Riah

In my 20s 👩🏾✨ I like reading webtoons,novels,manga etc. Fav genre: comedy,romance, etc. I also like anime ( who doesn’t )

[imyourightnow]

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[madamechrissy]

White Christmas

You're in between degrees (you just can't decide!) and working at a coffee shop, living with your boyfriend when just a week before Christmas he leaves you and kicks you out! Stuck staying at the coffee shop, rich Satoru Gojo - a regular - just so happens to have his poolhouse for rent, and offers to help you out. He couldn't be the reason you're kicked out and need him, right? Your car didn't go out because of him, and your shitty boyfriend didn't leave you because of his threats - no, it's just a hallmark Christmas miracle!

pairings - yandere! Gojo x barista! reader

warnings - stalking, manipulation, soft yandere (he wants what is best for you!) videoing without consent, masturbation, oral sex, tons of sexual tension, p in v sex, tying you up w/Christmas lights, creampie, size kink like a mf, Toru has a hell of a breed kink hehe, lil cute oblivious reader, honestly this fic is oddly cozy for a smut fic. 8.2k WC

A/N - Merry Christmas angels, have a smutty gift from me hehe <3

art is by @hunnismokah!

Your luck for Christmas is terrible.

Imagine, a few days before your boyfriend just breaks up with you, and worse than that, you live with him. Out of nowhere, you go from cuddling in his bed, to him telling you he just doesn’t feel anything anymore. Staying at your boss’s coffee shop for a couple nights was just humiliating, but she was nice enough to give you an advance to help you find somewhere.

Yet this was so not what you were thinking this holiday would be like – having no family really you clung to your boyfriend a lot. You thought maybe you’d even get engaged this year, you spent all your extra money on nonrefundable tickets for him too, so it left you completely screwed.

The snow is beautiful and all, but you’re not feeling very ‘merry’ not even with Mariah Carey blaring in your ear in the soft atmosphere of the coffee shop, yawning with the shitty sleep you got last night on the office couch. Your boss hasn’t kicked you out but you of course want to get out of her hair, she’s kind enough to you to help you out as much as she has.

The bell jingles as one of your regulars walks in – every morning like clockwork he’s here to order the sweetest, most sugary thing on the menu. He’s devastatingly handsome, something you’ve been avoiding admitting to yourself while with your man, but now? You can’t help but feel your heart race when his pretty blue eyes lock on yours, and he shakes off droplets of melting snow from silvery locks.

His smile is easy and bright, he’s all wrapped up in an expensive black overcoat today, boots swiped on the rug so as not to make a mess of the hardwood floors. Almost no one comes in quite this early, so it’s just him and a couple people who are in line in front of him.

Gojo is his name.

Always sweet, always tips too much, always ready for that caramel frappe with far too many pumps of vanilla. You already are getting it going when he gets up there, hands in his pockets. Fuck he’s so tall he towers over everyone in the damn coffee shop, you’re not sure he’d even have fit in your little apartment ceilings without dipping his head.

You nervously look down when you feel his baby blues on you – you haven’t even showered in a couple days, you bet you look terrible. You hope he doesn’t notice the eye bags, either, or the dark circles, but he’s already carefully assessing your face, frowning just a bit.

“Everything okay?” He asks softly, you sigh a bit now, almost breaking down from the question.

“Um… shit, I’m sorry,” you swipe at your eyes now, snow is falling all around the coffee shop from the outside in a gusty wind, already several inches piled up, plattering on the glass like you’re in a little snow globe. “I shouldn’t get like this.”

“What’s wrong, sweetheart? No smile like usual…” He murmurs, as if he doesn’t know.

As if he hasn’t had his eye on you for weeks since he first walked in and saw you clinging to that shitty little boyfriend you had. He knew at that moment – you had to be his, but even so he tried to maintain a bit of distance, to learn more about you, study everything there was to know. He was patient, he could wait for you.

Until he saw him with some other girl – well that sure the fuck wouldn’t do. Who would cheat on you when they had you?

Satoru had paid him a ‘nice’ little trip after that, and threatened him so much he’d pissed his pants. Satoru had chuckled at just how pathetic that boy was, but really you were much better off without a cheating asshole. Even though he knew you were currently staying at this coffee shop – your car hasn’t left it – he did all this for your own good, really.

It was way past time for him to have you for Christmas, filled with his pretty white cum, he’d give you so much of it too, in all your holes. He’d decorate you in Christmas lights and tie you up, make sure you never left – why would you though, when you finally were his? You’d never have to work this shitty job again, he would keep you so full of cum you’d have trouble walking anyway.

The thoughts alone make his cock twitch underneath his slacks – he really should feel just a bit sick and depraved for his thoughts, but weren’t they sort of pure? Didn’t he just want to give you a perfect white Christmas?

“What’s wrong?” He asks, feigning confusion but not concern.

