” He softly calls out, the four-lettered word spilling out of his mouth with ease that comes out of the habit he has of calling you that loving name.

You barely hear the sound of his voice, mind somewhere over the clouds. His tip is pushing past your cervix soo nicely. Kissing that little spot that makes your muscles start to spasm in uneven waves—your eyesight blur and the tears streak down the sides of your face quick.

Unbeknownst to you, Satoru is a lot more pleased with himself than he’d admit right now. Even after the noise, the trauma and the ashes—he still has it in him.

Still has it inside of him to unravel you with the simples touches, to have you with your mouth parted open and your eyes rhythmically rolling back as he plunges inside of you—searching for your release.

It fills his body with a tingling sensation—a lingering hot feeling right where his heart sits at the realisation that you’re his wife in every sense of the word.

That you’re still here and still so loving.

All for him.

“M-mhm?” He hears you barely make out, nails moving from his back and onto his forearms where your nails subconsciously dig into his tainted skin.

A cannined smile pulls on his handsome face, almost resembling one of his characteristic smirks that has you knowing—even in your haze—that something is coming.

“Remember the promise I made you?”

Instantly, you scramble around your mind to try and filter to the thousands of promises you’ve offered each other and that he has yet to break.

There are so many, and you don’t have enough mind to run through them all.

“Which—ngh, ‘toru!” In the middle of your attempt to speak, he shifts, hooking both legs over his shoulders. Drawing his chest down, the strong surface of his chest weighing down on your smooth skin.

“—right there! Oh—“

You’re loud. Too loud for someone on a sunbed in a public place. Satoru probably knows it. Yet he makes no effort in shutting you up—he doesn’t muffle your real moans with a kiss, doesn’t silence your babbles with his hand. He lets them pour out into the open.

He lets the world know you’re his.

And that he’s back.

Either way, you don’t make any effort to stop the shore from knowing your lover is back.

His calloused hands, detailed with resilience and his unmatched strength, go delicate as he tries to wipe the stream of tears on the sides of your face.

“C’mon baby, you know which one.”

Seeing the way you fall quiet—half losing the fight between yourself and climaxing too early as your orgasm holds you by your throat, and half winning over the chaos of your mind—he “aids” you just a bit as his left hand drops and finds your clit with soft circles.

He’s teasing you, worsening the internal struggle he’s putting you through—setting every nerve in your body on fire as he pulls your release by the reins.

“What do you want from me?”

His words find a place in your disoriented head, clicking with his previous question.

A baby.

You wanted a baby with him before the fight.

A family.

Something to remember him by

Every night before that godforsaken day.

You tried.

Clung onto his body with a different—more painful kind of desperation than the one you have right now.

Tried for a baby.

Tried to leave a part of him within you just in case he—

The answer spills out of your mouth before your mind dips to darker places.

“A family.” You breathe out, eyes clamping shut for a second.

He muses, face dipping to press soft kisses to your pulsing temple. “Yeah?”

“Y—yeah!”

Your voice pitches higher at the last second as he presses down on your clit.

“Please—please, ‘toru—don’t leave me. Give me a baby.”

You don’t realise just how your fear is spilling through the cracks as you beg to finish and for him to never be done with you.

And Satoru goes soft.

Pace stuttering, abs tightening—he’s so close, you’re so close too.

With slow strokes, already high off demolishing you the past moments—Satoru rides the last moments of the roller coaster as he reaches his end.

“I’ll give you everything, honey.” He whispers, the bed creaking less beneath the both of you as he takes you to the edge.

And you titter to your orgasm that crashes over you twice as strong the second time once he completes his sentence. “Just take it all.”

He places a soft kiss to your lips as he buries himself inside, ropes and ropes of white milky cum filing your womb—overflowing right out of your walls while he remains inside, twitching and unwilling to leave.

A choked sob is muffled as Satoru’s lips catch it, right hand caressing your cheek.

Everything falls quiet, the smell of sex in the open air quickly settles back into the horizon as the sea overtakes the atmosphere and your ears hear the waves crashing against the sand.

The birds sing a song that relaxes your muscles. Your husband goes limp inside of you before pulling out—no longer having anything left of his to give that’s not love.

He plops down to you, the bed dipping in two sides now—but it quickly goes back to only one spot when he wraps his arms around you, pulling you over his warm body, letting you hear his heartbeat underneath the layers of skin.

Thud thud thud.

The sound goes straight to your veins, travelling through arteries and shifting your own heartbeat till it follows his.

He’s home.

Your Satoru is home.

And you fall asleep in his arms.

Safe, the way you both deserve to be.

Three hours later, Satoru walks over to the rim of the sea, stares off into the distance as the sun kisses his pale skin.

He’s uncovered, letting the salty breeze greet his open and slowly healing scars.

But he’s real.

And you join him when he goes inside the water.

Because this is just the first step out of the trenches.

And you’ll be there with him every stretch of the way.

Please excuse the way this turned out, tumblr has been deleting my completed drafts and not saving anything I write and it has been killing my motivation to write. Nonetheless, thank you to the 800 of u who have been patient w me, satosugu x reader and suguru x reader smut coming soon so lmk if u wanna get tagged~ bye loves. More <3

Not proofread cause im scared it will get deleted.

[liahcharms]

all my blood for the sweetness of her laughter

In sickness and in health, Geto Suguru has promised, while tying your lives together. And thus, when death looms over his dearest wife, he's ready to trick it.

˖᯽ ݁˖ pairing: ꒰ Geto Suguru x Reader ꒱

˖᯽ ݁˖ content & warnings: ꒰ Inspired by the "Hamnet" movie and this one fuckass scene :: set in 17th century :: marriage :: fluff : HEAVY angst :: devotion :: sacrifice :: character's death :: family :: domestic life ꒱

˖᯽ ݁˖ words: 3k

˖᯽ ݁˖ notes: I do recommend reading it while listening to this song.

Suguru Geto has long forgotten the times when he didn't love you.

As he loved you always.

In the morning and afternoon. Springs, summers, and autumns, when the leaves turned yellow and clung to the cold windows of your cottage.

In the restless winter night, with your body close nuzzled into his, the biting wind seeping through the loose window shells.

He has loved you ever since you poured cold water on his yearning face one summer morning while he waited beneath your cottage. Dressed in his best creamy shirt, holding a bouquet of wildflowers tightly in his hand, with long hair flowing down his straight back.

A poet from a nearby village, seeing you every single day.

Seeing, as if solely from afar, inaccessible, rather wickedly beseeching, as he couldn't even truly touch you. Or talk to you, cherish the flowery scent carried on your skin.

He was neither rich nor poor, yet his heart was swollen with wickedness, cherishing a tenderness that seeped through his marrow. A feeling of the most cursed towards the only woman who hated him dearly.

A teacher, a witch, who'd rather spend her days schooling young birdies in magic and the tricks of nature than seek a husband!

A disgrace, truly, yet what could her poor folks do, since she didn't wish to marry any handsome gentleman from their village? How could they force their dearest daughter to marry any commoner, when none of them was worthy of her beauty?

And yet, Suguru Geto offered himself.

But for a reason that truly baffled everyone, you seemed to detest him. Cursing and turning your back on his kind of flirt whenever he tried to talk to you. Again and again, every single day, only to be met with a bucket of cold water you poured on him from your window or a dirty sponge you shot at him through the door of your classroom.

The kids giggled, seeing their beautiful teacher utterly furious at the handsome poet, who seemed bewitched by the gentle wrinkle that bent her forehead. But the way her eyes rolled and shot daggers as he waited and waited under her classroom, trying to take a single glance at the softness that bent her lips.

"He's just a silly poet. How could I ever take him seriously?" you muttered once during a conversation with your mother.

She glanced out the window of your cottage, seeing his dark locks glisten beneath the sizzling burns of the afternoon sun.

"But his heart seems kind." Her eyes turned back to look at your sweet yet tired face. "You deserve kindness."

"Kindness won't feed us," you muttered quietly, as you raised your gaze for a second.

Only to steal a glimpse of a man who didn't wish to leave you alone. Of his lavender eyes staring somewhere above the rolling hills of your village, fingers idling with a tall glass, bowing beneath the gentle, warm wind. His long hair, tied in a small bun at the top, shining like silk, as if threaded from the richest fabrics you've only read of in tales.

He's been haunting you for weeks now.

From the moment your paths crossed in the village next door, where you walked through the stalls and he sat leisurely in the local tavern, with papers and inks filling his bag. With lavender eyes that somehow caught your gaze, soft, with laughter from the past still twinkling behind your irises, before you quickly turned away.

He'd never packed up quicker, stuffing his bag without a care for his rather expensive things, before leaving the tavern in a hurry. To catch the last glimpse of an angel whose eyes had kissed his cheeks, before she would disappear forever.

He followed you all the way back to your village, eyeing the little footprints your feet left on the sand, the flowery scent clinging to your body and swirling in the air. As if showing him the way to the woman who seemed to bewitch his mind, body and soul with nothing but a single look into the poet's eyes.

And as he arrived beneath your cottage, a muffled, rather angry scoff escaped your lips. Seeing a strange man who seemed to walk behind you, in silence and holding his breath, all this time.

"What are you doing here?" Your brows furrowed, wild hair sticking softly to the warm cheeks. "How dare you follow me like a madman?"

But Suguru… Suguru couldn't even catch his breath.

Oh, how damned he already was, upon sensing his heart fall into the agonising clutches of a feeling so wicked!

"I–" The words could barely slip past his tightened throat. Almond-shaped eyes, oogling your face, twisted in wrath yet still looking utterly lovely. "I just thought you were beautiful."

You scoffed again, forcing another squeeze of his heart. "Leave. We're done here."

His fists clenched as he saw your body already turning towards the cottage. "Wait! Can you… do you wish to go out with me?"

Looking over your shoulder, you eyed his figure. Fingers painted black, a white shirt clinging neatly to his well-built back. Black trousers, rather simple, threaded here and there as if he had seen thread and needle too many times.

A poet.

A man of heavy words yet light pouch.

Someone you shouldn't even look at, even if you were an outcast yourself.

A witch, a weird lady who spent too much time in the woods, talking to trees, grasses, and animals, while teaching apothecary to local children.

Someone whom normal men avoided crossing paths with, as if in fear of even associating with a woman of your sort.

Utterly beautiful, yet of a wicked cheek.

"No," wasn't enough to force him away.

As it seemed, Suguru Geto was foolish enough to even beg and wait for a single glimpse of the softness that beamed from your eyes in the early mornings, just before your gaze caught his figure lingering beneath your windows.

He visited you every day, following you from sunrise until moonlight spilt its kisses on your lovely face. He sat beneath the window of your little classroom, a small house built on a hill, and scribbled his own poems. With a little ink he had brought from home, his forehead beading with sweat as he listened to your classes.

To the lovely voice that carried through the lush plains of the rolling hills, seeping into the creeks that ran past the scattered huts. The peaceful, almost idyllic view stretched before his eyes each day, yet he still seemed utterly lost in the softness of your hands on his skin.

After long weeks of tiresome begging, you've finally agreed.

Catching him once again asleep in the tall grasses by your classroom, a golden spill of sunshine casting a peaceful look on his handsome face.

And so, carried by an unknown, wicked feeling, you squatted next to him, with the edges of your dress brushing his body and your fingers reaching to push away a single raven lock stuck to his forehead.

Lavender eyes slowly opened, as if doubting whether the petal touch was real or just a projection of his lovestruck mind.

"I agree," you said, a soft sigh pushed past your lips. "One meeting."

He nodded, quickly, eagerly, already rising to his feet. "Just one."

"And if I still dislike you, that shall be it."

He didn't nod this time, and so you pinched his cheek gently. "Say it."

He chuckled, nuzzling into your softness. "And if you do not like me, I shall leave you alone."

Yet, as it soon would turn out – hating him was rather impossible.

After a year, you already gave birth to your first child.

Oh well, a woman in love can be quite wicked, but a man? Dear heavens. As soon as you agreed to his pleading to become his wife, Suguru Geto didn't hesitate to ensnare you with his deceitful feelings.

And you, utterly captivated by a foolish poet who sang of his beloved's sweetest smiles, couldn't deny the burning fire deep within you. The sensation of his skin against yours in the most intimate manner stirred your desire. To cherish him and be cherished in whispers, touches, and moans that escaped your lips as you hid atop your cottage roof while your parents were absent.

When he promised you forever, during the wedding vows, you knew he meant it.

Suguru Geto's life began only after meeting you. Everything that happened during the past twenty-five years of his life seemed to be nothing but a bleak, barren nothingness that filled his wretched soul.

Soon after the wedding, you moved to another cottage. Small and lovely, where your first child was born. A girl with the sweetest cheeks and rich, lavender eyes that mirrored the kindness your husband had shown.

His precious little daughter.

"And my precious, beautiful wife," he always added, while kissing both of your foreheads. "The lights of my life."

You would giggle before wrapping your arms around his back and drawing him into a longer kiss. You stood in the middle of your little, simple cottage, with candles scattered across the shelves and his ink-stained fingers smudged on your cheeks.

"Aren't you a flirt?" A sweet laugh spilt from his throat as he stole another kiss.

And another, another, another, which forced you to tumble onto the soft bed. The fog clung to the windows; the candles' warmth cast shadows over his handsome cheeks, hair spilling over his shoulders.

Your breath hitched as his lips wrapped around the sensitive point beneath your neck.

"You play a dangerous game," fell quietly, and he chuckled.

"And why is that, my dearest wife?"

His lavender eyes met yours. Love and fondness merged as he brushed away a few strands of hair that had fallen over your forehead.

"Because I may ask you for another baby."

He raised his eyebrows before curving them into a soft scowl. "You don't have to ask me twice for anything, my love. And especially for this particular thing."

And so, oh well.

Another year had passed, and you gave birth once again.

This time, to the sweetest boy, with the cheekiness of yours bubbling in his eyes and a big heart always yearning for his mother.

The life you had was almost idyllic, as if brought straight from one of the tales you always read to your kids. A life of profound serenity, filled with overwhelming love that spilt past your husband's fingers.

He seemed to carry your whole family, and even though he soon started travelling a lot – for he wished to chase his playwright dreams – there was never a time when you felt anything but taken care of.

Suguru wished it stayed that way.

A picture of you, humming the loveliest melody to your two children, strolling through the long plains of wildflowers as the sun kissed your cheeks. The picture that seemed to be stuck in his mind, the one he repeated over and over again as he went off to the big cities to earn a few more pennies.

Whenever the horse took longer than it should, or the carriage rolled over the bumps and mounds, he thought of you. Of the view that would welcome him home.

Of his children growing up healthy and his wife staying the wicked witch she always had been. Filling their kitchen with herbs of sorts unknown to him, yet carrying a special healing might. He would think of the lavender fragrance filling the kitchen and the mint bubbling on the stove. Of the cinnamon, ginger and cloves that, during the winter, carried all four of you through the freezing bites.

Your hands had healing power, your mind stayed sharp and kind, always aware of what to do in case of a sudden crisis, be it your daughter's sudden cold or your son's scratched knee.

Sometimes it was Suguru himself, lying beneath the heavy pillows and blankets, as if already half on the other side. At times like this, he would, in a rather melodramatic way, recite poems about the approaching end and stretch his hand towards you, as if mimicking death.

The children would always laugh sweetly, seeing their father utterly lost in his need to catch a glimpse of their mother's attention. Because they knew, oh, of course they knew, that love was hidden in their mother's purest smile and in the way their father seemed to live solely to hear her sweet laughter.

They saw the way their father looked into their mother's kind eyes. With affection difficult to describe, they only began to understand its true heaviness after they reached the age of six.

They knew that no one loved their mother as much as he did. No matter how often Suguru kissed their plump cheeks, it was with only half the devotion he showed their mother. He loved them, of course he did! For it was simply impossible for any other child to be loved by their father as much as Suguru loved his.

And yet, both of them knew that whatever it was between their parents felt most sacred.

Thus, when their mother fell heavily sick, it seeped through every soul living beneath their warm roof.

It happened one day, as you collapsed in the garden. Suddenly, falling straight into your slowly growing herbs, before the panicked children called for their father with tears swirling in their eyes.

He brought you back home with trembling hands, quickly lying you down on your bed by the fireplace. To let the flame give a bit of warmth to your cheeks, as he saw the life slowly slipping away, with sweat beading on your forehead.

The doctors said it's a simple cold. Nothing serious.

But the days were passing, and it seemed you were getting worse. Barely able to eat even the lightest food, turning from side to side beneath the heavy covers.

The fever clung to your forehead no matter how many times Suguru tried to fight it. He placed cold compresses on your forehead and kissed your temple. As if it could heal whatever sickness was plaguing your poor body.

He saw you grow weaker day by day. Sometimes, the strength would return to your body, only to leave it completely before you could walk to the front door.

Sometimes you laughed with your children, only to start coughing blood a minute later.

Suguru was slowly losing his mind, spiralling into madness, as he called for every doctor available in the village. Yet no one knew what sickness was holding onto his wife's dearest life.

He would lie by your side every single night, just to listen to your whistling breath. Watch the way your lips fell open and your chest rose and fell in a steady rhythm. He would stay all night, just to make sure it wouldn't be the last.

Hand plastered to your cheek, though you could barely register his touch. His voice, soft, almost teary, sounded muffled within your sickness-spiked mind.

He prayed. Long and as never before, clinging to your body, just to feel the warmth of your breath on your skin.

He prayed for death to take him instead, to leave his dearest wife alone, as he was ready to bear all the pain she needed to endure.

He prayed in a pitiful voice that sliced his children's hearts as they saw their father in such a wretched state. And so they gave him time to grieve, alone, watching their mother's soul slowly wither away.

But then… then another night came.

Much worse than any other. As Suguru could barely feel your puffs on his fingers. A shallow, almost invisible breath slipped past your lips, and the smell of death swirled in the room. Fogging the windows, seeping with sickness and stealth, as Suguru felt the grim reaper's clutches slowly wrap around your body.

He could see it in the dim corner of the bedroom, staring at your sweat-beaded forehead.

"No," he mumbled, covering you both with a heavy blanket. "I won't let it take you away."

And so he did something foolish.

Beneath the veil of darkness, with material tightly covering your bodies, he changed your positions. Slowly, so death could not notice your body moving to the other side.

A soft cough escaped your throat, and your eyes opened for a moment, seeing your husband's gentle smile.

"Suguru," you muttered. "I–"

"Shh," he whispered, brushing your cheek. "It's okay, darling. It won't hurt any more. It's okay."

And because your husband he was – you believed him. Falling back into the light dream, where the world spun around nothing but the gentle, caring voice of your dearest one.

"I give you my life," Suguru whispered, yet it seemed you were long gone. "I give you my life, darling. For I cannot live in a world without your warmth." His thumb brushed the softness of your skin. "For I love our children so much, and yet my wretched heart forbids me to live without you by my side. You are much kinder than I am, darling, and shall take care of them for both of us."

As if losing you would damn him and nothing but the embrace of death itself would ever heal his woeful soul.

It was too dark to see anything, yet beneath the heavy blanket, Suguru could feel a slight warmth returning to your fallen lips. He smiled, sensing a fogginess creeping into his mind. The clutches cold and dreary, seeping through the marrow.

"I give you my life," he repeated, the heaviness pressing on his eyelids. "Be brave. Be kind. And please, don't ever stop laughing. For I'll be watching over you all and make sure none of you joins my side any time soon. I will love you, always, and I shall exist only in a world with two of us."

"For we are of one soul and one heart, thus no hills nor seas and mountains shall ever keep us apart."

And his children, listening to their father's crying whispers, knew that a man in love is truly of a wicked kind.

He was the one who deceived death to grant you a new life.

©liahcharms all rights reserved. Do not copy, plagiarise, feed AI, translate or modify my works.

Just a little something before I leave for a trip <3

art by @/kaoruartsss dividers by @uzmacchiato

[neossence]

　 STREAMER!GOJO ❤︎ HORROR GAMES

"五条 悟 ✶ GOJO SATORU," ◦ ₊ㅤ ﹙　playing roblox horror games with you on stream　૮₍ ´ ꒳ `₎ა　artist credits: teachers pet　reblog / like 2 support　 ⃘໋ׅ♡　𝑤.𝑐: 1.2k ⁀ ˳ ⟡

♡⏝　⸝⸝　　𝓦ARNINGS ˖　 ❝　　sfw　fluff　crack　she/her pronouns　roblox mentioned　reader is introverted　streamer!reader　streamer!gojo　gamerjo　reader is also a gamer　reader is a big blunt　2026 timeline　reader & gojo are like 22　reader gets jump scared　only tooth rotting fluff　non-canon au　modern au　2nd person perspective　❞

── #⃝ MINA'S NOTES ( 💬 )　I want streamer!gojo series so badly　masterlist <3

GOJO SATORU scooted over slightly, making room for you as you sat next to him, in your pyjamas, watching and helping him choose the next horror game to play for your collab stream. You two had been doing streams together for the past week leading up to Halloween and tonight, it was a collab stream scheduled on his page to play roblox horror games together.

He sniffled softly, itching the tip of his nose, before scrolling through the front page and glancing over at the chat box on his second monitor. "We've already played Demonnology before, what other games can we play, chat?" He tilted his head to the side, glasses sliding down the bridge of his nose just slightly.

"I feel so motherly for u" "WHY IS YOUR AVATAR LIKE THAT??? LMFAOOO" "PLAY THE SHAWARMA SHOP SIMULATOR PLSSS" "The Mimic?" "SHOW Y/N UR BLOCKING HER GOJO"

He chuckled at the chat before quickly leaning back in his chair, "can you guys see her now? isn't she pretty?" He smirked and nodded, pushing his glasses back up.

You glanced at him confused and tsked, "what are you on about? Just pick a game," you huffed before leaning over him and squinting at the bright screen, randomly choosing one of the games and pointing at it before sitting back in your chair normally. "Lets play that shawarma shop simulator thing," you nodded before taking up the mouse and messily typing up "shawarmaa sh op sim later"

He snorted, "nice typos," before making a kissy face at you when you glared back at him.

Blue eyes glanced over the second monitor, while you were hunched over and quickly clicking play on the screen, and making Gojo's barely put together avatar run over to the 1/1 player server. "Chatttt, help me convince Y/N to do a 24 hour kissing challenge, pleaseeee!" he pouted dramatically and clasped his hands together, trying not to laugh.

His attention was shifted when he felt you swat his shoulder, bringing his eyes back to the game. "Eh? are we seriously just running a food shop? How could this be scary?" He scoffed, pressing the keys down and walking into the shop, closing the door behind him and walking around, reading the notes.

"There's probably jump scares," you mumbled before groaning and sticking your tongue out, pointing at the meat slab in the corner of the game, "ewww, why does it look so… human?" you gulped.

"Probably from our last victims," Satoru shrugged, clicking the keys and opening up the shop for the morning.

You were glaring at him, upper lip curled up in mock disgust and shock, gasping before shaking your head. Glancing at him and bakc at the camera again, before humming and looking at him suspiciously, finally paying attention to the game again. "Maybe you're the real scary thing in this shawarma shop," you huffed. Only smiling when you received a small kiss on the cheek from him.

"Alright, alright, lock in, lock in," he nodded and repeated, before raising an incredulous eyebrow when the first customer walked up with a janky walking animation and a weird speech pattern on the subtitles. "This thing is obviously not human," he scoffed.

You chimed in soon enough, pointing towards the side, "wait, wait, check the notes," you muttered before skimming over the tutorial quickly and snapping your fingers when you read the part you needed. "Oh, oh! Okay so check the camera's and if it has like, a head at the back, ou have to close the shop and refuse service," you nodded, watching Gojo follow along with your directions.

When the subtitles read out, "seriously? You're refusing me service? Ugh, whatever!" you and the white haired man shared a high five before quickly paying attention to the next customer.

"I think this ones human," you hummed, before making a frozen expression when the customer asked "do you you want to taste my boogers for 1000 dollars?" Satoru snorted, before hovering his mouth over the "yes" option. A sharp tsk sound escaped your lips before you whined, "ewwww! nooo, what are you doing? just serve him," you scoffed, forcefully moving his hand to "no" and clicking the option.

He sighed and groaned playfully, "see chat? She's no fun!" he shook his head before reading some comments while you continued to play.

"she walks him like a dog omg" "is that man bothering u queen" "gojo we ain't watching your streams to see you eat e-booogers on roblox"

He tsked and rolled his eyes playfully, "you guys are just here for my girlfriend… understandable, but it's MY stream chat!" he huffed, before his gaze drifted back over to the screen.

You were holding down the E key to wrap up the shawarma and finish the order, before the customer asked for a soda. A whine left your lips, shoulders slugging, "damn, you couldn't say that before? Where's the sodas?" you huffed, as satoru leaned his head beside yours, also trying to search the screen for them. 

with a quick scroll of the mouse, you shrieked when suddenly seeing a peach, fleshy creature run down from the top of the fridge and disappear. "Is it in the—AH!" Satoru jumped and straightened up at the shriek, looking confused before clearing his throat and smirking at you.

"Ohhhh, look at you Y/N, screaming for me to save you. Saying you wouldn't get scared when we started this stream, and yet," he sighed and smirked at the camera playfully. 

Your heart was still beating fast before you whined and smacked his shoulder. "You jumped too! Plus, you would've freaked out even more if you had been paying attention to the game!" you scoffed, before whining again and looking around the small shop. "Can we get a gun? I need to kill that thinggggg…" you pouted while he was chuckling and snorting.

