Imagine a Cool title here

Ro she/her ~26

[fangirlingbookworm1]

MASTERLIST

Fem reader. Fluff. Sfw. Slow Writer.

**Requests welcome but no guarantee will do them. Request only characters I've done please.

☆ One Piece ☆

Law x reader

Stay with me | Part 2 Complete

365 coming soon

☆ Jujutsu Kaisen ☆

Gojo x reader

The silence you left behind | Epilogue Complete

Nanami x reader

Miss you One-shot

Geto x reader

TBA

☆ Genshin Impact ☆

Xiao x reader

TBA

[crepes-suzette-373]

I feel like Sora would have actually dressed her baby boys like this...

Edit: Someone suggested Reiju should be the sun, so ok.

[princeable]

suguru is obsessed with aftercare...and you apparently

There’s a soft rock song playing in the background when Suguru finally finishes inside you, his hair sticking to his sweat slicked forehead and his eyes looking at you with that soft gentle quality he only reserves for you. 

He swipes his thumb over your cheek as your eyes flutter open, allowing for the last wave of post-orgasmic bliss to wash over you. 

“Hey gorgeous,” Suguru whispers softly, slowly making his way out of you and peppering kisses along your jaw, neck, and chest. 

“Hey loser,” You reply back, smiling up at him as your eyes drift close again. 

Suguru slowly gets up, making you groan as you feel the loss of his weight and his warmth. “Come on, you should shower,” He says, lifting you up with his strong arms and carrying you to the bathroom. 

He strokes at your hair and allows his hands to roam all of you, as if he’s trying to remember you through engraving your body on his fingertips. 

You push at him delicately, creating distance as you stretch out your limbs languidly. 

“I have to shower,” You say faintly, your voice hoarse and your throat a little sore. Suguru closes the distance once again, kissing your lips with fleeting warmth and slowly trailing his hands all across your body again. 

“I don’t see why I have to go for that,” He mumbles in between kisses, alternating from kissing your lips, to your earlobes, to your neck, and to your jaw. 

“I have to shower,” You reiterate, feeling a soft giggle bubble in your throat as you feel his touch hovering over somewhere ticklish. 

“Exactly, let’s go,” Suguru says, dropping his hands to yours and leading you towards the bathtub. 

“I don’t remember showering being a group activity,” You chuckle as you see Suguru pout. 

He shakes his head, his long raven hair falling perfectly over his shoulders and accentuating his form as if giving him an outline. “It is now,” He replies defiantly. 

You shake your head and give him a look that has no heat in it whatsoever—only love, a quiet bubbling love that is subtle but definitely there. “Well you can find someone else to shower with because it won’t be me.” 

Shaking him off of you, you make your way to the shower, stepping in and you’re about to turn on the water before you feel someone wrap their strong arms around your waist. 

Suguru pulls you into a deep kiss, a one that is not messy but slow. It’s slow and it’s purposeful. A love letter laced in tongue. 

He gives you a soft laugh when he hears you moan softly into his lips, pulling back to brush hairs from your face and tuck it behind your ears, “It wouldn’t be the same,” He says finally after looking at you for ages. Stroking at your cheek and holding your jaw. 

“What?” 

“It’d have to be you, it’ll always be you baby.” 

You look at him incredulously, your heart beating a mile a minute before you watch him turn away and walk out of the bathroom, leaving you to shower like you asked. 

You can’t help but miss the way his arms slotted around you perfectly, and the way his breath felt on your skin as he poured out his sentiments. 

When you finish, you see Suguru on the bed, hair wet and wearing a big band tee and long pajama pants, smoking a cigarette while looking out the window. 

You climb on the bed and slot yourself right in between his legs like you belong there—and part of you thinks that in more ways than one, you do belong there. 

He reaches up at your face and cups it in his hands, pulling you down to kiss him. Soft, sweet, and deep like everything is with him. 

He palms at your hair, and kisses you like he means it—like he really wouldn’t want to do this with anyone but you. 

When you pull back you give him a smile, your voice dipped in honey and totally saccharine, “You smell like cigarettes.” 

He laughs, “You know you love it.” 

“Yea i do.” 

[kkunai]

[𝝑𝑒] :: true form!sukuna finds out his favorite pregnant concubine is injured :: tags. fluff, angst, reader gets called ‘woman’ :: ac. @/greybookman on x

you want that damn scroll.

one of the old texts on yokai lore sukuna left half-unrolled on a high shelf days ago. boredom and the restless energy of pregnancy drives you to it. standing on the tips of your toes, with one hand braced against the lacquered cabinet, you stretch up.

your belly, round and full at nearly eight months, shifts heavily. the baby kicks hard as if protesting.

“just... a little more—“

the wood creaks. your foot slips on the woven tatami mat and then the world tilts.

you hit the floor with a sharp cry, pain lancing through your side and wrist. the scroll clatters beside you. for a moment you lie there, breathlessly. your hand instinctively cradles your belly. the baby moves again. it’s still strong and alive.

relief floods you, but it’s followed quickly by fear.

because your hear them. those heavy footsteps echo down the corridor. too fast and way too purposeful.

the sliding doors slam open with enough force to rattle the entirre frame. sukuna stands there, all four beefy arms tense, crimson eyes blazing with immediate and lethal irritation. the mouth on his abdomen twists into a snarl before the one on his face even opens.

he takes one look at you on the floor, at the displaced cabinet, the way you clutch your wrist and the temperature in the room seems to drop.

“what,” he growls, “is the meaning of this, woman?”

you try to push yourself up. trying to make yourself seem presentable, “it’s nothing, my lord. i only—“

“do not.”

two of his arms move before you can finish. one massive hand catches your shoulder while the other slides beneath your knees. he lifts you as if you weigh nothing before carrying you to the thick futon piled with silks. the third hand hovers over your belly, not quite touching, while the fourth grips your injured wrist with surprising gentleness. though his expression promises murder.

you wince as he probes the swelling. a bruise is seemingly already blooming.

sukuna’s eyes narrow at the bruise on your wrist. something inside him twists, “you fell.”

“well, i reached for a scroll,” you admit quietly as you hold your head down in shame, “didn’t think—“

“yeah. you obviously didn’t think,” his voice is deceptively calm now. the kind of calm that precedes slaughter.

he sets your wrist down and rises to his full imposing height. the black tattoos shift across his skin as his muscles flex, “tsk. y’re crawling about like some reckless servant chasing trinkets, and look where that got ya.”

the air grows thick with that ominous cursed energy you’ve grown used to. outside in the gardens, you hear a distant scream. you swallow thickly. that was an unfortunate soul who was probably been lingering too close at the wrong moment.

sukuna doesn’t even glance toward the sound. his focus remains locked on you.

he kneels again, red eyes boring into yours. one hand cups your chin to tilt your face up, “do you have any idea what i would do to this entire fuckin’ country if you lost that child?”

your heart stutters.

you know he isn’t exaggerating. sukuna’s affection is a double edged blade. it’s obsessive, violent and all-consuming. you have seen villages erased for lesser offenses than inconveniencing his property.

“y-yes, but i’m alright,” you whisper, “the baby kicked just now. it’s still strong and kicking."

as if to prove it, another solid thump presses against your belly. sukuna’s big hand moves immediately, his warm palm spreading over the curve.

for a long moment there’s silence. then he exhales through his nose, a sound closer to a growl.

“you will not leave this chamber without my presence until the birth.” it isn’t a suggestion. “servants will bring you everything. if you desire a scroll, they will fetch it. if you desire the moon itself, they will bleed trying.”

you reach up with your good hand to brush fingers along one of his wrists. you tilt your head as you look up at him, “you’re angry.”

“furious.”

the word drips with venom. yet he lowers himself beside you on the futon, two arms pulling you carefully against his chest while the other two adjust pillows behind your back. the contrast is dizzying. his body radiates power and heat, capable of tearing mountains, but he handles you like a fragile thing.

“i should chain you to this bed,” sukuna mutters, lips brushing your temple, “perhaps then you’d stop testin’ me.”

a small smile tugs at your lips despite the dull ache in your wrist. “you’d miss my stubbornness too much,” you chuckle softly.

the king of curses huffs. the mouth on his stomach licks its lips, tasting the air—probably the lingering trace of your blood from a scraped elbow.

you lean into him and lett the solid bulk of his true form surround you. four arms are useful for this, at least. one idly strokes your hair, another rests over your belly, the third keeps your injured wrist elevated and the fourth simply holds you close.

minutes pass in comfortable silence. his cursed energy fluctuates wildly. you can feel the rage still simmering, but it’s more contained. you can feel it coiling around the room like invisible smoke, ready to lash out at the first person who enters.

a hesitant knock sounds at the door.

“enter,” sukuna barks.

a trembling servant girl slides the door open, carrying a tray of bandages and herbal salve. her eyes widen at the sight of sukuna holding you so intimately. she nearly drops everything.

“give it here,” he snaps while extending one arm without releasing you. the girl approaches on her knees, head bowed low, and places the tray within reach before scrambling back.

sukuna tends to your wrist himself.

his touch is precise, almost clinical, wrapping the linen with surprising care. every so often his gaze flicks to your face to check for discomfort. the fury hasn’t left his eyes, but it has shifted. it’s now directed outward. toward the world that has dared let you fall.

when he finishes, sukuna pulls you closer again. “if this swells worse by morning, i’ll flay the physician who attends you. slowly.”

you chuckle softly as exhaustion creeps in. too much happened in a small amount of time for your heavily pregnant self, “‘kay, noted.”

he stays like that long after your breathing evens out. sukuna rarely sleeps much, but tonight he remains vigilant and his hand never leaves your belly.

. . .

by the next morning, word has spread through the estate like wildfire. no one is to allow you out of the inner chambers without the king of curses’ permission.

extra guards patrol the halls. when a maid brings breakfast, she keeps her eyes on the floor and moves with exaggerated slowness, terrified of triggering his wrath.

you watch sukuna from the futon as he paces, big arms crossed in various combinations. he has already executed one overzealous attendant who suggested you might have ‘overexerted’ yourself earlier in the week. the body has been removed before you woke.

“ryo.. come here,” you call softly, trying carefully to calm that rage by using that nickname you made up for him. instead of the usual politeness.

sukuna pauses. then, with a reluctant grunt, he returns to your side. you take one of his large hands and place it back on your belly.

"feel it. he’s fine. we’re fine.”

sukuna’s expression remains stormy, but the tension in his shoulders eases fractionally, “if anythin’ changes...”

“‘you’ll destroy the world’. . . i know.”

a rare, sharp-toothed smirk tugs at his lips, “good. you’re learning.”

[jeniferprince]

I've got a crush on you 💘

patreon // buy prints here

[tojiified]

Gojo turns into a Velcro baby when he’s home.

˚₊ ˚ ‧₊ .:･˚₊ ˚ ‧₊ .:･˚₊ *˚ ˚₊ ˚ ‧₊ .:･˚₊ ˚ ‧₊ .:･˚₊ *˚ ˚₊ ˚ ‧₊ .:･˚₊ ˚ ‧₊ .:･˚₊ *˚ ˚₊ ˚

Gojo always acted like leaving for missions didn’t bother him. He’d keep grinning with his hands shoved in his pockets, sunglasses crooked on his nose, leaning down just enough to steal one last kiss before disappearing for days—sometimes weeks.

“Don’t miss me too much, yeah?” he’d tease.

But the second he came back?

That man was Insufferably clingy.

The first sign was always the silence. Satoru Gojo, the strongest sorcerer alive was physically incapable of shutting up for more than thirty seconds. But, he’d walk through the door and just… hold you, face buried in your neck. Arms wrapped tight around your waist. Breathing you in like he’d forgotten what home smelled like.

“Missed you..” he’d mumble, voice rough with exhaustion.

Then came the attachment issues.

You stood up to get water? Suddenly he was trailing behind you, tall and sleepy, chin hooked over your shoulder while you filled the glass.

Trying to cook? His arms locked around your middle from behind the entire time, whining dramatically when you told him he was in the way.

“Toru, I can’t stir the sauce well enough if you’re hanging off me.”

“Yes you can. I believe in you.”

And at night? It was worse, way worse.

He’d practically drape himself over you like a blanket—legs tangled with yours, one hand under your shirt resting against your skin like he needed constant proof you were really there.

If you tried to move even an inch, his pale lashes would flutter open immediately.

“Where’re you goin’?”

“The bathroom.”

“Okay. I’ll wait.”

“…You do realize I’m coming back, right?”

“Mhm. Still waiting.”

And yeah, sometimes you’d call him dramatic when he groaned, “You love your phone more than me.” after you answered a text in the middle of him talking.

But you’d never really change it.

Because every lingering touch, every sleepy hug from behind, every moment he insisted on being close—

it all meant he came back.

Back from the missions.

Back from the danger.

Back to you.

So if Satoru Gojo wanted to spend the next week attached to your side like you might disappear if he looked away too long?

You’d let him.

Every single time.

˚₊ ˚ ‧₊ .:･˚₊ ˚ ‧₊ .:･˚₊ *˚ ˚₊ ˚ ‧₊ .:･˚₊ ˚ ‧₊ .:･˚₊ *˚ ˚₊ ˚ ‧₊ .:･˚₊ ˚ ‧₊ .:･˚₊ *˚ ˚₊ ˚

[toonies-trepidations]

ONE BED PT. 2

PAIRING: best friend! satoru x fem!reader

WC: 17.3k

WARNINGS: blood, gore, violence, angst, fluff, some horror elements ish? happy ending, feelings of possessiveness, the smut here is filthy nasty, dirty talk, gojo is an eater!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!, pussy EATING (more like devouring), multiple orgasms, fingering, rimming, blowjob, creampie, cum eating, p in v sex, dry humping, edging

NOTES: omg i am so excited to finally release this. this part is so much longer than i intended it to be, sorry guys hehe. i dont know how i feel about the curse stuff in this story, not really used to writing it so idk how good it is or how accurate it cuz i barely fact checked this shizzz. omg but i LOVE the smut in this fic. even if you don't like the beginning and just want the porn, bro scroll to the bottom, i promise it won't disappoint.

pt.1

The second you stepped outside the hotel, the wind hit you like a wall. It was cold, damp, and forceful enough to knock the air right out of your lungs for a second. Although the rain had stopped, a heavy mist hung in the air, turning every breath into a conscious struggle.

You checked the screen of your phone.

10:00 p.m.

Shit. There was seriously nothing you hated more than late-night calls. Sleep was a priority for you, and being dragged out into the field when your body was practically begging to be sleeping in bed was only going to make a tough assignment feel ten times worse.

Luckily, a bright blue taxi pulled up to the curb before you could spiral into misery over your lack of sleep. Thank God you’d had the foresight to call one while you were getting dressed upstairs; at least you wouldn't be standing around freezing in the damp air waiting for a ride.

You slipped inside and gave the driver the location.

“Kabukicho, Shinjuku.”

According to the call from Principal Yaga, that was the curse’s last known location. But it was a special grade—they were incredibly fast, mobile, and rarely stayed in one spot for long.

As the taxi pulled away, its tires hissing against the wet pavement, you leaned back against the headrest, completely unable to relax. Kabukicho was going to be a nightmare at this hour. The nightlife there would be in full swing, the neon-lit streets absolutely packed with people moving between bars, clubs, and restaurants.

Your mouth felt completely dry. This was a massive headache waiting to happen.

Dropping a massive veil over the whole district would just trap thousands of innocent civilians inside with a monster. There was no point in locking people into a danger zone if you could avoid it. Your best bet was to track the curse down first, herd it into a confined space, and then drop a smaller, targeted veil over it. If you could corner it in a small area, you could wrap the whole thing up pretty quickly.

Well, assuming there’s actually only one of them.

The thought made you frown. Satoru had mentioned that this specific special grade might be splitting pieces off from its main body. If he was right, how many of those pieces were running around? How far had they scattered? Dealing with one veil in a crowded place like Kabukicho was hard enough, but managing several by yourself? It felt completely impossible.

The loud, aggressive buzz of your ringtone suddenly shattered the quiet of the car, pulling you right out of your head. Your eyes widened the second you looked down at the caller ID.

Daddy long legs.

This nincompoop had changed his contact name, probably while you were in the shower earlier. You made a mental note to fix that. Still, seeing him call did pull at your heartstrings a little. Without wasting much more time, you pick up.

"Hey," you say softly.

"Hey, you." His voice is low and sleepy, stripped of his usual teasing lilt. "You there yet?"

"Almost, should be there in a few minutes."

"Mmm." For a few seconds, you just hear his quiet, soft breathing. "'m missing you."

If only you could see him right now—eyes closed, sprawled out in your shared bed, arm outstretched to your empty spot, pretending you were right there beside him, your voice in his ear coming from the pillow next to him instead of through a phone.

"Miss you too, Toru." You wanted to say more. To tell him how worried you were and just hear his voice, soothing and steady, talk you down from it. But you don't. You know him too well. If he knew you were worried, he'd come anyway, no matter what you said.

You can't risk it. Curses that mess with your head are the worst kind to deal with—not only are they mentally exhausting, but they’re also time-consuming. Gojo showing up late to this meeting was a firm no. You know those stupid geezers would take their frustration out on Yuji and dress it up as concern for the safety of the world. For once, Gojo had to be on his best behaviour. This wasn't like it was with Yuta, and even that had been an uphill battle. Yuji carried the king of curses inside him. Convincing them that sparing him was the right call wouldn't be easy, not by a long shot. So, you hold your tongue and hope it doesn't come back to bite you, and instead say, "What time do you have to be up?"

"3:30. It's sooooo early, babe. Those fossilized dinosaurs want to meet at 4:30," he whines.

You giggle. "That really is early. They're trying to make it hard for you to show up, stupid idiots. Hate how it feels like they've already made up their minds about Yuji without even hearing you out."

"I know, baby. But you know me, I'm very persuasive. So persuasive I even got you to fall for me."

"Who says I fell for you?"

"It was pretty obvious when you were grinding on me an hour ago."

"Oh my god," you huffed, your face heating up. "You are completely shameless."

"Only when it comes to you."

Before you could fire back a retort, the taxi driver’s gruff voice cut through the quiet car, his eyes catching yours in the rearview mirror. "We'll be arriving in about a minute."

You gave the driver a polite nod and returned your attention to the phone. "Hey, I'm here. I have to go."

You heard Satoru let out a slow, deep exhale on the other end, the sleepiness completely vanishing from his tone. "Okay. Be careful out there. Call me if anything feels off—and I mean anything. I'm serious."

"I will. Thanks, 'toru. See you tomorrow." You murmured your goodbyes and hung up.

The lingering warmth in your chest vanished the second the screen went dark, instantly replaced by that familiar, creeping dread. It was the specific kind of heavy knot that only formed when you knew that a mission was going to be an absolute nightmare.

The taxi rolled to a stop along a relatively quiet side street just off the main strip. After thanking the driver, you stepped out of the car and into the overwhelming wall of noise and neon that defined Kabukicho. You pulled your collar up against the damp chill and blended into the crowd, scanning the bright alleyways to figure out exactly where the traces of cursed energy were.

.⭒☆━━━✰━━━☆⭒.

The quiet of the hotel room offered Satoru no refuge. His mind remained a relentless cycle of memories, all centering on you. For more than ten years, he had settled for the role of a friend, a position that had become a slow and constant ache. To finally hold you in the way he had envisioned for a lifetime, only to have that connection severed while he was powerless to stop it, felt like a unique form of cruelty.

He revisited every moment you shared, unable to break free from the loop of his memories. The heavy weight of his current loneliness brought a singular, undeniable truth to the surface: there was no logical explanation for this depth of grief other than the fact that he was completely in love with you. He loved every detail of your existence. When he looked into your eyes, he felt a pull so magnetic that he never wanted to find his way back. Your voice was a gentle breeze that swept him away to a place of calm, and your laughter remained the most beautiful sound he had ever known.

His entire being felt anchored to you. His heart and soul belonged to you, even if you remained unaware of the depth of his devotion. People called him the strongest, but that title felt like a hollow prize when it could not keep you near him. He would give up the power that set him apart from the rest of the world in an instant if it meant he could finally be with you. He did not care about the status or the prestige; all he wanted was for you to be there.

He eventually drifted into a light, restless sleep, but you followed him there, too. Waking or dreaming, you were the only thing occupying his mind, and he wouldn’t have it any other way.

.⭒☆━━━✰━━━☆⭒.

While Satoru drifted into a quiet sleep, you were out navigating the restless, crowded streets of Kabukicho. The district was alive with a frantic energy. Laughter spilled from the open doors of bars, and a rhythmic bass thudded from clubs upstairs. A group of office workers stumbled past with loosened ties and flushed faces, while couples walked beneath the glow of neon screens, their umbrellas knocking together. The earlier rain had left the pavement slick, turning every puddle into a reflection of red, blue, and gold.

You pushed through the crowded streets, filtering out the noise to focus entirely on tracking the curse’s residue. You spotted a faint smudge of it on a restaurant window, barely noticeable against the bright indoor lights. Further down, there was another trace on the glass doors of a karaoke building and a third smeared across the shiny hood of a parked car. Then, you saw a trail rippling across a puddle at the entrance of a narrow alley, heading into the dark.

Everything clicked into place. The curse wasn’t touching the actual structures of the city. It was only leaving marks on reflective surfaces. It was traveling through the glass and mirrors, jumping between reflections to stay hidden.

Scanning the street with better focus, you noticed a young man slow down near the entrance of an arcade a little farther ahead. His friends kept walking and laughing at a joke, but he lagged behind. He stood frozen beside a glossy black panel near the doorway, eyes fixed on his own reflection.

You watched him closely. His shoulders went completely slack, and then his reflection smiled.

But the man’s actual face stayed completely blank.

You lunged forward. “Hey!” you called out, pushing through the gap between passing strangers. “Step away from that!”

The man didn’t react. In the glass, his reflection tilted its head with a slow, deliberate ease, the smile getting wider.

You quickened your pace. “Can you hear me?”

Still nothing.

By the time you reached him, his hand was lifting toward the panel, fingers trembling as they stretched toward the version of himself waiting on the other side. You caught his wrist a split second before his skin brushed the glass.

The moment your hand closed around his arm, the reflection shattered into something else.

The man’s face vanished from the polished surface, and a creature looked back.

The silhouette was almost human but stretched out and warped. It loomed too tall, its limbs emaciated, and its neck bent at a sickening, fractured slant. Its face was completely blank, just a smooth mask of pale flesh with a dark, scar-like seam running across the bottom. Before you could even draw a breath, that seam split wide open—the flesh peeling back with a wet sound into a massive, jagged grin.

You felt its heavy, suffocating attention land squarely on you. The air went ice-cold.

Around you, the crowd kept moving, completely oblivious. Someone laughed behind your shoulder, a car horn blared, and music pulsed from the arcade. But inside the glass, nothing moved. It just stared straight at you.

The black surface rippled.

You shoved the man backward, hard enough to send him stumbling into a passerby. Someone shouted in annoyance. The young man blinked rapidly, dazed and confused, like he was waking up from a deep trance.

You barely heard them. The movement inside every reflective surface on the street suddenly froze dead.

The windows, the puddles, the cars parked along the curb, the shine of rainwater on the asphalt, and even the dark screen of a phone in the hand of a passing woman. In every single one of them, that same pale face was watching you.

Your breath caught. “Found you,” you whispered.

The curse’s smile tore wider, and the streetlights flickered.

In one sharp instant, Kabukicho bent. The neon signs stretched upward into long trails of color. The pavement beneath your shoes grew soft and unstable. Sound dragged and warped, the voices of the crowd pulling thin until they melted into a distant, ringing in your ear.

You stepped back, cursing yourself as you tried to activate your cursed technique.

Too late.

The glossy panel beside the arcade warped open. A violent, magnetic pull tore through your body, and your stomach dropped as if the ground had vanished. You tried to brace yourself, digging your heel into the changing pavement, but the force only tightened, yanking you forward with impossible strength.

The last thing you saw of the real world was the young man staring at you in horror. Then the street folded inward.

You hit wet pavement hard, pain sparking through your shoulder as you rolled and caught yourself on one palm. For a moment you stayed there, breathing through the shock while the air froze in your lungs and your pulse pounding in your ears.

Slowly, you pushed yourself upright.

Kabukicho spread out around you. At least, it looked like Kabukicho.

The neon signs still buzzed, and the streets still shone with rain. Clusters of civilians blurred past with umbrellas tucked under their arms. A taxi rolled by, its blue paint flashing under the lights before vanishing around the corner.

You turned in a slow circle. The arcade stood behind you, its entrance glowing. The same bars and restaurants lined the street, and the same narrow alley opened a few steps away.

Your hand curled into a fist. “No,” you murmured.

Something was wrong. It took a moment to spot the glitch.

A woman in a beige coat walked past you, laughing softly into her phone. Three seconds later, she walked out of the exact same corner ahead of you and passed you again, her laugh echoing at the exact same pitch.

Across the street, a man dropped a cigarette near the curb and crushed it beneath his shoe. A beat later, he was standing back beneath the sign, bringing the unlit cigarette to his mouth for the first time.

The blue taxi rolled past the corner again, exactly as it had a moment ago. Then the traffic light changed from red to green, but none of the cars actually moved. A second later, it snapped back to red.

You exhaled slowly. A domain. No veil needed anymore you think.

The technique was incomplete, a hollow imitation of a Domain Expansion. It lacked the suffocating pressure of a refined barrier and the immediate, predatory lock of a sure-hit factor. The fabric of the space felt fragile, poorly woven at the seams. It was a stage play of a world—constructed from memory by an entity that barely understood what it was trying to mimic.

You checked your phone. It was frozen, so you had no way of keeping track of how long you’ve been in here, great.

You moved carefully down the street, eyes flicking from surface to surface. The windows reflected the looping crowd. Puddles showed signs flickering in entirely different colours than the ones overhead. The side of a passing taxi caught your shape, but the reflection was a half-second too slow to follow your movements.

The curse was hiding somewhere inside this imitation, and you had to find the anchor holding the illusion together. This domain was likely how it caught non-sorcerers. If a human was drunk or high, they’d probably assume their own brains were playing tricks on them, completely missing the small, unnatural loops until they were trapped endlessly.

You recalled what you saw right before getting dragged in: the face in the glass. The curse had to be hiding in one of these reflective surfaces. You just needed to find the right one and destroy it before it could hop to another.

You were basically playing a high-stakes game of whack-a-mole, keeping cursed energy circulating through your fist so you could strike the instant the curse appeared.

You wandered around the district looking at every surface, your eyes aching from the constant glare of the bright lights overhead. You had no idea what time it was, and the frustration was really starting to build.

Then, as you turned your head to check another window, you caught it. That eerily creepy figure was staring back from a glass pane. Without any hesitation, you smashed the surface with your cursed energy.

Suddenly everything went black. The fake world vanished, and you felt yourself falling straight down into the earth.

You kept your eyes shut until you hit the ground with a loud, painful thud.

"Ouch," you muttered, pulling yourself up.

When you opened your eyes, you weren't in Kabukicho anymore. You were standing in the middle of Jujutsu High.

You stared out at the barren campus, the silence stretching for a heartbeat before total panic gripped you. The air felt thick, poisoned, completely wrong. You were still trapped in the belly of its domain, snagged in a different layer of the curse's reality. A cold, nauseating dread settled deep in your gut.

.⭒☆━━━✰━━━☆⭒.

The loud blare of his phone alarm broke the quiet of the hotel room. Satoru groaned, keeping his eyes shut as his hand swept across the nightstand until his fingers closed around the device. He swiped the screen to silence it, letting his arm drop heavily back onto the mattress. For a minute, he just lay there in the dim morning light, waiting for the lingering grogginess of sleep to clear. Then the reality of the empty room returned to him, and he remembered that you were still out on your mission.

His eyes opened. He sat up, blinking against the sudden brightness as he unlocked his screen and went directly to your messages. There were no new notifications, no missed calls, and no indication that you had tried to reach him. He stared at the blank space beneath his last message, his thumb hovering over the glass. It was common for missions to run late, especially considering it was a special grade in a crowded area like Kabukicho. He knew there were plenty of practical reasons for the delay, but the lack of an update still unsettled him.

Satoru ran a hand through his messy white hair, his gaze drifting to your empty side of the bed. He knew exactly how capable you were—you were one of Jujutsu High's most reliable sorcerers, and he trusted your instincts implicitly. He didn’t need to hover or treat you like an amateur. But logic did nothing to ease the suffocating silence of the room. That was the part hated: the agonizing act of waiting, left entirely in the dark about whether you were safe, completely exhausted, or just too busy to check your phone.

During your student years, the school rarely separated the two of you. Almost always deployed as a pair, meaning he could simply look to his side and see you right there. You would usually be covered in dirt, stubbornly hiding your exhaustion while scolding him for being reckless. He always laughed because he knew the frustration came from a place of genuine care.

He remembered a specific evening after a grueling assignment. You both were bruised, starving, and waiting outside a convenience store. Satoru had bought the very last sweet pastry from the shelf simply to irritate you.

You had stared at him with intense, exaggerated offense. “You are actually the worst person I know,” you said.

He had grinned, leaning against the glass door. “That is a little dramatic.”

“You stole my dessert.”

“I paid for it.”

“You knew I wanted it.”

Despite the five minutes of complaints, you still sat with him on the concrete curb under the harsh glare of the vending machines, breaking the pastry in half. You took the larger piece, claiming it was a mandatory fee for emotional distress. It was a completely ordinary moment, devoid of any major declarations, but it remained one of the clearest and fondest memories he had.

Things were different now. You were no longer teenagers learning the ropes, and the higher-ups no longer kept you two together just because the two of you functioned perfectly as a team. They had individual duties, separate schedules, and distinct dangers. Satoru accepted a while ago that this was the natural progression of their lives, but he thoroughly disliked the reality of it.

It was a strange, frustrating vulnerability. He possessed the Six Eyes and the Limitless technique, making him the most powerful sorcerer alive, yet none of that power allowed him to see through the distance to ensure you were safe. He was entirely helpless to do anything but sit in a quiet room and wait.

His thumb moved over the call icon. He wanted to dial your number just to hear the line connect. Even if you answered only to reprimand him for interrupting your focus, the sound of your voice would be enough to put his mind at ease. He hesitated, then decided against it, opening the text bar instead.

Hey. Update me when you can.

He deleted it immediately because it felt too serious. Sending that felt like a manifestation, a confession that there was actually something to fear.

Instead, he typed: You better not be making me worry for nothing.

He hit send before he could reconsider, placing the phone face up on the mattress. He started getting ready for his meeting, eyes always flickering to his phone to see if you responded, but you didn’t. When he reached for his eyewear, his hand passed right over his glasses and grabbed his blindfold. Those frames were reserved for you—he only put them on because you loved them, and he had zero desire to look attractive for a room full of old geezers. Wrapping the black cloth over his eyes, Satoru checked his phone one last time, tucked it into his pocket, and left the hotel room.

.⭒☆━━━✰━━━☆⭒.

The silence in the courtyard was absolute. There were no cicadas buzzing in the trees, no distant hum of traffic from the city below the mountain, and the wind had died down to nothing. The sun was stuck in a permanent, dull twilight that cast long, unnatural shadows across the dirt.

You took a tentative step toward the main building. The wooden sliding doors and stone pathways looked exactly as they always did, but the familiar warmth of the school was entirely gone.

Footsteps echoed from the corridor to your left.

You spun around, your hand instinctively rising as you prepared to channel your cursed energy. Satoru stepped out from the shadow of the building. He was wearing his standard dark uniform, his white hair messy and damp just like it had been in the hotel room. But something was wrong. His blindfold was gone, and his eyes were completely blank, staring right through you without a single trace of life.

"You should have just told me you were worried," he said. His voice was completely flat, stripped of its usual playful cadence, chillingly empty. "You should have told me you were scared so I could actually help you. But you wanted to play the hero. And now look at you... you're going to die here, entirely alone."

The words sent a sharp sting through your chest, but the mechanical delivery gave it away immediately. The real Satoru would never sound this lifeless.

"You're not him," you muttered, backing away.

The illusion did not argue. Its face twisted into a rigid snarl, jaw unhinging just slightly too wide, and it lunged — not with the graceful, almost lazy precision of the real Satoru, but with savage, mindless velocity. Its fingers hooked like claws and drove straight for your throat.

You pivoted hard left, letting it blow past you, and buried your fist into its ribs with everything you had. Cursed energy detonated through the point of contact. The fake Satoru exploded, its torso bursting apart from the inside out in a cascade of jagged glass. Hundreds of heavy shards screamed outward. One opened a line across your cheekbone. You hissed through your teeth, pressing the back of your hand against the cut as the fragments rained down onto the dirt with a deafening, ringing clatter.

You didn't even have time to register the blood before more footsteps sounded from every direction.

Geto walked out from behind the training grounds, a cursed tool balanced in his hand. Shoko stepped off the porch of the infirmary, her fingers gripping a sharp scalpel. Even Principal Yaga emerged from the main hall. None of them spoke. They just advanced on you in perfect sync, their faces smooth and expressionless.

Panic flared in your chest. Even though you knew they were fakes, seeing the people you cherished most coming at you with lethal intent made your stomach turn to ice.

Geto struck first. He closed the distance instantly, his cursed tool whistling in a downward diagonal aimed to split your skull. You ducked under the swing, but the blade caught you, slicing open the meat of your shoulder. It wasn't a fatal blow, but it burned like a bitch.

Not deep, but enough. Pain flared bright and hot, and you used it, let it sharpen your focus instead of scattering it. You surged upward, driving your elbow into Geto's chin with bone-jarring force. His head snapped back, and you got one clean look at his empty eyes before Shoko's scalpel raked across your forearm. Instead of letting the shock break your rhythm, you weaponized it, using the adrenaline to lock your focus. You exploded upward, slamming your elbow into the underside of Geto's jaw. The impact rattled up your arm as his head jerked back, exposing the vacant, unseeing look in his eyes. Then, out of nowhere, Shoko's scalpel raked across your forearm.

That one was deep.

You cried out, staggering. The blade had caught you across the meat of your left forearm and blood welled up instantly, running hot between your fingers and dripping into the dirt. Your arm burned like a brand had been pressed against it. You had to clench your jaw to keep from going to your knees.

No time.

Yaga was already on top of you. He didn't use a weapon — he didn't need one. His fist connected with your ribs like a falling beam, and the world whited out for a half-second. You felt something creak inside your chest, praying all your ribs were still intact. You smashed the back of your skull against his face as he grabbed you from behind, and the grip loosened just enough for you to wrench yourself free, gasping.

Three more copies emerged from the shadows to replace the ones you'd shattered.

Then it clicked. The curse was trying to exhaust you. If you kept fighting these puppets, you would be completely drained of cursed energy and blood before you ever found the real threat.

You stopped focusing on the copies. You dropped your stance, ignored the fresh wave of pain from your arm and ribs, and gathered a massive amount of cursed energy into both palms. You drove your hands directly into the stone pathway beneath your feet with a sound like a thunderclap.

The energy erupted outward in a violent wave.

You don't see it in time.

The shockwave tears through the courtyard in every direction — but you are at the center of it, and the recoil is brutal. The stone beneath your hands pulverizes and kicks back into your palms, shredding the skin raw. You're thrown backward, rolling hard across fractured rock, and when you finally stop, you're facedown in the dirt with gravel embedded in your cheek and both hands screaming.

For a moment you just breathe.

Get up.

Slowly, you push yourself to your knees. Blood patters steadily from your forearm. Your ribs ache with every inhale. But around you, cracks have spread across every surface, climbing up the walls of the buildings, splintering through the sky above like broken glass. With a deafening roar, the entire illusion of Jujutsu High tears apart, dissolving into nothingness.

The false sanctuary vanished, and the sensation of solid ground disappeared with it.

You didn't fall so much as drop out of existence — a stomach-lurching plunge through cold, lightless nothing before the void caught you and held you suspended, weightless, in the middle of absolute dark. No floor. No ceiling. No walls you could reach even if you screamed and swam toward them for hours.

And glass was everywhere.

Thousands of jagged shards hung motionless in the air around you, ranging from splinters the size of your thumbnail to vast, door-wide panels that dwarfed you completely. They weren't floating randomly. They were arranged in a deliberate way. Every single one angled just enough to catch your reflection, so no matter which direction you turned, you were surrounded by fractured versions of your own face staring back at you.

Then you saw it.

The curse hung at the center of the void, coiled around a massive ornate mirror like a pale spider guarding an egg. Up close the thing was enormous. Its spindly limbs were wrapped multiple times around the mirror's gilded frame, fingers curled possessively into the carved edges. Its head lolled at that same sickening angle, neck bent at a degree that should have been impossible and fatal. And its mouth — that stitched, lipless mouth — had pulled back into a wide, serene grin.

It had been waiting for you to fall in.

You felt the domain's sure-hit factor settle over you like a physical weight. It was a pressure behind your eyes, a heaviness across your shoulders, the horrible biological certainty of prey that has just realized the trap has already closed. There was no exit. The boundary had sealed without a single flaw.

Every floating shard in the void rotated simultaneously, pivoting on nothing until every fractured reflection of your body faced the curse directly.

The curse didn't move from its spot. It didn't need to.

With the slow, lazy confidence of something that had already won, it raised a long, pale hand. It reached out toward a shattered shard of glass floating right beside its chest—a shard that was currently mirroring a clear reflection of your right arm. Slowly, the curse drew two sharp fingers right across your reflection.

The pain arrived before your brain could even process what it was looking at.

Three deep gashes tore open across your actual right forearm, the flesh splitting apart like a zipper being ripped open from the inside. The cuts were long, clean, and immediately catastrophic. For one terrifying heartbeat, the wound didn't even burn; the next second, the agony was entirely blinding. You choked on a breath, unable to scream, and clutched your arm as blood instantly soaked through your sleeve in a heavy, dark stain.

There had been no projectile. No burst of wind. No physical attack to dodge or counter. The curse hadn't touched you at all. It had simply sliced the glass, and whatever happened to your reflection happened instantly to your body.

Your stomach dropped, a cold spike of adrenaline hitting you right in the chest.

The curse tilted its head in that horrible, boneless way, its dead eyes fixing on a large fragment of glass floating to your left. That specific shard was mirroring your entire torso.

You were running completely on empty. Pushing through the curse's previous attacks had bled your reserves dry, and what little cursed energy you had left felt thin and weak, like a candle burning down to its last millimeter of wick. Blood was dripping steadily from your arm, pooling onto the floor, and you were locked completely alone inside the core of this domain. No exit, no backup, and a creature that could rip you apart just by touching a mirror.

The curse raised its hand, fingers spread wide, aiming right for your reflected chest.

There was no point in trying to dive out of the way; if your reflection was in the glass, you were a sitting duck. Instead, acting on pure, desperate survival instinct, you scraped together every painful remainder of your cursed energy. You forced all of it into your torso, compressing it into a rigid, invisible armor across your chest and ribs a fraction of a second before the curse's claws slashed across the glass.

The phantom impact hit your body like a speeding car.

The claws shredded through your clothes and into your skin in four parallel lines, but your desperate reinforcement held just enough to keep the gashes from going deep. What it couldn't block was the sheer force of the blow—massive, blunt, like being struck dead-on with a steel pipe.

The air left your lungs in one violent gasp. The impact threw you backward, coughing up a mouthful of blood that sprayed across the space between you and the monster.

You stumbled, hunched over and trembling as you tried to steady your footing on the fractured floor of the domain.

Think. Think right now, or you don't get to think again.

Your eyes tracked the fresh blood dripping onto the ground, and then quickly shot toward the dense cluster of glass shards floating closest to the curse—the ones currently mirroring your reflection in the highest concentration.

You moved before your brain could even finish the thought.

Swiping both hands across your bleeding wounds to coat your palms in thick, fresh crimson, you flung it hard across the cluster of nearby shards. The dark red blood splattered and smeared over the glass, instantly blotting out your reflection surface by surface. It wasn't elegant. It was messy, desperate, and ugly—but it worked. The domain's sure-hit effect stuttered. Without a clear image to target, the invisible lock on your body flickered like a failing light bulb.

A split second was all you were going to get.

You lunged toward the largest shard behind you, planting both boots firmly against its surface. You bent your knees, channeled some of the last bits of your energy into your legs, and pushed off with everything you had.

The glass shattered into dust under the force of your kick as you launched yourself straight across the void like a stone from a sling—aiming right for the curse's chest, bleeding, furious, and completely out of options.

The curse reacted instantly. Two of its impossibly long limbs uncoiled from the mirror frame and snapped outward to intercept you. You twisted your body mid-flight, letting the first blade-like limb slice past your ear.

But there was no dodging the next one. The second limb caught you right across the ribs like a battering ram.

The sound your body made was sickening—a dense, wet cracking that you felt deep inside your ribs rather than heard. It was a sharp vibration that instantly told you something vital had just given way.

The force of the blow sent you flying backward. You crashed back-first into a floating cluster of jagged glass, punching right through them in an explosion of razored edges. The fragments tore through your clothes, slicing into your back and legs in a dozen different places. Yet, through sheer, blind momentum, you kept moving forward, teeth clenched so hard they threatened to shatter, your vision swimming in a haze of red.

Satoru is waiting.

The thought hit you with startling, crystal clarity, cutting straight through the blinding agony. You were not going to die in some stupid curses domain and leave him waiting.

Your hand snapped out, fingers locking like a vice around the curse's extended arm.

And then, you climbed.

Hand over fist, you hauled yourself up the length of its emaciated limb while the creature writhed and convulsed beneath you. You dragged your broken ribs and shredded back forward through sheer, grinding refusal to die. The curse snarled—a metallic, ear-splitting shriek that vibrated horribly in your molars—and its free hand shot toward the surface of the massive master mirror behind it.

One scratch on that glass and you were dead. You didn’t know what part of you it reflected, and you weren't about to find out.

You slammed your body weight directly into the monster a split second before its fingers could make contact.

Squeezing your eyes shut, you forced every single scraping, burning remnant of your remaining cursed energy straight into your fist. You felt the power circulate in a tight, violent spiral through your knuckles until the pressure became unbearable, making your entire hand shake.

Then, you swung.

Your fist connected with the curse's face with a crack that sounded like a gunshot echoing through the narrow space. Its jaw didn't just break, it caved entirely. The smooth, pale face distorted inward under your knuckles, and the sheer shockwave of the impact traveled down your arm, throwing your body forward and slamming you directly into the ornate mirror at the center of the domain.

A massive fracture ripped right across the glass, branching and blooming outward like ice snapping on a frozen lake.

The curse screamed. It was a sound made of metal and static and something older, and the entire void shook.

The floating shards around you began to fracture, then crumble, then dissolve into fine glittering dust. The black walls of the domain started peeling away in long curling strips like burning paper, revealing nothing beneath except darkness.