Of course he was upset you were hurting, even though you’ll be so much better off soon. God don’t you deserve it?

“Bad breakup ugh, I think I’m not getting enough sleep,” you mumble, handing him his warm coffee cup then, steam rising in a puffy little cloud. “Please take this free, for me just sobbing like this.”

“No way,” his fingers brush yours now, you gasp just a bit at the connection, before blushing right under his gaze.

Fuck you’re pretty.

“Are you okay honey?” Your boss comes to you, a hand on your back, you nod quickly, swiping tears. “She’s just having a rough Christmas.”

“How so?” Satoru asks, leaning on the counter, elbows propped up on the glass, setting his cup down.

“Please you don’t have to listen to my fucked ass life lately, I’m sure you have work to get to.”

“I run my own company, sweetheart,” you and your boss swoon at his little smile. “So I have time.”

“Why don’t you get a coffee with him?” Your boss nudges you just a bit, you frown at her.

“Are you sure?”

“Go ahead, sit for a bit,” she makes you a cup. “I’ll take over.”

“You’re too good to me,” you murmur, she just pats your back, and you nervously look at Satoru, clearing your throat now. “Do you wanna sit for a few?”

“Of course, I have time, Christmas is dead at the corp.”

“You do marketing, right?”

“Mhm, thrilling shit,” you giggle a bit, melting him like the snow that’s left little wet drops on his coat. Your cute, puffy eyes and nose just a little rubbed raw clearly, he can tell you’ve been crying over that trash.

He can’t wait to make you feel so good.

“No one wants to buy anything so things are slow, it’s kind of just hanging out at the office right now,” he leans back, sipping the drink, letting the sweetness hit his tongue and moaning. “You make the best coffee.”

“No way!”

“Mhm, it’s why I come, also…” he trails off with a little smile.

“Also what?”

“Pretty baristas make my morning better.”

“Oh, not me right now,” you’re a flustered mess, brushing back your hair now, sighing. “You’re sweet though.”

“Am I?” He certainly isn’t thinking anything sweet, no he’s imagining if your cum tastes as good as this cream in his coffee.

“Very, ah where do I begin?”

“I guess why you’re crying, I’m a good listener,” his knees brush against yours under the little table, you look out at the snow for a moment, sighing.

“I may have gotten kicked out and broken up with.”

“Ouch, on Christmas?”

“Yeah,” you grimace, sipping your coffee, feeling the bitter beans coat your mouth in warmth, looking back at Satoru’s handsome face. “It’s like some shitty hallmark movie, I’m staying here till I get a new place.”

“At the coffee shop?” He blinks just a bit, you frown, nodding. “Well, then I have a Christmas gift.”

“What’s that?” you set the cup down, he pulls out his phone now, showing you a picture with a little smile. “Is this…”

“My pool house, I was just putting it up for rent. My friend lived there for a bit and moved out, so I was gonna see if anyone wanted to rent it out, it’s three bedrooms and fully furnished.”

So his poolhouse was bigger than your apartment – three times as big as you flipped through the photos.

“This is just your poolhouse?”

“Yeah, this is my house,” he swipes right to a literal fucking manor. “Pretentious, I know, the family home blah blah.”

“No it’s beautiful,” you hand him back the phone, frowning a bit then. “The thing is, I spent all my damn money on this guy, I do have an advance, but no way I could afford that.”

You were getting a whole different degree after over five years of college, and you’re another two years in. You feel you’re the only twenty five year old starting all over, but you just hated what you majored in – thus the barista job. You’re literally a walking cliche, and here is this rich CEO being way too sweet.

“Maybe like when I graduate I could afford-”

“I’ll give you crazy cheap rent,” he wouldn’t charge you a fucking dollar. “Like just whatever you can pay comfortably.”

“What?” You blink now, gasping. “Why?”

“Why not help out? I wanna be on the nice list and all,” he smirks just a bit, far too charming, fucking you up with that look. “It’s Christmas, you shouldn’t be staying in a coffee shop.”

“I don’t know how I’ll repay you, though.” You blink back tears now, Satoru’s hand brushes one aside gently, a cool touch on a heated cheek.

God he could think of many ways, you on your knees for him, the weight of his cock on your tongue, sliding in and out of that pretty, perfect mouth. You bent over his desk, letting him pump his loads into you, before he fingers them right back in your cunt, making sure to keep it in, breeding your perfect pussy.

“You can make me coffee at my place every morning,” he says softly, snowy lashes flickering just a bit across your face. “Maybe cook me a real Christmas Dinner, I haven’t had one in a long time.”

“I can absolutely do that!” You smile all big and pretty – Satoru will send the cooks away for a bit, just to see your cute little ass in the kitchen.

God, imagine when you’re round with his babies, you’ll be so perfect.

“Then it’s set, I’ll help you move your things tonight.”

“It’s not much,” you admit, frowning now. “Like clothes, laptop, a couple things… I can just um… bring em in my car.”