You two continued to serve customers and mess up some of the orders, with you even bursting into laughter and curling up on the ground from being unable to hold yourself together when you saw Satoru jump from just seeing another customer when opening up shop metal curtains. Wheezing on the ground, Satoru warnings viewers not to clip his embarrassing moments, before you two continued the game up until the ending.

"Dude, I told you, he's getting bigger when we make mistakes!" you whined at the corner of the shop, looking at the dark figure that had been getting bigger and bigger after every wrong customer you served.

"How many anomaliies did we serve? I swear I checked them!" Satoru scoffed and threw his hands up before shaking his head and taking control of the mouse and keyboard. "Let the pros take care of it, sweetheart," he smirked at you and checked the next customer before serving them. Only for the scene to cut into a cut scene of "the inspector" emerging from the growing dark hole in the corner of the room and grab Satoru's character.

You both froze up quickly and inhaled sharp breathes, before pouting and blaming each other for getting the bad ending.

© 𝐍𝐄𝐎𝐒𝐒𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐄 | do not copy, translate, republish or feed my work into ai.

[heartkaji]

18+ slight angst. meet footballer!gojo & his cheerleader fwb !

1. CHEERLEADERS ARE FOR CHEERING—NOT FONDLING!

“girl… isn’t that your man?”

your first mistake is letting your eyes follow shoko’s gaze to the bleachers. your second mistake is making eye contact with golden boy gojo satoru, still in his jersey & ‘hiding’ behind a skinny pole with a very annoyed geto suguru by his side.

you don’t bother correcting shoko. instead you ignore the grin satoru flashes you, taking out the water bottle between your lips with a pop! “is he supposed to be hiding?”

shoko shrugs, turns on her heel. “dunno, ask him. he’s clearly waiting.”

you roll your eyes with a sigh, but you’re already moving.

shoes clicking against the wood gym floor, skirt swishing between your thighs. gojo satoru has long come out of his hiding spot. he’s slumped against the pole now; hands in his pockets, grin lazy, blue eyes glimmering in the orange sun. beside him geto suguru is there, jaw tight in an expression that says he’d rather be anywhere but here.

you still have your bottle in hand when gojo reaches for your hips. “hi, baby…”

you barely murmur back a hi before he’s tugging you in by your skirt. his head dips to kiss your neck, then your cheek, then somewhere else your brain doesn’t register because his hands glide up to squeeze your ass cheeks underneath your skirt. a soft noise slips past your lips as he sucks on your neck.

“mm,” he murmurs, “missed you.”

geto clears his throat.

you let satoru do as he pleases, threading your hands through his hair as his hand dips between your inner thighs. he hums into your neck when you scratch his scalp. “suguru,” you breathe, “how’d you two even get here? coach toji’s gonna kill you guys.”

“kiss,” satoru interrupts. you tilt your head towards him, eyes still on suguru as gojo presses his lips to yours.

suguru’s face twists in disgust, but he doesn’t comment. “satoru bribed him. paid him a couple hundreds to see you for five minutes.”

“right—” your voice strains when gojo gropes your ass once again. “and you followed him because?”

geto is already looking away. “he bribed me too.”

you snort, but it turns into a shiver as satoru sucks on your earlobe. he hums, pleased, when your fingers tighten in his hair.

“mmh… got an away match,” he kisses your jaw. “wanted to see my girl first.”

you’re not his girl, you know you’ll never be, but you still laugh when he squeezes your waist & presses hurried kisses to your cheek. you shove him away & his grin is cocky.

“gonna score for you,” he tugs you back, dipping his head to your ear. “and then you’ll treat me, yeah?”

you hum when his arms snake around your hips once again.

“only if you score the winning goal.”

2. POST MATCH SEXCAPADES !

satoru comes back too late.

you’re not sure exactly why—maybe overtime, maybe the team stopped somewhere to celebrate their win—but you don’t let the thought plague you. you’re more concerned about the fact that it’s nearly evening & you can hear a ball kicking against the gym walls. you’re still in your cheer uniform, tiny skirt & sheer top, standing at the metal doors as you watch gojo dribble on his own.

he stops dribbling to catch his breath, wiping sweat off his chin. and then he’s off to sit at the bleachers, letting water slide down his neck as he chugs from a bottle.

you take it as your cue.

you have your hands behind your back, padding all slow, steps soft as you make your way to him. gojo keeps his bottle pressed to his lips but he sees it. how your skirt clings to your thighs. how your breasts ripple under the thin material. he lets out a low hum as you sit yourself on his lap.

you loop your hands around his neck. “hi.”

his lip tugs. “hi,”

he squeezes your waist as you press yourself into him. your tits smush against his chest, nipples hardening, and his fingers are already tracing the hem of your skirt & gliding up your thigh.

“how was the match?” you mumble.

“was good,” he mutters, but his thumb has already found your panties underneath your skirt. he rubs a slow circle over the bud. “you miss me?”

“no,” you sass, but he presses his thumb into your clit & your hips stutter. satoru laughs.

“i know what you like now,” he hums, left hand gliding up your side as the other rubs slow circles over your panties. “know it only takes a little.”

his thumb finds your nipple through your thin shirt. he rubs a circle over the pebbled peak, slow, but then he raises a brow. “no bra?”

you can’t respond. your breath hitches as your head falls into his shoulder.

“so cute,” he murmurs softly. he lets you press against him, leaving your panties to grope your heavy tits in his palm. he squeezes and fondles, pressing light kisses to your cheek as you make pretty noises in his ear. your hips buck into him.

“needy,” he scoffs, but his hands come up to guide your hips as you rut against him. he’s already hard and your panties are soaked thin and you let the material cling between your folds as your clit rubs against him. he flips up your skirt to find you drenched & slobbering. he bites his cheek.

“fuck, baby,” he rasps, sliding your panties over your aching cunt. you’re still humping him. “why’s your pussy so fucking wet?”

you only whimper as he presses his thumb to your sticky clit, rubbing hard circles over the bud. his other hand gropes your hip, guiding you faster over him. your breathing shudders as his thumb circles your clit faster and harder, until your hips are stuttering & he’s cupping your pussy so you cum in his palm.

you whimper, tears pricking at your lashes as you come down from your high. satoru kisses your cheek slow. “mmh, good job, baby.”

he’s still rubbing his palm over your pussy, massaging your warmth all slow & lazy. your eyes drop to his bulge, his cock practically twitching in his shorts. you reach a hand to glide over it, palming him so his hips twitch. he inhales sharply, “fuck—”

“not in my uniform,” he steals your hand, kissing your jaw. “gonna be a nightmare to clean.”

you glare at him through your lashes. “it’s already dirty, idiot.”

he laughs at your pretty face glaring up at him. your cheeks are still flushed, lashes wet, and your lips are in a frown but satoru swears you’re the prettiest thing he’s ever seen. he folds his hand over yours and dips his head to kiss you warm & slow. you gasp as his tongue pushes in, a soft moan leaving your lips as his tongue grazes yours.

“another time,” he murmurs against your lips. “no pouting, yeah?”

you pout anyways, and satoru kisses it off.

3. NOT YOUR GIRLFRIEND !

satoru is driving too fast.

his jaw is tight, knuckles white against the steering as you clutch your seatbelt beside him. your heart hammers against your ribs but the engine soon slows, his foot easing down on the breaks as the car comes to a stop at a traffic light.

today’s match went bad, really bad, so bad to the point that afterwards you’d tried to console him and he’d simply walked past. you try not to let it get to you. you know how men are when it comes to losing in sports.

but satoru’s breathing settles beside you, so you try once more.

“you played good today.”

silence.

"i know you're upset," you continue, voice soft. "but it's just one game, and you'll get them next time.”

silence again. his jaw only ticks, face illuminated by the traffic light’s red glow. the seconds seem to stretch into minutes, and you fumble with your skirt.

“you did your best,” you turn to him. “that’s all that matters—“

“can you stop?”

you freeze.

satoru doesn’t look at you. his fingers tap against the steering as he lowers his foot to the gas pedal. he’s not speeding anymore, but the silence stretches & you can feel a lump clawing at your throat.

you bite your lip. and satoru’s mad, yes, but he’s got no right to talk to you like that or take his anger out on you. so you suck in a breath, try to correct him. “i was only trying to help. you don’t have to take it out on me—“

“do you ever get tired of talking?”

“what?”

but satoru continues. “you always have something to say, don’t you? you’re not my fucking girlfriend. and i don’t need your fucking comfort.”

you blink. the words don’t register at first, but soon your throat is closing up, and you’re nodding obediently before you can think any better of it. your skirt bunches in your hands as you try to keep your breathing steady. god forbid you give him a reason to snap at you once again.

“you’re right,” you try for sass but it fails. “and i won’t act like it again.”

but satoru sees you through the rearview mirror. your eyes are on your lap, like you’re still trying to process what just happened, your thumbs fiddling with the hem of your skirt. satoru only swallows, glances away. if he ignores you long enough, you’ll be just fine, right?

your breath hitches beside him and he crumbles immediately.

he’s already pulling over, unbuckling his belt to reach over the console. “no baby, i’m sorry,” he pleads, and maybe he shouldn’t because it only makes tears fall from your eyes. “shh baby don’t cry, i’m sorry, i’m so fucking sorry.”

he smushes your face into his chest, carding his fingers through your hair. you try to push him away but he takes your hand and presses it to his chest.

“didn’t mean to snap at you,” his breathing is ragged as he cups your face. “don’t cry baby, you know i hate it when you cry.”

you sniffle as he swipes a thumb over your wet lashes. “then what are we?”

satoru doesn’t answer. instead he presses his lips to yours, slow and warm, head tilting to deepen the kiss. “you’re my girl,” kiss. “my baby,” kiss. “my everything,” kiss.

he doesn’t say my girlfriend. but he doesn’t need to, right?

footballer!gojo doesn’t do relationships. and cheerleaders like you don’t make good girlfriends anyway. so you swallow the lump growing in your throat & let him part open your thighs.

SCORE, end

© HEARTKAJI. do not steal, copy, edit, translate or reupload.

[gojopied]

THE DUKE IS MINE!

───✦ DUKE!GOJO X READER

♡ summary: debuting into high society attracts a plethora of eligible suitors, but there was only one you wanted to betroth. yet his heart seems to be with another.

♡ wc: 9k

♡ content warnings: fem! reader, widower! gojo, regency era au (sorry for any inaccuracies), pining, jealousy, marriage, oral (f. receiving), unprotected piv, naoya zenin courting, courtship, virgin r, age gap (r is 20 & gojo is 25).

♡ a/n: this was very bridgerton inspired, that garden is in bloom, baby

Prepped, primed, and ready like a precious jewel set into a crown. Since birth, you were taught everything a young girl of high status should know, how to bag a husband.

It was an art as precise and crucial as miniature portraiture. Ladies, especially those of wealthy lineage, must be prepared for the arrangements that would soon come, if they were lucky, within a year of debuting onto the marriage market.

For an event and a season so important, it is unsurprising how society pays close attention to any and every interaction, any glance held a moment too long, any dance that strayed from polite conversation. You had understood early that those on the instep had nothing better to do than to be in others’ business.

Gossip was as rich as their pockets.

Your days, once filled with piano, language, and dancing lessons, were now consumed by ballrooms, drawing rooms, and the intricate art of conversation. It was a constant parade of oneself in hopes of catching a suitor’s eye.

It was a lot less… eventful than you had imagined in your girlish daydreams.

Instead of the engaging discussions you’d hoped for, it was boring, to say the least. Most men were not interested in what you were saying, but rather what was presented below your neckline. Their eyes would glaze over your opinions on poetry or the new symphony.

Soirees, at least, held a visual appeal. People dressed in the finest of fabrics and jewels, all freshly polished to a high sheen. In a room where everyone strived to glitter, it took a great deal for someone to truly shine. And shine he did.

The moment he caught your eye, it was like fireworks blooming behind your ribs; the carefully applied rouge on your cheeks did little to hide the sudden heat blossoming beneath your skin.

It seemed you weren't the only one with eyes, unfortunately. Mothers and eligible daughters flocked to the young bachelor in seconds, a murmuration of pastel silks and eager smiles, crowding him with their dance cards and aspirations. Just as you were tempted to join the flock, a voice at your elbow intervened.

"But the Lady prefers a dance, does she not?" Lord Zenin’s tone was smooth, his offer presented as the only logical conclusion. As a lady seeking a husband, it would be madness to reject.

He was handsome, in a severe way, with dark hair and sharper eyes. But as you took his hand, your gaze strayed back to the spectacle across the room. White hair—you had never seen someone with such pale and pristine hair. Would his children inherit such a striking feature?

"I am interested in having children myself," Lord Zenin spoke. You cringed internally, hitting your own shin. All those classes, and you couldn't keep your words to yourself. You hadn't even noticed him speaking, too distracted by the figure at least twenty paces ahead. You were sure Lord Zenin was a fascinating man, yet your eyes gazed behind him more times than you would ever admit aloud.

You bowed politely at the end of your second consecutive dance with Lord Zenin. It was so early in the season that you had not expected to attract such a remarkable suitor so swiftly. As flattering as it was to catch a Zenin’s eye, your mind did not leave the white-haired man alone. You found yourself constantly peeking over shoulders and through gaps in the crowd, seeking another glimpse of the awfully popular outsider. You were quite familiar with most of the attendees, their lineages, and prospects drilled into you. He, however, was a complete mystery.

"Gojo, I presume," a voice laced with irrefutable gossip spoke beside you. You knew them, matrons, mothers of girls your age. As they spoke, you listened, your fan held still.

"The Duke? I did not know he had returned from the continent."

"Why has he returned?"

"Did you not hear?" the third murmured, leaning in. "He is single." Those were the only words you needed to hear, though there was suspicion about whether they were correct. For what other bachelor would they be speaking of in such hushed tones if not the white-haired duke?

Where your formal knowledge of society was lacking, gossip was hot and ready to serve on a silver platter.

Your skills for gathering information were not few and far between, and you certainly understood that going about in the streets asking questions about this 'Gojo '—a duke nonetheless— would raise far too many eyebrows in your far too fresh debut. You would need to be stealthy in your pursuit.

This quest for knowledge, however, was not your own secret, it seemed. The entire ton was buzzing with the reappearance of the newly available bachelor. It made your obligatory teas with fellow debutants much more enjoyable than listening to them list the contents of their overflowing drawing rooms. Your own was not empty—Lord Zenin was a persistent caller—but none of them was the duke who had captured your eye with a single, distant glance. When one of the girls mentioned, with a sigh, that he was confirmed to attend the upcoming art gallery exhibition, you felt a surge of purpose. You were very assured of your own attendance.

Paintings lined the hushed halls of the prestigious gallery, many donated by those you knew, even a modest landscape from your own family’s collection. You had seen most of them before, but one, placed on a wall of its own, caught your eye. It was different from the rest. They were all pleasing, yes, but this one had a soul about it that appealed directly to yours.

"I am quite pleased with this one myself," a voice spoke beside you, his gaze also fixed upon the canvas.

"It is beautiful," you said, your voice barely above a whisper in the hallowed quiet.

"I am delighted to find us in accord." He chuckled lightly, a warm, pleasant sound. "My apologies, we have not introduced ourselves. His Grace, Satoru Gojo." He bowed politely, and you followed suit, burying the triumphant grin that threatened to form on your lips.

Looking at him up close was a revelation. His features were not just agreeable; they were arresting. Eyes of a blue so brilliant they seemed to hold their own light, framed by those impossible white lashes. His smile was easy, and you felt a pang of irrational jealousy for anyone who had gotten to see it before you. He was a great conversationalist, effortlessly keeping a dialogue flowing, revealing a depth of knowledge about the artists and their techniques that went beyond mere aristocratic patina.

"I see you have donated this painting yourself. You have excellent taste, Your Grace." Your fan pointed delicately towards the small golden nameplate inscribed with his title and name.

"You are correct indeed. I found this during my travels and could not help but bring such an exceptional piece back home. It reminds me of the scenery near my estate in the country," he said, his tone softening with genuine affection, eyes following the direction of your fan. It seems listening to the scandalous conversations of your ladies' maids finally came in handy.

The tinge in his voice, however, you could not help but pick up. It was as though he were speaking to someone distantly and not to you in front of him.

You traveled the gallery with the Duke, a step behind yet beside him, commenting on the plethora of art. The man was certainly a talker, but an enchanting one, his wit sharp and his observations kind. You giggled at a few of his jests, the sound escaping before you could temper it, remaining as reserved as possible while trying to secure his interest. You would need to make your intentions clear but not desperate. Suitors are fleeting; you must use your teachings to keep them waiting and wanting more, a delicate game.

Unfortunately, the game was interrupted when your mother’s voice called your name from across the room, whisking you away from the Duke’s side. "I must take my leave, Your Grace; it was a pleasure," you said, your curtsy perfectly measured.

"The pleasure was entirely mine," he replied, his bow equally precise.

In the swaying carriage home, your mother could not help but question you, her eyes alight with curiosity. It seemed almost everyone knew who he was except you. The burning question hung in the air between the rhythmic clatter of hooves. "Well? Is he as available as the gossipers tell?"

Your mother let out an elated, knowing giggle. "My dear, he came back to the ton for a reason. He is very, very available, dear."

That was all you needed to know to properly begin your mission; your mother would surely have more reliable information than matrons at a ball. You were not opposed to stepping on a few toes; an open target is better than a blocked one. Not just a debutante’s duty, but a true search for happiness.

—

With Gojo in attendance at the next ball, you hoped you would have the chance to dance with him at least once. Yet, since your walk in the gallery, your drawing room, and your dance card had remained stubbornly full. A great social triumph, but none of these men, the earnest younger sons, the pompous lords, came close to sparking the connection you had felt in that quiet gallery corner.

It was, you feared, love at first sight, a notion your practical training scorned but your heart clung to.

Lord Zenin, in particular, had set his intentions very clearly upon you. He visited no other ladies' drawing rooms, his attention as focused as it was oppressive. Although you had every chance to marry well this season, the Viscount was awfully strange. A possible over-exaggeration on your part, but the man was obsessed with talking about himself—his holdings, his horses, his opinions. Boastful, to say the least. Even with him monopolizing your time, you tried to keep your options open. Yet, Lord Zenin made it his duty to ensure no other suitor would get an extra dance from you. It would not have been such an issue if his dancing skills were up to par, but you did not know if your poor slippers could survive another of his heavy, misplaced steps.

You were only able to escape by feigning a sudden, desperate thirst. Like any gentleman, he left promptly to fetch you a drink. The moment he turned, your eyes scanned the room, hurriedly searching for the man who haunted your thoughts at every outing. There he was, standing alone by a marble column—a rare sight as he always seemed to be surrounded by a captured audience—just as you had hoped. Making your way across the ballroom, you squeezed past chattering groups with polite murmurs. You found him standing idle, watching the couples waltz with a faint, unreadable smile.

"Your Grace," you bowed, coming up ever so slyly beside him. "I hope you are finding the ball pleasurable." You greeted him, your fingers nervously fiddling with the dance card dangling from your wrist. It did not seem like he had been trying to find you, or even if he had noted your attendance with half the fervor you had for him.

He turned, and his eyes crinkled in recognition. "I am indeed. And yourself?"

"It is lovely. I only wish to experience the dance floor a little more," you confessed, a slight, deliberate dig at your repetitive partner.

"Is that so?" He laughed, a genuine sound that warmed you. "Would you care for a dance? That is, if your dance card is not entirely besieged?"

"I would be honored, Your Grace."

Leading you by the hand, his grip was confident but polite. He was an excellent dancer, as fluid in movement as he was in conversation, following the tempo with an innate grace Lord Zenin lacked entirely. Your feet were safe, and your spirit soared.

"My apologies, I have not taken to the floor in some time," he said with reminiscence, his hand squeezing your gloved one ever so slightly on a turn.

"You need not worry, I assure you your skills are perfectly fine," you replied, squeezing back. You hoped the pressure conveyed what words could not, that you were interested, that you were open. "I can only hope you take to the floor more often, Your Grace."

Must you make a move too obvious, you would become the unfortunate talk of the ton. Last season, a poor girl had been relegated to a wallflower following a nasty rumor. Simply because she appeared too eager.

"That should not be a problem," he said, his eyes flickering to a point behind you. "It seems someone is waiting to reclaim this spot as we speak." He tilted his head slightly toward the waiting Lord Zenin, whose irritation was not lost on his scowling face as he watched you.

"A gentleman should have patience," you snickered, almost enjoying the look on the other man's face.

"Some are not graced with such a quality."

"I presume Your Grace is?"

"Very much so," he murmured, leaning closer. "One must wait a long time to receive such a particularly green-eyed look from Lord Zenin." His comment, whispered low in your ear so it would not carry, was scandalously funny. You could not help but laugh, quickly lowering your volume into a whisper.

"My apologies, I forget myself," he said, though his eyes sparkled with mischief.

"You are quite all right, Your Grace. I appreciate such patience and honesty," you confessed, matching his hushed tone.

"And I, you, my lady." He smiled, and as the waltz ended, he bowed deeply. "It was a pleasure dancing with you."

"Until we meet again, Your Grace." You bowed, your eyes falling to the neat script of his name now inscribed on your card. Satoru Gojo.

Gossip does what gossip is, and it spreads.

Your dance with the duke circulated through the ton with the speed you had hoped for. It helped, bringing more varied men your way—thankfully, some younger, more amiable ones—which subtly deterred some of the older suitors.

At the horse races, the day was bright, the weather peculiarly agreeable for the time of year.

The ton milled about, watching the sleek horses prance in the paddock. Men gathered, placing loud bets. You, personally, had placed a small, secret wager on a horse named Simon, a purebred with an impressive lineage. Making your way through the crowd, you eyed the booths set up at the periphery. One held decorative hairpins; the quality was discernibly middling, but they were charming to look at.

"My lady," Lord Zenin greeted, materializing at your shoulder. "Do not concern yourself with such inferior trinkets. You ladies, cannot be expected to discern quality as a gentleman can. You are lucky to have one such as myself to guide you," he spoke, pride lacquering his voice like varnish.

"I was simply admiring the craftsmanship, my lord. I assure you I can tell the difference in quality from my own pins," you said, trying to hide your offence at his assertion. It did not stop him from launching into a lecture on materials and worth, which subtly and then not so subtly morphed into a rant about how a woman’s discernment was, by nature, secondary to a man’s. The implication was clear, and it curdled your stomach.

"I will accompany you to view the horses. I have a sizable bet on Andrew," he said, taking your arm with an air of possession as he guided you toward the viewing benches.

"That is not necessary, my lord. I came with my family."

"All the more reason for my escort," he insisted, his tone brooking no argument.

Throughout the entire race, Lord Zenin talked, disregarding any opinions you voiced, even scoffing at your choice of Simon. Andrew dominated the first quarter, and Zenin’s chest puffed out. But as the race wore on, Andrew fell behind, and when Simon began his powerful surge from the middle of the pack, you couldn't help but lean forward, caught in the thrill. As Simon pulled ahead in a final, breathtaking sprint to finish first, you shouted with the crowd, a grin of pure victory spreading across your face.

"That was an excellent race, was it not, my lord?" you asked, the thrill still buzzing in your veins.

"It was a deception. The track was muddy on Andrew’s side. He should have won," he scowled, his tone souring immediately. You half-expected him to stamp his foot like a child in leading strings.

He guided you back through the booths, his mood fouling further, and he began to make loud, derogatory comments about the "common" vendors and their wares. You were praying for a glimpse of your father to effect an escape; you had more stimulating conversations with your embroidery hoop.

A flash of your father’s hat in the distance provided the excuse. You pretended he was summoning you and extracted your arm from Zenin’s. "You must excuse me, my lord."

Making your way through the press of people, your eyes caught not on your father, but on Gojo. He stood apart, seemingly oblivious to the crowd, staring intently at a small, silver locket cupped in his palm. His expression was soft, tender in a way that made your step falter. Sneaking past your actual father, you approached him.

He did not notice you, lost in the tiny portrait. It was of a beautiful woman, her name inscribed within. He looked at the locket the way you wished he would look at you—with a love that was profound and settled. Your heart dropped into the pit of your stomach.

"Your Grace," you said softly, hoping it would hide the envy scratching at your skin. His eyes, when they lifted to yours, held a trace of sorrow he quickly masked. He hesitated for a second before snapping the locket shut with a soft click. "She is beautiful," you commented, the words ash in your mouth.

"Yes," he murmured, the single word heavy with memory. "Yes, she was."

"If you do not mind my asking… may I know who she is?" you asked cautiously, praying he would not say the words you suddenly, desperately did not want to hear.

"My late wife," he said, the words quiet but clear. "She passed away four years ago."

The world seemed to be still for a moment. "I am so sorry for your loss, Your Grace. You were a beautiful couple," you confessed, forcing the word ‘couple’ out even as your own heart ached. It was painfully obvious, even in that brief glimpse, that the man was still anchored by his love for her. His heart, it seemed, would not be yours to claim.

At subsequent outings, you tried valiantly not to think of Gojo and his wife, to set your sights logically elsewhere. Yet, conversations with other suitors left your heart inert, no elation, not even a genuine smile. No one could compare to the easy wit, the surprising depth, the sheer light of him.

You had, for a foolish moment, hoped to convince him. But how could you convince a man to love you when he was so faithfully in love with a ghost?

And yet, he sought you out. He would find you wherever you stood, even when you tried half-heartedly to hide, forging a friendship that was both a balm and a torture. He stole you away for dances, shared humor, and offered effortless companionship. All your scheming to find him had caught up to you, leaving you ensnared in your own trap. To save your thoughts, you equated it to his love for attention and not the sole desire for yours.