The curse's body came apart. It dissolved, losing cohesion the way smoke disperses in wind, its limbs unfurling from the cracked mirror and pulling apart into nothing. The grip around the frame released, and as it did the domain folded in on itself in one final, violent contraction.

You didn't fall through it so much as get spat out.

The barrier shattered.

You hit the asphalt at full speed, hip and shoulder taking the brunt of it, skidding across wet pavement in a graceless heap. Rain was falling and the distant sound of the city came flooding back all at once, traffic and voices and a pop song from somewhere up the street.

You lay there on the wet ground of a secluded alleyway and breathed.

Every inhale pulled at your cracked ribs. Your forearm was still bleeding heavily, soaking through your sleeve and dripping onto the pavement beneath you. Your back felt like someone had dragged you across gravel. Your hand — the one you'd hit it with — had stopped shaking only because it had gone mostly numb.

But the domain was gone.

Even though you were bleeding out, entirely depleted of cursed energy, and hovering right on the edge of unconsciousness, a faint smile still tugged at your lips. You were finally out. You tried to force your heavy eyelids open, desperate to make your body stand up, but the weight of it was just too much.

Using the absolute last ounce of strength left in your limbs, you fumbled in your pocket and pulled out your phone. When you turned it on, you saw a notification from Daddy Long Legs was waiting for you.

The ridiculous name made you smile a little wider. A wave of profound relief washed over you, just seeing his name made you feel entirely safe. It was the sudden, comforting certainty that he still cared and that no matter how hidden you were, he would find you. You didn't need to force yourself to stand anymore. You could just close your eyes for a minute and wait for him to come get you. With that final thought, the phone slipped from your numb fingers, clattering against the pavement as your eyes fluttered completely shut.

.⭒☆━━━✰━━━☆⭒.

The second the meeting with the higher-ups finally concluded, Satoru didn’t look back. He didn’t offer a parting snarky comment, he simply slid his chair back and walked out, his stride long and hurried as he pulled his phone from his pocket.

Nothing. The screen remained entirely blank. No new notifications, no missed calls, and no text indicating that you had made it back safely from Kabukicho.

A sharp, cold knot tied itself deep in his stomach. The prolonged silence from you felt heavy, pressing down on his chest until his breathing turned shallow. He unlocked the phone again, staring at his last sent message, hoping the interface was simply lagging. The text sat there, unread.

He didn’t wait another second.

Satoru clamped his right hand into a sharp, rigid hand sign, drawing upon the Limitless to compress the massive physical distance between his location and Kabukico. The space around him folded inward with a violent, deafening crack of displaced air.

He dropped right into the center of Kabukicho. The frantic, neon-soaked chaos of the district hit him all at once—the blare of music from nearby bars, the chatter of late-night crowds, and the smell of damp asphalt from the earlier rain.

He began to move through the streets, his pace rapidly shifting from a fast walk to an outright sprint. To the civilians pushing past, he looked entirely unhinged. His blindfold was slightly pulled down, exposing the frantic, piercing brightness of the Six Eyes as they scanned every window, every doorway, and every passing face. He was completely blind to the people staring at him; his entire universe had shrunk down to a desperate search for your specific cursed energy signature.

But there was nothing. The air was completely clear of residual energy. One might have taken the absence of a curse as a sign of success, assuming you had wrapped up the job and left, but the total lack of any trace only made the nausea in his throat grow thicker. If the fight was over, why weren’t you answering?

Satoru sprinted past the mouth of a narrow, poorly lit alleyway, his momentum carrying him several steps forward before his mind caught up with what his eyes had just registered.

He stopped dead in his tracks. His boots skidded against the wet pavement as he spun around and retraced his steps, his chest heaving as he stared into the shadows of the brick corridor.

The air left his lungs completely.

You were lying on the hard, wet asphalt, your body small and entirely still beneath the glare of the neon lights above. Below you, a dark, heavy pool of crimson was slowly spreading across the concrete, mixing with the rainwater and staining the hem of your uniform.

Satoru felt a sudden, violent surge of bile rise in his throat. For the first time in his life, the Six Eyes failed to process the information in front of him. His mind fractured into a chaotic, terrifying spiral, a thousand worst-case scenarios screaming through his head all at once. No. No, this isn't real. This is an illusion. It's a remnant of the domain. He stumbled forward, his legs suddenly feeling heavy and uncoordinated, completely stripped of his usual effortless grace.

"Hey," he choked out, his voice cracking, devoid of any volume. "Hey, stop it. This isn't funny."

He dropped heavily to his knees right into the middle of the blood, completely ignoring how the dark fluid soaked straight through his uniform trousers. He reached out, his fingers trembling violently as they brushed against your cheek.

Your skin was ice-cold. The vibrant, stubborn warmth he was so used to holding was entirely gone, replaced by a pale stillness that made his heart violently hammer against his ribs. Your eyes were closed, your face entirely blank, completely unresponsive to his touch.

A horrific, suffocating panic took hold of him, tearing through his chest like physical claws. Satoru—the strongest, the man who held the power to alter the balance of the world—could do absolutely nothing to stop the shaking in his hands. He couldn't fight this. There was no enemy here to crush, no curse to tear apart with Blue or Red. There was only you, bleeding out on the dirty ground while he sat by and watched.

"Wake up," he whispered, his hands moving frantically to cup your face, his thumbs sweeping over your pale skin as if he could friction-burn the life back into you. "Please angel, just look at me. You promised you'd come back."

A choked, desperate sob broke from his throat, a raw and ugly sound he didn't even recognize as his own. The absolute certainty he always carried vanished, leaving behind a terrified man who was completely out of options. His mind screamed at him that he was too late, that his obligations to the higher-ups and his responsibilities to everyone else had cost him the only thing that actually kept him anchored to his own humanity.

Satoru gathered you into his arms, pulling your limp weight securely against his chest. He held you so tightly his muscles strained, tucking your head beneath his chin as if his own body could shield you from the reality of your injuries. His fingers dug into the fabric of your clothes, terrified that if he loosened his grip even a fraction, you would slip away entirely.

He didn't care about a clean path. He didn't care about the strict conditions of long-distance warping or the strain it would put on his brain. With a desperate, feral focus, he forced his cursed energy to spike, locking onto the coordinates of the Jujutsu High infirmary.

The neon lights of Kabukicho blurred into a sharp, painful smear of white, and the sound of the city was instantly swallowed by a roaring vacuum as he tore through space, carrying your cold body back toward the only place left that could save you.

The vacuum of warped space collapsed with a deafening thud as Satoru materialized inside the Jujutsu High infirmary. The sudden, violent displacement of air rattled the medical cabinets and sent a stack of loose papers flying across the floor.

Just a second before, Shoko and Suguru had been standing by the counter, sharing a quiet conversation. Faint, relaxed smiles graced their faces. But the moment the air pressure plummeted; their heads snapped toward the center of the room. Sorcerer instincts kicked in instantly, their bodies tensing for a threat, but the defense mechanism shattered the moment they saw what Satoru was holding.

Satoru watched in real time as the blood completely drained from Suguru’s face, his eyes widening in a rare, uncharacteristic look of sheer horror. Shoko froze, her entire posture locking up as her gaze dropped from Satoru’s frantic, uncovered eyes to the limp, crimson-soaked figure tucked against his chest. Tears immediately welled up in her eyes, blurring her vision as she took in the gray, waxy pallor of your skin and the heavy, terrifying volume of blood coating your uniform. The easy warmth that had filled the room a second ago vanished, replaced by a suffocating, heavy dread.

Satoru stood there, his chest heaving, his muscles trembling under the weight of your body. His throat caught, a thousand frantic explanations choking him from the inside. There was so much he wanted to scream, so much panic tearing through his mind, but his voice failed him. All he could manage to force out through his trembling lips was a desperate, broken whisper.

“Save her.”

There was nothing else he could say.

Before the words even finished leaving his mouth, Shoko was already moving. The initial shock vanished, replaced by the sharp, cold efficiency of a doctor who had looked death in the face a hundred times. She didn’t waste a single second crying or asking what happened. She rushed forward, her hands moving with practiced precision as she pointed directly to the sterile metal operating table in the center of the room.

“Put her down. Right there,” Shoko ordered, her voice tight but commanding. She glanced up at Satoru, then at Suguru. “Then both of you get the hell out.”

Satoru’s jaw tightened. A sudden, feral instinct flared up inside him, the absolute refusal to leave your side, the overwhelming need to stay and watch over you, to ensure that no one, not even Shoko, separated him from you right now. He opened his mouth to argue, his posture shifting defensively as he prepared to dig his heels in.

Shoko caught the movement instantly. She looked him dead in the eyes, her expression a mix of grief and authority. “Satoru, move. You don’t want to see her like this.”

Her words felt like a harsh slap in the face. The anger flared in his chest, hot and defensive, but beneath it, a crushing realization took hold. He looked down at your face, then at Shoko’s hands, which were already beginning to glow with a faint, steady hum of positive energy. He understood what she meant. Shoko was going to have to expose the deepest, most gruesome wounds inflicted by the domain's sure-hit effect. If he stayed, if he had to watch his own classmate fight a losing battle against time to piece the love of his life back together, he didn't know how he would survive it. If she failed while he was in the room, the raw power inside him would likely tear the entire campus apart.

Before Satoru could spiral any further, a heavy, familiar hand settled firmly on his shoulder.

Suguru stepped up beside him. His grip was tight, grounded, and unyielding. Suguru’s own face was pale, his stomach twisting at the sight of you, but he knew his best friend was entirely untethered right now. He didn't say a word, he just applied a steady, guiding pressure, gently pulling Satoru away from the table.

For once in his life, Satoru didn't offer a single complaint or sarcastic remark. He let himself be led, his boots dragging against the floorboards. Just before the heavy clinic doors swung shut, he caught one last look back at you over his shoulder. Your hand was hanging limply off the edge of the metal table, pale and still, while Shoko hurriedly ripped open your torn uniform jacket to assess the damage.

The door clicked shut, cutting off the sights and sounds of the infirmary.

Satoru collapsed onto the wooden bench in the hallway, his strength completely deserting him. He buried his face in his crossed legs, his long frame hunched over as he tried to block out the entire world. The silence of the corridor was agonizing. Every tick of the clock down the hall felt like a strike against his chest.

Satoru collapsed onto the wooden bench in the hallway, his strength completely deserting him. He buried his face in his crossed legs, his long frame hunched over as he tried to block out the entire world. The silence of the corridor was agonizing.

Suguru sat down right beside him, leaning his back against the wall and staring blankly at the floorboards across from them. His hands were clasped tightly between his knees. He didn't try to offer any empty platitudes, and he didn't tell Satoru that everything was going to be fine. He knew there wasn't a single combination of words in the human language that could ease the torment his best friend was experiencing. Suguru knew exactly what you meant to him, how you were the only person who could consistently make the strongest sorcerer alive forget about his burdens and just be a human being. Watching Satoru break like this made a cold, hollow ache settle deep within Suguru's own chest.

"Before she left..." Satoru’s voice was barely a whisper, thick and fractured. He didn't lift his head from his knees. "Right before she left for the mission. We... it finally happened, Suguru. After all this time. And then she gets called out to some damn mission that she wasn’t supposed to do until the next morning, and the next thing I see is..."

He choked on the words, his jaw tightening so hard it ached. He couldn't finish the sentence. The image of you lying still in that pool of blood was burned into his retinas, playing on a loop every time he closed his eyes.

"I just..." Satoru let out a ragged, trembling breath, his fingers digging into his hair. "I really fucking hate this job sometimes."

Suguru didn't turn to look at him immediately. He kept his eyes fixed on the empty floor, his expression pulling into something weary and dark. He understood that hatred better than anyone. He spent his own days dragging his feet through the mire of their responsibilities, constantly searching for a reason to keep fighting, to keep bleeding for a world that just kept taking from them. He knew the suffocating weight of realizing that no matter how strong you were, the jujutsu world would always find a way to bleed you dry.

"I know," Suguru said softly, his voice heavy with a shared, bitter exhaustion. "I know, Satoru."

Inside the sterile, cold infirmary, Shoko was entirely alone with the ticking clock.

She took a deep, steadying breath, forcing the tears back from her eyes as she focused entirely on her technique. Reverse Cursed Technique was an incredibly rare, delicate process. Unlike standard negative cursed energy, which was used for destruction, Shoko had to take her own negative energy and multiply it within herself to generate positive energy, the unique output capable of regenerating living human flesh.

She placed both of her palms flat against your chest. The positive energy surged from her hands, manifesting as a soft, rhythmic glow that immediately began to combat the trauma in your body.

It was a grueling, meticulous process. The special grade curse's sure-hit effect had executed its attacks from the inside out, meaning the invisible slashes had cleaved through your deeper tissues before tearing the skin. Shoko had to work backward. She focused her energy deep within your torso first, manually forcing the torn, bleeding arteries to knit back together, sealing the internal hemorrhaging that was rapidly draining your life.

Next came the lungs. She directed the positive energy to mend the punctured tissue, forcing the collapsed structures to expand once more so your body could actually process oxygen. Only when the vital organs were stabilized did she pull her hands upward, drawing the glowing energy across your skin to close the deep, jagged lacerations marring your chest and arms. New layers of dermis and muscle fibers rapidly spun into existence under her palms, sealing the raw gashes until the bleeding stopped entirely.

Shoko’s breathing turned ragged, sweat beading along her forehead from the sheer concentration and the massive amount of energy the output required. She didn't stop until your pulse beneath her fingers shifted from a faint, erratic flutter to a slow, steady, and recognizable rhythm.

Outside in the hallway, the sudden, sharp silence was broken by the sound of the infirmary door sliding open. Satoru’s head snapped up instantly, his blindfold completely forgotten on the bench beside him as his piercing blue eyes locked onto Shoko.

Shoko stepped into the corridor, leaning heavily against the doorframe. She looked thoroughly exhausted, her shoulders slumped, but as she looked at the two boys waiting in terror, the tension in her face finally softened. She wiped a stray smudge of blood from her cheek with the back of her hand and gave a single, tired nod.

"She's stable," Shoko said, her voice quiet but clear. "The internal damage is fixed. She just needs to rest and recover her cursed energy."

The breath Satoru had been holding for the last hour finally left his lungs in a long, shuddering exhale. He didn't wait for Suguru or ask for permission, he just pushed past Shoko into the room, his eyes instantly tracking to where you lay breathing softly under a clean white sheet, finally warm, and finally safe.

He walked over to the side of the infirmary bed where Shoko had moved you, his eyes fixed on you.

The moment he saw the slow, rhythmic rise and fall of your chest beneath the white sheets, he felt himself instantly relax. The tight, agonizing knot that had been winding up in his stomach for hours finally unraveled, and an overwhelming sense of joy washed through him. You were alive. You weren't awake yet, but you were there. The gray, waxy pallor that had terrified him in the alleyway was gone; the beautiful, familiar color had finally returned to your face, painting your skin with the soft warmth of life. Even though you were sleeping and entirely unconscious, you were right in front of him.

Standing over you in the quiet of the clinic, he looked down at your hands, now clean and unmarred by the jagged cuts of the domain and knew with absolute certainty that he could never let you go again. The mere thought of going through this a second time made his chest tighten with a suffocating dread. He could not imagine a life where he had to see you like that again; so bloody, so worn out, so utterly lifeless and dead. It had nearly broken him. He was the strongest sorcerer alive, the anchor of the jujutsu world, but without you, the world was just an empty, loud room he had to keep from burning down. He wouldn't put himself through that torment again.

He pulled the wooden stool close to the mattress and sat down, his long frame hunching forward as he rested his elbows on the mattress. Gently, as if he were afraid you might shatter like the glass that hurt you, he slid his hand beneath yours. He locked his fingers with yours, pressing his palm flat against your skin just to feel the steady, reassuring pulse beating against his thumb.

Hours dissolved into the quiet night. The sterile scent of the infirmary faded, replaced by the cool, familiar air of the morning as the sun began to rise over the campus mountains.

Your eyelashes fluttered.

A low, faint groan caught in the back of your throat as awareness slowly leaked back into your mind. Your muscles felt incredibly heavy, and your skin tingled with the residual warmth of Shoko's positive energy, but the sharp, agonizing pain from the domain was entirely gone. You blinked against the soft morning light, your vision shifting from blurry shadows into focus.

The first thing you saw was blue.

Satoru was leaning over you, his face just inches from yours. His white hair was messy, falling into his face, and his eyes were wide, brimming with an intense, raw emotion that he didn't even try to hide behind a smile or a joke.

"Satoru..." you murmured, your voice rough and dry from exhaustion.

The sound of his name breaking through your lips cracked the last of his restraint. He let out a shaky breath, leaning down to press his forehead gently against yours, his grip on your hand tightening until it was almost bruising.

"You're awake," he whispered, his voice thick and unpolished, scraped raw at the edges. "You're actually awake." He said it like he was still trying to convince himself.

"Yeah," you breathed, blinking slowly up at him, "I'm awake, Toru. I'm right here. I'm not going anywhere."

Something in his face broke open at that. He pulled you in before you could say another word, arms wrapping around you with a force that was just short of desperate, like he needed to feel the warmth of you, the realness of you, pressed against him before he could fully believe it. You wound your arms around him as tightly as your tired body would allow, pressing your face into his shoulder.

When you finally pulled back and looked up at him properly, you blinked. Then, despite everything, despite the bone-deep exhaustion and the ache still humming beneath your skin, a slow, scandalized look crossed your face.

"...Are you serious?" you said flatly.

Satoru blinked. "What?"

"The blindfold, Satoru." You stared at him. "I almost died, and the first thing I wake up to is that god awful strip of fabric on your face." You let out the most exhausted, theatrical sigh you could manage given your current state. "I have been through enough today. I deserve your glasses."

He stared at you for exactly one second. Then he laughed, sudden and unguarded, one that started somewhere deep in his chest and spilled out before he could stop it. The last of the tension in his shoulders finally dissolved with it.

"You're unbelievable," he said, shaking his head slowly, but the relief in his voice was so thick it was almost visible. "I almost lose you and the first thing out of your mouth—"

"The blindfold, Satoru."

He reached up and tugged it off without another word, tucking it into his pocket. His bright, sleep-deprived eyes found yours, and for just a moment, before the grin fully settled back into place, there was something unbearably sincere in the way he looked at you.

"Better?" he asked quietly.

"Much," you said softly, as you looked into those icy, sparkling blue eyes.

He smiled, bringing a hand up to cup the side of your face as he leaned in. But just as the distance between you vanished, leaving mere centimeters between your lips, the infirmary door burst open with the unmistakable, chaotic energy of your three students.

Satoru backed away instantly. It wasn't because he wanted to keep you a secret—honestly, he would love nothing more than for them to find out. He wanted the whole damn world to know; he wished he could scream it at the top of his lungs. But he couldn't let the kids in on anything because, truthfully, he didn't even know where things stood himself. The two of you still hadn't put a label on whatever this was, let alone found the time to actually sit down and discuss everything that had transpired two nights ago.

"Sensei!"

Yuji and Nobara hit you at almost the same velocity, both of them folding around you, not leaving any room for personal space but you didn't particularly care. You laughed, startled, reaching up to hold them back.

Megumi stood at the foot of the bed.

He didn't rush in. He didn't say anything right away. He just stood there and looked at you; at the machines still monitoring your heartbeat, at the clean bandages where the worst of the wounds had been, at the hand that had been holding Gojo's before you'd let go to hug the others. His jaw was set, his expression carefully arranged into its usual cool neutrality, but his eyes revealed the true worry that he felt.

"We just heard," Nobara said against your shoulder, voice thicker than she probably intended. "We came as fast as we could. We were so scared—"

"I know, I know. I'm sorry for worrying you." You squeezed them both, before gently disentangling yourself enough to breathe. "I'm okay. I promise I'm okay."

Then, into the small silence that followed, Megumi spoke. Just four words, completely flat, like he was asking about the weather.

"Are you in any pain?"

It was cold and blunt. But you knew him, you'd known him long enough to know exactly what that question was carrying under its surface. You looked at him directly, making sure he could see your face when you answered.

"No," you said gently. "None. I'm okay, Megumi. Really."

His shoulders dropped, and the breath he let out was a little longer, a little more deliberate than it needed to be. Like your words had reached in and loosened something that had been pulled very tight for a very long time.

He gave a single, short nod and looked away.

You smiled.

The sliding door moved with a dull scrape, breaking the quiet of the room.

Shoko came in first. She looked completely spent. Her lab coat was rumpled, her hair was tied back loosely with a few stray strands falling into her face, and the dark circles under her eyes looked heavier than usual.

You looked up at her, offering a small, tired smile. You knew exactly what it took to pull someone on the brink of death back to life, and you knew she was the only one who carried that specific burden.

"Hey," you said softly. "Thanks for saving my life."

Shoko didn't say anything at first. She just walked over to the side of the bed. When you reached out, she leaned down and let you pull her into a brief hug. She held on for a second longer than she normally would, her palm resting gently against the back of your head just to assure herself that you were actually solid.

"Don't make a habit of it," she murmured into your hair, her voice dry but quiet. "I'm running out of patience with you people."

"Hey—" Satoru's voice broke in from the corner, his tone immediately shifting into an exaggerated, wounded whine. "What about me? I sat out in that hallway for hours."

You pulled back from Shoko, leaning your head back against the pillows as you looked at him. "You sat out there and spiraled. Shoko actually did the work. There's a big difference."

"I was providing vital moral support from the bench."

"You were curled up like a shrimp," Shoko corrected flatly, stepping away from the bed and pulling a pack of cigarettes from her pocket before remembering where she was and shoving them back in. "It's not the same thing."

A faint, breathless laugh went around the room. Even Megumi, standing near the window, let out a tiny huff of amusement.

Suguru stepped forward next. He had been waiting by the door, letting Shoko have her space, his hands tucked loosely into his pockets and his long hair falling over his shoulder. He had that typical, calm expression on his face—the one that didn't reveal much to outsiders, but always felt incredibly grounded to the people who knew him.

You extended a hand toward him.

He moved over without hesitation, sitting carefully on the edge of the mattress so he wouldn't disturb your injuries. When he leaned down to hug you, his arms were steady and unhurried. Satoru’s embrace had been frantic and tight, born out of pure panic, but Suguru’s was slow and grounded. He placed a warm palm between your shoulder blades, just holding you there for a quiet moment to make sure you were real.

"Good to have you back," he said quietly, his voice right next to your ear.

You pressed your face briefly into the fabric of his uniform, swallowing the lump in your throat.

"Good to be back," you whispered.

The room was now filled with the easy, hum of all their voices—a casual, comforting chaos that filled the space completely. Looking around at them, a profound sense of warmth settled deep in your chest. After being trapped in the freezing, isolated abyss of that domain, seeing the people you cared about most alive, bickering, and crowded together in the same room made you feel entirely whole again.

.⭒☆━━━✰━━━☆⭒.

Later that evening, Shoko gave you one final check-up before clearing you to leave. Your body had always been quick to recover, so she wasn't too worried about discharging you early.

Satoru had remained by your side for the entire day. Even after the students, Shoko, and Suguru had all filtered out to give you some space to rest, he stayed right where he was.

"Aren’t you going to be uncomfortable sitting in that chair all night?" you asked, looking over at him.

"Nah, I'll be fine. Don't worry your pretty little head about me," he said, flashing you a soft smile.

You felt a familiar flutter in your stomach. He was being so incredibly gentle with you that it made your chest ache.

"C’mere." You tapped the narrow space on the mattress beside you.

Satoru’s eyebrows shot up, genuinely surprised by the invitation. But without a second thought, he slid onto the infirmary bed and pulled you back against his chest. Your heart hammered against your ribs as he slipped his arm under your shirt, his palm resting warm and solid against your waist. His comforting presence instantly anchored you, pulling you down into a deep, heavy sleep.

Watching your eyes flutter shut, Satoru leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to your forehead.

You smiled, thinking back to the moment from just a few hours ago. It felt a little silly to be like this, a grown adult getting entirely giddy over small touches and romantic tension, like a teenager bumbling through their very first relationship.

Satoru’s voice suddenly broke through your thoughts. “I’ll drive you back to my place so you can stay there for the night. Just in case anything goes wrong, I can bring you back here a lot faster than if you were on your own.”

“Okay.”

Maybe you agreed a little too quickly, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care. You both knew he was offering a total bullshit excuse; if there was even the slightest chance of your injuries flaring up, Shoko would have never let you leave her sight. You knew it, he knew it, and Shoko definitely knew it.

That was exactly why she raised an eyebrow at his declaration. He honestly might as well have just said he wanted you in his bed out loud.

.⭒☆━━━✰━━━☆⭒.

The heavy oak door to Satoru’s apartment had barely clicked shut behind you before you made a bee line straight to his master bathroom, desperate to just wash the entire night away.

Stepping into the shower, you turned the handle to an extremely high temperature, waiting for the water to steam. When the stream finally hit your skin, you leaned your forehead against the cool tile wall and simply breathed. Watching your feet, you could see the dark swirl of dirt, gray street grime, and pale crimson blood pooling around the drain before the heavy rush of hot water washed it completely away.

Across the apartment, Satoru wasn't wasting any time either. Knowing him, the thought of sitting around waiting for you to finish—losing even twenty minutes of your presence after almost watching you die—was out of the question. He had immediately disappeared into the secondary washroom down the hall to clean up simultaneously, driven by a restless, frantic need to be back in the same room as you as quickly as possible.

You finished first, stepping out into the steam-fogged room and drying off with one of his ridiculously plush towels. Over the years, you had never bothered keeping a dedicated drawer of spare pajamas at his place; his wardrobe was massive enough that half of it went untouched anyway, making his clothes the obvious choice whenever you needed something to wear. You sifted through the hangers until your hand settled on a massive, oversized cotton t-shirt. Before pulling it over your head, you paused, bringing the fabric up to your nose and breathing in deeply. It was intoxicating—it smelled entirely of him, a distinct blend of expensive, clean cologne mixed with fresh laundry soap and just a hint of sweetness.

You slid into the shirt, which swallowed you down to your mid-thighs, before pulling on a pair of his boxers and padding into the bedroom, letting your weight plop heavily onto the center of his unmade bed.

A few minutes later, the door clicked open. You looked up, and your brain completely short-circuited. You had to physically force your jaw to stay shut to keep from drooling.

His damp, white hair was completely loose, falling messily over his forehead without his blindfold or glasses to hide his striking blue eyes. He had completely bypassed his usual loose, comfortable lounge hoodies, instead opting for a pitch-black, short-sleeved compression shirt that hugged every single contour of his upper body like a second skin. The fabric was stretched tight across the broad expanse of his chest, putting his defined, sculpted abs and the heavy musculature of his shoulders on full display. Every time he shifted, the sharp lines of his biceps and forearms flexed effortlessly under the room's soft lighting.

Your eyes involuntarily drifted down to his lower half. He was wearing a pair of light gray, low-rise sweatpants, the soft fabric secured loosely at his hips with a dark, knotted draw-string. The material hung loosely around his calves, but it clung unfairly well to his upper thighs and groin—leaving the distinct, unmistakable outline of his print clearly visible beneath the cotton.

He stood in the doorway for a second, leaning his long frame against the casing with a faint, knowing tilt of his head as he caught you staring.

However, his teasing grin was immediately wiped clean from his face the moment he fully took in the sight of you. You were completely swallowed whole by the massive expanse of his shirt, your hardened nipples pressing directly against the thin cotton fabric, completely on display. His eyes dragged down the length of your bare legs, the smooth stretch of skin practically screaming at him to climb onto the mattress and pin you down.

As his gaze lingered on your thighs, a sudden realization hit him, making his head go entirely dizzy as his blood rushed violently downward. You never kept any of your own clothes here —not even underwear. It meant that beneath the hem of his shirt, your pussy was completely bare, rubbing directly against the soft fabric of his boxers with every slight shift and movement of your lower body. The explicit thought of you getting wet right there on his sheets, your slick juices slowly soaking into the heavy cotton of his own underwear, sent a dark wave of desire through his chest that made his mind go absolutely crazy.

You notice his gaze locking onto you, and the sheer intensity of it makes a sudden, heavy wave of shyness crest over you. You turn your face slightly, pretending to study the rumpled sheets beside you, but it does little to calm the warmth rising in your cheeks.

When Satoru finally breaks from the trance you’ve put him in, the heavy, dark desire in his eyes doesn't completely vanish, but it gets shoved down and a more sincere look rises to the surface. He crosses the room, the casual grace of his long frame muted by a rare, deliberate seriousness. He sits on the edge of the bed facing you, his knee brushing against yours. You can practically see him forcing his physical urges to the side, swallowing down the heat of the moment because there is something he has been carrying for the last twenty-four hours that he needs to get out.

"Hey," he murmurs. His tone is low, stripped of that loud, sing-song cadence he usually projects to the world.

"Hey," you reply softly. You slide closer to him across the sheets, your movement natural and unhurried as you reach out and intertwine your fingers with his. His hand is warm, his grip tightening around yours the second your knuckles touch.

He doesn't look at you when he speaks next. He looks down at your joined hands, his thumb tracing a slow, almost anxious line over the back of your knuckles. For a man who casually defines himself as the strongest, the sheer vulnerability of this moment is clearly pushing him to his absolute limit. He lets out a short, self-deprecating huff of a laugh—the one he uses when he's trying to mask just how deeply something is shaking him.

"I’m bad at this," he admits, his voice rough at the edges. "Usually, I just say whatever stupid thing pops into my head, but... damn. Seeing you out there in that alley? It completely broke my brain. All I could think about on the way to Jujutsu High was what we did right before you left. How we finally crossed that line."

He stops, jaw tightening as he pulls his gaze up to meet yours, his piercing blue eyes holding you captive with raw, completely undisguised honesty. "I don't ever want you thinking that was just about... you know, sex. Or that I just want your body. Because it’s not that. You mean way too much to me. This job... we both know how it is. It can take everything away from you in the blink of an eye."

He leans in closer, stripping away every last bit of his usual armor. "I don’t want this to be a temporary thing we just do sometimes," he murmurs, his eyes locked on yours. "I want everything. I want it forever. A real life, where you're mine and I'm yours, completely. I can't live through another second of wondering if our job is going to take you away before I can tell you that..." He swallows hard, his throat bobbing against the tension. "I love you. I really fucking love you."

His raw honesty knocks the breath right out of you. Tears immediately blur your vision, making it hard to focus on his face. You're so used to the Satoru who uses jokes and arrogance to keep the world at arm's length. Seeing him completely strip away that armor, choosing to be uncomfortably serious and transparent with you, sends a wave of overwhelming warmth straight to your chest.

Because he’s still looking a little thrown by his own honesty, his eyes casting down slightly as if waiting for the impact, you reach up with your free hand. Your palm cups his jaw, your fingers gentle against his stubble-free cheek as you guide his face back up to meet your gaze.

"I love you too, Satoru," you say, your voice trembling slightly but completely certain. "I don't even know how to put words to it. When you weren't there... when I was trapped in that domain, everything felt entirely empty. I don't know when it happened, or how you managed it, but you've become a part of me."

The second the words leave your mouth, the tension in his shoulders completely evaporates. A brilliant, genuinely giddy smile breaks across his face, the unbearable weight he’d been carrying since you left for your mission lifting off him all at once.

"Yeah? Good. Because I wasn't going to let you go anyway," he chuckles, his usual confident demeanor flaring back to life, though it's entirely soft now.

Before you can even blink, his large hands loop under your arms. He lifts your body with effortless ease, pulling you cleanly into his lap so your legs drape over his thighs. He wraps his long arms around you, burying his face into the crook of your neck and squeezing you into a massive, suffocating hug—holding you so close and so tight that you can feel the steady, relieved thud of his heart beating perfectly against your own.

He pulled his face back from your neck and looked at you, the heavy desire he had forced himself to push down earlier rushing back into his body with full force. You leaned in and kissed him first, and a second later, he returned it with desperate, hungry intensity—the kiss turning deep, messy, and urgent. Your hands reached for the hem of his compression shirt, tugging upward; he caught your drift immediately, ripping it over his head and tossing it somewhere across the room. He removed your shirt right after, pulling your bare torso impossibly closer until your sensitive, hardened nipples rubbed directly against the smooth muscle of his chest with every movement.

You could feel his cock hardening to a solid ridge beneath you, and you instinctively began to grind down against it, hard and fast. The friction of your clit rubbing against him through the fabric felt incredible, and you couldn't help but let out a series of broken, breathless whines that Satoru quickly swallowed up with his mouth. Suddenly, that familiar, intense sensation began to ripple through your lower body; your stomach tightened, and you felt yourself right on the edge of an orgasm. Your eyes fluttered shut, and your lips parted from Satoru's as your head lolled back.

He could tell instantly that you were about to cum. His large hands clamped onto your hips with a bruising grip, completely halting your movement.

"No, no, no, please," you begged, pathetically trying to force your cunt to move against his clothed cock, but his hands were glued to your hips, his grip simply too strong for your attempts to go anywhere.

Satoru looked entirely too pleased with himself, a dark, low chuckle vibrating in his chest as he hushed you softly, trying to soothe your frustration. "Sorry, angel. 'M being selfish," he murmured, his voice thick and rough against your ear. "Need the first time you cum tonight to be right on my tongue. Bet you taste fucking delicious."

Even though you were burning with frustration from the denied orgasm, your pussy only got wetter at his words, a fresh wave of slick soaking straight into his boxers.

He lifted you effortlessly from his lap and repositioned you, sliding you down until your hips rested right at the edge of the mattress. Dropping heavily to his knees on the floor between your thighs, he spread your legs wide open. Now that he was face-to-face with your clothed heat, his eyes immediately locked onto the massive, dark wet spot dampening the cotton. He felt his cock throb, hardening even further if that was even possible. Reaching up, his fingers hooked into the waistband of the boxers and peeled them down your legs, carefully setting them on the nightstand for later.

Then, his full attention shifted to you completely bare. To him, you were an absolute work of art. Your folds glistened with your own slick, and your hole helplessly clenched and unclenched around nothing because you were so desperate to be filled. Satoru loved it; every single part of you was beautiful, looking as if you had been perfectly made just for him.

Unable to wait another second, he leaned in and pressed his mouth right against you. He flattened his tongue and delivered a long, deliberate stroke, licking from the very bottom of your slit all the way up to your swollen clit. The expression on his face the moment he finally tasted you was entirely sinful. His deep, sapphire eyes rolled back, and a desperate, low, guttural groan rumbled from deep in his chest.

He couldn't believe he had spent his entire life missing out on this. He was instantly, hopelessly addicted. He couldn't even find the words to describe it—it just tasted like you, pure and overwhelming, and the scent of your slick in the air was driving him entirely crazy. He kept his mouth glued to you, his tongue lapping greedily at your folds before his lips latched directly onto your clit, sucking down hard.

You were a complete, moaning mess now. The slick heat of his mouth felt incredible, and the deep, possessive vibrations of his groans vibrated directly into your core, multiplying the pleasure. Your legs naturally draped over his broad shoulders, your heels digging into his back to pull his body even closer, while your fingers tangled desperately into his damp white hair, guiding his mouth firmly against your center.

"I can’t get enough of you, you know that?" he murmured against your wet skin, his hot breath sending a shiver straight through you as he continued to wind you up. "I could stay down here eating this pretty pussy for hours..."

"I—I'm close, 'Toru," you gasped out, your voice breaking.

He gave a tight nod against your thigh, telling you to let go. You didn't hesitate. Your back arched violently off the bed and your grip on his hair tightened to a death grip as your orgasm tore through you, pulsing and soaking right over his tongue.

Breathless and trembling, you slowly sat up on your elbows to look down at him. Satoru looked back up, his eyes dark and intensely focused, his mouth completely wet with your contrast. Before you could even ask what he was thinking, he grabbed your hips, effortlessly flipping you over onto your stomach. He pulled your hips back, forcing your face down into the pillows while your ass was lifted high into the air.

All you heard was a low, rough murmur against your skin: "Not done yet."

Before you could even process the words, he leaned back in, shifting his relentless, soaking wet assault from your pussy directly onto your tight asshole instead.

You gasped aloud the moment the hot wetness of his mouth made contact. His tongue began to circle deeply around your rim, while his thick, long fingers slicked themselves with your juices and slid straight inside your pussy, fingering you deeply while stretching you wide open. You let out a loud, uninhibited moan, your fingers blindly clawing into the bedsheets and twisting the fabric harshly, needing anything to ground you from the immense, overwhelming pleasure ripping through your body.

Satoru’s eyes drifted shut as he ate your ass, completely lost in the sensation. To him, this was absolute heaven. He had fantasized about this for so long—just being able to taste and possess every single part of you—and now that he finally had you like this, he didn’t know how he’d ever be able to stop. He kept up the ruthless rhythm, his fingers driving into you while his tongue worked over your skin, until he heard your broken voice breathlessly crying out that you were about to cum again.

Once your second orgasm finally finished pulsing around his hand, he slowly drew his fingers out. He brought them straight to his own lips, lazily licking them clean as if savoring every last drop of your flavor.

He then hooked his hands under your arms, lifting your pliant body to turn you around and place you flat in the middle of the mattress. Standing over you for a brief second, he stripped off his sweatpants and boxers, discarding them onto the floor before climbing onto the bed and pinning you beneath his weight. He looked down, staring at how beautifully fucked-out you looked—your eyes half-closed, your chest heaving up and down as you desperately tried to catch your breath, and your inner thighs still spasming slightly from the aftershocks. He thought you looked absolutely gorgeous like this, entirely unraveled under his touch.

He leaned down, pressing a soft, chaste kiss to your lips before pulling back just enough to look into your face. "You okay, baby?" he asked, his voice unexpectedly tender.

You opened your eyes, giving him a quiet nod and a genuine smile. Your hands reached up to tangle into his soft white hair, gently pulling his face back down to press another kiss against his mouth. When you finally parted, you locked your eyes with his brilliant blue ones, your voice dropping to a breathless whisper. "I really need you to fuck me, Satoru."

The shift in his expression was instantaneous. That all-too-familiar, confident smirk returned to his lips, his eyes darkening with a heavy heat. "Who am I to deny my sweet girl?"

He sat up on his knees, and you shifted up as well, your gaze naturally dropping down to his lap. You involuntarily swallowed hard at the sight of his cock. You didn't know why you were even surprised; everything about this man was completely oversized—his height, his broad hands, his heavy musculature—so it only made sense that his length would be the exact same. Sitting there completely naked beneath him, a sudden, thrilling spike of apprehension shot through your core. You felt a wave of absurd heat at the thought of being stretched out and destroyed by him, a desperate ache settling deep in your stomach.

Without overthinking, you reached out and wrapped your fingers around the thick base of his shaft, completely enamoured. The broad head was flushed a deep pink and already leaking a heavy bead of precum, making you salivate a little at the sight. Slowly, you leaned your head down, pressing your lips to the tip and delivering a slow, wet lap of your tongue. The salty taste of his precum hit your mouth, and you let out a soft moan against his skin.

Satoru looked down at you in absolute amazement. He froze completely the moment your mouth made contact, holding his breath as if any sudden movement would cause the moment to disappear. But the second you began to lick him, the raw intensity of the pleasure broke his trance. His hand immediately tangled in your hair, trying to gently pull your head back because it just felt too good, and he was terrified of wasting his load before he could even get inside you.

You refused to let him back away, though. Instead, you pushed forward, sliding your lips down his shaft and taking more and more of his thick length into your mouth. You pushed until you hit the very base, burying his cock completely down your throat. As if you knew exactly how to break his composure, you looked straight up at him through your eyelashes, your eyes wide and desperate. Satoru let out a ragged, choked sound; between the sight of your helpless gaze and the feeling of his entire length stuffed to the brim inside your throat, he felt like he could blow his mind right then and there.

He was losing his grip completely. The longer your mouth moved rhythmically against his shaft, the closer he ticked toward the edge. You could tell exactly when he was about to break—his grip tightly locked in your hair, and his hips instinctively twitched, trying to thrust deeper into your mouth. Before he could lose control, you suddenly pulled your mouth completely off his cock with a distinct, wet pop.

Your face looked entirely too happy, a smug grin spreading across your lips. "Gotcha back," you teased.

Satoru sat there completely breathless, his chest heaving, his cock throbbing and violently close to the edge. He stared down at you with a mix of raw desire and sheer disbelief, only able to mutter a rough, "I hate you."

You didn't answer with words. Instead, you crawled over him, climbing onto his lap so you two were in the lotus position. You leaned your head up, bringing your mouth dangerously close to his ear as you began to playfully nibble and lick at his lobe, before whispering directly into his ear, "Yeah? Show me how much you hate me then."

"Fuck. You have no idea what you do to me," Satoru growled, his voice dropping into a register so dark and low it sent a violent shiver straight down your spine.

His large hand gripped your hip, lifting you effortlessly from his lap just enough to guide the broad, leaking head of his cock against your soaking entrance. He paused there for a fraction of a second, his blue eyes blown out with pure, unadulterated hunger, before he slowly started lowering you down onto him.

The initial stretch was overwhelming. Your eyes went wide, your fingers digging frantically into the thick muscle of his shoulders as your walls were forced to part for his immense girth. You felt every single inch of his thick shaft forcing its way inside you, stretching you so wide it felt borderline impossible.

"You're... you're too big, 'Toru," you whimpered, a breathless, desperate hiccup escaping your throat as you tried to take him all in.

He let out a rough, gravelly groan at the tight, burning friction, his hands tightening on your waist to anchor you. "Yeah? You think this tight little pussy can take all of me, sweetheart? Look at how well you're wrapping around me."

You could only nod absentmindedly, your brain completely melting from the sheer fullness of him. Satoru didn't rush it; he kept the pace agonizingly slow, forcing your body to accommodate his size until his hips finally flushed completely against yours, bottoming out deep inside your core. The sensation of being entirely filled by him was intoxicating, a heavy, throbbing ache settling deep in your lower stomach.

He didn't give you a chance to adjust. The moment he was fully inside, Satoru locked his hands onto your hips and began thrusting up into you at an unrelenting, merciless pace. The sheer power behind each upward drive lifted your body slightly off his lap, the friction hitting your clit perfectly with every single stroke. Your tits bounced heavily right in front of his face with the rhythm, and the sight was entirely too much for him. He leaned forward, latching his mouth hungrily over one of your swollen nipples, drawing it deep between his lips and sucking hard while his hips continued to hammer up into you.

The stimulation was astronomical. You were being hit from every possible angle—the deep, invading stretch inside you, the agonizingly good friction against your clit, and the hot, wet suction on your breast. Your senses were completely overloaded. Realizing you were spinning rapidly toward the edge, you instinctively wrapped your legs tighter around his waist and started fucking down against him, matching his frantic rhythm blow for blow. The squelching sound of your mixed juices echoed loudly in the quiet bedroom, driving him completely insane.