“Whatever’s easier, I’ll meet you there at five, here’s the address,” he jots it down on one of the napkins, handing it to you with his number on it.

“I don’t know how to thank you enough.”

“Just consider it a Christmas gift, mmkay?” He stands now, and you eagerly get up, hugging him before you can stop yourself, feeling his hard body against yours, his heart racing in his chest underneath your cheek. His hand comes to your back.

He smirks.

Things are working perfectly.

*****

“You don’t have to do all this,” you get emotional that night, when Satoru shows up with the cutest Christmas decorations.

The first night there was him showing you around, he was so sweet when he came to you with a huge tote, covered in lights and little ornaments and even a little mini tree. He’s got this cute little santa hat perched on one side of his head, he’s changed into this soft sweater and dark jeans after work instead of the suit you usually see him in.

You’d never guess that he was bringing you little things to spy on you.

“Nonsense,” he says, setting up the little tree and giving you a devastatingly attractive smile. “A place needs a little Christmas spirit, also I have so much just sitting, really.”

You help Satoru meticulously place each ornament, shoulders brushing each other, making you heat up a bit from the nerves. The pool house is warm, there are soft cinnamon candles he had the maids bring over and light when they cleaned the place just for you today.

This shit can’t be real – maybe you’ve hit your head watching a dumb Christmas Rom Com and so happened to dream him up. He smiles over at you, his eyes a myriad of blues, flickering candles reflecting in his pupils, lighting them up and making it so intense you can hardly breathe. Both of your hands reach for the same decoration, making you pause and pull back.

He picks up a delicate, hand painted crystal decoration, holding it up just a little bit. “That’s like a Tiffany!”

“Mmm, I guess,” he shrugs, not realizing all these damn ornaments are just insanely expensive. “This one can go right here. I have a few others too. Look, this is Frosty.”

Your eyes light up so pretty when he shows you the cute plush little snowman, you take it and smile, brushing your fingers across the soft white fur. “He’s so adorable, oh my god.”

“You can put him in your room if you want,” he mentions casually. “Or we can put him on one of the shelves.”

“No way, he’s too cuddly,” you hug him tightly, smiling at Satoru then. “Ah, thank you so much!”

“You can keep him too,” you’re looking right at that little camera in the snowman’s black eyes, oblivious, working perfectly to his plan.

Imagine getting to watch you touch yourself.

He’s got another little Santa, another camera, it’s like everything lined up so perfectly – you and him.

 He walked over to a small shelf on the wall, putting that Santa right there, smiling and feeling your gaze penetrate his back. You’re sitting on the arm of the couch when he turns back around, legs crossed at the ankles, hugging on to the little snowman closely.

You’re so perfect like that.

It takes a lot to play a slow game, to make you need him, to make sure he takes his time even with you here. But not sinking to his knees and worshipping you seems almost a cruel joke – isn’t it what you deserve? Instead he walks over to you, tilting your chin up just a bit.

“How are you doing?” He asks softly.

“This morning I was crying my eyes out, sleeping on a couch, now I’m here. It feels like a dream.”

“Good dream?” You smile at that, his fingers feel too good on your skin, you almost hate it when they drop.

“Very, but I guess I am really nervous. How to pay-”

“Don’t say pay me back, please,” you bite down on your lower lip, as he tucks a strand of hair behind your ear, goosebumps rise from just that, your body reacting to his little ghosts of touches.

“You should get some rest, you went through a lot today.”

“Yeah, that bed looks so comfy oh my god,” he chuckles just a bit.

“You’re so cute.”

“Nah. Maybe after a good night’s rest and a good bath.”

“Well feel free to anything, I’m right over there if you need me, yeah?” You nod, he leans down and for some insane moment you wonder if he’ll kiss you, but instead he just stands and smiles. “Good night Sweetheart.”

“Night, Gojo.

He leaves quietly without another word, the front door clicking shut, you hug that little snowman tightly to you. Even after you bathe and dry your hair, you can’t help but hold on to him, peering at the phone now, you look up your ex’s socials out of a morbid curiosity – just to find him taking Christmas pictures with another girl.

You glare at that screen.

He just broke up with you, how is he in matching pajamas? Unless… unless he had her the whole time.

“Shit.” You turn off your phone, you’ve cried so much there aren’t any more tears now, just burying your face against this cute snowman Gojo gave you.

Satoru Gojo, the man who’s literally like some Christmas Miracle, just who was he, and why was he so kind?

*****

The next morning, you remember Satoru bringing up making his favorite drinks and meals, so you cross the snow-dusted lawn to the main house. It was even more beautiful in the daylight, bright and modern, so big it’s insane to think he’s all alone in there, but you suppose that’s just what he’s used to. You find the key under the mat where he’d said it would be, nervously letting yourself in.

You feel a bit like some intruder, but you’d love to surprise him as a thank you, tomorrow was Christmas Eve and you didn’t exactly have anything to give your new… landlord? Is that what he was?