At the Bennets’ ball, you were truly amazed. Pyrotechnics and living statues, it was a spectacle unto itself. Even the punch had a spicy, intriguing taste, fitting the fiery theme. A definite step up from the previous year, where Lord Bennet had slipped and fallen into his own fountain. You stood sipping the exotic drink from an ornate glass, watching the dancers.

A soprano’s high Latin notes soared over the instruments. Your gaze, as always, found Gojo. His eyes caught yours across the room, widening in recognition, and he made his way to you with a determined grace.

"Trying to hide again?" he jested as he arrived, falling into step beside you as if you were old friends.

"Your Grace, you ought to teach Lord Bute your skills; his partner seems in dire need of rescue," you laughed, watching the woman wince with each of Bute’s clumsy steps.

"Satoru," he said simply.

You stared at him, confused.

"My name. We are past formalities, are we not?" he prompted, a challenge in his smile.

"Satoru," you repeated, letting the unfamiliar syllables roll off your tongue. It felt intimate, scandalous, a secret shared. You enjoyed the thrill of it, even if the logical part of your brain begged you to stop.

"Much better," he smiled, that sweet, tugging smile that unraveled your resolutions. He was a drug, and you were willingly addicted.

At a ladies’ luncheon soon after, the conversation turned to courtships and the swift engagement between Lady Howe and Lord Calhoun. "And you? You are being courted, are you not?" one of the ladies asked, her eyes sharp on you.

"I am sorry?"

The table tittered. "His Grace, Gojo?" she clarified. You nearly spat out your tea. You had been so wrapped in your own conflicted feelings that you’d forgotten the omnipresent audience. You could not deny the accusation without sparking worse rumors, and since he had spoken of his wife, you hadn’t truly dared to think of it as a courtship. It was merely him, entertaining your hopeless emotions.

"I would not be surprised if there was an engagement on the horizon!" another gushed. Previously, you would have been elated. No proper lady would pursue Gojo if they knew his eyes were set upon you, a courtship tangible in the air. Now, however, his name sat bitterly on the back of your tongue.

"Or perhaps it is Lord Zenin?" a third suggested slyly.

You demurred, letting the topic flow away from you, but their talk of ardent suitors and clear intentions highlighted what was missing. Lord Zenin made his intentions brutally clear. The Duke offered friendship, laughter, and a haunting sadness. He had not declared himself, nor could you reasonably expect him to.

The balls you once awaited with butterfly excitement now filled you with a nervous dread, afraid of seeing the man whose love was reserved for another. It was disheartening to talk to him, to push your own yearning aside to learn more about him, because every detail—his terrible jests, the way his eyes lit up when you volleyed one back—only made you want him more.

You could no longer afford to look at him as a potential partner; your future was at stake.

At the next ball, you sought solace on a deserted balcony, a glass of punch in hand, away from the crush and the music. The jewels on your gown felt like anchors. The garden below was a tapestry of shadow and moonlight, beautifully kept. The chill air was a relief.

Your ears could not withstand the rantings of Lord Collens regarding his mother. You knew more about her than you did about the man himself. Your solitude was shattered by a familiar presence. White hair gleamed in the ambient light as he leaned on the balustrade beside you.

"My lady, hiding again?" Satoru asked, his voice low. He leaned closer, his shoulder nearly brushing yours.

"It is quiet out here," you said. At least it had been.

"You have not danced with me once tonight. Yet I see you’ve endured two with Lord Zenin." He tried to sound light, joking, but a thread of seriousness ran beneath it.

You pushed off the railing, walking down the shallow steps into the garden proper, hoping he would not follow. He did, of course, his longer strides easily catching up.

"Must you walk so fast?" he called, a hint of amusement in his voice.

You sped up, gathering your skirts. "Why must you follow?"

"Why must you avoid me?" he countered, catching your arm gently but firmly, forcing you to stop.

You whipped around to face him. "It should not be of any concern to you," you spoke, holding your anger and hurt in check. "I have been promised to no one, least of all to you."

"Lord Zenin-" you began.

"Zenin?" he scoffed, the sound harsh in the quiet garden. He had not shown a fraction of the direct interest Zenin had, but at least with Zenin, you would be married, settled, your duty done. "You cannot be serious."

"Yes, Zenin."

"Do you know that man? Truly? You will be miserable. More miserable than you could ever be with-" He paused, biting his lip hard, stopping the sentence. "The Zenin's see women as cattle, as breeding stock to improve their line."

"And what do you know about treating a woman?" The words flew out, sharp and bitter, before you could stop them. "You do not know Lord Zenin as I do. And above all, you have no right to monitor my potential nuptials."

You refused to let such an opportunity—the security, the position—be ruined by a man who offered nothing but confusing friendship. He would never understand the pressure, the cliff’s edge of choice that defined a woman’s life. If you were not to marry, your life would be regarded as a failure with no net to fall back on. Your cup is only half as full as man's; society would regard you no higher.

"I clearly know more than you if you are considering that basket for all your eggs. He is not an honorable man."

"And you are, Gojo?"

"Far more than he, I assure you. You mustn't marry him." His voice dipped, almost pleading. But why? Why did he care so much if his own heart was entombed? His mouth opened, those lips parting as if to speak a truth, but then they pressed into a resigned line. "I… care for you. Deeply. More than you could imagine. I could not live with myself knowing you would marry into that dreadful household." His eyes, wide and earnest in the moonlight, pulled you back into the spell. You wished, achingly, to marry for a mutual love, not to be merely cared for as a replacement for a ghost. His simple attention would not heal the tear his confession had rented in your heart.

"Would it be better to marry someone else, then? Shall I compile a list of suitors for your approval?" you shot back, offended even as a treacherous part of you trusted his warning.

"I am not your father."

"Precisely! So please, stay out of my business-"

"I cannot do that," he confessed, his gaze refusing to release yours. "I cannot simply stand aside."

"Do you hate me so much that you would deny me any marriage?" The frustration welled up as hot, stinging tears. You blinked them away furiously. Now you would need to find an excuse for the reddening of your eyes to any noisy person who asks, the truth is more shaming than your ruined appearance.

"It is not hate," he said, stepping closer. The scent of him—bergamot and night air—enveloped you. "What I feel for you is far from hate." You could not stand to listen to him dissect your prospects while offering none of his own. You would never be her.

"I apologize, Your Grace. I must take my leave." You hurriedly bowed, your voice cracking as you fought the rising tide of emotion. "Good night."

In your drawing room the following week, Lord Zenin sat sipping tea, the silence between you heavy. He had been monologuing about estate management for twenty minutes. You had been quiet, lost in thought.

"You would make an agreeable wife, do you not agree?" he said finally, a smug, knowing look in his eye. "I thought your… talkative nature might become an issue, but it seems you have learned better. I enjoy a quiet woman." It was not a compliment; it was a mandate. One you were sure would become more oppressive if his name were attached formally to yours.

"Women today forget what a man truly wants. All this talk of opinions and equality… I do hope you do not subscribe to such modern jests." It was not a question. He had made his view on women quite clear; perhaps you had been so busy with the duke that Lord Naoya Zenin's ideology was not as apparent.

You simply nodded, the disgust in your stomach turning to a hard, cold stone. Satoru’s words echoed: cattle. Naoya saw you as a decorative, quiet asset. When he left, the silence he prized felt like a suffocating corset. One that left worse wounds than the ones you wore on outings.

You could not imagine a life as Lady Zenin. Your mother, when you finally confessed you could not accept him, looked not disappointed, but profoundly relieved. "His reputation is not… kind," was all she said. Rumors of Toji Zenin's scandalous elopement only made the decision easier.

You entertained other suitors half-heartedly. Your prospects, once bright, felt dim and dwindling. After a brief, tedious promenade with Lord Phillip, you returned home. Your lady’s maid was helping you change when she appeared at the door of your sitting room.

"You have a visitor, my lady."

"At this hour? Who is it?"

"It is His Grace, Gojo."

You met him in your home's garden, the spring sun dappling through the new leaves. You walked in silence, your hand on his arm, hating how your pulse leapt at his mere presence. The quiet stretched, becoming unbearable.

"The weather is very agreeable, is it not, Your Grace?" you finally ventured.

"I did not come to discuss the weather," he said, stopping beside a camellia bush, its pink blossoms vibrant against the dark green. "I came to apologize. Properly, this time. For my conduct in the garden. It was unpardonable."

"If that is all, Your Grace, the apology is not needed. You may-"

"No," he said, his hand covering yours where it rested on his arm. "That is not my only reason. If you recall, I asked you then if your heart was with another."

The memory was repetitive. "I recall."

"And I told you I could not stand back if it was." He turned to face you fully, his expression unguarded, vulnerable in a way you had never seen. "I have spoken with your father."

"My father? What could you have possibly provoked you to speak with my father?"

"If you are truly smitten with Lord Zenin, if your heart is with him, please tell me now." He paused, taking one of your hands. "I misspoke then. I do care for you, but what I feel is far stronger; it is not that I hate the idea of you being married. I despise the idea of you marrying anyone else."

"What…what are you saying?"

"If it is Lord Zenin that you prefer over me, I will stand back, just tell me that what I feel for you is not to be reciprocated. And I will stand back," he spoke as though saying this pained him, cringing even at the word Zenin. "I should have said this then. Please allow me to make up for this."

You could only stare, your breath caught.

"Your grace, I do not have an engagement with Lord Zenin; it seems your criticisms were not unwarranted."

"Your hand is free, I presume?"

"It is," you managed.

"But is your heart?" he asked, his eyes searching yours, laying his own soul bare. "For you have utterly captured mine."

The world narrowed to the feel of his gloves on your skin, the intensity of his gaze, the hammering of your own heart. "My heart," you said, the words firm and clear as crystal, "is free."

He let out a breath that was half-laugh. He knelt there on the garden path, heedless of the gravel. He took your hand, turned it over, and pressed his lips to your gloved knuckles with a reverence that stole your breath.

"Then, if you are not opposed to a man who is flawed…would you do me the greatest honor of accepting my hand in marriage?"

—

Your marriage was steadfast, both families preparing for the union, dedicated. Satoru had not let you out of his sight, from events he was there to making sure he would be the only one you would dance with, declining anyone who came to you for a dance.

Some would come to you saying how they saw this happening, but you knew they would always say that, even if they never did.

Those who were indifferent to you before were now cozying up to the soon-to-be Duchess.

"You must set me up with one of his brothers!" you unfortunately had to give her the news that Satoru did not have any siblings.

At the modist, you tried on fine fabrics and watched as your wedding gown was constructed, the decorations prepared, and your family home got set up for the reception. You were happy, but you couldn't help but become afraid.

"Your grace?" Satoru called out to you, following behind with his own horse.

"I am not your grace yet, Satoru." You murmured.

The wedding was in only a few days, and you've done all the discussions with Satoru and your future, yet it seemed so blurry. It was not like you could not see yourself with Satoru, but now that you were betrothed and your future secure, you got everything you wanted, but something was missing. Satoru was right here, yet he seemed so far away.

"In a few days' time, you will be." He grinned, his horse next to yours. You smiled and nodded, satisfying his desire for your connection.

The days bled together in a flurry of silk and whispers until the morning dawned. You held up the jewels that Satoru had gifted, letting your lady's maid connect the pieces together. In a few hours, you would be a Duchess, a wife, and secure.

Tying the corsets and watching as they took your wardrobe into cases, packed it away, and took it to a new home, the Gojo estate.

You would not be staying in the city for your honeymoon, but rather at the estate in the country.

You looked at yourself in the mirror, and the dress was beautiful, gorgeous even. The dress was as white as Satoru's hair, and the sapphires were as beautiful as his eyes. You felt a tear roll down your face, the excitement bubbling and building into the moment. Tears rolling down your face, you had done it. He was yours, Satoru was yours.

"My lady, it is time to depart."

The ceremony was a sublime blur of vows and vibrant stained-glass. You repeated after the officiant, your voice steadier than you felt. Satoru was more than happy, smiling at you with the same look he gave that locket that felt so long ago.

You stared into his eyes as he brought your face in for a kiss, cupping your head gently. His lips were so soft, pulling you in. It took everything in you not to dive for more; you were in a church after all.

At the reception, it was full of so many people, and Satoru followed you with his eyes wherever you went. You snacked and danced, his hand at the small of your back, until finally, it was time to change from the magnificent gown into your travelling dress.

The dread hit, a cold slickness beneath the joy. After this point, you did not know what to expect as a duchess, ruling a household.

Your mother taught you well, but it was different from experience. And the wedding night... a nebulous concept.

In the carriage, Satoru sat across from you, hand massaging yours. It felt strange touching his skin without a glove, to be away from the watching eyes of the ton; to finally be who they all wanted. A duchess.

"What does your, our estate look like?" you asked slightly, trying to get a view of what your life is looking like.

"It's beautiful, the sunrise is like a painting, and it is vast, and the staff are well prepared for you, my love," he reassured. His thumb stroked the inside of your wrist, a slow, deliberate rhythm that made your pulse stutter. You nodded, massaging his hand in return.

You couldn't help but be drawn to his face. Caressing the sharp line of his jaw, the arch of his cheekbone-features you had dreamed of coming close to.

You had never thought you would get to touch him like this, so freely. He leaned into your touch, letting his cheek rest in your hand, his eyes closing for a moment.

He patted the seat next to him. "Come here, Your Grace." You moved, stumbling a bit in the lurching carriage, and he caught you, his hands firm on your waist as he settled you firmly beside him. Not an inch of space remained between you.

The close confines of the carriage, the dim lantern light, the rhythmic clatter of the wheels-it all felt suddenly illicit. He leaned in, not for a chaste kiss, but to press his lips to the sensitive skin of your neckline, just above the lace of your chemise.

A shocked gasp left you, and you instinctively pulled him closer, your fingers tangling in the snowy silk of his hair. "A different love, indeed," he murmured against your throat, his breath a hot caress.

His mouth was playful, nipping then soothing with his tongue, mapping a path to your collarbone. One of his hands slid from your waist to the back of your corset, fingers tracing the rigid lines of the stays. "So many barriers, even now," he groaned.

You could only whimper, arching into his touch, your own inexperience rendered mute by a wave of pure sensation. His other hand found its way beneath the hem of your skirt, his long fingers skating up your stockinged calf. The contact was electrifying. You were drowning in him, in the scent of his soap and something uniquely him.

"Toru-" you managed, the informal name slipping out in a breathy rush.

He pulled back just enough to look at you, his eyes holding a new type of joy, darkened by what you found only described as his previous words, a different type of love. One that consumes you in every breath, yet you want to fall deeper.

"Say it again."

"Toru."

He captured your mouth, nothing like the kiss in the church. It was deep, claiming, hungry. His tongue swept against yours, and you met it with clumsy, eager desperation. He tasted of sweet champagne.

His hand on your leg crept higher, past your garter, to the soft skin of your inner thigh. You jerked against him, a bolt of startling pleasure-pain shooting through you.

"You're trembling," he observed, a playful smirk on his kiss-swollen lips. "Don't be afraid. This is all for you. For us."

Before you could formulate a thought, the carriage began to slow. Satoru let out a soft, frustrated groan against your lips. "The inn," he said, his voice steadying. "We break our journey here for the night."

The interruption was a physical shock. He straightened, his expression shifting seamlessly back to one of elegant composure, though his eyes still smoldered. He helped you adjust your dress, his fingers lingering for a moment too long on the fabric covering your breast.

The inn was a respectable coaching house, and the Duke and Duchess Gojo were ushered to the best suite with efficiency. A fire crackled in the hearth, casting dancing shadows on the walls. The door clicked shut behind the retreating servant, and you were truly, utterly alone with your now husband.

The public facade fell from Satoru instantly. He prowled towards you, loosening his cravat with one hand. "Now," he said, his voice a low rumble that seemed to vibrate in the very air between you.

"Where were we?"

You stood frozen by the bed, your earlier courage faltering under the sheer weight of his focused attention. He saw it and his expression softened a fraction, though the intensity in his cerulean gaze never wavered. He came to you, taking your face in his hands, his thumbs stroking the apples of your cheeks. "Let me see you," he whispered.

He turned you gently, your back to his front. His fingers, surprisingly deft for a man of his station and power, found the intricate closures of your travelling gown, working them with a patience that you once awarded to wanting him to hurry up. The gown loosened and pooled at your feet like a discarded sigh. Your petticoats soon followed.

His hands were on the laces of your corset. He worked slowly, kissing the nape of your neck, the shell of your ear, as each tug of the lace gave you more breath, more freedom.

"These contraptions are a crime," he muttered against your skin, his breath hot, finally pulling the stiff garment away and tossing it aside. You stood in your thin chemise and stockings, feeling more exposed than you ever had, the firelight painting your forms in gold.

He turned you to face him, his gaze a physical weight as it travelled over you, leaving a trail of heat in its wake.

He lifted you then, placing you in the centre of the bed before stripping off his own clothes with an efficiency that left you breathless. His body was a revelation: long, lean, and built, all sculpted muscle and pale skin marred by the faintest silver lines of old battles. And between his legs, he was... considerable.

Your eyes widened.

The vague, clinical descriptions you'd heard had not prepared you for the reality of him, thick and heavy and very erect, the flushed tip beading with a promise.

He knelt on the bed, crawling over you like a predator claiming its territory. "The theory is one thing, my love," he said, as if reading your mind, a wicked curve to his mouth. He nudged your legs apart with his knee, settling his weight between them.

The rough hair of his thighs brushed against your sensitive inner skin. "Practice is something else entirely. And we are going to practice quite a lot."

“Practice?”

He kissed you again, swallowing your nervous gasp. His hand slipped between your bodies, his fingers finding the damp heat at your core through the thin linen of your chemise. You cried out into his mouth, bucking against his hand.

"So ready for me," he praised, his voice dripping with dark delight. He hooked his fingers in the waist of your drawers, pulling them down and off along with your stockings. The cooler air of the room kissed your skin, followed immediately by the searing heat of his body on yours.

Skin to skin. The contact was electric.

He palmed your breast, his thumb flicking over your nipple until it peaked into a tight, aching bud. Then his hand trailed down, over the quivering of your stomach.

"My sweet, brave wife," he whispered, his fingers parting your folds with a reverence that belied the hunger in his eyes.

He found your clit, slick and hot, and stroked a slow, circling pattern around the sensitive nub that made you arch off the bed with a broken cry. "Satoru!"

"I know, sweetheart. I know." He added a second finger, slipping inside you with a smooth, stretching pressure. The feeling was immense, foreign, but the glide of his fingers was aided by your own wanton wetness. He worked them in and out, curling them, seeking. When he brushed a particular spot deep inside, stars exploded behind your eyes. Your hips jerked of their own accord, seeking more of that shocking, delicious friction.

"There it is," he purred, watching your face with rapt attention as it contorted in pleasure. "That's it.

Make those pretty sounds for me." He continued his ruthless assault with his fingers, scissoring them, stretching you, preparing you even as he drove you to a trembling, gasping peak. You felt a coil tighten, unbearably so, before it snapped. Your climax washed over you, a wave of pure, mindless pleasure that left you shuddering, your inner walls fluttering around his invading fingers.

No wonder you were never taught such pleasure existed. Or then such pleasure resided between your legs, waiting.

He withdrew his hand, and before you could mourn the loss, he brought his glistening fingers to his lips. His eyes held yours as he sucked them clean, a low hum of appreciation in his throat. "Divine," he murmured. Then he shifted, his body sliding down the bed with predatory grace. "But I have not yet properly tasted my bride."

He hooked your legs over his shoulders, his breath a hot brand against your inner thighs. "None of that modesty now," he chided softly, seeing your instinct to close. "Let me see." And then his mouth was on you.

“That is n-not a proper p-place, ‘Toru!” he only paused for a moment, looking up at you with his eyes.

“Oh, but it is very, very proper, my love.” he kissed the lips, his tongue licking in between experimentally. “It would be improper for a husband not to taste his wife,” he grinned, watching as you tried to keep your face calm and intact.

It was not a gentle kiss. It was devouring. His tongue, broad and insistent, laved a stripe through your soaked folds before circling that aching nub with focused precision. You cried out, your hands fisting in the bedsheets. “Very proper indeed.” He groaned against you, the vibration shooting straight to your core.

He feasted on you as if starved, one hand splayed on your belly to hold you still while the other slid back inside you, two fingers now, pumping in time with the wicked flick of his tongue. The dual sensation was overwhelming, a riot of too-much and not-enough. You could feel the coil winding tight again, impossibly so, your hips moving of their own accord against his mouth.

"Toru, I cannot-I shall-" you babbled, a composure near shattering.

He lifted his head, his chin gleaming. "You shall," he commanded, his voice rough. "Come on, my tongue, sweetheart. Let me feel you." He dove back in, his nose nudging your sensitive flesh, and that was all it took.

You shattered with a scream, your body bowing off the bed as the pleasure crested and broke, washing through you in relentless, pulsing waves. He drank you down, gentle now, lapping at you until the sensitivity bordered on pain, and you weakly pushed at his head.

He moved back up your body, his own arousal a hard, insistent heat against your thigh. He rubbed himself against your drenched cunt, the blunt head notching at your entrance, spreading the evidence of your pleasure.

His eyes locked on yours, brilliant and unblinking in the firelight.

"Look at me," he commanded, his tone leaving no room for disobedience. You obeyed, eyes locking with his, you felt the intrusion as he pushed in.

The stretch was immense, a burning fullness that stole the air from your lungs. You choked on a sob, your nails digging into the taut muscles of his shoulders.

"Shhh, there it is," he cooed, though his own face was a mask of exquisite strain, a vein throbbing in his temple. He paused, letting your body adjust to his girth, dropping kisses on your tear-streaked cheeks.

"Just the first stretch, sweetheart. You will take me so beautifully." He began to move, shallow, rocking thrusts that gradually deepened. The burning began to melt, transforming into something else, a deep, internal friction that sparked a new, desperate heat in your belly.

Everything was new, exhilarating, and utterly addictive.

His rhythm became less controlled, more demanding. He braced himself on one arm, the other hand snaking down to where your bodies were joined. His thumb found your sensitive nub once more, circling it, just as he drove himself deeper, hitting that spot inside that made you see white.

The sensation was catastrophic. Your back arched off the bed, a broken string of moans and his name falling from your lips. "Toru-l-it is too much-"

"It is not enough," he gritted out, his own breathing ragged, his hips pistoning with a force that shook the bed. "I will be sure t-to make it enough." His words, his touch, the relentless, pounding fullness of him—it all crested and broke again. A wave of pleasure, so intense it bordered on pain, crashed through you. Your inner walls clenched around him, milking his length, and you watched, dazed, as his almost aristocratic composure now matched yours.

His eyes screwed shut, a raw, guttural moan tearing from his throat as he plunged into you one last, beautiful time. You felt a hot, flooding pulse deep inside you as he spent himself, his body shuddering with the force of his release. For long moments, the only sounds were the crackle of the fire and your combined, ragged breaths. He collapsed atop you, his weight a welcome anchor.

He nuzzled into your neck, pressing damp, open-mouthed kisses to your frantic pulse.

When he finally rolled to the side, he pulled you with him, keeping you firmly tucked atop of him, his member still nestled within you.

His fingers traced idle, possessive patterns on the slight, tender swell of your lower belly. "Feel that?" he murmured, his voice hoarse with spent passion.

"That is me. Deep inside you. Marking you. Exactly where I belong." You could only hum, your body and mind buzzing with a languid, sated stupor.

He was not done. After a while, his hands began to wander again, playful and insistent. He took you twice more that night, each time with a shifting mood—once slow and worshipful, his mouth tasting every part of you until you were mindless with need, begging him in broken phrases; fast and rough, with you on your hands and knees, him driving into you from behind, his hands gripping your hips hard enough to leave blooming fingerprints, his praises filthy and fervent against your ear.

As dawn threatened the horizon, he had you on your back once more, moving in you with a slow, deep, grinding rhythm that felt more like possession than passion. His forehead was pressed to yours, his breath mingling with your whimpers.

"I am going to fill you until you are dripping with me," he promised, his voice a dark velvet rasp. "Until the thought of anyone else is impossible. Until you carry my child here." He pressed his hand more firmly over your womb, and the thought, the sheer carnality of it, pushed you both over the edge together.

Later, as a grey light filtered through the curtains, you lay spent and boneless. Satoru propped himself on an elbow, looking down at you. His fingers, gentle now, traced the curve of your hip, then drifted through the sticky evidence of his spend that had seeped from between your thighs.

He brought his fingertips to his mouth, his eyes holding a possessive, satisfied glint as he tasted you both. "You must ride me, or I will die."

He was as much of an addict as you were becoming of his touch, of his love.

—

You sat in a chair, dressed in an elegant and ornate gown, Satoru beside you, his hand on your shoulder. Matching colors, a delicate blue. The painter took glances diligently, painting both of your features onto the canvas. You tried to stay as still as possible, but Satoru was making an effort to get a rise out of you.

It was your wedding portrait; thanks to Satoru's antics, you were late. It did not help that Satoru would continue poking, tickling, and even making crude jests; quietly enough for the painter not to hear but just low enough in your ear, you could make out every word.

"You forget yourself, Your Grace; we have duties to attend to." You sighed, resisting the urge to kick him in the knee.

"Well, Your Grace, I was simply remarking on the excellent skills of the painter before us." His calm face broke into a smile. He knew what he was doing and exactly what he had said. You even noticed the way he giggled when the thought formed in his mind. Each is worse than the one before it. The painter bowed, only hearing the compliment, unaware of Satoru's crude comment of 'painting your walls instead'.

"I will remember that, Your Grace," you warned, keeping your soft smile.