"I-I'm gonna cum, 'Toru... I'm close!" you cried out, your head tossing back as your internal walls began to twitch and pre-clench around his shaft.

Satoru’s breathing turned completely ragged, his thrusts becoming faster, shallower, and completely frantic as your tight heat pushed him to his absolute limit. "Yeah? Me too, baby," he gasped out against your skin, his grip on your hips turning downright bruising. "Cum for me. I'm gonna fill your pretty pussy up to the brim, and then I'm gonna eat every single drop of it out of you."

Those filthy, possessive words were the exact breaking point. Your vision went completely white as your orgasm tore through you, your spasming walls clamping down on his cock in violent, rhythmic waves. The tight, milking pressure of your climax instantly snapped his remaining control. Satoru let out a loud, uninhibited roar, throwing his head back as his hips gave one last, deep, desperate shove, burying himself as far inside you as physically possible as he violently came, pumping wave after wave of thick, hot seed deep into your womb.

For several minutes, the room was entirely silent save for the sound of your shared, heavy breathing. You collapsed forward against his chest, completely spent, your forehead resting against his collarbone while his long arms remained wrapped tightly around your waist, keeping you securely pinned to his lap.

Once the ringing in your ears finally subsided and you regained a fraction of your strength, you cleared your throat, your voice incredibly small and raspy. "We... we should clean up."

You carefully shifted your weight, looking down to where your bodies were still tightly connected. The sight made your face heat up; a heavy amount of thick, white semen was slowly dripping out from your stretched opening, tracking down the base of his cock and pooling onto his pubic hair.

"Mmm. You're right," Satoru murmured, his voice laced with a lazy, satisfied post-coital rumble.

He slowly and carefully withdrew himself from inside you, the sudden absence of his thickness making you let out a soft sigh. But before you could even think about moving toward the bathroom, his hands gripped your thighs. He lifted your semi-limp body up and shimmied himself down the mattress with practiced ease, sliding his long frame underneath you until your leaking, hyper-sensitive cunt was positioned directly over his face.

"W-What are you doing—?" you sputtered out.

Satoru looked up at you through his long white eyelashes, his shiny aquamarine eyes glittering with a lazy, unbothered amusement, as if you were entirely in the wrong for questioning him.

"I'm cleaning up," he said simply, a shameless smirk pulling at his lips right before his warm tongue darted out, lapping greedily at the hot mess dripping down your inner thighs.

And with that, his large hands clamped around your thighs with an unyielding, bruising grip, effortlessly hauling your body down until your leaking center was pinned completely against his mouth.

He didn’t waste a single second. Satoru buried his face into your wet heat and began to eat you out with a feral, relentless hunger. At this point, you were entirely exhausted, your muscles trembling and your brain so fried from the previous climaxes that you didn't even think it was biologically possible for you to orgasm again. But the sheer possessiveness of his movements quickly proved you wrong. He wasn't just licking you; he was taking up space, his fingers digging so deeply into the soft flesh of your thighs that he was physically forcing you down onto his face, demanding that you take every relentless stroke of his tongue.

The flavour inside his mouth was intoxicating. The thick, creamy saltiness of his own semen mixed with the sweet, intoxicating taste of your slick, creating a combination so potent it made his head spin. His brilliant blue eyes rolled back behind his closed lids, a dark, muffled groan vibrating straight from his throat into your sensitive core. The taste only fueled his obsession, driving any lingering sanity right out of his mind. He didn't care that your body was heavy against his face or that it was becoming increasingly difficult to breathe beneath you; Satoru would have gladly suffocated and died right there between your thighs if it meant he got to keep you pinned to his mouth forever.

He lapped greedily at your folds, his tongue flattening out to deliver deep, heavy strokes before his lips latched tightly onto your swollen clit, sucking the sensitive nub into his mouth. The sudden, intense friction sent a violent shockwave straight to your stomach, and you instinctively began to rock your hips back and forth against his lips, chasing the feeling.

He felt the subtle shift in your movement instantly. Knowing that he had wound you right back up to the edge after completely exhausting you brought a deep, intoxicating surge of pride roaring through his chest. He was the only one who could do this to you. He was the only one allowed to see you completely unraveled, hearing the pathetic, broken noises that left your throat every time his tongue flicked over your skin.

As your back arched and your internal muscles clamped down in a sudden, violent orgasm, pulsing your mixed fluids straight over his lips and tongue, a dark, primal finality settled deep within Satoru's mind. He drank you down greedily, his grip tightening on your hips until you were completely locked in place. Watching you shiver and break beneath him, the only thought consuming his brain was that he would be the absolute last person to ever possess you like this. He was never going to let you out of his sight again. Now that he finally had you in his bed, entirely marked by his scent and his seed, he was going to hold onto you forever—and he would destroy anything in the world that dared try to take you away from him.

Once the final, trembling aftershocks of your orgasm finally subsided, the fierce, possessive intensity in Satoru's posture dissolved back into his usual playful self—just with a lot more tenderness. He lifted your worn-out body with gentle care, settling you back onto the pillows before lazily rolling out of bed. A minute later, he padded back from the bathroom carrying a warm, damp towel. With a soft chuckle at how completely dazed you looked, he carefully wiped away the remnants of your shared intimacy, cleaning your skin with an unexpectedly gentle touch before taking care of himself.

He slid back under the heavy duvet, pulling the sheets up over both of you before immediately hauling you backward by your waist. He tucked you flush against his chest, wrapping his long arms and legs around you like a giant, needy koala, effectively trapping you in his warmth.

"How are you feeling, angel?" he whispered directly into your ear. His voice was a low, rough murmur, followed by a sequence of soft, lingering kisses pressed against the curve of your shoulder and the nape of your neck.

Your heart felt entirely full at the quiet sincerity in his voice, the simple act of him checking in on you grounding you completely. "Amazing," you breathed, a soft, sleepy giggle slipping past your lips.

Satoru smiled against your skin, his chest expanding with a deep, relieved breath as he held you closer. The exhaustion of the grueling night was finally catching up to both of you, the heavy pull of sleep tugging at the edges of your consciousness. But just as your eyes were drifting shut, Satoru reached down and blindly grabbed your left hand. He lifted it up into the dim light of the bedroom, holding it right in your shared line of sight. His long fingers lazily toyed with yours, his thumb settling specifically on your ring finger and sliding up and down the bare skin.

"Y'know, this finger is looking a bit empty, don’t ya think?" he murmured, his voice dripping with playful mischief. "Kind of a tragedy, honestly."

You smiled, well aware of his likeness for throwing absurd, dramatic comments whenever the silence lasted too long. Playing along with his banter, you tilted your head back slightly to look at him through the corner of your eye. "Yeah, I agree. It's a real shame. You gonna do something about it, or just complain?"

"Oh, I'm absolutely gonna do something about it," he said, a thoroughly smug, self-satisfied grin spreading across his face as he squeezed your hand. "Just you wait. I've got big plans."

He let out a soft huff of a laugh, kissing the top of your head before burying his face back into your hair. Even though you knew he was just being his usual, teasing self to lighten the mood, you closed your eyes and let yourself finally sink into the safety of his embrace. A quiet, profound thought settled deep in your chest: if Satoru actually did pop the question right now, you can’t imagine saying anything other than yes.

.⭒☆━━━✰━━━☆⭒.

BONUS:

 "What are you even talking about, Megumi? There’s no way," Nobara said, crossing her arms and rolling her eyes.

"Don’t believe me then. I don't care," Megumi replied flatly, not even looking up from his book.

"Wait, I’m completely lost," Yuji muttered, scratching the back of his head with a confused frown.

"Catch up, idiot," Nobara sighed, gesturing dramatically toward Megumi. "Fushiguro here thinks our two senseis are in love or something just because he saw them holding hands while she was recovering in the infirmary."

Yuji blinked, looking between the two of them. "But... can’t friends just hold hands? Like, to be supportive?"

"You’re an idiot," Megumi said blankly.

Before Nobara could launch into a full lecture on the nuances of romantic body language, the classroom door slid open and Suguru walked in. The trio immediately paused, collectively realizing that the perfect source of information had just walked through the door.

"Geto-sensei!" Nobara called out instantly. “Do they actually like you know, love each other?"

Suguru stopped near the podium, raising an eyebrow. He didn't even need to ask who the "they" in question was, it could only be you and Gojo.

A knowing, slightly weary smile graced Suguru's face. He let out a soft huff of a laugh and shook his head.

Suguru setting his lesson materials down on the desk says, "They’ve been completely in love with each other since we were all teenagers."

Megumi let out a sharp, triumphant, "I knew it."

Nobara let out a loud, miserable groan, reaching into her uniform pocket and aggressively slapping a few thousand-yen bills into Megumi's open palm.

"I hate this school," she grumbled, sulking back into her chair.

a/n: okay what r we thinking guys. was the smut goon worthy or no. be honest guys i promise i can take it. anyways i acc had sooo much fun writing the smut, like i literally had a fat smile on my face like i was the one experiencing ts.

im thinking the next fic will be a more smut focused one w police officer toji who pulls you over for speeding ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°) totally not based off of my real life where i got pulled over by a fine shyt officer today

also guys if theres something you want me to write, my requests are open :)

taglist: @mrskamikazekaito @buuldakcarbonara

[stainedglassjam]

"𝙸'𝚖 𝚌𝚛𝚊𝚟𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚠𝚊𝚛𝚖𝚝𝚑 𝚘𝚏 𝚊 𝚍𝚊𝚛𝚔 𝚊𝚞𝚝𝚞𝚖𝚗 𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐☕️"

[lonelyfooryouonly]

body to body.ᐟ aang x reader

summary: cockwarming with your clingy bf.

warnings: fem!reader, established relationship, needy!aang, clingy!aang, mild dominance, suggestive themes, nsfw, smut, p in v, body worship, size difference, cockwarming, lots of touching and lots of kissing, MDNI;

wc: 1,6k

From the moment he walked into the room, you had a feeling of what was about to happen. There was something in his expression, a certain urgency in the way he moved, in the way he discarded his cape without a second thought.

And the way he spoke.

“I need you,” his voice comes out soft but certain, steady as he steps towards you with quiet confidence.

Your frown deepens as you rise from the bed, setting aside the scroll you had been studying, moving to meet him halfway.

“Are you hurt?” you ask, worry slipping into your voice as your hands wander over his chest and arms, searching for any sign of injury.

Everything seems fine — his clothes are in place, his face unmarked, no scratches, no bruises. There are no signs of a fight, nothing that would explain this urgency.

He takes a deep breath and gently catches your hand, intertwining his fingers with yours.

“Not like that,” he says, shaking his head slightly, making you look up at him in confusion.

“Then…?” you find yourself asking, your voice softer now, uncertain. He huffs lightly.

“I need… to feel you… every part of you,” he whispers, his other hand coming up to cup your cheek, thumb brushing over your skin. “Can I?” he asks, tilting his head just a little.

To say you were surprised would be an understatement.

He had moments like these — times when he craved your closeness, body to body, heartbeat to heartbeat, breath mingling, eyes locked onto each other.

But it always caught you off guard.

Like now.

“Yes,” you breathe out, eyes fluttering closed, a nervous warmth settling in your chest.

You were usually the one to initiate. Every time Aang did it, it affected you far more than you expected.

And one thing about him? He doesn’t need to be told twice.

He doesn’t wait.

His hands find your waist, firm and grounding, fingers pressing through the fabric of your night robe as he pulls you closer. His head dips, lips brushing yours before closing the gap completely.

His kisses are usually slow, deep, full of quiet passion — but this time something shifts.

This one is rushed, heated. His tongue slips into your mouth without hesitation, searching, tasting, a soft sound leaving him at the contact. Aang had grown into a confident man, but sometimes you forgot just how overwhelming he could be when that confidence turned into hunger.

“I’ve missed you,” he murmurs between kisses, breath uneven, barely giving you time to respond.

“We’ve… seen each other— mhm— this morning,” you manage before he captures your lips again, like it wasn’t enough.

“Too long ago,” he breathes out, his hands sliding to your hips before lifting you off the floor with ease.

You let out a small yelp, arms immediately wrapping around his neck to steady yourself, as you let him take control.

He kisses you again as he walks, guiding you back towards your shared bed. He lowers you onto the mattress, hands already moving, tugging at your robe, loosening it, pushing it open to reveal the layers beneath.

Your hands move just as quickly, reaching for his own robes, urging him to take them off, need building inside you with every passing second.

He helps you, discarding his top robe and trousers carelessly onto the floor, then returns his attention to you, removing the remaining clothing with the same urgency.

Once you’re bare beneath him, he pauses.

He shifts back slightly, sitting up, looming over your form as his grey eyes slowly take you in — your shoulders, the swell of your breasts, the curve of your hips, his gaze trailing lower before stopping.

“I want to try something,” he says, his voice quieter now, expression more serious.

You lick your lips as you take him in, pupils blown wide as you ogle at the man above you. He’s taller than you, every part of him defined — broad shoulders, strong arms, sculpted chest and abs and a v-line defined with prominent veins leading down to his half-hardened member.

“What are you thinking?” you ask softly, brows knitting as he leans down to steal a quick kiss.

Despite your question, he remains quiet, one hand slipping down, fingers brushing over your cunt, like he was testing, before easing two of his fingers between your folds.

Your back arches instinctively, breath catching, chest rising sharply at the sensation.

“It’s okay, it’s okay,” he reassures you, voice low as his thumb circles your clit gently, his fingers moving in slowly, carefully. His other hand comes up, cupping one of your breasts, squeezing softly, then firmer, drawing a gasp from your lips.

“Have to… stretch you a bit,” he mutters, his movements steady, feeling the way your body responds to him.

“A bit?” you manage to let out a small, breathless chuckle.

He scoffs lightly, continuing, the pace slow, almost teasing, making you squirm beneath him, your hips shifting forward, chasing more.

“It’s anything but— mhm!” you gasp as he finds that sensitive spot.

“Sorry,” he mutters, though he doesn’t slow much. There’s impatience in him now, a barely restrained need.

“Aang—” you breathe, your hand coming to his wrist, stilling him for a moment. “I need more,” you add, and you feel the way he tenses.

“Okay—” he exhales, pulling his hand away. His gaze doesn’t leave yours as he brings his fingers to his lips, tasting, watching you the entire time.

Heat rushes to your cheeks, a warmth settling low in your stomach.

He exhales softly, then shifts forward again, adjusting his cock before lowering his body over yours. His skin is warm, slightly damp, pressing against you, surrounding you.

Your hands slide along his back, nails grazing over his skin, tracing the lines of his tattoos as he aligns himself to your entrance.

Your lips part in search of air when you feel the tip of his cock go past your entrance. He slowly pushes, your walls stretching around his length. You let out a long moan at the feeling, tears forming in your eyes, nails digging into his back, leaving crescent moons behind.

Aang lets out a long moan at the feeling of your warmth, at how you are sucking him in as he fills you to the brim. His palms ball into fists at each side of your head, caging you under him.

“Move… please,” you whisper once he’s settled inside, your hips shifting slightly, searching for more, but he shakes his head.

“Not yet… I need to feel you,” he breathes, one hand coming up to brush your cheek, keeping himself steady with the other.

“Aang—” your voice comes out softer, pleading, but he clicks his tongue lightly.

“Stay like this,” he murmurs, drawing in a breath as your body reacts again. “Can you do it for me?” he asks, voice wavering slightly.

You hesitate, your body wanting more, and he sees that immediately.

“Please, please— just… let me feel you a little longer,” he speaks in that soft voice of his, making you dizzy.

“I need to remember how good you wrap around me when I’m away and I can’t touch you,” he breathes out, his free hand coming down your chest, palm cupping one of your breasts, kneading it harshly between his fingers.

His head comes down, lips grazing your neck, inhaling your scent as he starts leaving small pecks on your jaw, going up to your cheek. It was unknown to you how Aang was able to turn you on and make you feel butterflies at the same time.

His kisses were soft and needy, but the way his cock was buried so deep inside your cunt — twitching and growing — made you feel lightheaded. You were completely lost from the stretch, from how his cock could fit in so perfectly, how wet and hot it was to have him inside you without moving, just staying there, filling you up.

You can feel him, every inch, unmoving, overwhelming in its own way.

“I thought I was going crazy today,” he mutters as his lips leave pecks on yours, while his fingers rub your nipple, making you squirm under him.

“Mhm… I love this side of you,” you breathe out, your legs wrapping around his torso, holding him closer, keeping him there.

“I love it so much,” you whisper near his ear, your hot breath sending shivers down his spine.

“You… you do?” his voice falters, your body’s reaction drawing a shaky breath from him.

“Yes— yes,” you nod, holding onto him tighter.

“Please don’t say that— you’re making me— want to do things I shouldn’t,” he breathes through his nose, hot air coming through his nostrils and hitting your skin.

“No one’s stopping you, Aang,” you remind him, teeth grazing his earlobe, the action pulling another groan from him.

“I could stay inside you forever if you let me,” he says in a low voice, his cock twitching and his hold on your chest getting harsher, making you gasp.

“Yes…. Please, yes,” you nod mindlessly, eyes barely open.

That’s all he needed.

His head instantly drops into the crook of your neck, his body settling more fully against yours, arms wrapping around you as he finally lets himself move, just slightly, just enough to deepen the feeling of having you wrapped around him, all hot and wet.

And you hold him close.

Your fingers trace slow, absent patterns along his back, your breathing gradually syncing with his as you both melt into the warmth. Into the feeling of being completely wrapped in each other, letting the silence of the room and the warm lights from the window swallow you.

[fangirlingbookworm1]

a yandere law with a very cheerful and sunshine like reader who was in a relationship with law but due to some events the crew thinks they died nd after a year they come back pretty confused with a very touch starved law who may have had a breakdown back when they had received the news that their dead now they are back with the same goofy expression (law gonna have another breakdown 😭

Ouu my first request! Working on it now 😌🥰

[splurtz]

EXTRA, EXTRA, ℛ𝓔𝓐𝓓 ALL ABOUT IT !

. . . 𝑇𝓞ℛ𝓤'𝓢 IN HIS FEELINGS AND HE CAN'T GET OUT OF IT :(

SUM. rumor has it that in an attempt to sleep with you, satoru gojo thought it would be a good idea to work at the same campus cafe as you! does he need the money? no! does he need your attention? well yeah.

CONTENT. MDNI. explicit sexual content. slow burn. kinda enemies to lover. oral sex. riding. unprotected sex. creampie. slight dom/sub undertones. lots of teasing. dirty talk. semi-public making out. mild angst from miscommunication. eventual fluff.

A/N. satoru art by uruyuuu ... malcolm todd is goated

you meet satoru gojo on a tuesday morning when the cafe is packed worse than usual. the line stretches all the way past the entrance, your apron is covered in dried milk splatters, and your patience is basically gone.

then in he walks.

satoru gojo is the kind of guy who makes the world bend a little just by existing. cocky without apology, charming in that infuriating way that has people falling over themselves, the type who never hears no because he doesn’t give them the chance to say it. and well he’s rich, he’s brilliant, he’s everything and he knows it, which is exactly why you hated him from the second you met him.

“one of everything sweet you got back there,” he says. “extra whip, extra shots, and throw in a smile for me while you’re at it, yeah? name’s toru by the way.”

you stare at him for half a second. he can’t be serious.

“do you even know how bad that’ll taste?” you mutter, not even bothering to hide the annoyance in your voice. you start slamming cups and pumps because arguing with customers is a quick way to get written up, but god, this one makes it tempting.

the smirk on satoru’s face gets wider, those ridiculous sunglasses sliding down the bridge of his nose just enough for you to catch a flash of those too-blue eyes.

“aw, c’mon princess. live a little. i like my coffee like i like my company—sweet, messy, and a little overwhelming.”

you nearly drop the cup. the audacity rolls off him in waves and when you finally slide the drink across the counter (extra everything just like he asked), he takes one dramatic sip and makes a face.

“too sweet,” he declares as he sets the cup down. “way too sweet. you tryna put me in a sugar coma or what?”

your eye twitches, “you literally asked for one of everything sweet. that’s what you got. if you wanted plain black coffee maybe you should’ve just said that.”

he leans in closer, elbows on the counter, completely ignoring the growing line behind him. “feisty. i like that, it’s almost cute.”

“cute?” you echo. “buddy, i’m two seconds away from spitting in your next drink if you don’t move.”

satoru throws his head back and laughs, you also notice a few girls in line giggle along with him. he then pulls out his card, taps it against the reader, and winks.

fucking asshole.

“that should be it, princess. and hey—i’ll be back tomorrow! maybe you’ll get my order right next time.”

you watch him saunter out, white hair catching the light, and you mutter under your breath the entire time you’re making the next customer’s latte.

you think that’s the end of it. that he’s just another entitled campus pretty boy who’ll forget your face by the time he hits his next lecture.

but satoru gojo doesn’t forget things that interest him.

and apparently, you just became interesting.

˚⟡˖ ࣪

“hey, new hire starts today. show him the ropes when he gets here. he’s a fast learner, supposedly.”

you nod... you’ve been working at this campus cafe for almost eight months now. started right after your financial aid package came up short and you needed something flexible that wouldn’t kill your gpa. the pay is decent, the tips are better on busy days, and it beats retail. plus the free coffee reallyyy helps.

pops, your manager, has been running this place longer than most of the students have been alive on campus. he’s kind of aloof that borders on comedy, always saying the bare minimum while somehow making it sound like the most profound shit you’ve ever heard. you get along with him in that weird way where you trade sarcasm and he never takes anything too seriously.

“great,” you say, already dreading it. “i’m babysitting today basically”

pops snorts, “this one applied with a resume that looked like it belonged in a fortune 500. probably won’t last, but at least he’ll look pretty while he burns the milk.”

“so you hired him because he’s pretty?”

“i hired him because we’re short staffed and he said he could start today. pretty is just a bonus. try not to scare him off on day one, yeah? i don’t feel like doing interviews again.”

the bell above the door chimes. “oh look, there he is. right on time.”

you turn around and your stomach drops straight through the floor.

no. fucking. way.

satoru steps inside wearing the exact same black apron as you have, name tag already clipped to his chest slightly crooked.

he spots you instantly.

“morning, princess,” he says, voice carrying across the quiet space. “ready to teach me how to make that sugar coma special?”

you just stare at him, mouth half open.

“you’ve got to be kidding me,” you mutter.

satoru walks behind the counter, already rolling up the sleeves of his shirt like he’s done this a hundred times. he stops a little too close, that familiar cocky energy filling up the small space.

“what? you told me to try plain black coffee next time. figured the best way to get it right is to learn how to make it myself. plus the tips here looked decent when i was scoping the place out yesterday.”

“play nice, both of you. i don’t want to hear any screaming before ten.”

you pinch the bridge of your nose, already feeling the headache coming on. “this is a joke, right? he’s the new hire?”

“looks that way,” pops says, shrugging. “show him the basics. registers, milk steaming, the usual. don’t let him break anything expensive.”

satoru leans against the counter looking way too amused. “don’t worry, i’m a fast learner. you’ll barely have to babysit. we're gonna be real good friends."

˚⟡˖ ࣪

supervising satoru on his first day turns out to be exactly as annoying as you expected, except somehow worse.

he picks up the register faster than anyone you’ve ever trained. customers love him. older ladies compliment his “lovely smile,” frat guys clap him on the shoulder, and half the girls on campus suddenly decide they need an extra shot in their latte. every time someone tells him his coffee is perfect he makes sure you hear it, tossing the praise your way.

“did you catch that? she said it was the best cappuccino she’s had all semester. guess i’m a natural.”

“she was flirting with you, not rating your foam.”

“eh, same thing.”

he’s extra with everything too, especially the latte art. while you’re trying to keep the line moving he spends an extra ten seconds swirling hearts and little flowers into every cappuccino, sometimes even attempting tiny cats or stars. half the time they come out lopsided but he’s proud of himself.

one girl actually took a photo and posted it right there at the counter. again, satoru made sure you saw it.

“see? people appreciate the details. you should try it sometime instead of just dumping plain foam on top.”

“we’re not an art studio, gojo.”

he just laughs unbothered and keeps going. every time you correct him on something he listens for about five seconds then does it his own way anyway, but he never actually messes up. it’s infuriating how quickly he fits in.

˚⟡˖ ࣪

by the end of the first week you’re convinced satoru gojo was put on this earth specifically to test every last nerve you have left.

he shows up every single shift you’re on. the worst part is he’s actually good at the job. terrifyingly good even. 

you catch him quiet one afternoon working the espresso machine.

there’s something weirdly attractive about how easy he is when he’s focused like this. when he’s not the loud, cocky version that grates on your nerves. the quieter side. the way his shoulders relax, the small smile that sits on his lips when no one’s watching, the brightness that seems to live under his skin even when he’s not talking.

he’s stupidly pretty like that, when he's just simply existing.

it's like the whole world softens around him without him even trying. it pisses you off how much you notice it.

“you know,” he starts, “for someone who claims to hate me, you spend a lot of time staring.”

“excuse me. i’m not staring at you—im looking at the espresso machine.”

satoru steps closer to you. he’s tall, unfairly so, and he knows how to use it, looming enough to make the space between you feel smaller than it should.

“admit it, princess. you’re impressed.”

“sure, most trust fund babies last two days max.”

he laughs, “you think i’m doing this for the money? please. i could buy this whole campus if i wanted.”

did this asshole just flex on you?

“then why are you here, gojo?” you finally look up at him, arms crossed tight over your chest. “you don’t need the tips. you don’t need the experience. so what’s the angle?”

suddenly he reaches out, tucks a loose strand of hair behind your ear.

“maybe i like coffee,” he murmurs. “or maybe i simply just like seeing you. either way… i’m not going anywhere.”

your heart beats faster, traitor that it is. you slap his hand away, ignoring the way your skin tingles where he touched you.

“touch me again and i’ll steam your fingers instead of the milk.”

“violent,” he says. “i like that about you too.”

before you can fire back, the bell over the door rings again and a group of students shuffle in, saving you from whatever stupid thing was about to come out of your mouth. you turn away from him fast, busying yourself with the register.

by closing time the cafe is empty except for the two of you. pops already left an hour ago, so now it’s just you wiping down the last tables while satoru sweeps the floor.

you’re stacking chairs when he appears beside you without warning, grabbing the one next to yours and flipping it onto the table. his shoulder bumps yours on purpose this time.

“so,” he starts, casual as ever, “what are you doing after this?”

“going home, i’m pretty tired… uh you?”

“boring, you're boring," he yawns, "lemme walk you back to your dorm to be safe.”

“i’ve walked myself home for eight months, gojo. i think i’ll survive without a bodyguard.”

“yeah, but now you don’t have to.” he continues, “c’mon, princess. one walk. i’ll even try to keep the pet names to a minimum.”

you study him for a long moment.

“fine,” you say finally giving in, “annoy me again and i’m pushing you into the nearest bush.”

“deal.” he holds up both hands in mock surrender. “but just so you know… i’m really good at dodging bushes.”

you roll your eyes at that, he never runs out of bullets. the two of you finish closing up in comfortable quiet. he locks the front door while you kill the lights, and when you step out into the cool evening air together, the campus paths are mostly empty, strung with soft golden lamplight.

satoru falls into step beside you, hands shoved in his pockets. for once he’s not filling the silence with cocky one-liners. he stays at your side, occasionally glancing over like he’s making sure you’re still okay with this.

“you know,” he says after a few minutes, “i wasn’t lying earlier about liking seeing you.”

“seeing me glaring at you?”

“exactly.” he bumps your shoulder lightly with his. “it’s cute. you get this little crease between your brows when you’re annoyed. makes me want to annoy you more just to see it.”

“you’re weird, gojo.”

“and i’m also walking you home like a gentleman.”

you snort, preventing yourself from smiling. you would never hear the end of it if he sees it.

the walk to your dorm isn’t long. when you finally reach the front steps he stops, rocking back on his heels with his hands still in his pockets.

“working tomorrow, right?” he asks.

“yeah.”

“night, princess,” he says as he backs away. “sweet dreams. try not to dream of me!”

˚⟡˖ ࣪

you overslept like an idiot.

your alarm didn’t go off, or maybe it did and you smacked it into oblivion in your half asleep state. either way you’re rushing across campus because you completely missed the lecture you usually go to. now the only option left is this later section if you want any chance of catching up.

you slide into the back row just as the professor starts droning on about macroeconomic theory. you’re busy trying to catch your breath and fish out a pen when someone drops into the seat right next to you.

“well well well,” that familiar voice drawls, low enough not to draw the whole room’s attention. “didn’t know you were stalking me now, princess. following me to my lectures?”

you turn your head slowly and there’s satoru.

of fucking course he’s here too.

“you wish,” you hiss under your breath. “i overslept, this is the only section that still had seats. don’t flatter yourself, gojo.”

he leans in a little closer, “sure, sure. keep telling yourself that. but here you are, sitting right next to me when there’s like twenty empty spots further down the row. coincidence? i think not.”

“there weren’t twenty empty spots when i sat down, genius. and move your arm, you’re taking up half the desk.”

“admit it. you saw my pretty head of hair from across the room and couldn’t resist. it’s okay, happens to the best of them.”

“you’re delusional,” you mutter. “i sat here first.”

“well i was already in this section.”

the professor’s voice fades into background noise while satoru keeps up his quiet commentary, whispering dumb observations about the slides or how the guy in the front row is clearly asleep with his eyes open. it’s annoying. it’s also kind of funny, in a way that makes the lecture drag less.

by the time class ends you’re packing up faster than usual, hoping to slip out before he can say anything else, but of course he matches your pace, rushing beside you as you both head down the steps.

“shift starts in thirty, right?” he asks.

“yeah,” you say, adjusting your bag strap. “you don’t start yours till later. go do better things, please.”

“nah, i’ll come with. what if you fall asleep on the way? need to keep you in check..”

“one, that’s not gonna happen. two, i didn’t fall asleep,” you protest, “i overslept. big difference.”

“same difference when it leads to you accidentally stalking me.”

“gojo.”

“princess.”

you guys keep walking, the silence only lasts a few seconds before he breaks it again.

“so what’s your major anyway?” he asks. “gotta be something serious.”

“business with a minor in econ. figured it was the safest bet for actually getting a job after graduation. plus the classes overlap enough that i can knock out credits without killing myself.”

he hums, nodding slowly. “it suits you.”

“what about you?”

“finance, technically. heavy on the econ side too—market theory, behavioral stuff, all that. my family’s been pushing it since i could walk. boring as hell most days but the numbers click for me.”

“huh,” you say after a beat. “explains why you’re weirdly good at the register. and the latte art, actually. ever think about taking art too? you could probably minor in it without even trying.”

satoru raises an eyebrow, clearly surprised you noticed.

“...art? me?”

he continues, “i doodle sometimes when i’m bored in lectures, it’s nothing serious. but yeah… the latte stuff is kinda fun.”

“just saying you’re good at it. might be worth adding to the schedule if finance ever gets too soul sucking.”

“most people just call it extra.” 

“it is extra,” you clarify quickly. “but it’s not bad extra. customers eat it up and you don’t suck at it. if you like that kind of thing, maybe you should.”

“maybe i will. only if you sign up with me though. can’t have you missing out on watching me be naturally talented.”

you say shoving his arm lightly. “in your dreams, gojo.”

“oh it’s definitely in my dreams,” he shoots back. “speaking of dreams, did you see me in your dreams last night? did i look good? hope i didn’t flutter your heart too much.”

˚⟡˖ ࣪

it’s terrifying how easy it is to fall for satoru gojo’s charm.

you’ve been telling yourself for weeks that it’s just the proximity talking, that anyone would start to soften after seeing the same face everyday. but it’s been a month now since he first showed up and the annoyance you felt on day one is slowly fading away.

it’s disarming in a way that feels unfair, like he figured out exactly where your walls are thinnest and decided to camp there.

the thing about satoru is he never pushes too hard, even when he’s being impossible. sure, he’ll tease you about your order of plain black coffee (because he thinks you’re boring) but then he’ll remember how you take it on the days when you're stressed and slide it across the counter before you even ask. a month of this and you’ve caught yourself noticing the way his little habits. he’s a show off and obnoxiously aware of it, but he’s also the guy who stays late to help you mop even when his shift ended an hour ago, who quotes your professor’s driest slides back to you in a deadpan voice that makes you laugh despite yourself.

“morning, princess,” he greets, handing you a cup of coffee.

you smile as you take the cup, “morning, toru.”

his eyes widen just a little at the name, then the grin returns, brighter than ever.

“careful,” he teases. “keep calling me that and i might start thinking you actually like me.”

you blink. “what’d i do?”

“you just called me toru,” he says.

you freeze. “no i didn’t.”

“yes you did.”

“no. i didn’t.”

“yes you did. you said ‘morning, toru.’ clear as day. i heard it with my own two ears.”

“prove it or it never happened.”

“i heard it. that’s my proof.”

“you hear what you want to hear, gojo. it’s what they call selective listening.”

satoru straightens up, crossing his arms over his chest. a dramatic pout settles on his face. bottom lip jutting out with his brows furrowed, those pretty eyes narrowing at you.

“selective listening? really?” he huffs, the pout deepening. “i’m standing right here, princess. you said it. you finally said it and now you’re taking it back? that’s cold. that’s actually cruel.”

you bite the inside of your cheek to keep from laughing. 

“i didn’t say anything,” you reply, “you’re imagining things again. maybe you need less sugar in your system.”

he lets out a dramatic sigh and slumps against the counter. “you’re so mean to me. i make you coffee all the time, i stay late to help you close, i walk you home like a gentleman, and this is how you repay me? denying my existence? denying toru?”

the way he says his own nickname in that whiny tone is ridiculous. “say it again,” he demands, though the demand comes out more like a sulky request. “just once. call me toru again and i’ll drop it. i swear.”

“no.”

“please?”

“absolutely not.”

satoru groans, dragging a hand down his face before peeking at you through his fingers. “you’re killing me. slowly and painfully. i finally get a win… a tiny, beautiful win and you snatch it away like that.” he snaps his fingers for emphasis. “heartless… you’re heartless, princess.”

you can’t help the small laugh that escapes. “you’re such a baby when you don’t get your way.”

“i’m not a baby,” he mutters, “i’m a grown man who just got emotionally devastated by a terrible girl who won’t even admit she likes saying my name.”

you roll your eyes and finally turn back to face him, crossing your arms to match his stance. “fine, satoru. happy now?”

his pout vanishes instantly. “heh i’ll take it.”

all morning the teasing doesn’t stop. every time your eyes meet across the counter he mouths “toru” with exaggerated lips, making you glare at him. you don’t fight him with it though, that’ll be more tiring.

later that afternoon, you remember the big econ test is coming up in a few days.

“hey… have you studied for the test yet?” you ask knowing he has the same class, “the one for macro? i’ve been so buried here i barely looked at the slides.”

satoru glances over at you, one brow raised. “yeah, kinda. skimmed the chapters last night while i was pretending to pay attention in that boring finance seminar.”

you hesitate for a second before pushing forward. “did you happen to take notes for the lecture i missed last week? the one on monetary policy? my notes from the earlier section are trash and i can’t make sense of half the graphs.”

he thinks for a moment, then shakes his head. “nah, i don’t usually take notes. everything sticks up here anyway,” he taps his temple with two fingers. “but my bag’s in the back room. go check if you want—there might be some loose papers or something i scribbled on. i’m not promising anything though.”

you nod going right away. satoru’s bag is tossed carelessly on the small table near the lockers. you unzip it carefully, feeling a little weird going through his stuff even if he said it was okay. there are a couple of notebooks, some loose receipts, and a few crumpled pages from lectures.

you flip through them quickly but nothing looks like the notes you need. then your fingers brush against a smaller sketchbook tucked near the bottom. you pull it out without thinking, flipping it open to the first page. it’s an unfinished drawing—pencil lines forming the rough outline of a face. no eyes yet, no mouth, just the shape of cheekbones and the suggestion of hair falling across a forehead. it’s surprisingly delicate, the strokes careful. you can’t tell who it’s supposed to be; the features are still missing.

it’s probably just some random doodle from class, and shove the sketchbook back where you found it. no notes on monetary policy so nothing useful.

you come back out, “couldn’t find anything. your bag’s a mess by the way.”

satoru shrugs, not looking the least bit surprised. “told you i don’t usually bother. you know—” he turns toward you fully, a mischievous glint lighting up his face, “i could teach you instead. i remember most of it. we could go over the graphs and everything.”

you raise an eyebrow, suspicious. “really? you’d do that?”

“yeah, of course,” satoru says without hesitation, “i’ve got the graphs memorized anyway, also will you hate me less after?”

you narrow your eyes at him, “for the record, i don’t hate you. i just think you’re annoying.”

“same thing,” he pouts, already reaching for a clean cup to start scribbling formulas on the side with a sharpie. “consider me your personal tutor, princess.”

and just like that, satoru found another way to get closer to you.

after closing, the two of you end up at a corner table with textbooks and laptops spread out on the table. the cafe lights are dimmed low, only the warm glow of the hanging bulbs left on, and it feels strangely intimate with just the two of you.

“see this curve?” satoru says, tapping the screen of his laptop with his pen. “that’s the liquidity preference curve. when it shifts like this—” he drags his finger across the trackpad, “—interest rates drop even if money supply stays the same. ya following?”

you lean in closer as you nod slowly, even though the words are starting to blur together.

“mmm kinda… keep going.”

for the next hour he walks you through every graph, every theory, every formula that’s been kicking your ass for weeks. he’s good at it. you like that he explains things in ways that actually stick with you.

satoru has always been scary smart. even as a kid, his past teachers would vouch to that. finishing exams in ten minutes, correcting them on accident, winning academic awards he didn’t even try for. now it’s the same. he barely listens in lectures, he literally doodles instead of taking notes, he zones out half the time, and still somehow walks out with good scores. 

when you get a question right he gives you this little proud smirk that you find cute. what’s more is that he doesn’t gloat when you slump back in your chair after a while, letting out a frustrated sigh and staring at the messy notes in front of you.

“god, i wish i could remember stuff as fast as you do,” you admit quietly, “it takes me forever to get things to stick. i have to reread the same slide ten times and still feel like i’m gonna blank during the test.”

“here’s a tip,” he says, leaning forward on his elbows. “stop trying to memorize it all at once. the brain hates that. instead, explain it out loud like you’re teaching someone who knows nothing. even if it’s just to me or the wall. it forces you to actually understand it instead of just cramming the words.”

he continues, “works way better than staring at slides until your eyes cross. trust me, princess. i’ve tested every lazy method there is.”

you look at him, a tiny smile pulling at your lips despite how tired you feel.

“you’re surprisingly good at this teaching thing.”

“only because it’s you. now c’mon, pick a graph and teach it back to me.”

˚⟡˖ ࣪

you come straight to the cafe after the test, the bell above the door chiming as you push it open with your shoulder. you weren’t even scheduled today, but you wanted to tell him how it went.

“....hey? you’re not on today, right? did i mess up the schedule?"

you slide onto one of the stools at the counter giggling, “test went better than i thought. like actually good.”

his eyes light up instantly at that.

“yeah? see that? knew how fucking smart you were.”

you nod, the excitement bubbling out before you can stop it. “yeah, the way you explained everything made it click in my head during the test. i actually remembered instead of blanking like usual.”

satoru lets out a low whistle, smile widening until it takes over his whole face. “that’s my girl. told you explaining it out loud works. see?”

“genuinely thank you.” 

“stay right there. we’re doing something to celebrate.”

you end up staying until closing. when the last customer leaves and your manager waves goodbye on his way out, satoru flips the sign to closed and turns to you with a nod.

“reward time since you aced that test, i helped a little, so we’re getting ice cream.”

“that’s your big celebration?”

“c’mon, there’s that place two blocks off campus that stays open late. they have that ridiculous pistachio with the chunks of chocolate. you’re gonna love it.”

when you reach the little ice cream shop, you find a small table by the window and settle in after ordering, the sweet cold already melting on your tongue. satoru watches you take the first bite with way too much interest, chin resting on his hand.

“good, right?”

you nod, licking a bit of pistachio off the spoon.

“mhm sooo good.”

he laughs softly at first, but then his eyes drop to your mouth as you lick another slow stripe along the spoon to catch the melting edge.

his throat bobs once, “fuck,” he mutters under his breath, barely loud enough for you to hear.

you glance up, spoon still halfway to your lips. “what?”

satoru suddenly reaches out with his thumb, wiping a tiny smear of melted ice cream from the corner of your mouth.

“you can’t just do that,” he says, “licking the spoon like that, it’s unfair.”

“unfair how?” you oblivious ask. 

“because now all i can think about is how that mouth would feel on something else.” he says it so quietly, so casually too. now heat floods your face. you set the spoon down, suddenly hyper-aware of every inch of space between you and him. 

“sorry,” he murmurs, though the small smirk tugging at his lips says he isn’t sorry at all. “too much?”

you shake your head slowly, biting your lip to keep it from smiling too obviously. the warmth in your cheeks refuses to fade.

“.…i don’t mind?”

satoru’s eyebrows lift, surprise flickering across his face. “you don’t?” he echoes, leaning forward a little more, elbows on the table. “don’t do that, i’m already trying really hard to behave.”

“you never behave.”

“hey, i’ve been on my best behavior for weeks,” he protests as his hand finds yours on the table, “just waiting for you to admit i’m not so bad.”

you squeeze his fingers lightly, eyes meeting his. “you’re not.... most days.”

“most days? that’s the best i’m getting?”

“take it or leave it, gojo.”

he laughs under his breath then his free hand comes up, cupping the side of your face, thumb brushing along your jaw. “i’ll take it for now.”

satoru leans in slow enough that you could pull away if you wanted to.

just like that his mouth meets yours, and the kiss starts soft but the second your lips part he doesn’t hesitate. his tongue slips in first, sliding against yours. he tastes like chocolate and pistachio, sweet and overwhelming in the best way. you kiss him back just as eagerly, fingers tightening around his hand on the table while your other hand finds the front of his shirt, curling into the fabric to pull him closer.

satoru makes a low sound in the back of his throat, tilting his head to deepen the kiss, one hand still cradling your face.

suddenly the worker behind the counter clears his throat loudly, “sorry folks, we’re closing up. you two might wanna take that somewhere else.”

you pull back quickly feeling embarrassed while satoru pulls back just enough to laugh, not even a little embarrassed. “man sorry about that,” he says, “can’t help it. i’m irresistible and she’s a bit greedy tonight.”

you hit his arm playfully, face burning as you stand up fast. “toru!”

˚⟡˖ ࣪

the next few days were different in the best kind of way.

well nothing much changes inside the cafe itself. everything is mostly the same. but satoru? he has zero shame now, and you’ve clearly unlocked something dangerous in him.

his clinginess is a whole new beast.

you’re at the register ringing up an iced caramel latte when he appears right behind you, chest brushing your back as he reaches for a stack of lids he absolutely does not need. his chin drops onto your shoulder like it belongs there.