What was Satoru really?

You take in the bright, ridiculously clean home and shut the door behind you, leaving the chill outside, walking towards the kitchen. That alone was a chef’s dream, all marble counters and stainless steel, he has three fucking ovens – what do you even do with three ovens.

“Holy…” You trail off a bit, taking in your surroundings, peeking around each pretty white cabinet to find coffee. You feel even more like a damn intruder, ransacking his things, but he had said ‘make yourself at home’. Oh, he said sweetheart too, as if to wreck your ovaries.

You think Satoru threw you from depression into ovulation with that little tilt of your chin last night.

You grind up expensive coffee beans you find in the pantry, the scent making you feel like you’re right back at work. Sighing at how good it smells, you get to work making him the perfect cup. Then you get hungry, and find an almost empty fridge – he has a full deep freezer of various ice cream cones and flavors but hardly any real food.

How does he keep a body like this when all you proceed to find is candy and junk food all over?

It’s almost endearing, as put together as he seems, it’s a little hint of a bachelor pad, but you do find eggs and pancake mix.

“That’ll work…” You start whipping up fluffy pancakes when he comes out, leaning against the doorframe of the kitchen, staring right at your pretty little ass in those leggings.

You, in his kitchen.

Making him breakfast?

He bets that loser never appreciated something this sweet, but he sure the fuck did, watching in awe almost as you whip your little arm around, the pan already sizzling with oil. 

“Well, well,” you turn and then gasp, he smiles over at you, shirtless with just soft sweats on, your eyes drift down before you stop yourself. “What do we have here, are you makin’ pancakes?”

You felt a blush heating up your cheeks – god his body was perfect, hair a little messy from his sleep, his eyes lidded with a lazy smile. “I hope you don’t mind me like… breaking in? I wanted to thank you for everything, so I thought I’d at least make you breakfast.”

He walks over to you, saunters is the word, those v cuts on his hips and that silvery happy trail fucking you up, you swallow nervously as he comes to stand right in front of you.

“Do you like pancakes?” You manage to ask, he smiles, leaning down a bit.

“I do,” he reaches down, his thumb brushing a smudge of batter from the corner of your lip, making you gasp. He brings his thumb to his own mouth, his eyes locked on yours as he slowly licks it clean, smirking at you. “Delicious.”

Fuck.

Fuck was that!?

Your breath catches in your throat, you swipe a now clean corner of your mouth where you’d tasted the chocolate chip batter, feeling that gaze ruining you. He’s so close you feel the warmth of his body, your heart hammering in your chest so violently it feels like it’ll burst out. His hand falls now, seeing the pancake turning golden in the cast iron pan.

“Oh!” You quickly flip it, exhaling in relief that it’s not burnt. “I made that coffee too for you!”

“Looks perfect,” he smiles and takes the cup, blowing on it for a moment all casual, as if that moment was something normal.

Licking his thumb making you think of the most obscene, lewd things.

“Thank you sweetheart, I could get used to this treatment,” you smile back at him, trying to act normal.

“Well I’ll gladly do it every morning, not like I wasn’t for… much less deserving people,” you grumble now, he frowns at that. “You don’t need to hear my bullshit.”

“I have a few before work,” he sips his drink and sits as you put a pancake and a bunch of syrup all over it. “God, they’re so good.”

“Oh thank you!” You sit next to him now, settling in the chair and sipping your own drink.

“No thank you,” he laps at his lower lip with a long pink tongue you just shouldn’t fucking look at really, clearing your throat with a little smile. “Did he contact you?”

He better fucking not have.

Satoru paid him off well enough.

“No, no, he’s got these fucking matching pj pics on IG, the little shit,” Satoru grimaces.

“Well that’s just shitty, I’m sorry…”

“I’m just glad I did end up leaving,” you swipe a little syrup dripping on his chin now, licking it, watching his eyes dilate. “Mmm, yum.”

Fuck. Are you trying to ruin him?

“Tomorrow I have friends coming over for Christmas Eve,” he says then, gripping your wrist now, thumb trailing the underside of it. “I’d love you to come over too.”

“Oh but won’t it be so weird?”

“Not at all, they’re kind of my family.” You blush once more, looking down. “I’m guessing yours is distant?”

“Yeah, they are…” Satoru already knows. No dad, your mom seems to have nothing to do with you, and no siblings he could find anything on.

Satoru will give you a family though, he thinks it as his gaze drifts to your stomach, smiling just a bit imagining how pretty it will be round.

“I’d love to come over.”

“Perfect.”

That night after work back in the pool house – you couldn’t sleep. The memory of his touch, of the look in his pretty blue eyes, that damn tongue licking his thumb that way? It was fucking you up in all sorts of ways, every casual touch or close proximity to Satoru was sucking your breath away, until you couldn’t even remember how you got here.