"Please do, we must be quiet now, the painter must do his work," he paused, tapping your shoulder lightly.

"I am sure you know-" you kicked him in the shin, stopping whatever was coming out of his mouth. It was low enough for the painter not to hear, but the wince on Satoru's face did bring you an inch of joy.

You would surely tip the painter well. Satoru did make haste with his comments immediately after the painter took his leave.

There would soon be a portrait of the Duke and Duchess Gojo, replacing the former one on the wall. Although you would never be her, you would be his, and he would be yours.

You worked hard to make that true.

♡ gojopied ©2026 do not copy, edit, plagiarize, put into AI, repost, or translate any of my work.

[liahcharms]

.༄. ݁˖ gays die first .ᐟ

Staying in a single cabin with Satoru and Suguru during the summer camp is... interesting. Testing your self-restraint every single day. But one day, when news spreads that a killer is murdering other campers, you decide to make a final decision. Lose your virginity! Because in slashers, gays always die first!

part of slutty, slasher, summer

.༄. ݁˖ pairing: ꒰ Femjo x F!Reader x Femguru ꒱

.༄. ݁˖ content & warnings: ꒰ MDNI 18+ :: WLW :: horrorish?? :: summer camp :: set in late 80s :: killers and murderers :: filth with plot :: some yuri satosugu action :: virign reader x experienced satosugu :: slight manipulation :: fem!toji :: fem!sukuna :: use of slasher troupes :: threesome :: face sitting :: oral sex :: fingering :: slight comedy :: everyone is constantly horny ꒱

.༄. ݁˖ words: ꒰ 7.8k ꒱

.༄. ݁˖ notes: This one is a bit different from other stories from this series, following the honry and comedic side of slashers. Enjoy!

The sun smooched your cheeks with its sizzling kisses, beading salty droplets on your neck. The wind was almost stale, scorching your skin as you walked across the short-grassed plain towards one of the wooden cabins.

The children would arrive any minute now, and some nerve in your mind could already hear their screams. At least fifty munchkins would join a month-long summer camp, with the ten camp counsellors as their guardians. At first, it seemed like not enough. During training, everyone assured you that you would handle the kids. That they weren't that bad. Handling them would be fine, leaving the evenings free to hang out with other counsellors.

Yet right now, with shorts clinging to your thighs and top soaked in sweat, all you wanted was to jump into the closest lake and forget about being a responsible adult.

You looked at the wooden key chain with the carved number three. The counsellors' cabins were scattered around the camp, surrounded by the students' ones. You sighed, noticing that the numbers on the counsellors' cabins, to your tired dismay, were not in numerical order.

With a soft curse under your breath, you moved deeper into the camp, passing several buildings. The cafeteria, playroom, and a barn, likely used for children's parties. The birds chirped high in the tall trees, which, almost spitefully, cast very little shadow over your fragile frame.

The lake shimmered beneath a setting sun behind your back, with a small beach and a volleyball net ready for children's play.

Your hand tightened on the suitcase that rolled behind you at a snail's pace, while you tensed your shoulders from the heavy backpack.

Cabin number three appeared on the horizon, its number elegantly bending and curving like the sweetest reward. You had been dreaming of nothing but jumping into the quick shower to wash away the sweat from your burnt skin.

After a minute, you took the first steps onto the little porch and opened the front door. Woody fragrance immediately hit your nostrils, seeping into your marrow with the heavy warmth. Stepping further in, you looked around at the walls and simple, creamy furniture. The small table in the living room, the soft rug, a rather large sofa…

The sofa…

Oh.

"Oh my god!" you screamed, immediately covering your eyes. "I'm, uh, sorry, I didn't mean to–" walk in on you having a make-out session?

Right on the sofa lay two women. Your roommates for the next month, most probably. One with her breasts fully spilling past the gently slipped top, legs wrapped around someone's head. Fluffy, white, nuzzled into the woman's pussy, pushing soft, crying moans from her throat.

Both of them quickly turned your way, yet none felt as mortified as you.

"Apologies, sweets. We forgot ourselves," one of them said, and you soon heard the quiet rustle of clothes. A few snickers and laughs, then she added, "You can open your eyes now."

With even more sizzling warmth, you looked shyly at the two women standing right in the middle of the living room.

Beautiful.

Yet even such a word was too simple to capture their true beauty. Something else needed to be said.

Something about one woman's long, raven hair, falling softly to curl below her breasts. Of the lavender, cat-like eyes that curled up, and her plush, cherry lips, gently smudged with lipstick. Of her threaded-gold skin, seemingly smooched by the sun's kisses.

Oh, she was utterly breathtaking. And when your eyes fell down her heavy breaths and thick thighs wrapped by nothing but flimsy shorts, something in your heart panged.

Moving your look at her friend, a soft "Oh" slipped in shyness.

She looked so much different. Taller, leaner, with muscles bulging under her pale arms. Smaller breasts wrapped by a simple top, long legs dressed in loose bermuda shorts, brushed her knees. Almost unnaturally white hair curled at the end of her neck, falling rather messily, shaggy, right over the soft forehead.

Crystal-pale eyes looked at you with a hint of cheekiness, lips curled into a rather sly smile.

And then, there was… you. Sweating, panting, with a speeding heart and something else, something foreign, bubbling in your lower belly. Spreading a sort of eerie, yet unknown warmth all over your body, till you felt it dripping from the fingertips.

"I'm sorry, I didn't know you were… here."

The slightly shorter girl giggled, pushing a lock of dark hair back behind her ear. "Don't worry, sweetheart. It's our fault. We thought we would finish quicker."

"That you would finish quicker." Her friend added, with a sly smile dancing on her handsome face.

Because that was the most accurate way to describe her. Handsome.

Beautiful seemed too plain to describe someone as ethereal. Someone who rather reminded you of the modern goddess, with her thick thighs spilling from the tight–

"I'm Suguru, by the way," she brought your thoughts back, although noticed a warm face peeking at her legs. "And that's Satoru."

You mumbled your name with a slightly hoarse voice.

"That's pretty," Satoru said, tilting her head slightly. "So you're also a camp counsellor. First time?"

You nodded, feeling the hellish heat still dancing behind your eyelids. Your fingers curled tighter around the suitcase handle as you cleared your throat.

"Yeah. I have summer break at university and thought about earning a few pennies."

Suguru hummed, nodding her head. "It's so fun, truly! It's our third time here. Other camp counsellors are also super nice-"

"I wouldn't exactly call Sukuna nice," Satoru added, walking your way slowly and grabbing the suitcase. "Let me show you our room, hm?"

Our sounded almost threatening. You knew there was no chance of a separate room, yet seeing a little performance you accidentally walked into, you found sharing a room with two women at opposite ends of your exact type seemed dangerous.

With still heated cheeks, you nodded and allowed her to lead farther into the cozy cabin. Suguru followed you two, her bare feet softly peeling off the wooden floor.

"She is nice around pretty girls," Suguru laughed, seeing the cherry flush creeping up your neck. "But may also be quite harsh, that's true. Toji, on the other side-"

Satoru scoffed, pushing one of the doors. "Sweets you better stay away from Toji. Dumb as hell and yet all the camp counsellors always land in her sheets."

You bit down on lower lip, letting out a soft chuckle. Satoru's eyes glimmered as he looked over her shoulder before inviting you in with a smile.

The room was small yet rather cozy, with three single beds, a wardrobe, and a window looking directly out over the lake. You immediately noticed that their single beds were snuggled together, while yours stayed on the other side of the room.

Suguru followed your gaze before her soft fingers wrapped around your arm. "Oh, we usually like to cuddle. It's, hm, warmer, you know?"

An it's a fucking hell outside, and sweat drips through my butt cheeks; I almost slipped past your lips, yet you answered them with a simple nod.

Satoru hummed, her crystal eyes crashing with Suguru's lavender cheekiness. "I couldn't describe it better. Warm indeed. You can join us if you wish."

There was a moment of silence, stretching between the three of you like a silk thread. Almost invisible, thin, yet pulling your bodies towards each other, seeping into the thinness of your spines.

The world spun before your eyes, and bubbling warmth filled your belly. Your lips curled into a clumsy smile. Fingers tucked a lock of hair back behind a warm ear before you coughed shyly, "It's okay. I'm quite fine by myself."

Satoru hummed, eyeing your face.

The heaviness of her gaze settled on your chest, and Suguru's sweet, slightly musky sweat wrapped around your senses.

Satoru leaned against the doorframe as she clicked her tongue, then draped her arm over Suguru's shoulders. "The bathroom's over there. Take a quick shower and join us in ten minutes. The kids will be here soon, buzzing around like a swarm of ants, so get ready."

You nodded before seeing them out further into the house. After a few muffled giggles and Suguru's, "She's so pretty, isn't she?" followed by Satoru's hum, the cabin's door closed.

Leaving you sweating and panting, with a sticky mess seeping through the drenched panties.

Oh, the next month will be nothing but pure hell.

You sighed, grabbed fresh shorts from your suitcase, and snatched the red, tight, camp staff top from your bed before stepping into the cold shower. The icy water ran down your spine like the glacial waves of heavy snow. Only a freezing shower could truly reset your senses, washing away the scorching heat that coursed through your veins.

With still slightly wet hair, and sunglasses high in your nose, you left the house.

The main cabin for all the camp counsellors' meetings lay in the middle of the lush plain. Sunlight caressed your skin with gentle kisses, and birds chirped high in the forest trees, caging the campsite in their tight clutches.

As you approached the main cabin, faint laughter and shushing sounds surrounded you. The sense that most of the counsellors already knew each other felt like a prickling sensation on your skin, and so you took a deep breath.

The house was a bit bigger, with the door wide open as if inviting you in. Voices merged into a chaotic splash of cheer, making you even more nervous. Biting your lower lip, you lingered a few seconds in front of the low steps, fingers fiddling with the hem of your tight shirt, sweat beading at the back of your neck.

One step after another, you walked up the porch, stress already eating you alive, when-

"Auch," you hissed, bumping into someone's big body. "I'm sorry."

Yet when you raised your eyes, your voice suddenly got sucked into your throat.

A woman stood there. Another, utterly beautiful, yet with a sly smirk playing on her cut lips and her emerald eyes slightly squinted. She seemed oh-so-much more muscular than Satoru and Suguru, with heavy breasts hidden tightly beneath her counsellor's shirt and beefy arms slick with glistening sweat.

The heat again hit your cheeks as you coughed awkwardly and took a step to the side.

"Sorry for standing at the entrance."

She chuckled, her slightly raspy yet sweet voice kissing your ears.

"It's okay, sweetie." Her eyes fell to the camp staff sign printed in white on your red top, lingering a moment longer. To trace the skin of your breasts, shimmering with a gentle sheen of sweat beneath the feverish sun, before slowly drifting back to your eyes. "You're our new girl, right?"

Her voice dropped low on our part, sending a cold shiver down your spine. Though you longed for nothing more than to drown yourself in the nearby lake. 

"That must be me," you laughed awkwardly, pushing a hum past her lips. "Am I the only one who's new here?"

She looked over her shoulder, eyes falling on someone inside the cabin. "Well, it seems so. Not many students want to spend their holidays with a bunch of noisy kids. We've been hanging out together for the past few years. Getting our fun at night and keeping the brats clean during the day."

You laughed softly again, peeking inside the cabin too. You've caught a peek of Satoru's snowy hair and Suguru's hips straddling her thighs.

"I'm Toji, by the way," the woman said, stretching her hand.

Oh.

Toji.

The one Satoru told you to avoid at any cost.

Great.

You shook it, shyly stammering your name too. Her emerald eyes locked you in place; her slightly tilted head forced a few raven strands to fall loosely over her shoulder.

Although a few calluses coated her palm, it still felt smooth. Delicate, with long fingers brushing yours.

"I'm responsible for sports here," she said, pulling you a little closer. She leaned in to meet your gaze, then smiled cheekily. "Do you like sports, sweets?"

"Why?" fell softly, as you traced the beauty of her face. Your throat bobbed; fingers went slightly limp within her grasp. "Do you want to teach me?"

Only after the words fell from your lips did you realise how flirty they sounded. How silly yet cute you seemed, asking such a question – a clear and open invitation to sex.

"It depends on how good you are at cardio." Her giggle set your cheeks on fire, and, oh, she seemed to take so much pleasure in all your humiliating reactions. "Although I don't mind if you, hm, prefer to be on the more relaxed side. If you want, my cabin–"

Yet before she could finish, someone pulled you away from her grasp, hugging you to their soft side.

Soft, plush, slightly sticky, carrying a sweet, flowery fragrance, only then did you notice that your cheek was plastered against Suguru's soft breasts. With her boobs barely contained by the camp staff top, she held you in an almost protective, motherly hug, as if trying to guard you from danger. 

"You really have the audacity to go after the new girl," Satoru hissed, standing in front of you and Suguru. In a similarly protective manner, she crossed her muscular arms over her chest.

Toji rolled her eyes. "I don't see how that's your problem."

You felt dumbstruck, clammy, yet cosy, with your cheek pressed to Suguru's softness and her gentle hand brushing your hair.

"Are you okay, sweets?" She cooed, sweet breath hitting your cheeks.

You barely managed to nod, pulling yourself back slightly. Suguru was a little taller than you, so her lavender eyes looked down at your warm face with a tender gaze. Fingers tucked a few strands back behind your ear; thumbs brushed your cheeks.

"Oh, you're a bit warmish."

"No, i-it's okay," you gave her a weak smile, pulling yourself away from her touch. "I overheated myself a bit… I guess."

Satoru and Satoru and Toji were still bickering on the side, yet you gave them no mind. Not when Suguru was still watching your face so carefully, and a few other people were staring at your little performance from inside.

Only then did you notice that you were all standing in the small living room. Large doors led to the terrace, and a faint breeze from a weak fan barely cooled the faces of the other camp counsellors. They all sank onto brown sofas, sighing heavily as they watched Satoru and Toji.

A girl with long, blond hair muttered, "I hope they live on the other side of the camp."

"I hope they won't try to drown each other like last year." Added the only guy sitting in the living room.

With dark hair brushing his shoulders and tired, slightly purplish under-eyes.

"Well, Satoru sucks at swimming, so I don't know why she tried to challenge Toji."

Suguru shot her head towards the girl with a cigarette hanging off her lips, eyes throwing cold daggers. "She's not that bad."

The girl chuckled. Before she could light a cigarette, another woman snatched it from her lips and broke it in half.

"That's it. Can we please focus before the kids arrive?"

She stood in the middle of the living room, squinting at all the staff seated on the sofa. Blond locks fell down her spine, coiling into a long braid. Sunglasses rested on her head, a folder of documents waiting silently between her hands.

Her shirt was different from others, with a camp chief stretched on her breasts.

"Hi, I'm Nanami," she smiled, coming slowly towards you. "Sorry for all of this. Some of our camp counsellors still don't know how to behave."

Her blue eyes narrowed at Satoru and Toji, who were now entering the cabin. Toji sat on the sofa next to another muscular woman with pink hair, while Satoru wrapped her arms around your and Suguru's shoulders.

Nanami looked at the three of you with a smile dancing on her tired lips. "I see you already had a chance to meet your new roommates?"

You nodded, yet before any words could leave your lips, Satoru pulled you closer to her chest. Smaller than Suguru's, yet spreading a comforting mix of sweat and sweetness that made your mind go balmy.

"Of course, we're besties already, right?"

"Yeah," you murmured, feeling her blue eyes look down at your cheeks. Oogling the heat creeping up your cheeks and a shy nod that made her fingers dig deeper into your arm. "We a-are."

Oh, you were so fucked.

.༄. ݁˖ .༄. ݁˖ .༄. ݁˖

You thought living with Satoru and Suguru would be manageable. That they would somehow control themselves around you.

That the camp you were working at for the past week wasn't just a yearly meeting made up of only hot women and one actually helpful guy, whose main devilish aim was to seduce you.

During the day, you all worked together with the children, organising a range of events, from swimming classes and archery to arts and crafts, even building bases in the woods, before the brats went off to rest, allowing all the staff to enjoy their time by the fireplace.

When you were taking the children to swimming class, Toji and Sukuna were already there. With muscular arms glistening in the sunlight, tight swimsuits barely covering their tits and nothing but cheeky shorts wrapped around their hips.

You couldn't keep track of how often they tried to pull you into the lake. You noticed their eyes linger on your body as you entered the water in a swimsuit. Fingers were gentle as Sukuna corrected your posture, softly saying, "good girl, like that, mhm, that's perfect." Her crimson eyes fixed on your slowly rising breasts, her hands beneath your back as you floated on the water, supported by her arms.

"You're a natural, baby. Doing so well for me."

And so, after the morning swimming classes – which were meant for children, not you – a cold shower was quite needed.

In the afternoon, when you joined archery with your assigned group of children, Satoru kept putting her hands on your hips. Pulling them toward her, with lips close to your ear, warm breath tingling across your skin like petal kisses, as she whispered instructions on how to draw a bow.

"You should feel it here," fingers pressing some spot on your back. "Mhm, that's good. Correct your stance. Push your hips a bit further back."

You took a deep breath, feeling her hips brushing against your ass.

"Shouldn't you look at childr–"

"They're fine. Let's focus on you, sweets."

Thus, after the archery class, a shower was needed too. Cold, like the glacier peaks of unfathomable mountains, as you tried to think about anything but Satoru's long fingers making circles on your hips.

During the arts and crafts with Suguru, oh dearest. She was always eager to sit behind you. With her heavy bust pressed against your back, cherry lips near your ear, chin resting on your shoulder.

"Press it a bit harder, sweets," she would mutter, wrapping your linked hands around the clay vase. "That's good. Now make gentle circles here. This way, we'll get a nice pattern, hm?"

But you couldn't focus on her words at all. Not when her sweetness heightened your fever, and gentle touch of skin made your mind whirl. Raven hair, always fragrant with the richest fruits, carried hints of peach, raspberry, and soft lavender, tumbling over your shoulder as she watched you from behind. Her lavender eyes followed your awkward effort to craft a vase from clay.

"You're doing great," she giggled, pushing a low chuckle past your lips.

"Am I? The ten-year-olds seem to be doing better than me."

Suguru shook her head, breast pressing to your back tighter. "Don't worry, I'll teach you. I'm quite good with my hands."

And as you might have guessed, the pottery class was also ending with a cold shower. The one that would finish with your soft moans echoing off the small bathroom, while one of your hands was pressed to your lips, another playing with your swollen clit. Smearing the stickiness all over your drenched pussy, thigh, feeling the desperate clenching of your walls as if in need to feel something longer, softer.

Something reminding you of Satoru's long, pale fingers and Suguru's strong pressure.

For the past week, you've felt as if the hormonal rush of our teenage years had hit you twice as hard. The horny sensation that seemed never to leave your body. The heat lingering in your cheeks and chest, constantly bubbling deep within your lower belly.

Living with Satoru and Suguru was a mix of a nightmare and every lesbian's dream. They fucked almost every night, with soft whispers and giggles filling your small bedroom, as if you weren't even there.

But they knew you were.

They knew because every night, Satoru whispered, "She looks so pretty when she sleeps," and your name, softly spoken by Suguru while she was climaxing, kept echoing in your ears.

Their pants and moans and cries, with the nasty squelch echoing off the wooden walls, when Suguru was eating Satoru's drenched pussy with wet smacks.

And as you lay with your back turned their way, facing the wall, you simply couldn't help but let your hand slowly fall between your thighs.

To push the muffled breaths into your pillow, while fingers rolled the plump clit. To allow yourself to get aroused, wretched, upon hearing their soft moans and cries. Suguru's fingers slipping deep inside Satoru's pussy. Satoru changing their positions, to press her drenched folds to Suguru's. Lips wrapping around her full breasts, tongue swirling around her nipple, as her hips moved.

The squelching friction of their cunts rolling against each other made your head spin. Your fingers rolled the clit harder, thighs clenched at the sheer thought of feeling their tongues, fingers, lips on your body.

Oh, you truly hoped they couldn't see your body writhing in the darkness of your shared room, with your bed neatly tucked into the dimmest corner. And thank fucking God.

Their climax always sounded lovely. Almost too sugary, with the softest moans slipping past their lips, when they both cummed in each other's wet, sweating embrace.

The room was filled with nothing but the smell of their arousal, pinching your spine as you let yourself cum too. Shyly, silently, as if you didn't want them to know how badly you wanted to join.

But your virgin mind was simply too… shy to ask. Horny? Oh, dearest, you've never felt as horny as you have over the past week. Yet you couldn't bring yourself to agree to Satoru's repeated offers to join your beds.

To allow Suguru wrap her arms around your waist, when she was slipping behind you in the kitchen.

Their touch set your body aflame, and most of the time you simply tried to wriggle yourself out of it.

And then, during one evening, you might have spilt a few intimate details about yourself, setting in motion a chain of consequences that would soon spin your whole world.

When all the camp counsellors met by the fireplace, with a light wine and food, simply enjoying spending your time together.

Yuki, Choso, Nanami, your two nasty swimming teachers, Shoko and even Utahime too. A sweet camp cook, who always left a few extra cookies for you on the side.

"Oh, you're a virgin?" Satoru was almost dumbfounded, and Suguru slightly smacked the back of her head.

"As if there's anything wrong with it!" She said, already a bit tipsy.

"Of course there's nothing wrong with it," Satoru hummed. "You just don't look like the type."

Oh, truly, because from your perspective, it couldn't be clearer that all their soft touches and whispers were driving you absolutely mad.

"Well, I'll take it as a compliment then. I never had a, you know. A chance," your tongue was already overly loose, yet mind too tipsy to stop the blabbering.

You didn't mean to reveal this secret. Not with all the women who were forcing you to act like a horny teenage boy.

But the atmosphere was sweet, Suguru placed soft circles on your lower back, and Satoru sat on the grass, leaning against your legs, as you sat on the thick log.

"Never had a boyfriend?"

Fire kissed her pale cheeks gently, casting a soft glow on the side of her face. Crystal eyes looked up, gazing at your plush lips twisting into an awkward smile.

"No, I've never had… a girlfriend," your eyes fell down your slippers, fingers tugging on the soft end of your hoodie. "I come from a small town, so it was difficult to find anyone."

Because all the other lesbians lived in secret, just waiting for a chance to leave for their studies, just as you did. Even at university, finding love still seemed quite difficult.

You weren't sure if the issue was yourself or just that you hadn't met a woman who would truly set your heart aflame.

Well, at least until now.

An awkward silence stretched among you all, and you groaned, feeling utter embarrassment that those new people knew about your little secret. Dearest heavens, you shouldn't drink with them again.

With head hanging between your shoulders, you stared down at Satoru’s cheeky face. Slightly curled lips, eyes shining wickedly, as Suguru squeezed your thigh.

"At least you'll be the one who survives if the killer gets us," Yuki suddenly chuckled, pushing a soft marshmallow into her mouth.

You furrowed, looking between all the other people who groaned. Choso shook his head, while Toji only sighed, taking another can of beer.

“What killer?” you asked, looking at Nanami.

The only reliable one, always mostly polite, acting in an almost gentlemanly way. She sighed and shook her head.

"Well, there's a story going on. About the guy who drowned here as a child because of the counsellors' negligence. He supposedly lives somewhere in these woods, killing the staff and campers," she said softly, yet the fire smouldering her cheeks gave her an eerie aura. The one washing cold shivers down your spine. Seeing your twisted face, Nanami chuckled. "Don't worry, it's just a fable. As you can see, we're all alive."

You bit the inside of your cheek, feeling Satoru wriggle by your legs. Her head fell back on your knees, hair scattering around the milky forehead as she winked.

"Don't worry, sweets, I'll protect you."

Your eyes rolled, yet fingers clenched tighter on the log's edge.

"No, he's alive. I know it. And you should be happy you're a virgin, because virgins always survive in slashers," Yuki stuck out her tongue, tipsy head falling onto Choso's shoulder as she posed as dead.

Utahime, sitting on the ground in a similar way to Satoru and allowing Shoko to brush her hair, pinched Yuki's calf.

"Stop blabbering! You're scaring the shit out of me."

You chuckled, yet a sudden thought slipped into your mind. Your forehead visibly wrinkled, fingers tapped on the log, as Satoru looked at you from below.

"What's going on in that pretty head of yours?" She asked, while Suguru tucked a lock of your hair behind the ear.

"Well," you started, tilting your head. "Virgins survive, but gays always die first. So if the killers come, most of us will be their first target."

Another thread of silence stretched between a few people seated around the bonfire. The evening was deep, slipping slowly into night. Moonlight crept through the thick trees, and the lake settled into a peaceful slumber, allowing a few frogs to sit on the warm stones and chirp like crickets among the bushes. Crickets sang a soft melody, mingling with the fire's gentle crackle.

Yuki furrowed her forehead, clearly thinking about your words.

"Oh, you may be right. So even if you are a virgin, you'll die anyway," she giggled, her head falling drunkenly down Choso's thighs.

He sighed, brushing away the blond locks of her cheeky face and covering her tighter with a blanket.

Nanami shook her head, slowly rising. "Well, fortunately, there's no killer and no one has to die. It's just an old fable to scare the children," she shot you a smile. "Let's use it tomorrow on all the naughty brats trying to slip out of the cabins past curfew, hm?"

With that being said, the evening has ended. With Choso taking Yuki on his back, Shoko wrapping her arm around Utahime's shaking shoulder, Toji and Sukuna going back to their own cabin, while Satoru took her sweet time before slowly rising.

Suguru's cheek pressed softly against your shoulder, her gentle breath brushing you, creating a warm, soothing mist of her sweet aura around you.

