Satoru Gojo was always a little shit. He just happened to have a seven-year-old accomplice now.
Your son was a carbon copy of his father. Same fluffy white hair, same bright blue eyes, same annoyingly perfect face. Your genes had taken one look at Gojo’s DNA, sighed, and given up completely.
And, of course, he had Limitless.
Which was why you walked into the backyard that Wednesday afternoon and found the two of them standing in the middle of the grass, looking far too proud of themselves.
Your son was hovering three centimeters above the grass, his tiny dark sunglasses perched proudly on his nose. They were completely unnecessary, of course, but he’d insisted on wearing them because Dad wore sunglasses too, and apparently that was enough reason.
In front of him stood Satoru, looking like the world’s most irresponsible father as he casually tossed pebbles at his son, watching each one stop in midair before it could touch him with pure delight.
“See? Perfect!” Satoru said, grinning. “Now try walking forward while keeping it up. No breaking concentration. You’re not just strong, you’re untouchable. You’re better than most of the kids at—”
“Satoru Gojo”
Both heads turned.
Satoru slowly looked over his shoulder, his smile already morphing into the unmistakable expression of a man who had just been caught doing something incredibly stupid and had decided charm was his only remaining defense.
“Hey, baby.” His grin widened. “You look beautiful today. It’s like the sun manifested in your face.”
You crossed your arms.
“You were throwing rocks at our son.”
“Supervised rocks.”
You narrowed your eyes.
“And you were about to tell him he’s better than most of the kids at school.”
“Well, that’s t—” Satoru stopped himself when he caught your glare.
Your son looked between the two of you and decided to help.
“Dad said if I get really good at Infinity, even you won’t be able to catch me when I’m in trouble.”
Satoru closed his eyes like he was in physical pain.
“…Buddy. We talked about the timing of honesty.”
You pointed toward the house.
“Both of you. Inside. Time-out. Now.”
Satoru blinked. “Both of us?”
“Yes. You for turning Infinity into a ‘get out of trouble free’ card, and him for looking way too excited about it.”
Your son finally lowered himself onto the grass, his little sunglasses sliding down his nose.
“But I was doing really good...”
“Hallway. Wall. Ten minutes.”
“Moooooom—”
“Fifteen.”
They disappeared into the house.
Ten minutes later, you walked past the hallway and found them sitting side by side against the wall. Mini-Gojo was cross-legged on the floor, tiny sunglasses still perched on his nose like he was serving time in juvenile detention. Stupid-Gojo had his legs stretched out beside him.
They looked identical. Same pout. Same furrowed brows. Same deeply offended expression of two people who had apparently been wronged by the justice system.
Your son leaned toward his father and whispered, “Dad... is Mom really mad?”
Satoru glanced toward you before whispering back, “Furious. And she’s the strongest person in this house, so maybe don’t make eye contact.”
You cleared your throat.
Both heads snapped up at the same time. Satoru immediately put on his most innocent smile. “We were reflecting.”
Your son nodded solemnly. “A lot.”
You raised an eyebrow. “And what did you learn?”
Your son opened his mouth. Satoru shot him a warning look. But it was already too late.
“That next time we should practice when mom’s at the store.”
Satoru dropped his head back against the wall with a groan.
You stared at them for a long second. Then you pointed at the wall again.
“Another fifteen minutes. Both of you.”
Mini-Gojo gasped. “Dad, you got us more time!”
“I regret teaching you how to talk.” Stupid-Gojo muttered under his breath.
They sat there in matching silence, matching white hair, matching blue eyes, matching punishment.
You walked away before either of them could see the smile you were fighting.
Behind you, there was a moment of silence. Then, very quietly:
“Dad?”
“Yeah, buddy?”
“Can Infinity get us out of time-out?”
Stupid-Gojo glanced down at Mini-Gojo.
“...Technically.”
“Satoru.”
“I’M KIDDING.”
You rolled your eyes and went back to whatever you’d been doing. It was only Wednesday. You sighed.
.✦ ݁˖ fluff !! girl dad nanami buying his baby girl her first little bracelet
find more of my papa nanami series here!!
nanami had found it in a little shop just down the street from his office.
it was just a small band, delicate and simple, the kind of thing meant to sit well on a tiny wrist. he turnt it over in his hand, his thumb brushing over the smooth metal.
it reminded him of the bracelet he once gave you, the one you still wear, the one he fastened around your wrist years ago when things were quieter and there still werent any tiny footsteps padding around the house.
and so he bought it.
nanami comes home with the bracelet still tucked in the little paper bag, handled carefully even though its small. he sets his briefcase down, hangs his jacket, and makes his way over into the living room.
youre already on the couch, your legs tucked under you, watching your daughter play on the carpet. every so often you reach out and brush your fingers through her hair, smoothing it down the way she likes, and she giggles like its the best thing in the world.
that night, nanami sits with her on his lap, his fame softened so she can fit comfortably against him. she wiggles a little because shes curious, her tiny hands reaching for the bracelet.
he lets her hold it first, lets her feel the cool metal, her fingers small and clumsy but handling it like its something precious.
he takes it back gently, supporting her wrist with one hand while the other guides the bracelet into place. his movements are careful, like hes handling something fragile. the metal slides over her wrist just right, not too loose and not too tight. it rests there, catching the light.
she watches it happen with wide eyes, and when it settles, she lifts her hand, turning it this way and that way, opening and closing her fingers to see how it moves. shes happy, her face all lit up in that soft way toddlers do.
"like mama" she babbles, cheeks round and happy.
nanami keeps one hand resting lightly on her back the whole time, steady and grounding, watching the tiny smile that appears when she realizes the bracelet is hers.
"like mama," he echoes, a soft smile tugging at the corner of his lip.
he smooths a thumb over the fabric of her sleeve, protective and quiet. its his little gift to his baby.
you smile from where youre sat next to him, small and warm, and reach over to brush a stray strand of hair from your daughters face. she grins at you, then at him, turning her wrist this way and that like she’s discovering something wonderful.
when she finally settles, you lean in and press a soft kiss to nanamis cheek. he glances at you, his arm wrapping around you to pull you closer, lips brushing over your hairline in a soft kiss.
masterlist. back after my 5 month hiatus bc of school. graduated last week and really hope I can pump out a lot of fics to make up for the 5 months. good to be back
girl dad!nanami who is a proud father of two perfect angles and a proud husband to you. nanami was so thrilled when you first told him you were pregnant. he span you around and kissed you deeply. his daughters are his absolute joy. he has a picture of you and his daughters in his wallet and likes to show you off when he needs to.
girl dad!nanami who deals with having to flip the entire house looking for a plushie. one of them is following behind him, quiet tears rolling down her chubby cheeks and sniffling very loudly as nanami's checking under the cushions. he sighs for the nth time then looks at his daughter and carries her in his arms trying to soothe her. "it's okay darling, we'll get you another one..."
"but i want that one...". safe to say the plushie was safely tucked beneath her blankets.
girl dad!nanami who's heart swells when he's met with his two girls as soon as he comes back home. as soon as he says the words 'i'm home' the girls are quick to rush to the front door and trap his legs in a hug while you're walking up to him slowly with the prettiest smile. his daughters bombard him with questions and take his bag and one even offers to take his coat. he thinks they're absolute angels talking his ear off as they swing on his legs. his energy is quickly restored after such a tiresome shift.
girl dad!nanami who's jolted awake on the regular when one of them has a nightmare. "daddy...daddy...can you move?... i want to sleep here too". nanami hears her soft voice and quickly sits up and picks her up.
"you had a nightmare?", he asks and she nods, fisting his shirt, her breath irregular. he pats her head and kisses her forehead multiple times. "it's okay. i'm here for you...you're safe". nanami places her gently next to you and only falls back asleep when she does.
girl dad!nanami who enjoys preparing the girl's lunches. he's up before you anyways so why not bother. nanami makes sure that they have a nutritious lunch packed with enough protein, vitamins and greens. and if they've been good all week, maybe some candy. nanami also checks if their water bottles are empty after school. they have to be we'll hydrated if they want to grow up healthy.
girl dad!nanami who reads bedtime stories to both of them while they're leaning against him on either side. he's reading the story slowly and changing his voice slightly for the characters so they can have a little fun. and when they both finally fall asleep, he has no problem carrying them to their beds. he just can't get enough of them.
girl dad!nanami who put together a playhouse in their room over the course of a week. you were both out shopping with the kids at their uncle's (satoru) and he spots the playhouse. "you think the girls are gonna love this?", he points to it with a serious look on his face.
"i'm sure they would, ken. a playhouse would be great for them". and the next thing he knows, he's walking out with the huge box and quickly gets to work as soon as he's home. when the girls come back a week later they run into their room to find nanami placing the finishing touches. the girls squeal and run to nanami locking him in a hug as a bunch of thank yous and i love yous spill from their lips as his heart is quietly exploding.
girl dad!nanami who reprimands them when they do something wrong even though it hurts him. he never yells, never uses harsh words but he knows how to get the point across. the part he hates the most is when they look up at him with glassy eyes and a sad pout as they apologize for what they did wrong. nanami wants to pick them up and hug and kiss them but he doesn't because he knows that they should acknowledge what they did wrong.
girl dad!nanami who randomly says that he wants another one as you're curled up in bed. he's just tucked the girls in bed and comes up to you holding you close, face in your chest. "another one wouldn't be so bad, right honey?"
"you really want a third?? you are whipped. those girls are going to be the death of you"
(,,>﹏<,,) bring your kid to work day + nanami! ✦⋆💼.˚
“my love, are you absolutely sure about this?”
you giggle, turning from where you’d been preparing your daughter’s mini lunchbox so that you’re facing your husband. his face is taut, a subtle sense of worry set in his features.
“kento.” a small, exasperated smile plays on your lips. “she’ll be fine. besides, you know how excited she’s been about this — she’s been talking about it all week!”
“i know, but...what if she gets bored? or if she wants to go home midway through the day? you know i can’t exactly take her back whenever i please.” nanami tugs at his tie a little, smoothing down the edges absentmindedly: a nervous tell of his that you’ve grown accustomed to by now.
you lean back against the kitchen counter, raising an eyebrow.
“she literally clings to you every time you work from home,” you counter, rolling your eyes at the memory of her behaviour just last week. she’d followed him around all day, pacing back-and-forth alongside him and just barely avoiding tripping him up while he had been taking important business calls. you had tried to pry her away just long enough for your poor husband to finish at least one business call without any disruptions, but that only resulted in tears. a lot of them.
in fact, she’d cried for an hour after that, sulking in her father’s arms as he empathetically stroked her hair in an attempt to calm her down.
okay, so nanami supposes you may have a point, she’d probably be just fine at his workplace.
he rubs his temple, regrettably all out of arguments. instead, he gives in and chooses to finish packing his bag for work, shoulders lowering a fraction.
you both hear several loud, unceremonious stomps coming down the stairs, and you simultaneously turn to see your daughter reach the foot of the stairs, all ready for her day out. she has a huge grin plastered on her face, and her hair is in two neat pigtails — thanks to nanami of course — complete with two bright hair clips.
“i’m ready! let’s go!” she rushes to him and tugs at his leg, eyes wide and expression excited. she extends her arms in a silent plea to be carried, and who is your husband to deny his sweet daughter?
“see you after work!” you smile, pressing a quick kiss to your daughter’s nose and waving them both goodbye.
-
nanami leans back slightly from where he’s sat at his desk, staring at his computer screen and inspecting the values in the spreadsheet. it’s monotonous work, just about as boring as always — as should be expected of a 9-5 office job. unlike a typical work day, however, his desk has several colourful drawings scattered across its surface today. the first is a drawing of a flower, spirals of bright yellow crayon forming what he can only assume are the petals. alongside the flower picture are two other drawings: a drawing of a huge, wonky heart coloured in yellow, and then another sheet of paper with a drawing of a stick figure with blond hair, a serious expression drawn onto its round face.
averting his gaze from his desk, nanami moves to lift his breakfast (a pesto-mozzarella baguette) to his mouth, chewing slowly and watching his daughter doodle. she’s got her tongue stuck out as she scribbles in determined silence, her crayon in one hand and a chocolate chip muffin in the other.
the bakery workers had both worn a look of poorly-contained surprise upon hearing his order change from his usual baguette sandwich to both a baguette and a muffin this time. they’d always taken him as a man heavily rooted in routine, and so to see him stray away from what was typical of him was…odd.
“what are you drawing now, sweetheart?” nanami murmurs softly, watching her hunch over yet another sheet of paper, her grip firm on her crayon.
“me and papa at work!” she responds. he raises his eyebrows at that, a tiny, barely-perceptible smile crossing his features as he watches her join up the arms of the two stick figures so that they’re holding hands. she doesn’t lift her head from her drawing, too engrossed in adding his blond hair perfectly atop his head and drawing her own smile just right.
after about fifteen minutes or so, she’s done.
“tada! that’s papa, and that’s me!” she exclaims proudly, glancing up at nanami for approval and beaming when she sees him smile softly back at her. he strokes her hair, quiet for a moment before speaking.
“okay, now that you’ve finished your drawing, why don’t we take a break from playing so i can go get a coffee?”
“it’s not playing.” she corrects him, blinking up at him with solemn eyes. “i’m working, just like you do!” at that, your daughter puts a hand on her hip, looking up at her father with an unimpressed expression. while nanami’s not quite sure that he’d put gruelling office work on the same level as scribbling a few drawings, he decides it’s better not to debate on the matter.
“okay, i’m sorry, honey. let’s take a break from working and go get a coffee.”
“yay! okay!”
your daughter skips down the hall with him, speaking excitedly about her day as they approach the coffee machine.
“do you want to press the buttons for me?” he looks down at his daughter, and she nods excitedly. nanami carefully lifts her up, securing her in his arms so that she can reach the machine properly.
“an americano, please.” he places a mug under the machine before lifting a finger to point at the correct button. the four year old girl presses it with a tiny delighted giggle, clearly pleased with herself as coffee begins to pour out into the cup below.
“i want one too!”
“it may be a little too bitter for you, shall we get you a hot chocolate instead?”
that catches her attention. with an excited squeal, she agrees enthusiastically, turning to face the machine and trying to figure out which button to press. she hesitates, unsure which is the hot chocolate.
“that one, sweetheart.” nanami gently guides her finger to the right button and she turns her head to face him in awe as it pours out, eyes wide and surprised.
a couple of minutes later, your daughter skips back down the hall, nanami following close behind with two mugs in his hands, trying to match her pace while also making sure not to spill anything.
she slides happily into her seat next to his desk, tapping her hands on the tabletop expectantly as she waits for her father to put her mug down before pulling a sheet of paper and a crayon close to her.
“okay. now i’m in work mode! no distracting me, okay?” she blinks sternly up at him. she’s sat about as professionally as a four year old can be, her mug at her side and a stack of papers in front of her.
nonetheless, over the span of the next 5 or so minutes, your husband can’t help but notice one problem.
“is the hot chocolate too hot?” he asks gently, watching as his daughter reaches out for the drink a third time before quickly retracting her hands again.
“…mhm.” that earns a small, empathetic sigh from nanami.
“here, let me help.” he murmurs. gently, he lifts the mug to his lips and blows for a few minutes before taking a small sip.
“there. it should be fine now. try it.” she does so, meanwhile he brushes her hair away from her face tenderly.
“yeah! all better!” she shuts her eyes contentedly and takes the mug from his hands happily, kicking her legs back and forth in between excited sips.
after several minutes of being sat like that and sipping her drink, your daughter looks up from her hot chocolate to face nanami.
“i like working with papa!” she beams at him, showing off the mess of hot chocolate around her mouth and cheeks in the process.
nanami’s expression softens at those simple words.
“yeah, i like working with you too, sweetheart.”
a/n: idea creds to my lovely hazel @hangenism i love this idea and i love you thank you sososo much !!!
girl dad papamin you are SO dear to me ˊᗜˋ && this is a semi filler post while i try to get rid of my writing block
(so ofc, we don't see any of this in anime, this is only what I think and heavily inspired by my father)
Two daughters — first a bright-eyed girl with your smile and his steady gaze, then a quieter one who inherited his blond hair and your mischievous spark. Anyone who saw him carrying both on his shoulders through the park, one giggling into his tie while the other pointed at birds with serious commentary, knew instantly. This man was built for daughters. His large hands cradled tiny ones without hesitation, his voice softened only for them, and the rare, unguarded smiles he gave? Reserved exclusively for his girls and you.
Even before the rings, before the vows, Kento had daydreams during long missions — coming home to small voices calling “Papa!” instead of silence. He pictured brushing tangled hair after baths, bandaging scraped knees from playground adventures, reading by lamplight until droopy eyes finally closed. He never spoke these visions aloud until the first pregnancy test, when he took your hand, thumb brushing your knuckles, and murmured, “I’ve wanted this… more than I ever admitted. A family. Our daughters.” His protection wasn’t loud bravado; it was in the way he walked slightly ahead on crowded streets, body angled to shield them instinctively, always.
Kento never romanticized fragility or bows. He saw daughters as carriers of something enduring — intellect, resilience, kindness sharpened by your fire and his evident steel. “When I’m gone,” he said one late night, voice low as he traced circles on your back while the girls slept down the hall, “I don’t want monuments or cursed techniques remembered. I want them — living, breathing proof that something good came from me. That they carry forward what matters.” He wanted them fierce and thoughtful, leaving the world a fraction kinder because they existed. That was his legacy: not power, but people.
The oldest one already had it — that quick, dry wit that left even Kento blinking in surprise. “Papa, if taxes are theft, why don’t we just steal them back?” she asked at dinner once, fork paused mid-air. Kento’s lips twitched. “Because your mother would do it better, and then we’d all be in trouble.” He watched them argue philosophy with the same passion you once used to challenge him, eyes bright with your same unyielding curiosity. “Look at them,” he told you softly one evening, watching them debate bedtime like miniature lawyers. “They have your soul. The world will understand exactly why I never stood a chance against you.”
The paperwork arrived in discreet envelopes; he reviewed every clause twice. Life, health, education funds, layers upon layers of security. He never mentioned it. One afternoon, while folding laundry, he simply said, “I increased the policy last month. If anything… you won’t have to choose between groceries and school fees.” You looked at him, throat tight. He met your eyes steadily. “I can’t promise I’ll always come home. But I can promise you’ll never be left scrambling. Not you. Not them.”
The kitchen light was always on before dawn. Kento moved very quietly, slicing fruit, toasting bread just how the oldest liked it (no crusts), packing bentos with neat compartments. He’d unzip their schoolbags, double-check pencils, water bottles, homework folders.
Some days he came home with blood under his nails (scrubbed raw) and shadows under his eyes. Still, he loosened his tie, sat at the dining table, and opened math books. “Show me where you’re stuck,” he’d say, voice steady despite exhaustion. The girls leaned against him, chattering about fractions while he patiently explained, one hand rubbing a small back. Those two hours weren’t obligation, they were oxygen.
He never complained about 3 a.m. cries. Instead, he cradled the baby against his chest, pacing the hallway, humming old jazz tunes until the fussing eased. “I used to think domestic life was for other people,” he confessed once while rocking the youngest, your head on his shoulder. “Cursed energy, overtime, endless missions… I never pictured this. Changing diapers at dawn, burping on my best shirt. But holding them? Watching you mother them? This is the greatest privilege I’ve ever been given.”
Sunday mornings meant harnesses and goggles. He spotted them on beginner walls, praising grip and footwork with the same precision he used in battle. “Strong arms, steady breath, just like that.” In the pool, he taught them to float, then kick, then glide. “The world can be unkind,” he told them as they dried off, towels around small shoulders. “But you’ll be ready. Always.”
“The newspaper builds vocabulary and critical thinking,” he argued mildly one night. You crossed your arms. “They’re five and seven, Kento. They need dragons and happy endings.” Silence. Two weeks later, a slim hardcover appeared: The Adventures of the Brave Sisters and the Cursed Clock Tower, written in his neat hand, illustrated simply by him (stick figures, but earnest). Every night since, he read it aloud, voices shifting for each character, while the girls clutched stuffed animals and listened, rapt.
In the backyard, wooden bokken in hand, he demonstrated ratios, blade to body, stance to balance. “This isn’t about fighting for fun. It’s about never being helpless.” You watched from the porch, arms folded, but smiling when the oldest mimicked his ratio strike perfectly. “Good form,” he said quietly, pride flickering in his eyes. “Now again.”
He stared at the permission slip like it was a cursed object. “A mock wedding? At four?” His brow furrowed deeper. “She’s barely out of pull-ups. Absolutely not.” The teacher tried explaining tradition. Kento’s voice stayed calm, lethal-polite. “I pay substantial tuition for education, not premature romantic roleplay. She’ll sit this one out.” Later, to you: “Over my dead body is my daughter playing bride before she can spell ‘independence’ properly.
The oldest brought home a nervous teenage boy one afternoon. Kento greeted him with perfect courtesy — handshake firm, gaze assessing. “Sit. Tell me your intentions.” The boy stammered.
Lipstick smeared across his cheeks like war paint, glitter in his eyebrows, blue eyeshadow up to his hairline. He sat motionless at the kitchen table while they “worked,” tiny brushes in hand. “Very avant-garde,” he deadpanned when they finished. The youngest beamed. “You look pretty, Papa!” He glanced in the mirror, then back at them. “Only because you made it.”
Gojo once tried peeking through the window with a grin. Kento shut the curtain instantly. “Not a chance.” But years later, when Gojo quietly knelt to tie the youngest’s shoelace without fanfare, or Sukuna (in a rare restrained moment) let her climb onto his lap and trace his markings without complaint, Kento watched silently. One night he told you, “They’re idiots… but they’re careful with them. Maybe they understand more than I gave credit for.” A small, reluctant smile. “I hope they find this same peace someday.”
He never said it. But every mission, every overtime, every calculated risk ended with him coming home to you and the girls. One evening, after a close call he wouldn’t detail, he pulled you close on the couch while the children slept upstairs. His voice was quiet, almost reverent. “If it ever comes to it… I won’t hesitate. Not for a second.” He pressed a kiss to your temple. “You three are the only legacy worth everything. And you — you’re still the best part of every single day I get.”
Kento Nanami: salaryman, sorcerer, husband, father. But above all — irrevocably, obviously, girl dad.
will never not stop requesting you to check out her blog: https://projectpravaha.tumblr.com/ @projectpravaha
𝒔𝒖𝒎𝒎𝒂𝒓𝒚： ♡ friendships can be hard, especially when the lines are so blurry you can't tell where the both of you stand. so what do you do when you catch feelings on top of all that?
cw ⤷ 𖥻 . ˖ ꒰ 𝒎𝒅𝒏𝒊 ꒱ . smut . pwp . swearing . making out . annoying drunk stranger . fingering . dirty talk . marking . titty worship . piv . clit slapping . c pie . geto fucks mean . geto is a TEASE . multiple o's . overstim . f!reader . s/her prns . no use of y/n ♯ 11.9k
Being friends with Geto Suguru isn’t hard… in theory but in practice it’s one of the most difficult things you’ve ever had to do. It’s especially difficult because he does things for you that feel like they’re pushing the boundaries of a normal friendship without actually doing anything weird.
Things like his insistence on bringing things for you when you’re feeling down, showing you extra care in how he talks to you, hanging out with you and having frequent movie nights, being attentive to your needs. While those things are innocuous in theory, it’s the way he treats you, talks to you and how it makes you feel that has your friendship feeling like it’s on a precarious ledge. Caught between pulling back or pushing over.
Sighing, your foot kicks at his sitting form. “Don’t you have something better to do tonight?”
“Like what?” His eyebrow raises at you, eyeing your lazy form that’s all spread out comfortably on your couch.
You’d maybe feel bad for taking up the whole couch if you weren’t so comfortable. “I don’t know, like a date? Hanging with friends? Going out on the town or whatever youths do.”
“Firstly, I’m older than you—”
Interjecting to add, “—Not by much!”
He only rolls his eyes, ignoring your interruption all together. “To your other points, I’m not interested in dating, and I am hanging out with a friend.”
Sighing louder than last time, foot pushing him enough to sway him. “Aren’t you bored of me?”
“No?” His brows pinch together in confusion. “Should I be?” Hand grabbing your foot to stop it from kicking at him.
You pout, trying to pull yourself free of his grip. “I don’t know…”
“Don’t say stupid things,” he huffs, amused by your struggle. “I could ask you the same thing you know.”
“I like hanging out with you,” you grumble at him.
“Yeah, well, I feel the same.” Finally letting go of your foot.
You’re feeling restless, he’s your friend, you know he’s your friend, and yet you can’t help hoping that your friendship is just a little bit more special. You groan and kick at him with both your feet.
“Woah, hey!” Both his hands grab at your ankles, pinning them down into the couch. “What’s wrong with you tonight?”
“I’m annoyed.”
“I’ve taken notice.” He’s trapping you with a pointed look, waiting for more of an explanation from you.
If you had an explanation, you’d freely give it to him but as of right now, you aren’t even sure if you’re aware of what you’re feeling enough to verbalise it to him. You deflate, looking back at him sheepishly. “I know you want to know what’s wrong, but I don’t know.”
“You don’t know? Or you don’t want me to know?”
Pushing yourself up, you cock your head at him. “The result is the same despite my answer, no?”
“No,” his is tone resolute. “I could help.”
You deliver a very plain, “You can’t.” He’s the cause of your confusion, talking to him could make it all so much worse and you don’t really want to deal with the fallout of all that.
“Woah, awful dismissive of me, I might be able to easily fix what’s wrong.”
Turning so you’re facing the screen, you try to focus on the films plot. “You can fix what’s wrong right now by being quiet and watching the movie.”
“I was watching the movie, you distracted me.” He pokes lightly at your shoulder.
Shushing at him quickly, “Shut, I’m trying to listen.”
He doesn’t say anything more, just goes back to watching the movie in silence, probably following the plot better than you are because you’re sat closer to him like this and can’t help but sneak glances at him.
It’s not fair, he looks pretty like this. Face illuminated by the soft glow of the television, seemingly entranced by the movie playing. While gazing over his features, you find yourself constantly looking back at his lips, heart stuttering in your chest. You wonder how kissing him would feel like, would it help, wait.
Prying your eyes off him, you desperately hope to be shown some kind of mercy. You shouldn’t want to kiss him, you shouldn’t be thinking about kissing him. You need to get a hold of yourself.
Predictably, you are not shown any kind of mercy and all you can manage to think about is him. How soft his lips might be, how he would kiss you, would he be tentative… or would he kiss you like he’s done it a million times before.
Not even realising you’re staring at him again until he sighs and locks his eyes onto yours. “Are you aware you’re staring at me?”
Trying to play it cool by answering, “I wasn’t staring.”
“Are you alright?” He’s growing a little concerned by your unusual behaviour tonight.
“I’m fine! Good even, just… have some things on my mind.” You feel guilty.
“And just what exactly are these things you’re thinking about?”
Your skin flares at his question, feeling embarrassed by your own thoughts. “Nothing! General thoughts… you know…”
“Right…” He’s clearly sceptical, not believing your flimsy answers for even a second. “Have I done something to upset you?”
He’s too much for you right now, you try answering confidently but fail miserably. “No?”
Moving so his body is facing you, he gets into your space, worried by your answer. “Why don’t you sound sure?”
“Why are you asking me so many questions tonight?” You avoid his gaze, flustered by him suddenly being so close to you. Still thinking about his lips on yours, in the back of your head thinking about his hands on your body.
“You’re being weird, I’m just concerned.” His hand reaches for your face. “Do you have a fever or something?” His knuckles rest on your cheek, gauging your temperature.
“Seriously, I’m fine.” You’re fumbling more than you want to, eyes rounded and shocked looking into his.
It feels like you grow warmer the longer his hand stays on your face, it’s becoming difficult to think. If you had a good reason, you would kick him out right now but you’re already concerning him and you’re trying so hard to be normal. This night is taking a very unfortunate turn.
His face twists, concern written all over it. “You feel a little warm, are you sure you’re okay?” Hand slipping from your cheek, moving to rest against the back of the couch.
Trying to keep your answers short, you give a simple, “I’m sure.”
Geto doesn’t know where to go from here, his silence is evidence of that. You don’t blame him though because you’re not really sure where to go from here either, the thoughts of his lips on yours linger in your mind and you feel as if you could die.
“I just…” He looks to you when you start talking, ready to hear whatever it is you have to say, “I was just thinking – and don’t make this weird – but I was thinking about… how you would kiss me…” your words trail off slightly, growing quieter and quieter with each word.
His eyes widen slightly in response before he switches back to his neutral expression. “I—”
“—I don’t wanna know, don’t talk actually,” you cut him off abruptly. Too embarrassed to dissect this any further and certainly not willing to have a conversation with him about it, already regretting having admitted to thinking it.
He questions you, clearly caught between being entertained and somewhat concerned, “I’m not allowed to comment?”
“No.”
“Even though you’ve been thinking about how I would—”
Hurriedly moving your hand to cover his mouth, hissing out, “Shush!”
You’re closer like this, the proximity flustering you, the silence awkward. Suguru glares at you from under your hand. He has something to say and is showing clear disdain for your repeated interruptions.
His larger hand reaches up and wraps around your wrist, trying to gently pry your hand away but you hold steady. Growing frustrated with this little tug of war game you have going on, he uses more force to pull your hand down, grabbing your other hand as well. Restraining them both in your lap to keep you still.
Exasperated when he asks, “Don’t you think you’re overreacting slightly?”
“No.” You tug back on his grip but get nowhere.
“Why are you annoyed at me over this? They’re your thoughts,” he reminds.
You’re irritated with how right he is; it’s not his fault you’re thinking like this. Knowing that doesn’t change the fact that sitting right next to him makes it difficult for you to think of anything other than how soft his lips might be, or if he’ll hold you still while he kisses you, or if—
He barks out a quick laugh, “You wanna kiss me that bad?”
Realising you were staring at his lips again you feel like you might spontaneously combust, struggling against his hold and huffing out, “Shut up, just forget I even said anything.”
He sounds restrained and incredibly serious when he murmurs back, “Might not be able to if you keep looking at me like that.”
“Don’t make this even more embarrassing for me, Suguru! It’s your fault,” you accuse indignantly.
Lips quirking evilly, “Oh? So, you want me to fix it then?”
“You should! Take a little responsibility,” you grumble out at him, all pouty and annoyed.
He leans in closer to press you, “Do you want me to kiss you? Do you think it would help?”
“I don’t know… I mean…” You look to his lips again, gaze getting a little lost as you do. You’re a completely helpless cause.
If Suguru were being honest with you, he’d tell you how much you’re killing him when you look at him like that but he’s stubborn and a tease, so instead he says, “Eyes up here.”
Dragging your eyes back to his and staring daggers, completely pissed at him but mostly yourself for being so obvious again. “Do you think it would help?”
“You’d stop wondering,” he shrugs easily, like this is all so incredibly normal and not uncharted territory for the both of you.
“I don’t want this to make our friendship weird.” Feeling pathetic as you look at him, you’re not even sure if what you have together is as simple as a friendship, it feels like so much more. At least, you’re kind of hoping it is, kissing him could do irreparable damage and you don’t just mean in terms of how you act around one another but specifically how you feel about him.
“I won’t let it,” he assures.
“I’m not worried about you…”
He’s taken aback by your small admission, it’s not clear enough for him to make any real conclusions from it or confront you on anything but he knows it makes his heart beat faster and flusters him slightly. In all his years of casual dating and serious relationships, you’re the only person to have ever made him feel like such a fool.
“It’s up to you then,” he smiles softly.
You aren’t sure if it’s worth the risk but if this is the only chance you’ll get then you don’t know if you want to risk letting it go by either. “I think… yes.”
Playing dumb, he returns, “‘Yes’ what?”
Your tone is lowering again, confident answer short lived when he teases you. “Yes… I want you to kiss me…”
“You’re sure?” He asks but his hands are already moving up your body, one resting against the side of your neck, touch gentle and light.
“I mean… I’m not sure if this is a good idea but I’m sure I want you to kiss me.”
He huffs lightly in disbelief, breath tickling against your lips. “What’s wrong with you tonight?”
“You…” Frown dusting your features as you utter it, eyes already focused back on his lips.
He doesn’t say any more after that, faltering in his movements a bit but ultimately moving in completely and pressing his lips to yours delicately. It’s featherlight, kiss shallow and simple, like he’s holding back. It’s still enough to have your head full, full of thoughts of him, of how soft his lips are, how gentle his kisses are.
Geto pulls back all too soon for your liking, putting some distance between the two of you, head tilting to the side as he looks you over. “Curiosity satisfied.”
“Is that really how you would want to kiss me?”
“What?”
At his question you’re suddenly all too aware of how bold yours was. “I just… It’s nothing, sorry.” Fumbling over yourself, not wanting to hurt his feelings. “It was nice! It was a nice kiss.”
“No, no,” he squints at you, “Go on… say what you want.”