Your ex wasn’t even in your mind whatsoever, not right now, no it was just Satoru flitting through your head, images of him, feelings and touches. Tonight he made sure you ate dinner with him, in his immaculate house that just smells like him, hints of that expensive cologne, something soft and sandalwood that you can’t quite place.

That cologne is in your senses too, you can practically smell Satoru on everything somehow, even this soft weighted blanket he’s got you, the image of his shirtless frame was burned into your mind. Your cunt is wet when you think about it too long, it’s been a while since you had cum.

But here, thinking of him?

You feel so wrong doing it, but you’re already aching and needy, imagining more – his fingers inside of you, fuck they’re long. His lips… just all over your skin. That tongue…

You slip your hand beneath the waistband of your pajama bottoms, your fingers finding the slick heat of your own cunt, touching a clit already pulsing and gasping out at it. You close your eyes, imagining it was his hand, his long, thick fingers brushing your clit right now, making you jolt, the blankets slipping off of you, as you’re overheated.

You feel it, warmth spreading all over, running circles on your swollen clit and whining out, it’s not enough, eyes fluttering shut now, picturing his face hovering right over you. Hadn’t you always found Satoru devastatingly attractive? So much so you avoided looking too long at those piercing blue eyes before, always looking down quickly.

The way he looked at you.

Was it all in your imagination, was it just him and no interest in you? He probably just wanted to help, to be a kind person, give back or some shit – and you’re shoving two fingers in your own gummy walls, contracting and squishing so tight.

“Ah!” You want longer ones, that hit your spot you’re trying so hard to, palm grinding on your clit, remembering the way his tongue had swept across his thumb. “Mnh!”

You’re pumping faster now, arching your hips, your other hand gripping those sheets beneath you, soft gasp escaping your lips as you press up on that little spot in your hole, the pressure building in your tummy. You shouldn’t be thinking of his cock and how big it must be, shouldn’t be cumming to him in his own poolhouse, but you can’t stop yourself.

Satoru smirks.

You’ve been such a good girl for him, your snowman right on the dresser facing you so perfectly, as he watches you in the darkness of his home office, sitting back in his leather chair, watching the scene unfold. On one of his three monitors, you were displayed in high definition, lying on the bed with your legs spread wide, so he had a perfect view.

“That’s it,” he coaches you quietly, undoing his sweats with a tug at the draw string, revealing his leaky cock that slaps his soft black shirt. “Got me leakin’ already, baby, fuck.”

He tugs up that shirt, letting his cock instead rest on his abdomen, moaning softly as his huge hand encircles his cock, stroking up and down carefully, his head falling back for a moment. God, imagine your little hand trying to cover him? Your mouth, the one crying out so wanton and lewd, full of him?

He’d fuck your throat so good your voice wouldn’t work.

He leans back forward, blinking you into view, watching as your back arches, your pathetic little fingers working between your legs. He knows you need him, it’s so hard not to give you it yet, listening to your whimpers, your little soft, desperate pants, clearly having a hard time making yourself cum.

“I’ll help you soon, pretty,” he whispers, his own hand stroking himself in time with the rhythm of your hand, matching it and exhaling, spitting right on his reddened tip. “What you do to me.”

Should he feel bad, watching you? No, you’re his after all, and he wants to know what you like when he does touch you, pay attention to your clearly needy little clit, how your thighs clamp down. He’ll make sure to keep them spread, keep you folded in half, it’s all he can think as he bucks up into his hand, smeared with spit and precum, the snow falling against the office window in the dark.

His pretty, perfect Christmas gift, just waiting to be unwrapped all for him. “Good girl,” he murmurs to the screen softly, voice breaking in the middle, veins just pulsing as he pumps more precum. “Prepping my gift f’me.”

Satoru hungrily watches you hit your peak, hips bucking up into your little hand, head sinking into the pillows as you moan.

His name.

Fuck you’re moaning his name.

He strokes himself faster, whispering yours as he cums ropes down his hand, messy streaks that run warm, picturing pumping it all inside of that hole you’re slipping your fingers out of. You’re softly moaning, shaking just a bit, your clean hand brushing your own hair back, covering your cute little face.

He bets it’s warm to the touch, in the prettiest blush.

Satoru exhales and cleans up, his eyes never leaving the screen, especially when you stand up and lean to look at yourself in the mirror, he’s already sensitive from cumming, but he’s pulsing and throbbing watching you. Leaned over and fixing now messy hair, looking all flushed and embarrassed.

“Don’t be,” he chuckles and touches the cool screen, right where your face is, as you pick up the snowman and his show is over. He keeps you on though, since he can hear your gentle breathing as you sleep. “Soon, sweetheart.”

*****

Satoru’s friends are amazing, but you can’t stop the awkwardness, the feeling of knowing you came screaming his name was overwhelming. You don’t even know how to fucking face him in the morning, when your dumb ass car won’t start.