"Don't worry, we won't let you die a virgin," she giggled, nuzzling herself closer against your arm.

And back then, while allowing Satoru to help you stand up from a log and wrap her arm around your and Suguru's shoulders, you had no idea how prophetic her words would turn out to be.

.༄. ݁˖ .༄. ݁˖ .༄. ݁˖

Another week passed before all the camp counsellors gathered again. This time, inside the warm cabin, as the rain and storm danced over the towering trees, the midnight sky lit up here and there, with a deep, rumbling sound carried through the air.

This time, Satoru and Suguru stayed in your cabin, as if hoping to enjoy a bit of time alone. You left the house gladly, without even looking over your shoulder, shaking off the sticky warmth creeping up your neck with a tremble.

And up to your surprise, Sukuna and Toji also decided to skip the meeting.

"I think they caught a cold after morning swimming class," Nanami waved her hand. "They'll be fine, don't worry."

You nodded, plumping down on the brown sofa.

The gentle flicker of warm lamps lit the small room as you allowed yourself to relax and grow tipsy in the company of other staff. With Nanami, as usual, nodding with a smile and sipping wine; Yuki blabbering about all the embarrassments from previous years; Choso adding a few snippets of his own; and Shoko and Utahime busy with themselves.

Shoko wrapping the girl's hair around her finger, a grey smoke wrapping around Utahime's squirming nose.

A honeyed warmth filled your body, with the red wine trickling down your throat. Fogging your mind in an utterly pleasurable, almost balmy way, a feeling dangerously close to everything that pinched your body on those nights. When Satoru's tongue worked on Suguru's pussy more deliciously than usual, with the raven-haired girl's moans kissing your ears.

"Hm, I think it's time to do a quick round," Nanami sighed, looking outside into the heavy, rainy night.

Before she could stand, you pressed a palm to her thighs, sitting her back down. "You should rest. I'll go, don't worry."

Her chestnut eyes held yours for a moment before she nodded in thanks and let you slip into the warm storm. With an umbrella over your head and a flashlight in hand, you set out on the last evening walk.

Checking whether the kids didn't try to leave their cabins or spend the night with their friends. Whether the sixteen-year-old didn't have a foolish idea of slipping into the nearby woods to get drunk on cheap beers they managed to slip into their backpacks – you've been there and done that too, after all – or whether all the lights were off.

The crystal droplets bounced gently off the umbrella, sinking into the drenched, muddy earth. You walked slowly, humming softly, allowing yourself to breathe in the fresh, woody smell.

"Oh!" you gasped, slipping on something. Muggy, moist, sticking to your already wet shoes. "Ew, what is–"

But when the soft light fell to the ground – your throat tightened. Your heart throbbed, as if something heavy were hitting it with a hammer weighing a ton. The raspy breath was muffled by the heavy pattering rain as you stared at the crimson liquid pooling beneath your feet.

Carrying a metallic fragrance that tickled your nose in most unpleasing manner.

Your hand trembled, letting the umbrella slip into the muggy pool, light falling sharply on the bloody trail that led you deeper into the forest.

You shouldn't go.

Of course you shouldn't.

But what if one of the children was attacked? What if they needed your help? A weak, reckless child who came upon something, someone treacherous, hiding deep within the murky woods.

There's a story going on…

A wave of shivers ran down your spine, breath again slipped in a shudder.

"Fuck," you muttered, brushing droplets from your forehead with the back of your hand. "Fuck, fuck, fuck."

Rain drenched your skin, hair stuck to cheeks, as you slowly walked into the woods. Following the crimson trail that seeped deep into the mud, mingling with the rain and dirt, yet still letting you see the faint traces of the shining, burgundy droplets.

The trees seemed to draw closer, as if wishing to trap you inside. Lock you within the crooked branches, wrapping your hair around their petal leaves.

The faint traces of blood marked moist earth, before something else appeared.

Something black and silky, and soon you noticed it was the hair. Dark locks sticking to the pale skin, falling over the pale cheeks and slashed lips.

Toji.

And right next to her, a sprawled body with long, pink hair wrapping around the creamy skin, covering half of the crimson-stained face, so similar in colour to Sukuna's beautiful eyes.

A sharp cry fell past your lips. Your hand pressed to your lips as a thought of a murderer still being somewhere around quickly flashed through your mind.

How is it possible that no one heard the screams? Could the rain truly be that heavy, muffling the cries of your friends? After spending two weeks together in close company – friends, could they be?

You wished to touch them. To see where the blood was coming from. Whether it was still possible to save them.

But instead, with feet slipping on the sloppy mix of mud and blood, you ran back towards the camp. Specifically, your cabin, as you rumbled through the door and locked it tight behind you.

Drenched, terrified, with shaking hands and shuddered breath, you ran through the little hallway before storming into your bedroom.

"They're dead!" you cried, yet a second later a soft, "Oh" quickly joined.

You forgot why Satoru and Suguru stayed back. Why exactly you decided to leave the cabin.

As both of them were now sprawled naked on their connected beds, Suguru's thighs wide open, head slightly lolling to the side, fingers buried in Satoru's hair.

Satoru lying between Suguru's thick thighs, pushing them even wider, to lap through the drenched, swollen folds of her glistening pussy.

She looked over her shoulder with cheeks smeared in Suguru's cum, shooting you a sly smile. "Hi sweetie. What did you say?"

The familiar warmth started bubbling in your belly. Mixing with a dread, a shaken soul, a heart that wished to race out of the ribcage. The picture of Toji's and Sukuna's dead bodies merged with a full view of Suguru's sweet, dripping pussy.

Oh, you were a horrible person.

Horrible, horrible, horrible.

Egotistic and wicked and blinded by the horniness that was building up within your body for the past few weeks.

Both women stared at you with slightly tilted heads. The room was thick with their sweat and breath, a fog that clung to the windows, smooching them with creamy kisses.

"I want you to fuck me," slipped suddenly. "Both of you."

Satoru's lips fell open, crystal eyes slightly bulging. Suguru raised her eyebrows before she cleared her throat. "Sweetheart, did anything happen?"

But you didn't answer.

No, instead your shirt fell to the floor with a wet splash. Short followed soon after, before you finally took off the bra, allowing your soft breasts to spill past the lost cups.

You didn't know where the sudden confidence came from, yet the conversation from a week earlier hit you like a hammer. If you were meant to die anyway, there was no way in hell you would die a virgin.

So you joined them on the bed on all fours. Slowly drawing closer to Suguru's wicked, lavender eyes, before stopping right in front of her face.

The beauty unmatched, kissed by a thousand divine goddesses. With lips in a pout, bewitching gaze squinting into a kitty-like shape, as you placed a hand on her delicate cheek. Gliding your thumb over her lower lip, savouring the cosy warmth radiating from her sun-kissed skin.

"What are you waiting for?" She whispered, kissing your finger softly.

With a shuddering, deep breath, you pressed yourself against her. Her sweet lips and moaning puffs drew you closer. Her tongue met yours, teeth clashed, and saliva dripped down your chin from the messy kisses filling the foggy room.

Satoru hummed, and before you could turn her way, strong fingers wrapped around your ankles. Quickly pulling you away from Suguru's lips, turning you on your back, only to put you back into the same position. With thighs pressed to your chest, glistening pussy wide open for Satoru's beastly maw.

"Don't mind me," she giggled, lowering herself down to take a deep, groany smell of your cunt. "I'm going to make out with her."

Suguru sat beside you, looking down at your shocked, already dizzy face. With hair scattered across the pillow and slightly lidded eyes, she slipped her hand to brush your breasts.

"Hm, do you want to try too?" She asked, rolling your perked nipple between her fingers.

"Try wh–ah!" A cry fell past your lips when Satoru fully pressed her tongue to your pussy.

A feeling... impossible to describe. Nothing could ever match your poor attempt to pleasure yourself with those pitiful fingers of yours. The numerous toys you kept tightly hidden beneath your bed – vibrators that never satisfied, warming lubricants that yearned to mimic the true heat of Satoru's delicate tongue.

She hummed, sending trembles deep into your pussy and pushing another cry past your throat. Suguru giggled, drawing closer to peck your cheek.

"Do you want to eat me out?" she whispered, peppering your fallen lips with kisses. "I'm already so wet for you, sweetheart. Can I sit on your face?"

Oh, you dreamed only of feeling her thighs wrap around your cheeks. Feel her warmth close to your face, and you nodded. Her lips curled into a cheeky smile before she lowered herself over your face. Hands gripping the bed's wooden frame, cushy thighs brushing your cheeks.

"Stick out your tongue, sweetheart," she said, seeing you obediently do so. With sparkles of awe shining in your eyes as you looked at the woman hovering right over your face. "Mmm, such a good girl. Now, be gentle, ahh."

The moment her pussy met your tongue, something beneath your belly burst. She tasted simply like skin, with a slightly musky scent of sweat, yet your eyes rolled back at the sweetness spilling over your tongue. The sheer fact that you could finally taste her made your head spin, fingers clenching on her thighs to pull her closer.

Satoru chuckled, sucking on your clit softly. Licking, slurping, kissing the softness of your drenched pussy the same way you did it with Suguru's. One of her long, pale fingers poked your fluttering hole, pushing it gently through the tight walls.

"Sorry sweets, next time I'll use my strap," she hummed, feeling the plush clench around her fingers.

Suguru moaned softly as you sucked on her clit the same way Satoru sucked yours. In fact, you tried to mimic everything you felt. The slurps and smooches and nasty squelch, when her juices trickled down your tightened throat. Your moans hit her core whenever Satoru pressed her face closer to your pussy.

"Mhm, she's going to fuck both of us, one after another. What do you think, sweetheart?" Suguru brushed a few stray locks from your forehead, giggling at the deep furrow between your brows. "Oh my, so–ah–focused. Am I that good?"

So fucking good. So, so, so good, you wanted to say, but instead moaned loudly right into the plush of her pussy.

Your hands slipped up, tracing the smoothness of her thighs, hips, and belly, before finally cupping her heavy breasts. The flesh spilled between your fingers, with nipples just begging to be pinched, and you did so with genuine pleasure.

Nothing, really, brought you more pleasure than watching Suguru's body writhe in bliss on top of yours. Her hips moved against your tongue, head slightly tilted back, allowing raven locks to cascade down her back. Soft fingers gripped the bed frame as she began chasing the rising heat in her belly.

And you did it too, with tears swirling beneath your lids, as Satoru found your sweet spot. And, oh, she used this to her utmost wicked pleasure, massaging it with two long fingers, while licking your sweet, leaking cunt. With a cheeky smile of satisfaction tugging on her lips, seeing your belly rise and fall faster. Thighs clench around her head, hips rolling against her tongue.

"You're so close, sweets. Aren't you?"

You couldn't say anything. Not with Suguru's hips straddling your face, her warmth fully pressed to your starving mouth.

"Satoru, she's–ahh fuck–a bit busy," her velvety voice echoed somewhere from over your head, but you didn't notice.

In fact, you couldn't register anything, completely enwrapped by the pleasure coursing through your body. Your focus was solely on cumming and making Suguru climax, as you gently increased the pressure on her clit. Your tongue flicked inside her pussy, fingers rolling erect nipples, until she finally stilled on your face.

Her body shaking from pleasure, as you joined her with a pitiful moan. Letting yourself cum all over Satoru's face, as her strong arm pressed your belly to keep your wriggling hips in place. Giving your folds one last lick before slipping higher.

And higher, kissing the plush of your belly, the mound of your breasts, and when Suguru slipped herself off your drenched face, connecting her lips with yours.

"You did so well, sweets," she murmured, cupping your cheek. "Such a good girl."

She kissed you slowly, sweetly, much lighter than Suguru. With body pressed to yours, thigh between your wet legs. When she pulled away, a long stripe of crystal saliva connected your swollen lips.

Suguru cupped Satoru's cheeks and pulled her into a short kiss, swallowing each other's laughs and giggles.

You watched them with pure bliss and heavy breaths. Their naked bodies embraced one another with a passion you'd never had, yet you were ready to accept if only they wished to share it.

"How about we take care of Satoru together, hm?" Suguru asked, lavender eyes looking down at your dreamy face.

With a soft nod, you sat, letting Satoru fall down the plush pillows with a soft laugh.

"I'm fine, trust me," she said, yet watched you and Suguru slowly kiss down her body with a twinkle in her crystal eyes. "I'm–ah, fuck."

A low moan escaped her throat when your lips wrapped around one of her nipples, while Suguru took care of the other. Kissing, pinching, and sucking it gently before you started going down.

And down, through the lean, muscular belly and creamy hips, as you slowly spread her legs open. White pubes tickling your nose as you nuzzle your cheek into the mound of her pussy.

"How could I not return your kindness?" you giggled, watching a smile tug on Satoru's lips.

"Oh? And how do you plan to do that, hm?" She bit down on her lower lip, watching two beautiful, completely wet naked women nuzzle themselves between her spread thighs. "My sweet girls, next time remind me to bring a camera. Fuck, I would hang your photo over my–nghh."

Fluffy hair fell back as both you and Suguru started lapping through her folds. The saliva dripping from your tongue mixed with her creamy cum, as you both slurped on the wetness of her cunt.

Satoru looked down, another low, "Fucking hell," slipping past her lips.

As both you and Suguru started kissing right over her fluttering cunt. Licking her folds clear, before pressing your lips into one, as if wishing to taste Satoru's cum off your tongues. Sucking, drinking, moaning right into your throats, before going back to Satoru's pussy and lapping her with nasty squelch.

Your fingers pressing into her fluttering hole, brushing the soft, clenching walls till finally pressing something soft.

Something that forced a loud sigh past Satoru's lips and spread her thighs even wider. In a desperate need to feel her two beautiful girls get sugar high over her glistening cunt.

"Fuck, I'm close," she whispered, brushing away your and Suguru's locks from your faces. "So good, oh god, my sweet girls, you make me feel s-so good."

You sucked on her clit with a soft moan, hand already slipping down your body to press the swollen clit. Suguru thrusted her fingers in an almost brutal manner, yet still pressing onto Satoru's sweet spot with softness.

"Cum for us, baby," she whispered, her lavender eyes catching the crystal, blurring gaze. "Show us how good we make you feel. Our sweetheart has been working so hard to pleasure you, hm?"

Your eyes twinkled at seeing Satoru's face filled with pure pleasure. Small breasts heaving with rapid breaths, eyes half-closed, abdomen tightening to release the final droplets of creaminess, before a loud, sweet moan echoed in your ears.

Her cunt clenched on your and Suguru's fingers, a gush of liquid cum splashing all over your faces.

And together with Satoru's moans… something else crashed.

The door to your bedroom opened with a thud.

"Fuck, you already started?"

Something in your chest clenched. A sudden dread washed over you as you slowly looked over your shoulder to see no one but Toji and Sukuna. With a few traces of crimson still coating their faces, their hair fell wetly over their shoulders.

Seeing your bulging eyes, Sukuna chuckled. "Surprise, sweets."

You looked between her and Toji, your throat tight, before turning back to Satoru. An innocent, pouted smile twisted her lips, but it reminded you of a rather devilish creature.

"Listen, we just wanted to play a little prank."

Yet before you could say anything, someone's strong fingers settled on your hip. Perking them up, another hand pressed against your shoulders. With a slight turn, you noticed Sukuna taking off her wet top, while Toji was already looking down at your glistening cunt.

"Yeah, yeah, trick or treat, or whatever. I've been waiting too long for it, so how about you relax and let us take care of you, hm?"

©liahcharms all rights reserved. Do not copy, plagiarise, feed AI, translate or modify my works.

Part two of Fem!Toji and Fem!Sukuna fucking reader with TWO strap-ons....

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art by @to00fu dividers by @uzmacchiato

[fukiouh]

[SOLVED] | nerdjo x reader

The first mistake you made was using Reddit to find a roommate. The second was moving in with him anyway. Satoru Gojo is a gorgeous man and a terminally online incel who will explain exactly why a nice guy like him can't get a girlfriend. When you decide to weaponize your hotness against his incel worldview, you expect to break him and his “alpha male" ideologies. You do not expect to spend a random evening getting your roommate's dick out of a stuck cock ring.

pairing: Gojo Satoru x reader

warnings: 18+ (mdni!!), explicit sexual content, afab!reader, modern AU, roommate AU, nerdjo, incel!gojo, virgin!gojo, oral (m and f receiving), piv, creampie, light degradation, praise kink, cum in hair, cum eating, cum-drunk, pussy-drunk, cock rings, fleshlights, improper use of hair tie, improper use of yogurt (accidentally ??), oil and fluids everywhere, it’s a bit disgusting, light choking, groping, big time copium from reader, secondhand embarrassment you’d die, reddit, incel stuff, crack treated seriously, fluff, smut, slow burn but the burn is just pure cringe

word count: 17k+

The first mistake you made was using Reddit to find a roommate. Should’ve been a red flag, really. The second was agreeing to meet the guy in person.

You walked into the coffee shop, scanning the midday crowd for someone who matched the description — twenty-something, remote-employed, appreciates a quiet living environment. You were expecting a tired grad student, maybe. Or some tech guy in a Patagonia fleece. Something like that.

Instead, you found a gorgeous, gorgeous looking man. And you were confident it was him, since there were exactly two men present — him, and some grandpa having his afternoon caffeine fix.

And the guy was, objectively and objectifyingly speaking, probably the prettiest guy you had ever laid your eyes on. Way too tall, way too broad, the messy hair and the cute glasses adding the je ne sais quoi of the hot nerd aesthetic you were simply too weak for. Even hunched over his phone like that, he looked aggressively cute. But, let’s be honest, you weren't exactly against a cheeky roommates-to-lovers situation, if you catch my drift.

You stopped dead in your tracks. 

Oh no. Oh YES.

Your heart went thump thump thump! like crazy as you stood there, frozen between the door and the counter. Living with a man who looked like that was a direct threat to your peace. And his too, probably. You couldn't believe you had practically won a jackpot over freaking Reddit. And apparently Reddit was only full of weird people, as if. So you took a breath, adjusted your posture, and walked over.

But then the panic hit. Because someone who looked like that was probably bringing home a different girl every night. And you’d have to listen to the stupid Thump. Thump. Thump. of his bed through the thin drywall. Every single time.

Suck it and see, you never know, girl.

And from his seat, Satoru had already run the numbers. His eyes tracked your movement the second you started walking over, assessing. You were cute, yes. Approachable hot, not intimidating hot. You didn’t look like the type who’d expect him to pay for everything or make fun of his personality. And most importantly — you had messaged him first on the housing thread.

That meant the dynamic was already set. You were practically already his. Why else would a girl willingly want to live with a man? The power balance was secured. Handled. Handed to him on a silver platter, just like all the podcasts had promised.

You slid into the booth across from him. "Satoru?"

"You're exactly two minutes and forty seconds late," Satoru announced, and you feared that wasn't a joke. He checked his phone screen. "Statistically speaking, women in their twenties are usually ten to fifteen minutes late to initial meetups to assert social dominance. Two minutes is almost negligible. I like the effort."

You stared at him. What the fuck. You hadn't even taken your jacket off yet.

"I got caught at a red light," you said slowly, furrowing your eyebrows and eyeing his hands. Why were they so big?

“Right. Variables.” Satoru nodded, looking way too serious about the whole thing. He leaned back, crossing his arms over his chest. 

“So — I brought the lease agreement. As I mentioned, I have a 780 credit score and I want dishes done within twenty-four hours. To prevent breeding grounds for fruit flies.” He slid the keys across the table along with the papers, completely unprompted. “I assume you don’t have a problem with basic hygiene? You shouldn’t have—” his eyes dragged over you, slow and sleazy, “—judging by your appearance.”

You looked at the keys. Then at his stupidly pretty, already supremely annoying face.

Your brain was trying to throw up big red warning signs, but you really needed the space. It was cheap. Close to work. And you’d have to survive maybe a year or two before you could afford a one-bedroom on your own.

You go, girl.

“I’m clean,” you said, picking up the keys. You narrowed your eyes at him, trying to figure out exactly what brand of lunatic you were about to chain yourself to. “Listen. You’re not going to be weird, are you?”

Satoru tilted his head, genuinely confused. “Define weird.”

You bit your lip.

There went those “quick” two years of your life.

You already knew the answer. You already fucking knew. Time for some hard coping. Maybe this was just a phase. Maybe he’d snap out of it soon. Maybe he’d gone through a breakup and was just being salty. That was probably it. Must have been.

And to be fair, the first few weeks weren’t actually that weird. You were getting to know each other, learning how to exist in the same space. It was quiet, even. You would’ve paid good money to keep it like that forever.

He mostly worked from his room, only came out for meals, did the dishes, and left you alone. He barely even talked to you, which should’ve been suspicious, but you chose to ignore it. You started to think maybe you’d read him wrong at the café. Maybe the breakup theory was right. Maybe he was just having a weird day.

But spoiler alert, because you couldn’t have been more wrong.

Satoru had not gone through a bad breakup. You suspected he had never gone through any breakup at all ever. Once he got comfortable enough to drop the act, or perhaps as some calculated 4D chess move to trap you past the point of getting your deposit back, his true colors started showing.

Satoru didn’t bring girls home. He didn’t do any of the hot-man things you’d expected either. Instead, he spent most of his free time on Reddit, arguing with strangers about the state of modern dating, and why “nice guys” like him were being overlooked by society.

After about a month, it clicked.

This man was chronically, terminally online. And an incel on top of it all.

The rule of never judging a book by its cover confirmed itself in the most jarring way possible. Would say, you played yourself there girl, but who am I to judge.

It started with the staring. You’d be sitting at the kitchen island in your sleep shirt, eating a bowl of Cheerios, and you’d look up to find him just… watching you. He never looked away when you caught him either. He’d just blink those big, stupidly pretty blue eyes at you, gaze heavy and analytical, like he was trying to calculate your exact molecular structure. Which, in a way, he kinda was. Carefully assessing the harmony of your facial features, exactly like the looksmaxxing subreddit had probably told him to.

You were always the one who had to look away first, your face feeling weirdly hot.

Then came the rants. You’d come home from a brutal shift and collapse onto the couch, and Satoru would emerge from his room like clockwork. He’d drop down next to you, eyes glued to his phone, and start talking like someone had asked.

“It’s basic hypergamy,” he announced one night, to absolutely no one. “Men are biologically disadvantaged in the modern dating sphere because of the top-twenty-percent rule.”

You didn’t even look at him. You just kept staring at the TV and wondered how long you could keep nodding along before it would become suspicious.

And he would just keep on going.

Spewing the most vile, stupid shit while you sat there, eyes flicking from the TV to him and back, nodding along because you genuinely did NOT care. Top twenty what percent? Wasn’t he objectively in the top ten at least? What the hell was he even talking about? And every time you didn’t answer, he probably took it as an agreement. You just deadass had nothing to say to him.

Not because you lacked the energy to argue. Though you kind of did, because talking to this manchild was like talking to a wall, and even that would’ve been more productive. Buut mostly because you weren’t even listening anymore. You’d learned how to tune him out pretty quickly.

You were tolerating him, which is what you told yourself. You were tolerating him, and it had nothing to do with the fact that ever since you first laid eyes on him, your brain had decided to revert to its default caveman settings.

Like that one evening when you were walking down the hallway toward the kitchen and the bathroom door opened. Satoru stepped out, dripping wet. White hair plastered to his forehead, water still running down his chest, wearing nothing but a towel dangerously low on his hips. You shamelessly followed his happy trail…The way the towel barely clung on his hips. Gaaawd.

Your brain stalled at the sight of his pretty body and your mouth went dry — or did you start to drool? You couldn’t remember anymore. You reminded yourself why you were tolerating him. Then berated yourself for doing exactly what he did — objectifying.

But hey. What's better than an incel asshole? A hot incel asshole! That's what's better. Be fucking for real. Congratulations to you specifically, really found a rock between a sea of gems.

You thought you had it handled. Juuust white-knuckle your way through the lease. Easy peasy lemon squeezy.

And then you walked past his partially open bedroom door and heard him on Discord.

"Yeah, I mean, the living situation is okay," Satoru was saying, sounding so perfectly reasonable. You thought he was going to say something nice. Like, what a good roommate she is, how glad he was to have you there.

"She's clean. And yeah, she's hot, but she's not like super hot hot where it's scary, you know? She's cute hot. Next door hot, pretty hot. Just my type, you know my type, dude. I can definitely work with that."

You froze in the hallway. Your face did something that could only be described as a visual representation of what the fuck.

Cute hot. I can definitely work with that.

What does that even mean? You knew exactly what it meant, unfortunately. He wasn't just a weird roommate. He was a weird roommate actively running some kind of deranged, incel-fueled long game on you. Casually. Over Discord with his incel buddies. 

You quietly backed away, went to your room, locked the door, and screamed into your pillow.

It was not like your roommate was describing you like a property investment to someone over Discord while you were standing mere feet away. 

You hated this. You hated him. And you hated yourself for having been even remotely apologetic about it, for feeling your heart skip a beat when he said just my type. Curse you and your completely stupid and irrational attraction to someone you should probably be filing a restraining order against! But god, he was so so cute. If he could just shut the fuck up, or get lobotomized, or something. You could take him to Claire's over the weekend?

But to his credit, and you could not fucking believe you were giving him even some credit at all right now, he was sometimes tolerable, heavy on the sometimes. The man never missed a rent payment. He scrubbed the bathtub weekly. He always bought the expensive brand of paper towels, the ones with the little flower pattern you liked.

Good roommate, generally speaking. Fucking nightmare, every other way.