It’s quiet for a moment, your hesitance clear. “…Did you… kiss me how you wanted to?”
“I think if I kissed you how I wanted,” pausing to lean in closer, “You might pass out or something.”
“Oh, come on, you’re not my first kiss or anything,” you roll your eyes at him and his ego, “I was just curious, if that’s really how you’d kiss me then that’s all there is to it, it was a nice kiss.” You shrug at him.
“Why am I starting to feel like I’m being assessed?”
“If you feel that way then that’s on you.” Trying so hard to play it cool, like you can’t tell he was holding back, like you don’t want him to kiss you more. “Do you wanna go back in the movie? Rewind to where we were before?”
As you get up to move off the couch and find the remote, Suguru is pulling you back down to him, one hand gently holding the front of your throat. You don’t get a second to think about all the movements he just made, his lips on yours rushed, like he’s suddenly, incredibly desperate to kiss you.
Barely able to keep up with him, head dizzy from the whiplash, this isn’t at all how he kissed you before. You’re basically panting against him when he does pull back, allowing you the small moment to catch your breath.
His thumb pulls down on your chin lightly. “Open your mouth more.” His eyes are lidded as he looks at you, tone deeper than before.
Obeying him wordlessly and then he’s kissing you again, tongue in your mouth. It’s all messy and rushed and has you losing your mind. Your arms wrap around his neck, and he pulls your body closer to his, hand moving to the back of your head.
When he sucks your tongue into his mouth and licks at you, you can’t stop the moan that leaves you. Swallowed down by Geto in an appreciative manner, his kiss lingers for a while longer, making you dizzy and thoughtless. He pulls back from you, connected by a string of saliva that snaps when he licks at his lower lip.
The look on your face is dumbstruck, eyes big and wet as you gaze up at him in a dazed manner. It makes him feel feral, not able to help the way he leans back in and presses more short, sloppy kisses to your swollen lips.
There’s a pause before you can regain your faculties enough to say anything to him and even then, the only thing you can manage is, “I… uhm…”
“Was that better?” He’s trying to be light-hearted about it, but his lips are swollen as well, and his eyes are lidded, and he looks… “You didn’t pass out did you?” His head lowers so his eyes catch yours.
Your brain feels fuzzy and all you can think about is how you’ve never been kissed like that before, that you want to keep being kissed like that. “What? No… I just… wow.”
“Live up to your expectations?”
“I didn’t really have any, I was only curious…” Smiling big at him, you add, “But yeah, maybe even exceeded them.”
“You aiming to boost my ego, or did I really kiss you stupid?” He can’t help the way he leans in again, just shy of your lips.
Mouth on yours before you get to answer or refute what he’s accused, you don’t stop him though, allowing him to kiss you fully, deeply. One of his hands on the side of your face, holding you. The other grips at your hip, almost tugging you in closer.
Before you lose focus again, you part to gasp out, “I don’t know if—” Interrupted by his lips on yours, tangling your hand into his hair to pull him back, he groans at the force of the tug. “Suguru, I don’t think it’s a good idea to keep—”
“—Just another kiss, one more…” breathless when he talks, mouth hot on yours, tongue already in your mouth.
It’s almost too much, he’s so insistent. Kissing you like he might never get to again, like he’s trying to get the most out of this. He might actually have you passing out, it’s not even as if you really want him to stop but that’s part of the problem, isn’t it?
Pulling back, he sucks on your lower lip before nipping at it. The whimper he pulls from you is embarrassing and weak and you’re facing an internal conflict of so many emotions right now, but mostly you’re struck by how badly you want to sleep with him.
You hadn’t realised his hand had snuck under your shirt, warm and large against your side, sending a shiver down your spine. The breathlessness you’re hit with has your skin feeling hot as you try to stumble out your words, “I, uh, think we should stop… here.”
“Why? Am I not a good kisser? Are you not enjoying yourself?” A smile creeps onto his face. “You sounded like you were enjoying yourself.”
“Don’t.” Your head tucks down and onto his chest, forehead resting against him. “Please don’t embarrass me.”
He wraps his arms around your body, embracing you. “Can’t help it.”
You stay like this for probably longer than you should, enjoying the moment too much for someone who’s about to go back to being just his friend.
Geto breaks the silence first, speaking into the top of your head, “Is your curiosity satisfied or are you going to start kicking me again?”
“I can’t promise I’ll never kick you again but yeah… I’m satisfied.”
He laughs against you, “Alright, well, if you’re ever curious again… you know where to find me.”
It’s been about a week since you crossed a line you probably shouldn’t have in your friendship with Suguru, and like the incredibly brave individual you are… you have been ignoring him.
Not on purpose though, you intend on replying to all his messages… but then you get nervous and freak yourself out and stop short of sending anything back. From his messages, you can tell he’s getting increasingly more worried… or maybe frustrated… you’re not sure, there is only so much you can infer over text.
Maybe you should reply, looking at his last message that reads, ‘seriously? answer me. today.’ Oh yeah… he’s annoyed, you have no idea how to reply to him, maybe something simple? Or maybe a long paragraph overexplaining yourself… or maybe—
Your phone screen changes to Shoko’s caller ID, saved by the metaphorical bell. “Hey! What’s up?”
She sounds a bit short when she answers you, “Are you coming tonight?”
“Tonight…” You trail off, completely blanking on what the hell she’s talking about.
Her reply coming incredibly deadpan and disappointed, “You forgot.”
“No noo, I would never forget about…” The rest of your sentence dropping off, silence falling over the line.
She fills in the gaps for you, “The stupid party that’s being thrown by our stupid friends to celebrate the stupid event that is a boring, normal, Friday night.”
She already sounds over it and you’re pretty sure she would’ve only just got there. “Okay, well… I now feel significantly better about the fact that I actually had forgotten what tonight was.”
“Yeah, well I wish I had forgotten too because this is boring without you.”
“Didn’t you only just get there?”
“I feel like that’s beside the point.” You can feel her eyeroll through the phone. “So, when are you getting here?”
Sighing as you ask, “Do I really have to come?”
Not missing a single beat when she shoots back, “I’m here which means yes, you do.”
You go quiet for a moment, “…Will Suguru be there?”
“You’re more likely to know than me,” she sounds confused, “Listen, I don’t know what happened but surely you don’t think you can avoid him forever.”
“Not forever… just tonight.” You really don’t feel like running into him in person, not when you can barely get your head on straight long enough to message him back.
“I haven’t seen him, and he didn’t sound all that interested when this was first planned so I doubt he will show up.”
“You’re not just lying to get me there, are you?”
“Of course not.” It’s always been hard to tell when she’s joking but you’re pretty sure Suguru isn’t there. If you had been replying to him, you probably would’ve ended up hanging out together tonight just to avoid that pointless party.
Deciding to take the risk, you acquiesce. “Alright, I’ll be there soon, just give me a bit to put on something that isn’t pyjamas.”
Getting out of the apartment will be good for you, that and you’ll have the chance to catch up with Shoko, it’s been a while since you last hung out.
“Just come in your pyjamas.”
“Okay, now you’re being unreasonable,” you chuckle.
She groans through the phone, “Gojo and I just made eye contact, that’s like asking to be trapped in a conversation for at least an hour.”
You smile at her and her exaggeration. “That’s really funny, tell him I said hi.”
“Don’t hang up on me—”
The line goes dead as you hang up on her.
Nearly an hour has passed by the time you get to the party, but when you make eye contact with Shoko across the room – still stuck in conversation with Gojo – it looks like a century has passed for her.
Walking up to them both, you grab Gojo by the sides of his arms and shake him, making a loud noise to scare him as you do. He just about dies then and there, head whipping around to see it’s just you and gripping a hand over his chest.
He’s a little breathless when he scolds you, “You scared the fuck outta me, what the hell?”
“I thought it would be funny.” You smile bright at him, out the corner of your eye seeing Shoko fighting a smile and hiding it behind her drink.
“It wasn’t,” he half pouts.
“It kinda was,” Shoko interjects.
He just continues to pout over how badly you got him.
“Hi Satoru,” you chirp at him, trying to be as sweet as possible for scaring the living daylights out of him.
“Yes, hello,” he fights a smile when greeting you back, and then his face twists as if suddenly remembering something. “Hey! What happened with you and Suguru?”
Taken aback by his abruptness. “What?”
He’s staring at you intently, seemingly desperate to know your business. “I know something happened, you gotta tell me what.”
Honestly, you would’ve thought Geto would’ve told him by now, seeing as how they’re sort of attached at the hip. “He hasn’t told you?”
“He’s insistent that nothing is wrong.”
“Then nothing’s wrong.”
“I know something is wrong and I also know you’re dodging him because he made me text you to see if you’d reply and you replied within the same minute,” he squints at you accusatorily.
Arms crossing over your chest as you size him up. “You sent me a photo of the cat that hangs out in your neighbourhood as bait? That’s messed up Satoru.”
“I was investigating,” he defends.
“No, you were being nosy, just like you are now.” Something occurs to you very suddenly, “Wait, if you’re here… and I’m here… where is Suguru?”
“Here, obviously,” he shrugs.
Turning, you glare at Shoko who raises her hands in defence. “Don’t look at me like that, I didn’t lie, I really haven’t seen him. I’ve been trapped in conversation with this idiot the whole time.”
“Trapped? That’s so mean Shoko,” Gojo plays up his hurt, sulking and giving her the saddest eyes he can muster. It unsurprisingly has no effect on her.
He’s here somewhere, you need to leave before he sees you. You’re so annoyed at yourself for not connecting that Satoru being here obviously meant Suguru was going to be here too, especially since he wasn’t with you.
Spinning, you go for the front door you came through not that long ago. Managing to get it open a crack before a hand above your head closes it. Turning around, you come face to face with Suguru, a very annoyed Suguru. Polite smile painted on his face but his eyebrow twitches slightly.
His weight is supported by his hand on the door as he leans down to you. “And where are you going?”
“I was just gonna… head home… get an early night?” Looking away from him as you lie poorly, not able to look at him without thinking about how he kissed you.
He points out, “You just got here though.”
“Yeah, it’s just… not my scene…” In your defence, not a complete lie.
“Really? Because it feels like you’re avoiding me.” He leans down further to catch your eyes with his, sick of you avoiding eye contact.
You’re only able to look at him incrementally, eyes flicking from his, to the wall behind him. “No there’s no reason for me to be avoiding you, I don’t know why you would think that.”
“Oh good! That means you can stay then.” Face scrunching with his—now—less than polite smile. Clearly growing frustrated with how you’re refusing to communicate with him properly.
You have no excuses to give, nothing good or even remotely believable anyways. “I uhh—”
Cutting you off to give an ultimatum, “—Either we’re leaving and talking like adults or you’re staying right here and suffering through this whole night with me right by your side.”
His choice in wording disgruntles you, locking eyes to say, “It doesn’t cause me suffering to be beside you, Suguru.” You want to make at least that much clear.
He gives you a tight-lipped smile. “Good. Then you won’t mind me not leaving your side.”
Weighing your options, you don’t know what would be better right now. On the one hand you’d get to leave but then you’d have to tell him about how much you’re affected by the line you crossed, about how you’re developing feelings for him that you shouldn’t have indulged in. On the other, you stay but he lingers around you all night and you’re left haunted by all the things you want to say but can’t quite bring yourself to.
“Let’s go back to everyone then,” you smile back at him.
His face drops. “You don’t wanna talk about it that bad?”
“Suguru, you’re looking for answers I don’t even know if I can give you.”
He relents and takes a step back from you, “Fine. But just so you know, you can’t get rid of me that easily.” Waiting for you to want to talk first seems to be his main goal but you can see just how impatient he’s getting.
You ignore his comment and walk past him back to Gojo and Shoko in the other room, they’re both exactly where you left them. It’s awkward, for you anyways. You don’t know about them or everyone else here, but you feel awkward.
It carries on for the whole night; it’s been a couple hours now and Suguru is still just following you around wordlessly. Only speaking to others when spoken too, engaging in some conversation, only to cut it short when you move on.
This really isn’t fun for you, normally not even bothering to come to house parties like this and only doing this as a favour to Shoko but she’s gone home now, and you’re left here with just Geto. You’d leave too, but you have a feeling he’s going to follow you home, or at the very least make you talk to him before you try leaving and you’re just… so not in the mood.
Sighing softly to yourself as you walk into the kitchen, somehow managing to shake your tail, for now. Taking the small reprieve as a chance to breathe and think, which is cut short when some stranger starts a conversation with you.
“Hi! You’re really hot, do you want a drink? I can make you a drink. I’ve never seen you here before and trust me– I’d remember you.” He’s slurring his words slightly, “So, drink? You wan– I can get you a—”
He’s really forward, and drunk, it’s making you uncomfortable, especially since you’re far too sober and far too annoyed to have to deal with drunk men. “—I’m good, thank you, I’m not drinking.”
“Oh, come on! Jus one drink, it’ll loosen you up.” He moves in to elbow your shoulder lightly. “You’re too hot to be– to be such a downer, maybe a smile would help.”
Completely unamused and slowly shuffling back away from him. “I think I’d prefer you just leave me alone; I’m not interested.”
“Don– don’t be like that,” he sulks at you.
Your back collides with someone’s front and looking up you can see it’s your missing stalker of the night. As annoyed at Suguru as you are, you are endlessly thankful for his timing, physically feeling yourself relax now that he’s here.
Geto glares down at the pushy guy. “She’s not interested.”
“Oh man, I didn’t know she had– had a boyfriend, you know you should keep an eye on her,” the drunk idiot leers at you, “She’s kind of a tease, leading me on,” he shrugs.
Your face grimaces at his words and the way he eyes you, feeling incredibly uncomfortable. Suguru moves in front of you, shielding you from him, his lip twitches at this guy’s words. “Excuse me?”
“No, well… I jus mean she didn’t tell me—”
“—She said she wasn’t interested, that was enough,” Geto’s tone is growing more irritated by the moment.
“Suguru, let’s just go, it’s fine.” You tug on the hem of his jacket, not really wanting to have to deal with the fallout of whatever may happen if this idiot keeps unwittingly provoking Geto. He tries his best, but he has a breaking point, and he tends to hit it pretty quick when you’re involved.
He glances back at you. “It’s not fine.”
“Okay, it’s not but I kinda can’t stand this guy, and this party sucks and I’m annoyed, and I don’t wanna be here anymore.” You feel a little pathetic for whinging but you’re so drained and this guy was your breaking point.
All his attention drops from that guy to you, his hands coming up to either side of your face, taking in how tired you look. Thumbs stroking high on your cheekbones, “Alright, let’s leave.”
Relief in your bones at the fact you’re about to be gone from here, “Thank you.”
From behind Suguru you can see the drunk take the opportunity to slip away, apparently smart enough to use this distraction to his advantage. If Geto notices, he doesn’t say anything, clearly done with him, all attention on you now.
He hums at you, asking, “How’d you get here?”
Your eyes flick back to his. “I didn’t drive, if that’s what you’re asking.” You took an uber, you thought you’d either catch a ride with Shoko, or you’d take another uber home.
“You’re riding with me then.” His large hand takes yours. “Come on.” Then tugging you through the house behind him.
The car ride has been quiet, you can feel your head drooping and your eyes closing, very nearly falling asleep. That is until, you notice Geto isn’t taking you to your house, instead heading towards his.
Turning to face him, you ask, “Why are we going back to yours?”
Without turning to look at you, he replies, “Because you’ve been avoiding me, so I am now forcing you to spend time with me.”
He’s decidedly not funny. Sighing as you try to chide him, “Suguru—”
Finally glancing your way only to speak over you, “—Don’t ‘Suguru’ me, my place is closer and you’re tired, if you weren’t being so weird around me ever since I k—”
“—Shhh, be quiet.” Your cheeks suddenly feel warm at the memory of how insistent his kisses were.
“All I’m saying is, if you weren’t being so weird around me, you’d come back to mine tonight anyways.”
It’s frustrating to you that he’s right, you normally would just go back to his and crash in his bed next to him and then you’d make him breakfast the next morning to make up for the fact that you’d taken up his whole bed.
The only thing you can think to say is a flat, “…Fine.” Crossing your arms and looking out the car window the rest of the short drive.
Back at his apartment, he lends you some clothes to sleep in. It’s all incredibly intimate, showering in his bathroom, using the spare toothbrush you keep here, wearing his clothes. Has your friendship always been this intimate or are you just looking at it in a new light.
Leaving his bathroom, you find him in his room. Getting his bed ready for you to sleep in, you stand awkwardly at the foot of it. “I’ll just sleep on your couch.”
“Don’t be ridiculous, you always sleep in the bed with me.”
“Yeah but…” Your brows settle into a deep frown. “Do you not feel weird?”
He drops the blanket back onto the bed, exasperation with you clear. “I said to you, I wouldn’t let it affect our friendship, and that’s what I’m doing.” Turning to look at you before adding, “You’re the one making it weird.”
“I know that…” You also know that you were the one who said you weren’t worried about him.
His arms are crossed as he looks you over. “I’m gonna shower now, you don’t have to sleep in the bed, but I think you should, you know firsthand how awful that couch is.”
“Go have your shower.” You shoo him out of the room, standing in the middle of it, alone, considering what you should do.
The couch really is atrocious; it’s part of the reason why you started sleeping in his bed when you visited. He always says he’ll get a nicer couch or a blow-up mattress for you, but he never does, and you always end up in his bed anyways.
Deciding you’re too drained to think any harder about all of this, you crawl into his bed and make yourself comfortable. Everything is so frustrating to you right now, have you always felt this confused about your friendship or were the lines blurred for so long that you’re having trouble understanding where you both stand.
The irony of the situation is annoying and almost laughable because if it were about anyone else, you’d be hitting up Suguru and asking for his advice on it all.
When he comes back into the room, he shuffles around a bit before turning off the lights and getting into bed beside you. You’re lying on your side with your back to him, pretending to already be asleep.
His voice cuts through the quiet of the room, “I miss you.”
Your reaction to it is almost visceral, how are you meant to reply to that. It doesn’t help you feel better at all, only leaving you longing for something you don’t know if you’re allowed to claim. Your friendship has always been on a precarious ledge but it’s only now that you let yourself acknowledge the disgusting depth of your feelings for him.
You mumble into the pillow, “I’m right here.”
“Then why do you feel so far away?”
Readjusting, you rotate so you’re facing him, not completely prepared for him to already be facing you. Propped up on his elbow, closer than your poor heart was ready for. You lower your head, so you don’t have to look at his face. “I wasn’t purposefully ignoring you, I really did want to reply.”
He pushes, “So why didn’t you?”
“I didn’t know what to say…”
“What can I do to help?” He lowers himself down to your level, head on his bicep.
You still avoid his gaze. “Nothing, you can’t do anything.”
“You’re being—”
“—You are the problem, Suguru, there is nothing you can do to help but get out of my head.” You meet his eyes, frown prominent on your face. “You and your stupid kiss, you made it all a thousand times worse for me.”
“Making out with me was so life changing that you can’t get it out of your head, and you’re annoyed at me for that? You’re the one who wanted to know what it was like.” He’s trying to keep his tone light-hearted but he’s struggling, seemingly growing more irritated by it all.
You grumble at him, discontent, “You don’t need to point out the obvious, stupid.”
A noise of disagreement comes from him, “Well, I feel like I kinda do, since you’re overreacting.”
“I am not overreacting.”
“You are though.”
“No because it’s not just…” you stop short, “…Whatever, I’m going to sleep so be quiet.” He smiles at you like you’re completely endearing, which only frustrates you further.
“The only reason you would be this annoyed is because you want to kiss me again, or more…” His hand reaches for your chin and tilts your head up towards him. “You tell me, are you still curious?”
“Shut up,” you huff out, going to move away only for his hand to slide to your cheek, holding you still.
“You haven’t asked me, you know.”
“What?”
“What if I want to kiss you again? What if I want to do more?” His forehead rests against yours. “You’ve been so caught up in your own head, acting like an idiot over this, that you’ve not even asked yourself about what I want.”
“I am not an idiot.”
“No, but you’ve certainly been acting like one.” His hand slides from your face, down the side of your body, landing on your hip. “At first I thought it was cute, the curiosity, the unawareness.” His hand tugs you in closer to him, body against yours. “But now… now I’m growing impatient.”
Your head feels fuzzy, all pressed up against him and that seems to be the only thing your brain is processing right now. “I’m confused.”
“It’s really quite simple.” He moves in, lips ghosting against yours.
You want so badly to kiss him, breath catching in your chest at the way his lips tickle against yours. Your attention solely on the way he might kiss you.
“You like me, and while it’s endearing to watch you fumble your way through the realisation, it’s killing me to know you’re all caught up on how I kissed you and I can’t even get in contact with you.”
“What? What?” Your brain takes a second to catch up. “I do not– you can’t know– just– what?”
“I can know, you know how? Because you’re painfully obvious about it. So honest, telling me about how you’re thinking of me, not able to look at me without looking at my lips,” a light laugh leaves him at your expression, “and it’s sweet, really. But I’m getting annoyed by the fact that you’re so obsessed with your own feelings that you’ve failed to consider mine.”
He’s giving you so much whiplash right now. “You—”
“—You think I kissed you like that just ‘cause?” He frowns at you, “I kissed you like that because I wanted to, I feel I was a little obvious about it all actually.”
“I’ve been so worried about ruining our friendship.” You feel so pitiful when you say it, like a wet puppy.
“I know.” He presses a kiss to your forehead. “But I’ve hoped for nothing more.” He sighs, “I wanted you to come to me on your own, to talk to me about it but instead you hid from me.”
“What was I supposed to think? Through my eyes, I was stupid and asked you to kiss me just because I was thinking about it. Only to not stop thinking about it, and then realise I like you, my friend.” You pull back from him slightly. “How was I meant to talk to you about it?”
“You think I’d kiss just any friend because they simply wondered about what it would be like?” His brow lifts at you. “Don’t you think our friendship has always been a little too intimate to just be a friendship?”
“Nothing was ever said… how was I supposed to know?”
“Okay, well, let me be perfectly clear.” He tugs you in close again, eyes meeting yours, like he’s going to say something incredibly important, only to plant his lips on yours in a full kiss.
Hand holding you to him tight, like he needs you to stay pressed up against him. His mouth on yours is hot and consuming, kiss messy, tongue licking at yours. An involuntary moan gets caught in your chest and your hand moves to his hair, tangling in it.
Suguru’s parting from you to pant out, “I like you—” kissing you again, “I like kissing you—” lips desperate against yours, “I want to do so much more—” He never parts from you long at all, barley willing to but needing to get his words out.
This is a feeling that you’re never going to be able to forget, the first time he kissed you overwhelming enough and now it’s like he’s completely following his instinct. No critical thinking happening in his head or yours. All your thoughts wash away from you, slipping through your fingers before it even occurs to you to form a thought.
Less scared now, throwing caution to the wind, not worrying about how you should stop, how you can’t ruin the fragility of your friendship. It doesn’t matter anymore, not when he already knows how you feel, not when he seems to feel the same, not when it feels this good.
He mumbles against you, “That clear enough?”
“No,” you huff back, “I think… I’m still a little confused.”
“Well, in that case,” he smirks before kissing you again.
Hand moving to your thigh, sliding it across your skin before grabbing at your knee and crooking your leg to rest on his hip. Leaning into you slightly, using his weight to push back on you, rolling the pair of you until he’s on top. Forearm holding himself over you, his other hand still on your knee, holding you flush to him.
You gasp up at him when his erection ruts into your core, lips parting messily, spit connecting the two of you. A shudder runs down his spine when he looks down at you, at how you’re looking up at him. All big, wet eyes and kiss swollen lips, it’s like he feels all his insides softening for you in that moment, in the most sickeningly affectionate way.
His eyes suddenly look lost, and you don’t know why, going to say something only for his lips to land on yours again. Short, firm kisses planted on your lips over and over again, barely able to return them before he’s pulling back, just to do it again.
It’s sweet but it’s frustrating you, your hands are eventually grabbing at either side of his face and forcing his mouth onto yours, lips meshing together, kissing him fully. Tongue in his mouth, your arms wrapping around his neck, fingers playing with his hair. He moans at how you’re kissing him, at how both your legs are now wrapped around his waist.
Practically clinging to him, lips locked to his, your need making your body hot and head fuzzy. You’re trying so hard to not come across desperate for him, but you really can’t help the way your hips seek out his, grinding up into him.
His voice shakes with a moan, breaking the kiss, “Ohh fuck– hah—” a breathless kind of laugh leaving him, "A little eager, aren’t you?"
"Should we stop then?” You ask with a smile, hands untangling and pushing at his shoulders.
He rushes out, “No no, I didn’t say that.” He pulls your arms, so they’re wrapped around his neck again. “Come back,” a light laugh leaves him, pressing kisses all over your face, lingering on your lips.
“So… you don’t want to stop?”
“Absolutely not, be as needy as you want.” He looks down between where his hips are resting against yours, his cock twitching in his pants. “Hell… be needier.”
“I don’t know… maybe this is all happening too fast,” you say it light heartedly, teasing him, “I mean… we are just friends.”
“Just friends?” He takes personal issue with that, even if he can tell you’re goading him. “Just friends but you’re grinding your pussy all over me?” His hand slips into the front of your borrowed sleep shorts, two fingers rubbing between your folds over your panties.
“Letting your friend touch you like this, hmm?” He pulls your panties to the side, “Fuck– this wet for your friend?”
Your back arches against the bed when his fingers slip over your clit, struggling to get your words out. “I– mmph– I get it, m’sorry.”
“Sorry for what?” He smiles sweetly at you but two of his fingers are slipping inside you, quirking up and rubbing at just the right spot.
God, your eyes roll into the back of your head, cunt pulsing around his fingers so needily. Hands grabbing at him, tangling in his long hair, gasping for air you don’t really need but feeling like you can’t breathe from how he’s touching you.
“What are you sorry for, pretty?” He wants you back on track, he wants to hear you stumble out your apology to him.
“I-I’m sorry– hnnn – f-for…” your mouth drops open in a moan when his thumb rubs at your clit, “You’re not jus– you’re not just my friend– oh! You’re more– you mean more– Ah! Ah!” You can’t think, not when he slides another finger into your pussy, stretching you so open.
He tips forward, fingers not stopping. “You mean it?”
It’s a question made to tease you but with your gooey brain, you look up at him so earnestly and answer, “Mhm, yeah.” Nodding your head firmly at him, even when your eyes look so fucked out.
Soft squelching noises fill the room with how his fingers fuck into you, your cunt clamping tight down around them. Walls so hot and wet that it’s driving him crazy, imagining how it would feel to have you wrapped so snug around his neglected cock.
He wants so badly to rip off your pants, so he can see just how well you’re taking his fingers but you’re pulsing so rhythmically around him, and your eyes roll with how good you feel. Making the nicest expressions for him that he can’t even tear his eyes away from your face if he wanted to.
“You’re really cute right now.” He presses a kiss to your cheek, his heart stammering at how your glistening eyes sparkle at him, at how your bottom lip wobbles.
Pouting up at him, “You don’t– ah!– think I’m cute all the time?”
“I think you’re downright adorable all the time,” he laughs airily, “but especially right now,” he’s gazing so intently at your face, “because, I’m pretty sure…” his thumb speeds up on your clit, “…you’re about to cum all over my fingers.”
Oh, how his words effect you so deeply, his tone, the cockiness. If he weren’t touching you so right you wouldn’t find it as arousing as you do but you feel like you could cry from just how overwhelming it all is.
Shaking your head at him as if to say ‘no, you’re not about to cum.’
“No?” He pouts at you mockingly. “You sure?”
Denying it really doesn’t get you anywhere, especially since he can feel how you tighten around his fingers, how your gooey cunt pulses for him. Your back arching meanly, legs wanting so badly to kick against the air. Hand tugging at his hair as you gasp, broken moans leaving you.
“I mustn’t be doing this right then,” he hums at you in thought, slowing his movements slightly. “Should I stop then? Change up what I’m doing?”
The thought of him stopping now, or changing what he’s doing kills you, almost literally. Your eyes widen and you shake your head vehemently at him. “Don’t stop– hnn– don’t– please,” begging him with your eyes.
“Only ‘cause you begged so nicely,” his tone so sweet on you.
He doesn’t change anything, keeps fucking you with his fingers in the way that’s driving you crazy. His mouth waters at how your pussy gushes for him, dick leaking into his pants. Losing his fucking mind at how he’s able to finally touch you like this, how you’re letting him touch you like this, even begging for it.
Your muscles are pulling taut, hearing and sight going fuzzy. “I– ohh– Sugu I can’t– I’m gonna–”
“You can,” dragging it out in a singsong. “Doing so well for me, pretty.”
Biting on your lip to hold back all the moans tumbling from them, hands pulling at him as you struggle to breathe through it. Chest stuttering as your cunt clamps down around his fingers. Grasping at him and pulling him closer to you, planting your lips on his. Desperately kissing him as you cum all over his fingers. Your tongue licking into his mouth, his own moans spilling into the kiss.
Panting against your open mouth to say, “You just came all over your friends’ fingers.” His smile taunting and bright.
Your head lolls to the side. “So you really do just like teasing me, huh?”
“Pretty sure I said I couldn’t help it.” His fingers slip from your core, sucking them into his mouth, licking them clean in a display so obscene that your skin heats up.
If he were a lesser man, he’d cum from licking himself clean. Groaning around his fingers, mostly for himself but also somewhat to embarrass you. Loving how you squirm, and your face pulls up in embarrassment. All dazed and stupid looking from your orgasm, it makes his heart skip and his dick jerk.
You shock him when you tug your shirt up and over your head, moving to pull at his but he’s too distracted by your tits to make any move other than to lean down and press wet kisses all over your chest.
“Suguru– hah– your shirt.” Your fingers still pull at the fabric.
“You can’t—” He sucks and licks at your nipple, relishing in the reactions and sounds he’s pulling from you. “—You can’t show me your tits and expect me to not touch them.”
When he looks up at you, his eyes are lazy and dazed, his tongue drooling all over your boobs. Moving to plant even more firm and wet smooches all over your unbelievably soft skin, sucking to leave behind his mark. Wanting to leave behind marks that he will see when he wakes up tomorrow, marks that he will leave marks over so that they never go away, so he will always have evidence of how he touched you. Of how you let him touch you.
Groping at all your exposed skin, pulling at you, fingers tugging at your nipple, while he salivates all over the other one. Your legs tug his hips down into yours, rubbing your clothed cunt all over him, wanting him to fuck you so badly. He’s working you up so unfairly, already making you cum and then playing with your tits in a way that has you itching to be full of his dick.
“Suguru.” He ruts his hips back down into you but doesn’t remove his mouth from you, so you pull at his hair harshly. “Please.”
He moans at how you pull at him, eyes lidded. “So demanding.”
“You’re taking too long.”
He tuts at you, nipping lightly at the skin between your tits, “You’re just impatient.”
“Yeah, I am.” untangling your legs from him, you shuffle your shorts and panties down and off your body. “Are you going to help?”
“How can I refuse when you ask like that?” The desire to lick at your pussy, make out with your cunt, is huge but with how you look at him, so needy and impatient, he needs to stuff his dick inside you. Now.
When you go to tug at his shirt, he lets you, letting you pull it off him completely. Goose bumps breaking out across his skin with how you rake your nails delicately over him. The affection he holds for you feels like it grows tenfold at how you look at him, how tenderly you touch him.
“You’re so pretty,” you’re mumbling it out at him before you’re really registering that you’ve thought it, let alone spoke it.
His head drops into the crook of your neck. “So sweet on me, got me forgetting why I waited so long to say anything.”
You grin at him. “Because you’re stupid.”
“Oh, that’s right,” he sneers back at you before shuffling back to pull his pants off. Finding immense joy in how your smug little smile drops from your face when his cock is free, tip flushed a pretty pink and leaking profusely, precum dribbling down the sides of his dick.
Moving to get up before even really thinking about it, wanting to touch him. Only to fall into the pillows when his large hand pushes you back by your sternum. Looking to him just as he leans in, lips brushing yours so softly you’d think you’d imagined it if he didn’t immediately follow it up with a firm kiss.
“I want to touch you.” Hands already finding their way back to his shoulders, his long hair tickling against skin.
His head is dipping low to watch how he moves his hands down your body. Brushing against your inner thighs, opening your legs for him more. “Well, I want to fuck you.” He’s not capable of taking his eyes off your syrupy cunt, so wet for him.
Goading him with your words, “What are you waiting for? A formal invitation?”
“Sharp tongue for someone so sensitive,” he muses, fingers slipping through your folds, gently over your clit to make you jolt, as if to prove his point.
Not giving you a chance to say another snarky comment, his fingers dipping into your hole again. His fingers stretch you open obscenely, pulling back covered in cum from your previous orgasm and fresh slick. It’s almost embarrassing how soaked you are, at least it would be if he didn’t seem almost overjoyed at the sight.