“missed you during that eight a.m. lecture, princess. thought about skipping just to come bother you earlier.”

you elbow him lightly, “we have the same shift, toru. you saw me forty minutes ago.”

“forty minutes too long,” he murmurs, pressing a quick kiss to the side of your neck before he pulls away. the customer gives you a knowing little smile and you feel your face heat up as you hand over the drink.

he does it constantly now.

during the slow hours he’ll tug you into the back room under the excuse of “checking inventory” and then spend the whole time crowding and kissing you.

“we’re gonna get caught,” you whisper.

“let them catch us,” he says against your mouth. “i’ll just tell pops i was giving you mouth-to-mouth.”

you laugh and shove him harder. “you idiot, he would never believe that.”

he only laughs louder and pulls you back in for one more kiss before the bell over the front door saves you.

the worst part (or maybe the best) is how he switched half his schedule just to match yours. you found out when he casually mentioned it during one afternoon, like it was no big deal.

“my advisor was pissed,” he told you, “said something about ‘not rearranging your entire academic plan for a girlfriend.’ i told her my barista girlfriend was non-negotiable.”

you stared at him. “you changed your schedule?”

“mmhm. dropped the early monday seminar and swapped it for the afternoon one. added a useless elective just so i could keep these exact shifts with you.” he shrugged, completely unbothered. “worth it. now i get to stare at you all day.”

you wanted to scold him for being ridiculous, but the way he said it made something warm bloom in your chest. so instead you just flicked his forehead and called him an idiot again. he caught your wrist before you could pull away and pressed a kiss to your palm.

how freaking adorable.

sometimes he’ll slide a stool over so you can sit for a few minutes while he handles few customers alone, shooting you little winks every time you look up from your phone.

it’s how he takes care of you.

and you like when he takes care of you.

˚⟡˖ ࣪

satoru gojo has always been pretty experienced with girls.

he’s never had to chase too hard. regular hook ups, quick flings during freshman year, girls who wanted the thrill of the rich pretty boy who never seemed to take anything seriously. he knew how to kiss, how to touch, how to make them feel wanted for a night without promising more than that. it was easy, fun, but never deep enough to stick.

none of them ever made his chest feel this tight. none of them made him nervous the way you do.

“is this okay?” he asks as his thumb brushes just under the edge of your bra, waiting, always checking even when his body is clearly aching to keep going.

“yeah…. it’s okay, toru.”

that’s all he needs.

he starts kissing you then trails his mouth down—his hands push your shirt higher, bunching it up under your arms. when he finally tugs your bra down, cool air hits your skin for half a second before his mouth is there.

satoru groans softly against you, the sound vibrating through your chest as he takes one nipple into his mouth. he’s gentle at first, lips closing around the peak. his tongue swirling before he sucks. a little harder, a little hungrier. 

your back arches without thinking, a quiet whimper slipping out. one of your hands finds his hair, fingers tightening in the soft white strands as he switches to the other side, giving it the same attention.

“fuck, you taste so good,” he mumbles against your skin, voice muffled.

“mhmm.… it’s so good baby.”

“yeah?”

he presses open-mouthed kisses across the swell of your breast. his free hand cups the other one, thumb brushing over the wet nipple he just left behind, pinching lightly.

he’s thorough with it. every little sound you make seems to spur him on.

“still okay?” he questions, “tell me if you want me to stop, princess. i’ll stop.”

you shake your head, tugging him back down by his hair.

“don’t stop,” you breathe.

satoru’s smile is slow and a little dazed before he leans in again, mouth finding your breast like he never wants to leave. he’s still careful, still checking in with every new touch, but the clingy, greedy part of him is winning tonight.

he’s making sure you feel exactly how much he’s been holding back.

clothes come off slowly after that, piece by piece, until there’s nothing between you. satoru lies back against the pillows, his hands resting on your hips as you straddle him. he’s hard under you.

you take the lead.

your palms press flat against his chest for balance as you shift your weight, lining yourself up. 

“fuck—” he breathes when you start to sink down, the head of his cock pressing inside you. his head tips back, throat bobbing as he swallows hard. “you’re doing so damn good, baby.”

you go slow at first, letting yourself adjust to the stretch. the fullness is overwhelming in the best way, once you’re seated fully, you pause for a few seconds.

then you start to move.

you roll your hips experimentally, finding a rhythm that makes pleasure spark up inside you. satoru’s hands slide up your sides, thumbs brushing the undersides of your breasts. he contains himself so he doesn’t take over. he wants to let you set the pace, let you ride him exactly how you want.

“that’s it, use me, baby. however you need.”

the words send a shiver through you. you brace your hands on his chest and start moving faster, lifting up and sinking back down. satoru’s eyes stay locked on your face, then drift lower to watch where you’re joined, the way your body takes him in again and again.

his grip tightens on your hips when you start grinding down instead of bouncing, circling your hips so his cock rubs against that sensitive spot inside you.

“a–am i doing good, toru?”

“god, yes,” he pants. “so pretty riding me like this.”

you feel a rush of confidence at his words. you plant your feet on the bed, hands still braced on his chest, and start riding him faster. your hips snap down harder and quicker as satoru’s head presses back into the pillow, a low, broken moan slipping out of him.

“you’re insane f–for this,” he groans, he sounds wrecked.

“shh you’re so big toru.” you whine too, “feel so soo good.”

you don’t slow down, continuing to ride him hard, bouncing on his cock like crazy. 

you feel the thick head of his cock kissing that spongy spot inside you, satoru’s fingers dig harder into the soft flesh of your hips anchoring himself while you use him. his abs tense and ripple beneath your palms every time you slam down.

“fuck baby, slow down or i’m gonna—” his words cut off into a guttural moan when you purposely clench around him. “oh you evil woman.”

you giggle in response letting out a high, needy whimper after. 

“im sorry,” you gasp, voice breathy.. “can feel you everywhere.”

satoru’s eyes roll back for a second. he looks a mess. his white hair sticks to his forehead, damp with sweat, and his mouth falls open on another moan.

“shit h-hahh princess, your pussy’s—ah so greedy tonight.”

you’re breathless, thighs burning, but the ache only adds to the pleasure. you brace one hand on his chest and reach back with the other, cupping his balls gently, rolling them in your palm while you keep bouncing.

oh you are so killing him.

“toru you’re twitching so much inside me,” you tease. “feels so good when you throb like that…”

he lets out a string of curses in response while your breasts bounce with every movement, nipples still shiny from his earlier attention, and satoru can’t stop staring, mesmerized and completely undone.

“i’m—i’m so close,” you say, “toru—come with me please!”

“yeah fuck, yeah— i’m right there with you, princess,” he replies, voice breaking on the last word. his thumb finds your clit, rubbing fast circles that match your crazy pace. “come on my cock, baby. mess with it…shit!”

the pleasure pushes you over the edge first, milking his cock as your orgasm hits you. satoru follows right after you, his back arches off the bed as he comes hard, thick spurts of heat flooding deep inside you. 

finally, you collapse forward onto his chest as both of you gasp for air. satoru’s arms wrap around you instantly, holding you tight against him. he presses open-mouthed kisses to your shoulder, your neck, anywhere he can reach.

“holy fuck… you just destroyed me,” he whispers, voice hoarse and awed. “never felt anything like that. you’re gonna be the death of me, princess.” 

you smile against his damp chest, pressing a soft kiss right over his racing heart.

“i think i like being in charge.”

“yeah? then next time you can tie me down if you want. just give me five minutes first. i think my soul left my body for a second there.”

you laugh softly, letting your eyes drift shut while his warmth surrounds you.

˚⟡˖ ࣪

“wait, since when has gojo been a barista?” you hear one girl say, laughing like it’s the funniest thing ever. “him out of all people? no fucking way.”

you’re drying your hands when voices filter in from the stalls behind you. two girls chatting loud enough that you can’t ignore it even if you wanted to.

the other one snorts, “i know, right? i heard from his friends that he only applied there to sleep with one of the workers.”

your stomach twists a little, but you tell yourself it’s nothing.

campus gossip is always exaggerated.

“he’s probably quitting soon anyway,” the first girl continues, “what’s a trust fund baby doing slinging lattes?”

“like play charming until he gets what he wants then bounce?”

their laughter echoes off the tiles as they leave and you're left staring at your reflection again. you rethink everything in the span of thirty seconds—was it all calculated? did he really just do everything to sleep with you? 

you show up to your shift pissy as hell, you hear satoru humming while he wipes down the espresso machine. he looks up waving at you, and normally that makes your chest warm. today it makes you want to throw a cup at his head.

“there you are,” he says, “you look cute when you’re all serious like this—did you run here or something?”

you brush past him without a word, grabbing the rag from the sink and attacking the already clean counter. satoru’s grin falters a little bit, blue eyes narrowing already picking up your mood.

“whoa, okay. bad day?” he asks, reaching out to touch you and you flinch away.

“don’t,” you mutter, keeping your eyes on the counter, scrubbing harder. “just not in the mood, gojo.”

he straightens up, his cocky energy disappearing.

“gojo?” he echoes, “what happened to satoru? you’ve been calling me that for days. did i do something? because if i did, tell me so i can fix it. i’m not above begging, princess. i’ll get on my knees right here.”

“nothing happened,” you lie, because admitting you overheard some random girls in the bathroom is affecting you feels stupid. “i’m just tired, you wouldn’t get it.”

satoru doesn’t buy it. he steps closer anyway, “try me,” he says softly, all the usual bravado dialed down. “i’m good at a lot of things, but i’m especially good at listening to you. baby, please talk to me. did someone say something? because if they did—”

“i said it’s nothing, gojo.” your voice comes out louder than you meant, and you see the way his shoulders tense just a little.

he nods, stepping back with his hands raised in that mock surrender. “alright, message received. whatever this is… we’ll figure it out later.”

well that didn’t happen.

the whole day you did your best ignoring him.

before he could even ask what you guys were doing after shift you made a cheap excuse to pops about how you felt sick (it was an obvious lie) and needed to leave early. pops just shrugged and told you to go rest. satoru watched you grab your bag, mouth opening to say something, but you were already out the door before he could get a word in.

later that night satoru is sprawled on suguru’s couch, one arm thrown over his eyes, the other gesturing wildly as he rants.

“everything was going so well, man. like actually well,” he groans, voice muffled behind his arm. “she's even initiating stuff, now she’s calling me gojo again? dude, fuck gojo. i hate that.”

suguru sits across from him, legs crossed, very used to satoru’s dramatic rants. he’s just not used to it being about a girl.

“so what happened?”

“i don’t know!” satoru sits up suddenly. “she flinched when i tried to touch her. flinched. like i’m some random creep.”

he drags both hands down his face, groaning louder.

“she even left early. made up some bullshit excuse to dip before i could even ask what we were doing after. she’s been staying at my dorm for days, suguru. my bed still smells like her shampoo. i had snacks stocked for her. and now she’s shutting down? i don’t get it.”

“you sure you didn’t do something stupid?”

“i swear i didn’t.” satoru flops back down dramatically. “i’m losing my mind. she went from soft and clingy back to hating me in like twelve hours. what the fuck did i miss? i really like her. like…. a lot. more than i thought i could.”

suguru hums, “if it’s not you, then maybe somebody else?”

“if someone said something to her i’m going to lose it,” he mutters. “i finally got her to let me in and now she’s pulling away again. i don’t know how to fix something when she won’t even tell me what’s broken.”

“look, relationships aren’t always smooth. problems come up, it’s normal. the difference is whether you actually talk about it or let it fester.”

˚⟡˖ ࣪

your morning has been irritating as hell.

you woke up cranky, then you spilled coffee on your shirt while rushing, you had to change, and still barely made it to your first lecture on time. every little thing felt like it was piling up—the crowded hallways, the professor droning on about stuff you already knew, and the constant replay of yesterday, everything was just irritating.

so by the time of your second morning class, you’re already exhausted and on edge.

you pull out your notebook when someone drops into the seat right next to you.

satoru slips into the seat beside you without a word.

he's not even in this class.

he looks exhausted, there are faint dark circles shadowing the usual brightness of his gaze, his white hair is messier than normal like he rolled straight out of bed and didn’t bother fixing it. he probably didn’t sleep much, if at all.

he doesn’t say anything at first. he pulls a small sticky note pad from his bag, scribbles something quickly with a pen, and slides it over to you under the desk.

are you still mad? :(

you glance at the note, then at him. his eyes are already on you, waiting.

you write back, keeping your handwriting small.

no i was never mad

he reads it, eyebrows pulling together. he scribbles again, passing it back.

but you were. look at your mad face right now.

you feel the irritation flare again, but you keep your face neutral and write:

you shouldn’t even be here. im. not. mad.

he huffs softly as another note slides your way.

see. you clearly are. can we please talk after?

you stare at the words for a second longer. part of you wants to stay stubborn. the other part hates how tired he looks.

later.

satoru reads it and nods before tucking the sticky notes away.

the rest of the lecture goes, but satoru stays right there beside you the whole time.

midway through, he opens his notebook and starts sketching again. first he shows you a proper drawing of you. it's the same unfinished face you had seen weeks ago when you dug through his bag looking for notes. now it’s finished. your eyes are there and your mouth curved in a smile.

you admire how pretty he sees you. then he flips the page without warning.

the next sketch is completely different—you again, but this time with a exaggerated angry face. brows furrowed deep, eyes narrowed, lips pressed into a tight line, tiny cartoon steam lines rising from your head. it’s ridiculous and accurate at the same time. he bites his lip to keep from laughing out loud, shoulders shaking quietly as he watches your reaction.

you glare at the page and he quickly flips the notebook shut before the professor notices.

when class finally ends, the two of you walk across campus until you reach a quiet stretch of grass near the edge of the field, far enough from the main paths. you drop down onto the grass first. satoru follows, sitting close but not too close, giving you space.

he reaches over and plucks a small white wildflower growing near his knee. he twirls it once between his fingers before holding it out to you, a tired smile on his face.

you look at the flower, then at him. it’s stupidly cute.

you flick it away with two fingers and the flower flutters to the grass between you.

satoru watches it fall before finally talking.

“okay,” he says quietly, “talk to me. what’s going on? you’ve been shutting me out since yesterday and i’m losing my mind here.”

you pull at a blade of grass, twisting it between your fingers.

“when are you quitting?”

satoru blinks, caught off guard. “quitting what? the cafe?”

you nod, still not looking at him.

he lets out a short, confused laugh. “is that why you’re mad? you want me to quit? because if that’s it, i can—”

“no—” you cut him off fast, finally turning to face him. “did you only start working there because you wanted to sleep with me?”

the question hangs between you. satoru’s expression changes. hurt flickers across his face before he schools it.

“that’s what this is about?” he asks, “you think this whole thing was just some long game to get in your pants?”

you don’t answer right away, the gossip from the bathroom echoes in your head again.

“is that really what you think of me?”

you swallow. “i heard some girls talking in the bathroom yesterday,” you admit, voice low. “they were laughing about how you only took the job to sleep with one of the baristas. that you’d charm your way in, get what you wanted, and then quit once it happened. it sounded… exactly like something people would say about you.”

“fuck,” he mutters. “fucking gossips.”

“look, i’m not gonna pretend i haven’t had that reputation. people assume the worst. and yeah—back in freshman year i wasn’t exactly turning down easy attention. but that’s not what this is. not with you.”

“when i walked into that cafe the first time, i was just fucking around. i saw you looking annoyed and thought it’d be fun to push your buttons. but then you pushed back and i couldn’t stop thinking about it. about you.”

“so i came back. then i applied for the job because i wanted an excuse to see you more. not to sleep with you and bounce—to actually be around you. i stayed because every shift with you made the day better. even when you were glaring at me. especially when you were glaring at me.”

you glance away, toward the empty field. “you could’ve just asked me out like a normal person.”

“and risk you telling me to fuck off on day one? no thanks. working there let me prove i wasn’t just fucking around. also you know that's not me.”

he pauses, then adds, “and yeah, i wanted you. i still do. i want all of it.”

satoru leans forward a little, elbows on his knees.

“i switched my entire schedule around for you. i told you how my advisor thinks i’ve lost it. i turned down better internships because they’d mess with our shifts. if all i wanted was sex, i wouldn’t still be here begging you to talk to me.”

“so no, i’m not quitting,” he says quietly. “not unless you tell me to. and even then i’d probably just sit outside the cafe and wait for you like a loser. but i’m not here because it’s convenient or because i’m trying to win some game. i’m here because i like you. a lot. more than i thought i could like anyone.”

he reaches out slowly, “i’m not gonna push if you need space. but tell me what you need from me right now. yell at me, ignore me, whatever. just don’t shut me out and leave me guessing.”

you stare at his open hand for a long moment. the irritation is still there, tangled up with the embarrassment of letting petty gossip get to you.

finally you sigh, shoulders dropping.

“i hated thinking it was all fake,” you mutter. “that the second you got what you wanted, you’d disappear and i’d be the idiot who fell for it.”

“not fake,” he says immediately. “none of it.”

you hesitate, then reach out and flick his open palm lightly with your fingers, enough to make him smile.

“you’re still annoying,” you tell him.

“yeah?” his grin comes back. “good.... means we’re getting somewhere.”

“you look like shit, by the way.”

“didn’t sleep much,” he admits, shrugging. “kept replaying yesterday trying to figure out what i messed up.”

“sorry for being so gullible.” you says knowing how that’s all on you.

“as long as you stop calling me gojo when you’re mad. hurts more than it should.”

you roll your eyes but the corner of your mouth lifts anyway.

the two of you stay on the field a little longer, the conversation flowing—back to classes, to stupid customer stories from the cafe, to nothing important at all.

when you finally stand up to head back toward campus, he falls into step next to you like always.

“so,” he says after a minute, voice casual again, “still mad?”

you glance sideways at him.

“not as much.”

“progress,” he declares, grinning. “i’ll take it.”

“hey,” he murmurs.

you turn to face him, he’s pouting extra hard....

“can i please kiss you now?” he pleads, “please. please. please”

instead of answering with words, you step forward, slide your free hand up to the front of his shirt, and tug him down the rest of the way.

satoru meets you halfway.

his hand comes up to cup the side of your face as his lips move against yours. he kisses you gentler than usual and you kiss him back just as softly, fingers curling tighter into his shirt.

when you finally pull apart, foreheads still touching, satoru lets out a shaky little breath against your mouth.

“thank you,” he whispers, the words barely there. his thumb brushes your cheek once more. “fuck, i missed that.”

you smile against his lips.

“don’t make me flick another flower at you.”

he presses one last gentle kiss to your forehead before straightening up.

“next rumor, i’m spreading how badly i’m in love with you and how you equally feel the same and can never live without me.”

© splurtz 2026 — all rights reserved.

[kashun]

━━━ I DON’T SHARE WHAT’S MINE.

𝓲𝗻 𝘄𝗵𝗶𝗰𝗵 ♰ six years of tension snap when satoru’s jealousy finally explodes, leading to a heated argument that turns into a desperate, messy hookup where he makes it very clear you’ve always been his.

✿ ◞◟) gojo satoru 𝓍 female!reader

𝓬𝗼𝗻𝘁𝗲𝗻𝘁 18+ [ MDNI! ], explicit sexual content, porn with plot (but its mostly porn lmao), best friends to lovers, jealousy, satoru is down bad, lot of kissing, handjob, big dick!satoru, biting, begging, fingering, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, unprotected sex (p in v), creampie, missionary + doggy style, praise, dirty talk, satoru is pathetic.

gojo satoru had been your best friend for six years, and in that time, you'd learned to accept certain things about him.

one — he was obnoxiously handsome. not in a way that felt fair or earned, but in the kind of effortless, god-cheated way that made waitresses forget his order and strangers stop him on the street to tell him he should model. satoru had white hair that never seemed to have a bad day, lashes so long they cast tiny shadows on his cheeks, and eyes so blue they looked like someone had turned up the saturation on just him while the rest of the world stayed normal.

two — satoru had very, very loud opinions, especially about anyone you dated.

you'd noticed the pattern about a year into your friendship, when you'd casually mentioned a guy from your psych class who'd asked for your number. satoru had been sprawled across your couch, stealing your fries, and he'd gone still for a second before tilting his head and saying;

"him? really? he's got weird eyebrows."

you'd blinked at him.

"his eyebrows are fine."

"they're asymmetrical," satoru had said, like that was a real crime. "and he laughs like a seal. you really want to listen to that for a whole date?"

you'd gone on the date anyway.

the guy's eyebrows had been perfectly normal, and his laugh had been genuinely nice, but satoru's comment had stuck in your head the whole time, making you hyperaware of things you never would have noticed otherwise.

that was his gift, or his curse, you hadn't decided yet.

since then, there had been others;

a very sweet and cute guy from your economics discussion group who satoru had dismissed as "way too short for you" (he’d been five eleven). a sweet philosophy major who satoru had claimed "smelled like soup" (he hadn't). a theater student who satoru had said was "obviously using you to get over his ex" (that one had actually been true, and you'd hated admitting satoru was right).

each time, satoru had been there, lounging in your space like he belonged there, making comments that ranged from mildly annoying to borderline cruel. and each time, you'd rolled your eyes and gone on the date anyway, because that was just how satoru was; opinionated, dramatic, a little bit of an asshole.

but satoru was also the one who showed up at your door at 2am with takeout when you failed a midterm.

the one who let you cry on his shoulder after the theater student broke your heart, the one who remembered how you took your coffee and which side of the bed you slept on and the name of your childhood stuffed animal.

so you let the comments slide, mostly.

but this time was different.

this time, his name was jaehyun, and you'd met him at a house party two weeks ago — the guy was in grad school for architecture, had kind eyes and a quiet laugh, and when he'd asked you out for coffee, you'd felt that little flutter in your chest that you'd almost forgotten existed.

you'd mentioned him to satoru casually, the way you always did, expecting the usual eyeroll and some stupid comment about jaehyun's haircut or his shoes.

what you got was something else entirely.

"jaehyun?" satoru had repeated, his voice doing something very strange — going flat in a way it never did. "what kind of name is jaehyun?"

"a perfectly normal one," you'd said, not looking up from your phone. "he's in grad school. architecture. really sweet."

"architecture," he had echoed, like you'd said jaehyun collected human teeth. "so he draws buildings. cool. very exciting."

you'd glanced up then, frowning.

satoru was sitting across from you at the campus coffee shop, his long legs stretched out under the table, one of his legs pressed against yours in that way he always did — like he needed to be touching you to exist properly. his sunglasses were pushed up into his white hair, and his expression was carefully, almost aggressively, neutral.

"what's your problem?" you'd asked.

"nothing," he'd said, too fast. "no problem. i'm thrilled for you. jaehyun the architect. hope he designs you a very nice house."

you'd stared at satoru for a very long moment, waiting for the usual punchline. but he'd just smiled — that big, fake, toothy smile that meant he was annoyed about something and pretending he wasn't at all.

you'd let it go. you were used to satoru being weird.

but over the next week, his weirdness escalated into something you couldn't ignore.

it started small; satoru started showing up at your apartment unannounced, which wasn't new — he'd always done that, letting himself in with the key you'd given him after he'd climbed your fire escape twice in one week. but before, he'd text first, or at least announce his presence with a dramatic "honey, i'm home!" as he walked through the door.

now, he just appeared.

you'd be doing dishes, and suddenly there he was, leaning against your doorframe like he'd been there the whole time. you'd be studying at your desk, and satoru’s chin would appear over your shoulder, his chest warm against your back, asking what you were doing in a voice that was way too low for the question he was asking.

and god, the touching.

satoru had always been touchy. you'd known that about him from the beginning — the way he'd sling an arm over your shoulders, rest his hand on your lower back when you walked through crowds, drape his legs over yours when you sat together on the couch.

he was a physical person, and you'd never minded, because it was just satoru.

but this was very different.

now, satoru’s hand found the small of your back every time you stood next to him. his fingers brushed your wrist when you handed him something. when you sat on the couch together, he pulled you against his side like you might float away if he didn't hold you down, his arm tight around your waist, his thumb tracing circles against your hip.

and it was always casual, always easy, like he wasn't even aware he was doing it.

but you were aware.

painfully aware, every time his thigh pressed against yours, every time his breath ghosted across your neck when he leaned in to look at your phone, every time his fingers lingered on your skin a second longer than they needed to.

you didn't say anything. because what would you even say? 'hey, why are you touching me so much?' that sounded crazy. he was your best friend, and best friends touched.

but then came the comments…

"so when am i meeting jaehyun?" satoru asked one afternoon, sprawled across your bed while you got ready to go out.

you weren't even going out with jaehyun — you were simply going to a study group — but satoru had shown up forty minutes ago and hadn't left.

"you're not," you said, digging through your closet for a hoodie. "we've been on two coffee dates. it's not serious."

"but it could be," satoru said.

it was not a question, and his blue eyes tracked you across the room, and you felt them like a physical weight.

"maybe," you said, because you didn't know yet.

jaehyun was nice. jaehyun was safe. but jaehyun didn't make your heart race in that annoying, confusing way that made you want to scream.

satoru made a sound in the back of his throat, something low and very dissatisfied.

"jaehyun wears new balance sneakers," satoru said, like he was delivering a closing argument. "new balance! do you really want to be seen with a man who wears new balance?"

you turned to look at him.

"you're wearing crocs right now."

"crocs are ironic," satoru said, completely serious. "new balance is a cry for help."

you threw a pillow at him. he caught it without looking, grinning, and you tried to ignore how your stomach flipped.

the worst night, the night everything broke, started like this;

you had a date, a real one.

jaehyun had texted you earlier in the week asking if you wanted to go to that new ramen place downtown, the one with the hour-long wait and the broth people wrote blog posts about. you'd said yes, because you'd been wanting to go, and because jaehyun's texts made you smile, and because you were trying very hard to be normal about all of this.

you hadn't told satoru.

not because you were hiding it, exactly, but because you knew damn well — you knew — what would happen if you did; the comments, the touching, the way he'd look at you with those too-blue eyes like he was trying to communicate something you didn't have the vocabulary to understand.

so you kept it to yourself.

you got dressed in your room, you picked out a black dress that made you feel so pretty, you did your makeup carefully in the bathroom mirror. your hair fell prettily in waves around your shoulders, and you added a necklace — something delicate, something that caught the light.

you casually were just reaching for your black coat when the front door opened.

"satoru," you said, and your voice came out strangled.

your best friend stood in your doorway, and for a moment, neither of you moved. his eyes swept over you — the dress, the makeup, the necklace — and something flickered across his face; something fast and dark that he smoothed over before you could fully read it.

"going somewhere?" satoru asked, and his voice was light, but his jaw was tight.

you should have lied. you should have said study group, or grocery shopping, or literally anything else, but you'd never lied to satoru before, not about anything that mattered, and you didn't know how to start now.

"i have a date," you said. "with jaehyun."

the silence that followed was deafening.

satoru didn't move; he simply stood there, one hand still on the doorknob, his body blocking the doorway like he could physically prevent you from leaving. his white hair was slightly messy, like he'd been running his hands through it, and he was wearing that black sweater you liked — the one that made his shoulders look impossibly broad.

"jaehyun," he repeated flatly.

"yes," you said, and your voice came out smaller than you intended. "jaehyun. the architect. the one i told you about."

"i know who jaehyun is," satoru said.

he completely stepped into the apartment, finally, and pushed the door closed behind him. the click of the lock was weirdly loud in the quiet room.

"i just thought you would have better taste."

the casual cruelty of it stung.

you felt it in your chest, sharp and hot, and suddenly you were so tired — tired of the comments, tired of the games, tired of the way satoru touched you and looked at you and made you feel like you were constantly missing something obvious.

"what is your problem, satoru?" you asked, and your voice cracked in the middle.

satoru blinked. "what?"

"you heard me."

you turned to face him fully, your coat completely forgotten on the couch. your hands were shaking, so you curled them into fists at your sides.

"every single time i mention someone, you have something to say. their eyebrows are wrong, they're too short, they smell like soup—"

"the soup thing was valid—"

"it wasn't!" you shouted, and satoru's mouth snapped shut. "it wasn't, satoru. and now it's jaehyun, and you won't even give him a chance. you show up at my apartment without warning, you won't stop touching me, you look at me like—"

you stopped, breathless, your heart pounding so hard you could feel it in your throat.

satoru was watching you with an expression you'd never seen before. his usual mask — the arrogant smirk, the lazy confidence, the annoying playfulness — had slipped away entirely. underneath was something raw. something hungry.

"like what?" satoru asked, and his voice was low. rough. "like what, sweetheart?"

you shook your head, stepping back, and your legs hit the edge of the couch.

"this isn't fair. you can't just—you don't get to act like this every time i try to move on. you don't get to be jealous when you're the one who—"

"jealous?" satoru laughed, but there was no humor in it. "you think i'm jealous?"

"i know you are," you said. "everyone can see it, satoru. suguru sees it. shoko sees it. i'm pretty sure my neighbor across the hall sees it, and she's half-blind."

satoru's jaw tightened.

he took a step toward you, then another, until he was close enough that you could smell his cologne — something clean and warm, like cedar and vanilla. his hand came up, and you flinched, but he just tucked a piece of hair behind your ear, his long fingers trailing down the side of your neck.

"and what if i am?" he murmured. "jealous. what if i can't stand the thought of you going out with him tonight? what if i've been going crazy for weeks, watching you text him, hearing you say his name—"

"then you should have said something," you whispered, and your voice broke on the last word.

satoru's hand slid to your jaw, tilting your face up so you had to look at him. his eyes were almost desperate, searching your face like he was looking for something he needed to survive.

"i'm saying something now," he said. "i can't watch you with anyone else. i can't do it. i've tried—god, i've tried—but every time you smile at someone who isn't me, i want to tear something apart."

your breath caught. "satoru—"

"so if you're gonna be with someone," he continued, his thumb brushing across your lower lip. "it's gonna be me."

the words hung in the air between you, heavy and electric.

you could feel the heat of satoru’s body through your dress, could see the way his chest rose and fell with each uneven breath. his hand was still on your jaw, gentle but firm, like he was afraid you'd disappear if he let go.

"what about jaehyun?" you asked, and it came out breathless.

satoru's eyes darkened. "fuck jaehyun."

and just like that, he kissed you.

it wasn't a soft or gentle kiss, no, it was so desperate and hungry and a little bit angry, like satoru had been holding this back for long years and the dam had finally broken.

satoru’s mouth moved against yours like he was trying to prove something, his hand sliding into your hair, tilting your head back so he could kiss you deeper.

you made a little sound — something between a gasp and a moan — and satoru swallowed it. his other hand found your waist, pulling you against him until there was no space left between your bodies; he was warm and solid and everywhere, and your brain had stopped working entirely.

when he finally pulled back, both of you were breathing hard. satoru’s lips were swollen, his eyes dark, and there was a flush creeping up his neck that you'd never seen before.

"tell me you don't want this," he said, his voice rough. "tell me to stop, and i will. but if you don't—"

you kissed him again, because you couldn't not. because six long years of insane tension and longing and denial had been building to this moment, and now that it was here, you couldn't imagine doing anything else.

satoru groaned against your mouth, his hands sliding down to grip your hips. he walked you backward until your legs hit the couch, and then he was lowering you onto the cushions, his body covering yours, his weight pressing you into the fabric.

"god, i've wanted this for so long," he murmured against your neck, his lips brushing your pulse point. "so fucking long. you have no idea."

"then show me," you said, and you felt him shudder.

he pulled back just enough to look at you, his eyes roaming over your face like he was memorizing it.

"when i'm done with you," satoru said, and his voice was low and dark and full of promise. "you're not gonna remember jaehyun's name."

and then he kissed you again, and you stopped thinking about jaehyun entirely.

satoru's mouth was hot and insistent, his tongue sliding against yours in a way that made your toes curl inside your boots. he kissed like he did everything else — like he was competing for something, like he needed to win. but there was desperation underneath it, a trembling kind of hunger that made his hands shake slightly where they gripped your hips.

you kissed him back just as hard, your fingers tangling in his soft white hair, pulling him impossibly closer.

satoru made a sound — something low and wrecked — and his hips pressed into yours instinctively; you could feel him already, hard against your thigh through his jeans, and the knowledge sent a rush of heat straight through your core.

"bedroom," satoru murmured hungrily against your lips, and it wasn't a question.

you nodded, breathless, and then he was pulling you up off the couch, his hands never leaving your body. one palm flat against your lower back, the other cupping the side of your neck, his fingers threading into your hair. satoru kissed you the whole way down the hall — deep, messy kisses that made you stumble backward, trusting him to guide you.

he did. of course he did.

satoru’s body was a wall of heat in front of you, and his hands were everywhere; your waist, your ribs, the curve of your ass through your dress. he squeezed once, experimentally, and when you gasped into his mouth, he did it again, harder.

"fuck," he breathed, and you felt the word more than heard it.

your bedroom door was open, and he walked you through it without looking, his attention entirely on your mouth, your jaw, the spot behind your ear that made you shiver when he kissed it. the backs of your knees hit the bed, and you fell backward onto the mattress, pulling him with you.

satoru caught himself on his forearms, hovering over you, his hair falling forward into his eyes.

for a second, he just looked at you, like he couldn't believe you were here, beneath him, your dress riding up your thighs and your lipstick smeared across his mouth.

"you're so pretty," satoru said, and his voice cracked in the middle. "god, you're so pretty. i'm gonna lose my mind."

then he sat back on his heels and pulled his sweater over his head in one movement.

you'd seen satoru without a shirt before — pool parties, beach trips, that one time his dorm ac broke and he'd walked around campus in nothing but shorts for a week. but this was different; this was close, and private, and his skin was flushed pink across his chest, and you could see everything.

satoru’s shoulders were absurdly broad, tapering down to a narrow waist that made your mouth water. his chest was defined but not bulky — it was lean muscle that shifted under pale skin as he moved, and there was a thin line of white hair trailing down from his navel, disappearing into the waistband of his jeans, and satoru’s arms were roped with veins that stood out when he flexed.

he caught you staring and smiled — not his usual cocky grin, but something softer, almost shy.

"like what you see?"

"shut up," you said, and reached for him.

satoru came down willingly, his body pressing you into the mattress, his skin warm and smooth against your palms. you ran your hands over his shoulders, down his back, feeling the way his muscles jumped under your touch.

he was all heat and tension, and when your nails dragged lightly down his spine, satoru groaned and buried his pretty face in your neck.

"you're gonna kill me," he mumbled into your skin.

you kissed his shoulder, then his collarbone, then the hinge of his jaw. your hands slid down his sides, over his ribs, and when they reached the button of his jeans, you didn't hesitate.

satoru went rigid.

your fingers fumbled with the button, then the zipper, and then you were reaching inside his boxers, and—

oh!

satoru was ridiculously big.

well… you'd known he would be, somehow — everything about satoru was excessive, after all — but fucking hell, feeling him in your hand was completely different. he was thick and hot and already leaking, and when you wrapped your fingers around him, his whole body shuddered.

"sweetheart," satoru gasped, and it came out as a whine, so high and so desperate.

his hips jerked into your hand involuntarily, and he dropped his forehead to your shoulder, his breathing ragged.

"fuck, fuck, please—"

you stroked him slowly, your thumb spreading the wetness at the tip, and satoru made a sound you'd never heard from him before. it was broken and insanely needy, and satoru was shaking — actually shaking — his long fingers digging into the mattress on either side of your head.

"please what?" you asked, and your own voice was rough.

he lifted his head just enough to look at you, and his eyes were glassy, pupils blown so wide there was almost no blue left.

"please don't stop," satoru whispered. "please. i've wanted this for so long. i've thought about your hands—god, i've thought about your hands so much—"

you squeezed gently, just a little firmer, and his sentence cut off in a choked moan.

satoru buried his face in your neck again, his breath hot and uneven against your skin, and you felt him pulse in your hand; his whole body was tense, thighs flexing against yours, and you could feel how close he was — the way his stomach kept twitching, the way his hips started moving in small, desperate little thrusts into your fist.

"if you keep doing that," satoru said, muffled against your shoulder, "i'm not gonna last."

you didn't answer, you just kept going — steady, intentional, your grip adjusting to the slickness now, your thumb pressing into that spot right under the head on every upstroke. you wanted to see satoru fall apart; you wanted it more than you'd ever wanted anything.

and then he did.

it wasn't loud, that was the thing.

satoru’s breath hitched, held, and then released in a long, shuddering exhale against your neck. his whole body locked up for a second — his back arching just slightly, fingers twisting in the sheets — and then he broke.

you felt it in your hand first; the pulsing, the warmth spilling over your fingers, the way satoru’s hips stuttered and stopped. then the rest of him followed; his forehead pressed harder into your shoulder, almost like he was hiding. his arms trembled on either side of you. a sound came out of him — soft, wrecked, more breath than voice — and you realized his free hand had moved to grip your hip, not guiding you, just holding on.

you kept stroking him through it, slow and gentle now, and satoru whimpered and tried sooo hard to squirm away from the sensitivity even as he pushed into your touch at the exact same time. satoru’s face was still buried in your neck, and you could feel how warm his cheeks were, how damp his lashes were against your skin.

for a moment, neither of you moved.

satoru’s breathing was uneven, hitching every few seconds like he was still coming down, and your hand was a mess, and you didn't care at all.

finally, he lifted his head.

satoru’s face was flushed, his lips parted, his hair a disaster. he looked at you like he'd never seen you before — or maybe like he was seeing you clearly for the first time.

"your turn," you said, and your voice was steadier than you felt.

he blinked slowly, like the words had to travel through fog to reach him, then something completely shifted in satoru’s expression — something dark and determined settling over his still-soft features, a spark of that familiar satoru intensity cutting through the haze.

"my turn," he agreed.

his still trembling hands easily found the hem of your dress, and he pulled it up and over your head with an impatience that made you laugh — a breathless, surprised sound that turned into a gasp when he bent down and pressed an open-mouthed kiss to your stomach.

satoru worked his way up slowly, kissing every inch of skin he uncovered, his lips hot and wet and reverent. when he reached your bra, he looked up at you, asking silent permission. you simply nodded, and he reached behind you to unclasp it with fingers that trembled even more.

the bra joined your dress on the floor.

satoru sat back on his heels and stared at you; his blue eyes traveled down your body — your breasts, your stomach, the lace edge of your panties — and his expression was almost painful to look at; like he was in awe, like he was in pain.

"you're so beautiful," satoru said, and his voice was hoarse. "i don't—i can't—"

"toru," you said, and your own voice was shaking. "please."

that broke whatever trance he was in.

satoru lowered himself over you again, his mouth finding yours in a kiss that was softer this time, almost tender, and his hand slid down your body, over your ribs, your hip, until his fingers brushed the waistband of your panties.

he pulled back just enough to look down, and then his fingers were hooking into the lace, but he didn't pull them off. instead, satoru pushed them to the side.

the air hit your wetness, and you felt exposed and seen and so incredibly turned on you thought you might combust. satoru's breath caught when he saw you completely, and his pupils swallowed the very last of the blue.

"all this for me?" he murmured, his fingers hovering just above where you needed him.

"y-yes," you said, and you meant it more than you'd ever meant anything. "always for you."

satoru’s eyes flicked up to yours, and something shifted in his expression; something soft and fierce and terrified all at once. then he looked back down, and his middle finger slid through your folds, gathering your wetness, circling your clit in a way that made your hips jerk off the bed.

"fuck," you gasped.

"that's it," satoru murmured, his voice low and focused. "that's it, sweetheart. let me hear you."

he circled your clit again, slow and meticulous, watching your face. when you moaned — loud, involuntary — his lips curved into a smile that was almost smug, but then you moaned again, and his smile faltered, replaced by something hungrier.

"you have no idea," satoru said, his finger still moving in lazy circles. "what this sound does to me."

he pushed two fingers inside you without warning, and your back arched off the bed.

it was so good — way too good — the stretch of his long fingers, the curl of them inside you, the way he found that spot immediately like he'd been studying a map of your body for years. his thumb pressed against your clit, and he started a rhythm that made your vision blur.

"right there?" satoru asked, and his voice was strained.

"y-yes—yes, don't stop—"

and satoru didn't stop.

he fucked you with his long fingers like he really meant it, his palm slapping against your clit with every single thrust, his blue eyes never once leaving your face; he watched every expression, cataloged every sound, and satoru’s own breathing was ragged, his hips pressing into the mattress like he was fucking it just to keep himself sane.

"you're so wet," he said, almost to himself. "god, you're so wet. is this because of me? because of what i said?"

you couldn't answer — you couldn't form any words — so you simply nodded, your hands desperately gripping the sheets, your hips rocking against his hand.

"say it," satoru demanded, his fingers curling harder. "say you want this. say you want me."

"i want you," you sobbed. "i want you, toru, please—"

he added a third finger, and the stretch was almost too much, the pressure building in your core until you couldn't think, couldn't breathe, couldn't do a damn thing but feel. his thumb pressed harder against your clit, rubbing in tight circles that matched the rhythm of his fingers, and he leaned down to kiss your chest, your collarbone, the side of your breast.

"cum for me," he murmured against your skin. "cum on my fingers, sweetheart. i want to feel it."

you shattered.

it crashed over you in huge waves, your whole body convulsing, your nails digging into satoru's shoulders as you rode out the pleasure. he didn't stop — he kept his fingers deep inside you, he kept his thumb on your clit, working you through every aftershock until you were trembling and oversensitive and crying his name into the quiet room.

when you finally stilled, satoru pulled his fingers out slowly, carefully, and you watched through half-lidded eyes as he brought them to his mouth.

he licked them clean.

his eyes never left yours as he did it, his tongue sliding between his long fingers, tasting you like you were something precious. he made a sound — low and satisfied — and when he was done, and held his fingers out to you.

"your turn," he said, echoing your words from earlier.

you took his wrist and guided his fingers to your mouth; you sucked them in, one by one, tasting yourself on his skin. his breath hitched, and his hips jerked against the mattress, and you felt powerful in a way you'd never felt before.

when you let go, satoru’s fingers were slick with your spit, and his eyes were almost black.

"f-fuck," he whispered. "fuck, sweetheart. i need—i need to be inside you. please. i can't—"

he was shaking again, his composure crumbling completely, his body vibrating with need above you. you could feel him through his jeans, hard and aching, and you wanted him so badly it was a physical pain.

"then do it," you said. "do it, satoru."

he fumbled with his jeans, pushing them down just enough, and then he was there — pressing against your entrance, the head of his huge cock nudging at your wetness, both of you breathing too fast.

"look at me," he said, and his voice was raw. "i want you to look at me when i finally make you mine."

his voice cracked on the last word, and something in your chest splintered; this wasn't just sex, you could see it in his eyes — blown wide, glassy, stripped of every layer of sarcasm and swagger he'd ever worn. satoru looked terrified and hungry and so in love it was almost painful to witness.

"toru," you whispered, and his name felt different in your mouth now.