And the attraction was just a proximity issue. Obviously. Trust. Everyone would have this problem! It would go away with time! His personality was ass. And soon enough you'd look at him and convince yourself his looks were ass too. Start acknowledging his hotness the way you acknowledged anything asexual.

It was totally fine. You were fine! He was just a guy. A guy who happened to look like a Final Fantasy character rendered in 4K, but still just a guy. A nice guy.

And work with that, he definitely did. Because he was fine too! Just not in any way he would ever admit to his Discord buddies.

Because doing it the normal way guys in their sexual prime do was completely fine. He was in his twenties, so naturally, his mind wandered a bit when his head hit the pillow with passing thoughts about the way your sleep shirt rode up your bare thigh. There was absolutely nothing wrong with getting off while thinking about someone! It was just the normal biological need the podcasts yapped about! It was healthy to be sexually active, even if his only active partner was his fist.

And if that happened to escalate into jerking off to a completely innocent Instagram picture and coming all over his phone screen while staring at your pixelated smile? Also completely normal! Everyone dealt with new living arrangements differently… Someone screamed into their pillow, someone else was jerking off every time you got said person inexplicably hard! He couldn't be expected to live like a celibate monk when he was just a poor, horny guy trapped in an apartment with a gorgeous roommate who also happened to be exactly his type. He wasn't being a creep! He was just adapting to his environment.

Goddamn.

It wasn't fine. He wasn't fine, you weren't fine either.

But as the weeks dragged on, he started getting worse. 

The passive-aggressive creepiness turned into passive-aggressive entitlement. He had decided, completely on his own, that the two of you were basically already together. You could feel it in the way he hovered. In the way he looked at you like he was waiting for something. Like a bill was coming due and he was just giving you time to find your wallet.

It started with the food. Without any discussion, he started either making food for both of you or straight-up eating what you’d made for yourself. Like that was just the new normal now.

“Satoru, did you eat my food?” you’d ask, staring at the empty space in the fridge where your meal had been. The one you’d been looking forward to all day. And he’d just nod from the couch like it was the most normal, domestic thing in the world and not a direct violation of the rules you’d set when you moved in.

Or there was the night you came home completely drained, fully prepared to eat a sleeve of saltines and a bucket of ice cream for dinner, only to walk into the apartment smelling like garlic and roasted vegetables?

Satoru was actually at the stove, cooking. A rare sight — the man usually survived on takeout and DoorDash. And he’d used your expensive dried tomatoes too. The ones you’d been saving for a special occasion. The ones you’d shoved to the back of the fridge on purpose so he wouldn’t find them.

“Men in the kitchen are a rare sight, I know,” he said, not looking at you as he stirred, trying to look like the eighth world wonder. “But I thought — what if I made pasta? It’s the one my mom used to make. Figured I’d make it for myself. Made a lot though, so… you can have some too, I guess.”

He was already plating a portion for you as he spoke, trying and failing to look casual while clearly nervous you wouldn’t like it.

You watched him for a moment and felt something shift in your chest. You immediately labeled it as hunger and moved on.

He didn’t ask if you liked it. He just assumed you would. And he was right, yeah you ate it, but that wasn’t the point. The pasta wasn’t even that good. It was waay too salty. But it sat warm in your belly, and you didn’t have it in you to tell him the truth.

You thanked him for the meal but didn’t acknowledge the grand gesture you hadn’t agreed to in the first place. You didn’t make conversation either and went straight to do the dishes.

When you glanced back, he was watching you with that look again. Spooked, you looked away first.

And of course an incel like that would have opinions about your love life too.

You’d been seeing someone — nothing serious, just a guy from Hinge. Two dates in, and you were still on the fence. He didn’t make your heart do that stupid thump thump thump, and his hairline wasn’t all that great either.

You made the mistake of mentioning a possible third date while making coffee, trying to have a normal, boring conversation about your respective lives.

“I think I’m going to see him again on Saturday,” you said, mostly to your mug.

Satoru looked up from his phone. He was always on his phone doing gods know what.

"The architect guy?"

"Nah, I ghosted that one. Different guy."

A pause. He furrowed his eyebrows the way he did when he was assessing something. “How many are there?”

You gave him a warning look.

"I'm just asking."

"And I'm not answering," you said, rolling your eyes.

He put his phone down, which was never a good sign. You turned back to the coffee machine.

“I just think,” he started.

“Don’t,” you muttered, already regretting bringing it up.

"—that you're not being strategic about this."

You turned back around, mentally preparing for what was about to come.

“About dating. Statistically speaking, cycling through too many low-value options in a short period of time actually decreases your own value. If you want to attract a high-value man—”

He didn’t just mean men. He meant himself. Which, bless him, but also fuck him for putting it like that.

You stared at him for a moment, seriously considering yelling and throwing your mug at his stupidly symmetrical face.

“Satoru,” you said. “Did you just tell me I’m getting ran-through?”

He opened his mouth, then immediately closed it. His ears went pink — he had probably clocked his own stupidity, apparently, which was a first.

"No! It's not — that's not what I—" he started, hands coming up like he was surrendering.

"Where did you even hear that phrase?"

"It's a concept from—"

"No." You held up a hand. "No, I don't want to know, actually. You just made me really upset."

You picked up your coffee and looked him over. Standing there in his stupid nerdy sleep shirt, with his stupidly cute messy hair, genuinely confused about why this conversation had gone wrong. Like he really thought you’d realize he was right and apologize on your knees for even mentioning other men.

You felt furious, tired and something else you weren’t going to name.

You couldn’t believe you’d ever imagined getting railed into oblivion by this man. Instead, you had to talk to him like he was a toddler. You had a feeling you were going to become a cautionary tale. A PSA about what happens when you move in with an incel.

You went on the date that Saturday anyway. It was fine. The guy was fine-ish — less fine after the weird-ass conversation you’d had with Satoru prior. You came home to find him on the couch, waiting. Expecting something. But neither of you said a word. You just went to your room, got into bed, and stared at the ceiling.

You were so fucking tired. Tired of dates that were just fine. Tired of coming home to this. Tired of the whole thing.

So you cancelled the next one. And the one after that.

Men were mediocre anyway, you told yourself. You needed peace. You needed to stop cycling through low-value options and god, you couldn’t believe that phrase was living rent-free in your head now. You were going to find whatever the fuck podcast invented it and send the hosts very ugly, very threatening email.

And maybe the apartment really was full of questionable worldviews, because somewhere between the sexual marketplace value speeches and his creepy behavior, you developed one of your own.

You became morbidly into the idea of breaking his incel resolve. Like you’d accidentally discovered a new kink.

Not even in a romantic way. More like you’d started writing a very questionable mental screenplay about dismantling him piece by piece. Watching the podcast rot leak out of him in real time. Making the incel guy want you so badly he forgot every subreddit he was joined in, until he was pathetic enough to cry at your feet — and you weren’t even the dominant type!

Wasn’t there a term for that? There had to be. You’d read the fanfictions. You’d read the think pieces. And every time you’d wondered why women did this to themselves. Now you knew exactly why. It was like disaster tourism. Some people went to Chernobyl for the thrill, some people chased storms. You were simply built different.

Because when a man looked you in the eye and said shit like, “It’s actually been studied. Women who wear revealing clothing in domestic settings are subconsciously signaling availability to increase their mate value. It’s an evolutionary response to competition,” and meant it, like he hadn’t just dropped full Andrew Tate shit on a random Wednesday night, you simply weren’t going to let it slide.

You were already stretched thin. And he was on veeery thin ice. So you made a plan. You were going to show him exactly what skimpy clothing did to a man like him. And you weren’t going to think too hard about why this was probably the stupidest idea you’d had in a while.

Because who would voluntarily wear less clothes when they could just put on three more layers to prove a point? You, apparently.

So you dug out the shorts you hadn’t worn since sophomore year. The ones that left half your ass out and the tank top that made your boobs look obscene. All to "prove a point."

Satoru was at the kitchen island when you walked in, like every morning.

You leaned against the counter, grabbed your yogurt from the fridge, and started eating your probiotic-balanced breakfast, like every morning.

He was still on his phone. Andou were starting to think the plan had lowkey a flaw. Mainly the part where he wasn’t even looking at you when he stood up and walked over to the sink to put his mug away.

He reached past you. But the mug hit the bottom of the sink with a loud clang as he stood frozen and way too close. Staring at you with his mouth slightly open, ears going pink in real time as the color crept up from his jaw. He was looking at you exactly how you’d hoped he would… and now that it was actually happening, your stomach did a stupid little flip.

You went to put the spoon back in your mouth. But your hand missed and the spoonful of Activia went down your chin, down your neck, and disappeared between your tits.

Satoru’s eyes followed it the whooole way. You felt your nipples tighten under the thin fabric as he stared. Then his gaze dragged back up, up, slow, before dropping to what you were wearing.

When he finally looked at your face again, his ears weren’t just pink anymore. They were red.

“Uh. Y-you have yogurt. On your—” He gestured vaguely at your chest. “—on your b-boobs.”

You stared at him, he stared back — at your face, at your chest, at your legs, everywhere.

“Yeah,” you said. “I noticed, ‘Toru.”

You grabbed a paper towel and dragged it slowly down your neck, then slipped your other arm under your boobs to lift them higher, making the cleanup easier for you and significantly harder for him. You could tell by the way he was squirming.

He swallowed. A literally loud, audible gulp in the quiet kitchen. His Adam’s apple bobbed like it was trying to escape.

“Right. G-good — you cleaned it up. I-it was very messy,” he managed to get out, voice a full octave lower and cracking at the end. His eyes were half-lidded, ears still burning red.

Then he fled, turning so fast he clipped his hip on the doorframe and didn’t even react to the pain before disappearing down the hallway.

You felt victorious. You’d fried his alpha-male-rotted brain. You’d proven your point. You were the apex predator of this apartment!

But then you took a breath and noticed your hands were shaking.

Your nipples were still painfully hard against the thin fabric of your tank top. And there was a warm, insistent ache low in your belly, sending little shockwaves down to your toes.

Wait.

What the fuck.

You looked down at your chest, then at the empty doorway like he might still be there.

Why the hell were you horny?

You were supposed to be the disaster tourist here. You were supposed to be watching the meltdown from a safe distance. Disaster tourists didn’t usually get turned on by the radiation. They didn’t usually want the hazard to come back out of his room, pin them against the counter, and put his stupid big hands on their hips.

You threw the paper towel into the trash harder than necessary. It hit the side and did a pathetic little plop! down to the floor.

You slammed your bedroom door and threw yourself onto the bed, burying your burning face in the pillows. 

The plan had worked perfectly. Even if you had to dig out your vibrator later just to make the weird tingling go away.

It was just a power trip. Just the adrenaline of winning. That’s all it was. Power trips made people horny. It was biology. It was science.

Take that, Satoru!

And oh, he took it.

Across the hallway, Satoru was literally melting into his mattress. A bruise was already forming where he’d slammed into the doorframe. The image of that yogurt dragging down between your tits was now burned into his brain. He was throbbing, and it was fucking pathetic.

He tried jerking off like usual — fist tight, imagining you on your knees, all that jazz — but it wasn’t enough anymore. Hadn’t been for weeks, actually. His hand wasn’t cutting it.

So he reached into the back of his bottom drawer and pulled out the silicone toy he’d bought recently. He was embarrassed, but way too worked up to care. At least now he could pretend it was your tight pussy he was fucking into.

It was a new low. He knew it was a new low. But he did it anyway, eyes squeezed shut as he used the fleshlight, imagining you on top of him, under him, beside him — it didn’t matter. Anything was better than coming on his own just from the memory of yogurt dripping down your flushed skin.

But of course, once the post-nut clarity hit, he took the whole thing the completely wrong way.

Because really, what did you think was going to happen? You thought parading around half-naked in front of a terminally online incel would make him fall to his knees and magically develop self-awareness?

No. Of course not.

He thought you did it on purpose. For him specifically.

And yeah, you did do it on purpose — just not for the reason he thought. You were trying to break his brain. Make a joke out of his worldview! Instead, all you did was make him hard for three days straight and give him a scary amount of hope.

It validated every single pseudo-scientific dating theory he’d ever read. In his mind, you weren’t mocking him. You were submitting to his superior frame. You were “signaling availability.”

You hadn’t broken his incel resolve. You’d accidentally reinforced it. Applause.

And now Satoru believed, with full Reddit-backed, 4chan-backed, and whatever questionable forum-backed certainty, that he had won. He’d played the long game. He’d kept his alpha composure. And now the cute roommate in the tiny gym shorts was finally ready to yield.

And worst of all? He started being creepy on purpose.

Before, the hovering and staring had been unconscious. Or at least giving him the benefit of the doubt. Now he was doing it with intention. It was time to “establish physical dominance” and “break the touch barrier,” according to whatever the fuck forum thread he’d absorbed that week. 

He started finding excuses to be near you — reaching past you for things he didn’t need just to brush his chest against your shoulder, leaving you wrapped in his scent. He’d sit too close on the couch, close enough that you could feel the heat coming off him.

And it was working. You hated that it was working.

Every time his hand brushed yours or his fingers grazed your waist, your skin broke out in goosebumps. You could feel yourself reacting to his nervous little attempts to mark his territory, and it was driving you insane.

You were sitting on the couch eating your well deserved Pad Thai straight out of the takeout box while a true-crime documentary played in the background.

Satoru emerged from his room, did his usual hover-routine like some awkward mating dance, and then sat down right next to you.

Without taking his eyes off the TV, he reached over and placed his hand on your bare thigh.

It was this weird twitchy movement between caress and a customs agent stamping a passport.

His fingers kept flexing like he was fighting the urge to either pull away or drag them higher. You sat frozen, staring down at his hand, silently daring it to move. Then mentally cursing yourself for even letting it happen in the first place.

A rush of heat flooded your chest and cheeks. Your skin burned under his palm and shot straight down between your legs.

Ovulation. It’s just ovulation.

"Satoru," you said slowly. 

He was staring straight ahead at the TV, posture stiff as a board and he was even redder than you. 

“What the hell are you doing?”

He flinched, yanking his hand back into his lap and hunching over. “N-nothing.”

He cleared his throat but didn’t move away. His knee stayed pressed against yours. He took a breath, puffing his chest out as he tried to reclaim his whatever “alpha” frame, then glanced at you as you took a shaky bite of noodles. 

“So,” he started again, voice slipping into that pseudo-intellectual podcast cadence that always made your eye twitch. “I was reading a thread today. About proximity and domestic investment.”

You didn't look at him, listened to the Ted Bundy facts coming from the documentary narrator. Chewed and brushed him off. "Fascinating."

“It actually is,” he continued, completely unbothered. He leaned back, stretching his arm along the back of the couch and caging you in. “Because it highlights the flaw in modern female psychology. Women always say they want a nice guy. Someone who provides stability. Someone who pays his bills on time, remembers to buy toilet paper, and keeps a clean, nice living environment.”

He paused, letting the weight of his own perceived perfection hang in the air. Here we go again.

“But,” Satoru said, turning his head to look at you, eyes locking onto yours like a fucking hard target lock, “when that exact man is sitting right in front of them, offering unwavering loyalty and a high-value domestic partnership, they stay willfully blind. They friendzone him. Tease him. Cycle through low-tier guys from dating apps instead. It’s biologically counterproductive.”

The only sound in the room was the dramatic music coming from the TV now. You dropped your chopsticks into the takeout box, which suddenly felt too heavy in your lap. He was so confident in his entitlement it actually made you sick. It was ruining your fucking appetite.

He thought doing the bare minimum — acting like a decent human being with basic hygiene — earned him loyalty points he could cash in for sex. Like some kind of fucked-up grocery store rewards program.

You turned your body toward him fully, voice eerily quiet.

“Let me get this straight,” you said. “You’re sitting here, in our living room, getting mad at me because your nice-guy vending machine is broken?”

Satoru blinked, his brow furrowing like he genuinely didn’t understand what the problem was.

“I’m stating a statistical—”

“Shut up.”

The words came out sharp enough to cut. You weren’t playing anymore, one more podcast quote and you were going to rip the hair out of his stupidly pretty head.

His mouth snapped shut and he looked genuinely startled. You’d never told him to shut up before — never like that. You’d always just nodded, or rolled your eyes, or tuned him out.

“You think this is a transaction,” you said, eyes narrowing. “You think because you scrub the bathtub and pay your half of the rent on time, you’re earning points? You’re keeping score. You did the bare minimum and now you’re waiting for me to drop to my knees in gratitude like you were providing for me?”

“I am a provider,” he argued, chest puffing out even as his voice lost some of its usual arrogance. “I bring high value—”

“You bring decency at best!” you snapped, throwing your hands up. “Doing your own dishes doesn’t make you a high-value alpha male, Satoru. It makes you an adult. But you don’t actually care about being a good roommate. You’re just dressing your entitlement up as niceness and acting like I owe you something because you haven’t been actively terrible to me.”

“That’s not—” He reached up to adjust his glasses, a nervous habit you’d never seen from him before. “I’m just saying that logically, the optimal choice for you—”

“There is no logic!” you snapped, standing up before you did something stupid like strangle him. “You don’t even like me! You just think you’re owed me because I’m convenient and I live here!”

Satoru flinched and all the color drained from his face. You stood over him, breathing hard, staring down at this gorgeous, six-foot-three idiot who looked up at you like you’d just insulted his favourite fellow alpha male incel entity — which, yeah, you probably had. He looked lost. So freaking stupid. Like he didn’t know what to do with his hands.

“But you acted like—” he started, then caught himself, shoulders squaring like he was trying to hold onto his alpha manliness. “You know what, forget it. You’re just proving my point. A guy does everything right, stays consistent, stays present, and the girl just—” he gestured at you with a disbelieving laugh, “—moves the goalposts. We’ve been living together for months. Friends for just as long. I thought if I followed the steps exactly, I’d finally get to— we would— I don’t understand how this is supposed to work, okay?! How is a guy ever supposed to figure it out if the steps are a lie and I haven’t even—”

“Satoru.”

He stopped, his mouth snapped shut and the tips of his ears suddenly burned bright red.

And the realization hit you like a bucket of cold water.Oh my fucking god. You’d suspected it once or twice, but the thought had always flickered and died but now it all clicked into place. He’d never gotten his dick wet.

Your roommate was a six-foot-three virgin who thought turning to men who felt entitled to sex was a reasonable solution to his problems. What an absolute fucking mess. You almost felt sorry for him.

Almost.

“You’re an incredibly good-looking guy, Satoru,” you said quietly, sincerely even. “Objectively hot. Get your shit together, touch some grass, and you’ll be fine. You’ll be more than fine. But until you stop treating women like a math test you’re trying to cheat on, nobody is going to want you.”

You shattered his ego completely. Or maybe, for the first time since puberty, Satoru actually formed a conscious, self-aware thought. Because he kept turning your words over in his head.

Objectively hot.

No one is going to want you.

What?

He tried to find the logical flaws. Tried to insert a counterargument, disprove your female emotional outburst with cold data. He couldn’t find one, not for fucking days.

You were avoiding him completely now, icing him out, not talking to him, not even looking at him. It was driving him insane. You used to search for his eyes, even if it was just to roll them. He’d only just realized how genuine your flustered blinking had been, and now he missed it. Embarrassingly so.

One night he walked into the bathroom to splash cold water on his face, carrying a petty mix of rejection, confusion, and constant, unbearable horniness.

Your pink hair tie was sitting on the edge of the sink.

He told himself he was just going to pick it up and put it in your organizer tray. So he picked it up. It smelled like your stupid, intoxicating strawberry shampoo. He hated it. Hated how the whole bathroom smelled like you after you showered. Hated how your scent followed you everywhere in the apartment, forcing him to breathe you in. The guys on Reddit had warned him about this. Pheromones. Dangerous.

He brought it closer to his face. Just to check. Just in case it wasn’t actually yours. And what happened next stayed strictly between Satoru, the bathroom mirror, and god.

He clutched the sink, bracing himself against it, breathing ragged and humiliatingly loud. He stared down at the pretty pink elastic wrapped tight around the base of his cock as he fucked his fist like he was trying to punish himself, desperately trying to imagine your hands instead of his own.

It worked too well. It scared him.

He came hard, so so hard the hair tie ended up coated in thick, frothy cum.

He carefully nudged the sticky pink tie back onto the edge of the sink, exactly where he’d found it. Then he washed his hands under scalding water like he was trying to burn the shame off his skin and walked out of the bathroom like a man fleeing a crime scene.

Rejuvenated? No.

Good? Not even close.

He just felt like absolute shit.

Get your shit together.

But how?

He picked up his phone, put it down, picked it up again. Again. And again. The fight was still eating him alive. The podcasts told him to take his frustration out on other girls or channel it into dominance and detachment. That’s probably what the current episode would’ve said.

But he didn’t want that. He didn’t want to sleep with anyone else. He didn’t want to be aggressive. He just… wanted.

And that was the problem.

For the first time in a long time, the alpha-male bullshit was starting to feel a bit too beta now. He was left with his own feelings like a normal person, and it was awful.

If he was truly a high-value male, he shouldn’t care. He should pivot. Download an app. Find some new, compliant girl to validate his stats. But the thought of calculating the facial harmony of a stranger made his stomach turn. He didn’t want a hypothetical female.

He wanted you.

He wanted you rolling your eyes at him. Laughing at him. Getting annoyed at him. Eating his pasta. Walking around in those mind-melting shorts. He wanted you to drop yogurt on yourself again just so he could lick it off your skin, linger on your neck, and kiss you stupid — the way he’d been fantasizing about since it actually happened.

He needed validation. He needed to be right!

His thumbs moved across the screen before he could stop himself. He ignored his usual echo-chamber subreddits and opened r/AmItheAsshole instead.

r/AmItheAsshole 

AITA for expecting my roommate (F) to reciprocate my (M) romantic advances after I provided optimal domestic value?

Throwaway. This is gonna sound bad but I need actual advice.

I (M) have been living with my roommate (F) for almost a year now. I’m not gonna lie, I’m objectively good-looking and I’ve been carrying a lot in this apartment. I pay my half on time, I keep shit clean, I do the dishes, I even cook sometimes. I thought I was doing everything right.

A few weeks ago she started walking around in these tiny shorts and tank tops. Like, really small. I took it as her signaling that she was open to something. That’s what all the advice says — if a girl starts dressing like that around you, it’s usually because she’s comfortable and maybe interested. So I decided to initiate kino escalation. Nothing crazy at first, just trying to break the touch barrier a bit.

While we were watching something on the couch I put my hand on her thigh. She freaked out. Got really upset and started yelling at me about how I was treating her like a transaction and that I only did nice things because I felt entitled to her. She even said I was basically calling her ran-through for going on dates.

I tried to explain it calmly. Like, statistically, if a high-value guy is right there doing everything right, why would she keep going on dates with random dudes from apps? It just doesn’t make sense. She told me to touch grass and hasn’t really spoken to me since.

I don’t get it. I’ve been consistent, I’ve been present, I’ve been providing a good living situation. I thought that was supposed to count for something. Instead she acted like I was the asshole for expecting anything in return.

AITA?

He hit post. He sat in the dark on his bed, heart pounding like it was trying to escape his chest. He just had to wait, the logical thinkers would show up. They’d validate him with proper, objective analysis. They had to.

Ten minutes later, the notifications started rolling in. So he opened them expecting vindication and instead he walked straight into a digital firing squad.

u/GrassToucherGeto · 308 upvotes

YTA. Holy shit. You did a handful of nice things and you think that means she owes you sex? You sound like an actual sociopath. I’m surprised she didn’t run out screaming. She literally told you to get your shit together. What part of that are you not getting?

u/KentoTheNormalGuy · 291 upvotes

You're not alpha, man. Kino escalation? Are you trying to con her, or actually want her to want you? YTA.

u/NobaraJustice24 · 282 upvotes

YTA.  She can wear whatever the fuck she wants in her own home, you creepy ass weirdo. I hope she breaks the lease and gets a restraining order. 

u/RealityCheckChoso · 156 upvotes

This is the most pathetic thing I’ve read on this site in eleven years. This is straight-up incel fanfiction. Poor girl having to live with someone like you. YTA. Go outside.

u/yuji_8847362 · 124  upvotes

Genuine question, not trying to be an asshole: do you actually like her, or do you just think she owes you because you did some nice things? Those are two very different things, and your post doesn’t seem to understand the difference. YTA, but I hope you figure it out.

u/KingNaoya69 · 231  downvotes

NTA. She’s clearly testing you. The clothes were an invitation. Hold your ground, don’t apologize, and she’ll come around. Women don’t respect men who grovel. If she actually didn’t want you she would’ve moved out already. She’s still there, isn’t she?

Satoru stared at the screen in disbelief. He’d expected validation. Maybe just a few reasonable voices cutting through the noise, acknowledging the statistical validity of his position, maybe even offering some tactical advice.

Instead, he got hit with minus three thousand downvotes, a mod-locked thread, and three DMs telling him to go to therapy.

He thought it would give him clarity. Clear steps. A way to fix this mess. Something actually useful. It just made him feel… nothing. Except for the creeping realization that he’d said something eerily similar to what u/KingNaoya69 had posted. Recently. Maybe even last week.

He threw his glasses off and stared into the middle distance.

What the fuck was he supposed to do?

He had no idea.

The days that followed were miserable. You were giving him the coldest shoulder imaginable and let’s be honest, he deserved it. You were weaponizing the silence, slamming doors, giving short, pointed answers if any. Moving through the apartment like he was just another piece of furniture. Looking through him instead of at him.

He kept going back to the comments on his post, rereading them like he could find a loophole somewhere.