“I swear it was fine…”

“I got you on a ride, don’t worry,” you’d ended up next to him in that sleek sports car, horribly embarrassed.

“I don’t wanna depend so much on you, already you’re doing too much,” his hand had come to your thigh as you both sat in front of that coffee shop, leaning low and looking at you behind his dark circle shades.

Too close, he’s too close.

His fingers are near your slick warmth, trickling down your inner thigh from how close he is, how his fingers press higher, squeezing your thigh so tightly it squishes in his grip. You’re trembling, so nervous then, wondering if you’re brave enough to lean forward, to kiss him.

But he’s gone as soon as he’s there, leaned back now, smiling. “Don’t worry your pretty head about that, we’ll fix that car soon. Probably after Christmas though.”

“I feel I’m putting you out.”

“Not at all,” you had sighed then.

“You’re too sweet to me, you really are.” He had just smirked at you, this look that sent an ache through you, as close as he is you can almost taste the sweetness on his breath, as it ghosts on your lips.

You can hardly breathe in that car, the heat blaring, Gojo so close.

“Sweet, hmm? Maybe I’m not as sweet as you think,” you’d just giggled at that, shaking your head.

You have no clue he unhooked your alternator, you’re so cute.

He’d of course had to pick you up too, the more you need him, the better.

It’s Christmas eve of course, Satoru makes sure to get you the perfect gift, a pretty necklace he can’t wait to tug and choke you with as he fucks you from the back – the chain is more than thick enough, just begging for your neck. He bought you a dress that you’re now wearing, looking so pretty in it he can hardly stand it, sitting there and talking to his friends.

You fit right in, but why wouldn’t you? It’s clear to all of them that Satoru is obsessed, they know their friend and when he’s in love he’s in love, hopeless and desperate, but even they’ve never seen him like this. He can’t take his eyes hardly off you, even when he’s laughing, when they’re all reminiscing, it’s like his gaze follows you across the room.

Everyone can practically feel how badly Satoru wants you – except you, of course, oblivious and cute, just enjoying the company, feeling so homey.

Shoko is hilarious, Nanami has this dry humor, Suguru is the yin to Satoru’s yang, like the exact opposite of him, but they fit so well. Seeing them on such a night makes you feel far too much like you’re at home, and not just staying in Satoru’s pool house for a time.

It feels too good, so good you get up to give them time alone, when he quickly stops you, a hand on your wrist, leaning low.

“Sweetheart, where are you going?” He asks quietly, possessive in how he holds your wrist, looking down your pretty neck.

God he can’t wait to tie you up, choke you until you can’t breathe, fuck you until it’s just all him.

“I want to give you time, I’ve already intruded so much,” you look down and fidget a bit with one of the buttons of his dress shirt, he tenses, tightening his hold. “You’ve been amazing to me, but I don’t want to take over your time.”

“I invited you,” he exhales now, stepping too close, leaning low. “You wanna go be alone tonight?”

“Um…” you blink tears suddenly.

Alone, you’re alone there, and here you’re with someone you want far too much, you’re far too comfortable, as if your ex meant fucking nothing the moment Gojo smiled at you. Part of you should feel bad, another part wants to sink to your knees and show him how much you appreciate him, that thought spreading to your core, with hot need.

How much would you have to touch yourself to even be okay? It’s like every moment near Satoru Gojo makes it worse.

“I got a gift for you,” you gasp. “It’s nothing really, but I want you to wait for gifts so I can give it. Please?”

“Of course,” you smile tremulously then. “Um, I also got you something, but it’s really not much of anything.”

“Please, anything you get me is perfect,” he kisses your temple, his lips lingering, your lashes flutter shut, leaning forward.

Too perfect in his arms.

You just are, he can practically smell how turned on you are for him, he wonders what panties you’re wearing underneath this pretty red dress he got you – were they soaked already? God he’d drink your cunt from them, bury his face, his hands lingering on your hips too long, lips still sitting there, the two of you breathless for a moment.

He wants to reassure you, but you just need to be a little needier, so he spends the next couple hours completely normal, waiting for his friends to leave, hugging them all good bye. You come help clean up, quiet and easy next to him, your gift sitting unopened still.

“You don’t have to clean, the maids will, sweets.”

“Still! No need to leave them much,” you start rinsing plates, when he comes behind you, turning off the water, hard body pressing against the curve of your spine.

You whimper.

Fuck, fuck.

He halts just a bit, you don’t see his satisfied fucking smile, as the snow starts whirling and the fire is crackling in the living room, like you’re in this perfect cozy nook of Satoru’s world. You bite your lip, hating the sound that came out of your mouth suddenly, looking back at him, hands still dripping wet from water.

“I’m so fucking sorry, um… wine and… been a bit? And you’re very…”

“Shh,” he cups your face, wrapping and arm around you, hand splaying your stomach, warm as it presses, and you can’t stop the next soft cry. “Oh yeah? Just been a while, that’s why you’re like this?”