His hand covered in your mess moves to his dick, stroking himself, lubing himself so you can take him easier. You want to rub your thighs together, to squirm at how he languidly pumps at his cock, how his brows upturn and his mouth gapes slightly.
His palm so warm against your inner thigh, holding you still. Moving so he can tap his dick against your clit, smiling at how your body jerks.
“Don’t be a tease.” Your hand moves for his, but he grabs at you before you reach him, looping his fingers with yours.
His tone is cheerful and bright, “But you look so cute when you’re frustrated.”
“I’ll leave,” you threaten, not even a little convincingly, way too horny to be taken seriously.
“Really?” He raises a brow at you, intrigued. “I don’t think you’d get very far…” Mocking pout settling on his features.
Nothing if not stubborn and true to your word, you push him back and roll to get out of the bed defiantly. Barely making it to the edge of the mattress when his hands are on your sides and manhandling you back into your previous position. Spreading your legs wide and rubbing the tip of his cock through your folds, just dipping into your hole before repeating the previous movements.
Biting his lower lip as he watches, his precum smearing all over your messy cunt. “Told you, you wouldn’t get very far.”
Your head rolls at how he dips his dick in more, beginning to stretch you open. His hips are stuttering forwards, hand slapping down onto the mattress beside you to stop himself from pushing you too far.
“Oh– oh– fuck! How– h-how are you this tight, oh,” breathless not even beginning to describe how fucked out he already sounds.
“Mm– more, Sugu, please– I–”
At your insistence, he fucks himself all the way in, holding his pelvis to you as he fills you to the hilt. Your pussy spasming and creaming around him, so worked up that he can feel just how aroused you are in the way you twitch, at how your fingers grab at his skin, how your breaths are uneven and broken.
He can’t help but marvel at how you let out little squealed moans, how your cunt stretches to take all of him. On cloud nine at how you’re so horny over how heavy he’s sitting inside you that you’re close to tears.
The moan he lets out is debauched, unbelievably turned on when your hips struggle to grind down into him needily, working yourself up to an orgasm so fucking fast that he can’t do anything but watch in awe.
You can’t stop yourself; you know you should, should slow down and maybe calm down but it feels so good. He’s so big inside you, his cock pulsing in a way that has you memorising the thumping rhythm. Not usually so eager, never this eager, enthusiastically rutting down into him over and over again before suddenly cumming all over him.
Choked and gasped moans pulled from you as your hands reach for him, hoping for him to let you tug him down into you but he’s too busy watching how you throb and cum all over him. Obsessed with how your cute, little cunt struggles with his size as you coat him in all your creamy cum.
“Holy fuck,” he laughs, “That was—”
Head dizzy and eyes lazy as you whinge at him, “—Don’t– don’t say anything.”
“You came as soon as I got inside you and you expect me to make no comment?”
“It’s embarrassing.”
“I think it was adorable,” he hums, voice strained, much more effected by it than he’s willing to let on.
You whine when he moves down onto you, cock somehow reaching deeper. Geto’s arms cage you in either side your head, resting on his forearms, his lips against yours in a breathless kiss. Beginning with shallow thrusts, his lips insistent on yours, fucking you so carefully for now.
Quickly, the need to have him fucking you stupid grows within you again and your legs loop around him properly, pulling him into you. Wrapping yourself around him, mouth panting against his.
“Fuck– hah– you’re so wet.” He’s fucking into you faster, hips becoming desperate. “It’s actually– it’s– hnn– it’s crazy how good you feel.” He moves his head to the crook of your neck, growling beside your ear, “such a soaked little cunt, taking it so– ohh– taking it so good.”
“Ah! Ah! Sugu, it’s– ohh– it’s– more– I need more.” Your fingers dig into his back, depraved, wet sloshing sounds of him fucking into you so well fill the room.
He nips at your neck. “Demanding little thing, aren’t you?”
He’s pulling out of you and the moan you let out is small and pathetic, disgruntled by his abrupt movement. The last thing you see is his smug grin before he’s flipping you over onto your stomach, hands pulling your hips up and pushing on your upper back, manoeuvring your body into an obscene arch.
He’s takings his sweet time to slip back inside, eyeing up your pussy and how your hole trembles and drools for him. Your hips wriggle back at him, and he finds himself incredibly amused at how blatantly needy you are, apparently honest with him in more ways than one.
Just as you were about to turn around and complain at how long he’s taking to re-enter you, he’s shoving his cock back in all at once, jolting your body up the bed and forcing a whine out of your lungs.
“Ohh– Sugu– I…” you trail off as his hips pick up, eyes rolling to the back of your head.
Sliding your legs further apart to take more of him inside, arching yourself even more, greedy cunt sucking him deep inside. He’s barely able to withdraw before you’re fucking your hips back into him, desperately driving back. So fucking needy that if you had half your mind, you’d be embarrassed but right now all you can think about is how his dick thumps against your walls, how his hands grip onto you tight. He’s probably leaving behind marks to match the ones he left all over your tits.
Mouth gaping open, spit pooling onto the pillow below, drooling over his cock. God, you could cry from just how fucking good it feels. Pussy spasming wildly on him, the more you think about the fact that he’s fucking you, the more worked up you get. Insides flipping at how he seems to touch the most perfect spots inside you, full of butterflies and him.
His mouth by your ear shocks you, his voice chirpy, “What are you– hah– thinking about, pretty?”
“Hah– about how goo– good it feels, feels– ohh– feels so good, Sugu,” your words are slurred, mind reeling at how he doesn’t even seem to slow his pace.
“Flatterer,” he barks out a laugh, “You’re quite the little charmer,” he mockingly compliments. Tongue licking meanly at the salty tears you hadn’t realised you’d shed.
“Shh– shut up– ah!” gasping when he gives a particularly mean thrust into you.
He can’t help but smile at the fucked out look you’re wearing, eyes rolled back, hazy and not comprehending anything other than his dick rubbing up against your walls so perfectly. Your face turns into the pillow and you bite at it, muscles pulling tight as another orgasm crawls up your spine.
It shocks you, how quickly you cum. With Suguru’s harsh thrusts, your ass is burning with the smack of his pelvis against you. The sting biting at your flesh making you feel like you’re on fire, cunt tight around him and orgasm overcoming you so fast that you don’t have time to prepare for it.
And maybe if he hadn’t been caught up in how deliciously you squeeze around him, he’d have time to realise you were coming again and he could stop himself but when you shock the both of you with your sudden orgasm he whines into your back and cums deep inside you. Shivers running down his spine at how it feels, dumping so much deep inside you that the force of his continued thrusts has some of it leaking from you back onto him and down onto the bed, making the obscenest mess he’s ever seen.
Immediately he’s pulling himself back up to see how he’s coated your walls white, his dick covered in your shared cum. Creamy and lewd and he’s not even going soft because how could he when you’re still wrapped so warmly around him. When you’re so fucking gooey and snug. He might die before he’s done fucking you yet and he can’t even find it in himself to care even a little bit.
You’re not capable of forming words together enough to think of making a sentence, only thing coming from you being your garbled, choked moans and the sounds of your plush cunt struggling to take him and all his cum. Pussy bulging with the weight of his cock and the mass amounts of seed he’s just pumped you full of.
His own eyes are lidded and low, pussy drunk and loving every second of it. “So turned on you couldn’t even warn me before you came,” he bites out.
His hand rounds your body and his fingers land on your clit, the overstimulation too much, one of your own hands moving down to try and pry it away. Managing to squeak out, “Too much– ah! Too much, Sugu.”
Tone light when his harsh words are mumbled back at you, “If it’s too much, then why– hnn– why are you fucking back onto me like such a slut?”
He’s so mean, so mean to you while he fucks you so… meanly. Head whirling over how he speaks to you, not even able to think long before he slaps your clit harshly. It’s got your knees buckling, falling into the mattress under him. His dick slips from you as you collapse into the mattress.
Geto doesn’t pick you back up straight away, oh no, because you’re leaking all of his cum out of your little hole onto the bed and he can’t take his eyes off of how much of it he managed to get inside you. It’s you who picks your hips up lazily, presenting yourself for him.
He chuckles at your loyalty to his cock, but he also can’t help the way the sight makes him twitch. Shoving his dick into you again, feral in his pursuit to fuck you, to fuck you full of more of his cum.
“S-so devoted– hnnn– doing such– hah– a good job for me, pretty,” he slurs.
You feel like you might pass out, so lightheaded but meeting each and every one of his thrusts all the same. An arm wrapping around your front pulls your back to his chest. Both of his hands land on your tits, fingers pinching and rolling your nipples, making your pussy shudder around him.
You want to fuck your hips back recklessly but not able to with this angle, only able to arch further and give shallow grinds while he fucks his hips into you. He plants kisses and bites along your neck, nipping your skin hard enough that you twitch and whine each time he does it.
One hand leaves your tit and trails down your front, going for your cunt, spreading wide around where he’s stuffing you full continuously. Getting an absolute mess all over his hand and fingers, only to shove those fingers into your mouth, leaving you to lick him clean. Crammed full by his dick and fingers at once, convulsing around him at the thought of it, at the reality of it.
“You like being stuffed full, huh?” He muses to you, an evil kind of joy in his tone. You don’t get to choose your own response, he’s already using the fingers he has in your mouth to nod your head yes. “Ah, thought so.”
Pulling his fingers from your mouth slowly to watch how you suck on them as he does, before he’s wiping all your spit down your chest to your tummy. And then he has another hand on the back of your neck and is pushing you down into the pillows again, this time he keeps his hand there while he fucks into you diabolically.
Somehow faster than before, relentless, reaching his own end and wanting you to cum all over him at least once more. Head dipping back as he groans out, thrusts harsh and calculated. Hitting all the spots he’s just learnt about, having memorised just how to make you fucking squirm for him.
Which he succeeds in, if he didn’t have the hand on the back of your neck, you would’ve crawled up the bed to try and get away from his evil thrusts. Poor abused pussy creaming around him for the fourth time, orgasm blinding you, only seeing white spots behind your eyelids.
The sounds he lets out are wrecked and beautiful and have you wishing that you weren’t cumming so violently if only to see the way he’s spilling inside you for the second time tonight.
“That’s it– fuck– take it– taking it so fucking well– holy fuck—” Every word he utters is breathless and broken, essentially fucking himself stupid too.
Taking a moment for himself to catch his breath before he’s slipping from you and pulling your ass cheeks apart to watch how his cum dribbles from your overfilled cunt. You try to wiggle away but he holds you steady, eyes trained on your dipping hole. Overcome with the desire to fuck his tongue inside you but instead settling for shoving two fingers inside, plugging your hole to keep his cum in.
You whine at him, and he can only chuckle and find you incredibly cute in your post orgasm bliss. Barely able to keep your eyes open, let alone speak right now.
He does eventually pull his fingers from you, wiping the mess on your thighs before turning you onto your back. It feels like you’re looking up at an angel as he looks down at you, or maybe the devil. All flush and sweet smiles, too sweet for a man that just fucked you within an inch of your life.
“You can’t smile at me like that, not after you almost killed me,” you babble back at him.
He rolls his eyes at you, “There you go overreacting again.”
“You fuck so mean, Sugu,” you accuse… accurately.
A smile grows on his face again. “Feels real good though, doesn’t it?”
You weakly slap at him, he just grabs your hand and tugs your body into his kneeling form, hugging you to him. Pressing kisses all over your face. “Think you can stand long enough to shower?”
Shaking your head at him, “Not without fainting.”
“Alright, bath it is,” he concludes.
He takes such nice care of you afterwards, a complete contrast to how he fucked you. It’s lovely though, the hands that grabbed and pulled at you now delicate as they trace over your skin, washing you clean.
You rest with your back to his front in the bath, head laying lazily on his chest. “So… for the sake of clarity, we’re not just friends?”
His lips tickle against the tip of your ear. “I can fuck you all over again if you need more proof?”
“I fear you might actually kill me.”
“Then I guess you’ll just have to take my word for it.” He leaves a single kiss against your cheek.
In the morning, for the first time ever, he makes you breakfast. To make up for all the marks he’s littered your body with. He also officially asks you on a date, which you pretend to think really hard about even though you’d already decided you were going to say yes.
In the end, being friends with Geto Suguru wasn’t hard… it’s just not what you both wanted.
𝒂.𝒏. THIS IS A REPOST .. a repost from my old account @/lovelivision, if you feel like you've read it before, maybe you have !
thank you for reading !!! i hope you guys liked it and i hope everyone is doing so good >:3
꒰꒰. all works are the intellectual property of aliienangel .. do not plagiarise/translate/reupload/feed to ai ♡. 。
𝒔𝒖𝒎𝒎𝒂𝒓𝒚： ♡ friendships can be hard, especially when the lines are so blurry you can't tell where the both of you stand. so what do you do when you catch feelings on top of all that?
cw ⤷ 𖥻 . ˖ ꒰ 𝒎𝒅𝒏𝒊 ꒱ . smut . pwp . swearing . making out . annoying drunk stranger . fingering . dirty talk . marking . titty worship . piv . clit slapping . c pie . geto fucks mean . geto is a TEASE . multiple o's . overstim . f!reader . s/her prns . no use of y/n ♯ 11.9k
Being friends with Geto Suguru isn’t hard… in theory but in practice it’s one of the most difficult things you’ve ever had to do. It’s especially difficult because he does things for you that feel like they’re pushing the boundaries of a normal friendship without actually doing anything weird.
Things like his insistence on bringing things for you when you’re feeling down, showing you extra care in how he talks to you, hanging out with you and having frequent movie nights, being attentive to your needs. While those things are innocuous in theory, it’s the way he treats you, talks to you and how it makes you feel that has your friendship feeling like it’s on a precarious ledge. Caught between pulling back or pushing over.
Sighing, your foot kicks at his sitting form. “Don’t you have something better to do tonight?”
“Like what?” His eyebrow raises at you, eyeing your lazy form that’s all spread out comfortably on your couch.
You’d maybe feel bad for taking up the whole couch if you weren’t so comfortable. “I don’t know, like a date? Hanging with friends? Going out on the town or whatever youths do.”
“Firstly, I’m older than you—”
Interjecting to add, “—Not by much!”
He only rolls his eyes, ignoring your interruption all together. “To your other points, I’m not interested in dating, and I am hanging out with a friend.”
Sighing louder than last time, foot pushing him enough to sway him. “Aren’t you bored of me?”
“No?” His brows pinch together in confusion. “Should I be?” Hand grabbing your foot to stop it from kicking at him.
You pout, trying to pull yourself free of his grip. “I don’t know…”
“Don’t say stupid things,” he huffs, amused by your struggle. “I could ask you the same thing you know.”
“I like hanging out with you,” you grumble at him.
“Yeah, well, I feel the same.” Finally letting go of your foot.
You’re feeling restless, he’s your friend, you know he’s your friend, and yet you can’t help hoping that your friendship is just a little bit more special. You groan and kick at him with both your feet.
“Woah, hey!” Both his hands grab at your ankles, pinning them down into the couch. “What’s wrong with you tonight?”
“I’m annoyed.”
“I’ve taken notice.” He’s trapping you with a pointed look, waiting for more of an explanation from you.
If you had an explanation, you’d freely give it to him but as of right now, you aren’t even sure if you’re aware of what you’re feeling enough to verbalise it to him. You deflate, looking back at him sheepishly. “I know you want to know what’s wrong, but I don’t know.”
“You don’t know? Or you don’t want me to know?”
Pushing yourself up, you cock your head at him. “The result is the same despite my answer, no?”
“No,” his is tone resolute. “I could help.”
You deliver a very plain, “You can’t.” He’s the cause of your confusion, talking to him could make it all so much worse and you don’t really want to deal with the fallout of all that.
“Woah, awful dismissive of me, I might be able to easily fix what’s wrong.”
Turning so you’re facing the screen, you try to focus on the films plot. “You can fix what’s wrong right now by being quiet and watching the movie.”
“I was watching the movie, you distracted me.” He pokes lightly at your shoulder.
Shushing at him quickly, “Shut, I’m trying to listen.”
He doesn’t say anything more, just goes back to watching the movie in silence, probably following the plot better than you are because you’re sat closer to him like this and can’t help but sneak glances at him.
It’s not fair, he looks pretty like this. Face illuminated by the soft glow of the television, seemingly entranced by the movie playing. While gazing over his features, you find yourself constantly looking back at his lips, heart stuttering in your chest. You wonder how kissing him would feel like, would it help, wait.
Prying your eyes off him, you desperately hope to be shown some kind of mercy. You shouldn’t want to kiss him, you shouldn’t be thinking about kissing him. You need to get a hold of yourself.
Predictably, you are not shown any kind of mercy and all you can manage to think about is him. How soft his lips might be, how he would kiss you, would he be tentative… or would he kiss you like he’s done it a million times before.
Not even realising you’re staring at him again until he sighs and locks his eyes onto yours. “Are you aware you’re staring at me?”
Trying to play it cool by answering, “I wasn’t staring.”
“Are you alright?” He’s growing a little concerned by your unusual behaviour tonight.
“I’m fine! Good even, just… have some things on my mind.” You feel guilty.
“And just what exactly are these things you’re thinking about?”
Your skin flares at his question, feeling embarrassed by your own thoughts. “Nothing! General thoughts… you know…”
“Right…” He’s clearly sceptical, not believing your flimsy answers for even a second. “Have I done something to upset you?”
He’s too much for you right now, you try answering confidently but fail miserably. “No?”
Moving so his body is facing you, he gets into your space, worried by your answer. “Why don’t you sound sure?”
“Why are you asking me so many questions tonight?” You avoid his gaze, flustered by him suddenly being so close to you. Still thinking about his lips on yours, in the back of your head thinking about his hands on your body.
“You’re being weird, I’m just concerned.” His hand reaches for your face. “Do you have a fever or something?” His knuckles rest on your cheek, gauging your temperature.
“Seriously, I’m fine.” You’re fumbling more than you want to, eyes rounded and shocked looking into his.
It feels like you grow warmer the longer his hand stays on your face, it’s becoming difficult to think. If you had a good reason, you would kick him out right now but you’re already concerning him and you’re trying so hard to be normal. This night is taking a very unfortunate turn.
His face twists, concern written all over it. “You feel a little warm, are you sure you’re okay?” Hand slipping from your cheek, moving to rest against the back of the couch.
Trying to keep your answers short, you give a simple, “I’m sure.”
Geto doesn’t know where to go from here, his silence is evidence of that. You don’t blame him though because you’re not really sure where to go from here either, the thoughts of his lips on yours linger in your mind and you feel as if you could die.
“I just…” He looks to you when you start talking, ready to hear whatever it is you have to say, “I was just thinking – and don’t make this weird – but I was thinking about… how you would kiss me…” your words trail off slightly, growing quieter and quieter with each word.
His eyes widen slightly in response before he switches back to his neutral expression. “I—”
“—I don’t wanna know, don’t talk actually,” you cut him off abruptly. Too embarrassed to dissect this any further and certainly not willing to have a conversation with him about it, already regretting having admitted to thinking it.
He questions you, clearly caught between being entertained and somewhat concerned, “I’m not allowed to comment?”
“No.”
“Even though you’ve been thinking about how I would—”
Hurriedly moving your hand to cover his mouth, hissing out, “Shush!”
You’re closer like this, the proximity flustering you, the silence awkward. Suguru glares at you from under your hand. He has something to say and is showing clear disdain for your repeated interruptions.
His larger hand reaches up and wraps around your wrist, trying to gently pry your hand away but you hold steady. Growing frustrated with this little tug of war game you have going on, he uses more force to pull your hand down, grabbing your other hand as well. Restraining them both in your lap to keep you still.
Exasperated when he asks, “Don’t you think you’re overreacting slightly?”
“No.” You tug back on his grip but get nowhere.
“Why are you annoyed at me over this? They’re your thoughts,” he reminds.
You’re irritated with how right he is; it’s not his fault you’re thinking like this. Knowing that doesn’t change the fact that sitting right next to him makes it difficult for you to think of anything other than how soft his lips might be, or if he’ll hold you still while he kisses you, or if—
He barks out a quick laugh, “You wanna kiss me that bad?”
Realising you were staring at his lips again you feel like you might spontaneously combust, struggling against his hold and huffing out, “Shut up, just forget I even said anything.”
He sounds restrained and incredibly serious when he murmurs back, “Might not be able to if you keep looking at me like that.”
“Don’t make this even more embarrassing for me, Suguru! It’s your fault,” you accuse indignantly.
Lips quirking evilly, “Oh? So, you want me to fix it then?”
“You should! Take a little responsibility,” you grumble out at him, all pouty and annoyed.
He leans in closer to press you, “Do you want me to kiss you? Do you think it would help?”
“I don’t know… I mean…” You look to his lips again, gaze getting a little lost as you do. You’re a completely helpless cause.
If Suguru were being honest with you, he’d tell you how much you’re killing him when you look at him like that but he’s stubborn and a tease, so instead he says, “Eyes up here.”
Dragging your eyes back to his and staring daggers, completely pissed at him but mostly yourself for being so obvious again. “Do you think it would help?”
“You’d stop wondering,” he shrugs easily, like this is all so incredibly normal and not uncharted territory for the both of you.
“I don’t want this to make our friendship weird.” Feeling pathetic as you look at him, you’re not even sure if what you have together is as simple as a friendship, it feels like so much more. At least, you’re kind of hoping it is, kissing him could do irreparable damage and you don’t just mean in terms of how you act around one another but specifically how you feel about him.
“I won’t let it,” he assures.
“I’m not worried about you…”
He’s taken aback by your small admission, it’s not clear enough for him to make any real conclusions from it or confront you on anything but he knows it makes his heart beat faster and flusters him slightly. In all his years of casual dating and serious relationships, you’re the only person to have ever made him feel like such a fool.
“It’s up to you then,” he smiles softly.
You aren’t sure if it’s worth the risk but if this is the only chance you’ll get then you don’t know if you want to risk letting it go by either. “I think… yes.”
Playing dumb, he returns, “‘Yes’ what?”
Your tone is lowering again, confident answer short lived when he teases you. “Yes… I want you to kiss me…”
“You’re sure?” He asks but his hands are already moving up your body, one resting against the side of your neck, touch gentle and light.
“I mean… I’m not sure if this is a good idea but I’m sure I want you to kiss me.”
He huffs lightly in disbelief, breath tickling against your lips. “What’s wrong with you tonight?”
“You…” Frown dusting your features as you utter it, eyes already focused back on his lips.
He doesn’t say any more after that, faltering in his movements a bit but ultimately moving in completely and pressing his lips to yours delicately. It’s featherlight, kiss shallow and simple, like he’s holding back. It’s still enough to have your head full, full of thoughts of him, of how soft his lips are, how gentle his kisses are.
Geto pulls back all too soon for your liking, putting some distance between the two of you, head tilting to the side as he looks you over. “Curiosity satisfied.”
“Is that really how you would want to kiss me?”
“What?”
At his question you’re suddenly all too aware of how bold yours was. “I just… It’s nothing, sorry.” Fumbling over yourself, not wanting to hurt his feelings. “It was nice! It was a nice kiss.”
“No, no,” he squints at you, “Go on… say what you want.”
It’s quiet for a moment, your hesitance clear. “…Did you… kiss me how you wanted to?”
“I think if I kissed you how I wanted,” pausing to lean in closer, “You might pass out or something.”
“Oh, come on, you’re not my first kiss or anything,” you roll your eyes at him and his ego, “I was just curious, if that’s really how you’d kiss me then that’s all there is to it, it was a nice kiss.” You shrug at him.
“Why am I starting to feel like I’m being assessed?”
“If you feel that way then that’s on you.” Trying so hard to play it cool, like you can’t tell he was holding back, like you don’t want him to kiss you more. “Do you wanna go back in the movie? Rewind to where we were before?”
As you get up to move off the couch and find the remote, Suguru is pulling you back down to him, one hand gently holding the front of your throat. You don’t get a second to think about all the movements he just made, his lips on yours rushed, like he’s suddenly, incredibly desperate to kiss you.
Barely able to keep up with him, head dizzy from the whiplash, this isn’t at all how he kissed you before. You’re basically panting against him when he does pull back, allowing you the small moment to catch your breath.
His thumb pulls down on your chin lightly. “Open your mouth more.” His eyes are lidded as he looks at you, tone deeper than before.
Obeying him wordlessly and then he’s kissing you again, tongue in your mouth. It’s all messy and rushed and has you losing your mind. Your arms wrap around his neck, and he pulls your body closer to his, hand moving to the back of your head.
When he sucks your tongue into his mouth and licks at you, you can’t stop the moan that leaves you. Swallowed down by Geto in an appreciative manner, his kiss lingers for a while longer, making you dizzy and thoughtless. He pulls back from you, connected by a string of saliva that snaps when he licks at his lower lip.
The look on your face is dumbstruck, eyes big and wet as you gaze up at him in a dazed manner. It makes him feel feral, not able to help the way he leans back in and presses more short, sloppy kisses to your swollen lips.
There’s a pause before you can regain your faculties enough to say anything to him and even then, the only thing you can manage is, “I… uhm…”
“Was that better?” He’s trying to be light-hearted about it, but his lips are swollen as well, and his eyes are lidded, and he looks… “You didn’t pass out did you?” His head lowers so his eyes catch yours.
Your brain feels fuzzy and all you can think about is how you’ve never been kissed like that before, that you want to keep being kissed like that. “What? No… I just… wow.”
“Live up to your expectations?”
“I didn’t really have any, I was only curious…” Smiling big at him, you add, “But yeah, maybe even exceeded them.”
“You aiming to boost my ego, or did I really kiss you stupid?” He can’t help the way he leans in again, just shy of your lips.
Mouth on yours before you get to answer or refute what he’s accused, you don’t stop him though, allowing him to kiss you fully, deeply. One of his hands on the side of your face, holding you. The other grips at your hip, almost tugging you in closer.
Before you lose focus again, you part to gasp out, “I don’t know if—” Interrupted by his lips on yours, tangling your hand into his hair to pull him back, he groans at the force of the tug. “Suguru, I don’t think it’s a good idea to keep—”
“—Just another kiss, one more…” breathless when he talks, mouth hot on yours, tongue already in your mouth.
It’s almost too much, he’s so insistent. Kissing you like he might never get to again, like he’s trying to get the most out of this. He might actually have you passing out, it’s not even as if you really want him to stop but that’s part of the problem, isn’t it?
Pulling back, he sucks on your lower lip before nipping at it. The whimper he pulls from you is embarrassing and weak and you’re facing an internal conflict of so many emotions right now, but mostly you’re struck by how badly you want to sleep with him.
You hadn’t realised his hand had snuck under your shirt, warm and large against your side, sending a shiver down your spine. The breathlessness you’re hit with has your skin feeling hot as you try to stumble out your words, “I, uh, think we should stop… here.”
“Why? Am I not a good kisser? Are you not enjoying yourself?” A smile creeps onto his face. “You sounded like you were enjoying yourself.”
“Don’t.” Your head tucks down and onto his chest, forehead resting against him. “Please don’t embarrass me.”
He wraps his arms around your body, embracing you. “Can’t help it.”
You stay like this for probably longer than you should, enjoying the moment too much for someone who’s about to go back to being just his friend.
Geto breaks the silence first, speaking into the top of your head, “Is your curiosity satisfied or are you going to start kicking me again?”
“I can’t promise I’ll never kick you again but yeah… I’m satisfied.”
He laughs against you, “Alright, well, if you’re ever curious again… you know where to find me.”
It’s been about a week since you crossed a line you probably shouldn’t have in your friendship with Suguru, and like the incredibly brave individual you are… you have been ignoring him.
Not on purpose though, you intend on replying to all his messages… but then you get nervous and freak yourself out and stop short of sending anything back. From his messages, you can tell he’s getting increasingly more worried… or maybe frustrated… you’re not sure, there is only so much you can infer over text.
Maybe you should reply, looking at his last message that reads, ‘seriously? answer me. today.’ Oh yeah… he’s annoyed, you have no idea how to reply to him, maybe something simple? Or maybe a long paragraph overexplaining yourself… or maybe—
Your phone screen changes to Shoko’s caller ID, saved by the metaphorical bell. “Hey! What’s up?”
She sounds a bit short when she answers you, “Are you coming tonight?”
“Tonight…” You trail off, completely blanking on what the hell she’s talking about.
Her reply coming incredibly deadpan and disappointed, “You forgot.”
“No noo, I would never forget about…” The rest of your sentence dropping off, silence falling over the line.
She fills in the gaps for you, “The stupid party that’s being thrown by our stupid friends to celebrate the stupid event that is a boring, normal, Friday night.”
She already sounds over it and you’re pretty sure she would’ve only just got there. “Okay, well… I now feel significantly better about the fact that I actually had forgotten what tonight was.”
“Yeah, well I wish I had forgotten too because this is boring without you.”
“Didn’t you only just get there?”
“I feel like that’s beside the point.” You can feel her eyeroll through the phone. “So, when are you getting here?”
Sighing as you ask, “Do I really have to come?”
Not missing a single beat when she shoots back, “I’m here which means yes, you do.”
You go quiet for a moment, “…Will Suguru be there?”
“You’re more likely to know than me,” she sounds confused, “Listen, I don’t know what happened but surely you don’t think you can avoid him forever.”
“Not forever… just tonight.” You really don’t feel like running into him in person, not when you can barely get your head on straight long enough to message him back.
“I haven’t seen him, and he didn’t sound all that interested when this was first planned so I doubt he will show up.”
“You’re not just lying to get me there, are you?”
“Of course not.” It’s always been hard to tell when she’s joking but you’re pretty sure Suguru isn’t there. If you had been replying to him, you probably would’ve ended up hanging out together tonight just to avoid that pointless party.
Deciding to take the risk, you acquiesce. “Alright, I’ll be there soon, just give me a bit to put on something that isn’t pyjamas.”
Getting out of the apartment will be good for you, that and you’ll have the chance to catch up with Shoko, it’s been a while since you last hung out.
“Just come in your pyjamas.”
“Okay, now you’re being unreasonable,” you chuckle.
She groans through the phone, “Gojo and I just made eye contact, that’s like asking to be trapped in a conversation for at least an hour.”
You smile at her and her exaggeration. “That’s really funny, tell him I said hi.”
“Don’t hang up on me—”
The line goes dead as you hang up on her.
Nearly an hour has passed by the time you get to the party, but when you make eye contact with Shoko across the room – still stuck in conversation with Gojo – it looks like a century has passed for her.
Walking up to them both, you grab Gojo by the sides of his arms and shake him, making a loud noise to scare him as you do. He just about dies then and there, head whipping around to see it’s just you and gripping a hand over his chest.
He’s a little breathless when he scolds you, “You scared the fuck outta me, what the hell?”
“I thought it would be funny.” You smile bright at him, out the corner of your eye seeing Shoko fighting a smile and hiding it behind her drink.
“It wasn’t,” he half pouts.
“It kinda was,” Shoko interjects.
He just continues to pout over how badly you got him.
“Hi Satoru,” you chirp at him, trying to be as sweet as possible for scaring the living daylights out of him.
“Yes, hello,” he fights a smile when greeting you back, and then his face twists as if suddenly remembering something. “Hey! What happened with you and Suguru?”
Taken aback by his abruptness. “What?”
He’s staring at you intently, seemingly desperate to know your business. “I know something happened, you gotta tell me what.”
Honestly, you would’ve thought Geto would’ve told him by now, seeing as how they’re sort of attached at the hip. “He hasn’t told you?”
“He’s insistent that nothing is wrong.”
“Then nothing’s wrong.”
“I know something is wrong and I also know you’re dodging him because he made me text you to see if you’d reply and you replied within the same minute,” he squints at you accusatorily.
Arms crossing over your chest as you size him up. “You sent me a photo of the cat that hangs out in your neighbourhood as bait? That’s messed up Satoru.”
“I was investigating,” he defends.
“No, you were being nosy, just like you are now.” Something occurs to you very suddenly, “Wait, if you’re here… and I’m here… where is Suguru?”
“Here, obviously,” he shrugs.
Turning, you glare at Shoko who raises her hands in defence. “Don’t look at me like that, I didn’t lie, I really haven’t seen him. I’ve been trapped in conversation with this idiot the whole time.”
“Trapped? That’s so mean Shoko,” Gojo plays up his hurt, sulking and giving her the saddest eyes he can muster. It unsurprisingly has no effect on her.
He’s here somewhere, you need to leave before he sees you. You’re so annoyed at yourself for not connecting that Satoru being here obviously meant Suguru was going to be here too, especially since he wasn’t with you.
Spinning, you go for the front door you came through not that long ago. Managing to get it open a crack before a hand above your head closes it. Turning around, you come face to face with Suguru, a very annoyed Suguru. Polite smile painted on his face but his eyebrow twitches slightly.
His weight is supported by his hand on the door as he leans down to you. “And where are you going?”
“I was just gonna… head home… get an early night?” Looking away from him as you lie poorly, not able to look at him without thinking about how he kissed you.
He points out, “You just got here though.”