"i know," he said, and he sounded almost sorry. "i know we should talk. i know we're gonna have to figure out what the hell we're doing tomorrow. but right now—"

he pressed forward, just barely, the head of his cock catching against your entrance, and you both gasped.

"—right now, i need to be inside you. i need to feel you cum around me. and i need you to watch me fall apart while i do it."

you nodded, unable to speak, and satoru pushed in.

just an inch — slow, so slow — and your body stretched around him, full and burning in a way that made your eyes water. satoru was so much bigger than his fingers, thicker and hotter, and the pressure was almost too much. you felt every millimeter, every pulse of his cock as it slid into you, and the sound he made — god, the sound — was something you'd never heard from him before.

it was a broken moan, high and desperate, like he was the one being split open.

"fuck," satoru choked out, his forehead dropping to yours, and his breath was hot and uneven against your lips. "f-fuck, baby. you're so—you're so tight—i can't—"

his hips stuttered, and he pushed deeper, another inch, and your nails dug into his shoulders. the stretch burned in the best way, your body adjusting to him, and you could feel every ridge, every vein, every tiny shift of his hips.

"m-more," you said, your voice barely a whisper. "please, toru. i want all of it."

satoru made a sound like a wounded animal, and then he pushed forward in one long, slow thrust until he was buried completely inside you.

you both stopped breathing.

he was everywhere, filling you completely, stretching you in a way that bordered on overwhelming, his hips flush against yours; you could feel him throbbing inside you, could feel the way his whole body trembled above you, his arms shaking where they caged you in.

"oh my god," satoru breathed, and his voice was wrecked, absolutely destroyed. "oh my god. sweetheart. you feel—i can't—there aren't words."

his eyes were squeezed shut now, his jaw tight, and you watched a bead of sweat roll down his temple. he looked like he was in pain. like he was holding on by a thread.

"toru," you said, reaching up to cup his face. "look at me."

his eyes opened, and what you saw there completely made your heart clench; satoru looked dazed, almost drunk, his pupils so blown there was only a thin ring of blue left now, his lips were parted, his breathing ragged, and when you ran your thumb across his cheekbone, he turned his head and pressed a kiss to your palm.

"you're gonna be the death of me," satoru murmured against your skin. "you know that, right? i've been imagining this for six years, and it's still—it's so much better than i ever—" he cut himself off with a shaky exhale. "i'm not gonna last. i'm sorry. i'm so sorry, but i can't—"

"then don't," you said. "move, toru. please move."

well… he didn't need to be told twice.

satoru pulled out slowly — agonizingly slowly — until only the tip remained inside you, and then he pushed back in, just as slow, just as deep, his eyes never left yours, watching your face as he bottomed out again, and the expression on his face was one of pure, reverent awe.

"that's it," he whispered. "god, that's it. you're taking me so well, sweetheart. so fucking well."

he did it again, and again, each thrust was slow, deliberate, like he was trying to memorize every sensation; the drag of his huge cock against your walls, the way you clenched around him, the little sounds you made every time he pushed back in. his hands roamed your body — your waist, your ribs, your breasts — touching you like he was afraid you'd disappear.

"you're so beautiful," satoru said, and his voice was thick. "i've wanted to touch you like this for so long. you have no idea how many times i've jerked off thinking about you. thinking about these sounds you're making right now."

satoru’s hips snapped forward a little harder, and you moaned at that — loud and unfiltered — and satoru's eyes rolled back for just a second.

"yeah," he breathed. "yeah, like that. i want to hear you. i want everyone to hear you. i want jaehyun to hear you and know—know that you're mine."

the possessiveness in his voice should have scared you, but instead, it made you clench around him, and satoru groaned so loudly you felt it vibrate through his chest.

"you like that?" he asked, his pace picking up slightly. "you like it when i get jealous? when i talk about how you're mine?"

"fuck—yes," you admitted, because you couldn't lie anymore.

not with your best friend inside you, not with his skin against yours, not with the way he was looking at you like you were the only thing in the world that mattered.

satoru's smile was sharp and hungry.

"good. because you are mine. you have been since the day you let me climb your fire escape."

satoru kissed you then — it was deep and messy, his warm tongue sliding against yours in a rhythm that matched his hips. he was fucking you slowly but deeply now, each thrust pushing you up the bed a little, and you wrapped your legs around his waist to pull him closer.

that changed everything.

the angle made him hit something inside you — something that made stars burst behind your eyes, and you cried out against his mouth, and satoru swallowed the sound, his hips stuttering before he found a new rhythm; faster, harder, still deep, but no longer gentle.

"there?" satoru gasped, pulling back just enough to look at your face. "is that the spot? right there?"

you couldn't answer, you could only nod, your hands fisting in his white hair, pulling him down so you could bite his lower lip. and satoru moaned loudly, and his hips snapped forward so hard the headboard banged against the wall.

"oh—f-fuck, sweetheart," satoru panted. "you're gonna make me come so fast. i can't—i've been waiting too long for this. you feel too good."

his hand slid between your bodies, and his thumb found your clit, and you nearly screamed.

he circled it in tight, fast motions, exactly the way you needed, and the combination of his enormous cock hitting that sweet spot inside you and his thumb on your clit was too much. the pleasure built so quickly it was almost painful, your whole body tightening like a coil about to snap.

"that's it," satoru murmured, his voice low and dark and completely gone. "cum for me again, sweetheart. i want to feel you cum on my cock this time. i want to feel you squeeze me while i'm inside you."

his thumb pressed harder, his hips moved faster, and he was looking at you — watching every micro-expression on your face with an intensity that should have been overwhelming.

but all you could feel was him. all you could hear was the sound of his breathing, the wet sounds of your bodies moving together, the little whimpers that fell from his lips every time you clenched around him.

"i'm close," you managed, your voice breaking. "oh my god, toru, i'm so close—"

"yeah?"

satoru was practically fucking you in earnest now, his composure completely gone; his hair was a mess, his face flushed, his lips swollen from your kisses.

"you gonna cum for me? gonna soak my cock, sweetheart? i want to feel it. i want to feel you—"

you came.

it surged through you without warning, your whole body arching off the bed, your nails raking down satoru’s back as you convulsed around him. satoru groaned — a deep, guttural sound that seemed to come from somewhere primal — and his hips kept moving, kept thrusting, working you through every second of your orgasm.

"oh, fuck," he gasped. "oh, fuckfuckfuck, sweetheart—you're squeezing me so tight—i can't—i'm gonna—"

satoru pulled out just enough that you felt the first pulse of his release, hot and sudden, and then he pushed back in and buried himself to the hilt as he came inside you.

his whole body shook, his arms gave out, and satoru collapsed on top of you, his face buried deep in your neck, his hips jerking uncontrollably as he emptied himself into you. he made sounds you'd never heard him make — broken, desperate sounds, almost like sobs — and you felt each pulse of his cock, each wave of his release, hot and filling.

"g-god," satoru whispered against your sweaty skin. "god, sweetheart. i love—i—"

he didn't finish the sentence, maybe he couldn't, maybe he was too far gone.

you held him, your fingers threading through his sweaty hair, your legs still wrapped around his waist. his cock was still inside you, softening slightly but not pulling out, and you could feel his cum leaking out around him, warm and wet.

for a long moment, neither of you moved, neither of you spoke, the only sounds were your breathing, slowly evening out, and the distant hum of the city outside your window.

satoru's hand was tracing patterns on your hip, lazy and absent, and you thought maybe he'd fallen asleep. maybe you'd get a moment to process what had just happened.

then satoru shifted.

his hips rolled forward, just slightly, and you felt him twitch inside you.

"satoru," you said, your voice hoarse.

he lifted his head, and his eyes met yours; they were still dark, still blown wide, but there was something new there now. something hungry and determined and a little bit feral.

"i'm not done," satoru said, and his voice was rough. "i'm not even close to done."

he pulled out slowly, and you felt the loss of him acutely — the sudden emptiness, the trickle of satoru’s cum that slid down your trembling thigh. but before you could mourn it, he was flipping you over, pulling you onto your hands and knees, his hands gripping your hips.

"i've been thinking about this position for years," satoru murmured, pressing a kiss to your shoulder blade. "thinking about how deep i could get. how loud you'd be."

you heard him spit into his hand — you heard the wet sound of him stroking himself — and then he was pressing against your entrance again, already hard, already ready.

"toru," you said again, and it came out as a pathetic whimper. "i'm still sensitive—"

"i know," satoru said, and he sounded almost apologetic. almost. "but you feel too good, sweetheart. and i'm so fucking obsessed with you. i can't stop. i don't want to stop."

he pushed in, and you both moaned.

it was different from the first time; you were still so wet, still so stretched, still so full of his cum, and satoru slid in easier now, way deeper, until you felt him in your stomach.

satoru paused for a moment, letting you adjust, his forehead pressed to the back of your neck.

"baby, tell me when," satoru said, his voice strained. "tell me when you're ready."

you took a breath, then another, the sensitivity was fading, replaced by a familiar ache, a familiar need.

"now," you said. "move now."

and he did.

satoru started slow again, but this time it was different.

this time, he was savoring; his hands completely roamed your body — your back, your ass, your hips — and he leaned over to press kisses along your spine. his huge cock dragged against your walls in a way that made your eyes roll back, and he was murmuring things against your skin; things you couldn't quite understand, things that sounded like praise and worship and desperation all at once.

"you're so perfect," he breathed. "so perfect for me. this pussy was made for me. you know that? made for my cock."

satoru’s pace quickened, his hips slapping against yours, and the sound was obscene — wet and loud and relentless. he reached around and found your swollen clit again, rubbing in tight circles, and you sobbed with the overstimulation of it.

"too much?" he asked, but he didn't stop. "or not enough?"

"m-more," you gasped. "more, toru—please—"

he gave you more.

satoru fucked you harder, faster, deeper, his grip on your hips so tight you knew there would be bruises tomorrow. his breathing was ragged, his moans were loud, and he was talking — talking constantly, a stream of consciousness that was half dirty and half desperate.

"look at you. taking me so well. you're so wet. so fucking wet. is this all for me? tell me it's all for me."

"it's all for you," you said, and you meant it.

satoru groaned loudly, and his hips snapped forward even harder, and you felt a second orgasm building — faster this time, sharper, pushed along by the overstimulation and the sound of his voice and the way he was fucking you like he needed you to survive.

"cum with me this time," he said, his voice breaking. "i want to feel you cum while i'm filling you up again. i want to feel you squeeze every drop out of me."

his thumb pressed down on your clit, and his hips lost their rhythm, becoming sloppy and desperate, and you knew he was close, and so were you. so close—

"now," satoru gasped. "now, sweetheart—"

you came together.

it was messy and loud and overwhelming, your body clenching around him as he spilled inside you again, his hips jerking erratically as he rode out his orgasm. you collapsed onto the bed, and he followed you down, his weight pressing you into the mattress, his cock still buried deep inside you, still pulsing.

neither of you moved.

satoru’s breath was hot against your ear, his heart pounding against your back, and you could feel him — getting hard again, still inside you, still not pulling out.

"one more," he murmured, and you could hear the smile in his voice, even through the exhaustion. "just one more. and then maybe we can talk about how i'm in love with you."

you laughed — a breathless, surprised sound — and satoru kissed your shoulder, your neck, the curve of your jaw.

"i'm serious, baby," satoru said, his hips rolling forward again, slowly. "i've been in love with you for years. and now that i've had you like this—"

he pushed deeper, and you moaned.

"—i'm never letting you go."

satoru’s hand slid under you, finding your clit again, and you realized he actually meant it.

he wasn't going to stop.

and honestly… you didn't want him to.

𝗿𝗲𝗾𝘂𝗲𝘀𝘁𝗲𝗱 𝗯𝘆 𝗮𝗻𝗼𝗻𝗶𝗲 ヾ(•̀ ヮ <)و

[tonycries]

Back To Black - N.K.

Synopsis. When you came knocking at Nanami Kento’s mansion, stranded in the middle of a storm, he couldn’t turn you away just like that - could he? After all, you smelled so cold, so scared, so…delectable. And you might learn that there’s a reason they keep demons locked away in large, lonely mansions. Because didn’t you know that he’s one hell of a butler?

Pairing. Nanami Kento x Reader

Content. MDNI, fem!reader, demon butler!Nanami, Black Butler AU, plot, powers, mansions, use of ‘my lady’, slight bIood and vioIence, slightly yan!Nanami, slight angst, reincarnations, yearning, pússydrúnk Nanami, fíngering, oraI (fem rec.), spítting, chokíng, p talking, manhandIing, matíng presses, use of his demon powers, x-rays, he’s a gentleman until he breaks, rough s, running from it, creampíes, cúmpIay, soul bonding, happy ending, pet names, swéaring.

Word count. 15.6k

A/N. Spooky season isn’t over until I say so…

“Goddamm- oh.” The merciless hand of the storm swipes your face, and you instantly clamp your eyes and lips shut against the sting.

It was a night colder than cold, a storm crueler than cruel. Fallen instantly: it was as if someone had simply snuffed out the light of day, and plunged you into a world that hurtled on its axis. Despite the portico you stood underneath, you clutched your tattered coat tighter against the wind.

This place had been the first you’d encountered during your treacherous walk. A light. And without thinking, you’d stumbled towards it. 

Perhaps a home. Perhaps shelter. 

The fog thickens. Your fist raises, knock-knock-knocking against the tall, wooden door. It was decorated in intricate swirling patterns and engravings that you couldn’t make out in the darkness right now.

You wonder whether whoever was inside could even hear you over the storm. Desperately, your fist raises to knock again when-

The door opens.

And inside stands a handsome blond man.

Almost otherworldly.

“My lady.”

Your breath hitches, and you’re not entirely sure why. Perhaps it was the rich baritone of his voice, the way it pierced your ears even above the wind, wetness, and anger of the storm. Perhaps it was his classically handsome face - slicked-back hair, high cheekbones, a pert mouth that was somehow knowing - like in one of those historical paintings, a Prince Charming. 

You wouldn’t have been able to pinpoint him in any century.

Or perhaps it was the way that when you stepped back, on instinct, he leaned down to loop a strong arm around your waist in a single, fluid motion. So fast that you muse he might’ve teleported.

Whoosh–! 

You startle at the noise above you, and look up to find that the strange man had unfolded an umbrella over the two of you - one that you hadn’t even realized he’d been holding.

He lets the berth of it cover your frame, like the dark wings of a bat stretched taut. Uncaring of whether he himself gets wet, the man shields you against the icy billows of rain that blew through the portico. His warm grin stretches, urging. “My lady?”

“O-oh.” It registers that he was speaking to you. You’re unsure where to place your palms, and they lay flatly open against the man’s toned chest. Still. “My apologies for- for the intrusion so late. But I…”

You were getting distracted by his kind, molten eyes is what. But he finishes for you with a slight huff of amusement, “Happened to get caught in this monstrosity of a storm, am I right in guessing?” At your nod. “Well, it’s no wonder then, my lady. I’m only glad you made it here safe.”

“I-” You were right in feeling like you weren’t able to pinpoint which century he was from. Because his tone of speaking wasn’t reminiscent of any dialect you’ve ever heard before - something melodic yet stiff, something understandable yet…dated. 

And despite your incessant pondering, he stands as patiently as ever. Holds you as patiently as ever.

Even though the wind ruffled that neat hair of his, and the rain pelted his sides without the cover of the umbrella. You hasten to explain yourself, “I was actually on my way from a work function, a bit far away. When this storm suddenly hit and my car broke down in the middle of it- actually, I think it ended up in some ditch with no power, which is why I ended up- well- here.” You finish, lamely.

He looks thoughtful, nodding empathetically.

“And I really do apologize for the intrusion, really, but if I could stay just until the storm blows over and I can call for help-”

“Do forgive me for interrupting you, my lady.” The man’s precise tone speaks once more, “But you may stay here as long as you like.”

Relief washes down your spine like a bucket of heat, melting you instantly. “Oh, thank you- thank you.” And before you know it, you’re falling deeper into his arms. 

“A lady must not thank a mere worker.” He hums with a tut, and you wonder whether that means he was one of the staff at this large building - what little you could see of the silhouette seemed larger than a normal house, and you’d assumed that it was some hotel at first.

He steps soundlessly to help you steady yourself. And you’re soon being warmly gestured inside, the umbrella being held over your head with each step, even as he stepped aside into the rain to let you through. “Come now, we must dry you off at once. Being in the cold for this long won’t be good for your constitution, my lady.”

You step inside as he directs, and it feels like stepping into a warm bath - just right.

And what you’d seen in the distance - that yolky, blinking light that led you here, your body moving as if on instinct - wasn’t actually a lightbulb, as you’d thought. In actuality, it was about a dozen, flaring chandeliers.

Illuminating a fresco of gardens and flowers and spring. Lined along the sprawling ceiling like fruits that were overripe, fit to burst. They danced ever-so-slightly in the draught that the open door brought, yet not a single candle extinguished from what you could make out.

You felt so tiny in the house- mansion, as you were quickly coming to learn. 

Greeted by an imperial staircase made of marble, and accents of gold that fought with the chandeliers over which one of them shined brighter. You don’t think you could possibly count how many hallways holed themselves into the mansion just from here. Hidden caverns filled with antiques, and ever-green chrysanthemums, and paintings that you could just see the corners of. Upon either side of the entrance were large Clerestory windows that provided snapshots of the flared lightning outside; so high up, so large, that it made the front door feel dwarfed. 

You think it looks strangely familiar - perhaps something reminiscent of those illustrations you’d seen in classic stories.

Curiously, along the winding corridors, you note that there were many mirrors. Some small and bejeweled, some tall from ceiling to floor.

In intervals unknown to you, they stood out - the brightest of them all.

You jump at the feeling of something touching your elbow-

“My apologies for startling you, my lady.” Comes your host’s deep voice, and you whirl around to find him bowed. With a warm, citrus-scented towel presented to you (when did he even have the time to get that?) “Please, do make use of this towel to rinse off the water on your body. If you would like, I may do it for you?”

“No no, I can do it.” You insist, feeling your heart race. His stern lips quirk up ever-so-slightly when you reach for it. “Thank you.”

“It is my pleasure. I wouldn’t want my lady getting sick.”

My lady…

You shake your head, trying to get it free of that giggling lil’ voice that kept repeating those two words. Instead, you take the towel from the beautiful man and—oh.

Underneath your breath, you gasp through your nose. Because the very second that your fingers had grazed his own when taking the towel, a chill wafted down your spine. So cold. So…unnatural. You weren’t sure whether it was the sheer temperature, or the fact that it was the sheer temperature of his hand.

Why was he so cold?

Almost as if he sensed your thoughts, the man swiftly pulls his hand away. And it’s only then that you realize that he was dressed so smartly.

Shoes polished till they reflected your bewildered stare. Well-fitted black pants. A three-piece suit filled out by his broad shoulders. Black tailcoat. High collar. Steely buttons. And an emblem on his coat pocket that you couldn’t read from here. Gloves. Ah—so that was why he was so cold, you guessed.

Surely there was no other reason, right?

Lightning flashes.

The rooms lights up in ice-white.

“Oh dear, it seems the storm won’t be getting any better tonight.” He announces, clapping his hands twice. And then, previously unseen curtains start closing in on the windows so high above. Effectively shutting out the storm, the night, and with it, the world.

You wondered what automatic mechanism that was.

“We best get you to bed immediately, my lady.” The blond-haired man says, his hair gleaming in the candlelight - and you could’ve sworn that it’d been all ruffled and messy by the storm just prior. Now, it was untouched, as if he’d never stepped outside. 

He rounds the entrance, politely gesturing at you to follow. 

“Such a lovely place.” You observe, as you’re led up the staircase and into the East wing. The hallways were tall and ancient, humming with centuries of stories untold. And, as you’d expected, the antiques, the chrysanthemums, the paintings.

Blurs of faces that you were walking too quickly by to properly make out.

“Why thank you, my lady.” He looks back briefly, holding a golden candelabra to light your pathway. Still walking, he doesn’t need to stop to speak. “This is an old home, with old bones, old secrets.” The man cracks a grin, “I should know, I have been lucky to call myself a worker of this fine home for a long time.”

So he did work here - a butler, all signs were pointing to. You hum, butlers had always seemed like something out of a soap opera, or those regency novels.

Having him in front of you like this made you feel somewhat dizzy.

And you were entranced by the noiseless way he moved, “And how long is a long time?”

“Oh, one could say it feels like…centuries.” He chuckles to himself.

You make a few turns, heading deeper into the mansion. And you can’t help but notice that you’ve yet to see a single other person here except the two of you-

“The masters of this home are more in name.” The butler says, in his smooth tone. Like he could sense the question forming. “This house has been passed down through generations, and I fear that I have yet to officially meet whoever owns this grand establishment now.”

“Oh?” Your brows raise, “They seriously don’t come to visit a house this beautiful? Not even as a vacation home?”

“I’m afraid so. It is all but abandoned.” He nods, “But alas, I do not complain. They employ me here to clean and take care of this home, and that’s all I can ask. To preserve a piece of history so magnificent, no matter how much they try to forget…it shall always haunt you.”

“So you’re alone here?”

He stops then. And turns back to you with an unreadable expression- oh, something about the way the candelabra outlined the hollows of his face made you feel cold all over again. “I’m afraid so.” Voice quiet. “Would you prefer otherwise, my lady?”

In the distance, the growl of thunder trundles.

“No no, nothing like that.” You rush to answer, not wishing to offend the kind soul helping you for the night (and honestly, even despite that, you didn’t feel a speck of discomfort with him- in fact, you felt…at ease). “Honestly, you’ve been more than a delight- I was just wondering whether you don’t get lonely in such a big house, all by yourself. I certainly would visit.”

He observes you for a moment. Before his warm expression is back again- “Do not worry yourself over my wellbeing, my lady, of course, as all good workers do, I have gotten used to it. Yet…I must admit that there is the occasional night in which I, too, crave humanity—”

You listen, enraptured.

Before he then gestures to the door in front of which you’d stopped at - you hadn’t even noticed. It was an unassuming mahogany door, polished and pristine like all the rest.

His gloved hands gently twist the doorknob and lead you inside. “Your room, my lady.” He leaves the candelabra on top of a cabinet by the doorway. “I have arranged for a warm bath to be prepared for you, with a fine selection of body washes and shampoos from around the world. After which I ask you to allow me to treat you to a light supper in bed, as you must be hungry after such an exciting night. Kindly ring the bell-” He gestures at a slim handbell on the cabinet beside the candelabra that you hadn’t seen before. “-and I shall be here for you before the second ring.”

“This is…” You look around the room- chamber, more like. 

The candles on the chandelier inside had lit up as soon as you stepped inside (you had to figure out that mechanism, somehow!) Bathing the expansive bedroom in a soft glow, like this, it almost looked like a piece of heaven itself.

An antique chamber. A four-poster king-sized bed in the middle. A plethora of sweet-scented flower pots. A few paintings of landscapes. A floor-to-ceiling window overlooking the balcony, the garden. Though now, you could only see the storm outside. On one side of the room, you could see a shelf of thick tomes, impeccably dusted, and next to it was a fireplace. Roaring. 

You wondered how he had the time to light it.

On the other side it opened up to what you imagined must be an equally as luxurious bathroom. The polished tile squeaked as you made your way inside, reflecting your wind-torn coat that felt more than out-of-place in such a room. It almost felt like you were wading across a ballroom. 

You whirl, and you note that one of the walls adjacent to the bed wasn’t taken up by some painting or mural or wallpaper- it was nearly covered by a gleaming mirror. How interesting.

“-this is amazing.” You breathe.

“I am glad that it is to your liking, my lady.” He bows, “If you need anything, or wish to ask anything, simply ring the bell.”

And as the blond-haired man moves to exit with a final bow, you reach your hand out- “Wait-”

He turns. “My lady?”

“Ah, I didn’t ring the bell but- your name.” You fiddle with the drenched fabric of your coat as you ask, wondering whether it was salvageable anymore. You tell him your own name, before questioning, “Can I ask your name?”

He smiles. “Nanami Kento, my lady.” And there’s a zip of excitement that runs through your body at finally putting a name to a handsome face. Nodding, you expect that that would be the end of your small pleasantries, and you turn back-

But before he leaves for good tonight, Nanami speaks over his shoulder. “And worry not, I am one hell of a butler.”

You snap your head back to listen to him speak, and find that he was already gone.

The hallway was dark outside, and there was a slight wind coming in. You hasten to shut the door and find that you can’t even hear Nanami’s footsteps disappearing, can’t even hear his shadow—well, you always had the bell, right?

You shook off the slight prickling at your skin, and welcomed yourself into the clouds of warmth spiffing from the bathroom.

.

.

.

That night may have been the best sleep of your life, you had to admit. Like you’d been home, and doubled by the luxury of the place.

It might have something to do with the fact that the massive bed was amongst the comfiest things you’ve ever felt, or it might have something to do with the easy cotton fabric of the pyjamas that Nanami had left while you were bathing.

You’d come out of the bathroom, refreshed (the bathroom ceiling was blanketed with the most beautiful mosaics, and the bathtub was accented with gold), only to find that he’d left out nightwear of your liking.

Of your exact size.

You’d stopped then, wondering how he managed to find something that fit you so perfectly. 

Perhaps it was a lucky guess, and a previous owner of the mansion happened to be your exact size? Then again, it did feel so new in your hands…

Without wearing yourself out even further, you’d rung the bell and partaken in a quick dinner (you’d been famished, having only scoffed down a protein bar during the conference). And then chosen to ignore the shivers that ran down your spine to tuck yourself in. Soon oblivious to the storm, and the mansion’s creaking, and the eyes that seemed to watch you at night.

It all felt like part of a dream.

In the morning, you’d awoken to the twittering of birds, and a slab of golden sunlight, like butter, filtering in through the window. Nanami had already laid out a gorgeous princess-line dress of emerald green for you, with a deep v-cut collar that showed just a coy bit of skin, and a silhouette that flattered your frame perfectly.

That, too, was the perfect fit.

You adjusted your sleeves and couldn’t help but titter to yourself as you felt like a princess. In no time after you got ready, there was a knock at the door.

“Oh, come in.”

It couldn’t be anyone but Nanami. And he looked as handsome as the last time you’d seen him (earlier, in the late hours of the night you’d almost wondered whether it was the dimness that made him look so extraordinarily handsome).

But no, he was as beautiful as ever. His golden hair glinting in the sun, like a halo, and his smile beaming as he walks closer to you. “Good morning, my lady.” Nanami bows, “I see you have already prepared yourself for the day. How exquisite you look, should my eyes fall upon such a sight every morning then I should be blessed. Am I correct in assuming that the dress is adequate to your tastes?”

“It’s just beautiful, Nanami.” You run your hands down the sides, admiring. “I don’t know how you managed to get my perfect size.”

He brings a gloved index up to his lips, with a wink. “A butler always had his secrets.” Before he straightens up, “Now, if you would allow me, may I help you with your hair and make-up?”

“Oh-” You’d just thought about rifling through the vanity’s drawers, with the slight hope that you might find the products you use. And as if he could read your mind, he was offering. “Are you…sure?”

“It would be my honor, my lady.” Nanami sits you down on the chair before the vanity mirror. His broad frame behind you- from here, you could see just how snugly that tailcoat fit his slender waist. “You may keep your eyes on me, or on yourself- please tilt your chin up—”

Soft, cold hands get to work.

And you really did feel like a princess.

.

.

.

By the time you’re walking downstairs for breakfast, you find yourself all dolled up just the way you like it - and you didn’t even have to give Nanami too many directions. You thoroughly considered taking him back once you leave.

With the crook of his elbow stuck out for you to hold onto, his biceps flexed, you made your way to sit at the head of a long table. Narrow and at least as lengthy as two of your bedrooms back home.

Him trailing behind you at the entrance, you excitedly walk forwards to sit down- and have your chair pushed in by…Nanami?

You look towards the entrance once more, you could’ve sworn that he was still there the last time you looked.

He swiftly placed a steaming silver dish of breakfast in front of you, and then filled the table up with so many fruit platters upon toast upon sneaky puddings. Your eyes took in the kaleidoscope of food, feeling slightly dizzy at the sheer amount. “Did you—did you make all of this just this morning, Nanami?”

“What, this?” He looked in slight surprise at the table, as if wondering whether that was really an incredible amount. “Just part of my duties, my lady. Along with the cleaning, the baking, and the watering, a few to name.”

You look behind you - the dining room overlooked part of the garden that you hadn’t noticed last night during the storm.

Plush plants that somehow seemed unaffected by the torrents of water that had poured down: roses, chrysanthemums, marigolds, and weeping willows that all swayed idly in the wind. Like they were welcoming you. Welcoming you back. They were planted in a maze-like pattern. From here you think you could see flower-filled archways, and a lake that glittered underneath the sun.

You wondered how you missed it all last night - surely you would have stumbled across a few of the hedge growth? It all seemed so barren as you’d wound your way up to the portico, so acrid. But now…

“And if you don’t mind me being so brazen, I hope you do forgive me for this.” Nanami says, and you whip your head back to him- him and a very familiar set of car keys he was holding. “I took the freedom to move your car into our driveway.”

Your eyes nearly pop out of their skull, “You mean you pushed it all the way here?”

“Perhaps. Perhaps not.” Nanami smiles that secret smile, “Would you like to take a look at it after breakfast, my lady?”

You nod fervently, gulping down the rest of your breakfast. 

In a few minutes, you’d already finished and was being tutted by Nanami into drinking enough water and putting on the outside slippers (procured by him, also your exact size) before you went outside. As expected, your car was a wreck.

There was one wheel missing and the engine seemed to be completely busted.

“I have already summoned the town’s mechanic.” He’s telling you, as you looked on at the car in gloom - that thing had taken up a lot of savings to acquire, and above all you hated to see it in such a sorry state. How would you get home?

“And?” You ask, eagerly. “Did they say when they would get here?”

“I’m afraid he won’t be here for at least a few days, my lady.” Nanami frowns empathetically, mirroring you. “The storm last night was quite vicious, you see. It has most of the roads blocked with trees, and until those get cleared up, he won’t be able to make it up here.”

You swear underneath your breath.

“But the good news is you can stay here as long as you like!” He attempts to lighten the mood, with a smile. “In fact, I might just keep you even longer.”

“Oh, but I really couldn’t impose…”

“I insist.”

And that was that, it seems you’d be staying here for a little longer than you’d originally planned. Though, with Nanami’s hospitality, you doubted you’d feel anything but at home.

Right?

.

.

.

The rest of your day and the next was spent simply reading the fantasy novels in your bedroom, lounging in the gardens and corners of the mansion. 

By your second day there you’d explored every inch of the mansion that there was to explore (except for, perhaps the basement. A strangely nostalgic door outside. Which you had reached the very foot of, before Nanami had gently nudged you back inside with some comment about wines being mulled there that cannot see the light of day until the time was right). It’d taken you five entire days to get yourself properly acquainted with the place.  

And with your profanities.

Spewing them out, you don’t think you’ve ever used before as you attempted to get even a single bar of signal for your phone.

“Goddammit-” You grit your teeth, for the nth time in the past hour. It’s your second day in the mansion, and you’re leaning over the balcony of your bedroom, so far outwards that you think you might just fall off. 

With your hand outstretched, phone fisted in the air and searching for a signal. You couldn’t call anyone like this, let alone the mechanic to confirm. None of your messages or emails went through, either. “How are we this far up and yet I can’t get a single bar- oh, when I get home I’m cancelling this stupid subscription mark my words.”

“Might I suggest, my lady–” Nanami says from behind you. He stood beside your bed, changing the blankets and fluffing the pillows. “-that in the meantime you perhaps take a look at our library? I think you’ll find that we have certain books that are quite riveting.”

“Maybe…” You respond, still stung by the uselessness of your phone. “I don’t suppose that in the meantime you could also arrange a messenger pigeon for me, could you?”

He perks up, “I shall tame a pigeon immediately-”

“No no, it’s alright.” You wave off, with a stifled laugh. Ah- he always did manage to put you in a better mood, despite your circumstances. “Maybe I’ll take a look at the library tonight, it beats trying not to smash my phone to bits.”

“Quite.” Nanami quips.

And before you can say anything more, he’s walking over to you. Placing his hand on top of the phone - effectively on top of yours—“After all, it is a beautiful day outside. Would you fancy a walk in the garden, my lady?”

“Y-yes please-” You whisper, at his proximity. Cold to the touch. 

“Then, I shall get your slippers ready.” He smiles, and leaves. You can only look from afar as he exits, letting a breath leave your chest that you didn’t know you’d been holding in for the moment.

Your head drops down without thinking to look at your phone. Only—

NOT FOUND ERROR 404.

You furrow your brows, trying to press on a few buttons- but the error message doesn’t leave. It glitches. Different from the meager ‘no signal’ symbol that’d been there earlier. And the crashed page is all you can see once more.

NOT FOUND ERROR 404.

NOT FOUND ERROR 404.

NOT FOUND ERROR 404.

.

.

.

The error message lasts until your walk in the gardens.

The error message lasts all the way until after lunch. After dinner.

It was in the dead of your third night here, under the veil of darkness, when you finally manage to find a signal. 

Despite your phone having crashed, and despite your feet aching from your productive day, you found yourself leaning over the edge of your bedroom balcony once more. The edge of your phone reaching outwards—one bar of signal obtained.

You breathe out in relief, falling back onto the heels of your feet. The wind was whipping in spirals around you, creating a cloud of your nightdress to billow. Soft silk. Feeling like the touch of a hand.

You look at the phone screen that had finally stopped flashing that error sign, and eagerly tap towards the phone app. Only—

Your phone vibrates with a call.

Confused at the Unknown number, you wonder whether this might be someone from home that’s been worried about your whereabouts. And so you don’t question it much when you slide the blaring bar and answer the call. “Hello?”

No one answers.

You repeat, “Hello? Can you hear me?” 

No one answers.

Perhaps it was the wind that was making you hard to hear? You turn away from the gales slightly, careful not to lose the humble signal that you have. And you press your phone harder against your face. “Hello? Who’s this-”

No one answers.

But that’s when you hear it: heavy breathing. 

Low and labored. Like someone had just run a mile and immediately picked up the phone, somehow dialing your number.

“Is this some sort of prank?” You hiss, “Because it isn’t funny. Who is this?”

No one answers.

Heavy breathing.

“Answer me-”

No one answers.

Heavy breathing.

“Hello?”

No one answers.

Heavy breathing.

“Answer me-”

There’s a sharp tone as the phone ends, whether by you or whoever was on the other end of the line you’re not quite sure.

Heavy breathing.

This time, not from the phone.

You whirl around with a gasp—the curtains gust out at a sudden wind. And there’s no one behind you - there’s no sound of breathing behind you, either. But you’re sure you’d heard it before. You’re sure.

Lightning flashes in the distance. 

There’s the rumble of thunder that almost sounds like laughter- in fact, you’re sure that if you let your ears keenly listen in, it was laughter. Masculine and deep. Echoing into the distance, like it was someone surrounding you.

With your phone clutched to your thundering chest, you’re quickly walking to the safety of your bedroom inside. And you decide to lock every window that night.

You couldn’t sleep.

.

.

.

The day after that - your third day in the mansion now, your fourth night - there was still no sign of the car mechanic. You’d taken to sleeping during the day, lounged upon an intricately woven love seat that was inside your chambers.

Of course, Nanami hadn’t questioned a thing.

He was as warm and welcoming as ever, of course. Always so efficient getting you the things you needed, helping you get ready, and cooking your favorite foods - almost too efficient. Any time you looked at him, he never seemed to have a hair out of place, despite being embroiled in the toughest of domestic tasks (he took offense any time you offered to pull your own weight until the mechanic arrived).

Practically perfect.

Almost unnatural. 

You wondered how he had the time to do it all…

And that foggy night, you tossed and turned amongst the sea of expensive silken blankets. Ultimately, as the clock struck 2AM and you still found yourself unable to sleep, you got off the side of the mattress and walked. To the candelabra on the cabinet. And then outside.

With no fixed aim nor destination, your feet took you down one of the paths you’d explored during your days here. Though, you had the faintest feeling that even if you hadn’t explored- you’d have known your way around here. Past unwilted flowers and paintings that seemed to stare you down as you passed. And soon enough, you were standing in front of the great double doors of the library.

One of them, at least.

Nanami had told you that the mansion boasted about five massive libraries, filled to the brim with books across all ages and authors. And the smell of pages and put-out fires greet your senses when you enter, your slippers thudding across the cold stone floor.

The ceiling was high, almost never-ending.

And from above peered severe gargoyles, their wings outstretched, and their mouths mid-scream as if to warn you not to take a step closer. You wrapped your arms around your body and shivered, looking up at the high shelves.

With one hand craned out, you trace your fingers down their thick spines. Not a speck of dust on them.

Until, finally, the hairs at the back of your neck seem to raise–

You look behind you.

Nothing.

It was dark in the library, the sole source of light being the paper-thin moonlight that filtered in through the windows. Casting an almost eerie glow on everything it’s spindly fingers touched. 

Though, you still don’t think you would be able to sleep if you headed back to your bedroom right now. And you curiously read the book spines where you stopped walking (it was too dark to make them out properly, yet you still take a few of them with you, in hopes of a distraction).

You sit down at the nearest wooden table, and the singular candle holder in the middle of it flickers to life. As if awakened by your presence.

You really wondered what this mechanism must be - you made a mental note to ask Nanami tomorrow. And in the glow, you could now see what books you’d actually picked up.

Baker’s Book (1901)

Sebastian’s Book on How to Keep the House Warm

Pride and Prejudice

A Historical Analysis of the Nanami Mansions

That one was struck through, its scabrous leather cover torn as if someone had ripped through it with a knife. You squinted as you tried to read through the title, to no avail.

Of Demons and Servitude: The Hellish Agelong Contracts That Surpass Love

That last one seemed a little out of place amongst the rest- well. You took a look around. Perhaps it wasn’t that out of place.

And in the dancing candlelight, you open the first book and begin to read.

.

.

.

You’d fallen asleep there.

Somewhere midway through a paragraph about how this very mansion had no official founder, and how it had been handed to the first owner by chance; thus, resulting in its descent into discourse over ownership (with masters who, surprisingly, rather than fighting for it had been fighting not to have it), and how the whereabouts of the last master was unknown.

You dreamt of contracts and haggling masters and packed bags and demons. The red, red eyes of a demon that watched from the shadows.

As much a part of the mansion as the mansion was part of him.

And you swear that in the depths of your slumber, you felt cold, cold hands graze your skin. Your cheek. Your arms. With his pointed fingernails that were meant to kill.

A candle snuffs out.

You woke up and it was morning, and someone had draped a blanket over you.

.

.

.

Nanami had noticed that you were becoming more and more engulfed in your books. After several more tries to reach a phone signal had failed, you’d resigned yourself to merely waiting for the mechanic to get to you.

He informed you that the road clean up seemed to have been taking longer than usual, given the constant downpour the land was experiencing. And you understood.

After all, you weren’t lacking for anything here at all. Nanami made sure of that.

You’d moved on from the mysterious, and half-recorded, history of the mansion. Somehow more interesting than you might have imagined. On towards the baking book, the novel, even the domestic book.

Until the only thing left out of the book you’d picked was the eerie one about demons. Though you could easily go back and choose another, you weren’t a quitter!

And so you found yourself flipping through its pages, all the while watched over by a silent Nanami.

You begrudgingly admitted that the book had you enraptured. And soon enough, you were drinking in all there was to drink about the rituals it took to summon said demons, the way they could take on the most exquisite appearances, and even a few ‘real life’ recounts of people who’ve encountered them.

“Look at this one, Nanami.” You pointed somewhere on the page, and he leaned over your shoulder kindly to follow your finger. “The person saying they saw a demon here is from this very town, hah! What a coincidence.”

He smiles, “What a coincidence indeed, my lady.”

“Just imagine- meeting a demon. I wonder what it would be like- I’d probably get my soul stolen in an instant.”

“Demons steal souls only after they’ve bound a human in a contract, my lady. Though other methods of payments for a demon’s services can manifest themselves in the form of blood, flesh, sex. They thirst for those things, demons. Going without is almost worse than death- of course, a demon can’t die.” At your slightly stunned silence, Nanami cocks his head. “Chapter sixteen, the ways of the body.”

“R-right.” You start, “Sorry, I just didn’t think you’d be the type to be into such things.”

He bears a secret smile. A secret, secret smile. “There is much that you don’t know of me, my lady.” Nanami spreads butter on a piece of toast without you even asking to, and places it gently down on your plate. “But of course, there is much time to find out.”

.

.

.

It’s by your sixth day that Nanami finally knocks at your bedroom door, deep into the evening. And he informs you that-

“The mechanic shall be here in a few hours, my lady.” You look outside through your window, at the blue and gold night. And of course he notices that little action - he notices everything. “I may have had a hand in the somewhat ah- untimely manner of things. You see, I had pressured him into coming as soon as possible, and it seems that the roads have only just cleared.”

“Oh, I see.” You reply, “I expect I should go down to wait for him in a bit, then.”

“If you so wish, my lady.”

After dinner, you took your demon book with you and paced the halls of the mansion. Just waiting. It was a few hours past when the mechanic was supposed to come, and you could feel yourself getting antsy. No matter how many times Nanami told you the mechanic would be here soon, and that he would take care of it all.

Nonetheless, when you found the corridors thoroughly trodden, you stepped outside. It was a clear night out, and you sat on the porch with your book in your lap.

Reading through the passages in the dim twilight as you waited.

You were on the final chapter now.

“Chapter 22: Fables From the Shadows - Nanami Mansion.

Hearken, o’ mortal. In another story from the deep, the darkness, I entrust your ears with the legend of the Nanami mansion.

Hundred of years old. It stands still, braving the storms and the times, a relic of a past that never changes. And shall never change. Not as long as the mansion is haunted by the ghosts of its past, they say that the very walls of the house are infused with a force unknown.

Or so they say.

No mortal soul can say with utmost certainty when the mansion was built, nor by who, nor for what purpose. Only that the line of its masters has been both gruesome and bloody; history claims that what had once been impassioned family feuds over ownership quickly turned into a family heirloom that no pawn shop would accept.

No soul wished to be the master of a demon.”

A twig snaps.

And you gasp, looking up- though there was no one there. The light that flooded in from the mansion revealed no one outside, and so, shaking, you kept on reading.

The mechanic still wasn’t here.

“Yes, o’ mortal. It is true.

Though one cannot say for certain the dark forces that envelop the house, it is what resides inside that is sure to catch the interest of a demonologist such as you and I.

A demon.

They say that he - or, at least, he who takes the shape of a man - runs the household as if its masters still occupy its decadent bones. As if its masters weren’t taken by the very force that now cleans the windows, and grows pretty flowers in the mansion’s garden. As if its masters still live.

Still linger.