“I… um…” His hand slips lower, cupping you over the red silk, your head falls back now against his chest, body arching.

“Are you tellin’ the truth, sweets? That’s why you’re so hot here, burning my fucking hand? A long time? Did he not make you cum, baby?” His voice isn’t the sweet one from the coffee shop, it’s darker now, his eyes black when you look back at them, a smirk on his lips.

You’re pulsing around air, aching for him, lost for words.

“I asked ya a question,” his hand starts to slide up that material soft against the creamy skin on your thighs. “Answer me, sweets. Be good f’me.”

“God…” you’re arching for more, feeling a thick, heavy length press on your lower back now. “I um… no, that’s not all.”

“Then what is it, why are you so wet? Hmm?” You bite down on a trembling lip, overwhelmed by the tall, buff white haired man toying with you, lost in his dark eyes and plush pink lips, parted, baring just a hint of sharp teeth.

“I’m wet for you, Gojo,” he moans then, slipping the material even higher, you’re so overheated from his body and the fire you feel beads of sweat trailing across your collarbone. “For you.”

“Satoru,” he corrects, his cock leaking and sticking to his boxers, so ready to bury himself inside you. “Say my name.”

“Satoru.”

He captures your lips as soon as you say it, mouth crashing down on yours brutally. It’s not the gentle, sweet kiss you might have expected from his lingering one on your temple, it’s not gentle, no – it’s hungry, devouring you, tongue plunging between the seam of your lips, taking you over.

You helplessly open for him, as if mentally you can fucking hear his voice murmuring ‘good girl’. The soft sounds of that christmas music are mixing with the fire, the heavy wind, his soft husky breaths, you’re so far gone you could cum from a kiss and your cunt exposed to the warm air as he tugs that dress high.

His other hand moves from your cheek to the back of your neck, fingers tangling in your hair and just tugging until it hurts, holding you in place as he deepens the kiss, his tongue sliding into the warm recesses of your mouth, drinking you. That’s what it is, he’s drinking you up, owning you, you’re desperately meeting his kiss, pressing your little tongue against his, whining out into his mouth.

He pulls back for a moment, a string of saliva just dissolving between you both, you’re shaking in his hold, lingering on his lips like wine, so perfect and sweet. Your eyes are already fucked out, a hand gripping his wrist where he’s so close to slipping his fingers in.

“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted this,” you gasp then, eyes shooting up to him in shock. “You don’t even know, do you? Oblivious, my sweet girl, but don’t worry, you won’t need to think.”

“I w-won’t?” You’re so cute to him then, he smirks just a bit, caressing your jaw delicately.

“Not at all, not when you’re all mine sweetheart, just let me fuck you until you forget everything.”

He should be concerning, right? The shit he’s saying, but you don’t want to think anymore, you want him to take over, to take all the pain and loneliness, and pump you all full of him instead. It’s insanity, the way you trust this man you barely know, how you want him inside you, on you, everywhere.

“Say the word and I’ll fuck every thought from that pretty head, you’ll just be my perfect fuck toy, won’t you?”

God, are you really gonna say yes?

You nod, lips parted then, as he smiles, kissing you once more, messy and desperate. “You sure?”

“I want to be.”

“Good, good girl,” you melt against him at that, the plates forgotten in the sink when he turns you to him, your hands coming up to grip the front of his shirt, as he presses you against that counter. “So long baby.”

“So long, what do you-”

“Shh, no thinking,” he’s kissing down your neck, hands gripping your ass, sighing as his thigh presses between yours, soaking wet. “I’ve been wondering all night, if those pretty little panties are already ruined for me. What do you think, sweetheart? Should I check?”

A whimper escapes your throat, so nervous suddenly, you’re literally stuck to your panties, slipped up puffy folds with how wet you are. You nod quickly in a jerky little motion, unable to form words as he kisses down the side of your neck, your cunt pulsing even more wetness out.

“You’re too precious, can’t talk already? I haven’t even touched you yet,” he whispers those words in your ear, fingers finally finding ruined lace, and that’s when he can hardly hold back anymore.

“Mnh! Satoru…”

“God, you sayin’ my name like that,” he groans, pressing up, his snowy lashes fluttering shut as he toys with your sticky panties, making you moan softly. “Soaked. All f’me, aren’t you?”

You nod again, sucking in a breath as he pulls back to look into your eyes, tugging a thigh over his hip, a thick finger directly over your clit, rubbing it in mean little circles over the thin fabric. You almost cum from that you’re so sensitive and needy, crying out and arching for more, head falling back.

“Eyes on me,” you manage to focus when he grips your chin, pressing that cotton even more flush against you, you’re desperately shaking for more. “That’s it, look at me, pretty girl. All your attention. Me.”

He keeps fucking whispering it as he touches you, until the ruined panties are nothing but this thin, messy barrier you want gone, slipping his fingers over them almost in you instead of moving them. Torturing and teasing until you cry out, your hips bucking up against his hand.