“Yeah, it’s just… not my scene…” In your defence, not a complete lie.
“Really? Because it feels like you’re avoiding me.” He leans down further to catch your eyes with his, sick of you avoiding eye contact.
You’re only able to look at him incrementally, eyes flicking from his, to the wall behind him. “No there’s no reason for me to be avoiding you, I don’t know why you would think that.”
“Oh good! That means you can stay then.” Face scrunching with his—now—less than polite smile. Clearly growing frustrated with how you’re refusing to communicate with him properly.
You have no excuses to give, nothing good or even remotely believable anyways. “I uhh—”
Cutting you off to give an ultimatum, “—Either we’re leaving and talking like adults or you’re staying right here and suffering through this whole night with me right by your side.”
His choice in wording disgruntles you, locking eyes to say, “It doesn’t cause me suffering to be beside you, Suguru.” You want to make at least that much clear.
He gives you a tight-lipped smile. “Good. Then you won’t mind me not leaving your side.”
Weighing your options, you don’t know what would be better right now. On the one hand you’d get to leave but then you’d have to tell him about how much you’re affected by the line you crossed, about how you’re developing feelings for him that you shouldn’t have indulged in. On the other, you stay but he lingers around you all night and you’re left haunted by all the things you want to say but can’t quite bring yourself to.
“Let’s go back to everyone then,” you smile back at him.
His face drops. “You don’t wanna talk about it that bad?”
“Suguru, you’re looking for answers I don’t even know if I can give you.”
He relents and takes a step back from you, “Fine. But just so you know, you can’t get rid of me that easily.” Waiting for you to want to talk first seems to be his main goal but you can see just how impatient he’s getting.
You ignore his comment and walk past him back to Gojo and Shoko in the other room, they’re both exactly where you left them. It’s awkward, for you anyways. You don’t know about them or everyone else here, but you feel awkward.
It carries on for the whole night; it’s been a couple hours now and Suguru is still just following you around wordlessly. Only speaking to others when spoken too, engaging in some conversation, only to cut it short when you move on.
This really isn’t fun for you, normally not even bothering to come to house parties like this and only doing this as a favour to Shoko but she’s gone home now, and you’re left here with just Geto. You’d leave too, but you have a feeling he’s going to follow you home, or at the very least make you talk to him before you try leaving and you’re just… so not in the mood.
Sighing softly to yourself as you walk into the kitchen, somehow managing to shake your tail, for now. Taking the small reprieve as a chance to breathe and think, which is cut short when some stranger starts a conversation with you.
“Hi! You’re really hot, do you want a drink? I can make you a drink. I’ve never seen you here before and trust me– I’d remember you.” He’s slurring his words slightly, “So, drink? You wan– I can get you a—”
He’s really forward, and drunk, it’s making you uncomfortable, especially since you’re far too sober and far too annoyed to have to deal with drunk men. “—I’m good, thank you, I’m not drinking.”
“Oh, come on! Jus one drink, it’ll loosen you up.” He moves in to elbow your shoulder lightly. “You’re too hot to be– to be such a downer, maybe a smile would help.”
Completely unamused and slowly shuffling back away from him. “I think I’d prefer you just leave me alone; I’m not interested.”
“Don– don’t be like that,” he sulks at you.
Your back collides with someone’s front and looking up you can see it’s your missing stalker of the night. As annoyed at Suguru as you are, you are endlessly thankful for his timing, physically feeling yourself relax now that he’s here.
Geto glares down at the pushy guy. “She’s not interested.”
“Oh man, I didn’t know she had– had a boyfriend, you know you should keep an eye on her,” the drunk idiot leers at you, “She’s kind of a tease, leading me on,” he shrugs.
Your face grimaces at his words and the way he eyes you, feeling incredibly uncomfortable. Suguru moves in front of you, shielding you from him, his lip twitches at this guy’s words. “Excuse me?”
“No, well… I jus mean she didn’t tell me—”
“—She said she wasn’t interested, that was enough,” Geto’s tone is growing more irritated by the moment.
“Suguru, let’s just go, it’s fine.” You tug on the hem of his jacket, not really wanting to have to deal with the fallout of whatever may happen if this idiot keeps unwittingly provoking Geto. He tries his best, but he has a breaking point, and he tends to hit it pretty quick when you’re involved.
He glances back at you. “It’s not fine.”
“Okay, it’s not but I kinda can’t stand this guy, and this party sucks and I’m annoyed, and I don’t wanna be here anymore.” You feel a little pathetic for whinging but you’re so drained and this guy was your breaking point.
All his attention drops from that guy to you, his hands coming up to either side of your face, taking in how tired you look. Thumbs stroking high on your cheekbones, “Alright, let’s leave.”
Relief in your bones at the fact you’re about to be gone from here, “Thank you.”
From behind Suguru you can see the drunk take the opportunity to slip away, apparently smart enough to use this distraction to his advantage. If Geto notices, he doesn’t say anything, clearly done with him, all attention on you now.
He hums at you, asking, “How’d you get here?”
Your eyes flick back to his. “I didn’t drive, if that’s what you’re asking.” You took an uber, you thought you’d either catch a ride with Shoko, or you’d take another uber home.
“You’re riding with me then.” His large hand takes yours. “Come on.” Then tugging you through the house behind him.
The car ride has been quiet, you can feel your head drooping and your eyes closing, very nearly falling asleep. That is until, you notice Geto isn’t taking you to your house, instead heading towards his.
Turning to face him, you ask, “Why are we going back to yours?”
Without turning to look at you, he replies, “Because you’ve been avoiding me, so I am now forcing you to spend time with me.”
He’s decidedly not funny. Sighing as you try to chide him, “Suguru—”
Finally glancing your way only to speak over you, “—Don’t ‘Suguru’ me, my place is closer and you’re tired, if you weren’t being so weird around me ever since I k—”
“—Shhh, be quiet.” Your cheeks suddenly feel warm at the memory of how insistent his kisses were.
“All I’m saying is, if you weren’t being so weird around me, you’d come back to mine tonight anyways.”
It’s frustrating to you that he’s right, you normally would just go back to his and crash in his bed next to him and then you’d make him breakfast the next morning to make up for the fact that you’d taken up his whole bed.
The only thing you can think to say is a flat, “…Fine.” Crossing your arms and looking out the car window the rest of the short drive.
Back at his apartment, he lends you some clothes to sleep in. It’s all incredibly intimate, showering in his bathroom, using the spare toothbrush you keep here, wearing his clothes. Has your friendship always been this intimate or are you just looking at it in a new light.
Leaving his bathroom, you find him in his room. Getting his bed ready for you to sleep in, you stand awkwardly at the foot of it. “I’ll just sleep on your couch.”
“Don’t be ridiculous, you always sleep in the bed with me.”
“Yeah but…” Your brows settle into a deep frown. “Do you not feel weird?”
He drops the blanket back onto the bed, exasperation with you clear. “I said to you, I wouldn’t let it affect our friendship, and that’s what I’m doing.” Turning to look at you before adding, “You’re the one making it weird.”
“I know that…” You also know that you were the one who said you weren’t worried about him.
His arms are crossed as he looks you over. “I’m gonna shower now, you don’t have to sleep in the bed, but I think you should, you know firsthand how awful that couch is.”
“Go have your shower.” You shoo him out of the room, standing in the middle of it, alone, considering what you should do.
The couch really is atrocious; it’s part of the reason why you started sleeping in his bed when you visited. He always says he’ll get a nicer couch or a blow-up mattress for you, but he never does, and you always end up in his bed anyways.
Deciding you’re too drained to think any harder about all of this, you crawl into his bed and make yourself comfortable. Everything is so frustrating to you right now, have you always felt this confused about your friendship or were the lines blurred for so long that you’re having trouble understanding where you both stand.
The irony of the situation is annoying and almost laughable because if it were about anyone else, you’d be hitting up Suguru and asking for his advice on it all.
When he comes back into the room, he shuffles around a bit before turning off the lights and getting into bed beside you. You’re lying on your side with your back to him, pretending to already be asleep.
His voice cuts through the quiet of the room, “I miss you.”
Your reaction to it is almost visceral, how are you meant to reply to that. It doesn’t help you feel better at all, only leaving you longing for something you don’t know if you’re allowed to claim. Your friendship has always been on a precarious ledge but it’s only now that you let yourself acknowledge the disgusting depth of your feelings for him.
You mumble into the pillow, “I’m right here.”
“Then why do you feel so far away?”
Readjusting, you rotate so you’re facing him, not completely prepared for him to already be facing you. Propped up on his elbow, closer than your poor heart was ready for. You lower your head, so you don’t have to look at his face. “I wasn’t purposefully ignoring you, I really did want to reply.”
He pushes, “So why didn’t you?”
“I didn’t know what to say…”
“What can I do to help?” He lowers himself down to your level, head on his bicep.
You still avoid his gaze. “Nothing, you can’t do anything.”
“You’re being—”
“—You are the problem, Suguru, there is nothing you can do to help but get out of my head.” You meet his eyes, frown prominent on your face. “You and your stupid kiss, you made it all a thousand times worse for me.”
“Making out with me was so life changing that you can’t get it out of your head, and you’re annoyed at me for that? You’re the one who wanted to know what it was like.” He’s trying to keep his tone light-hearted but he’s struggling, seemingly growing more irritated by it all.
You grumble at him, discontent, “You don’t need to point out the obvious, stupid.”
A noise of disagreement comes from him, “Well, I feel like I kinda do, since you’re overreacting.”
“I am not overreacting.”
“You are though.”
“No because it’s not just…” you stop short, “…Whatever, I’m going to sleep so be quiet.” He smiles at you like you’re completely endearing, which only frustrates you further.
“The only reason you would be this annoyed is because you want to kiss me again, or more…” His hand reaches for your chin and tilts your head up towards him. “You tell me, are you still curious?”
“Shut up,” you huff out, going to move away only for his hand to slide to your cheek, holding you still.
“You haven’t asked me, you know.”
“What?”
“What if I want to kiss you again? What if I want to do more?” His forehead rests against yours. “You’ve been so caught up in your own head, acting like an idiot over this, that you’ve not even asked yourself about what I want.”
“I am not an idiot.”
“No, but you’ve certainly been acting like one.” His hand slides from your face, down the side of your body, landing on your hip. “At first I thought it was cute, the curiosity, the unawareness.” His hand tugs you in closer to him, body against yours. “But now… now I’m growing impatient.”
Your head feels fuzzy, all pressed up against him and that seems to be the only thing your brain is processing right now. “I’m confused.”
“It’s really quite simple.” He moves in, lips ghosting against yours.
You want so badly to kiss him, breath catching in your chest at the way his lips tickle against yours. Your attention solely on the way he might kiss you.
“You like me, and while it’s endearing to watch you fumble your way through the realisation, it’s killing me to know you’re all caught up on how I kissed you and I can’t even get in contact with you.”
“What? What?” Your brain takes a second to catch up. “I do not– you can’t know– just– what?”
“I can know, you know how? Because you’re painfully obvious about it. So honest, telling me about how you’re thinking of me, not able to look at me without looking at my lips,” a light laugh leaves him at your expression, “and it’s sweet, really. But I’m getting annoyed by the fact that you’re so obsessed with your own feelings that you’ve failed to consider mine.”
He’s giving you so much whiplash right now. “You—”
“—You think I kissed you like that just ‘cause?” He frowns at you, “I kissed you like that because I wanted to, I feel I was a little obvious about it all actually.”
“I’ve been so worried about ruining our friendship.” You feel so pitiful when you say it, like a wet puppy.
“I know.” He presses a kiss to your forehead. “But I’ve hoped for nothing more.” He sighs, “I wanted you to come to me on your own, to talk to me about it but instead you hid from me.”
“What was I supposed to think? Through my eyes, I was stupid and asked you to kiss me just because I was thinking about it. Only to not stop thinking about it, and then realise I like you, my friend.” You pull back from him slightly. “How was I meant to talk to you about it?”
“You think I’d kiss just any friend because they simply wondered about what it would be like?” His brow lifts at you. “Don’t you think our friendship has always been a little too intimate to just be a friendship?”
“Nothing was ever said… how was I supposed to know?”
“Okay, well, let me be perfectly clear.” He tugs you in close again, eyes meeting yours, like he’s going to say something incredibly important, only to plant his lips on yours in a full kiss.
Hand holding you to him tight, like he needs you to stay pressed up against him. His mouth on yours is hot and consuming, kiss messy, tongue licking at yours. An involuntary moan gets caught in your chest and your hand moves to his hair, tangling in it.
Suguru’s parting from you to pant out, “I like you—” kissing you again, “I like kissing you—” lips desperate against yours, “I want to do so much more—” He never parts from you long at all, barley willing to but needing to get his words out.
This is a feeling that you’re never going to be able to forget, the first time he kissed you overwhelming enough and now it’s like he’s completely following his instinct. No critical thinking happening in his head or yours. All your thoughts wash away from you, slipping through your fingers before it even occurs to you to form a thought.
Less scared now, throwing caution to the wind, not worrying about how you should stop, how you can’t ruin the fragility of your friendship. It doesn’t matter anymore, not when he already knows how you feel, not when he seems to feel the same, not when it feels this good.
He mumbles against you, “That clear enough?”
“No,” you huff back, “I think… I’m still a little confused.”
“Well, in that case,” he smirks before kissing you again.
Hand moving to your thigh, sliding it across your skin before grabbing at your knee and crooking your leg to rest on his hip. Leaning into you slightly, using his weight to push back on you, rolling the pair of you until he’s on top. Forearm holding himself over you, his other hand still on your knee, holding you flush to him.
You gasp up at him when his erection ruts into your core, lips parting messily, spit connecting the two of you. A shudder runs down his spine when he looks down at you, at how you’re looking up at him. All big, wet eyes and kiss swollen lips, it’s like he feels all his insides softening for you in that moment, in the most sickeningly affectionate way.
His eyes suddenly look lost, and you don’t know why, going to say something only for his lips to land on yours again. Short, firm kisses planted on your lips over and over again, barely able to return them before he’s pulling back, just to do it again.
It’s sweet but it’s frustrating you, your hands are eventually grabbing at either side of his face and forcing his mouth onto yours, lips meshing together, kissing him fully. Tongue in his mouth, your arms wrapping around his neck, fingers playing with his hair. He moans at how you’re kissing him, at how both your legs are now wrapped around his waist.
Practically clinging to him, lips locked to his, your need making your body hot and head fuzzy. You’re trying so hard to not come across desperate for him, but you really can’t help the way your hips seek out his, grinding up into him.
His voice shakes with a moan, breaking the kiss, “Ohh fuck– hah—” a breathless kind of laugh leaving him, "A little eager, aren’t you?"
"Should we stop then?” You ask with a smile, hands untangling and pushing at his shoulders.
He rushes out, “No no, I didn’t say that.” He pulls your arms, so they’re wrapped around his neck again. “Come back,” a light laugh leaves him, pressing kisses all over your face, lingering on your lips.
“So… you don’t want to stop?”
“Absolutely not, be as needy as you want.” He looks down between where his hips are resting against yours, his cock twitching in his pants. “Hell… be needier.”
“I don’t know… maybe this is all happening too fast,” you say it light heartedly, teasing him, “I mean… we are just friends.”
“Just friends?” He takes personal issue with that, even if he can tell you’re goading him. “Just friends but you’re grinding your pussy all over me?” His hand slips into the front of your borrowed sleep shorts, two fingers rubbing between your folds over your panties.
“Letting your friend touch you like this, hmm?” He pulls your panties to the side, “Fuck– this wet for your friend?”
Your back arches against the bed when his fingers slip over your clit, struggling to get your words out. “I– mmph– I get it, m’sorry.”
“Sorry for what?” He smiles sweetly at you but two of his fingers are slipping inside you, quirking up and rubbing at just the right spot.
God, your eyes roll into the back of your head, cunt pulsing around his fingers so needily. Hands grabbing at him, tangling in his long hair, gasping for air you don’t really need but feeling like you can’t breathe from how he’s touching you.
“What are you sorry for, pretty?” He wants you back on track, he wants to hear you stumble out your apology to him.
“I-I’m sorry– hnnn – f-for…” your mouth drops open in a moan when his thumb rubs at your clit, “You’re not jus– you’re not just my friend– oh! You’re more– you mean more– Ah! Ah!” You can’t think, not when he slides another finger into your pussy, stretching you so open.
He tips forward, fingers not stopping. “You mean it?”
It’s a question made to tease you but with your gooey brain, you look up at him so earnestly and answer, “Mhm, yeah.” Nodding your head firmly at him, even when your eyes look so fucked out.
Soft squelching noises fill the room with how his fingers fuck into you, your cunt clamping tight down around them. Walls so hot and wet that it’s driving him crazy, imagining how it would feel to have you wrapped so snug around his neglected cock.
He wants so badly to rip off your pants, so he can see just how well you’re taking his fingers but you’re pulsing so rhythmically around him, and your eyes roll with how good you feel. Making the nicest expressions for him that he can’t even tear his eyes away from your face if he wanted to.
“You’re really cute right now.” He presses a kiss to your cheek, his heart stammering at how your glistening eyes sparkle at him, at how your bottom lip wobbles.
Pouting up at him, “You don’t– ah!– think I’m cute all the time?”
“I think you’re downright adorable all the time,” he laughs airily, “but especially right now,” he’s gazing so intently at your face, “because, I’m pretty sure…” his thumb speeds up on your clit, “…you’re about to cum all over my fingers.”
Oh, how his words effect you so deeply, his tone, the cockiness. If he weren’t touching you so right you wouldn’t find it as arousing as you do but you feel like you could cry from just how overwhelming it all is.
Shaking your head at him as if to say ‘no, you’re not about to cum.’
“No?” He pouts at you mockingly. “You sure?”
Denying it really doesn’t get you anywhere, especially since he can feel how you tighten around his fingers, how your gooey cunt pulses for him. Your back arching meanly, legs wanting so badly to kick against the air. Hand tugging at his hair as you gasp, broken moans leaving you.
“I mustn’t be doing this right then,” he hums at you in thought, slowing his movements slightly. “Should I stop then? Change up what I’m doing?”
The thought of him stopping now, or changing what he’s doing kills you, almost literally. Your eyes widen and you shake your head vehemently at him. “Don’t stop– hnn– don’t– please,” begging him with your eyes.
“Only ‘cause you begged so nicely,” his tone so sweet on you.
He doesn’t change anything, keeps fucking you with his fingers in the way that’s driving you crazy. His mouth waters at how your pussy gushes for him, dick leaking into his pants. Losing his fucking mind at how he’s able to finally touch you like this, how you’re letting him touch you like this, even begging for it.
Your muscles are pulling taut, hearing and sight going fuzzy. “I– ohh– Sugu I can’t– I’m gonna–”
“You can,” dragging it out in a singsong. “Doing so well for me, pretty.”
Biting on your lip to hold back all the moans tumbling from them, hands pulling at him as you struggle to breathe through it. Chest stuttering as your cunt clamps down around his fingers. Grasping at him and pulling him closer to you, planting your lips on his. Desperately kissing him as you cum all over his fingers. Your tongue licking into his mouth, his own moans spilling into the kiss.
Panting against your open mouth to say, “You just came all over your friends’ fingers.” His smile taunting and bright.
Your head lolls to the side. “So you really do just like teasing me, huh?”
“Pretty sure I said I couldn’t help it.” His fingers slip from your core, sucking them into his mouth, licking them clean in a display so obscene that your skin heats up.
If he were a lesser man, he’d cum from licking himself clean. Groaning around his fingers, mostly for himself but also somewhat to embarrass you. Loving how you squirm, and your face pulls up in embarrassment. All dazed and stupid looking from your orgasm, it makes his heart skip and his dick jerk.
You shock him when you tug your shirt up and over your head, moving to pull at his but he’s too distracted by your tits to make any move other than to lean down and press wet kisses all over your chest.
“Suguru– hah– your shirt.” Your fingers still pull at the fabric.
“You can’t—” He sucks and licks at your nipple, relishing in the reactions and sounds he’s pulling from you. “—You can’t show me your tits and expect me to not touch them.”
When he looks up at you, his eyes are lazy and dazed, his tongue drooling all over your boobs. Moving to plant even more firm and wet smooches all over your unbelievably soft skin, sucking to leave behind his mark. Wanting to leave behind marks that he will see when he wakes up tomorrow, marks that he will leave marks over so that they never go away, so he will always have evidence of how he touched you. Of how you let him touch you.
Groping at all your exposed skin, pulling at you, fingers tugging at your nipple, while he salivates all over the other one. Your legs tug his hips down into yours, rubbing your clothed cunt all over him, wanting him to fuck you so badly. He’s working you up so unfairly, already making you cum and then playing with your tits in a way that has you itching to be full of his dick.
“Suguru.” He ruts his hips back down into you but doesn’t remove his mouth from you, so you pull at his hair harshly. “Please.”
He moans at how you pull at him, eyes lidded. “So demanding.”
“You’re taking too long.”
He tuts at you, nipping lightly at the skin between your tits, “You’re just impatient.”
“Yeah, I am.” untangling your legs from him, you shuffle your shorts and panties down and off your body. “Are you going to help?”
“How can I refuse when you ask like that?” The desire to lick at your pussy, make out with your cunt, is huge but with how you look at him, so needy and impatient, he needs to stuff his dick inside you. Now.
When you go to tug at his shirt, he lets you, letting you pull it off him completely. Goose bumps breaking out across his skin with how you rake your nails delicately over him. The affection he holds for you feels like it grows tenfold at how you look at him, how tenderly you touch him.
“You’re so pretty,” you’re mumbling it out at him before you’re really registering that you’ve thought it, let alone spoke it.
His head drops into the crook of your neck. “So sweet on me, got me forgetting why I waited so long to say anything.”
You grin at him. “Because you’re stupid.”
“Oh, that’s right,” he sneers back at you before shuffling back to pull his pants off. Finding immense joy in how your smug little smile drops from your face when his cock is free, tip flushed a pretty pink and leaking profusely, precum dribbling down the sides of his dick.
Moving to get up before even really thinking about it, wanting to touch him. Only to fall into the pillows when his large hand pushes you back by your sternum. Looking to him just as he leans in, lips brushing yours so softly you’d think you’d imagined it if he didn’t immediately follow it up with a firm kiss.
“I want to touch you.” Hands already finding their way back to his shoulders, his long hair tickling against skin.
His head is dipping low to watch how he moves his hands down your body. Brushing against your inner thighs, opening your legs for him more. “Well, I want to fuck you.” He’s not capable of taking his eyes off your syrupy cunt, so wet for him.
Goading him with your words, “What are you waiting for? A formal invitation?”
“Sharp tongue for someone so sensitive,” he muses, fingers slipping through your folds, gently over your clit to make you jolt, as if to prove his point.
Not giving you a chance to say another snarky comment, his fingers dipping into your hole again. His fingers stretch you open obscenely, pulling back covered in cum from your previous orgasm and fresh slick. It’s almost embarrassing how soaked you are, at least it would be if he didn’t seem almost overjoyed at the sight.
His hand covered in your mess moves to his dick, stroking himself, lubing himself so you can take him easier. You want to rub your thighs together, to squirm at how he languidly pumps at his cock, how his brows upturn and his mouth gapes slightly.
His palm so warm against your inner thigh, holding you still. Moving so he can tap his dick against your clit, smiling at how your body jerks.
“Don’t be a tease.” Your hand moves for his, but he grabs at you before you reach him, looping his fingers with yours.
His tone is cheerful and bright, “But you look so cute when you’re frustrated.”
“I’ll leave,” you threaten, not even a little convincingly, way too horny to be taken seriously.
“Really?” He raises a brow at you, intrigued. “I don’t think you’d get very far…” Mocking pout settling on his features.
Nothing if not stubborn and true to your word, you push him back and roll to get out of the bed defiantly. Barely making it to the edge of the mattress when his hands are on your sides and manhandling you back into your previous position. Spreading your legs wide and rubbing the tip of his cock through your folds, just dipping into your hole before repeating the previous movements.
Biting his lower lip as he watches, his precum smearing all over your messy cunt. “Told you, you wouldn’t get very far.”
Your head rolls at how he dips his dick in more, beginning to stretch you open. His hips are stuttering forwards, hand slapping down onto the mattress beside you to stop himself from pushing you too far.
“Oh– oh– fuck! How– h-how are you this tight, oh,” breathless not even beginning to describe how fucked out he already sounds.
“Mm– more, Sugu, please– I–”
At your insistence, he fucks himself all the way in, holding his pelvis to you as he fills you to the hilt. Your pussy spasming and creaming around him, so worked up that he can feel just how aroused you are in the way you twitch, at how your fingers grab at his skin, how your breaths are uneven and broken.
He can’t help but marvel at how you let out little squealed moans, how your cunt stretches to take all of him. On cloud nine at how you’re so horny over how heavy he’s sitting inside you that you’re close to tears.
The moan he lets out is debauched, unbelievably turned on when your hips struggle to grind down into him needily, working yourself up to an orgasm so fucking fast that he can’t do anything but watch in awe.
You can’t stop yourself; you know you should, should slow down and maybe calm down but it feels so good. He’s so big inside you, his cock pulsing in a way that has you memorising the thumping rhythm. Not usually so eager, never this eager, enthusiastically rutting down into him over and over again before suddenly cumming all over him.
Choked and gasped moans pulled from you as your hands reach for him, hoping for him to let you tug him down into you but he’s too busy watching how you throb and cum all over him. Obsessed with how your cute, little cunt struggles with his size as you coat him in all your creamy cum.
“Holy fuck,” he laughs, “That was—”
Head dizzy and eyes lazy as you whinge at him, “—Don’t– don’t say anything.”
“You came as soon as I got inside you and you expect me to make no comment?”
“It’s embarrassing.”
“I think it was adorable,” he hums, voice strained, much more effected by it than he’s willing to let on.
You whine when he moves down onto you, cock somehow reaching deeper. Geto’s arms cage you in either side your head, resting on his forearms, his lips against yours in a breathless kiss. Beginning with shallow thrusts, his lips insistent on yours, fucking you so carefully for now.
Quickly, the need to have him fucking you stupid grows within you again and your legs loop around him properly, pulling him into you. Wrapping yourself around him, mouth panting against his.
“Fuck– hah– you’re so wet.” He’s fucking into you faster, hips becoming desperate. “It’s actually– it’s– hnn– it’s crazy how good you feel.” He moves his head to the crook of your neck, growling beside your ear, “such a soaked little cunt, taking it so– ohh– taking it so good.”
“Ah! Ah! Sugu, it’s– ohh– it’s– more– I need more.” Your fingers dig into his back, depraved, wet sloshing sounds of him fucking into you so well fill the room.
He nips at your neck. “Demanding little thing, aren’t you?”
He’s pulling out of you and the moan you let out is small and pathetic, disgruntled by his abrupt movement. The last thing you see is his smug grin before he’s flipping you over onto your stomach, hands pulling your hips up and pushing on your upper back, manoeuvring your body into an obscene arch.
He’s takings his sweet time to slip back inside, eyeing up your pussy and how your hole trembles and drools for him. Your hips wriggle back at him, and he finds himself incredibly amused at how blatantly needy you are, apparently honest with him in more ways than one.
Just as you were about to turn around and complain at how long he’s taking to re-enter you, he’s shoving his cock back in all at once, jolting your body up the bed and forcing a whine out of your lungs.
“Ohh– Sugu– I…” you trail off as his hips pick up, eyes rolling to the back of your head.
Sliding your legs further apart to take more of him inside, arching yourself even more, greedy cunt sucking him deep inside. He’s barely able to withdraw before you’re fucking your hips back into him, desperately driving back. So fucking needy that if you had half your mind, you’d be embarrassed but right now all you can think about is how his dick thumps against your walls, how his hands grip onto you tight. He’s probably leaving behind marks to match the ones he left all over your tits.
Mouth gaping open, spit pooling onto the pillow below, drooling over his cock. God, you could cry from just how fucking good it feels. Pussy spasming wildly on him, the more you think about the fact that he’s fucking you, the more worked up you get. Insides flipping at how he seems to touch the most perfect spots inside you, full of butterflies and him.
His mouth by your ear shocks you, his voice chirpy, “What are you– hah– thinking about, pretty?”
“Hah– about how goo– good it feels, feels– ohh– feels so good, Sugu,” your words are slurred, mind reeling at how he doesn’t even seem to slow his pace.
“Flatterer,” he barks out a laugh, “You’re quite the little charmer,” he mockingly compliments. Tongue licking meanly at the salty tears you hadn’t realised you’d shed.
“Shh– shut up– ah!” gasping when he gives a particularly mean thrust into you.
He can’t help but smile at the fucked out look you’re wearing, eyes rolled back, hazy and not comprehending anything other than his dick rubbing up against your walls so perfectly. Your face turns into the pillow and you bite at it, muscles pulling tight as another orgasm crawls up your spine.
It shocks you, how quickly you cum. With Suguru’s harsh thrusts, your ass is burning with the smack of his pelvis against you. The sting biting at your flesh making you feel like you’re on fire, cunt tight around him and orgasm overcoming you so fast that you don’t have time to prepare for it.
And maybe if he hadn’t been caught up in how deliciously you squeeze around him, he’d have time to realise you were coming again and he could stop himself but when you shock the both of you with your sudden orgasm he whines into your back and cums deep inside you. Shivers running down his spine at how it feels, dumping so much deep inside you that the force of his continued thrusts has some of it leaking from you back onto him and down onto the bed, making the obscenest mess he’s ever seen.
Immediately he’s pulling himself back up to see how he’s coated your walls white, his dick covered in your shared cum. Creamy and lewd and he’s not even going soft because how could he when you’re still wrapped so warmly around him. When you’re so fucking gooey and snug. He might die before he’s done fucking you yet and he can’t even find it in himself to care even a little bit.
You’re not capable of forming words together enough to think of making a sentence, only thing coming from you being your garbled, choked moans and the sounds of your plush cunt struggling to take him and all his cum. Pussy bulging with the weight of his cock and the mass amounts of seed he’s just pumped you full of.
His own eyes are lidded and low, pussy drunk and loving every second of it. “So turned on you couldn’t even warn me before you came,” he bites out.
His hand rounds your body and his fingers land on your clit, the overstimulation too much, one of your own hands moving down to try and pry it away. Managing to squeak out, “Too much– ah! Too much, Sugu.”
Tone light when his harsh words are mumbled back at you, “If it’s too much, then why– hnn– why are you fucking back onto me like such a slut?”
He’s so mean, so mean to you while he fucks you so… meanly. Head whirling over how he speaks to you, not even able to think long before he slaps your clit harshly. It’s got your knees buckling, falling into the mattress under him. His dick slips from you as you collapse into the mattress.
Geto doesn’t pick you back up straight away, oh no, because you’re leaking all of his cum out of your little hole onto the bed and he can’t take his eyes off of how much of it he managed to get inside you. It’s you who picks your hips up lazily, presenting yourself for him.
He chuckles at your loyalty to his cock, but he also can’t help the way the sight makes him twitch. Shoving his dick into you again, feral in his pursuit to fuck you, to fuck you full of more of his cum.
“S-so devoted– hnnn– doing such– hah– a good job for me, pretty,” he slurs.
You feel like you might pass out, so lightheaded but meeting each and every one of his thrusts all the same. An arm wrapping around your front pulls your back to his chest. Both of his hands land on your tits, fingers pinching and rolling your nipples, making your pussy shudder around him.
You want to fuck your hips back recklessly but not able to with this angle, only able to arch further and give shallow grinds while he fucks his hips into you. He plants kisses and bites along your neck, nipping your skin hard enough that you twitch and whine each time he does it.
One hand leaves your tit and trails down your front, going for your cunt, spreading wide around where he’s stuffing you full continuously. Getting an absolute mess all over his hand and fingers, only to shove those fingers into your mouth, leaving you to lick him clean. Crammed full by his dick and fingers at once, convulsing around him at the thought of it, at the reality of it.
“You like being stuffed full, huh?” He muses to you, an evil kind of joy in his tone. You don’t get to choose your own response, he’s already using the fingers he has in your mouth to nod your head yes. “Ah, thought so.”
Pulling his fingers from your mouth slowly to watch how you suck on them as he does, before he’s wiping all your spit down your chest to your tummy. And then he has another hand on the back of your neck and is pushing you down into the pillows again, this time he keeps his hand there while he fucks into you diabolically.
Somehow faster than before, relentless, reaching his own end and wanting you to cum all over him at least once more. Head dipping back as he groans out, thrusts harsh and calculated. Hitting all the spots he’s just learnt about, having memorised just how to make you fucking squirm for him.
Which he succeeds in, if he didn’t have the hand on the back of your neck, you would’ve crawled up the bed to try and get away from his evil thrusts. Poor abused pussy creaming around him for the fourth time, orgasm blinding you, only seeing white spots behind your eyelids.
The sounds he lets out are wrecked and beautiful and have you wishing that you weren’t cumming so violently if only to see the way he’s spilling inside you for the second time tonight.