But do not be fooled, dear reader, the only thing that lingers in this household is the demon himself. His smile gentle. His face kindly. It would not be out of the realm of possibility that those of mortal desires, like us, are disarmed by the handsome face he uses to mask his bloodthirst. And he has snuffed the mansion of anything that makes this house a home.”

Someone was watching you.

Somehow, it didn’t feel human.

“One by one, it started with the other servants, centuries ago. Those who were lucky to flee their posts and tell the tale spoke of a shadow that haunted their every waking moment, of a fleeting presence that produced nail marks in the morning, or items in their chambers suddenly unravelled.

He was the model worker, unsusceptible.

And by the time the masters of the household realized, it was far too late for their mortal souls. The servants had disappeared, the livestock had fallen to plague, and the only residents of the mansion were them. And him.”

Someone was waiting.

You knew it didn’t feel human.

“There need not be much speculation on the fates of the owners in the house at the time, after which there was a scramble to pawn the mansion by living relatives.

Though, by that point, rumors of the mansion’s more supernatural occurrences were already beginning to fester, and the effort was futile. 

And though the mansion stands lonely now, never think that it is abandoned, o’ mortal. Perhaps you shall find that the chandeliers are always lit, and the beds are made. Dinners at the mansion are lavish and a-plenty. All of this can be given credit to the demon that runs it, of course.”

You stand up.

The mechanic was countless hours past when he was supposed to come, and you guessed he wouldn’t be making it today, either. Perhaps something more urgent had come up. Your feet step backwards- but something stops you, as if an invisible force. And without taking your eyes away from the page, you step forwards.

“Why this ancient creature torments the mortals that reside in the mansion, yet takes such meticulous care of it is a question unanswered to us. Perhaps we may never know.

Though some whispers claim that the rightful owner isn’t any lord or ladyship or bastard heir. No, not at all. It is - and brace yourselves for this, dear reader - none other than the demon himself.”

Forwards.

“Of course, this is only one theory put forth by demonologists. But as the rightful heir to the estate, the demon takes his time finishing off the foolish mortals that believe that it is theirs to claim. When, in actuality, you are stepping into the very abode of the creature. And no one - no one - has lasted longer than six days in its abode.

A creature that cannot ache. A creature that cannot love.”

Forwards. 

“And he will always have his door open to the ignorant that walk in. Into what one may think is a heaven named after his very self.”

You stop.

“Nanami Kento, of the Nanami Mansions.”

The book drops from your hands.

A scream in your throat, you’re realizing that you’d walked yourself - almost in a trance - right up to the shrub-covered door to the basement. The very same one that Nanami had nudged you away from last time.

Nanami…a shiver runs down your spine. You don’t know what to think.

Almost as if it will provide you the answers, you reach out and twist the basement door handle. It creaks out in agony as it opens, and you almost have half the mind to run away right then, right now.

But you’re no quitter. 

In nothing but the pale moonlight, you step inside the basement and make your way down its narrow stairway. They were made of metal, biting through the soles of your slips with each step. You’re squinting your eyes in the darkness, hands reached out in front of you like you’d find something.

And then—

And then, right as you reach the landing of the staircase, you step in something wet.

It almost felt like a puddle after rain. Though the liquid stuck to your slippers, thicker than that. And as you raised your feet, it created a hollow squelch; the viscous sap looked much darker than water was supposed to be.

You gasp. It can’t be-

Lightning strikes.

Just a snapshot of light. Like someone had taken a photograph and burned it into your retinas.

In that split-second, you saw that what you’d thought was a puddle of water wasn’t really water at all. It was red. It was thick.

And it was leading a pathway all the way down to a body in the middle of the basement.

Two-toned hair bled red. Eyes pure white.

The mechanic lay dead on the basement floor. For how long, you weren’t quite sure.

With a scream, you almost slip on the blood as you sprint upstairs. Running out into the pouring rain outside - if you’d been guided in a daze to the massacre, then your brain was working in overdrive to guide you out. 

Slippers squelching. Eyes stinging with rain. You couldn’t even see where you were going, and it reminded you of the night you arrived here.

Yet, you’ll always find the mansion - always. And in almost no time (though it felt like eons to your poor, shivering body), you’re running inside the mansion and slamming! the front door shut.

Body pushed against the door. Lungs heaving. You gulp.

With your eyes downturned, your watch the rich carpet beneath your feet drench with beads of water. Rusted water. Blood.

Fuck. 

You had to get out of here right now. 

Just as soon as the thought has struck your brain, the candles go out. Every. Single. One of them. Startled, you’re whipping around and trying to open the door- bang! bang! bang! It only rattles underneath your hands, firmly shut with unseen bolts and padlocks that you wouldn’t have been able to open no matter what.

And it’s only with the thin glow of the moonlight that you can move your urgent body, one step after the other. Jerky, as if you have to force yourself to do it.

As if you have to fight against some outside force to do so.

You knew that no matter where you went inside the mansion, Nanami would be able to find you. What if you—the balcony.

You gasp, and try to tamper the thought down as swiftly as it had formed. 

Without a second of lingering any further, your feet dart you up the sprawling staircase. Spirals. Heart thundering, feet thudding, and your gasps laborious as you ran towards the bedroom that he had oh-so-graciously given to you.

Footsteps.

Slow.

Steady.

The complete opposite of your own, follow you the closer you get to it. Seeing that gleaming wooden door wink at you from the end of the hallway, like an old friend.

Until, finally, you’re throwing open the door and running inside-

“My lady.”

You howl in terror and it’s swallowed up by the sudden crashing of the storm outside. You hadn’t just raced into your room- you’d ended up bumping into none other than Nanami Kento’s firm, toned chest.

Carefully looping his arms around you.

“You’re-” You hiss, stepping backwards. “You’re a-”

“Yes.”

And then suddenly he’s behind you. Caging you inside the room, with no possibility of running back where you’d come from. 

He looms, larger than life. His shadow walking inside- “I can’t believe you’re a-” You stagger backwards, “So all this time-”

“All this time.” Nanami breathes out, even though you knew that his lungs didn’t need to work. Then he grins and oh- it’s the one thing that you could see completely clearly in the dimness of the night: his stark-white fangs, those crimson eyes, pupils like a snake’s. 

They bore down at you, especially when your limp legs stumble- and Nanami’s right there to steady you. With his inhumanly strong arms capturing your waist, and his chest pressed to yours. 

Oh. 

That low voice of his buries deep within your eardrums, sensual. “And I’ve been waiting…” He practically purrs, and your thighs clench. “-so, so long for you, my lady.”

You feel shivers go down your spine when Nanami nuzzles his nose against your throat, “A- a long time- so you mean that-”

“Yes.”

“Am I an descendant to the owner of this house-”

“Yes.” He sighs out his answers, like it took everything in him. Like he was breathing life into you. And you can’t help but notice that the two of you have edged towards the bed now, and you slightly turn your head to look at the mirror on the wall. “And you don’t know how starved I have been, my lady.”

Only to find that Nanami’s reflection didn’t show up on it.

It looked as if you were standing by yourself, and the blond-haired man (demon, more like) only holds you tighter in response. He murmurs in your ear, “Though enlightening, that book of yours doesn’t hold much truth.”

“It doesn’t?”

“Well-” His fangs glint, “-it does.”

You shiver. Not only with coldness, not only with fear.

Something more akin to a carnal need, with him pressed up against you like this.

“Though, it was wrong about two things-” Nanami’s plump lips graze down the column of your throat, and you wonder whether he can sense the way you grow…wet. “-a demon can yearn, a demon can love.”

Oh. 

One of his overlarge hands drag down your spine, fiddling with the ties of a dress that he’d tailored to your exact size. Perhaps centuries ago.

“And this demon has been waiting for centuries for your soul to return, my lady.”

Your arms tighten on his shoulders, and tender slip up to loop around his neck. “I’m here, Kento.” Your body is boneless in his hold, and he holds you to him like he wants you to be of one soul.

.

.

.

There’s a sodden squeeeeelch as he’s lightly tuggin’ those cute panties of yours aside- how could you even walk around with something so sweet on you?

Nanami feels his oh-so-famished tastebuds start to water at the sight of your pretty, pretty cunt. Just a thin line of drool makin’ its way down the side of his stern lips, mirroring the way that your tight hole was weeping out.

He rubs his glove-clad thumb down the front of your glistening folds, and you whimper at the scratch of its smooth texture. “Have you ever done something like this before, my lady?”

With a mewl, you nod. 

And you can’t help but notice the way that Nanami’s jaw clenches. “I see.” And there’s an inkling of something dark in his tone that you can’t quite pinpoint right now, roverin’ his mean fingerpads just over where your poor clit was. “And, forgive me if this is too forward, but have you ever fully enjoyed something like this before, my lady?”

“Well-” You try to keep your tone even, bucking off the bed. You were all sprawled out with only your drenched panties on, and Nanami Kento was on his knees by the foot of the bed.

On his knees for you.

His lips twitched impatiently, a sort of hunger in his eyes the longer he had to watch your needy pussy cling onto nothing. Continuing, “Well, I’ve liked it before with other people but-”

“Yes, my lady?”

And as you finish off, you slightly duck your head in shame. Whispering the words out (though you knew he’d hear with his demonic senses anyways). “But none of them have ever made me…cum before. I can reach it by myself but with other people- you know.”

“I understand.” You peer up to see the way that Nanami stares kindly at you. Something understanding in his eyes. Something…primal.

And your cunt starts to throb even more once he reaches his dominant right hand up to his mouth, then proceeding to bite down on the edge of his glove, and pull it off with his tongue. So unintentionally attractive. “Then, kindly allow me.”

In a split-second, his thick fingertip is probin’ between your pussylips.

Feeling the hotness of you clenching ‘round him and he groans- “You’re so ready for me, aren’t you, madam?” Just the slightest hitch in his tone as he’s then sinking in with a slooooooppy slurp. The kind that leaves your ears ringing and your mouth dropping with each scouring inch he eases in.

Your eyes roll to the back of your skull at the feeling of his tender girth poking your insides. “O-oh my god.” Bucking your hips even deeper into his touch- “How does it feel so good already?”

“Oh, is that so–?” Nanami’s blond lashes flutter in amusement, “But you haven’t felt anything yet, my lady. Won’t you just raise your hips for me-” He guides you, and you’re squirming down his lengthy digits. “-yes, yes. Just like that, keep taking it all, alright?”

“I am I am-” Sobbing.

And you don’t know where you’re bawling more from - your swollen lips on your face, or the ones down below. The ones that he was striking viciously with his mountainous knuckles, every time he thrusted to let the long, solid inches of his finger delve inside.

Inside and inside.

Pushin’ in- he was just so eager to plunge himself inside.

Until the very forefront of his knuckles smacked your pussylips, and Nanami’s ruthlessly pressing his ring finger against your outer cunt. Smooch-smooch-smooching the very round tip of his ring finger against your pulsing clit, until he’s trying to fit that inside, too.

“Easy does it.” Nanami hisses, blond brows furrowing. Beads of sweat start decorating his forehead as he concentrates. “Easy- eeeeeasy. You can take it, my lady.”

And if you thought that the stretch of one of his fingers was enough to drive you wild, then you weren’t ready for two. “Oh my- fuck. You’re so mean.” You whine, holding onto his other gloved hand. Nanami has his fingers romantically intertwined with yours, and you were just clawing at his wrist there. 

The demon raises a brow - devilish. “Would you like me to stop?”

“No!” You rush to blurt out, your hips startin’ to gyrate. It took you a few vulgar strokes to get used to the size of him stretchin’ out your tiniest hidden nooks and crannies open - you swear that Nanami’s fingers were larger than normal. Scouring oh-so-deeply inside. “No no no- keep going. Ngh, you’re a-almost there.”

“Mmm, am I?” His lip curls, “And I wonder if ah- ‘there’ would feel even better with three fingers, hm?”

“O-oh…”

“That’s all you have to say, madam?” Nanami genuinely questions, though there’s a certain waver in his voice that lets you know he was teasing you. He was making your honeyed cunt grow even wetter with how Nanami Kento, of all beings, was being mean to you.

And with a few more slashing strokes, he’s fully opened up the clingy channel of your walls- fuck, he couldn’t even reel his two fingers back without your needy pussy trying to gulp him back up again.

Then with a sudden, soaked squelch you’re feeling a third of his fingertips kiss your tight hole. Tapping just a few times before he instantly presses down on your clit and makes you gasp- “Oh, fuck.”

The perfect moment for Nanami to shove his extended digit inside. All three of them expanding and contracting, scissoring a few times to engrave the crowned edges of his fingers against your most tender spots. “There-” Nanami hisses, between clenched teeth. “There there there-”

You’re suddenly seeing white- why? 

Because on that fourth bludgeon of his, Nanami’s easily locating your g-spot to pummel.

“-you’re taking it all so well, my lady. S’like you’re made f’me…heh.” 

“Shit-” Only blubbering and panting, he’s hittin’ your favorite spot so hard that your vision starts to blue - and you don’t know whether it’s because of tears or the sheer amount of white-hot pleasure that he’s making run through your body. “Shit shit shit shit- oh. Right there, keep going, Kento.”

Yet another smack! to that gooey bundle of nerves—“Ohhh, how I love when you call me that, madam.” Hard.

Push after push after push, and he’s spreading his prying tips so open- letting the doughy edges catch on the crevices of your g-spot. Meanly caressing. 

Even though he’s speeding up, slick dripping down the sides of his overworking wrists like a faucet, you don’t think he misses that lewd target of his even a single time. Push after push after push. Dizzy with the force, you look up n’ find that Nanami’s slitted pupils were glowing.

He was using his demonic powers to perfectly angle the strikes of his fingerpads against your sweetest, sultriest spot. Stickin’ straight against your nerves, you had absolutely no chance of a breather when he was using some sort of x-ray vision to keep your pussy captive.

“Captive?” Nanami reads your thoughts, “Madam, I fear that this isn’t even- hah, half of my speed. Would you like me to accelerate?”

And he does.

And you’re feeling so much bliss at the moment that you can’t stop yourself from anchoring your feet onto the mattress and pushing off- unsure whether you wanted to help meet his cadence or run away—

“Ah ah, what an adorable feat.”

His husky baritone breaks through your hazy thoughts- and before you know it, Nanami’s free hand untangles from yours to grip the sides of your neck n’ tug you right back.

Slapping that cutely sensitive front of your pussy with his knuckles, the demon chuckles darkly as you squirm at the pleasure. “You don’t think you can run away from me, can you, my silly lady?” With a growl, he tightens his restraint on your throat and makes you wince at the lack of oxygen. “You can’t. You won’t.”

And with that, Nanami cranes his watering mouth down to kiss the insides of your thighs. Letting the syrupy-sweet sheen of your slick coat his chin, “I’ve waited for you for centuries, and I’ll wait for you centuries more. I’ll find you.” Tightening. “Don’t think of running, madam.”

“Won’t- won’t-” You squeal out, and through the blurry gaps of your vision you can see the way that Nanami’s salivating. The way that his lips edge towards your heated core, the way he looks like he’s starving the longer he stares down at your cunt. “But, Kento, I do have one request of you.”

He snaps his head up immediately, “Anything, madam.”

“Could you please, ngh-” Your lips wobble desperately as you utter, and Nanami listens enraptured to every word. “-please put your mouth on me?”

And the stern man - a demon, living for centuries, unphased as he waited for your soul to meet him again - lets his mouth drop into a heated ‘oh’ as he registers. As he lets your words throb all the way at his furious cock.

“As you wish, my lady.”

Then you’re feeling the scorching hot sensation of his breath cloud your inner thighs, slithering upwards just in time with his mouth. “As you wish-” Nanami whispers, more to himself - more like a mantra. 

“As you wish, as you wish, as you- mmm.” His mouth slips over the crevice of your cunt, and you’re feeling him perfectly slot his lips with your folds. He cracks his ravenous mouth open, “Allow me to- oh.”

Before immediately shutting himself up after the first candied taste of your cunt. 

He lets his slicked tongue squeeze inside, gulping. “F-forgive me for not finishing my sentence. What I meant was, allow me to-” You buck, shoving him nose-deep between your sultry pussylips. “-oh, fuck. Forgive me, you just have me so…”

And he can’t even finish his sentence like this.

Because every time he’s parting those stern lips of his to speak, yet another glittery wad of your slick slips between that greedy maw of his. Pooling at the back of his mouth like some puddle, he can’t fucking get enough of your sweet, sweet juices. “It’s just- the taste of you. Shit. My lady, and who has allowed you to taste this sinful?” He hums. Guttural.

“Mmm, I dunno. Maybe you should’ve found out earlier-” You say, coyly. And raise your hips up to let his strong, velvety tongue pry inside n’ out. Almost fighting his fingers for space inside.

“Maybe you should’ve appeared earli- oh, fuck.” Shit, did he love hearing your gorgeous voice in conversation. 

But if that meant breaking off his prolonged, open-mouthed kiss with your pussy then he wasn’t wasting any time. He was just slathering his maw widely agape, the flat tastebuds on top of his tongue moving back and forth and all over.

And spearheading just his honed tip inside, the crowned girth of his tongue snakes all the way to your innards. Jostling his own fingers-

You gasp when that only makes him skid his fingertips against your g-spot even further. 

“I promise, I’ll be able to finish my sentences-” Nanami seethes. “-promise I’ll be able to, just with another- mmm, just another taste-” And his tongue lavishly licks up and down your slit. “-and another- oh, maybe one more-”

Again and again.

He’s trying to control himself but he can’t.

His sizzlin’ hot tastebuds probe their way inside, before ultimately pulling out and resting against your clit. Nanami counts your throbbing pulse one-two-three-four times before he starts fucking you with it again.

All three of his digits and his tongue. Swirlin’ in dizzying patterns around and around and drawing a cute heart on top of your nub. Followed right up by his silvery initials—‘N.K.’

You’re shivering, curling the tips of your toes as the fatness of his tongue rolls over your clit. Again and again. And his fingers are just merciless- digging three slender circumferences against the side of your walls, feeling that if he could thrust even deeper to hit the side of your cervix then he would have ages ago. In fact…

“Wh-what are you-” You jump your upper half off of the springy sheets - it was as if your wet dream was coming to life. Nanami was elongating the tendrils of his fingers with supernatural powers, slipping every thorough inch even deeper. “Oh my god- ngh, now that’s just unfair-”

“And yet, I’m not the one that thought of it.” He snickers, plunging his digits further. And further and further. 

So deep, in fact, that you think you can feel his slimy, slick-glazed tips all the way near the back of your throat. Stabbing in thorough thrashes, you huff. “And yet- who’s the one that’s, mmm, pussydrunk, hm?”

“No- no no no, I’m not pussydrunk, madam.” Nanami insists, “Not at all. This is just a slight affliction that I- mmpf.”

You clench ‘round his fingers and that only makes him jerk his face even deeper- thank goodness he didn’t have to fucking breathe, because he was spending all his time swabbin’ away. Using the hand he still had on your throat, he pulls you in incredibly. “It’s not that m’pussydrunk—” Slurring his damn words. “-it’s just that…”

“Mhm—?”

You’re so wet by now that you begin to gush down his face. And Nanami didn’t have blood running through his veins, of course, but you should still feel his cheekbones burn with heat.

You’d made the centuries-old demon blush.

You’d made him gurgle on the slippery wads of your slick.

So completely pussydrunk that the thought of you realizing he was so- and taking your treacly cunt away made him glue his lips to your clit with a slight cry. A slight whimper—“D-don’t take this pretty pussy away from me.” His hand lifts off of your neck to hold onto your thighs, tugging. “Please?”

And as if to prove his point - to prove his desperation - the roverin’ tip of Nanami’s tongue moves even harder against your pussy.

Even faster.

And his scouring fingerpads probe in so deep that you throw your head back with a moan. Those wriggling tips filling up your every orifice, “Yes-” You weave your fingers into his unruly golden locks. “M’not gonna, Kento-” Gasping. “M’not gonna take myself away s-so you don’t have to- oh.”

“Thank you, my lady.” Just so rough with it. “Thank you- thank you- thank you-” 

You swear he’s bruising at the battered innards of your walls, and he’s leaving nail marks for daaaaays upon your thighs. Battling with his own lecherous fingers. Moving his lush tastebuds again and again and again-

“Thank you for lettin’ me taste such a sweet, sweet pussy, madam.” Nanami scorches out against your cunt, slobbering all down it. “Thank you for letting ‘er- ngh, cum all down my tongue.”

“C-cum?” You lift your dazed head at his pussydrunk babbling - only to find that it wasn’t just babbling, after all.

Because Nanami’s honed abilities meant that he could sense when the zapping fireworks at the pit of your stomach grew, he could fucking smell the honeyed fragrance of your cunt growing close. And, sure as day, with a few more vulgar strokes, you’re falling apart on his fingers and his mouth.

Your back arching you even closer against his nuzzlin’ nose, you cry out as your high zaps right through you. “It feels so good- oh, Kento. Oh my g-god.”

“Mmm, the opposite, my lady.” Nanami chuckles, fucking you through every peak of your high- you should have expected that he has a sixth sense for it. And with the soaring peaks of your orgasm, Nanami mazes his fingertips to directly hit your g-spot.

So good.

You’re drooling through your entire high stupidly, your eyes watering through the sensitive pangs of pleasure. Tuggin’ on Nanami’s clammy scalp to pull him in even deeper, and he was more than happy to let himself be moved. To be ridden.

Long, sloppy drag of his tongue making you arch your back. “Sh-shut up-” Mewling out, you let yourself be wrung dry of the waves of pleasure. 

“As you wish, madam.”

And he dutifully listens, there for only your euphoria. To which you respond by elongating your high by grinding down on his face—allll the way from the point of his handsome chin to the tip of his straight nose. “Shit-” You whimper, “Shit shit shit- never felt so good. Never felt like this.”

Nanami groans ‘round your clit, the vibrations sending you into a frenzy.

“M’serious-” You prattle out, your movements eventually slowing. That might just have been the best orgasm of your entire life - you were never going to be the same. “It just felt so good, Kento…wait, you’re not- ngh, done?”

He only shakes his head.

He only lets his slitherin’ tongue lap and lap at the teary crevice of your pussy.

With every lick, you’re feeling your body go into overdrive. Heat flaring. Heart racing. You absolutely thrash against the damp sheets of the bed as he continues- like you’d never even reached your high. 

Just plap after plap after plap of his knuckles against your tender outer pussy- and you start to wonder whether it doesn’t hurt for him. Whether his wrist doesn’t sting. Whether his mouth wasn’t swollen n’ rubbed raw on your drippin’ wet pussy, “Mmm, told me to shut up and make you feel good, didn’t you, madam?” You weren’t entirely sure that that was what you said, verbatim. 

Yet you’re too gone on his silvery tastebuds to bite back anything now. “Y-yes…?”

“And that’s exactly what m’doing.”

He’s overstimulating you even more. Thrusting his tongue between those sopping wet lips of yours to poke at your throbbing g-spot, you swear he’s able to elongate his wet muscle even further.

Slashing against your most tender spots-

“Sh-shit- but m’so sensitive.” Whining out, you half-heartedly attempt to tug him off of your pussy- but it was as if Nanami was plastered to your wettened lips. “I don’t even know if I can cum so soon again, Kento.”

He slightly raises his head - not enough to stop his drivelling mouth, of course - and raises a blond brow. “You don’t know, my lady?”

You shake your head.

“Well, there’s only one way to find out.”

And with that said, he’s fingering you to make a point. Staring at the writhing expressions on your face every time Nanami’s digits plunged inside, they hit the near-back of your pussy with such slurping sounds.

Hit after hit. Teasingly kissin’ against the throbbing spot of your nerves, and that’s when you can feel the fireworks start up again in the pit of your stomach once more-

And that’s when Nanami can sense it.

Smell it.

Taste it- fuck, it was as if you became even sweeter on his tongue any time you were nearing your high. And he doesn’t say a single word - doesn’t waste the time to - only thrashing and thrashing, he hits the bruised area of your g-spot and watches as you fall apart once more.

Pleasure zipping through your body.

Toes curling.

Tears were streaming down your cheeks, and your mattress was all but drenched with the moisture.

“Oh my god-” You’re all but limp by your second orgasm, letting it wrack your body mercilessly. “You were right-” Your breath hitches. “-ngh, m’cumming again, Kento. C-cumming—”

“Mmm, I know, madam.” Nanami grins, and you can feel it form against the tender folds of your pussy. Branding itself there. “I did that.”

He was mean.

You buck and you buck and you buck as he licks every crevice of your insides, and once he was done fucking you well n’ proper through your other high- the slicked tip of Nanami’s tongue slurps back in once again. As if to do it all over again.

He feels you clench ‘round him urgently, “A-again?” You ask, with a weepy tremble in your voice.

“Mmm, don’t think you can do it a third time?” Nanami gutturally groans out, “D’you wanna find- ngh, find out, hm?”

“Actually…” And he hangs onto your every word. 

Your jittery fingers intertwine with his polished hair, tugging. Continuing where you left off, “I was thinking that m’ready for something else.” He looks on in something that almost looks like disbelief - desperation. As if he couldn’t believe that these words were really spilling out of your mouth. “Wan’ your cock, Kento.”

And something in him seems to…snap.

“A-as you wish, my lady.”

He bows to you, right then and there.

In practically no time - though, to Nanami who’d been waiting for centuries, it only felt like centuries more - you’re being pushed back on the mattress until your head softly nudges the headboard. Nanami heaves himself up on the bed.

And you can’t help but notice that for someone who always looked so prim and put-together, he looked absolutely gone.

Hair sticking up in multiple angles. Eyes half-lidded and drunk. Slick dribbling down the sides of his mouth and down his prominent Adam’s apple. It drops from his fangs, which have now elongated. And lecherously down the front of his suit, which was a darker color than it usually was- drenched in heaps of your mess. In heaps of his mess. 

In quick, severe movements, Nanami takes his suit off. So fast and urgent that you can hear the whooshing sounds of the fabric attempting not to rip at the seams.

When it gets to his pants, your eyes drop down - it’s been a feast for the eyes with every layer that Nanami peeled away. First it revealed those broad, milky shoulders of his. Then it revealed his plush pecs, his ladder-like abs.

Until finally you were following the line of his sparse happy trail down to his thick, aching cock. And fuck- a few profanities leave your mouth, he was the biggest size you’ve ever seen. 

Just about nine inches (perhaps ten), with a plethora of winding veins that made it look as though he’d feel like he was twelve. A thick hilt. Ready balls. And the fat mushroom tip of his cock was glazed in a glittery topping of precum, pulsing primally as the cold air hit him. Dripping. 

“Anything you wish, my lady.”

Shivering at his serious tone of voice, you reach a hand up to your own collar-

Only to be halted in your tracks by an invisible force.

Nanami had one hand raised, his power surging. “Allow me.” He says, and with a harsh brush of his animalistic fingernails, he’s tearing your dress into shreds. Like butter under his touch. Easily falling apart. 

Your dress to your bra, they fall into tatters. And the only thing left is your slick-flooded panties that he scrapes a hand down to tear off, as well.

Before stopping- and seeming to think better of it- “Actually.” Nanami starts, “Keep them on.”

Oh, he was being filthy.

He was being mean.

And before your hazy brain can even register it, your legs are being flapped open. Kept firmly apart by two of his soft hands, feather-light, he pins them to the mattress and lets his slick cockhead slide juuuuust between your pussylips.

Back and forth, back and forth. The weight of his throbbing girth only makes you grow even wetter, and you’re gasping by the time he’s glazed himself up ‘nough to start pushing in.

“Now-” Nanami hisses, fangs grit. His heated body hunches over, and sweat beads down from his forehead to yours. The first feeling of your pussy clamping all ‘round his rock-hard length, and Nanami is a broken man. Slamming his hand down on the top of the mahogany headboard. “Now, madam, we’re gonna have to breathe, alright? Breathe with me now-”

You gasp- “Fuck- fuck, you’re so big-”

“Mhmmm—c’mon, my lady, breathe with me.” And though he was almost falling apart at the seams, he found the ability to string together coherent-enough sentences. Seething. “Breathe in. Breathe out. Breathe in–”

In and out. In and out.

Just like the way that plush, pinkish tip of his was swabbin’ repeatedly- he was pumping out half-ruts, just trying to fit himself inside your pussy.

Opening you up wiiiidely—

You try to follow along with what he says, “Fuck-” But the stretch of the first inch of his cock fitting in was incredible, he was molding his way inwards. Shaping out your snug channel, “But how am I supposed to when you feel like- hah- that-”

“Awww, difficult, hm?” Nanami coos, empathetically. You nod, all teary-eyed and pretty taking his elongated shaft that he can’t help but let himself swell just a lil’ wider. Thicker.

You’re taking this change in size with a moan.

And he ponders to himself for a few more strokes, getting used to the warmth of your cunt. Before humming like he’d just been struck with an epiphany- and soon enough, Nanami’s holding out his strong, vein-covered forearm in front of your line of vision.

Murmuring, “Then bite on it.”

Your eyes widen, “What?” But before you know it, you’re already making use of the demon’s sinful little solution - the next inch that he’s somehow mazing inside you, you’re sinking your teeth into the golden flesh of his forearm and taking it.

“Mmm, just like that.” He pants, squeeze-squeeze-squeeeezing his way past your puckered folds. The globular front of his cock kisses either side of your walls, pinpointing specks of pre everywhere his fingers had touched just moments earlier. “Take it- take it take it take it- sloooow and easy. You’re doing so well, my lady.”

Sensually, he’s managing to let your ravenous cunt swallow up his inches. 

And your sobs hitch after every stroke, it just felt like his fleshy tip was gracing your very lungs. You straddle his slim waist- tugging. “K-Kento…”

“Impatient, are we?” He raises a brow, “You have to take it easy, madam, if we want it to fit- breathe in. Breeeeathe in—”

And every time you did, he was shovelling in a few more inches. But the thing about Nanami Kento is that he made sure he tended to your every need; playfully rolling his thumb over your clit as he pumped himself into your hot core. 

Which meant that he took things slow, took things at a pace that your feverishly needy mind was being infuriated by.

Without warning (though, later on, you’re sure that he’d sensed it coming and simply let you), you lock your ankles around his hips and pull-pull-pull him in. 

And with that, his roverin’ wet shaft.

Bottoming out.

The headboard he’s holding onto cracks under the pressure.

You wanted him deep inside you. And Nanami can only respond by spitting out a line of swears that hits you in a scorching breeze, his face twisting into something of pure ecstasy. “O-oh.” Nanami’s voice stutters. Nanami’s voice cracks. “Ohhh, you shouldn’t have done that, my lady.”

And without further ado, he’s fucking you like a madman.

“Wanted to t-take it easy- you shouldn’t have done that-” He manages to spit out. Body shivering. His cock throbbing angrily right at the spongy platform of your cervix. “You r-really really…” Dazed, slightly, like his body was moving in water, he unhooks his palm from the now-splintered headboard. Then he throws those cute legs of yours over his deltoids.

Letting them lock firmly behind his sweaty neck, Nanami’s bending his ripped body doooooown. Folding you in half, too- you swear you’re hearing a few of your joints pop! 

And Nanami’s only hazily gliding his palm down your limbs, a soothing coldness overcoming them. No broken bones on his watch (even if his body was moving before his mind right now). So there’s no excuse for why you can’t bend in half for him. No excuse for why he can’t press his sticky forehead to yours and drill his hips even harder.

No excuse for the way that rotund tip of his scrapes your cervix with a rapid thud! thud! thud! The tender curve of his ballsack strikes the front of your pussy all raw—

Your mouth waters with the impact, “Y-you’re reaching in so deep, ngh.” But of course he was: he had you manhandled until the caps of your knees hit your tits.

“Mmm, just how you like it- hm?” Nanami chuckles, though there’s a certain pleading tone in his voice. Those drunken, honeypool eyes of his are boring straight into yours, and he memorizes even the slightest expressions you’re making at the massage of his puffy cock. “It feels good? Feels great? Makin’ this pussy feels so- oh, loooovely like she deserves?”

“Yes-” You’re gasping, your throat hoarse at the feeling of his zig-zagged veins that just kept intruding into your deepest hidden crevices. “Yes yes yes yes- yes-”

Somehow, he always managed to find the area that your drippin’ wet cunt needed him the most. Just straightly heading his wet tip towards that spot, and pressing a thorough smooch that made you damn near scream into his mouth.

And it’s then that a sudden thought hits you.

“Oh.”

“Oh?” Nanami echoes- fuck, you’d almost forgotten that he could read minds. And with those demonic powers of his, he was echoing out a certain cockdrunken idea that you had. “So you want to know whether I can use my extra vision to hit your g-spot with my, mmm, cock, huh?”

Restless, you nod.

“And you know what you need to- d-do to have me fulfill your wishes—right, madam?” Uttering out - stumbling though his words. 

Shit, even he was affected by the idea.

The ends of his tight fingertips shivering as you finally unfasten your mouth to ask- “C-can you please- ngh, use your powers to hit my g-spot, Kento?” And when you flutter those teary lashes of yours for effect?

Fuck, you might as well just call him a dead man (he was too far gone on your gushing cunt to register the fact that he, technically, wasn’t living).

Because with a sudden, concentrated surrender of his hips- Nanami perfectly angles the blushin’ red end of his shaft. That lil’ divot on the very end streamed out precum that made you splosh around from the inside, “Breathe in.” He rasps, thumb flitting down to press on your clit. “Breathe- out-”

“Oh- oh my–” More like you’re squealing out at the rough jab of his cockhead. The demon’s eyes activate into something glowing when he perfectly targets your needy g-spot.

Snickering. “Breathe in.”

You breathe in.

“Breathe-”

This time, he doesn’t even finish his damn sentence before letting the slit of his shaft snag your sweetest spot. You had so many cute, clingy ridges inside that he loves to stretch out with his sheer girth- and one of them was right by your g-spot that Nanami just kept rubbing and rubbing and rubbing all over.

Wadding out a mess of his precum until your walls likely looked like cobwebs from the inside- “You don’t know what you’re- hah, doing t’me, little mortal.” The fatness of his thumb rolls over your clit, making you see stars. “Have no idea. No- oh, have n-no idea.”

His free hand holds your quivering jaw, turning your face up to look at him and only him.

“You’ve made a demon fall in love with you, my lady. Tut tut.”

You’re squirming in his hold- he was losing control over his body. Unraveling at the seams. Rutting like an animal. Even the smooches of his hardened cock left your insides all bruised n’ battered, swat-swat-swat.

“And not only that—” Nanami continues, in his slightly breathy tone. You half-wondered whether he even knew what he was babbling away- “Oh- not quite, madam. I do apologize.” He answers your unspoken question.

Your breath catches - so he was pussydrunk enough to simply be prattling away. Unthinking.

The spit-slicked edges of his mouth gluing against yours, his tone was absolutely shattered as he mutters into your open maw. “But you’ve made me fall in love with your- your pussy, too.”

As if in response, your dampened cunt lets out some of the most lecherous noises. And you huff out a teasing giggle, “You’re talking as if this is your- mmm, first time, Kento—”

But Nanami doesn’t laugh.

Nanami doesn’t do anything but look at you so-very-seriously.

“W-wait-” Realization starts dawning on you, and you can feel your heartbeaten quicken as it sets in. “Don’t tell me…it really is your first time.” He grins…and nods. “And earlier with your mouth, too- was that-”

“But of course, madam.” The demon breathes, thoroughly ruined on your sweet, sweet pussy. “I did say that I have been waiting- mmm, centuries for you, no?”

Oh, shit.

If this was what he was like when he was inexperienced, then you almost feared to wonder just how good he’d be when he was experienced - with none other than you, you’re imagining. And as if to prove his point, he plunges and plunges his thickened shaft into you.

The plump circumference of his tip fitting against where he was causing your g-spot to indent—hollowing out with his rotund end.

In time with each of his thrusts, Nanami’s fingers pinch your perky clit. You were throbbing with need for him, and his mean thumb drew out so many things right on top of where you were most sensitive.

Swirls n’ hearts n’ his initials.

You could feel the branding of his name stinging against your core, each movement of his fingerpads creating the sloppiest slurps. “Oh, please-” Whimpering, you rut against his glissading abs. “Please please please please-”

“You can’t just say ‘please’ with no- mmm, command.” He chuckles to himself, as if you were the cutest thing in the world. “You have to tell me what you want. Your wish is my command.”

“I want you…”

“Yes—?”

And to utter these very words, you’re dragging him in closer. Touch burning. His breath laborious. You’re pulling Nanami in reeeeeal close and letting his straight nosebridge graze yours, lips tenderly touching yours. “Will you be cumming inside, Kento?”

He nuzzles the crook of your neck, “I shall do so as you wish. But first, don’t you know that you must give a demon permission to- take- a part of you?”

“So you can’t cum inside until I say the word?” You blink, a strange zap of power running through your body.

“That is so, madam.”

And oh- he’s pounding you into the aged bedsprings like he was trying to pound the words out of you. Thumb becoming frenzied on your clit, simply driving you wild. “I see- I- oh, ngh- I see-” A smirk stretches your lips, “And do you want to cum inside, Kento?”

“Not if you don’t wish for me to-” But just then, your cutely heart-shaped insides clench—and Nanami’s cutting himself off with a few rough swears. “Oh, f-fuck- yes.”

As you try to catch your breath, he’s completely losing his.

Again and again and again.

The lines of his veins throb n’ plaster against every ridge inside your velvety walls- “Yes, I do-” From the back of his throat, constant groans wrench. “I do I do I- do-” And each one was punctuated with the most probing jackhammers of his. “Oh, how badly I want to cum inside you.”

Before you can respond, his free hand drags down the front of your stomach. And he rests it easily where that lil’ bulge of his cockhead was thudding into your cervix.

“I need it. I desire it- I desire to stuff you full of my cum right h-here.” And then he presses down to put force on where his cylindrical length was tunneling. “I desire to see you all swollen with my seed, having taken so much that it has no place to go other than to drip onto the sheets.”

You’re squealing, feeling the world spin around you. “Oh- fuck. Please, m’not gonna last long-”

“I desire to feel every wad of cum of mine as I fuck you.” He gruffs out, “I desire to bind you to me forever-” Nanami leans in closer, as if he was whispering a secret to you. “-to let myself be truly yours. For eternity, this time.”

Sounding so pained.

“Let me cum inside, my lady-” He begs now. “I-inside. Let me cum inside, let me cum inside- please.”

“Yes- yes, I want it.” You crash your lips against his, feeling his fangs nip against your lower lip. “You can cum inside, Kento.”

And then with a final few thrusts, you’re exploding into your high.

So powerful that it results in your eyes clenching shut, white behind your vision. Back arching into his chest. You could hear the thundering of your pulse in your eardrums, right along with the husky, attractive groan of your name that Nanami lets off before he, too, finishes.

And you’re feeling it before you’re registering it.

That sultry splash! of something hot and wadded hitting the back of your pussy. It trickles all the way in lines down your cervix, and then ends up overflowing in your snug channel. 

“Oh- oh, you’re really taking it.” Nanami’s hand presses down on your front, eyes activating. “Look at you—swallowing up every single drop. This pretty pussy of yours was- ngh, hungry, hm?”

“Shit, you’re so filthy.” You whine, clawing down his muscular back. And Nanami Kento only smiles like he knew it was true.

After all, he was feeling everything that he’d described earlier - the sploshing of webbed-up seed inside you, the way it glissaded down his shaft. Every line of his veins was coated in ivory sap, and the demon was fucking in each gluey wad inside you.

Your own high is overtaken by his - and you don’t know what else you expected: Nanami was cumming like he hadn’t in centuries.

Just bucketloads of cum that left your mind all stupidly hazy. With each quiver of your own pleasure, you could feel the clingy mess slipping out of your hole. It created this intricate white ring ‘round Nanami’s hilt that he’s thumbing away with a smile.

Pushing dooooooown- “S’taken.” Nanami breathes, somewhat in awe as he gazed down adoringly at where your womb was. With those powerful eyes of his. “Fuck yes, s’taken, my lady. I’m so proud of you.”

“You mean…?”

“Yes.”

“F-fuck.”

He watches as that white hot mess dribbles down his fingerpads, and he says—“Stick out your tongue, madam?”

Slightly befuddled in the aftermath of your high - nothing more than a few sensitive twinges at the pit of your stomach by now, oh, he’d dragged it out so perfectly with his ready cock - you do as he says. And in a few sultry seconds, Nanami has his cum-glazed thumb sticking in his own mouth. Said mouth of his edging even closer to yours to spit.

And then he kisses you fully.

You moan, shocked by his sinful, sinful antics.

And it’s only then that you start to feel a strange rush go down your skin. It’s only then that you feel atoms stop in attention around your body, where yours met his.

So caught up in the feeling, you barely even notice when Nanami finishes riding out his own high. Each n’ every ounce of his sap pushed thoroughly into your deepest innards. And he was so proud of it- no, you’re too caught up in the fact that you knew that.

In that fact that you knew he was proud.

You could sense it.

You could remember it: fragments of a time spent in this very mansion, that didn’t include the last few days. A flourishing garden where you stole kisses. Pale blond hair in the darkness of this very bedroom. The screams of the scullery as they found out. Blood. A new life. You remembered it - not all, it came to you slowly.

With a gasp, you’re pulling back to look at your hands; they looked as normal as always, except for a strange tingle of…something that left you feeling like you could smash this very bed frame if you tried to.

Wait- you turn your head to the mirror on the wall, only to find that…nothing was there. Nothing but the room, in all its emptiness.

For mirrors don’t reflect demons.

“You’ve made me a-” You gulp, and he purrs in affirmation. “-a demon.”

“I’ve contracted us for life, my lady.” Nanami responds, “Look here.”

He taps his index down on the spot where his palm had been plastered mere moments ago, where he was feeling for his cum sprayin’ out into your womb. And as you look down, you can see that your skin was emblazoned with a glowing purple mark of supernatural sorts. Swirling spirals and hearts: you were branded.

“And here.”

You raise your eyes to where Nanami had stuck his tongue out now- and there it was. A matching tattoo (symbol? Branding?) that matched the one you had, right in the middle of his tastebuds.

Two peas in a pod.

Two demons in a mansion.

You could feel the exact moment that Nanami’s cock throbbed at the fact that you were growing even wetter at the notion - a soul that was formerly yours, shared now, for eternity. And you’d spend it all with this handsome man, in a mansion that would never crumble.

“I can smell it on you—” Nanami snarls, canines showing as his lips twist into a feral snarl. He gives another squelching thrust, “We’re going to have a looooong few centuries to make up for, my lady. Mistress of the house.”

.

.

.

“Chapter 22: Fables From the Shadows - Nanami Mansion. (Cont’d)

And yet, the tale of the scorned heir is only one theory seeking to explain the existence of this deeply demonic yet tragic figure of Nanami Kento.