Yes, of course he liked you. But how was he supposed to want nothing from you if he liked you? He wanted your affection. He wanted you to want him back. But wasn’t that also expecting something in return? What the hell was he supposed to do?

Still… the Naoya guy had been weirdly right about one thing. You stayed. You hadn’t moved out. You didn’t even seem like you wanted to. If you hated him that much, why were you still here?

On the nth day, he was sitting on the couch when you came out of your room for water. You glanced at him, even if just for a second. You couldn’t help it, the silent treatment was getting to you too, even if you’d never admit it.

Your eyes were hard to read, but there was something in them. Something expectant. Like you were waiting for him to do something. To fix it. To stop being an idiot so the two of you could move on.

Oh, he thought.

Truly the lightbulb moment of the century.

Oh.

That night he unjoined six subreddits. Unfollowed every podcast except Joe Rogan — because hey, you can’t teach an old dog new tricks. Or was it unteach a new dog old tricks? Didn’t matter. What mattered was that for the first time since he’d discovered the internet, he was pretty sure he’d been an idiot.

And he was going to stop.

He made a plan. Simple. Walk out of his room, find you, and say sorry. Three steps. He’d been a person for over twenty years. He could do three steps. He had this!

You were in the kitchen. You were standing on the flimsy little step stool you needed to reach the top cabinet shelves, stretching up on your tiptoes for the glass Tupperware that Satoru kept putting up there, even though you had told him multiple times not to put it up there because you literally could not reach it.

"Hey," he said from the doorway, trying not to startle you. "Can we—"

You startled anyway, because what other outcome was ever going to happen here.

The stool wobbled under your socks. You gasped, swore something, grabbed for a shelf edge that wasn't there, and fully expected to eat the kitchen floor tiles before officially murdering your roommate from the afterlife.

But Satoru had surprisingly fast reflexes and caught you.

Well… almost.

He lost his balance as your weight shifted, and the two of you went down in a tangle of limbs and terrible timing.  The impact knocked the wind right out of your lungs. You landed sprawled over him, pressed against his chest, his arms secured instinctively around you—

Around your boobs.

You froze. He froze. The entire world seemed to fucking froze.

And as you laid there, from the adrenaline shock of it all probably, his fingers did a little squish!

Huh.

You didn't say anything. You couldn't breathe, let alone speak. You slowly turned your head. His face was right there and so, so close to yours. You panicked and looked into his equally panicked eyes, his poor glasses askew.

He was searching for something in your eyes, his pupils blown so wide they almost swallowed the pretty blue. And then, as his chest was still heaving so heavily, his gaze dropped down to your lips.

You were suddenly very aware— Aware of his warm palms right through the thin fabric of your shirt. Aware of the way your tits swelled into his touch. Aware of how his thighs bracketed your hips, and how perfectly you fit against him.

His breath hitched and then his fingers flexed. He made a soft, barely-there sound in the back of his throat and squeezed again — slower this time. Kneading right over your hardened nipples. 

And oh my fucking god, you parted your lips for a soundless gasp, and he huffed into your collarbone as the trance finally broke.

His arms slowly retreated, lazily dragged down your ribs, fingers grazing the soft of your tummy before finally falling away to rest on the floor, which somehow made it all worse.

"I—" His voice came out rough, barely above a whisper.

You scrambled off him like you had been electrocuted.

You sprinted down the hallway and threw yourself into your room, slamming the door behind you. You backed up until you hit something, you didn’t even care what, and slid down to the floor, knees pulled to your chest.

Your heart was pounding soo hard it hurt, your skin was buzzing, and the ghost of his touch was still burning across your chest.

I fucking hate him, you told yourself. He’s a podcast-rotted incel. I hate him.

…Do you?

Because why the fuck had you wanted his hands to stay there? Why had that second squeeze made you want to straddle him right there on the kitchen tiles and fuck him stupid?

You were just touch-starved. That’s all this was. You were projecting onto your terrible roommate because he was being a sleazy little shit.

You grabbed your phone off the nightstand with shaking hands and unlocked it.

Hinge.

Your ol’ friend.

You needed a date. You needed a normal, boring, completely average guy with a decent hairline and zero opinions on hypergamy to save you from whatever the hell had just happened in that kitchen.

You were in your room getting ready for your date, dressed to kill. Short dress, favorite lace panties, because after everything that happened… you were still weirdly, persistently horny? Might as well try to do something about it with someone normal.

Satoru was lingering in the hallway like always, doing his very obvious not-hovering hover.

"Going out?" he asked, clearing his throat, trying to act so aloof and unbothered.

You didn't even look at him properly. "Yeah. I have a date," you said smugly as you pulled your hair up into a ponytail. Hair down meant cute, but hair up meant business. And by business, I mean finally attempting to jump on some normal, average, and not-incely dick.

The second the words left your mouth, a wave of jealousy hit him so hard it nearly knocked the air out of his lungs. But he wasn’t even looking at your proud face. No. No. He was staring at the pink hair tie holding your hair up. No. No. NO.

He visibly gulped. His dick went from zero to painfully hard so fast he had to cross his legs just to hide it.

You furrowed your eyebrow at the uncharacteristic lack of response, but wasn’t entirely mad about it either.

"See ya," you chirped, completely oblivious to his internal meltdown, and walked out the front door.

The second the door shut, Satoru basically teleported to his room. He threw himself onto his bed, already fumbling with his pants, desperate to take care of the problem so he could think straight again.

But he spent exactly thirty minutes achieving absolutely nothing. What the fuck.

This had never happened before. Satoru was just staring at his ceiling, sweating, furiously gripping his aching dick, and completely unable to finish. Every time he closed his eyes, he imagined you laughing at some beta joke a 100% mediocre guy had made, while his past-tense cum was proudly sitting in your hair. He was literally too jealous to finish.

But jealous or not, he was still agonizingly hard, his dick standing painfully stiff against his stomach, stubbornly refusing to just calm the fuck down. He let out a frustrated groan. Okay. Fine. No hand? No problem! He reached for the silicone fleshlight, but he hadn't washed it in quite a while, and when he picked it up, a funky smell drifted off it.

Okay, NEVER MIND.

Which left him with only one option.

Today’s the day.

He reached into the back of his bottom drawer again and pulled out a silicone cock ring.

He had bought it right after he absolutely demolished your cute little hair tie. The hair tie. Because what does a normal guy do in that situation? Grovel first? Solve the underlying interpersonal issue? Nah. He goes on r/sex to research why a piece of elastic felt so hella good around his dick!

He hadn’t touched it since. Post-nut clarity had done its job last time. But right now, staring down at his aching, neglected cock and feeling rejected, humiliated, and completely alone… it was time.

Fuck it.

He ripped open the packaging and wrestled the thick silicone down his shaft until it sat snug at the base.

Almost immediately, something felt off. It was tight. Too tight. Not in a good way, just uncomfortable, constricting even. He tried to power through anyway, closing his eyes and stroking like he could force an orgasm out of sheer spite.

Ten minutes passed.

Nothing.

His brain was too far gone, and the pressure was quickly shifting from weird to genuinely concerning.

Fuck this.

He stopped, tried to take it off but it didn’t budge. Satoru blinked. He adjusted his grip and pulled harder. The skin stretched painfully, but the ring stayed exactly where it was.

Oh fuck.

A cold sweat broke out across his forehead. 

Oh fuck, oh fuck.

He scrambled off the bed, grabbed his lube, and squeezed way too much directly onto the ring. He tugged and twisted like his life depended on it.

Nothing. Fucking nothing. It just made his hands uselessly slippery.

Okay, oh fuck. Wasn't lube like supposed to work?! Okay, new plan. Something else, something more slippery, something more oily—

Panic seizing him, he stumbled to the bathroom, dug under the sink, found your baby oil, and slathered it on.

Still stuck.

Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit.

Different oil! Not enough slipperiness! Trust the process!

So he waddled out of the bathroom, practically sprinting into the kitchen buck naked. He tore open the pantry, grabbing the vegetable oil. 

This has to work.

It did not work.

Ten minutes later, Satoru was sitting on the edge of the bathtub, coated in a slick, highly flammable mixture of lube, Johnson & Johnson baby oil, and Wesson canola oil, panting heavily. 

Dick throbbing, but not the fun kind of throbbing anymore. It was turning a terrifying shade of angry red-purple, the silicone death trap literally suffocating his junior.

It was no longer just uncomfortable, nor just alarmingly stuck. At this point, it was a fucking medical emergency. 

He was so fucked he might be patient zero of mpreg.

But what the hell was he supposed to do?

Call an ambulance?

Absolutely not. 

The thought of a paramedic cutting a sex toy off him with trauma shears while asking for his emergency contact would genuinely kill him on the spot. He would rather die of necrosis.

Call his friends? 

Fuck no.

If any of them found out about this, the screenshots would never die. They’d revoke his alpha card permanently and hold it over his head for the rest of his life.

He stared at his contacts.

There was only one person who could help without turning it into blackmail material or posting it online. The one person who lived in this apartment. The one person who was currently out on a date with some random guy. The person he had a massive, pathetic crush on and who would probably rather rip his dick off than help him.

He hit Call.

You stirred your gin and tonic while your date went on about his fantasy football draft like it was the most fascinating thing in the world. It was a perfectly fine date! The kind of fine that made you wonder why you even bothered.

You were nodding along, even though you had stopped listening roughly four minutes ago. Then, your phone vibrated on the table.

Satoru.

You ignored it. No, actually—you declined it. You smiled sweetly at your date, asked a vague question about tight ends so you would seem like you were actually paying attention, and took a sip of your drink.

Your phone buzzed again. And again. And again.

Annoyed, you held up a finger to the poor guy who was currently rating wide receivers, excused yourself, and off to the bathroom, fully prepared to yell.

“What?” you hissed the second you picked up. “I’m on a date, Satoru. If you locked yourself out—”

"Please come home," he gasped. He didn't even say hello. He didn't sound aloof, and he certainly didn't sound alpha. He actually sounded like he was drawing his final breaths on this earth. "You have to come home. Right now."

"What happened? Did something catch fire? Did someone break in? Are you—"

“I can’t tell you,” he whined, voice high and shaky in a way you’d never heard from him before. “I physically can’t say it out loud. Just— please. Please come home.”

You were ninety percent sure this was some pathetic attempt to ruin your night. Some last-ditch manipulation tactic he’d picked up from a podcast or Reddit thread. But the remaining ten percent made you ditch your date without a second thought and jump into an Uber.

You practically kicked the front door open, your heart hammering. The apartment was completely quiet, and it smelled all wrong…

Like babies and an industrial air fryer?

"Satoru?" you called out, dropping your bag. "Where are you? The apartment better be fucking flooding, or else I swear to God—"

A pained, muffled whimper came from down the hall. His bedroom door was cracked open so you pushed it wide, fully prepared to absolutely tear him a new one for ruining your night.

Satoru was sitting on the edge of his bed, completely naked, perched on a bath towel soaked through with some kind of glistening sludge. He was trembling, sweating, aggressively gripping the mattress. And his dick — very visibly, very aggressively hard — was pointing straight at you.

"Are you fucking kidding me?!"

You exploded the second you saw him, because an impromptu dick is still an impromptu dick! “Is this some pathetic plan to finally fuck me? You couldn’t even be decent about it! You just called me home so you could sit here with your cock out?!”

You expected some sleazy line. Some smug little smirk. Instead, Satoru looked up at you with wide, tear-filled eyes behind his smudged glasses and let out a broken, wet sob.

"I'm not—" his voice cracked terribly. "I'm stuck."

Huh?

Furrowing your eyebrows, you stopped yelling and your eyes actually dropped down. And then your stomach dropped with them.

Wait. Oh. He was so, so large.

But that wasn’t the problem. His dick was an angry, swollen red-purple, veins bulging like it had its own heartbeat. And at the base was a thick silicone ring, cutting into him so tightly it looked like it might actually pop off.

And all the anger drained out of you in an instant because suddenly, you felt the harsh reality of the literal medical horror you were now a part of. 

"Oh my god. Satoru... what is going on?!"

“Fuck, it hurts— please help me,” he whined as he bounced his leg against the floor like that would somehow fix anything.

You stepped closer, the sheer absurdity of the situation making you drop to your knees between his spread thighs just to get a proper look. 

“Is that… a cock ring?” you asked, voice tight as your eyes dragged over his swollen cock in equal parts horror and fascination.

Satoru nodded frantically, a tear slipping down his cheek and dripping off his jaw.

"Satoru, you know there is a fucking size chart to these things?! You can’t just buy anything with the size of your dick! Are you fucking stupid?!"

"HOW SHOULD I KNOW?!" he wailed, hands flying up to cover his face in absolute humiliation. "Wait—" He suddenly froze, lowering his hands just enough to look at you. "Did you just say I have a big dick? Wait. Fuck. OUCH. It just fucking hurts! Please, please help me, I've tried everything but it just won't budge! It hurts so much!"

You squinted at the slick mess coating his thighs and soaking into the bath towel and his bed. "Did you try lube?"

 "Yes!" 

"Baby oil?" 

"Yes!" 

"Did you... did you use the cooking oil from the kitchen?!"

 "YES! FUCK!" he sobbed into his hands again.

"Why did you even put it on?!" you yelled back, genuinely baffled by his astronomical stupidity.

“I was horny, what else?!” he cried and shook his hands. “You left with the cum tie in your hair—”

“THE WHAT?!”

Your hands froze in the air. Your brain forcefully restarted about three times trying to process the sequence of syllables he had just screamed back at you.

The cum tie.

You suddenly felt the gentle pull of the pink elastic holding up your ponytail. The one that was your favorite. The one you had idly wondered before why it was suddenly so... crusty.

"You..." you whispered, a cold wave of fresh nausea washing over you. "You did what to my hair tie?"

“I didn’t mean to!” he sobbed and sobbed, face red and streaked with tears. “I couldn’t stop thinking about you, and I used it, and then you put it in your hair to go out with the guy and it made me crazy so I put the ring on!”

Your hand twitched toward your ponytail. You were going to rip it out, burn it ritually, shave your head and then fucking murder him. A jury would probably let you off in seconds.

But then you looked down again. His dick might actually pop! like a grease-filled water balloon. There was simply no time.

You took a deep, slightly deranged breath and shoved every horrifying thought into a box for later. You could have a full meltdown about having his reproductive fluids in your hair as an accessory after you made sure his dick didn’t fall off.

You aggressively ignored his stare, locking your eyes entirely on the crisis. "Okay. Okay, I've got this. This is a medical emergency."

Your mind started racing. You couldn't cut it off without risking severing something vital, you certainly weren’t a doctor, and the swelling was so so severe to just pull the ring back over the ridge. You knelt there, suddenly arriving at a horrifying conclusion that you were going to need a serious moment to accept.

Because there was only one way to get it off… And the only way to get it off was to get rid of the erection.

You had to make him cum.

“Okay,” you muttered. Then again. And again. Like repeating it would make it feel less insane. “W-we just need to… get it down.”

You bit your lip, giving yourself the quickest, most productive, and most threatening internal TED Talk in human history. Your hands twitched, but you finally reached out and wrapped them around his oil-slicked shaft.

“AGH— FUCK— NO!” Satoru immediately jerked back like you’d stabbed him, slamming against the mattress.

"What the hell?! I barely touched it!"

“The skin’s too tight!” he cried out, practically hyperventilating. “It feels like a razor blade— you can’t use your hands, it hurts too much!”

You tried again anyway, slower this time, gripping him carefully. The skin was burning hot, painfully stretched over the trapped blood. You gave one experimental stroke.

“No— no no no, please stop—” His voice broke into a real whimper as fresh tears spilled down his face. He pushed at your shoulders, legs literally shaking. “Please, I can’t— it hurts so fucking bad—”

You yanked your hands back, heart pounding as your own panic officially set in. "THEN WHAT ELSE?!"

“I DON’T KNOW! I thought you might know!”

"HOW SHOULD I KNOW?!"

A beat of deafening silence fell over the grease-scented bedroom. You looked at him. Then down at the problem between his legs.

Wait—

Your brain scrambled for literally any other fucking solution. Ice? Cutting it completely off? Calling 911 and collectively dying of embarrassment on the spot?

Nothing. 

There was nothing else.

God fucking help you. You might as well die from the cringe right here on the floor.

You stared down at his lengthy cock again. It was a pathetic mix of pre-cum against his oil-slicked stomach. Satoru was breathing in short, panicked gasps, tears still tracking down his flushed cheeks, glasses fogged and crooked, looking totally helpless.

“No,” you whispered to the empty space between his thighs, stomach twisting with reluctant acceptance. Coming to terms with your own fate. Girl, it’s your fault. Your fate had been sealed the second you decided to find a roommate on Reddit. “No, no, no.”

“What?” Satoru cried through his teeth, barely audible. “What ‘no’?”

If your hands were completely off the table…

A wave of heat flooded your face and dropped straight into your belly. Surely from disgust. Trust.

You shifted forward on your knees, your dress dragging through the oily mess on the floor. The fabric was already ruined and sticking to your skin. You braced one hand on his trembling thigh, leaned in, and took the swollen head of his cock into your mouth.

The taste was vile as hell.

Canola oil, baby oil, lube, and the bitter salt of his pre-cum all hit your tongue at once. You made a muffled, disgusted sound around him as your lips stretched and you sank down. The mixture mixed with your saliva and slid down your throat as he pushed deeper than you expected.

Satoru’s entire body jolted as the mushroomy head hit the back of your mouth.

“Whoa— oh my fucking god—” His voice cracked into a broken, high moan. His stomach flexed like he was trying not to fold in half. Both of his hands flew to your hair, oily fingers catching in your ponytail, clutching without quite pushing or pulling. I mean, you already had cum in your hair anyway. What was a little more oil and lube?

His hips twitched. His thighs trembled under your hand. He clearly had no idea what to do with himself.

You started moving, and it was messy from the first second.

Everything was slippery. Your lips kept sliding, saliva mixing with the grease until it dripped down his shaft in shiny, frothy strings. You had to suck harder just to keep any kind of rhythm, cheeks hollowing, tongue working in messy circles under the head every time you pulled up. The wet sounds filled the room — slick sucking, soft gagging when you took him too deep, his broken little whimpers.

You hated the taste.You hated how your knees already ached against the hard floor. You hated that your dress was ruined, soaked through and sticking to your skin. And you hated the way he was looking down at you — in pain, in complete disbelief that you were actually sucking him off. And what you really hated the most was that you were looking up at him while you mouth was licking him up and your body was already starting to betray you.

Tingly heat was spreading low in your belly. Every throb along his length, every broken moan that slipped out of him, made you wetter. You weren’t supposed to be horny! You should’ve been so so disgusted. But the scent of him, the taste of his pre-cum coating your tongue, made your pussy clench around nothing. Your nipples were hard, rubbing against the inside of your dress. Your cunt felt hot and slick — whether from your own arousal or the oily sludge on the floor, you genuinely couldn’t tell anymore.

You bobbed deeper, taking him until your nose brushed the base and the ring dug into your skin, then pulled back with a wet gasp. A thick and slimy string of saliva and oil connected your lips to his cock before it broke.

Satoru was staring down at you like you’d personally broken his brain.

His chest was heaving. Tears were still leaking from the corners of his eyes — pain, pleasure, or the sheer absurdity of the situation, it didn’t matter. His mouth hung open, glasses sliding down his nose.

Then his hazy eyes dropped to your chest.

His gaze followed the way your dress had slipped lower during all the movement. Your tits were threatening to spill out completely. He made a strangled sound in the back of his throat.

His hands left your hair and reached down. Big, warm palms cupped your breasts through the thin fabric first almost carefully. But then he yanked the neckline down hard, dragging the fabric under your arms, practically rrrrripping it open, until your tits spilled free.

A fresh tear tracked down his cheek as he stared at them like they were something holy.

“Holy fuck— your tits—” he breathed, cupping them fully. His thumbs brushed over your hard nipples before he started kneading with desperate, greedy hands. Squeezing, lifting, rolling the soft flesh between his fingers exactly like he had in the kitchen — except this time there was nothing holding him back, because you certainly wouldn’t make him stop. 

The moan you let out around his cock was involuntary and absolutely nobody’s business, alright? Your teeth grazed his sensitive skin and the vibration, combined with the impromptu bite, made his hips jerk violently. He let out a breathless gasp, hands tightening on your boobs almost painfully before he loosened his grip again, thumbs flicking over your nipples in a way that sent sparks straight between your legs.

The lace of your panties was useless now, clinging to your soaked pussy lips.

But the dress had become a real problem, at least that’s what you were telling yourself. It was restricting your movement, getting in the way every time you tried to take him deeper. It was uncomfortable as hell, which was actually true.

You pulled off his cock with a wet pop!, lips shiny and swollen.

Fuck this dress. And probably him too.

You sat back on your heels and yanked it over your head, kicking it away. Now you were kneeling in nothing but your ruined lace panties — the ones you’d specifically worn because you were hoping to get laid tonight.

Well. You weren’t entirely wrong, now were you?

Satoru made a sound like he’d been punched in the gut. His wildest dream had just come true in the most deranged way possible.

You leaned back in and took him into your mouth again, sucking with more purpose now. One hand stayed wrapped around the base near the ring while your other hand stroked his thigh and lower stomach — anywhere to try and soothe him.

His clammy hands were right back on your bare tits, rolling them between his fingers like he was trying to memorize their exact shape. You moaned around him because it felt so fucking good. Unfairly good.

The taste was still awful. The room still reeked of canola oil. Satoru was still quietly crying above you — overwhelmed, terrified, and so turned on he could barely think straight. But the way he was touching you, the way he was falling apart in your mouth…

You were dripping straight through the lace right onto his fucking floor.

One of your hands snaked down your body. You pushed your panties aside and started rubbing desperate circles over your poor clit while you kept sucking him.

What a development. 

Righteous ideologies and all. Now you were naked on the floor of your incel roommate’s bedroom, sucking his cock while fingering yourself. Truly the most progressive way to handle this type of man.

Your pussy felt hot and aching. Your fingers slid through your own slick, making your hips twitch and another moan vibrate around his dick.

Satoru’s breathing sounded like a kettle about to boil over. His hands kept slipping on your oily skin, smearing the mess across your chest and shoulders. He was trapped in the most surreal, humiliating, perfect moment of his life — your mouth on him, you naked and touching yourself while the whole room smelled like a deep fryer.

He was half-sobbing, half-moaning.

“You’re— nghh— you’re actually getting off while—” His voice cracked as he looked down at you. You glanced up through your lashes, a little scowl on your flushed face, fingers still working between your legs.

You couldn’t even be embarrassed anymore. The absurdity had burned straight through your shame. You were horny. Stupidly, painfully horny. It was all too much and not enough at the same time.

Filthy sounds filled the room. He was crying. You were crying. Sweat was mixing with the oily mess coating your skin. You could taste your own tears mixed with the mess on his cock as they slid down your face. One of his hands was tangled in your ponytail, greasing it up nice and disgusting.

“You’re so fucking pretty,” he choked out, voice hoarse. “I can’t— ngh— I can’t believe this is real—”

You pulled off just enough to breathe. “Shut up and let me finish this,” you muttered, then sank back down, taking him as deep as the ring would allow.

His other hand relocated to your shoulder. Then his dick throbbed hard against your tongue. Swelling, twitching and you knew he was about to blow.

You started to pull back, but his hands moved faster. One fisted tighter in your hair, the other gripped your shoulder hard. He held you in place. Rough. Desperate. But he didn’t mean to!

You made a surprised, muffled sound around him as his hips jerked.

“W-wait—fuck—I’m—!” he gasped, betrayed by his own body.

You felt the first big pulse against your tongue.

You manage to wrench your head back at the last second because there was no way in hell you were swallowing a mixture of cum and baby oil — popping off just in time. But it was too late to get completely clear.

Satoru came hard.

The first thick rope hit you across the cheek and lips. The next few painted messy white stripes across your chin, your chest, and down your neck. It kept cooooming in hot, twitchy pulses until he’d almost emptied his aching balls.

And suddenly you were back in the kitchen. Only this time it wasn’t a freaking Activia dripping down your tits. It was him.

You stumbled backward onto your ass, cum cooling on your skin as he finally let go of you. You wiped the back of your hand across your cheek, smearing it further. He stared down at you like he’d died and gone to heaven — you, sprawled on his floor, covered in his cum, panties twisted half-off your hips, your blushing cunt smiling up right at him and your panicked eyes unblinking.

Holy fucking nirvana, right there.

You felt disgusting. You felt filthy. And somehow, you were still throbbing between your legs.

“Fuck— shit, fuck, fuck!” Satoru cursed, trying to stand up too fast. He slipped on the oily towel and nearly ate shit before catching himself on the edge of the bed. “Oh my god, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to hold you there, I just— it was too much, I panicked—”

He stumbled toward you on shaky legs, one hand reaching out like he was going to help you up, the other still hovering near his softening cock.

“Satoru,” you said, voice low. “Pull it off.”

He froze for half a second, then looked down.

And it was finally, finally softening. The angry red-purple was fading. The skin wasn’t stretched as tight anymore and there was a very small, very dangerous window before he’d be hard again and back in square one.

His eyes lit up with desperate hope. He grabbed the cock ring with both hands and yanked.

The sound that tore out of him was somewhere between a sob and a scream. It was violent, painful, and made you cringe so fucking badly. The ring caught on the ridge for one horrible second before it finally slipped off with a wet smack and skidded across the floor somewhere.

For a moment, Satoru just knelt there, breathing hard through the fading pain. Fresh tears tracked down his flushed face as the relief finally hit him.

Then he looked at you, at the mess he’d made across your pretty face and chest. At the absolute state of the room. At everything.