“That’s it– fuck– take it– taking it so fucking well– holy fuck—” Every word he utters is breathless and broken, essentially fucking himself stupid too.
Taking a moment for himself to catch his breath before he’s slipping from you and pulling your ass cheeks apart to watch how his cum dribbles from your overfilled cunt. You try to wiggle away but he holds you steady, eyes trained on your dipping hole. Overcome with the desire to fuck his tongue inside you but instead settling for shoving two fingers inside, plugging your hole to keep his cum in.
You whine at him, and he can only chuckle and find you incredibly cute in your post orgasm bliss. Barely able to keep your eyes open, let alone speak right now.
He does eventually pull his fingers from you, wiping the mess on your thighs before turning you onto your back. It feels like you’re looking up at an angel as he looks down at you, or maybe the devil. All flush and sweet smiles, too sweet for a man that just fucked you within an inch of your life.
“You can’t smile at me like that, not after you almost killed me,” you babble back at him.
He rolls his eyes at you, “There you go overreacting again.”
“You fuck so mean, Sugu,” you accuse… accurately.
A smile grows on his face again. “Feels real good though, doesn’t it?”
You weakly slap at him, he just grabs your hand and tugs your body into his kneeling form, hugging you to him. Pressing kisses all over your face. “Think you can stand long enough to shower?”
Shaking your head at him, “Not without fainting.”
“Alright, bath it is,” he concludes.
He takes such nice care of you afterwards, a complete contrast to how he fucked you. It’s lovely though, the hands that grabbed and pulled at you now delicate as they trace over your skin, washing you clean.
You rest with your back to his front in the bath, head laying lazily on his chest. “So… for the sake of clarity, we’re not just friends?”
His lips tickle against the tip of your ear. “I can fuck you all over again if you need more proof?”
“I fear you might actually kill me.”
“Then I guess you’ll just have to take my word for it.” He leaves a single kiss against your cheek.
In the morning, for the first time ever, he makes you breakfast. To make up for all the marks he’s littered your body with. He also officially asks you on a date, which you pretend to think really hard about even though you’d already decided you were going to say yes.
In the end, being friends with Geto Suguru wasn’t hard… it’s just not what you both wanted.
𝒂.𝒏. THIS IS A REPOST .. a repost from my old account @/lovelivision, if you feel like you've read it before, maybe you have !
thank you for reading !!! i hope you guys liked it and i hope everyone is doing so good >:3
꒰꒰. all works are the intellectual property of aliienangel .. do not plagiarise/translate/reupload/feed to ai ♡. 。
I just know satoru takes naps all the time when you start dating. having someone he loves instantly makes him feel safer and more comfortable.
he likes tossing his shirt off and curling up on the couch. you normally have some sort of throw blanket over the back of it, so he just snatches it off and wraps himself up.
when you get home, he likes to pretend he’s still asleep, hoping you’ll give him another pillow or blanket. his favorite part is when you eventually start gently nudging him awake.
he loooves hearing your soft voice. you’ll act all soft and sweet and, gosh, it just reminds him of how much he loves you.
he’ll stretch his long limbs across the couch, blearily opening his eyes at you, pupils all dilated and lovesick. of course, you love seeing his sleepy expression. satoru looked so peaceful and innocent when he slept. who wouldn’t love him?
“hi baby…”
he murmurs, a small, lopsided smile finding his face, his eyes crinkling in the corners as he looks up at you.
“hey satoru.. how long you been napping?”
you start, gently picking up his head and sitting down on the couch, letting his head gently fall into your lap.
he happily claims his spot, seeming even more comfy now that you’re here and touching him (his two favorite things).
“mm.. an hour? maybe.”
he practically purrs when your hand starts carding through his hair, the other resting on his torso.
“you still tired?”
he shrugs, nuzzling into your thigh, his eye lashes fluttering in pure content.
“you can sleep a bit longer if you want. I’ll stay here with you.”
satoru feels his heart flutter, butterflies in his stomach at your words. he knew it wasn’t anything sexual, but he just adored you so much.
hearing you say you’ll stay with him, even though he already assumed you would, warned his heart. he loves you so much, truly.
it wasn’t even that big a deal. you were only offering him some more sleep, which he got plenty of at night with you.
buuuuttt if you insist. he’ll take your offer. why wouldn’t he want to lay in the lap of the love of his life. you were his soulmate, he’d honestly say yes to anything you asked.
so he lets his eyes close, hand coming up to curl around your knee, wanting to touch you even as he starts drifting again.
and he knew when he woke up, you two would eat dinner, hopefully take a shower together and then go to sleep for even longer, but together this time.
together was always better with you, and he would choose you every time.
-
short, but wtv
yo i just saw a sad gojo fic, HAD to write this up real fast. if you guys read it, here is your comfort✌🏼
“You speak as if you are easily replaced.” he says at last.
The words are not cruel.
But they are not kind either.
That was how he was.
You offer the faintest smile, though it does not quite reach your eyes. “Everything is, my lord. It is only a matter of time and circumstance.”
A quiet exhale leaves him, something almost like a scoff, though it lacks its usual bite. “You think too much, don’t you think?” he mutters.
“And you think too little of things that remain, my lord.” you answer before you can stop yourself.
GENRE: alternate universe - heian era;
WARNING/S: nsfw, r-18, romance, angst, hurt.comfort, emotional hurt, canon-typical violence, graphic depictions of violence, dubious morality, domestic life, court politics, harem, dynamics, intimacy, pilgrimage, blood, murder, existential, identity, motherhood, power imbalance, emotional manipulation, reputation, trauma, alcohol, drunkness, explicit sexual content, naked bodies, fingering, creampie, unprotected sex, double penetration, two cocks, p v sex, rough sex, wall sex, dominance, praising, dirty talk, size difference, blood as intimacy, toxic relationship but they work, concubine reader!, heian! sukuna;
WORDS: 19k words.
NOTE: took me a while to finish this all, but i had to finish this before i rushed off an do some other things irl. its always a challenge to write heian sukuna and concubine reader, because their relationship is so complex. still, im blessed to still be able to write things for their life. i hope you enjoy it!!! i love you so much!!! <3
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if you want to, tip! <3
kayu's playlist — side 5000;
THEY HAD WOKEN YOU BEFORE DAWN. You sit up as you hear that a servant had come all this way to the Vermillion Hall for something important. You were agitated, having been unable to sleep well last night. Still, what could you do, when this was the life you had to live as the great lady of the King of Curses?
Grabbing your silk robes in haste, to look presentable enough, you asked your head servant to lead them in. It wasn’t long till the servants bearing the request arrived quietly, prostrating to you in haste as they spoke in hushed tones.
“Speak. What do you need from me at such an early hour?”
One of the servants, forehead still pressed flat against the polished wood, his voice carefully stripped of any tremor that may betray their nervous feeling, began to speak. “My lady… the Earthly Might Hall requests your presence. Lady Fubuki has gone into labor with her babe.”
For a moment, you say nothing. You had been seated by the open screens, the evening air brushing faintly against your skin, your thoughts elsewhere. So far removed from the suffocating routines of the inner palace, far from the endless cycle of women vying for attention that is so rarely given.
But such a duty is not something you are allowed to ignore, let alone to the other women in the household and your lord husband is not here, let alone does not wish to be disturbed by these trivial matters. He would not even send Uraume, you knew that too well.
You rise without haste, the layered silk of your robes settling around you like something alive, something obedient. Almost like the ocean in the moonlight. You do not ask questions. You know that you do not need to. You already understand why they called for you. It wasn’t long before you were asking them to stand up from their position to dismiss them.
“But my lady, lady Fubuki—”
You furrowed your brows. “I did not say I will not be there. I will be. Let me dress.”
The tension that had gripped the room only moments ago dissolves all at once, as though an invisible thread has finally been cut. Relief does not come quietly. It spills out of them. They were all muttering audible, overwhelming responses, almost desperate in its release.
Shoulders that had been held rigid for hours finally sag, breaths that had been shallow deepen, and one by one, the servants nearest to you drop to their knees. The motion spreads like a ripple, until the floor is filled with bowed heads and pressed palms.
“Thank you, my lady….thank you for your kindness…”
Their voices overlap, gratitude tumbling over itself in their haste to be heard, to be acknowledged. It is not simply thanks for the safe delivery, it is thanks for your presence, for your authority, for the unspoken assurance that things would not fall apart under your watch.
You do not bask in it. You have heard it too many times for it to mean anything more than noise. A quiet sigh escapes you, soft enough that it does not disrupt the atmosphere, but enough to betray a flicker of weariness. Without raising your voice, you gesture faintly toward the entrance, summoning one of your attendants.
“See them out.” you instruct, your tone even, already moving past the moment. “Ensure Lady Fubuki’s household returns without disturbance.”
The servant bows deeply and moves at once, relaying your command. There is no hesitation, no questioning. Within moments, the cluster of attendants belonging to Lady Fubuki begins to withdraw, their movements still reverent, still careful, as though afraid that any misstep might undo the fortune they have just been granted. They leave relieved by your word, and most of all, your willingness to act.
The quiet that follows is different from before. It is no longer strained nor was it brittle. Instead, it carries a softer weight, one shaped by exhaustion rather than fear. Your own attendants return shortly after, moving with practiced efficiency.
They bring with them a wash basin filled with clean water, fresh clothes, and a change of garments more suitable for the state you now find yourself in. The faint scent of herbs rises from the basin, meant to cleanse away the lingering traces of blood and effort.
One of them approaches you with a comb, her hands steady but respectful as she offers it. You accept it with a small inclination of your head. “Thank you.”
The words are quiet, but they are not empty, it never has been. Turning slightly toward the polished surface of the looking glass, you begin to draw the comb through your hair. The strands, once perfectly arranged, now carry the subtle disarray of long hours spent in tension-filled stillness.
You work through them patiently, each stroke deliberate, untangling what has been disturbed. A yawn slips past your lips before you can fully suppress it, your body finally acknowledging the fatigue you have been holding at bay. For a brief moment, you allow yourself to simply exist in the quiet rhythm of the motion.
“Do you think it would be a girl or a boy, my lady?”
The question comes hesitantly, but curiosity wins over restraint. You meet one of the servants, a young girl whose gaze looked far too innocent through the reflection of the mirror. She is young, you think to yourself. Perhaps younger than you had been when you entered the harem.
That youth still remained an obstacle to her, you think to yourself. Youth hinders learning how to bury such questions properly. But you know there is no malice in her tone, only a kind of earnest wonder that has not yet been worn down by the realities of the palace.
“Do you…do you think Lord Sukuna would be happy about it?” she adds, her voice softening further, as though even speaking of his reaction requires caution.
Your hand stills for just a fraction of a second before continuing its motion. You consider the question. Not because it is difficult, but because the answer is not something they truly want to hear. You knew too much of the man.
He may be restrained most of the time.
But your lord husband is still such a man.
A man they will never know was too much of a god.
And gods do not have leniency for human things.
Let alone emotional interest in what makes it human.
“I think…” you begin slowly, your voice measured, your gaze steady in the reflection. “I think that a child is a gift, whether it is a girl or a boy.”
It is the kind of answer that offers comfort without promising anything. You pause briefly, letting the words settle before continuing, your tone shifting ever so slightly. You knew that you would end up becoming more honest, though no less controlled.
“As for whether my lord would be happy…” You draw the comb through another section of your hair, the soft sound filling the space between your words. “That is not something I can say with certainty.”
Your eyes lower, just for a moment, not in submission but in quiet acknowledgment of a truth you have long accepted. “My lord keeps his thoughts close. What he feels…he does not always show. And what he does not show is often more telling than what he does.”
The room grows a touch quieter at your words. Even those who already knew this seem to feel the weight of it anew when spoken aloud. At times it's easier to imagine things than to let yourself deal with the things you already know to be reality. In a place like this, it keeps one sane.
“Ah…I wish that my lady would have a child as well.”
The words slip out before they can be stopped, from one of the much younger, newer girls. The other girls seem to realize her mistake only after they have already taken shape in the air, but they say nothing, hoping you would not pay mind to such a comment. Her expression falters, her lips parting as if to retract what cannot be taken back.
“Such a little one would be—” She does not finish. An older attendant, standing just behind her, reaches forward sharply and pinches her arm, which was a silent reprimand that carries far more force than any spoken correction.
“Do not speak so carelessly, girl.” the older woman hisses under her breath. “You have overstepped the boundaries. Your comfort with my lady is astoundingly reckless! Apologize!”
The younger girl pales instantly, the weight of her misstep crashing down on her all at once. She drops to her knees without hesitation, bowing so quickly that her forehead nearly strikes the floor. “My lady, forgive me—I did not mean—I spoke without thinking—”
Her apology tumbles out in uneven fragments, far too clumsy and too desperate, as you would expect for young girls her age. You watch her for a moment through the mirror. Then you exhale softly, the sound neither harsh nor indulgent.
“Do not trouble yourself, little girl.” you say, your tone steady as you set the comb aside. “You are not the first to say such things to me. And you will not be the last.”
Your words ease the tension, but they do not erase the truth behind them. You turn slightly, finally facing her directly. “That is not my role in this home.” you continue, your voice calm but firm, carrying a quiet finality that leaves no room for misunderstanding. “And my lord has made it clear that it is not meant to be.”
You gesture lightly for her to rise. She hesitates only briefly before obeying, still keeping her gaze lowered. “My place is not to bear his children, at least that is what is.” you add, not with bitterness, but with clarity. “It is to support him, to ensure that what belongs to him is maintained, that his household remains in order, and that those under his care are raised as they should be.”
Your gaze shifts, if only for a moment, as Chiharu’s presence lingers at the edge of your thoughts. You smile at the thought of that. Taking care of her is the closest you could ever experience motherhood and perhaps you can only be thankful for her in making you something close to being a mother.
“To guide Lady Chiharu. To see that she grows as she must.” There is no resentment in your tone. No longing. Only acceptance. “I know my place.”
The room settles into silence once more, more aware than discomfort. You are not the gentlest among them, you knew that much. You do not offer soft reassurances or empty comforts and even when you did, you did not make it your habit.
You are not the most maternal, nor the most openly kind, there are other women in the harem who have such kindness that makes them almost like goodness in the flesh on earth. But you are the one he has chosen above the rest. And in a place where favor dictates survival, where attention is both a weapon and a shield…that makes you indispensable.
“Let us hurry in this.” You finally spoke again. “Lady Fubuki is in need of me.”
The Earthly Might Hall was a bit further than the Vermillion Hall. But it was far enough that it warrants some effort to get there. After thirty minutes, you find yourself at the precipice of its gates. The hall greets you with heat, with incense, and with the unmistakable tension of a room teetering on the edge of chaos.
The moment you step inside, the atmosphere shifts. Servants who had been rushing suddenly slow, their movements growing careful, deliberate. Midwives who had been whispering urgently fall into a more controlled rhythm, their voices lowering as if your presence alone demands composure. Even the air itself feels heavier, thick with expectation.
Lady Fubuki’s cries cut through it all. This is her first child with lord Sukuna, and you expected nothing less than grievance at the situation. The young woman is sprawled across layered futons, her hair undone, clinging to her damp face, her body trembling under the strain of labor that has clearly gone on far too long.
The sharpness of her voice speaks of exhaustion as much as pain. Each cry coming out of her mouth was weaker than the last, but no less desperate. You take it in at a glance, a careful and attentive one. You purse your lips in a flat line. The blood. The tension in the midwives’ shoulders. The way no one quite meets your eyes, as if awaiting judgment.
“She’s been laboring for hours, my lady.” one of the midwives says, bowing low, her voice betraying just enough strain to reveal the truth they are all trying to contain. “We fear the child—”
You cut her off, not harshly, but with a certainty that leaves no room for speculation. “The child will come, and you must make it so.” you say, your tone even, controlled. “Do your duty. If you do not, it will not. Fear will not change the outcome.”
It is not cruelty that stills them. It is clarity and it’s one you are willing to provide, now that you are here. You move forward, unimpeded, kneeling beside Lady Fubuki. Up close, the fragility of her state becomes even more apparent.
Her breathing is uneven, her hands clutching at the sheets as if they are the only thing anchoring her to the world. When her gaze finally finds yours, something flickers there. There is panic, yes, but also something softer. Relief, relief that you had come to support her.
You brush damp strands of hair from her face with a measured hand, neither overly gentle nor dismissive. Your touch was just enough to ground her. Just enough to remind her that she has not been abandoned to this.
“If you waste your strength screaming and not letting yourself hope to live, it will be for naught, girl.” you tell her quietly, your voice low enough that it does not carry beyond the two of you, “Go on, breathe. Focus. Survive this first, for yourself and for your child.”
She nods weakly, clinging to your words as if they are something solid in a moment where everything else feels like it is unraveling. It wasn't long till you held her in your arms, almost like a mother would.
“Go on, push!”
And that lady Fubuki does. Everyone seems to finally find the rhythm in this moment, trying to still themselves in focus, as Fubuki screams and screams, trying her best to get her babe out. You give her words of encouragement, you wipe her sweat. One after another, you bring her back to reality.
It wasn’t long before you sensed her presence before you heard her. Those same soft footsteps approach from behind, effortlessly light and unhurried, entirely unafraid. It reminded you of a cat who was stealthily making its way without being noticed. Still, it was her voice that got you to notice her.
“My lady.” The voice is calm, composed in a way that feels almost unnatural for someone so young. You turn your head slightly, and there she is. “I’ve come.”
Ryomen Chiharu does not bow. She never has and she never will. And you have taught her not to, whether it was you or anyone else, it is what your lord husband had told you. She only bows when it is her father, as is customary.. And that is how it must always be. She is above everyone else here.
Where the other children of the harem’s walls have been shaped into careful obedience, into lowered gazes and softened voices, she stands as she is. Chiharu is straight-backed, observant, her eyes sharp, akin to her father’s, and has a kind of quiet awareness that is far too familiar, one that only soldiers have.
There is something in her that echoes everything that makes her lord father. Of course, not always in the obvious ways, not in cruelty or dominance, but in perception and presence. In the way she looks at the world as though she is already dissecting it. And garners the same response to the majesty only she and her father carry.
But that is what comes when you are the descendant of the Ryomen.
She comes to your side as if it is the most natural place for her to be, settling beside you without waiting for permission. You remained focused on calming Fubuki as she readied herself to push once again. The young girl’s gaze drifts to the laboring woman.
“Is she dying?” she asks, her tone devoid of panic, carrying only curiosity.
The midwives stiffen at the question. You do not. “Not yet, not now.” you answer simply. “I am here to prevent such a thing.”
Chiharu smiles. “You are not god, mother.”
“I am the wife of one.” You reply to her. “My will is as good as his.”
Chiharu tilts her head, considering this as though it is a problem to be studied rather than a life hanging in the balance. After a moment, she lowers herself to sit beside you, folding her legs neatly beneath her.
“I want to watch.” she says.
You look at her then. She is all but a child, nearly ten years of age. She’s far too young to see something like this. But you knew that your lord husband has shown her worse than a woman giving life into the world.
Regardless of his affection, she is still his heir. He must teach her of the world she inherits, and it is one which is so full of violence and grievance and pain. You think that this is the least of her worries. But you cannot help but feel the deep pit of your stomach coil at this moment.
It’s hard to think about this without feeling horror that such a child would be exposed to such a vision of life birthed in the struggle of a mother’s pain like this. A child has no place seeing such pain. You purse your lips in a flat line.
“Then watch, if you wish, little flower. I am sure that your father says the same thing.” you reply back to her.
She nods. “That he does, mother.”
“Then do not look away when it becomes unpleasant. There is nothing to learn from turning your eyes from truth.”
She nods once, accepting this without hesitation. “Very well.”
Time stretches in a way that feels almost deliberate, as if the moment itself refuses to resolve quickly. The labor progresses in uneven waves. Pain rises and falls, each crest leaving Lady Fubuki weaker than before. The room grows hotter, the scent of incense struggling to mask the metallic tang of blood that lingers in the air.
You guide the midwives with quiet authority, correcting their movements with minimal words, adjusting what needs to be adjusted without disrupting the fragile rhythm they are trying to maintain. You do not raise your voice. You do not rush. You simply ensure that things move as they must.
Beside you, Ryomen Chiharu watches everything with intrigue. Her gaze follows each motion intently. The tightening of muscles, the tremor in a hand, the moment when fear overtakes control. She observes it all with an intensity that would be unsettling if you did not already understand where it comes from.
After a long stretch of silence, she speaks again. “Why do they do this?” she asks, her voice thoughtful rather than critical.
You glance at her briefly. “To bear children. ” you say. “Many women do such a thing—”
Her expression shifts, just slightly. “That is not what I meant.”
Of course it isn’t, you already know that. You turn your attention back to the task at hand, your hands steady even as the tension in the room builds, wiping away the sweat from Fubuki’s face. You give a small look to the young girl.
“They do it for the same reason I serve your lord father well.” you explain after a moment, your tone calm, measured. “They do it because they believe it will give them purpose. Because they hope it will secure their place. And because they think it might earn his attention.”
Chiharu absorbs this quietly. “And does it?” she asks.
You pause, not because you do not know the answer, but because the truth requires no embellishment. “Sometimes.” you say softly.
“But father does not always do such a thing, does he?”
“Your father is a god.” You reply to her as Fubuki seems to lose consciousness. You tap her, trying to keep her awake. “Gods don’t always reply.”
Chiharu did not reply. It did not take long for the final moments to come suddenly, violently, as they often do, as they always have been. Lady Fubuki’s cries reach a breaking point, her voice tearing from her throat in a sound that no longer resembles anything human.
The midwives move with renewed urgency, their earlier hesitation replaced with desperate precision. You remain where you are, steady as ever, watching as the moment unfolds, encouraging her as she gets herself there.
“One more push, Fubuki. Do it for yourself, do it for your child!”
Fubuki raises her head and screams louder than she ever has, pushing harder than she has ever done these many hours and soon enough, her hard work is rewarded. It didn’t take long for a sound to interrupt it all.
Suddenly there was something fragile, something tender and small born into this world. Then there was a small crash into a mighty cry. The room stills as if caught in a held breath. You finally found yourself feeling some relief.
“You did it, Fubuki.” You gave her a small smile, a tender look as she looked back at you and then the child being held in the midwife’s arms. “You’re a mother.”
One of the midwives lifts the child, her hands trembling ever so slightly as she announces, “A daughter, my lady. A healthy daughter!”
The words seem to settle over everything. Lady Fubuki then collapses back against the futon, her body finally giving in to exhaustion, her chest rising and falling in uneven breaths as tears slip freely down her temples. Whether they are born from relief or sheer survival hardly matters.
You let yourself stand, moving closer to where the newborn is being cleaned and wrapped. She is small, her skin still marked by the ordeal of her arrival, her cries weak but persistent. There is a fragility to her that is unmistakable, but she is alive. That is what matters. For now.
Chiharu rises beside you, peering at the child with open curiosity. “She’s loud, isn’t she?” she remarks. “Huh, she’s so small.”
“Yes, most babies are like that.” you agreed. “She will cry a lot, though. She worked hard like her mother to be born.”
“Was I ever like that?”
You looked at her. “I….I do not know. Your father brought you home when you were a bit bigger than this little girl.”
“I see.” There is a brief silence before she asks the question that lingers beneath all others. She moves to whisper it in your ear. “Will he care?”
You do not answer immediately. Instead, you reach out, adjusting the cloth around the infant with practiced precision, ensuring that she is properly secured, properly presented. Your touch is neither affectionate nor detached, it is simply correct. Only after a moment do you speak.
“If she proves worthy of his attention.” you say quietly. “Only she can do that for herself.”
Ryomen Chiharu nods, accepting this without question, because she already understands what it means. In this place, existence alone is never enough. Unless you were the daughter of Ryomen Hiromi, like Chiharu was, then you will have to work twice as hard to prove yourself.
You were thankful your child would not have to go through this. For your child does not exist and perhaps never will be. You were content with this, you thought of yourself, you convinced yourself. This was more than enough.
You make arrangements for Fubuki and her child to be cared for. You give the midwives your thanks and the promise of some money for their good work and their services. You cleaned your hands and made your way out.
By the time you step out of the Earthly Might Hall, the night has already given way to morning. The shift is almost jarring Inside, time had stretched and coiled around pain, blood, and breathless anticipation, each moment heavy with consequence. But beyond the threshold, the world has moved forward without hesitation.
The sky is pale with the early light of dawn, the air cooler, carrying none of the suffocating heat that had filled the birthing chamber. Somewhere in the distance, servants have already begun their routines for the day.
Their footsteps echoing softly along stone paths, the faint clatter of preparation rising from the kitchens, the quiet hum of a palace waking as if nothing of importance had occurred. It is a strange kind of indifference.
A life has just been brought into existence, fragile and uncertain, tied irrevocably to the lineage of a being feared as much as he is revered, and yet the world does not pause for it, let alone willing to celebrate it.
You walk forward regardless. Chiharu follows at your side, her presence as composed as ever, her small steps unhurried, perfectly in sync with yours. There is no lingering curiosity in her now, no questions about what she has just witnessed. She has already absorbed it, stored it away, turned it into something she will understand later in her own way.
A manservant stationed along the corridor notices your approach immediately. He lowers himself into a deep bow, head inclined, body still, waiting. You do not stop walking, but you do not ignore him either.
“Inform the harem that another descendant of the Ryomen has been born into this world.” you instruct, your voice calm, carrying easily without the need for emphasis. “Let it be known that the child survived the labor and has been named by her mother, Fuyuka. It is only my lord who will decide if she is given the Ryomen name.”
You continue, your thoughts already moving ahead to what must follow. “After that, go to the kitchens. Have them prepare proper meals for the household, something substantial at the very least for today’s breakfast. The others will be expecting it.”
A pause, brief but intentional, before you add as you remembered. “Oh, and ensure that when Lady Fubuki wakes, she is given food suited for recovery. Something nourishing. Nothing that will weaken her further.”
The manservant nods without lifting his gaze. “Yes, my lady.”
He begins to withdraw at once, stepping backward with careful precision, ensuring that he does not turn his back to you too soon. Only once he has put sufficient distance between himself and your presence does he straighten and move quickly to carry out your orders.
Everything settles into place as it should.
It always does.
For a short while, you and Chiharu walk in silence through the courtyard leading to the path of the Phoenix Gardens. The palace corridors stretch before you, bathed in soft morning light, their polished surfaces reflecting a world that appears far more peaceful than it truly is.
The quiet between you is not empty. Instead, it is simply unforced, a shared stillness that does not require constant words to fill it. Eventually, you glance down at her as she starts to sing a new tune.
“When is your father expected to return from his battle?” you ask, your tone casual, though the question itself is not without purpose.
Chiharu does not hesitate. “He wrote to me the other day that he intends to be home by tonight, mother.” she replies, her voice steady, as though she has already repeated this information to herself more than once.
You nod, acknowledging it with a quiet hum. “I see.”
There is no outward reaction beyond that, no visible anticipation or concern. You have long since learned not to dwell on his comings and goings in any way that might suggest attachment too openly. He returns when he chooses. And when he does, the entire palace reshapes itself around his presence.
Chiharu’s lips curve into a small smile as she looks up at you, a flicker of something softer passing through her otherwise perceptive gaze. She leans close. You sigh as you enveloped her in the same arms you held Fubuki.
“There is no doubt he will dine with you, mother.” she says, the certainty in her tone carrying a quiet familiarity with patterns that rarely change. “That is his routine, is it not?”
A soft sound escapes you, something between a snicker and a restrained laugh. “Then I must sleep before that happens, for I am exhausted.” you reply, a faint trace of amusement threading through your voice. “Your father has a habit of stretching conversations far longer than necessary.”
It is not a complaint, not truly. More of an observation, one made with the kind of ease that comes from repeated experience. Chiharu considers this, her smile lingering as she tilts her head ever so slightly.
“It is his way of making you feel appreciated, mother.” she says to you. “He only speaks with people that intrigue and entertain him.”
Her words are simple as they were earnest. And for just a moment, they linger in the space between you. You do not answer immediately. Instead, your gaze drifts forward, toward the path ahead, toward the chambers that await you, toward the quiet rest you intend to claim before the night returns with him in tow.
Appreciation.
It is a curious way to describe it.
Let alone summarize your relationship.
Your lips curve faintly. It was not quite a smile, but not entirely devoid of warmth either. “Is that so?” you murmur at last.
Whether you believe it or not…you do not say. But you do not dismiss it either. And as the two of you continue walking through the waking palace, the morning light stretching longer across your path, there is a quiet understanding that settles in its place.
“I know so.” Chiharu says to you. “After all, he would not make you my mother if you were so distant from him.”
You purse your lips. You supposed that was the truth of it. He would not give you such a privilege, let alone such rank, such a duty if he does not trust you enough to handle it all for him. You released her from your hold.
“I suppose you are correct.”
“I will break my fast with you, mother.” Chiharu tells you, smiling softly. “It has been a while since I have done this.”
You smiled at her words. “You are more than welcome to join me.”
YOU HAD RISEN FROM YOUR SLEEP JUST IN TIME FOR HIS ARRIVAL. But you were a step ahead. Being informed of it all had allowed the Vermillion Hall to be prepared long before his return. You had seen to it yourself, as soon as you had broken your fast with Chiharu.
Even after leaving the Earthly Might Hall, after the long hours spent in the suffocating heat of labor and blood, you did not allow yourself the indulgence of complete rest. You had bathed, changed into fresh robes, and given quiet instructions as Chiharu returned to break her fast with you.
You had been giving orders as soon as you started to get your hair done by one of the servant girls. You were measured and precise with each and every order. You were not willing to leave any room for error. Your lord husband expects the best from you and you must continue such expectations with results.
The floors had been cleaned again, though they were already spotless. The lanterns were trimmed so their light would not be too dim nor too harsh. The low table was arranged exactly as he preferred, each dish placed with intention rather than decoration.
And the food, most importantly, the food. Your lord husband does not get hungry as humans do. But he appreciates good food, and ones which suit his tastes. You had lived long enough around him to know what they were.
You had paused in the kitchens longer than necessary, watching as the cooks worked under the weight of your silent scrutiny. The meat had been selected carefully, its cut precise, its seasoning adjusted just enough to suit his taste without overwhelming it.
You had corrected a hand here, a measurement there, until you were satisfied. Not because you feared him. But because it was easier when he was pleased. You would not have to deal with the problems of his displeasure.
When he returned, the temple palace shifted its course. It was not something that could be seen directly, nor heard in any obvious way but it was felt to the bone. It was like a pressure settling over everything at once, like the air itself bending to accommodate his presence.
You did not greet him at the gates, not today. You were still ensuring your household was ready to receive him. Chiharu had gone to both of your steads. You had heard whispers he had grumbled about it, but had said nothing more.
You snickered about such a thing. But you did not think much of that. Instead, you continued the preparations within the Vermillion Hall. And when that was done, you merely waited, enjoying the view of the Phoenix gardens, drinking a cup of tea seated and composed, as though you had always been there and always would be.
By the time he entered, everything was ready. Now, the candlelight flickers softly against the lacquered walls, casting long, wavering shadows that stretch and distort across the room. Those shifting patterns crawl over his form as he sits across from you, their movement doing little to soften the sharpness of his features.
Ryomen Sukuna does not rush when he eats. He never has. Each movement that came from your husband was deliberate with his efficient control, as though even something as mundane as a meal is beneath him and yet still worthy of his full attention.
He picks at the meat with careful precision, bringing each bite to his mouth without haste, chewing slowly, thoughtfully. He took a moment to evaluate it. You watch without appearing to. Observing him is the only way to gauge his mood.
And when he does not stop, when he does not discard the food, does not sneer, does not call for the cooks with that dangerous edge curling beneath his voice, you allow yourself the smallest, most private sigh of relief.
He likes it.
Good.
That is good.
That means there will be no irritation tonight, no idle threats about feeding incompetent cooks to whatever curses linger beyond the palace walls, no drawn-out complaints that would force you to intervene in ways that are far more exhausting than they should be.
It is a small victory. But in this place, small victories are the only kind that matter. You sit opposite him, posture straight but not rigid, your hands folded neatly in your lap. You have had some food earlier with your tea.
There is no need for you to share this meal with him, but you still take some food in small intricacies, just to avoid him noticing it and questioning you about it. You quietly take a small bite, before you pour yourself a small amount of sake.
You slowly lift the cup to your lips, taking a measured sip, letting the warmth settle faintly in your chest before setting it back down. You do not refill it immediately. Tonight, you are not in the mood to drink more than necessary. Not when your thoughts are still lingering elsewhere.
The rest of your servants are gone for the night. They were not dismissed by you, but by your lord husband. Before the meal had even properly begun, he had waved them off with little more than a passing remark, his disinterest in their presence clear.
There had been no hesitation in their departure, no attempt to linger under the pretense of duty. They had bowed and retreated quickly, grateful for the permission to remove themselves from his proximity.