I think you will find, dear reader, that this author in particular is quite inclined to believe a much lesser-known theory. It is one slightly less blood-curdling, though with no less a flare of drama: the theory of the scorned lover.

Though most records of interviews with the original servants that served the Nanami Mansions have been lost to time, what few have been procured did speak of what has been aforementioned in this chapter. Yet, it is in the footnotes that the most jarring pieces of information start to reveal themselves.

They speak of a rather different character to the demon, Nanami Kento. A demonic yet agreeable character: sharp, sensible, no less human (or at least acted so) than the other humans that it worked alongside, keeping the mansion shining like a crown jewel.

And perhaps most representative of the demon’s humanity of all, was the way in which he fell - and quite hopelessly, it is said by one worker - for the daughter of the mansion’s master. Her name— And her wits, her laugh, her kindness seemed to have enraptured this demon. And it makes us think that, perhaps, even the most hellish creatures of all are asinine in the face of love.

Love makes a fool of us all.

And yet, there is a reason that demons do not fall in love.

For once this secret dalliance was discovered by the household, it is said that the master was enraged - till one could not tell the difference between human and demon. In the owner’s fitful anger, some say that the dishonored daughter was made a sacrifice of, others justify that she was discarded from the mansion, never to be seen again.

Whatever the result of misplaced love (perhaps it was not misplaced, after all, who are we, as mortals, to judge?), the demon had lost her.

And that loss manifested into grief, that grief manifested into anger. The once-proud stone pathway to the Nanami Mansions painted itself red, and it has not had a master since.

They say that Nanami Kento still roams the empty halls, and keeps the house a home, in wait of his lost lover. 

As for the fate of them, only time will tell. 

Do you believe in reincarnation, o’ mortal? For, demons certainly do. And if a soulless being could not love a mortal centuries ago, perhaps there is hope that her soul may find him once more. Whether by accident, or by chance, or by fate altogether. Demons always are quite stubborn.

And perhaps, this time, they may love one another as two souls who have ever loved one another should. As one. 

This author, in particular, chooses to believe that their souls are already one. For there is a home for every lost soul, doors and arms wide open.”

—Of Demons and Servitude: The Hellish Agelong Contracts That Surpass Love by Sebastian Michaelis.

A/N. Was technically supposed to be posted last month but ah-

Plagiarism not authorized.

[modelsof-color]

Josephen Akuei by Natasha Kot for Número Magazine February 2026

[dawnsarchive]

A Façade of Control (Lucci x Reader) - Part 1

One Piece | Lucci | 4.1k | Masterlist

His nose buried into the side of your neck unexpectedly and you startled into the wall; hit your elbow hard enough to yelp. Perhaps you should have heard him before he reached you but these stone walls were as cold as the justice delivered through the building itself. You’d been shivering and more focused on your jacket.

But he was unbearably warm. His body burned through the layers you wore when he pressed against your back, one arm wrapped possessively around your waist while dark hair tickled at your jaw.

You tilted your head to the side even as the hairs on the back of your neck stood up. His hot breath caressed your skin. Some part of you recognised him for the predator he was and feared how quickly you could die in this soulless hell.

But if he wanted to kill you, truly, then you would have not even have these moments of recognition.

“You reek. Like livestock.” His voice, deep and rumbling, made you shudder.

He took one last inhale before he stepped back and straightened to his full, ridiculous height. His glare threatened a loss of both life and limb if you didn’t give the right response to his unspoken accusation.

You did not fear him enough to give up your game now and you reached up to touch your neck curiously.

“Not a fan of the new perfume?” you asked. “That’s really sad. I got it from this old woman who promised it would make me beyond irresistible.”

“Perfume is already an offense enough but where have you been spending so much time to gain such a foul odour?”

You smiled, innocent as you pretended to think about it. Maybe it was when you heard about the sea training coming in with oxen that morning and just had to head down there to see the great beasts yourself? You had been hugging them an awful lot. And playing with the ones on rest. And at one point, sitting atop one while you spoke to a captain.

No surely it was none of those things.

“Who knows?” you said with a shrug. “I suppose we’ll have to see each other another night then, considering how bad I smell.”

His expression was unreadable as you waltzed away. He knew you were up to something – this was not the first offense – but he had yet to accuse you of it and the next day, early in the morning, you waltzed into the large garden with a dog tucked under your arm.

Jabra opened one eye lazily, confused for a second as he looked at you and then at the hound before he groaned.

“You have a death wish,” he informed you. “Please don’t go anywhere yet, they’re going to force me to work with Fukurou instead.”

You rolled your eyes and placed the dog down where it immediately bounded off through the grass and stumbled to Jabra’s feet. He reluctantly pet its head before it went off sniffing again.

“I was asked to look after a friend’s dog and thought he might like the gardens,” you said. “Whatever could I be doing wrong? Speaking of though… it is awfully cold in here, could I borrow your jacket?”

The wolf stared at you as though he expected a knife to emerge from your coat and run him through. Remembering then that you did have your own jacket, you quickly took that off and threw it to the side with an innocent smile.

“So, you want me to die then? I understand. Should have known you hate me.”

“What are you talking about? You’re always the one saying that you could beat Lucci in a fight.”

“Obviously I could but what makes you think I want to? You’ve got no reason to set that man after me for no reason.”

The dog raced back over to you and you scooped it into your arms, buried your face into its furry chest and cooed at it. It excitedly licked at you but you made sure to keep that part of it away from you. You wanted to smell like a dog, not its saliva.

“He won’t come after you for anything,” you said. “Don’t you remember? He doesn’t care about me at all.”

“Right. He’s not the best liar, you know?”

“I did ask him about it and he said that he wasn’t lying. Told me he didn’t care at all so I guess it’s no business of his what I smell like or whose jacket I borrow. Kalifa’s actually getting some men’s cologne for me tomorrow because I’m thinking of trying out my own new scent. What do you think?”

Jabra shook his head at you. “Smart idea. Why don’t we anger the emotionless killer who’s obsessed with you?”

“He can’t be emotionless and angry at the same time. Those things don’t go together.”

A week ago now, Fukurou had ‘accidentally’ informed your ‘ever-intelligent’ leader that he couldn’t separate you and Lucci because of your relationship. Spandam had spluttered in confusion and demanded to know since when which cause a large, awkward pause as you evaluated your seat – perched on the arm of Lucci’s chair with your legs draped over his lap and his hand around your waist.

But you hadn’t had long to ponder it before Lucci rolled his eyes and insisted that it didn’t matter because he didn’t care about you either way. “Convenience,” he’d scoffed when Spandam pointed out your seating choice.

Convenience?

Lucci was a remarkable actor but he couldn’t fake the way his eyes snapped to yours in every fight. He didn’t fake the way his gaze lingered on you whenever you wore something new or how he spoke to you, quieter than the rest and far more sincere. No matter what, he went to your side first to greet you after long stretches of work.

There was a new job coming up now. A long-haul mission that may go several years undercover and the thought of being separated for so long had been churning your stomach though you wouldn’t admit to it.

You knew it was childish. You knew you were only doing this because the alternative was admitting how much that stupid word had stung.

Jabra’s jacket almost hit you in the face and stunned you out of your thoughts. Even to you, the scent of wet dog lingered on it. It would be perfect.

“Don’t let him kill me,” he warned you.

You shrugged it onto your shoulders with a smirk. “I promise.”

The dog went home at the end of the day – returned to a regular gate guard who had been more than eager to allow you to play with his puppy for the day. It managed to sneak a lick onto your hand when you dropped it off and you washed that before you made your way to the mess hall to find everybody already seated there.

You grabbed some food and sat next to Kaku who immediately looked down at your loaned jacket and shook his head.

“Oh no, don’t drag me into this idiocy,” he said, standing up and moving two seats down.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” you asked.

“I am not getting involved in whatever game you think you’re playing. I’d rather eat my dinner in peace.”

You rolled your eyes and Kalifa laughed, throwing back her golden hair in a wave behind her. Her gaze glinted with malice that you’d come to appreciate in your ally.

“That’s a good start,” she said. “But a bit too on the nose. I think he’ll knew for sure that you’re up to something if you’re wearing the jacket right now. Rather make it more subtle so he thinks you’re trying to keep it quiet.”

“Smart,” you told her, pulling it from your arms and tossing it at Jabra who caught it and immediately shoved it beneath his seat.

“If he kills Jabra over this,” Kalifa said lightly, “I’ll hold you responsible. Blood splatter is nightmare to clean from tile.”

Jabra looked up in mild distress. “Do you think he will?”

“It’ll be a battle of the ages!” Kumadori declared. “If only my darling mother were here to see this – “

You immediately drowned him out.

Kaku shook his head. “Lucci is not going to find this funny,” he warned. “You are risking a lot of the relationships on this team.”

“Do you know what I don’t find funny, Kaku? Being lied to in front of a group of people and told that I mean nothing. Honestly, that’s ruder than borrowing a jacket.”

“Maybe he wasn’t lying. Either way, you’re a professional. If this is all it takes for your feelings to get so hurt, I would be loath to see how you behave on a proper mission. You should try to remember where you are. This isn’t a schoolyard.”

You turned to him, annoyed and offended by his accusations. “Watch your tone. Perhaps I wasn’t raised with you but I earned my place here. I have never failed a mission.”

“Yet but if you allow yourself to get so easily dictated by somebody else’s opinions then it’s only a matter of time. Think of it, you’ve planned the entire ordeal just because you got slightly irritated by an accurate depiction of your relationship. What do you hope will come from it? Do you imagine Lucci will suddenly care more for you?”

You stood and your chair screeched backwards. Silence fell over the entire mess hall but Kaku continued eating as though your anger meant nothing to him.

“I didn’t ask your opinion.”

He shook his head as though being yelled at by a child. “You have no actual defence because you know I’m right. Go and take a shower before you cause a fight for no reason other than your petty entertainment.”

“Don’t talk to me like a child!” you snapped.

Kalifa hummed. “Kaku, sometimes women just need to prove a point. Whether he actually cares or not is immaterial. It’s about sending a message, no?”

She looked at you to confirm her words but you couldn’t really because… well, you hadn’t really considered that he might not care. The way he’d always acted gave you the idea that deep down, It did matter to him what you did. If he didn’t, then your idea wouldn’t even work.

“If he doesn’t care about me then why would he bother starting a fight to begin with?” you asked, stalking closer to Kaku. “You’re saying two things that conflict.”

“If this is all it takes to throw you off your game, it’s only a matter of time before it gets you hurt or killed. We’re not playing spy school here. Act like the professional you are.”

“Stop saying that.”

“Then stop acting like some kind of spurned teenager. You are a professional. Behave like it.”

You could have fought him. Though Kaku was strong, he hadn’t yet gotten to level of untouchable that Lucci was on. If his words truly bothered you so much, you considered doing so but his words cut harsher than his swords could.

“Fine. I’m done with this conversation. You’re right, I smell like a dog. Congratulations on your observation.”

You left your food on the table and stormed from the mess hall before your emotions truly could get the better of you. Who the fuck did Kaku thing he was anyway? You hadn’t even asked him to give any input on the whole situation. Right outside the entrance, you almost walked directly into Lucci’s chest.

You stepped around him and continued down the hall. He didn’t ask what was wrong and you offered no explanation.

Maybe you did need a shower anyway. You marched into your bedroom and toward the bathroom but before you could react, Lucci was there, one hand around your waist and the other shoving your hair out of the way so he could lean in close to your throat.

You hadn’t heard him follow. You hadn’t even sensed him.

“Where were you today?” There was a feral growl in his voice – it sent shivers down your spine.

There was something darker to his hold this time. You could feel it in the way he shifted behind you as though drawn closer to your throat.

“I was occupied,” you said, flat and cold. “But why ask? It’s not like it matters to you.”

“You reek,” he snarled, a tone that bordered on something almost irritated. “And somehow, I don’t think this is a perfume. It smells a little too familiar.”

His grip on your hip tightened enough to hurt and you shifted to move away from it.

“I’ve heard,” you snapped. “I was about to wash it off on Kaku’s request. You can eat without worrying about me stinking up the place, don’t worry.”

There was a pause and he stepped away; allowed you to turn and face him properly. His expression was unreadable as he considered your clearly annoyed disposition. “Kaku is troubling you? Strange, you’ve never had a problem with him before.”

“I don’t. He can just be a little too judgemental for my liking.”

Lucci’s gaze was unshakable. “You disappear for an entire day and return smelling like a hound off the street? Then you argue with Kaku about something and it’s bad enough for you to abandon your dinner?”

“I was dog-sitting,” you admitted. “One of the guards had a puppy and I was looking after it.”

“With Jabra? All by yourself?”

He had been watching you? You shouldn’t be surprised, really, because his gaze did linger on you from time to time. You hadn’t even needed to go through the effort you had to get his notice, it would seem.

“Who better than to help me look after a hound?”

Lucci’s nose wrinkled and then he turned and gestured toward your bathroom. You stalked away from him to scrub the scent from your arms. As the hot water traced over your skin, you stared at the condensation creeping up your mirror and wondered if Kaku was right.

You couldn’t force a reaction from somebody who genuinely didn’t care. What would it change about your arrangement anyway? If anything, you were just lowering the chance of him spending more time with you in the future.

The heat relaxed your muscles and stripped away the scent where it clung to your skin.

Convenience. What a dirty word. It stuck to you worse than any dirt had, even as you washed your hair twice to make sure nothing of your stupid plan lingered.

You expected him to return to dinner but when you stepped out the bathroom wrapped in a towel with water droplets pooling on your skin, you found him seated on the edge of your bed with Hattori perched on his shoulder.

“Why are you still here? Not hungry?”

He crossed his legs and stared at you, caught in his gaze like a mouse staring down a cat. “This little game of yours has been stupid.”

You pressed your lips together. Of course he had known what you were doing. You hadn’t been subtle about it, you supposed, and you’d never shown an interest in playing with dogs until this point. Your ‘subtle’ revenge was louder than Fukurou’s gossip.

“What did you hope would come from this?” he asked. “Did you think I would grow jealous and possessive? I could care less for how you spend your free time. You were a fool to think otherwise.”

“Hopes are always foolish,” you muttered and turned toward your cupboard to avoid him seeing the embarrassment that rose to your cheeks.

Before you could grab it, he was in your space again, faster than the eye could see. Your back hit the wood of the doors as he crowded you against them, his expression dark. Hattori cooed from somewhere near your bed.

“I can still smell traces of that mutt on your skin,” he muttered. “You didn’t do a good job of drowning it out.”

“That’s because all my stuff is unscented thanks to your complaints,” you said. “I’ll shower again tomorrow so if it bothers you that much, feel free to avoid me until then.”

Lucci’s gaze ran down your towel wrapped body; it lingered around your neck and chest and made you shift, almost wanting to cover yourself. He’d looked at you before but there was something far more accusatory in this.

“Looking for something?” you asked.

“I expected a dog with no manners to leave marks but your skin is pristine,” he said, so quietly you barely heard it.

“What? Why would a puppy leave marks on me? The most he did was lick my hand.”

Lucci grabbed your jaw and tilted your head back; he pressed against you even more as he examined your neck before his brow furrowed in confusion. “Do you mean to tell me you looked after an actual dog?”

“Yes? That’s exactly what I said.”

“Jabra is no better than a stray on the street and I know his scent unfortunately well. He would love for nothing more than to claim you, even if it was for something as petty as your revenge.”

You pushed at him and though you knew you weren’t strong enough to move the solid wall of muscle that he was, he moved back for you. “What?” you asked, mildly offended. “I wouldn’t – why the hell would I sleep with Jabra just to get back at you? I’m not stupid.”

“You wanted to make me jealous. Would that not be an obvious route?”

“I mean, yeah but I don’t want to sleep with him. I pretended to. Look, I found a dog and then hung out in his room for a while and wore his jacket. It’s a stupid plan, alright, but it wasn’t that stupid. And for the record, Jabra and I, isn’t a thing that could happen.”

“He would if you gave him an opportunity. That’s what dogs do.”

Dark silence stretched between you and made the space feel insurmountable.

He really thought you’d slept with Jabra?

“Tell me the truth,” you said quietly. “Would it have mattered? I find it really hard to believe that it would have changed anything even if did sleep with him.”

“I don’t share with filth.”

“You don’t have to share at all. I’m replaceable and you’re not short of options.”

Somewhere, in the corner of your room, Hattori cooed softly in protest. The pigeon had become fond of you after the one time you spent an entire night carefully repairing his tiny coat even if it made your fingers bleed. You didn’t doubt that one, at least.

Lucci’s jaw flexed

You wanted to kiss him. He was so close and you knew that once he kissed you, all your worries would fade for a while. You’d fall so deeply into him and that flame in your chest would turn to a bonfire every bit as dangerous as Kaku warned. You knew that you could too. That he wouldn’t turn you away now if you invited him in.

“Lucci,” you finally said and his name snapped him free of his trance. “I need to get dressed before my food gets cold.”

You hit the mattress with a soft gasp and he followed you down. His weight pinned the air from your lungs with a force that made escape impossible. His mouth found yours in a fierce, unrestrained kiss.

His teeth nipped blood from your lips as he crawled atop you and you melted for him, arms wrapping around his neck and soft sounds tumbling from your lips. The sharp edges of his nails dragged down your legs and sent pinpricks of pain through you.

How pathetically easily you folded for this man. He kissed you like a man possessed and you could care less for how your lungs cried. You moaned into his mouth as he broke away and dragged his teeth over your neck; bit sharp enough to leave bloodied marks that choked embarrassing sounds from you.

His hand reached for the top of your towel. He caressed the soft skin of your chest, fingers flexing until a sharp slice of pain jolted through you.

“Hey,” you complained, voice aching. “Careful.”

He slammed his mouth against yours in a bruising kiss and his hand tore away from your skin. The fabric of your comforter ripped beneath his claws and feathers erupted into the air. You couldn’t find it in yourself to complain.

You tugged at his tie until it loosened and shoved his jacket until he threw it off himself, his movements clumsier than usual. You broke the kiss to help with the buttons on his shirt but something about his expression gave you pause.

Your lips were kiss-swollen and slightly bloody and his were much the same but his pupils were blown wide and mouth parted just enough for you to see the edges of sharp teeth.

In all your time working with him, you’d never seen this much of Lucci’s transformation. He kept it to himself.

His pupils turned to slits for a second and you had no time to react before he moved, fast as a blur, to sink his teeth into your neck. The sharp pain laced through you, deliciously pleasurable as fire licked through your stomach. You arched against him and tore uselessly at the buttons of his shirt and he pushed harder against you, his hips rolling.

He tore away from your throat without warning and kissed you; blood lingered on his lips and a warm stickiness flowed over your neck.

He suddenly shoved away from you, stumbled back on his feet as he backpedalled away from the bed. You sat up, thoughts hazy and reached up to touch where the burning on your neck came from. Red coated your fingers and you grabbed at the towel to stop the bleeding.

Lucci wasn’t looking at you. His hands clenched into fists as his body shuddered. Dark spots emerged over his skin as his muscles morphed and tugged against the skin. His eyes focused on nothing and you tightened the towel around you, made your movements as small as you could before suddenly, his gaze snapped up.

Your breathing stopped and for a second, you were nothing more than a bird, stuck in a cage to be devoured by a cat.

Then with a snap, he returned to his normal size, two buttons undone on his shirt and his expression unreadable once more. Your heart started again and you noticed for the first time that your legs were covered in scratch marks just like the one on your chest.

“Are you alright?”

He didn’t answer.

You stood slowly and made your way to him, freezing when he took a step away from you.

“Lucci, you’re shaking.”

“I’m aware.”

He took another step back until he hit the wall and braced one hand against it. His fingers dug into the plaster. You didn’t know how to respond to this. How could you react to this man who was always so controlled, being so different?

“Are you seriously hurt?”

You reached up to touch your throat at his question. It wasn’t that deep. You stood slowly to make your way to the mirror, one eye still on him as you examined your body. The deep scratch on your chest, the claw marks that littered your legs, and the bite on your throat. You weren’t going to need stitches but it wasn’t a small thing.

“No,” you said into the silence. “I’ll be fine.”

“You play stupid games and this is what comes of it,” he muttered. “You should be more careful. Instincts are strong in zoan types. They cannot always be controlled, no matter how hard I try.”

“If you truly didn’t care about me then it wouldn’t matter what games I play,” you said, slight malice in your tone. “Would it?”

“No, it wouldn’t.”

The silence stretched once more and you couldn’t help it – a small smile managed to crawl onto your face without your permission.

“I need to shower again,” you said to hide the pleased tone.

“Don’t you dare.”

It was the last thing he said before he disappeared from the room and left you standing there, the smile on your face finally free to expand. It certainly wasn’t professional to look like this but it was a mark of proof to what you had expected. There was no lack of care in this.

You dressed for the middle of winter the next day. A high-neck shirt and long sleeves that hid every inch of your skin.

Kalifa raised a perfect eyebrow. “Good morning. You’re looking very covered.”

You smirked when you took a seat next to her, gaze fixed on Kaku. “I’m just being professional,” you said. “Making sure I look the part.”

He shook his head. “I’m glad you got the result you wanted,” he finally said. “But you should work on your strategies.”

You didn’t respond because you hadn’t gotten the exact result you wanted. You could still see the way Lucci’s claws sliced through your comforter and some part of you still felt pinned by the predator’s instinct in his gaze but you wouldn’t reveal that to them.

For now, you focused on the admission of his care and tried not to worry about anything else.

[wiserion]

KOMOREBI. PART 1.

ex! situationship ceo gojo x florist! fem reader

summary: Years passed since you saw Satoru Gojo in your life — your situationship, who slipped away from your life like nothing had happened. Like you were nothing to him. Or, maybe, on the contrary, and you were his everything? What would happen if you suddenly met him at your flower shop?

tags: mdni! situationships, exes to lovers, reconciliation, some angst, some fluff, mutual pining, YEARNING, like A LOT. you fell first, he fell harder and it drove him crazy. panic attacks, floristry, some themes about rediscovering your life passion, the reader is kinda insecure. eventual smut: dry humping, fingering, emotional sex, a little bit of size kink, creampie, oral sex (f receiving).

word count: this part is 12.5k. total: 35k (bear with me here...).

author's note: this is officially the biggest thing i have ever written! and my first time ever writing smut. you've been warned. it should've been one post but tumblr's limits...art by @/boom_sate225. dividers are mine.

you might like listening to the playlist

part 2

This day started as usual.

Your phone alarm rang sharply at 6 a.m., jolting you awake. With a groan, you tapped to hold it and rolled over to have the last minutes of peace and serenity. The bed was warm, the pillow was comfortable, the blanket embraced you in the softest of hugs… Slowly, you drifted to sleep once again.

Only to hastily scramble to get ready an hour later. 

"Shit, shit, shit," you cursed under your breath, trying to pull your pants on. A glance at the clock — 7:30; you must've been the fastest person in the world at that moment— totally a record.

Miraculously, you still had time to stop by your favourite bakery, which conveniently hid between the stalls with flowers and newspapers, to grab a coffee and a pastry. The street bustled with people at that hour: one man barked orders into his phone, with another gentleman, probably his assistant, hurriedly trying to keep up with the boss's pace. A pile of files in his arms dangerously leaned toward the ground.

Poor guy.

Your polished shoes clicked on the pavement, each step dripping with determination as you hurried to the bakery. You could’ve smelled its tantalizing scents even from a distance — cinnamon, cardamom, vanilla, and chocolate intertwining in a mouth-watering mix. 

"Slept in, huh?" A barista, a tall guy with soft eyes and kind of a weird hairstyle of ponytails, observed you quietly and handed your order: a hot bumble with caramel syrup and a ham-and-cheese croissant. Your stomach growled at the scent of the pastry, and you gave the guy a quick smile. If you remembered it right, his name was Choso.

"Kind of, yeah," you swiped the card and quickly grabbed your order before you would drop dead to the overwhelming delicious scents in the bakery. You almost downed the drink in a few large gulps. "Thanks and bye!"

"Have a nice day, miss!"

You sped up to hop in your bus, the one that left the station at 7:35 sharply and arrived at your work exactly at 7:57.

“Sorry,” you murmured apologetically as you bumped into one lady, who only huffed in irritation, without sparing you a single glance. You fought the urge to grimace at her.

Slowly, you made your way to a lone window seat that wasn’t usually occupied at this hour. Mentally, you had long ago declared it your own and would sigh inwardly if other passengers, obviously, not aware of your claim, sat there.

This time, luck was on your side. You quickly fished a book — something to kill time and occupy your mind, besides the usual routine you were clearly drowning in. Your grip on the book tightened: not the best time to delve into and psychoanalyze your life as you tried to lose yourself in yet another magical fantasy world…

“Oh no, my fair lady,” a mysterious knight’s voice drawled, the voice muffled by a half-opened visor. Isabelle thought her heart almost jumped from her chest right into the knight’s hands. “I am here to rescue you.”

Isabelle could almost hear playfulness sipping in the knight’s tone, and it brought a quick grin on her face. Oh, her future husband would be enthralled when the morning would carry him the news about his precious wife-to-be, who would appear to be missing…”

You scoffed softly and reached for a pencil. Faint scribbles adorned the empty margins of the book, a carefully crafted tapestry of your thoughts and emotions. 

“Well, I wouldn’t be so sure, if I were Isabelle, since…”

A sudden honk pulled you back to reality. The bus suddenly jerked forward again, and a string of muttered curses from other passengers wafted to you through the irritated crowd. Someone bumped into you, causing the pencil to fall from your grip. 

“Ah, shoot it,” you huffed under your breath and bent over to take it back.

And then, as you looked up, you saw it.

A sudden flash of white hair.

Your insides got cold in an instant. The surrounding world ceased to exist around you for a moment or for a small eternity; you weren’t so sure. The pencil almost snapped in half in your hard grip as a thousand thoughts rushed through your anxious mind.

“What the hell is he doing there? He shouldn’t be there— no, he is not supposed to be there, in your city! You fled there, and he had the entire Tokyo! What if he saw you? Worse, what if he saw and now wants to talk to you? Shit, shit, shit!”

Your eyes nervously darted to the exit — only to see that the white hair was already missing. You blinked. Blinked again. No, not even a sight. You slumped in relief against the seat and closed your eyes. 

What was going on with you, really? Is he the only man in the world with hair colour like this? Could’ve been some cosplayer! Yeah, that must be it!

Or not?...

Deep down, you knew the right answer. You could’ve recognized the silvery tone of his strands if you were a thousand miles away from him. You ran your fingers through them countless times, memorized the way they caught the moonlight and looked like spilt silver under your gentle touch.

With a long sigh, you put the book in a bag. The phone caught your eye, and you froze at the sight of the display.

8:17.

Memories engrossed your tired mind to the point you missed three stops.

“This day couldn’t get any worse,” you thought, rushing through the maze of irritated people, totally indifferent to your inner turmoil.

Oh, how wrong was that.

***

Flowers had always brought you peace and serenity.

Ever since you were a kid, your mom’s garden welcomed you with a warm embrace, shielding you from the cold touch of reality. Nothing could hurt you there; a few scratches were a fair price for solitude and tranquillity. Sitting under sakuras, amidst the vivid blossoms of magnolias, peonies, and tulips, quietly observing the nature you were surrounded by, you had learnt to see beauty in every soft petal, dew drop on the branches, foggy morning mist, or sunrays, shyly sipping through the branches. 

Or maybe you were just a lone kid with a good heart and rich fantasy, and that gave roots to your need for escapism. Who knows.

You would like to think you still carried that fragile ability to see something precious even in the most mundane things, but you knew nothing would be as breathtaking as it appeared in childhood. Adulthood had long sharpened and hardened you into someone a child you would hardly recognise.

Sometimes you wondered what she would say when you looked at her now?

Your hands were still covered in stitches, calluses bubbled on your fingers, and the dirt seemed to be permanently itched under your nails, but the excitement from your gaze had long given in to exhaustion.

When did a person lose the sparkle that once ignited their entire being? When adulthood falls so hard on your shoulders that you don't even have a chance to take a breath?

You had never thought you would be one of these gloomy people. Especially surrounded by the beauty of nature, as you wished for as a kid. But fate had other plans for you: the florist’s job found you in the middle of rediscovering yourself once again, rather than you finding it, and the rose-coloured naive dreams about designing bouquets, arrangements, and organising events quickly shattered, leaving invisible scars that later would scream of burnt-out. 

Surely, amidst the usual routine, you found your own moments of enjoyment. Designing was your main passion, and seeing the fruits of your work, happy smiles and gratitudes from the customers, was worth scars, hurt knees, and sprained wrists. You were glad to bring people warmth and steadiness in the middle of the storm, which some events might look like. Shame the rest of the job was way more demanding, mentally and especially physically.

You were cauterizing stems, which actually was Nobara's work, but Utahime seemed so worked up that morning that you didn't dare to poke a dragon any more and decided to shield your friend from the boss's wrath. When Nobara sauntered inside the room, you gave her a glance, already preparing yourself for an inevitable round of investigation.

"So," she drawled with an all-knowing smile, a mischievous glint flashed in her eyes as she leaned on the table next to you. Still not touching the stems. "How was your date yesterday? Tell me everything!"

Ah. Yes. Your date.

Partially, the reason you were late to work. Not even in the inappropriate sense you sometimes wanted it to be.

Your grip on the pruning shears tightened. You tried to deflect.

"Nothing worth talking—"

"Oh, come on! I've been dying to hear everything! Spill the tea!"

Nobara was really relentless when she was in a mood, so after a couple of seconds, you decided to end your suffering as quickly as possible. Like ripping the band-aid off.

"That was fucking awful."

You could swear Nobara's nose twitched like a hound that scented the blood. The corner of your mouth lifted in amusement.

"I swear, all these date apps, blind dates, so on and so forth are not my type of thing,"  you murmured and sighed, looking around the room for any clue that could've helped to solve a mystery of human hearts. "No, I am serious!"

You told her everything. How you matched with a guy on a goddamn Tinder, who seemed…adequate at first sight. That you felt like something almost clicked in that unexplainable way, when you just…know.

You really hoped after him and dozens of unfruitful attempts to meet your fate spontaneously, and let Cupid’s arrows pierce you, your dating apps would result in something. However, with every swipe, weird dialogues and unambiguous hints at the end of coffee dates, your confidence that the male loneliness epidemic had been really justified only grew further. Yesterday’s attempt should’ve been the last one before locking yourself in a tower (your apartments), with only a jester (another 2000’s romcom) to keep you company. Sounded like a perfect plan.

“Everything was fine, before that jerk started asking whether I was like these females—”

“Ew,” Nobara grimaced. “Females? That’s a red flag already. Might be one of these podcast guys. They are all beyond saving.”

“I know, right? Should’ve told him to fuck off right that instant. Anyway,” you snipped a poor rose’s stem with more force than necessary and continued. “These females who like to invite poor men to the fanciest restaurants and make them pay!”

Nobara gasped, thoroughly scandalized, handing you a lighter.

“He did not!”

“Oh yes, he did. And that’s not even the worst! Then he asked when I would be ready to quit my job, because his wife and the mother of his children shouldn’t work,” deep-buried irritation from the godforsaken dinner slowly started to bloom in your chest, so you didn’t even notice you were holding the lighter near the stem longer than usual. Luckily, Nobara intervened before you almost set the flowers on fire.

“Hey-hey, gimme that,” she snatched the possible tool of destruction from your hands and quickly put the stem in a vase. You blinked in surprise and slumped on the nearby chair with a long, exhausted sigh.

“Sorry.”

“It’s okay,” she flashed you a warm smile and then added, barely audible. “Was my task, anyway. So, you were saying?”

“Yeah, right,” you dragged your hand over your face, “after we left the restaurant, the asshole offered to give me a ride.” You drawled the last word, double entendre clear in your voice, as you stared at Nobara with a telling gaze.

She, of course, understood. Slowly dragged her gaze from the flowers and stared back at you. A murderous glint flashed in her eyes. The lighter only added to her dangerous image.

You sighed once again and murmured, staring at the ceiling. “So, that was it. What’s even worse is that he seemed so nice and gallant and—,” you gestured vaguely before dropping your hand in desperation. The next words felt like shards; tears stole your voice. “I am not cut out for the relationships, clearly. Maybe something is fundamentally wrong with me, I don’t know! All this staff”, you drew a sharp exhale and angrily wiped your nose, “is not for me. I am way better alone”.

Hearing your voice, so uncharacteristically broken, Nobara kneeled in front of you. She squeezed your hands.

“There’s nothing wrong with you. Believe me. All these men are assholes that do not even deserve the strand of your hair!”

“Uhm, Nobara, flowers there—”

“Ah, fuck these flowers,” she waved dismissively. “I’ve got a bigger potential catastrophe on my hands,” you snorted at her words, and a big, bright grin broke on her face. “You are smart, pretty, kind, and just so wonderful! These guys? They can suck my—”

“Nobara!”

“Okay, okay,” Nobara rolled her eyes and leaned in closer, her grin morphing into a conspirational smile. Your eyes narrowed playfully. “Tell you what? We finish here, and I am taking you to that new mall, finally making you buy that slutty dress I’ve been talking about for days, then we crash into my flat, order whatever you want, and re-watch “Love Actually” for the hundredth time! How’s that?”

You couldn’t help but smile genuinely at Nobara’s suggestion. It was impossible to brood with her around. 

“That sounds perfect.”

Your thoughts drifted to the morning once again. Something in your guts was telling you that you were right initially. Or maybe it was more of a wishful thinking, because his image would haunt your mind every failed date and every sparkle you misguessed as the beginning of something new. And yesterday was particularly shitty. 

You weren’t that obsessed with your ex-situationship. So what if even after all the months you had been apart (though you doubted whether you could truly say that; you never had been together), he was the only person who had lit up your whole world? Pfft. Every girl had a story like this.

At least you hoped so. Stupid Gojo.

Despite all the things that happened between you (and did not), you couldn’t bring yourself to hate Gojo. His stupid white hair, ivory under the sunlight; a stupid grin that broke his face anytime you would say something funny, and that chuckle, Gods,  that fucking chuckle of his was your biggest reward and the strongest undoing. 

Then you would remember the way he ended both of you, destroying the root before your love could even blossom, and the urge to punch him would multiply drastically.

Just like now.

You were in the middle of preparing the next customer’s order and racked your brains on where to put a couple of black tulips, so they would look presentable enough. Then you struggled with the overall composition, the wrapping paper didn’t work much, you cut your ring finger and —

Stop that.

You took a deep breath. In and out. In and out. 

That was it. The effect Satoru Gojo had on you.

“I definitely should get over this guy,” you murmured in the void, not addressing anyone in particular, but Nobara heard it. She turned around sharply, the large heart box with roses dangerously swaying in her hands. Her narrowed eyes seemed to pierce right through your soul, through the pregnant pauses, creeping between the endless conversations about your love life, the sadness you carried in the unsaid words.

She saw the raging storm in your weary eyes, and her glare softened immediately, lips parting to tell you something only Nobara could tell — but in the moment, the doorbell in the main hall rang obnoxiously loudly, and she hurriedly headed upstairs.

Your gaze dropped to the bouquet. The black tulips in the middle caught your attention immediately. A satisfied grin tucked in the corner of your mouth. 

The flowers were pretty. Gorgeous. The fragile beauty of nature wrapped in the softest of touches. Nature’s most delicate gift. They didn’t hurt anyone. Not in the way people do, at least.

Nobara’s voice called you suddenly, pulling you back to reality. Your brows furrowed slightly: her voice sounded strangely strained. You headed up as well. 

“My mother loves black tulips.”

“Really? Huh. That’s rare. Not everyone even thinks about what flowers they like.”

“Nah, she thinks about everything. And more. Like you.”

“Do you think this ribbon fits well, or should I find the lacy one? I am not quite sure.”

Your gaze flicked to Nobara, and then—

You rooted to your spot. The poor bouquet almost fell from your weakened hands, but that was the last thing that was on your mind.

Not when Gojo Satoru was staring back at you.

His eyes searched for every expression on your face, every bat of the eyelashes, every flicker of colour in your eyes, every twitch of your lips, soaking it up with the intensity that could rival the wanderer's thirst in a desert. Looking, dazing, gawking, drinking in your features. Like he wasn’t sure whether he should grab and kiss you till he got his fill or just admire from afar, like the most exquisite flower under the glass.

He stared. And stared. And stared.

And gods, you stared back. 

His hair caught the sunlight, giving him an ethereal look, and you swore to God, the blue of his eyes brightened even more, though now his gaze seemed to carry more weight. You remembered them flashing with the charm and the mischief; it was still there, though you couldn’t help but notice adulthood setting into his features.  Your gaze drifted over his frame, clad in a dark blue suit (probably worth your month’s rent), greedily fixing the broadness of his shoulders, the tight pull of the fabric on the chest, the little mole between his collarbones, peeking out from the unbuttoned shirt. 

Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit.

“Why was he here?” An anxious thought beat against your ribcage with a deafening thump-thump, suddenly twice its usual size. “He wasn’t supposed to be here! And found me!”

Deep down, you knew. Of course, Gojo could. You moved to another city, not the other hemisphere.

But it was Kyoto. A fucking metropolis!

Gojo was from Kyoto.

You fixed all the details almost unconsciously, committing his features to your memory as if he were about to vanish right this second. Neither of you dared to move; silence wrapped around you like a thick blanket, trapping you in its suffocating confines.

Nobara’s gaze flicked between Gojo and you, but luckily, she didn’t ask anything. Must’ve been obvious.

“You go back. I’ll handle it,” she whispered to you, and the strange spell cast on your room was dispelled. You gave her a quick, unsure grin.

“It’s okay. Don’t worry.”

Nobara opened her mouth to protest, but your pleading look silenced her. With the last suspicious look at Gojo, she disappeared into another room.

You stood behind the register, trying to look as professional as ever. Trembling in your hands and the waver in your voice were a dead giveaway, though. Gojo’s eyes briefly flickered to your frame. His eyes softened almost imperceptibly. 

“So, long time no see, Gojo. How’s that been?”

Gojo grimaced slightly but didn’t comment on you using his government name. Instead, he just stepped closer to the register, as if unsure whether he could approach you.

That startled you. Gojo was never about hesitance in any way. 

“It’s been…okay,” he answered vaguely, and you couldn’t help but notice his timbre deepened. Tone smoothened, became richer. The Kyoto accent was back. You remembered how he desperately tried to sound more like a Tokyo guy.

Stop. 

What on Earth were you thinking? 

Focus.

“We’ve decided to reopen the Kyoto branch, and Gramps wanted to make me in charge of it.” You felt his gaze on you, and its intensity sent shivers down your spine. You nervously tried to issue him a receipt, but the terminal seemed to stop working at the most inconvenient moment ever. Heat slowly crept your cheeks. 

"... and I've got a lot of things to look through and deal with a bunch of old fossils," Gojo continued, grimacing at the mention of old men who were probably a part of the shareholders' board. You noticed he told about himself rather vaguely, almost indifferently, as his own life couldn't feel less interesting.

You dreaded Gojo's next question. Don't ask, don't ask, don't ask—

"And how have you been?"

A strange kind of desperation laced Gojo's voice. As if he knew he had no right to ask that, but just could not help it. His Adam's apple bobbed with effort, and if you paid more attention, you would've noticed the flex of his fingers.

You forced a strained smile, your heart did a stupid little flip.

"I...am doing alright," you gestured vaguely around the shop as if it could've answered his question. However, Gojo's gaze was glued to you, searching, observing, examining the fatigue that was deeply etched into your features, the light dust of pink on your cheeks, a nervous smile hiding at the corner of your lips, and a small cut on your chin. You were even more beautiful than he remembered. Was it ever possible?

"It's for your mom, right?" you blurted out before even thinking, earning a surprised look from Gojo. Your eyes widened; probably, he thought you were a stalker or just a lunatic for asking that. 

Nervously, you explained, fingers fumbling with the ribbon. "I remember you told your mom liked black tulips." Gods, why did you ask that? Is there really a kind of question for your ex-situationship at your first meeting?

Your heart beat anxious staccato against your chest. You prayed the ground would swallow you whole as Gojo remained silent.

Slowly, his initial shock and confusion melted into an undeniable affection, and he smiled, a soft, quiet smile that reached his eyes, crinkling at the corners.

You released a breath you didn't know you were holding.

"Yeah. She still does. That's for her. I...," Gojo's smile faltered a little, "she flew from Tokyo for some business, and I am gonna meet her. I asked my assistant to pick a flower shop close to it. With good reviews, of course,” his gaze quickly swept the surroundings, landing on various arrangements, bouquets and vases. Strange tightness coloured his tone, and you narrowed your eyes in suspicion.

"Ah. I see."

"Yeah."

So, he didn't stalk you. Good to hear.

A loose strand of hair fell over your forehead, and you put it back with an annoyed sigh. Gojo's gaze followed it with a tender ache; you thought you imagined it. 

Gojo's lips parted slightly, and then he abruptly closed his mouth again. A little frown formed between his brows. 

"Listen, I know it's not the right moment, but I would like —"

You swallowed anxiously, but in that second, his phone rang. Whoever that was, you were beyond grateful for a little respite after everything that had just happened.

Gojo Satoru.

Your something. Your almost everything. Your childhood wish for a friend. Your teenage longing for love. Your yearning to be seen.

Your invisible string draped over months and cities. Forever snapped.

Or?

"Ijichi, I told you already," Gojo's voice came out way too harsher than it was with you; a mask slipping back on his face, "I'm busy with something right now."

Annoyance flushed in his eyes as he listened to a hasty voice on the other side of the phone. He pinched the bridge of his nose in irritation.

"Uh-huh. I got it. Be in five minutes."

The anxious voice, Ijichi's, as you presumed, mumbled something back, but Gojo didn’t pay attention.

Silence wrapped around you once again, unsure and hesitant. You took a deep breath, on the verge of blurting something about maintenance or a sudden supply of birthday cards, or anything, before Gojo's voice cut through the mess that your head was, softer than you ever expected.

"It was nice seeing you."

You rehearsed words suddenly seemed meaningless. A look of surprise crossed your face at his words, and before you could articulate your confusion in somehow coherent words, Gojo already left with a curt nod. The bell jingled obnoxiously loud, and you slowly took a deep breath.

Gojo's cologne was still lingering in the air, enveloping you in his scent.

Lost and confused, you slumped in the nearest chair behind the register, brain short-circuiting on what had just happened. Something you had never dared to think about in your dreams. Gojo was tucked in the deepest corner of your heart; you rarely allowed yourself to truly reminisce about what you were and never became.

And you couldn't shake the feeling he wanted to ask you something before the call. 

Or were you just making things up? Wishful thinking?

***

The day when you met Gojo was as clear as ever in your mind. No. When Gojo met you. Really met.