“I’m the worst,” he whispered. “I know I’m the worst. You should kick me out. You should call the cops. I didn’t mean to make it worse. You probably hate me—”

Satoru looked like he was about to start ugly crying for real. His shoulders were shaking as he braced himself for you to slap him.

And look — you wanted to. You wanted to go back in time so you would’ve never answered that fucking Reddit post, never answered his call, never come home tonight. Or maybe… go back just a little bit. To when your tongue was sliding over his frenulum and you’d never been so turned on in your life.

Either way, you weren’t sure anymore. Your brain was more scrambled than the eggs you’d had for breakfast.

So instead of slapping him, you surged forward, grabbed his face with both of your hands, smearing his cum and your own arousal all over his jawline and kissed him hard enough to shut him up.

At first he stayed completely frozen, too stunned to speak, or like… kiss you back that you were kissing him instead of murdering him on the spot. You nudged your tongue against his lips, urging him to kiss you back, because the last thing you needed right now was sucking your incel roommate off and then having him refuse to kiss you afterward. That would’ve been a new low. Truly historic.

But then he let out a shaky breath and kissed you back.

He kissed you desperately, messily, like he was trying to crawl inside your mouth. Saliva, cum, tears, and oil all mixed together as your tongues slid against each other. Teeth clicked. His hands came up to grab your waist, pulling you closer until your chest pressed against his own. He whimpered needily into your mouth and tangled his tongue with yours like he was starving for it.

His glasses got knocked even more crooked.

When you finally pulled back to breathe, you reached down and started yanking your ruined lace panties off. They were twisted around your thighs and sticking to your skin from all the mess.

Satoru, still breathing hard and clearly trying to regain some sense of manly control, decided this was THE moment, HIS moment to be useful.

“Here— let me help,” he muttered, reaching down with both hands.

The two of you fumbled together in some weird horny trance, his fingers sliding against your thigh as he tried to tug the lace down your leg.

But his hand slid right off your slick skin and he lost his balance completely. With a startled gasp! he pitched forward and crashed down right on top of you, pinning you to the floor.

His full weight pressed you into the cold hardwood. Chest to chest, hips slotted between your thighs. The kisses making him hard again, dick now twitching insistently against your tummy.

Then Satoru lifted his head from the crook of your neck and looked down at you. His hair was a mess, but there was something almost determined in his expression now.

“I’ve got it,” he said. Yeah. He definitely  got this. He’d seen the porn. He’d read the r/sex threads. He was a man, the man! He knew exactly what he was supposed to do. Fluent in the dickology! Show you what a high-value male can do. You'll respect it. You’ll want it!

You stared up at him and raised one eyebrow.“…Are you sure?”

He looked faintly offended, but reached between your bodies anyway, grabbed his cock, and lined himself up against your slick folds. The blunt head nudged against your entrance before he pushed in with one unsteady thrust and you were honestly surprised he found your hole on a first try.

The stretch was intense. His cock bullied its way into your tight cunt, the sudden fullness making your back arch slightly off the floor. And it made you think that maybe… just maybe he’s a virgin incel but he somehow actually knows how to fuck?

Satoru made a choked sound above you. He braced his hands on either side of your head and started moving, a little too fast, a little too rough, like he was following some mental checklist of “how alpha males fuck” or something. 

His hips snapped forward, rolling against yours. On a few of his clumsy thrusts, the sharp angle of his hipbone dragged right across your swollen clit.

A spark of pleasure shot right through you, made your breath hitch and his dick catch inside of you. Your fingers scratched on his shoulders and for a second you were hopeful, hopeful that perhaps incels were just involuntarily celibate men with a dick game like this.

It died almost instantly. His rhythm fell apart just as the plushy walls of your pussy fully enveloped him fully in the slick warmth. His movement turned erratic as his hips started stuttering.

“I—fuck—I can’t—ngh—!”

So… He lasted exactly forty-five seconds.

With a humiliated groan he slammed into your cervix one last time and came haard, painting your walls in thick, sticky white. His wobbly arms gave out again and he collapsed on top of you not very gracefully, face buried right back into your neck as he rode out the pathetic orgasm. He was breathing hard, the sound mixing with the wet squelching of oil, cum, and sweat between your bodies every time either of you shifted.

You stared sideways at the messy white strands of his hair currently tickling your pulse point, feeling his cum slowly leaking out around his softening cock. The frustration burning hot alongside with the ghost ache right in between legs.

If he had just let you ride him instead. Ugh.

“…Really?” you said flatly.

Satoru, mortified, made a small devastated noise into your neck and laced his fingers with yours like that would somehow make it better.

You hadn’t come from the fingering earlier. You definitely hadn’t come from his forty-five-second marathon. 

You shoved at his shoulder.

“Satoru.”

He made a small, satisfied noise.

“Satoru. Did you just cum inside me?”

His eyes flew open. The bliss drained from his face instantly. He slowly nodded, guilty, not knowing if he should be terrified or glad.

You pushed him off you. He rolled onto his back with a wet squelch. You sat up, cum and oil smeared across your skin, and glared down at him.

“You ruined my date,” you said, voice low. “You were stupid enough to trap your own dick in a death trap and made me come home to deal with it. You came all over me without letting me cum, and then you creampied me in under a minute.”

He opened his mouth, “I was just claiming what’s mine—”ready to say something even more stupid.

You cut him off, because you were not listening to that right now and ever fucking again. “Don’t. I swear to god, if you say one more word of that pseudo-alpha, podcast-bro bullshit right now, I can promise you this will be the first and last time you ever have your dick in any pussy. Ever.”

He froze.

You leaned in, eyes narrowed, pussy suddenly drying up at high speed.

“I’m serious, Satoru. All that ‘high-value male,’ ‘she’ll respect dominance,’ ‘women secretly want to be put in their place’ garbage? It’s not cute. It’s not hot. It’s not working. It makes you sound like a loser. You’re only lucky that I’m stupid enough to actually fucking like you.”

And Satoru deadass had nothing to say, because it didn’t make sense, yet it made all the sense. And in the middle of the gears grinding he blinked up at you because… did you just tell him you like him?

Before he could grab your chin and kiss you stupid again, you pointed between your legs.

“Since you made this mess, you’re going to clean it up. Now.”

The color drained from his face as he stared at you. “Y-you want me to eat out my cum?”

“Did I stutter?”

He was too stunned and properly terrified to argue. He knew that if he didn’t get his shit together right now, this really might be the first and last time he ever saw pussy in real life. So he scrambled down between your thighs without another word.

He’s going to do it for the love of the game. Can’t be that bad, right?

He gulped as he nestled between your soft thighs, eyeing your tight little hole as a little trail of his cum mixed with your frothy slick leaked onto the floor below you. And it was the prettiest sight he had ever seen.

The reluctant pout on his face made it clear he was weighing eating his own cum against the very real possibility of never getting to fuck you again, so you made it easier for him. You grabbed a fistful of his messy white hair and yanked his face straight against your pussy. His nose immediately buried right between your wet folds, tickling the sensitive flesh.

And maybe he was currently terrified of you, or it was the fact that he finally smelled your sex up close — either way, he was now desperate to please you.

The first drag of his tongue through your folds was experimental, almost cautious. He did it again, licking with too much pressure and in all the wrong places, clearly thinking he was doing something impressive, missing your clit. Again. And again. And again.

For fuck’s sake, you lasted maybe fifteen seconds. You reached down, grabbed his silky hair again, and yanked his head up to adjust him.

He furrowed his brows at you, confused and a little offended, like he was about to argue — until his tongue accidentally flicked right over your clit.

His eyes widened slightly. He did it again, slower this time. A testing little flick. Eyes wide, as if asking what the hell just happened, feeling the little knob jumping.

You let out a shaky moan, fingers tightening in his hair.

“That’s my clit, Satoru.”

His eyes darkened and he dove back in with completely different energy. Okay, he knew where your cute little clit was. Now onto figuring out how to make you come on his tongue. 

He started with the licking, up and down, until he pushed into your leaking hole. He almost immediately tasted his own cum, still warm, thick, and disgustingly bitter against your sweet pussy juices, and he made a guttural sound right against you.

He should have been disgusted, appalled, mortified through his militant incel brain. But why did it taste so wrong, it tasted so so right?

Eating himself right out of you — it was so pathetic, so raw, so hot. And you couldn’t fucking believe you actually made him do it.

Your pussy fluttered and he dove in like a man possessed.

A desperate whine vibrated against your clit as he started licking in earnest. Messy, unrestrained, starving. He was slurping loudly, tongue pushing deep to get more of the mixture, swallowing it down like he couldn’t get enough. Every time he tasted more of himself leaking out of you, another broken moan escaped him.

His hands gripped your thighs haaard, holding you open as he buried his face deeper. He was whining and whimpering into your cunt like tasting his own cum inside you had flipped some primal, pathetic switch in his brain neither of you even knew existed.

“Fuck— you taste so good— I taste so good on you—” Every few seconds he would pull back just enough to breathe, drooling, and mutter broken little things against your skin. And you were once again left wondering where all the skill came from.

Then he’d dive right back in, tongue flicking over your clit before dragging down to lap at your hole again, like he was trying to clean you out and make you messy all over again at the same time.

It was deranged. It was filthy. And it was fucking working.

Your hand fisted in his hair, gripping tight. He moaned loudly at the rough treatment, the sound muffled against your pussy as his tongue circled your clit, biting then sucking on it, then flattening to drag it through your folds like he was trying to devour you whole.

You were gushing at this point, and not a drop ever spilled on the floor as he slurped you like his favourite boba flavour. His touch spread across your entire body as the orgasm built quickly after getting edged the entire evening to fucking oblivion.

“‘Toru—” you cried, thighs starting to tremble around his head. And he bit down gently on your inner thigh when you tried to close your legs on instinct. Look, it’s not like you did it on purpose — who the fuck would want to close up shop when business was this good?

He kitten-licked your poor clit, sending sparks right to your lower belly. Your back arched off the floor as his hand snaked up at the right damn time to flick your nipple.

Oh.

“Holy— ngh— fuck, ‘Toru—!” you screamed and came all over his poor face, thighs clamping around his head as you tried to suffocate him with your spasming pussy. You shook like you’d been electrocuted and he kept licking and licking, to the point you weren’t sure if you came again or if it was just one big orgasm. He wanted to taste every damn second of you falling apart because of him, for him.

His face was a mess. Half of it was shiny and wet with your slick, lips prettily swollen. He’d thrown his glasses somewhere on the floor in the middle of it. His pupils were practically heart-shaped, and he looked so wrecked it was beautiful.

He was so cum-drunk he only stared up at you with his mouth open, resting his cheek against your inner thigh, waiting.

And your eyes might’ve been heart-shaped too, because the sight of him made you throb all over again.

“Fuck,” you almost moaned, reaching down to grab his shoulders. “Come here.”

Satoru didn’t need to be told twice. He crawled up your body like he was starving for it, for you. He crashed his lips against yours and the kiss was fucking messy. You could taste yourself on him as he smeared your slick across your chin, tongues sliding sloppily against each other like you were trying to devour one another.

His hands found your waist. He shifted his weight and rolled the two of you until his back was against the bed and you were straddling him in his lap.

You broke the kiss just long enough to look at him. His chest was heaving. And he was looking up at you like you were the only thing in the world that mattered.

Everything was still disgustingly sticky, but the way he looked at you made your heart go thump thump thump in a way it never had before. So you reached down, wrapped your hand around his cock, and sank down onto him in one slow, slick motion.

Satoru’s head tipped back against the bed with a broken groan that made the muscles in his neck jump. His hands immediately gripped your hips hard, fingers digging into your ass like he needed to anchor himself.

“Fuuck—” he slurred, voice sooo dazed. “Oh my god— you’re so warm— so fucking tight—tighter—”

You started moving, rolling your hips in frantic circles. Every time you sank down, you could feel the tip kissing your cervix, nudging right up against the entrance of your womb as he completely bottomed out.

It didn’t take long before his hands tightened on your ass and he started helping you. He pulled you down onto him faster, guiding your hips with desperate hands while lifting his own to meet you halfway.

“Shit— just like that,” he whimpered, kissing all over your jaw as his tip kissed your poor cervix again and again and again. “Ngh— you’re milking me so good—”

He was completely gone. Eyes glassy, mouth open, babbling whatever came to his mind as you rode him. And every time you clenched around him, another broken sound slipped out of him.

His mouth searched for yours again, licking into the corners of your lips before kissing you deep. You slipped two fingers into his mouth and he immediately sucked on them, tongue rolling around your fingers with a needy moan that made your pussy flutter and squeeze around him even harder. Your swollen clit dragged over his lap and lower stomach with every roll, his happy trail tickling your sensitive folds and sending sparks up your spine.

Satoru whined around your fingers, hips twitching up helplessly.

One of his hands stayed on your hip while the other slid up and wrapped around your neck. His thumb brushed along the side of your throat as he started moving you faster, pulling you down onto his cock with more urgency. The wet slap of skin on skin loud, filling the room.

“I’m so close,” he warned desperately against your lips. “Fuck— I’m gonna cum— you feel too good—”

His hand squeezed, holding you in place as he helped you bounce on him. Every time you sank down, he lifted his hips to meet you, fucking up into you until your jaw rattled. He was panting hard, forehead pressed against yours, completely pussy-drunk.

Satoru came with a broken, drawn-out moan, hips jerking up into you as he spilled deep inside. He held you down against him, grinding up as he pumped his cum into you like he was unconsciously trying to fuck it into your stomach. His hand on your neck tightened just enough to pin you down against him while he trembled through it.

Both of you were breathing hard. He held you close and kissed the side of your head as he hugged you.

“D-did you cum?” he mumbled against your skin, still dazed and half out of it.

You pulled back just enough to look at him, deadpan.

“WHAT?”

He blinked up at you, still glassy-eyed and fucked-out. “You squeezed me so hard I thought you did! Okay then— cum then!”

You stared at him for a second, somewhere between offended, frustrated, and fond, before letting out a short laugh.

“You’re actually so fucking stupid.”

You were still softly rolling your hips, using his softening cock like a dildo while you were still determined to cum again. Satoru just watched you, half-intently, half blissed-out, still breathing hard, feeling his cum escaping your pussy and pooling in his lap. After a moment, one of his hands slid down between your bodies. His fingers found your clit easily this time and started rubbing you.

“Fuck— you’re still so wet,” he mumbled, eyes locked on where you were grinding against him. “Keep going… I’ve got you.”

So you kept moving on his semi-hard cock while he fingered you, the combination making your thighs shake. Your breath started hitching and Satoru was watching your face closely now, still drunk but trying to focus.

When your mouth fell open so prettily and your eyes fluttered as he just hit that spot inside you with the angle of his cock, his other hand moved to your hip almost automatically. He gripped you and started moving you himself again, guiding you in short, deliberate rolls so his cock and his fingers kept pressing just right against that same sensitive spot from both sides.

“There?” he asked, voice low and rough. “Right there?”

You could only nod, a broken whimper slipping out of you as you started tipping forward, head on his sweaty shoulder until your thighs were trembling hard and you felt like a jelly.

You came with a sharp, shaky moan, clenching around his soft cock as the overstimulating orgasm tingled through you. Satoru held you through it, still moving you gently and praising you so nicely until you completely slumped forward against his chest.

He hugged you tight, face buried in your neck.

And you stayed slumped against Satoru’s chest for a long minute, both of you just breathing each other in. The adrenaline was finally wearing off, and reality slowly started to creep back in.

The room was in fucking ruin. You were both coated in a sticky mess, the mattress behind you was most likely ruined, and the floor was dangerously slippery. It smelled like greasy sex.

“Well,” you said.

“Yeah,” he answered quietly.

You slowly peeled yourself off his chest, shivering as the cool air hit your slick, overheated skin. 

You looked down at him and he still looked completely fucked-out, and you decided you could get used to that look. As you stretched, you felt his cum trailing down your inner thighs. Satoru’s eyes followed it from the front row, his spent dick giving a weak twitch at the sight. 

“I’m going to take a shower,” you said softly, breaking the quiet. You paused, a small smirk tugging at the corner of your lips. “…Wanna join?”

Satoru’s heart practically stopped. His eyes widened and for a second he looked like he was going to follow you like a lost, oily puppy. Dream fucking come true. But then he glanced around at the absolute state of his bedroom and reality hit him again.

“I’ll, uh…” He cleared his throat. “I’ll clean this up a bit first. You go ahead.”

You pouted but gave him a soft, understanding nod. “Don’t take too long, ‘Toru.”

You grabbed one of his random t-shirts that smelled like him from the floor and padded down the hallway toward the bathroom.

Left alone on the floor, Satoru stared at the opposite wall for a long time. He was deadass completely re-evaluating his entire existence.

He had just experienced the most surreal, life-changing two hours of his life, and the only thing he knew for certain was that he was completely whipped for you. For once, he didn’t care what his old incel education had to say about it. Which was fucking new and so so refreshing.

He reached over to his nightstand, picked up his phone, and wiped a smear of baby oil off the screen before opening Reddit. 

r/relationship_advice

I (M) think I’m in love with my roommate (F) and I might have just completely fucked everything up in the most humiliating way possible

Throwaway because if she ever sees this she will murder me for real now.

I’ve been living with this girl for almost a year. She’s my roommate. For the longest time I thought I had everything figured out. I believed that if I just kept doing enough, she’d eventually see me as a potential mate. She didn’t, obviously.

Tonight I did something so fucking stupid I still can’t believe I’m typing this. I got a cock ring stuck on my dick. I panicked and called her while she was on a date and basically begged her to come home. She helped me. She got it off. And then… something else happened. Something I didn’t expect at all. And now she’s in the shower and I feel like I fucked up our friendship or whatever he had between each other beyond repair. My entire worldview feels kinda off.

I think I’m in love with her. I’ve been a terrible roommate. I’ve been a terrible person tbh. I don’t know what we are now. I don’t even know if I have the right to ask. But I think I love her. And I have no idea what the fuck I’m supposed to do.

Please help. And be nice this time, pls.

u/GrassToucherGeto · 183 upvotes

Is this the same guy who posted that viral “AITA for expecting my roommate to fuck me because I did the dishes” thread a few weeks ago?

u/KingNaoya69 · 56 upvotes

You fucked her? Good shit bro. Don’t fuck it up this time.

Satoru looked up the second you returned, now wearing his t-shirt, your hair still damp and smelling like strawberries again. Something in his chest went soft at the sight of you. You looked so prettily blissed-out, eyes cutely half-lidded, his t-shirt fitting you so so nicely, leaning against the doorframe and he couldn’t quite believe you were actually fucking real.

He was still sitting on the floor, holding a bottle of kitchen cleaner in one hand and a roll of paper towels in the other, and having no fucking idea what he was doing. Which, to be fair, he kinda did because what the hell do you even do with a room soaked in oil?

You sighed and gave him a soft, tired look. 

“‘Toru,” you said gently. “You’re not going to be able to clean this mess up right now. Just go wash up.” You paused, biting your lip. “Let’s just sleep in my room tonight, alright?”

He blinked up at you, panicked and hopeful all at once. Did you just say sleep in your bed? Him in your bed?

You tilted your head, giving him the softest smile you’d given him yet. And that was all it took. He for sure didn’t need to be told twice. If you insist, m’lady and tips his fedora confused. He dropped the cleaner without a second thought and basically sprinted down the hall.

He took the fastest, most aggressive shower of his entire life, scrubbing the residual oil and shame and probably a layer or two of his skin like he was trying to erase the last few hours.

When he finally crept into your bedroom, the lights were already off and you were in bed. He climbed in beside you and the sheets smelled like you. It was warm, it was safe and it kinda made the anxiety in his chest go away for now.

You shifted over without opening your eyes, throwing an arm across his chest and tucking your face into the crook of his neck, planting a little kiss over his pulse point. You fell asleep almost instantly.

Satoru lay there staring up at the dark ceiling, gently nuzzling the top of your head with his cheek still not believing this is the reality now. But an overwhelming sense of peace settled over him.

Carefully, so as not to wake you, he reached for his phone one last time.

He opened Reddit and went back to his post. The comments had already blown up again. Some people calling the story fake, others demanding more details about the cock ring, a few calling him a simp.

Satoru smiled to himself. 

He typed out one final edit.

Update: Nvm, she’s tucked into my side. Take this as a PSA to all the other incels out there. Mods, please flag this as SOLVED.

── Dividers from petalpx and fairytopea and melocor!

[foryuiwill]

Suguru Geto, who you couldn't wash clean ⋆˚࿔

You lived your world with no sight of curses. You didn't see the blood, the grief, or the rotting spheres Suguru had to swallow to protect the world he sought to keep peaceful for you.

You only knew him, and the peace he brought home.

The quiet peace existed in your shower, where the water would trickle down your naked bodies as the steam fogged the glass, shutting out the busy streets of Tokyo outside, and the foggy sanctuary that blurred the image of his uniform, lazily sprawled against the tiles, from view.

He always preferred the water scalding—glistening hot beads trailing down the broad landscape of his back, droplets tracing every deep curvature of his muscles as his forehead pressed against the cool tiles of your wall. He would stay like that until your hand reached for his hair tie, pulling the pin that unknowingly contained the weight of his duties, letting his head fall back, eyes closed in a restfulness that readily eased the tenseness in his shoulders.

His onyx-toned hair would spill over them, falling heavy and damp before you. As your fingertips massaged his scalp, tracing deep circles that brought him closer to your touch, the heavy moan you knew was buried in his chest escaped his lips, echoing within the stain-glassed walls.

And when he turned to you, your fingers still in his hair, his hands found the subtle indentation of your waist, and his forehead rested against yours.

In between the strands of his hair that split his face like fractured glass, and the droplets that pooled down his skin, your eyes always trailed from the delicate crease in his brows to the slight tremor in his lips, and to his chest that rose and fell with the rhythm of his shuddering.

"Wash me," he whispered, his voice thick and pleading, barely carrying over the rush of the water. You would find his eyes again—closed as always. Sealed tightly, like he didn't want you to see them. "Clean me, please."

And you did every time. Washing him with a delicacy you afforded him effortlessly. Soaking the washcloth with the water and the sandalwood-scented soap you bought just for him, lathering it in your palms until the smoky fragrance bloomed in the steam. Slowly, you would press the warm cloth to his neck, tracing the slope of his shoulders with a slow, rhythmic stroke, letting his forehead rest against your shoulder as his grip on your waist tightened.

You washed him as if he were something fragile. You weren't sure of what he faced outside, but you were cognizant of the way he leaned forward when he walked, making sure to scrub the suds down his back just enough to coax the tension out of his muscles. And slowly, he would let go, leaning into you, completely surrendering under your touch.

But gradually over time, as the visits to your home stalled, the peace he brought began to fray.

The scalding water was no longer enough. The tender circles of your fingertips no longer brought him ease. And his soft requests shifted to desperate urges.

"Harder," he would whisper, voice rough and above the sound of the hitting stream, his fingers gripping your waist like a lifeline. "Wash me harder."

You would rub the soap into his skin until his back flushed raw and red. You became desperate, trying to rid him of bruises the world outside brought down on him, though you couldn't place the scars.

He wanted to be scraped clean. But no matter how hard you scrubbed, you couldn't get rid of it. And you tried every time.

Until last night.

You walked into the bathroom to find the steam already at your feet, the mirror already blinded by white fog. But he hadn't waited for you.

Suguru was already standing against the wall, his arm propped above him. The hair tie was gone, his onyx-colored hair already drenched and clinging past his shoulders.

The sound of the opening sliding glass door echoed through the bathroom when you stepped in; the scalding water immediately pelted your skin.

He didn't meet your gaze. His forehead remained pressed against the tiles, his hand closed in a tight fist.

You reached for the washcloth, one unbroken part of the routine, and soaked it in the rushing stream and sandalwood soap you knew he loved. With the cloth firm in your hand, you extended your arm towards his shoulder the way you had a thousand times before.

His fingertips slowly unraveled from his fist as the rag rubbed across the landscape of his back. Your mind fought between a soft pull and a rough drag, uncertain how to soothe him completely.

But the moment your finger slipped underneath the cloth and grazed his skin, he jolted forward, and a sudden gasp escaped him. His chest slammed against the wall, his forehead pressed harder into the seam of the tiles.

You stepped back, lowering the rag to your side. The cloth against your thigh felt almost cold against your skin. His back was still turned to you, rising and falling against the sound of the heavy pelt of the water against the floor. He remained rigid, muscles locked so tight they looked almost foreign from the body you thought you knew.

"Suguru?" You called, just above the rush of the water.

Slowly, his head bowed lower. His shoulders heaved, gradually fading as he steadied his breath.

He turned his neck slightly, the sight of his dark brown eye staring back at you through the wet strands of his hair.

"Don't," he whispered, stripped of the comforting gentleness he always brought home to you.

"Don't touch me like that. Please."

You looked down at the washcloth in your hand. The suds were already sliding off the fabric, soaking at your feet, in between your toes, and into the drain.

There was no blood, no scars, no bruises on him. Under the bathroom light, his skin was flawless.

With a trembling hand, you reached out again to touch him—to see if there was a chance he was dirty. But before you could make contact, he stepped forward, pressing himself flatter against the cold tiles, just out of your reach.

"I'm clean," he said. His voice was quiet and entirely flat. He didn't look back at you. "I'm clean now. You can go."

And as you stepped out of the shower, leaving him alone in the blinding steam, you knew he would never let you wash him again.

𑣲𝄞 inspired by yebba’s heartbreak…

a/n: the way i had to keep walking away from my laptop when writing this. my heart hurtssss