He had already decided he would remain here tonight in the Vermillion Hall, with you. That alone had been enough to send a subtle ripple through the palace. Even when he says it is a hassle to return to Heaven’s Hall, there was something else to it. But you were not willing to talk about it. Not tonight.
Now that there are only the two of you, there is quiet tranquility. The cool wind brushes against your cheek as you look at the massive well lit pond separating you and the Phoenix Gardens. The quiet is not uncomfortable tonight, but it is heavy.
The soft clatter of utensils against porcelain echoes more loudly than it should, filling the space between you in the absence of conversation. The scent of roasted meat lingers in the air, rich and grounding, though it does little to distract from the awareness of him sitting across from you.
You do not speak, at least not yet, not without his urging tonight. You were not in the mood to break the ice yourself. Because you know better than to fill silence for the sake of it. That would not be something good.
It is only after some time, after he has taken another slow bite, after the rhythm of the moment has settled into something almost languid, that his gaze finally shifts. Those scarlet eyes lift. And then land on you.
“You’ve been unusually quiet tonight, little one.” His tone is casual. Almost indifferent. “Intriguing.”
But his gaze is anything but. It is sharp. Intent. Peeling back layers with a kind of ease that would be unsettling if you had not grown accustomed to it. You lower your eyes, allowing your gaze to fall to the polished surface of the table.
Your reflection stares back at you, almost so pale like the moon from the white make up, almost too composed in your position, betraying nothing that you do not allow. For a moment, you hesitate, not for fear but out of consideration.
You could remain silent. You could deflect. You could offer something trivial and allow the night to pass without complication. But he would not allow it. He never does. And if you refuse him now, he will simply take the answer from you in a way far less gentle. So you choose your words carefully.
“Another child has been born, my lord.” you say at last, your voice soft, controlled, each syllable placed with intention. “From one of your concubines. Lady Fubuki, of the third rank.”
The words settle between you. For a brief moment, there is no reaction. Then, there was something you did not expect. A low, amused sound escapes him. He leans back slightly, a faint smirk curling at the edges of his lips as he shakes his head, almost as if entertained by something only he can fully appreciate.
“A third rank concubine? Then she is a madame.”
You nodded back at him. “Indeed, my lord.”
“Hm. A child, you say? That’s quite intriguing.” His gaze sharpens just a fraction. “I didn’t hear of this when I had arrived.”
“It was kept quiet, my lord.” you reply smoothly, lifting your gaze just enough to meet him without challenging him. “Until it was certain the child would survive the night. I had made it my duty to inform you of it.”
There is a pause. He looks at you, snickers and says, “I see. Well, I suppose it is your duty.”
“Yes, it is, my lord.” You nodded back at him.
“What’s the child’s name?”
“Fuyuka, my lord.”
“You have not given her the name, as per protocol, little one?”
“Yes, my lord. I have not.”
He settles further into his seat, his posture relaxed in a way that only makes him seem more dangerous, not less. The flickering candlelight dances across his expression as his smile widens just slightly.
“Good. That child will not be acknowledged by the Ryomen name.” he says, his voice almost idle, as though discussing something of little consequence. “At least until she grows to prove it otherwise, in the pit.”
Your fingers tighten ever so slightly in your lap, though your expression does not change. “Only when they can stand in the pits, as the other children do–” he continues, his tone carrying a faint edge of amusement. “—and prove their worth in blood…will they earn the right to be seen.”
The words are spoken so easily, so casually. As though he is not deciding the course of an entire life with nothing more than a passing thought. You lower your gaze again. Not because you are told to, but because it is easier this way.
The warmth of the room, of the meal, of the candlelight, it does nothing to reach the quiet chill that settles deep within your chest. Another child. Another life. Another existence bound to a path already carved in violence, in struggle, in a constant need to prove something that should never have required proving.
You think of the newborn girl. She had been so small and so fragile as she cried into her existence in this world. You think of what she will become. What she will be forced to become. Your stomach twists faintly.
For a fleeting moment, even just for a moment, you allow yourself a thought that is as selfishly thought of as it is quiet resignation. Lucky me. Your fingers curl slightly against your palm. I do not have a child.
There is no one tied to you who must be thrown into that world of pits and blood. No one who will be shaped, broken, or hardened under expectations that allow no room for softness. No one will have to survive him.
The thought lingers onto you, a bit heavier as it leaves to be unspoken. And across from you, he continues his meal as though nothing at all has changed. You could only pour more sake onto your cup. Before long, it was burning down your throat.
“Do be careful, before you end up drunk, little one.” Your lord husband teases. “You are human, after all.”
“Then my lord will have to teach me his godly ways, in order to prevent it.”
Ryomen Sukuna snickers. “You never fail to entertain me, little one.”
You lower your head. “That is all I am to do, my lord.”
Sukuna’s amusement lingers for only a moment before it fades into something quieter, something more observant. His scarlet gaze does not leave you as you lower your head, your words settling between you with a weight you had not quite intended, but cannot take back.
That is all I am to do.
The faint clink of porcelain against wood fills the space as you set your cup down, though your fingers linger against it, as if the warmth might ground you in something steadier than your thoughts. The sake burns less now, dulled by repetition, but the heaviness in your chest remains, unmoved.
Across from you, Ryomen Sukuna tilts his head ever so slightly, studying you in that way he does when something has caught his attention, not outwardly disruptive, but impossible to ignore once it settles.
“And who decided that?” he asks, his tone no longer teasing, but not yet sharp either. It lingers somewhere in between, almost thoughtful.
You lift your gaze slowly, careful, composed. “My place was decided the moment I entered your halls, my lord.” you reply, your voice even despite the quiet tension threading through it. “To serve. To maintain order. To ensure your home runs as it should. If I entertain you along the way…then I am fulfilling that purpose well.”
He watches you for a beat longer than necessary. Then another. The silence stretches. It was not uncomfortable, but it was enough to make you feel something that makes you feel too many things inside of you. It was deliberate, as though he is weighing your answer against something unspoken.
“You speak as if you are easily replaced.” he says at last.
The words are not cruel.
But they are not kind either.
That was how he was.
You offer the faintest smile, though it does not quite reach your eyes. “Everything is, my lord. It is only a matter of time and circumstance.”
A quiet exhale leaves him, something almost like a scoff, though it lacks its usual bite. “You think too much, don’t you think?” he mutters.
“And you think too little of things that remain, my lord.” you answer before you can stop yourself.
The moment the words leave your mouth, the air shifts, not dangerously. But noticeably. Your fingers tighten slightly against your lap as you lower your gaze again, correcting yourself in the only way you know how.
“Forgive me, my lord. I spoke out of turn.”
For a moment, he says nothing in response. He raises a brow intrigued. A low chuckle slips from him, softer than before, edged with something faintly amused. “If I took offense to every word you spoke out of turn, you would not still be sitting there, don’t you think?”
You let out a quiet breath, tension easing just slightly from your shoulders. Still, you do not look back up immediately. “You are not wrong about it.” he continues after a moment, his tone shifting again, quieter now. “Most things are replaceable.”
Your gaze flickers upward then, cautious. “But not everything.” he adds.
The words settle between you more heavily than anything else he has said tonight. You do not respond right away. Because you are not sure if he meant for you to. Instead, you reach for the sake once more, though your hand pauses midway, reconsidering. When you finally do pour, it is less than before, your movements slower, more deliberate.
“You speak as though you believe that, my lord.” you say softly.
He hums, leaning back slightly, his attention still fixed on you in that unrelenting way. “I don’t believe in many things, little one.” he replies. “But I recognize what is worth keeping.”
Your breath catches faintly at that. It was not enough to be seen, but enough to be felt. You lower your gaze again, this time not out of submission, but to steady yourself. “And what determines that then, my lord?” you ask.
“I do.” He says to you, drinking your cup of sake, from right under your nose. “Isn’t that a god’s will?”
The answer is as absolute as everything else about him. And yet…it does not feel as distant as it once might have. The candlelight flickers between you, shadows shifting across his features, across your hands, across the quiet space you both occupy.
For a long moment, neither of you speaks again.
But this time, the silence feels different.
It was light on your soul for the first time in a long time.
YOU WERE NOT IN THE MOOD TO ACCOMMODATE YOUR LORD HUSBAND TODAY. The thought lingers, quiet and persistent, pressing at the edges of your mind even as your weary face remains composed, untouched by all that could show your truest of feelings.
You have long since learned how to carry such things without letting them be seen. It is a skill you perfected out of necessity, having been shaped by years of standing at his side, of understanding when to yield and when to remain still like an obedient doll.
Most days, it is effortless, something you do not even notice the weight of. But today feels different. Today, even the smallest disturbance feels like too much for you. You sit by the veranda, your gaze resting on the lotus pond just beyond the open screens.
The blossoms have only just begun to bloom, their pale petals unfurling slowly, delicately, as though they exist in a world untouched by everything that fills this palace. They drift lazily across the water, carried by a current that asks nothing of them. You watch them with quiet focus.
“They seem lighter this year, don’t you think, little flower?” you murmur, almost to yourself, your voice soft enough that it barely disturbs the air. “As though they have nothing tying them down.”
Just a little bit to your side, Ryomen Chiharu pauses in her writing, her brush hovering just above the paper. “Do flowers change, or do we simply notice them more, mother?” she asks, her tone thoughtful in that way she has.
You think she is too perceptive for her age, at times. You wish she takes more interest in being a child, for she is one. You glance at her, the faintest hint of something gentler touching your expression. It was always like that, always for her.
“Perhaps both.” you reply to her. “Or perhaps we only look at them when we wish to forget something else.”
She hums at that, returning her attention to her calligraphy, though you can tell she is still thinking about your answer. The breeze shifts, cool against your skin, carrying with it the faint scent of water and greenery. For a moment longer, you allow yourself to sit there, suspended in that quiet, fragile peace.
“You will accompany me.” His voice cuts cleanly through it all of the sudden.
Chiharu turned her attention to her father. She stands up and lowers her head. “Father.”
The stillness does not shatter loudly at all. Instead, it simply disappears, as though it had never been there to begin with. You do not turn immediately, even knowing that your lord husband had arrived before you like this. Chiharu lowered her body and her attention back towards her writing.
Meanwhile, you do not stand up, nor greet your lord husband. You instead let your gaze linger on the pond, watching as a ripple disturbs the surface, breaking apart the reflection of the sky. Only after a breath do you rise, turning toward him with the same calm composure you always wear.
Ryomen Sukuna stands where he always seems to. He’s always within the space, yet separate from it, almost as if to him, such a thing was not worth his time. His presence alters the atmosphere without effort, pressing into everything until it feels as though the room itself belongs to him.
“Where to, my lord?” you finally reacted to a question, your voice even, respectful, untouched by the faint reluctance that had lived within you moments before.
He watches you for a second longer than necessary, his gaze sharp, assessing, as though measuring whether there is anything beneath your calm worth drawing out. “Kyoto.” he answers at last.
The word settles heavily. The imperial capital of Kyoto is not a place one visits without reason. Let alone for someone who was a rogue like your lord husband, who has reestablished his dominance over Hida, the Ryomen heartland, without the authorization of the Imperial court.
It carries too much, when one thinks about Kyoto. The history, the power, all the things that linger long after they should have faded. But you knew very well that your lord husband would have the backing of the Gojo and the Mikoto in such a visit, as he usually had.
But the question is this: why must you go?
He has never asked you to join him before.
Not when this was his devotion to the woman he loved.
You tilt your head ever so slightly, considering. “Kyoto is not a place you go to idly, my lord.” you say carefully. “Shall I assume there is something there that requires your attention?”
There is no challenge in your tone, only quiet reasoning. His lips curve faintly, not quite a smile. “You assume correctly, little one.”
A pause follows, just long enough for the weight of that to settle. “And what is it that calls you there?” you ask, your voice softer now, more measured. “A matter of politics? Or something… more personal?”
Chiharu’s brush slows behind you. She did not stop fully, but rather slowed her strokes. She does not look up. She knew better than that. Instead, she remained listening. Ryomen Sukuna exhales faintly, as though the question itself is only mildly interesting.
“To pay homage.” he says to you, a hint of sentimentality over his gaze. “To someone’s corpse.”
The simplicity of it makes the meaning heavier, not lighter. Your fingers are still slightly in your lap. You do not ask which one. You already know. Ryomen Hiromi, the ghost you cannot escape, even after all this time. Even when you look to your side, you would see her face, in the daughter she left behind.
The name presses quietly against your thoughts, unspoken but unmistakable. You lower your gaze for a brief moment, then lift it again. “I see.” you say, your voice steady. “It has been some time since you last visited her, hasn’t it, my lord?”
There is no accusation in your words. But there is awareness. Ryomen Sukuna was not daft. He knew your feelings, a god would be foolish not to know. Yet he knew you were always so wise not to voice them out loud. His scarlet eyes narrow slightly, in something closer to interest.
“Time means little to the dead, little one.” he replies, finding himself seated closer to the ponds. “Whether I go now or later makes no difference to her.”
“Perhaps not, my lord.” you say, your tone is calm. “But it may make a difference to you.”
The words slip out before you can stop them. It was neither sharp nor defiant. Yet for the first time in a long time, such words did not come out entirely safe either. You had known your place, the other woman. Yet with such a life, you understood why it permeates through your lips like this.
For a moment, the air stills. Chiharu’s brush stops completely this time. Yet she still does not look up. Instead, she felt her hands descend low to her lap and turn into fists. She was quite aware of who her mother was. Yet she did not know her mother.
She only knew you, the woman who raised her. There was no other woman she could devote herself loyally to. And somehow, all at once, she felt your pain in the words that lingered in the air. She felt guilt, even when it was not her fault. She felt guilt that you suffer this way.
Sukuna looks at you once more. There is something in his scarlet gaze now that lingers a fraction longer than before. “You speak as though you understand my reasons, little one.” he says to you. You hold his gaze, unflinching.
“I do not claim to, my lord.” you answered him cordially. “But I have stood beside you long enough to know that you do not act without one.”
A quiet exhale leaves him, something that might almost be a laugh. “Careful, little one.” he murmurs. “You make it sound as though I am predictable. And you know what comes out of such a thing.”
You allow the faintest trace of a smile to touch your lips. “Not predictable, my lord. Only… consistent.”
That earns you a sharper look from him. But he did not seem displeased, at least not entirely. The silence stretches for a moment longer before he breaks it. He slowly shifts his sitting position, to lean against the gazebo’s strong wall.
“You will prepare, little one.” he says, his tone returning to something firmer, more final. “We leave before dawn.”
You incline your head. “Of course, my lord…it shall be done.”
“The child will come as well.” The words land differently. He continues, almost as an afterthought, though you know better than to believe that. “She will pay homage to her mother,” he says, his voice flattening slightly. “And to her relatives. The Gojo. The Mikoto. Tiresome as they are.”
Behind you, the absence of sound is immediate. Chiharu lifts her gaze as she looks at her father. “Must I—”
“You must.” Sukuna immediately cuts her off, a sharp look following. “That is your lady mother. Your lord. You cannot think of her any other way else.”
Your chest tightens, just slightly as you see her reaction, conflict and anguish brewing in the storm of her scarlet eyes. It was as your lord husband had said. Even when you had raised Chiharu, Ryomen Hiromi will always be her mother. Not you. Never you.
For all that you have been to her, for all the quiet moments, the guidance, the unspoken bond, even as the woman who had raised her, you are not the one who gave her life. That place belongs to someone else. You never will be.
You glance at Chiharu, just briefly. She lowers her gaze once more. In the moments that pass, she does not look up, but the stillness of her hand betrays her thoughts. Then you look back at him. Your expression is unchanged.
“As you wish, my lord.” you say, your voice steady despite the quiet weight settling in your chest. “I will see that everything is prepared in her household, also.”
He watches you for a moment longer, his gaze lingering in a way that is difficult to name. It is not the sharp, dissecting look he often gives when he is prying something open, nor is it the fleeting glance of disinterest he offers to things beneath him.
This is something quieter. Measured. As though he is weighing a thought he has not yet decided to speak. You hold his gaze, steady as ever, though there is nothing left for you to say. For a brief second, it almost feels as though he might add something.
You wonder if he has more to say. If there was something else that could come out of his mouth. It didn’t have to be something important. It can be something unnecessary, something that would not change the outcome but might shift the space between you ever so slightly.
But he does not. Instead, he exhales softly through his nose, as if dismissing the thought entirely. Without another word, he rises from where he stands, his majestic movements unhurried, assured.
The floor does not creak beneath him, the space does not resist him. Instead, everything simply yields, as it always does. Ryomen Sukuna turns, already done with the conversation, already beyond it. The decision has been made. It always is. And just like that, he leaves.
The absence he leaves behind is not silence. It is something heavier. You remain where you are, unmoving, your gaze drifting back toward the veranda as though your body has returned to where it had been before. But the moment itself has not, it won’t ever do so again.
The breeze still moves through the open screens, brushing faintly against your skin, carrying the same gentle scent of water and greenery. The lotus blossoms continue to drift across the pond, their pale petals undisturbed, untouched by anything that has just transpired.
Nothing in the world beyond this room has changed. And yet, the stillness you had so carefully held onto is gone. It was not shattered, and certainly not violently torn apart. Yet it slipped through your fingers, replaced by something quieter, more difficult to reclaim. You exhale softly, the breath leaving you slower than you intended, your gaze lowering as though to gather yourself once more.
“Finish your writing, my little flower,” you say gently, your voice softer now, stripped of the formality you had carried moments before. “You have heard your lord father. We will have much to prepare.”
You expect compliance. You always do. You had taught her enough of that to last her in the courtly life. But for a moment, there is nothing. Then, you hear the faint sound of fabric shifting. You glance toward her. Chiharu has lifted her gaze.
You can tell that there is something in her expression that does not belong there. It was not confusing nor curious. Instead, there was something sharper in the rims of her scarlet eyes. Something that unsettles you before she even speaks.
“She is not my mother.”
The words are quiet. But they land with a weight that feels far heavier than they should. Your eyes widened, mouth open agape as you gasped, before you could do anything else. You shake your head at the young woman.
“Chiharu, little flower, that is not something you should….” you begin, your voice instinctively lowering, caution threading through it. “You mustn’t say—”
“But it is true, isn’t it?”
She cuts you off. She had not said it loudly, at least not with defiance in the way a child might argue with an authority figure. Instead, she says it with a firmness that feels far too deliberate. Her hands tighten slightly around the brush she still holds, ink staining the tip as it presses too long against the paper.
“She did not raise me.” Chiharu continues, her voice trembling just slightly, echoing with endless frustrating and conflicting feelings. Something that has been sitting within her for longer than this moment alone. “She was never there.”
Your chest tightens. “Chiharu—”
“You did.”
The words come softer now, far more fragile than you could have ever thought. This was a moment you thought to yourself that she had allowed herself to be a child. And yet, you know those words carry more weight than anything she has said before. Her gaze does not waver from yours.
“You are the one who stayed with me.” she says, her voice quieter, but no less certain. “You are the one who taught me how to write, how to speak, how to sit properly, and how to understand him.” Her fingers curl slightly against the brush, as though grounding herself in the act of holding it. “You are the one who listens when I speak.”
There is no accusation in her tone. No anger either. Yet she speaks only the truth. And perhaps that makes it harder. You take a slow breath, steadying yourself, your gaze softening despite the tension that lingers beneath it.
“That may be so.” you say carefully, each word chosen with precision. “But it does not change what is there, little flower.”
Chiharu’s brows knit together, just slightly. “It should, shouldn’t it?” she murmurs.
There is something painfully simple in the way she says it. Something that speaks not of rebellion, but of a child trying to reconcile the world as she knows it with the one she is being told to accept.
You rise slowly, crossing the small distance between you. When you kneel beside her, your movements are gentle, deliberate, as though approaching something fragile. You give her a small smile.
“Listen to me, little flower.” you say softly, reaching out to adjust her grip on the brush, guiding it back into something steady. “There are things in this world that are not decided by feeling. Or by fairness.”
Her lips press together. “But—”
“Chiharu.” You do not raise your voice. But you do interrupt her firmly. She falls silent. “You are and always will be her daughter, as much as you are your father’s daughter.” you continue, your tone calm, unwavering. “That truth does not disappear simply because she is no longer here. And it does not lessen what I have been to you and what I feel for you.”
Your hand stills over hers for just a moment. “I do not need to share your blood in order to stand beside you, and proudly say that I had raised you like my own.” you add quietly. “And you do not need to deny her existence to acknowledge me.”
The words settle between you. They were heavy to say, just as much as difficult. But you try to make it as gently as possible. Ryomen Chiharu’s gaze lowers slowly, her earlier certainty softening into something more uncertain, more conflicted.
“I……” she begins, but the words falter before they can fully form.
You do not press her. Instead, you withdraw your hand, rising once more, allowing her the space to sit with what you have said. After a moment, you speak again, even softer now. “Finish your writing, little flower.” you repeat. “ Then you must get your things. We leave before dawn.”
She looks at you and gives you a small smile. “Yes….mother.”
The way she says it made your heart echo in tender feeling. As you turn your gaze back toward the lotus pond, watching the petals drift across the water as though nothing in the world could disturb them, you cannot help but feel it. That some things, once spoken aloud, do not settle as easily as they should.
TRAVEL MAKES YOU WEARY AND YOU DON’T LIKE IT. The journey stretches longer than most you have taken. It is not unpleasant, you knew that much. Your servants had made sure that there is no discomfort you would dare acknowledge, no hardship that has not already been accounted for in the comfort of your carriage as it passed through the flat lands of Kyoto’s roads.
But it is long in a way that forces awareness upon you. Each passing mile reminds you, quietly and persistently, that the world you inhabit within the palace is only one part of something far wider, far older, and far less contained. The further you travel, the more that truth settles in.
The air changes first. At times, it feels heavier, pressing faintly against your lungs as though carrying remnants of something unseen. In other places, it thins, lighter, almost hollow, as if something has been stripped away from it.
The land shifts with it too. The dense groves give way to open paths, quiet villages dissolving into stretches of untouched terrain where even the wind seems to move more cautiously to the fine firm roads of the Kyoto flatlands.
You notice it. Even if you do not speak of it. At the edges of your perception, something else lingers. Those little curses. It was not close enough to be seen, not bold enough to approach but they were present. Watching, perhaps. Waiting.
Their presence brushes faintly against your senses, like something just beyond reach. Each and every one looked different than the last, some flew, some slimed through the roads. Some had feet to walk with. But they do not come nearer to your carriage. They do not dare. Not with Ryomen Sukuna traveling with you.
The King of Curses’s presence is not subtle. It does not need to be announced. It simply exists in this world and everything else bends around it, retreats from it, avoids it as instinctively as prey avoids a predator it cannot hope to survive.
You do not look at him often during the journey.
You do not need to.
You feel him there.
That was more than enough for you.
Ryomen Chiharu rides beside you, her posture as composed as it always is, her small frame steady despite the length of the travel. She does not complain. She does not shift restlessly like other children might. But she is not still. Not truly. But if she was, would she even be her lord father’s daughter?
Her gaze moves constantly, taking in everything around her with quiet intensity. She watches the changing landscape, the distant figures that pass along the road, the subtle differences between one region and the next.
There is something almost analytical in the way she observes, as though she is trying to understand not just what she sees, but how it fits together. After some time, she turns her attention to you.
“You have been here before, mother?” she asks, her voice calm, but carrying that familiar thread of curiosity she rarely bothers to hide from you.
You glance at her briefly before returning your gaze to the road ahead. “No, not truly.” you answer. It is a simple response, but it is honest. There is a brief silence as she processes that. “I had not gone out much from the temple ever since your lord father wed me.”
“I thought you might have. Father took you to places, did he not?” she says after a moment, tilting her head slightly.
“Only in near-by villages.” You retort back to her. “I have issues with travelling far too long, little flower.”
“Then why join now?”
You laugh softly. “Because your father wills it.”
She takes that answer and considers it. “That’s interesting. You always seem to know what to expect, though. You seem to know the places too well even before they come before you.”
You let out a faint breath, something softer than a sigh. “Knowing what to expect does not always come from experience, little flower.” you reply. “Sometimes it comes from listening, reading. From observing what others say, or what they choose not to say.”
Chiharu considers that, her brows knitting ever so slightly. “Then what do you expect from this place?” she asks, her voice quieter now.
You pause, not because you do not have an answer but because the answer is not a simple one to you. “Kyoto is an old soul.” you say carefully. “Older than most places we pass through. It carries history in ways that do not fade easily. People remember things there. They hold onto them.”
She watches you closely. “And that is important?” she asks.
“It can be, little flower.” you reply. “Especially when those memories involve people like your father.”
At that, her gaze shifts forward again, her expression thoughtful. “Do they fear him there?” she asks.
You allow yourself the faintest hint of a smile. “They fear him everywhere,” you say. “Kyoto is simply more…accustomed to fear than most. After all, your lord father claimed Hida by will, not by right.”
That earns a small hum from her, as though she finds the distinction interesting rather than unsettling. After a moment, she speaks again. “Then we are the same, mother.” she says.
You glance at her. “The same?” you repeat.
She nods slightly, her eyes still fixed on the road ahead. “You have not been there.” she explains, “And neither have I. Especially in the Gojo and Mikoto strongholds. We will both see it for the first time.”
There is something in her tone, subtle, but present. You can tell that it was not quiet excitement that measured within the young girl. But you think that it was something close to it. A quiet kind of anticipation. You study her for a moment longer before responding.
“Yes, I suppose that is….” you say gently. “I suppose that is true.”
She shifts slightly in her seat, the movement small but noticeable. “Will it be different?” she asks after a pause. “From home, I mean.”
You consider the question more seriously this time. “Yes, I would think so.” you answer. “Kyoto is not going to be our isolated Hida.”
“In what way?”
“In every way that matters, little flower.” you reply. “And in some ways that do not.”
She exhales softly, as though that answer both satisfies and frustrates her. “That is not very clear, isn’t it?” she mutters.
“It is not meant to be.” you say, a faint trace of warmth entering your voice. “Some things are better understood when you see them yourself.”
Chiharu glances at you, her expression sharpening just slightly. “You always say that, don’t you?” she points out as she pouts.
“And you always ask, and I indulge you, little flower.” you return.
For a brief moment, something lighter passes between you. She looks at you and starts laughing. You felt the contagious echoes and laughs too. Before long, though, her gaze drifts again, returning to the world unfolding around you.
“And…her?” she asks suddenly, her voice quieter now. You know immediately who she means. You do not pretend otherwise. “She is there, my blood mother.” Chiharu continues, her tone more hesitant now, more uncertain. “In Kyoto.”
You nod once. “Yes, she is.”
There is a longer pause this time. “Do you think…” she begins, then falters, her fingers tightening slightly where they rest. “Do you think it will feel different? Being there? Seeing her?”
You look ahead, your expression unreadable. “Yes, I think it will be.” you say after a moment. “It would be your first time meeting your lady mother, won’t it be?”
She purses her lips. “I guess so….”
You take her hand into your own, giving her a small smile. “Do not worry. I am sure your lord father will be there with you, if it gets too overwhelming.”
“But….”
“Hm?”
Her scarlet eyes echo into your own orbs. “Will you be there too, when I get back?”
You squeeze her hand. “Of course, I will be.”
KYOTO DOES NOT GREET YOU WITH ITS GRANDEUR. There are no banners raised in your honor, no overwhelming display meant to impress or intimidate. Instead, the city receives you with quiet certainty, as though it has stood long before you arrived and will remain long after you leave.
The streets are orderly, the structures aged but meticulously maintained, each one placed with intention rather than excess. It is a place that does not demand attention, rather it simply holds it. You feel it as you pass through, watching the merging of the Ryomen purple echo against the Mikoto azure and the Gojo sky blue.
The weight of history here is different here. It was not suffocating, not chaotic like the temple palace, but you can tell that their identities in this space are deeply rooted. It was as though it was eagerly measuring you, trying to gather what to think of you within this space.
At the heart of it stands the grand Gojo estate. It does not tower, nor does it need to. Its authority lies in its restraint, in the quiet precision of its design, in the way everything about it suggests control rather than dominance.
Your lord husband had told you much about their old home in Hida, upon one of your visits in a monastery, having passed the ruins of the old Gojo estate in the proud lands. They had left more than a hundred years ago, after the Imperial court had called your lord husband an enemy of the throne, and that all sorcerer clans in Hida must move to the capital, in order to show their loyalty to the throne.
The age old Gojo was one of them, as was the young Mikoto, who are both descendants of Ryomen Hiromi from her two marriages. And as such, many of them have made their lives here. Including the last of Ryomen Hiromi’s children, the one hundred or so year old lord Gojo.
Your thoughts return you to reality as you hear a knocking upon your carriage. Chiharu has gone down first, as befits her status. Even though Ryomen Sukuna is your lord husband, you are still his concubine and Chiharu is his daughter. Your status is different.
Before long, you are expected to follow. Servants are already lined at the entrance, their posture immaculate, their movements synchronized as they bow in unison. There is no trembling in them, no visible fear but there is awareness.
There was a careful, deliberate understanding of exactly who had stepped onto their grounds. You notice the difference immediately. They do not cower before your lord husband. Instead, they look strident. They look like they’re willing to endure, come what may.
Before you can be formally announced, a presence steps forward to meet you. The aged old Lord Gojo approaches at an unhurried pace, neither rushing nor keeping his distance. There is confidence in the way he carries himself, but not arrogance.
Instead, there was something far more controlled, far more intentional. His expression holds a quiet amusement, as though this meeting is not unexpected, but rather…long anticipated this moment to come to pass.
“Ah, I see why you had taken her to be a bride, my lord.” he begins, his voice warm in a way that feels deliberate rather than natural.
You could see your lord husband’s eyes narrow. “You ought to shelter your tongue, nephew.”
Your eyes widened slightly. Nephew? Is lord Gojo his nephew?
The old weary man laughed energetically. “My lady mother would be quite upset at the fact that you seem to be like this, my lord. Such a long awaited visit and yet, you make me wait.”
“The young are so eager to make sharp witted comments.”
“I cannot seem to help it. I’m not getting any younger, my lord.” The old man points to his old face. “I had begun to wonder if you would continue avoiding Kyoto out of sheer stubbornness. I was already putting your old family portrait to do ceremonies for your funeral rites, uncle."
His gaze lands on Ryomen Sukuna, without fear, but rather there was familiarity. Almost an ungodly playfulness that you had never seen with anyone. Sukuna exhales through his nose, unimpressed, his eyes narrowing slightly as though the greeting itself has already exhausted his patience.
“You assume too much, foolish boy.” he replies flatly. “I don’t avoid anything. I simply choose where I spend my time. Kyoto has never been worth the trouble.”
Gojo lets out a soft chuckle, entirely unbothered by the dismissal. “And yet, here you are, my lord. Which means either Kyoto has suddenly gained value…or you have.”
Sukuna’s gaze sharpens. “Don’t twist it into something it isn’t, boy.” he says, his tone dipping lower. “I came because I had business. That’s all you need to know.”
“Mm, I should suppose so.” Lord Gojo hums, clearly entertained. “You’ve always preferred to call things ‘business’ when they carry a bit more weight than that.”
There is history in the way they speak to each other, something worn in, familiar, edged but not volatile. Then the old, decrepit lord Gojo’s attention shifts once more, fully towards you. The change is subtle, but unmistakable.
He studies you with his shining blue orbs, though not with the invasive scrutiny your lord husband uses, but with something more contemplative, more…searching. His gaze lingers just a moment longer than politeness requires, as though he is trying to place something already known rather than uncover something new.
“Well, this is not what I expected.” he murmurs, stepping just slightly closer, his brows drawing together in faint thought. “Perhaps this is the reason my lord does not visit at all.”
“My concubine does not travel well.”
“Hm, yet she is here.”
“Only this time.”
You meet his gaze calmly, offering neither submission nor resistance, your posture steady beneath the weight of his observation. “My lady…..” he continues, inclining his head in acknowledgment. “Has anyone ever remarked that you resemble someone dear to me?”
You do not rush to answer. Instead, you tilt your head ever so slightly, regarding him with quiet patience. You purse your lips in a flat line. It was always so odd to you, to be seen as a living ghost for someone else. Yet you could not avoid it. Not when the resemblance is there. And most of all, not when Hiromi’s son sees her in you.
“I cannot say that they have, my lord.” you reply, your voice even. “Though I suspect you would not have asked if the resemblance were insignificant.”
A faint smile tugs at his lips. “My mother…..” he says simply. He then looks at Sukuna. “Hm, yes.” The words settle between you. You hold his gaze, considering. “My lady, I hope you did not find me rude.”
“Not at all. I will take it as neither an insult nor coincidence regarding this.” you answer. “Only… an observation you felt worth sharing, even when….”
Old Gojo’s smile deepens, just slightly as you trail off, unable to say more. “I suppose so.”
Behind you, the air shifts. You do not need to look to know why. Ryomen Sukuna has grown impatient.