You had seen Satoru Gojo all the time at the campus: his frosty white hair impossible to miss, laugh booming loudly in the university halls, enough for people to turn their heads, all sharp grins and snarky remarks — confidence walked hand in hand with him as he basked in the attention. He moved like a person who had never forced himself to be small. To fit into some box. People orbited around him, inevitably driven closer by his overwhelming presence: planets pulled closer by the gravity of the Sun. 

You, on the other hand, were one of the satellites, surfing through the vast expanse of university life.

Naturally, your paths with Gojo didn't cross very often: sure, he was in your periphery all the time, effortlessly catching your attention with his jokes and... everything; you shared a couple of classes and had a bit of awkward exchanges in the library over behavioural theory of management. You weren't even surprised: for all Gojo's lack of discipline in the classes, he really had a sharp mind.

Sometimes he gave you a bright grin in greeting, to which you answered with a short nod, putting on an air of confidence, despite the frantic beat of your heart and the speed at which your palms got sweaty.

So, as it was etched in the laws of the universe, you quietly observed Gojo from afar, not daring to collide with his orbit more than needed. Burning in the Sun's light would bring long-lasting scars.

Oh, how right you were.

This shouldn't have happened. He should've just walked past you like many others on that rainy day, when you were standing right next to your stall, teeth chattering as the coldness embraced you in its harsh hands. Your gaze quickly swept the surroundings — the majority of students had already left their standings. No wonder, with the weather like that, who would've been foolish enough to stay at the volunteer fair?

You were. Though you preferred to think of yourself as responsible and kind. 

A deep chuckle pierced through the monotonous cacophony of the rain, and inevitably, your gaze landed on Gojo. He was hanging out at his friend's stall, helping to put things in the boxes. Geto, if you remembered it correctly. Surprisingly, he was also helping one of the city's animal shelters. You tried not to dwell on his charity box, which showed way more promise than yours.

You were so focused on not freezing to death at that point that you didn't notice Gojo walking to your stall. The bag with his volleyball (because of course, Gojo was ridiculously good at everything) uniform hit his leg with every step.

He stood right in front of it, a curious grin tugging at the corner of his lips. He looked ridiculously handsome, even with a silly umbrella.

Gojo kept examining the various brochures about the shelter, pictures of cats and dogs, seeking their homes. His gaze softened imperceptibly. 

Meanwhile, your world just tilted off its axis.

"Hi," you gave Gojo a nervous smile.

He looked up immediately and hummed in acknowledgement. "Hi."

An awkward silence fell upon you. Your brain short-circuited as you anxiously tried to scramble for the right words, but they just flew out of your mind right then. Nothing. Blank screen. Error.

Gojo didn't seem to notice your mental struggles, still glued to the stall.

Just when you were about to finally introduce him to the shelter you had been volunteering for, he suddenly reached for the wallet and threw bills in the charity box. A lot, one would say.

You blinked. Blinked again. Maybe you were hallucinating from standing all day in the cold. 

"What the hell are you doing?" You blurted out, and deep crimson painted your cheeks in embarrassment. 

What the hell were you doing? 

Who on Earth would say something like that to a person, willingly donating to your stall?

You hoped he wasn’t very petty.

Instead, his white brows knitted in confusion. He took a step back to examine the box before dragging his gaze, the brightest of blues, to you. 

"Donating, I guess?"

"Yeah, no shit," you scoffed. Backing wasn't an option by this time. "That's like...a lot."

A look of realisation crossed Gojo's face, before a cracking bright grin, as if the Sun finally peeked through the heavy clouds. Suddenly, the cold didn't bother you as much as before.

"Ah, it's nothing. Really," he drawled lazily and nodded at the photos again. "Besides, it's only for the good."

He was kind of insane, you thought. But hey, who would've said no to the charity money? Especially if you did less than expected at this fair.

"Then... thank you," you breathed out in relief, but immediately grimaced at how empty and basic it sounded. Quickly, you added. "Really, thank you! It would do a lot for the shelter, and —"

You reached for a simple box, adorned with a colourful ribbon, resting among others, to gift him. Nothing much, but you spent your whole evening preparing them.

"There's a postcard, a cap and a mug!" You shrugged casually, fingers toying with the ribbon, and handed the box to Gojo. "A token of appreciation, if you wish".

He examined the box with a sharp look, and for the moment, you felt really silly. His long fingers curled around the box, brushing briefly against yours — a warm touch, despite the rain, sending sparks of electricity up your arm.

Did Gojo notice that too?

He almost left, and you almost could breathe in relative calm, when something must've popped into his mind, and he abruptly stopped in his tracks. 

"Wait...are you this girl from the management class? The one with the old Gakuganji? Sitting on the left side, third row?" His eyes briefly scanned your face. You felt like a butterfly under his piercing gaze. "We talked about Mayo's behaviour theory in the library, remember?"

Remember. Did you remember.

Did you remember him.

The carefully constructed unreachable image of Gojo in your head seemed to have its first cracks. You had never thought he would ask if anyone remembered him. You had never thought he would remember your place at the lecture. The Sun didn’t simply bother to pay attention to the satellites.

Gojo might’ve interpreted your stunned silence in a completely different way.

“I mean, your hair is…different. And the hood,” he gestured vaguely, and you quickly put the lone strand behind your ear. 

“Yeah, uhm, that’s…that’s me.”

Gojo didn’t answer this, studying your face with intensity that might’ve pierced through your entire being. As if he were searching for an answer to a particularly tricky question only you could give him. 

Or maybe it was just an effect of his eyes — a shade that certainly shouldn’t exist in the world, putting all the world’s blues to shame. He was still stuck around your stall, as if glued. As if he didn’t want to leave. 

You didn’t even dare to think about it.

“Why are you alone? Aren’t the stalls supposed to have two volunteers? Suguru told me.”

You sighed, reminiscing about how Nobara almost coughed her lungs out today, but her stubborn ass somehow insisted on coming with you. Eventually, it ended with you locking her up in the dorm room.

“They are. I should’ve been there with my friend. She fell ill.”

A mischievous glint flashed in Gojo’s eyes as he arched his brow. “Really fell?”

“Really, really. Nobara’s not like that.” You scoffed at his implications and crossed your hands on your chest.

Gojo’s face sobered. “Nobara? Kugisaki? The lead cheerleader?”

You nodded.

He nodded back. “Yeah, she’s not.”

Your brows furrowed in confusion. What the hell was going on there? Why did he, Gojo Satoru, out of all people, stay by your lonely stall and ask you weird questions?

Creepy. 

Gojo’s gaze flicked to the sky, just as the deafening sound of thunder boomed out of a sudden, then back to your face. The rainy pit-patter against the stall’s shade intensified, pulling you out of the strange daze to hastily pack the stuff back. The framed pictures landed in the box with awkward thuds as you threw them in the box. How you were going to take all of the stuff back to the dorm remained a full mystery.

You picked two of them with a grunt, and the hair fell on your forehead, obscuring the view. The box on the top dangerously slid down, earning a string of curses and a couple of desperate groans from you, when a pair of strong hands suddenly took them from your weakened hands. The rain didn’t help the situation at all.

You almost slipped, losing balance, but quickly stabilized yourself, gripping the same very pair of hands. There was no objection. From the person, obviously.

Gojo’s gaze pinned you to the ground when you looked up. His messy white fringe fell on his forehead (you felt a strange itch in your fingers to brush it away), and some strands, wet from the rain, stuck to his forehead. The soft brightness of his eyes was gone, replaced with something darker and more intense, you weren’t sure you could name it. You just stared back and wondered if the lost people in the oceans saw that exact shade of blue before drowning in their unforgiving waves.

You never saw Gojo that close, obviously. You didn’t know his lashes were so long and soft, fluttering with every breath he took; his nose was crooked just a fraction, and pale freckles dusted his cheeks. 

You swallowed, not daring to step back, and just froze like a deer in the headlights.

Maybe that was the way goddesses crafted the invisible strings. A whim, a caprice of fate, looking down at the people and deciding to grant their hearts the greatest wishes, just to weave them forever into the endless canvas of the universe. 

Little did you know that it was he who got rooted to the very spot. Froze. Stilled. Whatever. Gojo’s entire universe had just fallen off the axis and flew towards hell. The black hole, one might say. With such clarity that he was, honestly, surprised that no one saw it. 

That was the day when he first saw you. Really saw. The lone girl near the animal shelter’s stall, who observed people dismissively walking past her with an understanding and forgiving look. Whose entire face lit up when she talked about the rescued dogs and cats, to the people who would actually come up to the stall. The kind smile that transformed her face into a painting of the finest craft as she gifted the gift boxes. Who stubbornly chose to stay at the fair in the rain and cold. All alone, because her friend got sick. And, naturally, he walked to you, drawn like a moth to the flame.

A shot of electricity shook through Gojo’s body. The ground dropped away from his feet. The biggest fuckass tsunami hit him and filled his lungs with you, you, you. 

That was scary. That was dangerous. You were dangerous. 

The sudden clap of thunder above pulled you out of this strange haze. You stepped back; Gojo blinked — a storm in his eyes gave way to a warm sea breeze.

“They are heavy. I’ll walk you to the dorm.”

Your cheeks heated up, and you quickly babbled.

“There’s no need, really. I am okay—”

You almost flinched at the particularly deafening sound of the thunder and threw your hands up, answering with a weak grin.

“Seems like I do not have much of a choice.”

Gojo only chuckled.

His shoulder lightly brushed against yours the whole time to the dorm, sending light sparks up your arm even through the hoodie. You noticed how he subconsciously fell into step with you. Gojo gave you his umbrella, with some Digimon on it, and at first, you tried to shield him from the raindrops as well, but Gojo was so tall that your arm quickly hurt.

None of you said anything, besides light humming from Gojo’s side, and it felt strangely…nice. You expected desperately scrapping for words to fill the uncomfortable silence between you, but there was no need. Maybe you still existed in that small babble, where time stopped and held you in its tight embrace.

“So, that’s me,” you nodded at the doors and made a grab for the boxes.

Gojo frowned. “They are heavy. Come on, let’s get inside.”

Nobara certainly would ask you questions about how Gojo ended up in their room. You realized that you didn’t want to share this strange moment of...whatever it was with Gojo, with anyone else yet. Besides, she was still sick.

You forced a smile. “Thank you a lot, but I am fine. Really. And Nobara’s sick, so…”

Gojo blinked in confusion, but seeing you weren’t going to step back, nodded. He handed you the boxes back, which made you almost double over under their weight.

“See you at the lectures,” he waved to you, a charming grin curled up on his lips, and you found yourself smiling back. For a couple of moments, you watched his tall figure retreating, mulling over whether you should ask Gojo what the hell was going on, thank him properly or just say anything. You were so nervous, you could barely hear your own thoughts with the blood roaring in your ears.

Your gaze quickly dropped to the box, the shelter’s logo immediately caught your eye, and the idea popped into your mind so fast your anxious mind had hardly registered it. 

“Hey, Gojo!”

He stepped in his tracks and turned right that instant at the sound of your voice. Like he had been subconsciously wishing for it. His eyes seemed so bright, burning you with their electric blue.

God. What had you done? What were you going to do now? Your suggestion seemed so utterly stupid. Maybe Gojo would get tired of your hesitance and walk away?

“Yes?”

Oh, fuck. He was still standing there, head tilted in curiosity. You swallowed. There was no backing down now. Your grip on the boxes tightened. 

“Come to the animal shelter this weekend,” you blurted out. His eyes widened slightly, but you continued. “Your donation was the biggest. There’s a prize for it!”

For a long, painful second, you were sure he would come up with some polite excuse to decline it. To your biggest surprise, a big grin broke on his face.

“I’ll be there. See you.”

You watched Gojo walking away, still not quite believing what had just happened.

The days leading up to the weekend were filled with nervous excitement. Even when Gojo came for your number to text you about it, anxiety was still buzzing deep in your bones.

Turned out there was no reason for it. 

He actually showed up. That time. And many others.

You met at the shelter countless times — Gojo was more than welcome there. Your awkward, occasional conversations in the library turned into full study sessions, when both of you were glad to just share a bit of space. You learnt each other’s coffee orders by heart, favourite books, movies, shared favourite quotes, and had endless conversations under the starry sky about everything and nothing all at once. He would usually point at the bunch of stars and come up with the most ridiculous constellations and histories about them. You couldn’t remember a single moment when your cheeks didn’t hurt from smiling with him, a warm feeling blossomed in your chest every time his lips curved into a soft, gentle grin, the one you had already learnt was reserved only for you. All your camera film was filled with him, but you never complained.

You had never felt anything like that before; your heart was filled to the top with unspent, unrestrained love, so, naturally, it overflowed and flooded everything.

Maybe that was it. Maybe you loved Gojo so fiercely and desperately that it scared him. You never questioned or tried to define your relationship with him — you both were so happy that you thought that taste of honey would linger on your lips forever, living in the warm, miraculous daze forever. For Gojo, whose entire life was carefully built around expectations — the grades always had to be perfect, his future predetermined, written up to the smallest detail the moment he was born, the weight of his family's prestige settling heavily on his shoulders — being with you was a breath of fresh air. He didn’t have to put on any front: a star student, a team captain, the Gojo heir…he was just Satoru with you. And maybe he got a little bit too used to the fact that you simply took everything he offered to you, without asking for more. Without demanding. Without expecting. And when his heart started to jump every time he saw you, his chest tightened with a loving, tender ache at the sight of your smile and all his thoughts gravitated to you wherever he was, Gojo knew he was gone. Completely. 

He didn’t know how to love someone that much. Selflessly, unconditionally, handing his heart on his palm. The painful vulnerability that came with your love stripped him bare, to the bone, exposed the deepest corners of his heart and soul — something he didn’t even dare to look at himself. And that scared him. No amount of hiding his horror of being loved behind the usual mask of a fool could hide it. So he did the best he could for both of you. At least, that was what he thought. 

Left you.

He sincerely thought that was him protecting you from the inevitable break-up. He didn’t know how to love. He didn’t know how to be loved. 

Turned out Gojo just protected himself.

Slowly, your dates shortened, turning into quick meetings and then vanished completely with his weak excuses. Calls postponed, messages left on delivered. He gradually slipped away from your life, leaving a hole so big you didn’t know whether it was even possible to fill with something, someone else who wasn’t him. He ripped your heart and took it with him.

What was even worse was that despite everything, you couldn’t even bring yourself to hate him. Despite taking away your air with him. You cried yourself to sleep on countless nights, threw yourself into studies, volunteering, working, and everything that could even remotely help you to find closure. You were so lucky to have Nobara by your side — wordlessly, she picked up the shards of your shattered heart and carefully glued them together.

Over time, you grew tired of seeing your own sad, tear-filled gaze in the mirror, the sorrow in the bags under your eyes, hollow cheeks — solitude etched into your soul. You didn’t deserve it. If he weren’t the one, then be it. You couldn’t let a man define all your future.

With strange calmness and melancholy, you blocked him. Moved to another city. Got to work in a flower shop, something that you discussed with Gojo a lot of times. Took up hobbies. Squeezed yourself into bustling, busy Kyoto life as much as you could. Met other people, despite how much you wanted to hide in your shell.

Got over Gojo. At least, you thought you did, safe for times when your mind naturally went to reminisce about him after failed dates; for the fingerprints of him were all over the pages of your life.

Only for everything to return after meeting him today.

***

Saying that Gojo didn’t cross your mind the next days would be a lie. 

You wish you were a liar.

Why did he happen to visit your flower shop? Was it really random?

And more importantly: would he visit again?

The one part of you, young, naive and endlessly romantic, built sandcastles and told you that she wanted it to happen. The other, sharpened by adulthood and the cruelty of the world, destroyed them without batting an eye and told you not to be foolish. The second voice sounded suspiciously like Nobara’s.

You were too scared to trust the girl with the dreams way bigger than her, living in a fairytale, where princes would always find their way to princesses, fight all the dragons and have their happily-ever-afters.

You couldn’t afford to think about it. Closing off, guarding your heart like Cerberus wasn’t an option either, so you did what any reasonable, mature grown-up would do: bury yourself in work.

The large shipment of items, flowers and vases among them, had just been delivered to the shop, before one of your most frequent customers’ jubilee, so you were in dire need of all hands available. As a cruel joke of fate, Nobara was on the other side of the city, and Utahime argued with the suppliers, who messed up an important order again; her angry voice cut through the relative serenity and silence in the shop. Honestly, totally understandable.

Your back hurt from standing for God knew how long, a band-aid on your left hand had already asked for mercy, and the strain in your neck screamed for relief. You tried not to pay attention to the tightness in your shoulders; the exhaustion gave you a much-needed escape from your own mind. 

The bell chimed in greeting; your head snapped up to greet a client, only to be met with a familiar flash of snowy hair.

Your heart skipped a beat, and light pink dusted your cheeks. 

The little girl sheepishly peeked out of the window in her sandcastle.

“Didn’t expect you to see you here, yet so soon,” you mumbled in greeting, hastily wiping your hands off the apron and, unconsciously, clasping them behind your back. For some reason, you didn’t want Gojo to have a look at your scratches. Not when he was dressed to kill. Probably you.

You dragged your gaze from his figure and stood behind the register. The familiar position gave much-needed strength to deal with the headache Gojo Satoru was. Like you were the one in control. 

You didn’t quite recognize your voice, all sharp and business-like, when you asked him.

“How can I help you?”

Gojo didn’t answer you straight away. His gaze swept the surroundings — scattered boxes, vases waiting to be filled, a bunch of balloons —  until it landed on you. Something tender and endlessly fragile flashed in his eyes, but he quickly masked it. 

“I am here to talk to you and your boss, Miss Iori. I’ve been told I have to wait a bit —”

“...and if you are gonna sell me ranunculi instead of peonies once again, when I specifically asked for the fucking peonies,” you both turned your heads towards Utahime’s office, her voice gradually rising in pitch as she spoke. You swallowed. “I am gonna stick them all up in your ass and —”

You quickly exchanged glances with Gojo. His lips curled into a full-blown grin, the amusement dancing on his face, so unrestrained that you forgot what all the fuss about was.

“She’s a little busy now,” you chuckled in return. 

“I see,” Gojo finally turned to you, with the same smile he once stole your heart, and leaned on the register, his long fingers lazily drumming against the surface. 

“Actually, it’s even better. I want to talk to you first,” Gojo’s voice, soothing around the edges, dipped to that tone you were all familiar with. Deep and sweet, thick as honey, dying on your tongue in dizzying aftertaste.

“You see, we’re going to have an event soon, and among everything we need florists, obviously.” He flashed you a quick smile, but seeing confusion written all over your face, quickly schooled himself. Gojo glanced around the shop once again: the holiday postcards seemed to pique his interest way more than your reaction, then his gaze drifted to Utahime’s office once again, and finally, he dared to look at your face again. 

“And?”

“I want you to be the main designer of the event.”

Gojo’s words didn’t catch you completely off guard. Deep down, you wanted that day not to be a strange accident. Longed to see him again. Needed to allow yourself a moment of foolishness. 

A beat of silence passed between you, charged with the heaviness of unspoken words and feelings, deep buried inside to a point you doubt whether you both had even happened. Otherwise, why didn’t you ask him straight away to find someone else? Go from your sight and never return? 

Why didn’t you have the strength to resist his gravity? Was it even possible? To deny the Sun its power, when the burns still echoed in your heart with raging ache? 

Gojo’s eyes were glued to your face, desperately seeking any clue his expression might hand him. His voice dropped to a desperate whisper.

“I am not going to force you into anything. If you don’t want to deal with this,” the sudden wavering crept into his voice; a grimace briefly crossed his face, “dealing with me, I understand that. But I want to ask you not to do it. You’ll have all the creative freedom you want, all the communication will be handled by my assistant, and we won’t even meet, unless you want it. I promise. Just…just don’t reject the offer because of me. Please.” 

Your gaze narrowed, steel slipping into it. As much as the sapphires of his eyes urged you to surrender, to capitulate, to yield, your dignity screamed in objection.

“Why are you so adamant about this? Why do you want me to do this?”

His lips curled into a small knowing smile, bitter around the edges. His finger lightly tapped on the bunch of receipts, eyes drifting to the forgotten band-aid on your hand. The tightness in your shoulders didn’t go unnoticed either. 

“I think you need it. To feel in your place once again.”

How.

How did he manage to dig into your chest and rip your heart, revealing all the quiet battles you had been fighting? After all those years? Making you seen, even now?

But why did he think he still had a chance to tear you apart? To open apart old scars, the ones you were slowly stitching together?

The sudden anger bloomed bright in your chest, dipping all your words in venom.

“You promised me a lot of things, Gojo. I don’t quite remember you keeping them.”

A sparkle of icy fury flashed in Gojo’s eyes, and his jaw tightened. You didn’t allow yourself to flinch as he stared right into your eyes — the swords clashing in a deadly dance.

You dug your nails into your palm hard enough to leave crescents.

“Come on, say something. Give me a reason to hate you.”

The anger in his eyes slowly melted into an ache until guilt flooded the blue of them. Gojo stepped back with a sigh. His fingertips twitched as if he wanted to reach you, but then stopped halfway.

“I know I had hurt you. And believe me, this is not how I imagined us having a conversation like this,” Gojo’s gaze caressed your features, memorizing them, as if it would be his last chance to see you at all. Miraculously, you hold yourself from giving in to the apology and regret that laced his voice. You weren’t ready to face everything once again. Your heart was still bleeding for him. “If you want to talk about it — “

A subtle shake. “I do not.”

“Okay. Okay. I understand. Then just think about what I said. Please.”

Your gaze dropped. You wanted to hate him. You wanted to look right into his face and say “fuck you”, among many other things you were desperate to cry out. To scream, to push, to take him apart like he once did to you.

But you couldn’t.

You didn’t notice Gojo left the shop until the annoying doorbell chirped right through the haze of your mind.

Exhausted, you dragged your hand over your face and slumped into the nearby chair, deep in thought.

***

Utahime didn’t urge you to anything, and while you were grateful for that, the answer she hoped for was visible in the tight set of her shoulders as she looked through the bills, the tired sigh that would escape her every time she dealt with the suppliers, not to mention the rude customers. The jubilee was the last big event before the usual dry period.

Your inner scales gradually tipped towards Gojo’s offer more and more, with every strain in your neck, headache pounding with deafening force at your temples and endless scratches on your palms.

One evening, with you and Nobara crashing on your couch, you finally felt the scales tipped in Gojo’s favour. As the days blurred into a limitless working routine, where the only light was his words, whispering in the back of your exhausted mind with more and more annoying insistence, you found yourself eventually thinking about his offer more and more.

“So, you gonna text him or what?” Nobara mused, swirling the wine in her glass, sitting with her legs tucked. The Friday evening downed at you with a startling surprise.

You mindlessly twirled a business card that Gojo left for you at the register the day he visited the shop. Strangely, it completely slipped out of your mind. A quick brush of fingers against the plastic — an elegantly written GOJO SATORU caught the light — until it hit the coffee table. Nobara reached for it to examine.

“Whoa, as cocky as ever.”

“Well, he’s the CEO or whoever,” you murmured dismissevely and took a gulp from your own glass. The liquid bloomed bitterly at the tip of your tongue, and you put it away with a sigh.

Even wine didn’t help. You slowly tilted your head back until it hit the back of the couch. 

“Okay, let’s look at this from the other side,” Nobara discarded the card somewhere and sat cross-legged. You cracked one eye open, and the sight of her business-like expression almost made a groan slip your lips. “What’s the worst that can happen?”

When Nobara was in a mood, nothing in the world could stop her. You slowly straightened, but her next words made you choke on your own breath. 

“It’s not like he’s gonna confess that he was a massive jerk and ask for your hand in marriage.”

You spluttered, heat rising your cheeks. “Nobara!” 

The small decorative throw pillow landed on her face with the precision of a sniper. She huffed and rolled her eyes.

“Just saying. Not like that’s ever happening.”

A silence fell upon both of you, while you chewed on your bottom lip, musing over Gojo’s last words, which still lingered in your heart with a dull ache. 

Nobara narrowed her eyes and cocked her brow in a silent question. You swallowed and gave in with a sigh.

“He tried to talk to me that day,” you paused, choosing the next words, fully aware of Nobara’s glaring daggers in you. “Just admitted he hurt me, but I wasn’t ready for this whole conversation. Like, at all. You know what I mean, right?”

You slowly dragged your gaze to her, only to meet her softened gaze, full of sympathy. Wordlessly, she opened her arms, and you fell into her embrace. A quiet sniffle escaped you as you buried your face in her hoodie. Still without saying anything, Nobara brushed a lone hair strand behind your ear.

She indeed knew what you meant. 

When she held you in her arms, after Gojo ghosted you, brushed off like you never ever happened in his life. When she was by your side without even asking, dragging you back to the world, where Gojo was no longer a part of you. When she helped you to stand on your own once again. 

Nobara knew. You knew. Creeping between the cracks of things you never said. 

“I don’t know what to do.” Your voice got muffled by the fabric, but your best friend heard you all good. She patted your head with a soft, melancholic smile and murmured.

“I think you do, sweetheart.”

You went still in her arms, before mumbling something affirmative, and pulled back. Your fingers nervously trembled as you typed Gojo’s number.

“I won’t let him get me this time.”

Nobara watched you with a serious face, chin resting in her palm, elbow digging into the plush of the throw pillows. God, she hoped you were right. Not like her, or you would survive another heartbreak by Gojo Satoru. This time, it might come crushing even more.

She moved closer, your thighs brushing against each other’s, as she peeked at your screen. Her eyes briefly scanned the text before giving an approving nod.

You exhaled sharply before anxiously hitting the send button.

The three dots appeared in your chat alarmingly fast. Like Gojo had been chained to his phone, waiting for your text. You slowly exchanged glances with Nobara.

“He’s typing something.”

“Thanks, Sherlock.”

You threw her an annoyed glance. “Shut it.”

Not even a minute had passed since your own message when the phone dinged with a notification from Gojo. 

Gojo

22:54

Hi. Honestly, I didn’t expect you to text at all. Of course, my offer is still up and will be. Told you it’s yours. We can meet on Monday to discuss the details, if you’re free.

“Oh, he’s so sweet, it’s disgusting,” Nobara fake gagged and reached for her long forgotten wine. You didn’t dignify it with a response.

You

22:56

yeah, monday works for me. what about 2 p.m.?

Gojo

22:56

Totally fine. See you then.

You watched three dots appearing and disappearing in the chat, and your grip on the phone tightened with each passing second.

Gojo

22:58

Good night.

Your heart did a stupid flip, totally not needed and surely out of place. You shouldn’t have this reaction to Gojo Satoru. Shouldn’t!

With a sigh, you blocked the phone and stared up at the ceiling, mulling over what Monday would bring to you.

***

The clock in the Gojo’s reception barely hit 2 p.m., when his secretary, a tall blonde woman with a polite smile, invited you into his office. Honestly, you regretted not asking to meet you at least at a neutral territory the moment you stepped into the cold, pristine walls of the Six Eyes Corp. The ride in the elevator felt endless, your anxiety rising with each passing second, and the sight of an entire horde of managers and support staff running around didn’t help.

Corporation shmorporation. 

Wait. Would you become another cog in this soulless capitalism machine the moment you agree to Gojo’s offer?

You didn’t have time to think through it properly, opening the door to his office.

It was bigger than the reception, but not as enormous as you imagined. The first thing that caught your eye was the panoramic windows, with the entire Kyoto spread before your eyes. The walls were adorned with beautiful paintings: you squinted your eyes to examine them, which probably belonged to the brush of some niche Japanese artist. His workplace was surprisingly neat, especially given the way you remembered Gojo, when you both were…were. The laptop, a bunch of papers to be signed, pens in a holder, and…wait for a damn minute.

A mug. A simple mug just near a stapler. Slightly cracked, the logo rubbed off, but the image of a winking cat was still visible. 

Blood pounded in your ears, while you tried to get a grip on your anxious thoughts. You took a tentative step closer to observe it better, but there was no point in it. It really was the same mug you gifted him at that fair. A prize for the biggest donation. His donation. Gojo kept it in his room, and you drank from the mug more times than you could count. He would often joke that it was his favourite trophy.

And he kept it. On his table, in his office, where he ruled the world that this corporation was. Why?

Why? Did he think of you? Did he recall that fair? The shelter?

Ironically, Gojo didn’t notice you. His back was facing you as he talked to someone over the phone, looking at the city beneath his feet. You allowed yourself a moment of shameless gawking at his back in the crisp white of a button-up. His voice was clipped, words short, and exhaustion laced his words. You felt bad for intruding this place for a moment, especially when his shoulders dropped, as he ran fingers through the hair: the clear white of it catching the light in a way that stole your breath. The sleeves of the shirt were rolled up, exposing the map of the veins on his forearms, muscles slightly flexing with every move. You swallowed and quickly looked away.

He finally acknowledged you with a slight tilt of his head and dismissed the call with a quick “Not now. Busy,” gesturing for you to take a chair.

You carefully sat, fingers fumbling with the strap of a bag to get your notebook, as Gojo slumped in his chair, which screamed The Big Boss™. He hooked his thumb in the tie with irritation to loosen it, and your gaze briefly flicked there. You smiled sympathetically.

“Rough day?”

“A bit.”

Your grip on the notebook tightened. “We can reschedule, I don’t mind.”

Gojo’s white brows knitted together in confusion, and he immediately straightened up. “No, why would we? I am peachy.”

Your shoulders dropped in a shrug. “Okay.”

“Wanna some coffee or tea? I hope Mei Mei offered you something.”

“Ah, yeah, I’ve just had coffee. Thanks.” Yes. Coffee was a totally plausible excuse for your fidgeting.

“I see.”

Inevitably, you kept sneaking glances at Gojo, pulled closer by the gravity. He twirled the pan between his long, pale fingers, checking something on the laptop, his eyes briefly scanning the screen. Then suddenly he looked up, catching you red-handed just mid-gawking. You briefly dropped your gaze back to the notebook, while his lips curled into a little smug grin. You cleared your throat, the business-like mask slipping on your face. 

“So, I’ll need to know what exactly the kind of event it is going to be, a venue, and a budget at first. If you have something specific in mind for the design, I’ll also be glad to hear.”

Gojo’s grin softened as he listened to your questions, head tilted, a dreamy gaze caressing your features. You looked so charming, sitting all serious in his office. 

Only when you cocked your brow in an attempt to hurry him did he realize he was shamelessly staring at you all this time. Well done, Gojo. Very professional. He quickly typed something on the laptop just to avoid your gaze.

“It’s gonna be an annual charity event for our foundation. They used to be hosted in the Tokyo branch, but this year the board decided to hold it there, in Kyoto.”

“Oh, I didn’t know you ran a foundation”.

A smile broke on Gojo’s face, and he hummed. “Well, a lot of things changed since —” he abruptly cut them off, probably having realized he sounded kind of insensitive. You hold your breath, “since I became the CEO.” 

You breathed out and marked something off in your list.

“I see. That’s…that’s really good. I am glad things are taking on a better turn.”

“Me too.”

Gods, that was so awkward. This really should’ve been a call. Gojo, however, either didn’t notice this strange atmosphere or simply decided to ignore it. He examined you with his bright blue gaze, head tilted to the side. A curious smile played on his lips, and you hated that he was effortlessly charming even now. Always had been. You pressed a pen to your lips. His gaze flicked there, as if hypnotized.

“What about the venue?”

“The hotel next to the main building. We have a partnership with this chain, so it’s kinda a mutual offer. You should’ve seen it on the way here.”

Oh yes, you did. The said building screamed luxury, not the grotesque hyperbolized one, but something way quieter. The kind that clearly told you would’ve been odd there. 

Okay, you thought. You would be working there, not catching glimpses of visitors and the staff.

Another mark in the notebook. 

“Budget?”

Gojo waved his hand in dismissal. “Unlimited. The floor is yours.”

You arched your brow, humming. You didn’t have a lot of luck in encountering your exes, who wanted you to work for them with an unlimited budget. “What if I asked for, I don’t know, Juliet Roses?”

He hummed in return, fingers drumming against the wood of the table. Then leaned slightly in, amusement lacing his tone as he drawled.

“I don’t understand much about that. But sure, whatever you want.”

You pressed your lips into a thin line, earning a deep chuckle from Gojo. Teasing the guy who had more money than you would ever be able to make wasn’t as funny as you thought.

After this, you discussed the setting, a couple of specific ideas you already had outlined and some technical details. Gojo tried to crack some jokes, but you weren’t as enthusiastic about them as he was, so he quickly put on a business guy mask on. At the end of the meeting, your mind buzzed quietly with all the information, but a familiar feeling of excitement flooded you: hours of brainstorming, crafting, and creating waited for you. A big heartfelt smile broke on your face as you packed your things back into the bag. 

Gojo offered to walk you back to the elevator, and you didn’t find any excuse to refuse him. The silence stretched between you, not unnecessarily heavy, but you wouldn’t call it comfortable. Your gaze swept the surroundings, landing on a couple of managers, who were stealing sneaky glances at both of you and whispering something to each other with sharp smirks. 

Ugh. Like you were back in the university once again, meeting dumbfounded gazes of students, the moment they eyed you up next to Gojo. 

He was humming something to yourself, completely unbothered, leaning on the wall with the air of confidence that suggested he owned this whole world. And he surely did, if the world closed in on this corporation.

You quickly looked over your shoulder. “Didn’t it bother you?”

He stopped humming, eyes briefly flickering to your face. A lopsided grin curled his lips. “What are you talking about?”

Ah, as usual. He didn’t even notice the gaze, the whispers and the gossiping. Again, the sun didn’t bother to pay attention to satellites. 

You wordlessly glanced at the girls back and stared at the elevator. Gojo watched you with his head tilted and followed the direction of your gaze. The moment his eyes landed on the gossiping managers, his jaw tightened, and the steel crept into his voice. “Ah. I see.”

Your head snapped towards Gojo, and without much thinking, you grabbed him by the wrist. “I didn’t mean anything, let them be — “

“Hey, Chloe!” His voice boomed across the hall, causing one girl to nearly drop her binder. You could see her swallowing with effort even from this distance. A charming smile tugged on the corner of his lips, though it didn’t reach his eyes, as he drawled in a deceptively sweet voice. “I presume you already finished the monthly report, since you have plenty of free time?”

The crimson crept up Chloe’s cheeks as she gripped the binder tighter, babbling. “No, Mr. Gojo, I was merely —”

His smile turned more wolfish as he tilted his head. “Then get your friend outta of here and do something useful.”

Chloe briefly exchanged glances with her friend before quickly making their way to the offices. Gojo watched until their figures disappeared and turned to you with a mischievous smile.

“Nah, it doesn’t.”

You couldn’t help but smile in return. “They are gonna talk even more, you know.”

His shoulders dropped in a lazy shrug, but his gaze fixed you with its usual intensity. You forgot how the sharpness of it used to make your breath bated.

“There’s nothing to talk about. Unless?”

Your heart stammered against your ribs at the innuendo in his tone. Inevitably, you remembered the mug from the shelter on his table, and while you were debating whether to bring it up or keep your mouth shut, the elevator behind finally dinged. A sign, hah?

You hastily stepped forward just to hide from Gojo when his fingers brushed against your wrist. 

“Wait — “

“You look beautiful today.”

“I like your blouse, this colour suits you.”

“You curled your hair, right? I love the way they frame your face.”

The blue of his eyes pinned you to the ground as if you were a butterfly. Gojo’s lips parted, but the words never came, and slowly he let your hand go, letting the crowd in the elevator swallow you and take you away from him.

He inhaled slowly and stared at the ceiling.

What was the name of those flowers?

***

The next days passed in a blur as you started planning the event. Honestly, you hadn’t felt such a wave of excitement since…a long time ago. You didn’t blame your flower shop and Utahime, hell, you never could, but turned out when your hands weren’t constantly covered in all sorts of scraps, knees hurt from standing so much and back almost breaking from carrying the vases, you enjoyed your job well more. 

Gojo kept his promise and didn’t contact you until it was absolutely necessary. However, you couldn’t hide the way your heart would skip a beat wherever he appeared at the venue or when he sent you a little emoji at the end of his texts. You told yourself not to live in illusions, but it became increasingly harder with his gaze caressing you, when Gojo thought you didn’t pay attention. The strange, tender ache in his eyes made your insides churn with some unspeakable feeling you weren’t ready to name at all, and for the sake of your mentality, you decided you would pretend it was a simple curiosity. The mug on his office table whispered insistently that you were wrong. You stubbornly shoved the thought away.  

Gojo didn’t overstep, keeping your relationship on a faint, barely non-existent line of business partners and past acquaintances. Though sometimes he couldn’t help himself and…mishaps indeed happened. 

For example, on your first day at the venue, you were greeted by an elegant bouquet of Juliet roses and pink hydrangeas. The florist in you critically examined the bouquet and admitted it was too your liking, but the thought that it was for you didn’t even cross your mind (tell about originality — giving flowers to the florist), when Gojo happened to peek in and noticed the bouquet didn’t move an inch. 

“Is something wrong with the flowers? I thought you liked these roses.”

Too engrossed in your files, you didn’t even catch his words, staring mindlessly at the screen of your laptop, until a shadow loomed over the table and you begrudgingly had to look up. You stared at Gojo in confusion.

He nodded at the bouquet. “You didn’t like the flowers?”

Your brows knitted in confusion as you followed the direction of his gaze. “No. The composition is really good. I like the way the hydrangeas frame the roses. Juliet roses! The guy doesn’t play about his date,” you chuckled and added immediately. “Or the lady. Either way, the flowers are nice.”

A beat of silence passed between you, enveloping you in its warm embrace. A light pink dusted Gojo’s cheekbones, and he murmured in pretend nonchalance.

“So you didn’t check the card?”

Now you felt completely dumbfounded and slightly irritated that Gojo kept distracting you from the work at hand. “No, why would I —”

Your gaze briefly flicked to the flowers at one of the tables and back to Gojo, who kept eyeing with his usual intensity, stripping you bare of any defences. Then it hit you.

This bouquet was for you.

“Oh”, you murmured nervously, and forced a quick smile, involuntarily straightening up in a chair. Now you couldn’t wait to read the card. “I-I am sorry, I just thought. You know.” You twirled a pen between your fingers, mulling over the next words. There was a little excitement in telling your ex-situationship that you weren’t used to flowers. Usually, when the guys heard about you being the florist, they joked, “Then you are probably tired of seeing them,” as an excuse.

It stopped amusing you on the third date. On the fifth, you resisted the urge to smack them. On the tenth, you silently prayed they would shut up. 

You muttered as politely as you could. “You didn’t have to, Gojo. Thank you.”

A strange melancholy lacing your voice didn’t go past Gojo. His tone hardened. “If you liked them, then I absolutely had to.”

He hated it. He absolutely hated the way your face dropped, sadness crept into your usual bright tone, and the smile became a little too tight around the edges. Despised how you automatically assumed the flowers weren’t for you. Hell, who else were they for?

And the thought of him being the reason you doubted yourself drove him insane to the point of keeping him awake in the night, browsing through your old photos; he couldn’t bring himself to delete. Not only as a memory of what he lost but as evidence of his own cowardice. 

He tried to keep you at a distance, letting the contract and the strict confines of the agreement define you. He thought it would be easier this way. 

But there was nothing easy about either of you. Never was. And in the end, he gave up. The lines blurred between you so hard that he couldn’t keep pretending anymore.

© wiserion. do not modify my work in any way (copying, translating, ai feeding, etc.)

[mimuju-deactivated20260521]

⋆˚꩜｡ sukuna is not happy about piercing your daughter's ears

"no. absolutely not. you're not touching her."

sukuna's voice is a low growl, his massive arms wrapped protectively around your toddler daughter in the piercing chair. the lady with the piercing gun pauses, eyes wide at the tattooed giant glaring daggers from his spot beside you. 

she's tiny, maybe 2, all chubby cheeks and wild pink hair like her dad's, dressed in a frilly dress you picked out for her "big girl day," complete with little mary janes. you've been hyping it up for weeks—tiny sparkly studs, nothing crazy, just simple diamonds to match her eyes. but sukuna? he's been grumbling since you suggested it, muttering about "barbaric customs" and "ruining perfection."

"baby, it's just earrings," you say softly, squeezing his knee under the counter. "she'll look so cute! and it'll heal fast. millions of girls get this done."

he shoots you a look, all four eyes narrowing under those sharp black brows. "she's a baby. babies don't need holes poked in their heads. what if it gets infected? what if she hates it?" but he doesn't move, holding her steady on his lap, her little hands clutching his black shirt, babbling happily at the shiny gun like it's a toy.

the piercing lady smiles nervously, gun ready, trying to lighten the mood. "it'll be quick, sir. one little pop on each side. she's been great so far."

sukuna huffs, his breath ruffling your daughter's hair, but he nods once, jaw clenched so tight you see the muscle tick. "fine. make it painless or i'll make you regret it. i don't care if you're human or not."

you bite back a laugh, watching him brace like he's facing a battlefield. the lady counts down—three, two, one—and pops the first stud through your daughter's earlobe. instant wail. a piercing cry that echoes in the small shop, her face scrunching up beet red, fat tears rolling down her chubby cheeks, little legs kicking wildly.

sukuna freezes, body going rigid, then twitches like he's been shot himself. "what the fuck was that?!" he snarls, his free hand slamming the counter hard enough to make the jewelry displays rattle, tattoos rippling across his skin like living shadows. all four eyes lock on the lady like he's about to curse her into oblivion right there. "do that again and you're fucking dead, you hear me?"

the poor woman stammers, the cheap piericng gun trembling in her hands, face paling. "i-it's normal! just the shock! she's fine, look—the second one's done already, see?" she pops the other ear quick as lightning, and your daughter's tiny fists flailing at the air, her cries turning into quiet hiccups.

you can't help it—you burst out giggling, hand over your mouth, tears in your eyes from laughing. "kuna, oh my god— she's fine! look, sparkles already! she's got her earrings, see how pretty?"

he ignores you completely, scooping her up fully into his massive arms, cradling her against his broad chest like she's made of glass. his glare stays pinned on the lady for a long beat, utterly murderous, promising vengeance, before it softens instantly on his girl. 

"shh, shh, my little princess. daddy's got you. that mean lady's gone forever, i swear it." he rocks her gently side to side, his huge hand patting her back in slow circles, the other stroking her wild pink hair with surprising tenderness. her cries taper to sniffly hiccups, soothed by his deep rumble of a voice humming some ancient, gravelly lullaby from his cursed past, the kind only you know about.

you lean in, kissing his stubbled cheek, still chuckling softly. "she won't even remember this tomorrow. but you'll be telling the story for years, won't you, kuna?"

he grunts, still shooting one last glare over his shoulder at the lady as you pay and gather her things. "no more piercings. ever." but he presses a soft kiss to her tiny forehead, her sparkly new earrings catching the shop lights like stars, and you know he's already melting inside, utterly whipped for his perfect little girl.

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