“Are you finished?” he cuts in, his tone edged now, though not raised. “Or do you plan to stand there comparing faces until the sun sets?”
Gojo laughs softly, shaking his head. “You truly have not changed, truly.” he says. “Still as intolerant of anything that doesn’t revolve around you.”
“And you’re still talking too much, foolish boy.” Sukuna returns. “If you have something to say, say it. If not, move aside.”
There is a flicker of something sharper in Gojo’s eyes, but it does not bloom into conflict. Instead, it settles into amusement. “Very well, my lord.” he says, though his gaze flickers between the two of you once more. “Then allow me to say this plainly.”
He tilts his head slightly, his tone shifting. It was far too deliberate to be mocking or serious. “I didn’t expect you to be the type.”
Sukuna’s expression tightens. “The type for what?” he asks, his voice quieter now, more dangerous for it.
“To keep someone like her close.” Gojo replies, gesturing lightly in your direction. “And to bring her here of all places.”
The implication lingers. Sukuna scoffs, though there is a slight delay. But it was just enough to be noticed. “You’re imagining things, fool.” he says dismissively. “She serves her purpose. That’s all.”
Gojo watches him carefully and then smiles. “If that’s what you prefer to call it, my lord.” he says, unconvinced but unwilling to press further, at least for now. Instead, his attention shifts downward to young Chiharu.
“Is this her?” he says, his tone softening.
Sukuna purses his lips. “Yes.”
“Hm, she looks exactly like you.”
“She is my child.”
“When you told me of her existence, I thought to myself that it could be a farce, but you did not like it. She looks quite a bit like my mother too.” Gojo narrows his eyes. “Isn’t she meant to be the elder child?”
“Not now, since I have changed the path of fate for her existence.” Sukuna retorts back. “Therefore, at this point in time, she is your youngest sibling.”
“Hm.” The old Gojo lord turned his attention fully to Chiharu. “You carry yourself well. Not many your age manage such composure.”
Chiharu meets his gaze without hesitation, her posture straight, her voice calm. “I was taught properly to be so, my lord.” she answers.
“Is that so? By him?” Gojo asks, glancing briefly at Sukuna.
Chiharu shakes her head. “No, my lord.” she says. “By her.”
Her eyes flick toward you in the smallest motion. But not one that goes unnoticed. The old decrepit lord Gojo’s expression shifts. He was subtle, but far too aware. He snickers. “I see.” he says. “Then the credit lies where it is due.”
Ryomen Sukuna says nothing. But his presence sharpens just slightly. The moment settles into something balanced. It was not tense, but it was also not relaxed. Instead, it is held in a careful equilibrium where no one oversteps, yet nothing is entirely without meaning.
At last, Gojo steps aside, gesturing toward the estate behind him. “You’ve traveled far from home.” he says. “It would be poor hospitality to keep you standing at the gates like this.”
His gaze returns to you briefly, thoughtful, measured. “You are welcome here, my lady. We are grateful for your efforts to come here, despite your restrictions.” he adds.
There is intention behind the words.You can feel it. You shake your head. “No, the pleasure is all mine, my lord. Thank you for welcoming me to your abode in such conditions.”
The Gojo lord smiles softly. “My mother would have done the same.”
YOU DO NOT MEAN TO DRINK MUCH. But having settled in your quarters for this visit, you find yourself trying to make yourself comfortable. You did not attend the banquet, you were not feeling the best and that lord Gojo had understood.
This meant that your lord husband must attend. But within the few hours that passed, Ryomen Sukuna had come to see you, having left Uraume and Chiharu to deal with the formalities on his behalf, having become weary from the conversations of the elites of Kyoto.
The night settles deeper around the two of you, the estate quieter now than it had been upon your arrival. Even the air feels different here. It felt warm and cool all at once, carrying the faint scent of aged wood and distant spray of sweetened incense.
The servants have long since withdrawn, leaving only the two of you in the dim glow of candlelight. You are no longer entirely composed, at the very least not when you had asked for multiple bottles of sake for dinner.
The sake has done its work, and of course, not enough to make you careless, never that. But enough to loosen the edges of your restraint, to soften the careful control you hold over yourself as you went ahead and sang songs under the glistening moon.
You sit across from Ryomen Sukuna, one knee slightly angled, your posture still elegant but no longer rigid. Your cup rests loosely between your fingers, tilting just slightly as you swirl what little remains inside.
Ryomen Sukuna watches you.
Sharp scarlet eyes dwelling.
He was not subtle with his intentions.
“You’ve had enough, little one.” he says, his voice low, steady, carrying that familiar weight of observation rather than concern.
You glance up at him, a faint smile pulling at your lips. It was slower than usual, softer, and touched by something warmer. The sleeve of your kimono falling to your side. “And yet, you haven’t taken it away from me, haven’t you, my lord?” you reply, your voice smooth but lighter than it should be.
His eyes narrow slightly. “If I wanted to, I would have, little one. ‘tis my will you must follow, after all.” he says.
“Mm, I suppose so.” you hum, lifting the cup to your lips and finishing it anyway, letting your gaze linger on him over the rim. “But you haven’t. This means to me you enjoy seeing me in such a state, my lord.”
He does not speak, and he does not deny it. Instead, he continues to watch you. You laugh as you down the remainder of the sake on your cup. A beat passes. It was then you set the cup down, perhaps a little more carelessly than usual.
The quiet stretches. It was not an empty quiet, but thick with something unspoken. Something comfortable, far too comfortable for its own good. You lean back slightly, studying him now, your head tilting just a fraction.
“Why did you bring me here?” you ask.
There is no careful lead-in this time. No measured softness. The question slips out, carried by the warmth in your chest and the quiet boldness that comes with it. His multiple scarlet gaze sharpens towards you.
“You’ve already asked that, did you not?” he says.
“And you didn’t answer.” you return, just as easily. “It is only right to ask once again, my lord.”
A flicker of something passes through his expression. You do not know what it was. Amusement, perhaps, or irritation softened into something more tolerable. He sets aside the brush and the scroll, to a safe distance, to be left to dry. He focuses his attention on you then.
“I told you the reason, little one.” he says.
“To visit her, to give Chiharu a chance to meet her family, yes. I know that.” you murmur. “But I—what….what is my purpose here?”
Your fingers tap lightly against the table. “That’s not the whole truth, and I know it in my heart.” you add, your voice quieter now, but more certain.
He studies you for a long moment. “The alcohol has made you bold.”
“And so what if it has?”
“Hm, it’s entertaining.”.
You blink. “…You’re doing it again, my lord.” you say, a quiet laugh slipping into your voice. “Avoiding the question.”
“Sit still, won’t you? You are so hard to draw like this.” he replies. You stare at him. Then you felt yourself laugh, so soft, so incredulous. “I will never get your nose right.”
“You are insufferable, my lord.” you mutter, though there is no real bite in it. “You command me as if I’m one of your soldiers.”
“You’re worse,” he says without missing a beat. “They listen for the first time.”
That earns a sharper look from you. “Do they?” you ask, leaning forward slightly, your eyes narrowing in faint challenge. “Or do they simply fear you enough not to argue?”
His gaze drops to your movement, then rises again, slow and deliberate. “Is there a difference?” he asks.
You hold his gaze. “Yes, I should say so.” you say. “One is obedience. The other is silence.”
“Then which one are you?” he asks, leaning forward. “Which one of them are you, little one?”
The question lands differently. You don’t answer immediately. Instead, you shift, settling more comfortably where you sit, though your eyes never leave his. “…That depends on who asks.” you say softly.
He narrowed his gaze. “What does that mean?”
“On whether you’re asking as my lord….” you murmur, eyes tender against his. “Or as my own husband.”
The words linger. Something in the air tightens. It was not sharply, but with a kind of slow, deliberate pull. Ryomen Sukuna’s grip on the brush stills for just a fraction of a second. Then resumes at that moment.
“You talk too much tonight.” he says.
“And you don’t talk enough.” you return, echoing his earlier exchange with Gojo without even realizing it.
That earns you a quiet, low chuckle. “Careful, little one.” he murmurs. “I will allow you everything. But such eager boldness gets you nowhere.”
“Am I?” you ask, your voice softer now, almost curious. “Being too bold for you?”
His gaze lifts fully to yours. “Yes.”
The word is simple. But it settles deep. You feel it in the way your breath slows, in the way your pulse lingers just a little heavier beneath your skin. You could feel flesh turn so hot. You could only wonder if it was your own flustered desire, or the sake that you had drank over and over again.
“Then answer me now, my lord.” you press, though your voice has lost some of its earlier edge, turning quieter, more earnest. “Why bring me here…of all places?”
“You’re still asking that?” he says.
“Yes.”
“Even when you already know the answer?”
“If I knew it, my lord, it would be a different thing.” you reply, “I wouldn’t be asking.”
A pause stretches between you.
Then he leans back slightly, studying you with that same intensity. But this time, there is something else threaded through it. Something heavier. “I brought you here, little one, because I need you.” he says slowly. “Because this is where everything that came before you still exists.”
Your breath catches, just slightly. “And how does that relate to me?”
“And I wanted to see something from you.” he continues, his voice lower now, more deliberate, “I wanted to see whether you would still stand the same way when faced with it.”
Your fingers curl faintly against your lap. “And have I?” you ask quietly.
He leans forward now, closing the distance. “Have you?” he repeats.
Your breath falters. But you don’t look away. “I’m still here, aren’t I?”
That seems to satisfy him. At least, enough. His hand lifts, rough fingers brushing lightly against your chin before tilting your face up, not forceful, but unmistakably possessive. “You are, little one.” he murmurs. “And you shan’t ever leave me.”
“You already know that, my lord.” Your lips part slightly, your breath warm between you now, the space closing without either of you fully acknowledging it.
“Then there was no point still asking questions you already know the answer to.”
“Then say it anyway, my lord.” you whisper, eyes focused on him.
“You belong with me, little one. I want the world to know that.” he says to you. “Nothing will dim your value to me in the eyes of the world. Whether you give me a child, whether you are a ghost, I need you to light the way, even when it hurts you, even when it burns you. I need you.”
The words are blunt, unsoftened. But there is no dismissal in them. Only certainty. It settles into you deeper than the sake ever could. Your gaze becomes clouded with desire. Your loose kimono becomes looser still as you try to become nearer to his figure.
“You do not need to give me the world others do.” He whispers to you. “I do not need it.”
“Then what do you need?”
“You. You and only you.”
“Then don’t avoid me when I ask.” you murmur.
A faint smirk touches Sukuna’s lips. “You didn’t seem to mind enough to stop asking.”
“I never do, my lord.” you reply.
“I know.”
The words are quieter now, closer. And when his hand shifts, sliding from your chin to the back of your neck, pulling you just slightly closer, you don’t resist. You don’t hesitate. The kiss is not rushed. It is not desperate. Instead, it was something slower. Heavier.
It was the kind of embrace that lingers, that builds, that carries all the unspoken tension between you and lets it settle into something tangible. Your hand finds his sleeve first and then his shoulder, fingers tightening just slightly as the warmth between you deepens, as the distance disappears entirely.
The world outside the room fades again.
Sukuna's grip on your neck tightened slightly as the kiss deepened, his masterful tongue sliding against yours in a slow, sensual dance. He tasted like power and darkness, a heady combination that made your head spin.
Your fingers dug into his shoulder, pulling him closer as you lost yourself in the sensation. He has held you close, caged in his much bigger figure, almost as though melting into him, like you were becoming one.
One of his hands all but slid down your back, tracing the curve of your spine before settling on your hip. Your lord husband broke the kiss suddenly, resting his forehead against yours as he caught his breath.
Soon enough, his fingers drawls onto your clit and then your cunny in endless fervor. One after the other, his massive fingers felt too good as they pierce through, reaching your crevices, your pleasure points, over and over again.
“It feels so good, fuck—”
"Fuck, little one…." he whispered hoarsely. "You drive me crazy, little one."
He pressed a gentle kiss to your lips before pulling back completely. Sukuna's fingers continued their relentless assault, pushing you higher and higher until you were teetering on the precipice of ecstasy. His thumb circled your clit, sending shockwaves of pleasure through your body as his fingers curled inside you, hitting that sweet spot that made your toes curl.
"That's it, little one." he murmured to you. "Let go for me. Come undone on my hand."
He watched your face intently, his scarlet eyes dark with desire as he felt your walls start to flutter around his fingers. Sukuna leaned in close, his lips brushing against your ear as he whispered to you. "I want to feel you come apart for me. Want to hear my name on your lips as you shatter."
His long, muscular fingers pumped faster, harder, driving you towards the edge with expert precision. You screamed his name as the orgasm crashed through you, your body convulsing with pleasure as Sukuna gentled you through the aftershocks.
As he removed his fingers, the lace of your pleasure pelts and dwells slowly coming onto the palm of his hand. He snickers as he moves and lamps upon it, eating it all out clean all the while looking at you, never once leaving your gaze.
“You liked that, did you not?”
You felt yourself flushed, still recovering from pleasure. “It was too much….”
“But I am not done with you.”
“I know.” You whispered to him, earning a snicker.
Sukuna's soon hands moved to your waist, lifting you effortlessly as he pressed you against the wall. You can feel the way flesh burns against the naked wood, as he pushes your body deeper and deeper into it, as he captures your mouth in a fierce kiss.
You could feel his masterful tongue delving deep as he claimed you completely. His strong, strident hips ground against yours, letting you feel the hard length of his arousal through the fabric of your clothes.
"I need to be inside you, little one." he growled against your lips. "I need to bury myself in that tight crevice inside of you."
His hands worked quickly to remove your kimono and undershirt, tossing them aside carelessly. Sukuna’s darkened scarlet eyes roamed over your naked form hungrily before he shed his own layers of clothes in record time.
"Look at me, little one." he commanded you. "Watch how much I want you."
He positioned himself between your legs, the head of his cocks pressing insistently against your entrance. "Tell me you want this, little one." he demanded hoarsely. "Tell me you're mine."
“I want you….ha, I want you, my lord.” you couldn’t help but whimper against his tightened grips on your body. “Do you want me, my lord?”
He does not respond. He acts. You gasped as you felt not one, but two hard lengths pressing against your entrance. Your eyes widened in shock and arousal as you realized what Ryomen Sukuna was packing. The prong of his dual cocks twitched against your wet folds, leaking pre-cum that slicked up both of you.
"Fuck, fuck….oh my…fuck—" you breathed out, trying to still get used to him. "You're...you're huge. My lord…."
Sukuna could only smirk with contentment at your reaction, wrapping a hand around each of his shafts to guide them to your entrance. "I'm going to fill every hole in this perfect body of yours, little one." he promised you darkly. "Starting with this tight little pussy of yours.”
He pushed forward slowly, letting the heads of both cocks slide inside you inch by inch. Your body stretched and burned with the sensation of being filled so completely "Ahh...my lord..." you moaned loudly, drool falling over your lips.
"It's too much...I can't..."
"Shh, you can take it. I know you can."
Sukuna's hands gripped your hips tightly as he continued to push forward, inching both of his massive cocks deeper inside you. You cry out as your body stretches and burns with the sensation of being filled so completely.
"You're taking me so well, little one." he praised you as you mewled, holding onto his much bigger body. "So tight and perfect around my cocks."
He paused when he was fully seated, giving you a moment to adjust to the overwhelming fullness. "Breathe for me, little one." he commanded gently, pressing kisses against your smaller neck.
"In and out. You can do this." His thumbs rubbed soothing circles on your hips as he waited for your body to relax around him. Sukuna all but leaned down to press gentle kisses along your checks, your jaw.
"That's it, Good, you're too good…." he murmured approvingly. "You're doing so good, little one. Such a good little one for taking all of me."
Once you had adjusted to the feeling of being so thoroughly filled, Sukuna began to move. He started with slow, shallow thrusts, letting you feel every inch of his dual cocks as they slid in and out of your tight heat. His hips rolled against yours, grinding his pelvis against your clit with each thrust.
Sukuna’s massive hands roamed your body, caressing and squeezing every curve and dip. He pinched your nipples gently, rolling the sensitive buds between his muscular fingers before sliding a hand down to rub tight circles on your clit.
"You feel incredible, fuck." he groaned aloud. "So hot and wet around me. I could stay buried inside you….hah—" He threw his head back as his thrusts grew deeper and faster as he chased his pleasure, driving into you with increasing fervor.
"Come for me, little one." he demanded hoarsely. "Squeeze my cocks with this perfect little pussy. Now."
Your body responded to Sukuna's commands, your walls clamping down around his dual cocks as a powerful orgasm crashed through you. You screamed his name, your back arching off the bed as waves of pleasure washed over you.
Sukuna all but continued to thrust through your climax, prolonging your ecstasy as he sought his own release. "Fuck, yes…" he groaned against your glistening skin. "Milk my dicks with this greedy little cunt. Take every drop."
With a final, brutal thrust, Ryomen Sukuna buried himself deep and came with a roar. You felt his hot seed flooding your insides, coating your walls as he filled you completely. Sukuna’s massive body all but collapsed on top of you, panting heavily as he caught his breath.
You couldn’t breathe as he pressed gentle kisses to your face and neck, murmuring soft words of praise and affection against your skin. You had all but blacked out, shining against the moonlight haze.
He looked at you attentively, letting himself slowly raise his body, to give you relief. He could feel the abundance of his cum dripping out of you, even when both his cocks were still stuffed deeply inside of you. There is only pride in him.
"My perfect little concubine." he whispered to you. "All mine. All mine and only mine.”
IT WAS ANOTHER DAY ONCE AGAIN. Far too early and yet, the morning settles over Imperial capital of Kyoto in a muted haze, the kind that softens edges without truly changing what lies beneath all of them.
The path toward Ryomen Hiromi’s tomb winds through old trees and weathered stone, each step carrying the sense of something preserved rather than forgotten. This is not a place that welcomes intrusion or spectacle. It expects acknowledgement, and nothing less.
Ryomen Chiharu walks ahead of the group, not in defiance, but in instinctive separation. She keeps a distance just wide enough to hold her thoughts without needing to share them, yet close enough that she is still tethered to what surrounds her.
Her posture remains perfect, as you taught her, all too composed and disciplined, but just like her father, truly an unwavering force. Yet there is something different in her today. A heaviness beneath the control. A quietness that feels less like training and more like understanding something she cannot yet name.
You walk behind her, shadowing her. You stood there as something between presence and responsibility, the only mother she knew in everything but blood, and something more complicated in everything that cannot be named easily.
Your gaze occasionally drifts to her back, and each time, you find yourself noting the same thing. She is steady, but not untouched. Beside you, Ryomen Sukuna moves without hesitation. His presence fills the path even when he says nothing, as though the space itself adjusts around him.
Yet there is a restraint to him today that is not weakness, not softness, but awareness. As if even he recognizes that this place demands something different from him and he has chosen, for now, not to resist it.
At Sukuna’s side, the olden Lord Gojo walks with the ease of someone accustomed to both power and age, though the liveliness in him has been tempered into something more reflective. His gaze drifts forward often, resting on Chiharu, then briefly on you, then back ahead again, as though measuring something that cannot be spoken directly.
For a time, none of you speak. The silence is not empty. It is deliberate, shaped by the weight of where you are going. Even the wind feels subdued here. It is the olden Gojo who finally speaks, letting out a soft exhale as the breeze catches against him, his voice low enough not to disturb the stillness ahead.
“You chose well, I think.” he says at first, not looking directly at Sukuna.
Sukuna does not slow. “If you have something to say, say it plainly.” he replies without turning his head. “I don’t have patience for riddles dressed as conversation.”
A faint, almost tired smile crosses Gojo’s face. “Very well. Then I’ll be direct. The woman you brought with you, this woman, your concubine, she is not what I expected you to keep so close.”
That earns him a brief glance from Sukuna, sharp and uninterested all at once. “You’ve already spoken about her. You’re repeating yourself.”
“I’m correcting my observation, my lord.” Gojo answers calmly. “She does not behave like someone kept for utility alone. There is no hesitation in her position, no grasping, no attempt to elevate herself beyond what she is. She stands exactly where she chooses to stand, as though that is enough.”
Sukuna’s gaze shifts forward again, but he does not interrupt. When he sees Sukuna is not reacting, The lord Gojo continues, his tone quieter now. “That kind of certainty is rare. In most places, it breaks people. Or it makes them greedy.”
“They’re weak.” Sukuna says flatly. “She is not. That is the only distinction that matters.”
Gojo shakes his head slightly. “No. They are human. And so is she. The difference is not what she is made of. It is what she refuses to become.”
A brief silence follows, the sound of footsteps muted against stone and earth. Ahead, Chiharu begins to slow. You call her, but she does not turn around. Through the thinning mist, the outline of the tomb becomes visible.
You notice it too. It was the way Chiharu’s posture shifts, not breaking, but tightening as though she is gathering herself for something she does not yet have words for. You pursed your lips in a flat line, observing her, letting her take her time.
“She reminds me of my mother.” Gojo says after a moment, his voice lowering further, more deliberate now. “Not only in appearance. In the way she occupies space. She does not demand to be seen, but she is not overlooked either. She simply…exists, fully, without apology. A light in our dark, dull world.”
Sukuna’s expression tightens faintly at that, subtle enough that most would miss it. “I don’t care who she reminds you of, foolish boy.” he replies, though the words come slower than before.
“You should, though.” Gojo answers, turning his head slightly, his gaze settling on Sukuna with quiet clarity. “Because resemblance is dangerous. It invites comparison, and comparison is how people begin to treat what they have as something already defined by the past.”
Sukuna’s eyes narrow. “Then speak clearly. What are you implying?”
Gojo does not look away. “Do not reduce her into something she is not.” he says simply. “She may resemble someone who came before, but she is not a continuation of that life. She is not a replacement. And she is not lesser for standing beside you instead of behind what you have lost.”
The words carry no heat, but they land heavily all the same. Sukuna exhales through his nose, irritation flickering briefly across his expression. “You speak as though I intend to discard her.”
“I am not speaking about intention.” Gojo replies, softer now, but firmer in meaning. “I am speaking about consequences. People like you do not always realize when something has become important until after it is gone.”
A pause stretches between them. Ryomen Sukuna does not respond immediately. For once, his silence is not dismissal. It is something heavier, less certain, as though the words have settled somewhere they should not have been allowed to reach.
Gojo watches him for a moment longer, then lets out a quiet sigh. “She stands beside you because she chooses to.” he says finally. “And I think you already understand what that means, even if you refuse to name it.”
Chiharu has stopped completely now. The tomb stands before her, weathered and unmoving, its presence swallowing the last of the mist around it. Sukuna comes to a halt behind her. You follow Chiharu, stopping slightly, your gaze resting on the stone marker ahead.
Lord Gojo does not speak again. Not because there is nothing left to say, but because everything necessary has already been said. And for once, Sukuna does not answer at all. Before long, you seem to realize you need to give Chiharu some space, and so you return to your lord husband’s side.
He has not moved much since stopping. His gaze lingers on the tomb only briefly now, as if whatever purpose brought him here has already been acknowledged and filed away. The weight in the air has shifted. It was not gone, but softened at the edges.
He looks at Hiromi’s statue for a moment, as if hoping for an answer to a question he has asked in the silence. You looked at him and where his eyes were at. It wasn’t long when you step closer to him, careful not to disturb the moment, though your voice breaks it anyway.
“What was that about, my lord?” you ask quietly.
Sukuna does not look at you immediately. When he does, it is brief. Measured. “What was that about, I wonder.” he repeats, not a question, but a correction.
You hold his gaze, unfazed. “With the lord Gojo, you were talking.” you clarify. “I saw the silence. The way you didn’t answer him.”
A faint exhale leaves him through his nose, almost dismissive. “It was nothing, really.” he says.
You don’t accept it at once. Your eyes narrow slightly, not in challenge, but in familiarity. You have learned the shape of his evasions, and this one does not sit cleanly. “That is not true, and we both know it.” you say softly.
His gaze shifts away from you, toward the ground nearby, where small wildflowers grow between stone and root. He crouches slightly without explanation, his hand moving through them with casual precision, selecting one without hesitation.
“You overthink things, don’t you, little one?” he mutters.
“You avoid things, don’t you, my lord?” you reply.
That earns the faintest shift in his expression. He stands again before you can press further. For a moment, you think he will dismiss it again. Instead, he lifts the flower. He was not offering it to you. For a while, he was just holding it between his fingers as he steps closer. You don’t move.
He studies you for a moment in silence, at least long enough that it almost feels like the question you asked has been set aside entirely. Then, without ceremony, he reaches up. His fingers brush through your hair, unhurried, as he places the flower carefully against it. Not rough. Not careless. Almost…precise.
Your breath stills slightly. “What are you doing, my lord?” you ask quietly, though you do not step away.
He doesn’t answer immediately. Instead, he adjusts the flower once, as if ensuring it sits exactly where he wants it. Then he looks at you properly. “It suits you, these sorts of flowers, little one.” he says. “We should have these flowers in the Phoenix Gardens.”
The words are simple. But they land differently in his voice. Your expression softens before you can stop it. “That’s not an answer either, my lord.” you murmur back, your cheeks turning warm red as you fiddle with your long hair.
A faint pause comes, and then, finally, something close to a smirk touches his mouth. “It is, little one.” he says. “Just not the one you were asking for.”
You search his face for a moment longer, but he does not elaborate. He never does when it matters most. Still, his massive hand lingers near your hair for a second longer than necessary before he lets it fall away.
Behind you, Ryomen Chiharu remains at the tomb, quiet and unmoving, as though she has decided this moment belongs to you and him alone. The wind shifts slightly through the clearing, brushing past the flower now pinned in your hair.
And for once, you don’t press him again.
You accept what was there.
For this is the only light there is.
This is the only truth you were allowed.
The only way you could love him.
epilogue
The village you had once called home had no more sound. It was already silent by the time the wind began to move through it. What had once been homes, voices, and daily life now existed only as ruin and nothing more.
It was burned wood collapsing into itself, shattered stone half-buried in ash, lantern frames bent and blackened like broken ribs. The air still carried heat in places, but it was fading, giving way to something colder and heavier. Something that would forever be final.
You stood in the center of it without moving. Blood had dried unevenly along your hands and sleeves, some of it yours, much of it not. It had soaked into the fabric at your wrists and collar, stiffening there as if even your body could not decide what to do with the aftermath.
Your breathing was uneven, not from exhaustion alone but from the realization settling in slowly, irreversibly. There was nothing left to fight, and nothing left to explain. Your precious son Chizuru was safe. Chiharu was safe.
That fact should have anchored you. Instead, it made the emptiness sharper, because everything else had been stripped away to ensure it. You had chosen this. You had chosen to end it all.
Or perhaps you had only survived what others forced you into until there was no gentler option left. You don't know what else to say or what to do. All you could do was stare at the consequences of your actions.
Harsh, brutish footsteps came from behind you, steady and unhurried through the debris. You did not need to turn to recognize them, as you still reeled from the silence you had forced into sound.
Ryomen Sukuna stopped a short distance away, his monstrous body towering over your much smaller figure. He did not look at the village first, nor did he comment on the destruction. His attention went directly to you, as though the rest of it had already been accounted for and dismissed.
“You finished it.” he said. “I didn’t expect you to go through with it.”
“You helped.”
“This is not new to me.”
“But it was to me.”
He looked at you. “I know.”
Your gaze remained forward as you answered, your voice low and uneven. “There was no other outcome. They were going to kill us.”
A pause followed, the space between you filled only by settling ash. You purse your lips in a flat line. When you spoke again, it came quieter, heavier. “It still does not change what I’ve done. It does not change anything about the blood in my hands.”
He moved closer then, stepping into your space without hesitation. His hand lifted toward you, and you felt it before you fully processed it. The warmth of blood still on him, still fresh enough to smear as his palm touched your cheek.
It spread across your skin in a slow drag, not careless but deliberate, as though he was making sure you could not distance yourself from what had happened. You did not pull away. You did not have the strength to.
Your voice wavered as you finally spoke what had been circling inside you since the last strike fell. “I am nothing now. Just a murderer.”
His hand remained on your face, steady, anchoring you in place rather than restraining you. For a moment, he said nothing, only studied you with that same unreadable focus he gave everything that interested him. Then his grip shifted slightly, not tightening, but settling more firmly as if correcting your conclusion.
“You are still here, we are here. The children are safe.” he said to you in reply. “That does not make you nothing.”
Your breath hitched faintly, your eyes lowering for a moment before lifting back to him. “What I am is defined by what I’ve done.” you said. “There is nothing else left.”
That earned the faintest shift in his expression, not irritation, not softness, but certainty. He tilted your face slightly with his hand, forcing you to meet his gaze fully as blood on his fingers marked your skin in uneven streaks.
“What you did was necessary. Do not feel burdened by it.” he retorted to you. “And what you are is not reduced to it.”
The words should not have steadied you, not in a place like this. Yet they did not feel like comfort in the usual sense. They felt like refusal, his refusal to accept the version of you that had already begun to form in your own mind.
Your voice broke slightly when you answered. “Then what am I to you?”
He held your gaze for a long moment, the ruined village reflected faintly in his eyes, untouched by sentiment. When he finally spoke, it was not grand, not softened, not explained. “You are still what you were to me as you are now.”
The words did not erase what had happened. They did not excuse it. But they did something else, something quieter, more unsettling in its certainty. They placed you back into existence without asking permission from the ruin around you.
His hand remained on your face a moment longer before settling more naturally, as though he had already decided there was no need to let go. And standing there among the ashes of everything you had destroyed to survive, you realized he was not looking at the blood as proof of what you had become. He was looking at you as if you had not disappeared at all.
[Heian!Sukuna x Fem!Reader // Major angst, character death // short drabble-ish]
Author's note: I love vengeful Sukuna
Thanks for reading! likes, reblogs & comments are all appreciated𑣲⋆
You had always believed a lifetime with Sukuna meant eternity. Perhaps, you had been acutely aware that one day you might grow grey and frail. But Sukuna easily pushed the thoughts from your mind with lavish gifts and goddess-like treatment.
You wondered though, if he thought about you in that manner. Not often, but in the quiet spaces of your life as you reflected on the time you spent together. You wondered if the thought that you might become less of a partner and more of a liability to him over time had ever crossed his mind. That one day, you might become someone who needed to be cared for rather than someone who could stand next to him as an equal. If he had ever considered it, he never made it apparent.
The thought used to make your stomach turn, admittedly, but now as you laid in bed the thought could only bring a gentle smile to your face. You felt stupid. The fruitlessness of those thoughts left a bitter taste in your mouth as you laid bedridden and dying in your marital bad, only in your thirties. You had barely a grey hair, and yet your body was already failing you. Your mouth felt heavy with irony, so much so that you struggled to speak.
You were cut off before you could even think to share your thoughts with your husband.
"We will find the perpetrator, Lord Ryomen, they cannot be far-"
"Leave us," Sukuna's voice held a deep vibrato that seemed to rumble through the surrounding walls. You had heard it before, threatening and etched with malice. It shook you more now though. having never heard him sound so callous toward Uraume of all temple-goers.
"My Lord..."
"Leave us. Now."
His order came in a serpentine hiss as his hand clutched yours, punctuated only by the shuffling of robes as Uraume retreated. His hand tightened around yours at your fidgeting and if you didn't know him better, you might've thought your bones would snap under the pressure.
To weak to open your eyes you sunk deeper into cold, velvet sheets and hummed, "Don't take it out on Uraume, S'kuna..."
He huffed at your order and rebutled it with his own, "Quiet. Conserve your strength. And stop shuffling. The more you exert yourself the fast your heart will pump that filth around your body."
That filth.
The poison supposedly slipped into your evening meal, strategically tainted on the night of Sukuna's absence as he visited a Western province. He had raced home on horseback at the news of your collapse and it made you feel almost guilty. You were sure you had interrupted some important political meet that you had no previous interest in.
You thought about the servants downstairs, clumsily searching for anything that might aid your condition. You supposed it didn't matter, though. Your breaths were already laboured and something ugly was brewing behind Sukuna's eyes.
"What are you thinking about, dove?" He muttered, bringing you limp hand to his lips. His body dwarfed yours as he planted soft kisses unto your palm and up your wrist. It felt like a goodbye. It made you feel ill.
"Us," you admitted, voice tinged with guilt. "I'm sorry, Sukuna."
He shook his head with an amused chuff, though you could register the pain behind it, "Stupid woman. Apologise for nothing. You are a queen," he pressed one last, devastatingly soft kiss to the weakening pulse-point on your wrist. "My Queen."
It was early in the morning when you exhaled your last breath. A painless death-rattle that Sukuna couldn't help but be thankful for in a way that made him nauseous. The idea that the only reprieve he had was that you had gone comfortably curdled in the bottom of his stomach. Perhaps that was some sick mercy from the Gods above?
It didn't feel like it. In fact, it felt as though the beings above him were mocking his very being. Ripping his beloved from him as if she wasn't the only thing he would protest to have stolen.
The thoughts made clouds form behind his eyes as a punishing silence suffocated him, engrossed in the stillness of your body. It felt so unnatural, so wrong and perverse to see you like this.
Slow patters of rain splattered from the heavens and off the engawa outside, providing a soft song as he held you close; still warm and clinging to his kariginu. Somewhere in his twisted mind, the act felt wretched and intentional. As if the God's themselves has accompanied your loss with their own laughter in the form of the soft rain-pellets, a melody you used to comfortably sleep to now tainted by their mockery of the cursed being below them.
"Uraume?"
They appeared as if they had never left, "Yes, my Lord?"
heian!sukuna x wife!reader | heian era ; trueform!sukuna ; husband!sukuna fluff | drabble | 1k words
♡ looking for more sukuna? here you go!
♡ continuation of this here
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“You know, one day I’m not going to be around.”
Sukuna’s breath hitches so quietly you almost don’t hear it, but you do anyway. A slight pause, and then his first set of crimson eyes flickers up to meet yours. The scroll in his hand is set down onto the tatami with a soft thud.
Outside, the branches of the willow tap lightly on the shoji; the sun sets just a little earlier today. The sound is so quiet but still enough to fill the silence before the King of Curses speaks.
“What do you mean?”
Of course, he knows exactly what you mean.
You hum, “I’m not a sorcerer, or a curse, or have any cursed energy. I’m just me.”
“You’re my wife.” Sukuna says simply, though his tone is firm, his words lack bite. “That’s enough, no?”
“I’m unlike you–” you say, a little quieter this time, “my time on this plane is limited.”
Your salmon-haired husband casts his red eyes to the open fusuma; in the garden, the last of the sunlight spills low across the pond. Orange fractures into ribbons of gold and amber by the slow circling of the koi beneath the surface. Beyond the garden walls, the world is not so gentle: The mountains in the distance rise unevenly, with their silhouettes jagged and like ridged teeth threatening to tear the fabric of the sky. Sukuna thinks about the abundance of unfettered curses swarming in the dark and damp at the foot of the mountain – the ones he hasn’t subjugated yet.
He thinks about the fact that they will probably live a hundred years longer than something as pure and good as you will.
He thinks about how many more sunsets and winters he will see compared to you; he thinks about the fact that one day Uraume will stop making mugwort tea simply because you are the one who drinks things like that and he does not.
One of his four gigantic hands crawls over the tatami and rests atop of yours. His warm yet calloused skin completely covers yours. Nothing is said but a light ‘hmm’, though his fingers curl a little; his grip is not tight enough to hurt, but firm enough that you feel like he understands what you have just said.
You peer at his face through your lashes, lips pressed into a tight line. “Husband?”
All four eyes are focused on the orange sun setting outside. Sukuna does not cry. That stupid word isn’t even in his lexicon; there has never been a single tear shed over anything – but his chest remains tight and heavy as he thinks that one day, a lone tear may spill in your permanent absence.
The sharp planes of his face are set as they always are: Unyielding and severe. Yet, in the orange glow, the faint downturn of his lips can almost give it away; only in the quiet stillness of early evenings like this does the cruel exterior strip completely. You feel his thumb shift a little over your hand and he rubs a gentle circle over your soft skin.
"Have I upset you?"
You think about how you must look to his court and subjects – completely insignificant as a mundane mortal, yet you are the very woman who has managed to turn a heartless monster into someone who is capable of small, gentle notions like resting a hand over yours and rubbing absentminded circles on it. You, indeed, are so insignificant in his presence, even now, where his shoulders are broad enough to block out the fading light when he shifts.
“I will not accept that,” Sukuna says quietly.
Your soft laugh slips out before you can stop it. “I don’t think even you can change something as unmoveable as fate, my heart.”
His mouth twitches a little at the sound of the nickname but he does not relent.
“Fate,” he repeats slowly, the word laced with quiet disdain. “I will not relinquish what is mine to something I cannot see or touch.”
When he finally turns away from the garden, all four eyes settle on you. You smile teasingly, though the usual gleam in your eyes has been dulled a little by mere acceptance.
“You think my turmoil is funny, wife?” He asks, though his words lack bite. An eyebrow quirks when you exhale another soft giggle.
You shake your head, taking your hand from under his and shifting closer to him. He stills, unsure of your intentions until you stop in front of him and rest your palm on the side of his neck. Sukuna almost melts into your touch but he merely sucks his teeth a little and narrows his eyes.
A sigh slips past your lips. “I’m merely speaking the truth– one day you will have to find yourself another annoying woman–”
“I’d sooner be celibate.”
“Impossible for you.”
This earns a light scoff from him.
Sukuna dips his head, just barely, so he leans a little more into your touch. You can feel the powerful pulse beneath his skin, and for someone like him, this is the most vulnerable he will ever be with anyone else. His red eyes lower to you, the gaze of a man completely smitten with someone he would have once smited on the spot many years ago. Deep in his heart, he knows that he would rather tear the world apart with his bare hands until a wasteland remains if you dared to leave his side.
“You speak too lightly of your absence,” Sukuna murmurs, his eyes coming to a close as your palm shifts to cup his face. “I have no use for a world that does not have you in it.”
The King of Curses sat upon his throne, and yet you had no issue glaring up at him. As if it were your stare that could cleave. Your hands that could ignite his shrine into blitz and ember.
Bundled in a silk blanket and babbling up at you with eyes as ruby as her father's, your daughter chewed on her thumb. Blissfully oblivious to the tyrant from which she came.
Sukuna refused to hold her.
It was subtle, at first. When she was born, he claimed that it was vital for a baby to stay close to its mother. For warmth, food and comfort.
It had been four weeks, and your husband hadn't so much as grazed her tiny pinkie.
"Why?" You asked, anger blooming in your throat like the flowers he had planted in the gardens for you. He would sully his knees in the soil and his hands in the mud for your benefit, but couldn't bear to hold the life that he had created?
Sukuna's face was hard in a scowl. Each maroon eye glaring into your soul.
A beat of silence.
"I do not want to."
You flared, clinging your baby closer. "Are you ashamed? Ashamed of the life we created?"
"No, damnit woman—"
"Then why!?"
"Because I will mar her!"
The shrine shook as he shoved himself out of his throne. Standing now. It was at his full height that you recognised the being thousands feared. Four arms, two faces, and a stature that rose from hell.
His glare burned, but it wasn't anger. Face twisted in an emotion you hadn't seen enough from him.
"I will— hurt her. Is that what you want?"
Vulnerability.
Your daughter startled. Sniffling at the booming voice that rattled the floors. You watched her face squish and her lip quiver, before a broken, hiccuped sob filled the air.
His shoulders sunk. The fight seeping out of him. You watched his eyes swell with many things you'd never seen before.
Guilt, sadness.
Fear.
Rocking your startled baby, you held her close with soft shushes, but her sniffles soon turned into wails. Sukuna's stood frozen, sullen.
You understood, now.
Cradling the small girl, you stepped forward. Up the stairs to the platform of his throne. Even as he took a step back, you persisted.
"Sukuna. . ." You called to him. Soft in the way that only you were capable of being with him.
He almost flinched.
"This child, she's ours. Our daughter, made with love."
You stood right in front of him now. Taking in his wound up muscles and squared shoulders. Looking more like a deer ready to sprint than a father.
A father who feared that his hands were too rough, too evil, to nurture his own child.
"You won't hurt her. Because she's ours." Reaching forward, you held out the sobbing bundle. Watching his face and the several shades of uncertainty it turned.
You had never seen him so. . . frightened.
You pushed past his hesitancy, carefully placing your daughter into a set of his hulking arms. She was tiny compared to him. Seemed he was processing that too.
Aiding his position, you slipped one of your hands to tenderly hold him by the bicep as he, for the first time ever, held his daughter.
His breath was hitched. All of his eyes gaping at the small bundle in his arms. Watching her as if she were the most delicate piece of porcelain.
Your daughter's sobs stirred into sniffles, then hiccups, until. . . silence.
As big, ruby eyes stared up at her father. Taking him in. His face, his warmth.
And then, she beamed a toothless smile.
Sukuna tensed. A shaky breath hitching.
"She's— she's smiling. Why is she smiling?"
He quickly looked to you. Brows pinched. Looking lost, looking scared.
You offered him a smile, leaning up to press a kiss to his cheek. "Because she knows that her father loves her." Tickling her neck, you hummed as she squirmed a bit and giggled, pressing more into him.
He instinctively held her closer. Eyes unblinking.
You watched as Ryomen Sukuna, The King of Curses, melted. His heart swelling as he stared at his daughter. Even bringing one of his fingers closer to her, so that she could grab at it. Hugging around it with that big, bring smile.
His mouth quirked at the corner. Faint, but tender.
"Yeah. . ." He whispered, voice thick with emotion. Centuries worth of affection for his child, his daughter.
"Your father loves you. More than anything. More than life."
Synopsis: After a lifetime of believing you are meant to be alone, Kento swoops in, ready to love you when you least expect it.
to sum it up: kento heals years of mistrust just by being himself
WC: 5,499
Warning(s): a little angst in there but it's mostly fluff
You always told yourself that you'd never turn into your mother.
The constant overextending. The subconscious, trauma-induced emotional manipulation. The sheer weight of her feelings that she never allowed herself to bear alone, always with the help of her daughter who carried the weight of her unhealed grievances on her growing back.
Your mother was emotional. Empathetic in that way that makes one feel suffocated, her emotions inescapable. Impossible to avoid feeling, and impossible to avoid projecting. How else is one woman meant to go on with the burden of such intensity all on her own? Someone had to act as a buffer, to shoulder it all, to take the heat of the manifestations of her haunting past.
She gave you better than what she had, but still inflicted damage nonetheless. You figure now, in your older age, that is the very curse of cycles and generational patterns. The inheritance is inevitable.
And growing up overly conscious of error, oppressed verbally, and trained to bear the plights of other people, you turned your nose away from any notion of vulnerability, and any possibility of you taking on your mother's flawed behaviors.
I'd never treat my kid this way, you would tell yourself, holed up in your closet with your face burrowed in your arms, tears streaking down your heated face as your mind replayed the accusations of disrespect and the belittling of your character for expressing opposing opinions. I never want to be like this.
For a while, you think swearing by this oath will work some kind of magic on you, wipe away your genes, and free you of all the memories and experiences you have with overpowering emotion, with your mother.
You think that when you fly the coop, you'll get a clean slate.
But suppression only leads to explosion.
You hide away behind a wall of toughness, as you've long struggled with letting people in, with letting them see the real you for fear of their judgment. Every time anyone has ever managed to peel away at the layers and expose the truth in your unsaid thoughts and your overthinking tendencies, they villainized you.
You've accepted a lot of bullshit in your early years, thanks to the skillful way your mother formed you into a durable doormat for others to stamp their complaints into. Boys guilting you into having sex, expressing insecure possession - declaring you too friendly, uncaring, rude for speaking your mind.
Excessive blame for things outside of your control, lies about secret attraction toward friends, forcing you to drive everywhere, to pay, to be at their beck and call but not to bother them while they're occupied.
Lack of communication. Hours into days without texts. Weaponized incompetence. Never thinking to hold the door, never cleaning you up after sex, gaslighting, lusting, preying.
And they were never like that in the beginning. Always scheming, always putting on a mask to be able to say that they could obtain you, a prize, then letting it drop once you were within their grasp.
Disheartened by betrayal, tolerance worn thinner with each disappointment, the very worst act upon your tender heart. You crumble, you burst, you pour out the years of pent up anguish. Every moment you've held onto when you felt belittled, or ignored, or unseen by those you've trusted rockets from your chest into a spew of heavy, harmful truths that sever the connection between yourself and others.
In moments of unreciprocated action and the antagonization of your pleading words, you step outside of your body to look down upon yourself - you realize that you aren't much different from your mother.
Overexplaining, pleading with someone to hear you though they can not provide the things you need, to understand your pain, to feel the sorrows you feel every day. You've begged for someone to lean on. Someone who can handle knowing you, who can learn about you without tilting his head and saying that your emotions are...
A lot.
But that someone has yet to come.
You recall telling your mother the same thing in your early college years, when you finally worked up the courage to advocate for yourself. To fight back. To create a sense of self separate from hers.
You shiver at the comparison. Kids really are doomed to be their parents from birth. You know, now, that there is no escaping it.
You aren't good with friendships. You're horrible with relationships. You don't trust others with your love, with your whole self. You've only ever truly felt safe within your own mind, where no one else can harm you. Where you can't harm anyone else.
You tell yourself that you don't mind being single. In fact, you're better off. You have more room to develop yourself, to work toward your goals, build upon your career, nurture yourself in a way that you know you can't when you are in love and consequently overextending.
You try to push down the feelings of loneliness that often consume you when you see a happy couple walking by. You ignore the longing, the desire to be seen and loved in such a way by someone other than yourself. You convince yourself that it will never come, so you don't wait for it. You push on and try to forget.
Then, you meet Nanami completely by accident.
You're having a particularly unpleasant day, and after your shift, you decide to treat yourself to a fresh baked pastry to soothe your troubles and consequently destroy the diet you've put yourself on.
You're in front of the line, scanning the assortment of baked goods, and you finally decide on a tea and a chocolate croissant half the size of your head that's been calling your name. The lady behind the counter smiles politely and tells you the total you owe. When you reach for your purse, however, you realize that it is not on your person, but recall that it is lodged under the passenger seat of your car, after you'd tossed it off of you upon leaving work.
Embarrassed and annoyed, you sigh heavily and close your eyes. "I'm so sorry. I - forgot my wallet in my car. I'll be right back to go get it."
Before you can turn to go, someone walks up to the counter beside you. You think, at first, that he is rushing you, so you shoot him a hard glare, but instead, you are met with the side profile of quite a handsome man, tired and softspoken as he interjects.
"No need," he starts, voice formal and low with fatigue. He slots his fingers through his wallet calmly, clad in a grey work suit that brings out the soft yellow color of his blonde, fluffy hair. "I'll cover hers as well as mine."
You freeze, face falling with shock. "Oh god, don't do that," you step toward him again, reaching your hands out as if you can stop him, but he's already handing the lady a couple of bills as he recites to her an order that she seems to be all too accustomed with.
He turns to look down at you with the kindest chocolate eyes. "I assure you. It's not a problem."
"Really, though, my wallet's only a few steps away. I'd hate for you to pay for something I can easily take care of."
"Perhaps, but then you'd have to wait in line all over again. I figure this is more convenient," he explains simply, and you furrow your brows with a blink. The lady behind the counter darts her eyes between the two of you, hesitantly reaching for the money that is still extended toward her, unsure of what the consensus is.
"Sir, please," you chuckle awkwardly. "You're... too kind, but I can pay for myself."
"I insist."
"No, I insist. You don't even know me."
"I hardly think that matters."
"But-"
"Girl, just let the man pay! Damn."
Both of your heads swivel to the older woman behind you, her hand propped on her hip with a sour impatience scribbled onto her wrinkled face. Your brow twitches, and you turn to look up at the stranger beside you and catch the ghosting smile that graces his exhausted, pretty features.
You open your mouth to protest, but then consider the long line behind you, and deflate. "Okay fine." You nod toward the lady at the counter who finally takes the man's money.
She grins, counting the bills then putting them into the register. "We'll have your orders out shortly. Thank you! See you at the end of the week, Nanami!"
You step to the side as the man who paid for you nods into the woman's direction with appreciation and familiarity, before stepping to the side along with you.
The two of you stand next to each other awkwardly, your arms folded over your chest, and you clear your throat. "Thank you," you manage.
The man shakes his head. "Don't. Really. It was my pleasure."
"Still, you didn't have to do that. It's not like I forgot my money at home."
"I was happy to. Regardless." You slim your eyes with skepticism, unsure of his angle. He seems to catch your suspicion with a soft chuckle, as he proceeds to ask, "I take it you don't believe me."
Slightly taken by his forwardness, you stumble to explain. "It's not that I don't believe you, I just don't really get... why?" you shrug, smiling awkwardly with your teeth.
The handsome blonde ponders you thoughtfully. "Does there have to be a reason other than me wanting to?"
"No one ever wants to cover someone else," you wave him off.
"I just did."
Your mouth curves up. "Out of obligation."
"Because I wanted to," he corrects you for the third time.
You press your lips together tightly, and he chuckles something light and unexpected. "Are you laughing at me?" you quirk a brow.
"No."
Your eyes slim. "Liar."
The handsome man shakes his head, a smile line creasing over his warm skin. Tired eyes blink before landing back on you out of the corner of his eye. "Not at all," he says earnestly.
You look away. So does he.
You find yourself unsure of what more to say, so you let more awkward silence fill the small space between you as the cramped bakery grows busier. You tap your foot against the floor as you wait, and the man named Nanami checks his watch multiple times. You're keenly aware of his presence beside you. You try not to let it further bother you.
It shouldn't bother you, but the excited flutter of your heart proves otherwise, though you endeavor to ignore it and brush it off as nerves.
The call of your name soon comes, and your brows furrow as you and the blonde stranger move to grab your order at the same time. With hands outstretched, you find each other's gaze again, and you frown skeptically - Nanami seems to have reached your warmed croissant and hot drink before you.
"I was closer," he offers as he turns to you, tea in one hand and bag in the other. Your brow twitches as you hastily take your order from him. He lets you, his hands falling instinctively to his sides as though to surrender power back into your jurisdiction. "You would have had to push through-"
"I'm aware," you cut him off. "You don't have to go doing everything for me now."
"That wasn't my intention..." the brown eyed man trails off. Suddenly, his name is called behind him, and his head turns slightly at the sound but his eyes remain on you as he fumbles with his thoughts, bearing an indifferent expression. "I'm sorry. I've offended you."
You watch as he grabs his own order, nodding toward the worker with pressed lips of acknowledgement. You look down at your own order in your hands, and back up at him. "No... you haven't. Sorry. It's - just been a long day. Not used to random acts of kindness," you say as an excuse.
The man faces you again, a large loaf now tucked under his arm as his veiny hand clasps his coffee. "I understand."
A lull in the conversation strikes once more when the two of you realize that you have nothing more keeping you within the establishment. "Well, thank you. Again. Really, that was... unnecessarily nice of you."
"You don't need to keep thanking me. It really was nothing."
He walks a few paces behind you as you both go to leave the bustling bakery, and as he lunges from behind to stretch his free arm toward the door, pushing it open from the angle he discovered just above your head, your brows pinch again. And you thank him. Again.
You give him a tight smile before turning over your shoulder to walk to your car, when you hear his steady, polite, subtly hesitant voice.
"Pardon me, but you're very beautiful."
Your heels halt their clicking against the pavement. You freeze, whipping your head over your shoulder with tight muscles and wide eyes. The suited man stands there in the middle of the sidewalk, face blank and eyes honest. He does not try to perform. Does not try to add anything more to the compliment. He simply lets it linger in the air, making himself known to you for fear that he would never see you again.
Your lips part, your breath hitches. You're hardly new to such praises, but the gentleness of his tone when he spoke, the humility in his words, the lack of expectation in his eyes is what frightens you.
You see his lips tighten under your gaze, and he shifts the bread under his arm. "That's all."
"Is that why you paid for my order?" you ask suddenly, cheeks warm and brain stirring with confusion. “Because I’m beautiful.”
Something in him dissipates, as though the tension in his body has eased slightly at your voice. "Partially. I saw you walk in before me. You looked stressed so, I thought I'd try to make you feel better."
"And how would you know if I was stressed or not?"
"Because I'm stressed all the time. I can sense it from a mile away."
There is, once more, no performance behind his words. Just truth in exasperation, in the lidded state of his warm eyes and the lines creasing beneath them. You inhale to speak, but the words get caught in your chest again. You have nothing to bite back with, nothing to scoff at, no excuse to chastise, and you're unsure of how to go forward accordingly.
You swallow hard. "Well, I hope you don't think that buying me something when I don’t even know you is gonna give you some kind of advantage."
"I don't think that," he shakes his head simply. "Like I said before, it was my pleasure. I don't expect anything from you in return."
You raise your brow, unconvinced. "Really?"
"Truly."
Your brows come down and your teeth sink into the inside of your lip. A light smile returns to the stranger's lips, something soft and observant. "Then," you start, drawing your tea close to your chest. "I'll be taking my leave now."
You wait for an outburst, an explosion, for him to go on a tangent about how you haven't even given him the decency of providing a number, or at least for his expression to shift with irritation. But none of which comes. Instead, he just nods simply and goes to walk off as well. "As will I. Have a wonderful day, miss."
Your jaw drops when he walks away, slow, easy, tired strides, and you stand frozen in place, watching the back of his head as he moves away.
You clamp your lips shut and swallow hard, moving to turn around as well, but something in you fights back. You clench your jaw hard and close your eyes before- "Excuse me!" you call out. Now a few yards away, he stops and turns over his shoulder with surprise and curiosity. Your lips crinkle, your skin flushing as passerbyers glance at you, and the blonde's attention is once again yours.
You can't believe you're doing this.
"W-What was your name again?"
He blinks, genuinely surprised that you stopped him to ask. "Kento Nanami."
You nod. “Okay. Good. Goodbye.”
You swiftly turn over your shoulder and leave, and the blonde watches you, shocked, before smiling.
You see Kento a handful of times before you finally give in and give him your number and your full name. You realize that, due to his frequent appearances in your recent life, that he must live within the same vicinity as you. A few hopeful conversations and approaches initiated by the blonde, cautious yet earnest, and a text from your friend is what pushes you to finally give him access to you outside of short interactions in the middle of the cereal aisle.
You're guarded from the beginning, terrified by his generosity, his respectful good morning texts, the way he checks in on how you're doing when he has free time in the day - unprovoked, unpressured, seeking no ulterior motive.
You would stare at the lit phone screen with your chin propped angrily in your palm, fingers thumping against your lips as your glare sharpens on his perfect grammar. You're waiting for the gentleman routine to die away, to fade out, but it remains steady over a week of phone conversation. Still, a week is just a week. Hardly enough time to know someone's true motivations, and you've been with men who have kept up the act for months before finally revealing his hidden, careless identity.
But then, Kento asks you out.
You read the text over and over after having initially dropped your phone and jumped away upon receiving the message.
Kento | I would love to take you to dinner, if you would be willing to let me.
It's a trap, you immediately think. You can't remember the last time you've been on a date, the last time a man actually asked you properly, the last time a man planned something for you without expecting you to jump through hoops to see him. You're prepared to tell him no, or that at the very least you'd think about it, but after leaving him on read for nearly six hours, and another call with your best friend, you accept, as she claims that you would be crazy not to go out with him.
But she can not account for the discomfort that seizes your body when he meets you outside of the nice restaurant he picked, after you insisted on driving separate cars; when he opens the car door for you and stretches his hand inside the vehicle to gingerly take yours in his; when his eyes capture your face and not your body as he tells you that you look absolutely stunning; when he pulls out your chair for you to sit down, having guided you by your hand throughout the twists and turns of the dimly lit space, an air of natural dominance crowding him when he interacts so calmly with the staff.
He does not suffocate conversation with arrogance, but asks you questions about your life, holding your gaze as you speak to show that he is truly listening. When you notice him staring, he apologizes, ducking his head with the intrusion of stifled shyness as he continues to compliment you, your mind, your beauty.
You're out of your depth. Your heart flutters the whole night as your (e/c) hues hold his warm ones, and your skin crawls with something you can't quite name. You don't remember the last time you felt so seen, so prioritized, so catered to. And more than Kento's swiftness to pay without blinking an eye or letting you even see a peep of the bill, and more than his haste to make sure you aren't too hot or cold, that your food is just the way you wanted it, is the manner with which he treats you. As though wining and dining you at some fancy place you always wanted to try is nothing near a chore, but something he feels that you are entitled to, that he is expected to do as a man in pursuit of your heart.
And at the end of the night, after he has offered to walk you back to your car, instead of expecting once more, he asks if he can take you out again.
You look at him with a dumbfounded gaze for a long moment, as you likely have for the majority of the night, and you mindlessly nod, your skepticism warping into fear.
Fear over the fact that this is the first man you've felt a genuine connection with after years of shielding your heart from any possible vulnerability.
You wreck your brain, wondering what this man could possibly want from you. Sex? A mistress? Someone to manipulate?
The speculations die one by one with each date you have with him, with every fact you learn about his personality and his daily life, about his morals and values, his drive, his grit, his responsibility. Three dates fly by, and he has yet to ask you to join him at his place or to accompany you at yours. He keeps a respectful distance whilst continuing to pursue you, to treat you, to court you as a man should.
You feel yourself actually beginning to like Kento, and that prospect alone is enough for you to disappear for a couple of days after your discovery. You tell him that you've been busy, that you don't have the time you once had to talk on the phone every night or plan your next outing.
Ordinarily, you get away with your habitual isolation, but one rather serious text is enough to tell you that you won't be able to get away with such things with Nanami, especially since he has made his intentions with you very clear - that he plans to be yours.
Kento | Hello, beautiful. I understand you need your space. Please correct me if I'm wrong, but from your tone and distance, I've sensed that you are upset about something. I recall you mentioning that you tend to take steps away when you aren't feeling like yourself. I won't further intrude in honor of your space, but whenever you feel ready, I am here to talk or listen. I sent you something to help take your mind off of whatever is bothering you. I hope you like it.
You open your door to find a bouquet of flowers lying at your doorstep, and a note attached with Kento's name and I'm here written in cursive. Your nose flares and your eyes glaze over as you look down at the thoughtful gift. No one's ever sent you flowers before. Not like this.
And no one's ever noted your habits, ever paid enough attention to you to tell when you're overstimulated or overthinking. You'd mentioned that about yourself one time, and Nanami remembered. And he didn't just remember, but he acknowledged it. He didn't antagonize you for it. He made himself known, and reminded you that you aren't alone. That you don't have to be anymore. That he sees you and wants to continue seeing you in every sense of the word.
Your heart pangs. You like him and you're terrified.
You don't reach out to him until the next morning. You've placed your flowers on the counter for display and lean against the kitchen sink with your phone in hand. Your leg bounces restlessly against the cabinets as you harshly tap on his contact to call. It's the weekend, so he answers rather swiftly.
"Hello?"
"You scare the shit out of me," you bluntly confess into the speaker, voice tight.
The other line is silent for a moment before Nanami's voice, low and thoughtful, comes back in. "I'm sorry. I don't mean to," he apologizes. You click your teeth with a huff of a laugh. "Could you tell me what I've done to make you feel that way?"
You suck in a sharp breath, for there truly is no way to get this man to show any bad side. Your gut trusts him, but your mind screams at you to run, while your heart yearns to feel his arms encase you as he tells you that everything will be alright. You're at odds with yourself.
But you want him so badly.
"You're too nice," you exhale through an anxious laugh, looking longingly over at your flowers.
"...Too nice?"
"Yes. I-It's confusing. You don't need to check in all the time or - or send me flowers-"
"You don't like them?"
"No," you quickly say. You sigh. "I mean... no - yes, I do like them. They're very sweet. T-Thank you. But that's not what I mean. I just mean... like... you're so..."
You stumble over your words, struggling to find the right way to express yourself whilst evading judgment. Your mind frantically searches for the right path and you fumble.
"(Y/n)," Kento calls gently.
"What?" you heave.
"Take your time," he guides. "Just tell me how you feel. It's alright."
You freeze. "...Wha...What?"
"I'm listening, sweetheart. Just take your time to sort it all out," he assures.
Your lips press together in a pout as you stare ahead, wide-eyed, your heart pattering in your chest. Your eyes sting with humiliation, and that hardness around your heart softens as you feel that you will finally be heard, that someone is happy to hear you.
You take in a shaky breath. "Why are you so nice to me?" you whisper.
"I'm happy that you think I’m kind, but I’m not trying to be nice, (Y/n). I've only aimed to be honest. I like you, and I want to be with you someday if you would like that too. I want to treat you the way you deserve to be treated. In all honesty, I haven't done anything very remarkable."
"You haven't-" you stop yourself with another laugh, sniffling slightly. "Kento, what do you mean you haven't done anything remarkable? You - you're so sweet to me all the time. You go out of your way to do things that you don't have to do."
"Like what?"
"Like... planning our dates all the time, or picking me up, or sending me things, or-or listening to what I say-"
"(Y/n), those aren't remarkable things. That's the least I can do for the woman I care about."
"You say that, but you don't get it."
"Perhaps I don't," he agrees. "But I'd love for you to help me understand what you're feeling more."
You trace your finger over the countertop sheepishly, blinking back the tears in your eyes. "Can you come over?"
"Absolutely."
And he does. And the two of you talk for hours, or rather, he listens to you spill your vulnerabilities, your feelings, vent your concerns and frustrations with a trust that you did not realize you had formulated with him. And unlike every guy who brushed you off or told you that you were too demanding or too emotional, Nanami holds your hand, looks you in the eye, tells you he hears you, and means it.
Your bottom lip trembles as the past month or so spent with him flickers through your mind. You can feel the race of your pulse against the blonde's skin, and you frown at yourself. At how giddy he makes you feel. "I know how I get," you say. "When I have feelings for someone, they're not something I take lightly. I'm not casual. I can't pretend not to care, and I don't want to feel like I'm grasping for attention when you finally get me. I don't want to delude myself into thinking that just because you're nice, you can't do what other people have done."
Nanami watches you with a fondness you can't name, silent and steadfast, warm and enticing. His thumb traces over the back of your hand as he sits close to you on the couch, unhurried, patient, present, and grateful to be.
"I can't pretend to know what other men have put you through, or how deeply it continues to impact you. I know you're scared. You have every reason to protect yourself the way you do," he begins. "But I'm not that kind of man. When I say something, I mean it. When I promise something, I have every intention of fulfilling that promise. When I treat you one way, it's not for show. It is how I intend to treat you for as long as you will allow me. I know trust is not something that can be built overnight, but I'm willing to do the work. I want you to feel safe with me. I want to make you happy. I won't try to rush that happiness or that trust. You're entitled to your space when you need it. You owe me nothing. But when you're ready, I'll be here. I'm not going anywhere unless you tell me to."
You sink into his words, your walls cracking, your heart surging. Glassy, red eyes search his face for some trick, and you once more come up empty handed. He presses his lips together in that tired, half smile, reminding you that it's okay.
Moved, you lean forward and press your lips to his impulsively, parting shortly after with a soft smack and sad eyes. You go to start apologizing when his palms raise to hold your face and your lips are slowly brought back into his.
Nanami kisses you for the first time like he is holding something precious. He does not attack you, but he savors you, slow and kind like his voice and the way he interacts with the surrounding world. You feel your chest tighten and warm, your skin tingle all over, and your flesh run hot as he holds you to him carefully, politely, gliding warm lips over your own with an appreciation so firm, he can't bear the thought of breaking away.
You part for a moment with heavy eyes, his thumb tracing over the skin of your cheek. Your hands press to his shoulders as you release a hot breath. "Please don't hurt me," you plead against his mouth, surrendering yourself from this point forward.
Nanami cradles you close. "I'll do everything in my power not to."
And even then, his words ring genuine, for Kento is aware that he can not promise such things, that people hurt their loved ones without attempting to all the time. But more importantly, he will work to honor your desires, to remember your triggers and fears, to know you well enough for that not to happen as long as he can control it.
And that, to you, means more than he could even begin to understand.
The two of you take it slow. You don't have sex until after he has asked to be your partner, and when you do, Kento asks for your permission before making any move to touch you further. He sees, feels the anxiety in your eyes and your body language, the fear that sexual intimacy will draw him further away from you, but he stays.
He stays with you while making love to you, holding your gaze, interlacing your fingers, pressing his body flush to yours, eliminating any exposure to the cold, keeping himself present.
He stays with you after, holding your shivering body against his, murmuring soft praises into your ear and pressing warm kisses to your skin.
And rather than creating a distance, sex brings you inexplicably closer. The passion is thick in Nanami's enamoured eyes every time he sees you, every time he utters your name. After months of chipping away, you mirror his smitten nature, opening yourself up to the affections he always, always provides.
That's what Kento is, a provider, financially, physically, and emotionally. You feel light with him by your side, like the burdens of the world have lifted from your shoulders just long enough for you to breathe and simultaneously enjoy the good that it has to offer.
You never find yourself overexplaining your frustrations, because Kento has already noticed them and taken action to help you through them.
You never feel as though you are carrying anything alone, because Kento is always there to share the load or take it on himself.
And you never experience a moment in which you feel unloved, because Kento ensures that he spends every second of every day reminding you what you mean to him, showering you with unforced, unconditional ardor.
When you look back on your past, at the lengths you went to avoid further damage to your heart, you wonder what force in the universe brought Kento to you when you thought that you were never meant to experience the happiness you do now.
Rocky and Adrian sleeping dynamics before and during the astrophage mission
Sometimes being soulmates just means ugly crying because you miss your beloved very much. Despite the relativity Rocky and Adrian somehow built their models at the exact same time
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