“Please, Satoru…”

“All this time, you’ve been sitting there with my friends, smiling and laughing, while this pretty little cunt was just aching to be touched. Weren’t you, huh? Slutty pussy, god…”

“Y-yes,” that’s all you manage to get out, he’s too much, but he’s also edging you, teasing you, the friction of that damp lace now cool against your needy, puffy little clit, that’s just twitching for him. “Satoru…”

“What do you need, baby?” He murmurs, pulling your panties to the side, slipping two fingers down your slit. “This?”

“More, fuck… please, more,” you have no sense of shame or embarrassment, grinding on him shameless, he pulls back those fingers, leaving your thighs shaking. “Satoru…”

“Mmm,” his fingers are soaking wet and glossy, he puts two to his mouth and sucks, the motion filthy as his mouth wraps it, smirking. “If we do this, you’re all mine sweetheart.”

“But you… don’t even know me? And…” He’s slipping your juices in your mouth now, fingers coated in your cunt and his spit, you moan.

“Suck,” you obediently do, his eyes are black then, a feral look on his pretty face, watching you bob your head. “You’re mine. Just mine.”

You barely know what the fuck happens, or how you end up tied up with a string of pretty white christmas lights, Satoru’s insane ass grin as he ropes your arms shibari style, pushing your tits out as he ropes them. He’s hungrily sucking on your perky nipples, moaning on each one, you’re on all fours on this soft rug in front of the fireplace, lit up for him.

“God, that’s perfect,” he murmurs when he’s done, and your ass is in the air, pussy soaked and dripping, your ripped panties next to that pretty dress tossed aside on the floor. “Cunt is soaked, she needs me, hmm?”

“Please,” you should be scared, ask yourself why you’re tied up with Christmas lights on Satoru Gojo’s floor, but when you see his body, his thick, girthy cock leaking pre, you instead eagerly suck on your knees.

“That’s it, such a good girl, god I knew it,” he whispers desperately, cock heavy and hot in your mouth, the tip leaking pre against your uvula. Spit is drippin down his heavy balls, making it a mess, glossy with your spit as he rocks his hips, tugging at your hair. “Throat is only gonna know my shape, just mine, hmm?”

Your answer is a moan around his cock, pussy so needy and empty you’re dying for him inside, but you also desperately want to please him. Every fuck into your tight throat, every stretch and burn has you soaking wet, dripping down your slit onto that very rug beneath you, gasping for a breath as he shoves his cock as deep as you can even take it.

Satoru’s lost in how pretty you look like this, arms bound and lit up, his perfect Christmas gift that he can’t wait to fill up.

“Suckin’ me s’good, f-fuck…” He’s whimpering then, the sound shooting straight to your core, fucking your throat faster, pulling your hair until mascara trails down your cheeks with your tears. “I’ll give you anything, baby, yeah? Anything.”

You’re drooling when he pulls back, tilting your chin up to spit in your open mouth, you swallow so good, tasting saliva and pre, when he turns you to face the fireplace, pressing you down between your shoulder blades. He slides two fingers deep in your hole, you’re wriggling around, clenching him so tight, making his cock leak more pre, moaning.

“So tight,” he whispers in wonder, he wants to give you more prep but he can’t handle another moment without your cunt milking him. He bends down, pulling your ass up and licking a strip from your clit to your ass. “Mmm, the taste.”

“Satoru! Mnh!” The way his huge tongue just licks you clean, filthy stripes that are for his pleasure, messy and not hitting your spots, just scooping in as his moans vibrate, and his hands grip your ass bruisingly. “Please, please. In me…”

“Mmm, one more,” he can’t help but drink just a little more of your juices, they’re dripping in rivulets down his chin, he grins as you’re twitching, spreading your cute hole to spit in it. “Arch f’me.”

You eagerly do, the green cord digging into your thighs, when Satoru lines up his leaky pink tip and finally fucks you. But he doesn’t inch in, no he bottoms the fuck out in one mean stroke. You’re gasping out, desperately clutching the fur underneath you, so full you can’t take it, belly bulging and making the lights press in even more painfully than before.

Deep, punishing strokes that wreck your cunt, gliding easier and easier with the mess you are becoming, the slickness and your trembling walls accommodating his size. Every bit of pain just makes the filthy pleasure even better, the sounds of his moans, the smacking of skin, your squelching cunt all echoing in your ears.

He shoves so deep you scream then, so deep you feel him everywhere, in your tummy, fuck in your throat, gasping for air.

“Satoru, so much! Too much!” You’re shaking, he’s laughing softly, breath caught when you clamp down on him, looking at how huge his cock is compared to your tiny little pussy as he pulls back.

“God, look at that,” he watches that stream of slick pour down his cock as he pulls out then pushes back in, watching her stretch around him. “So much bigger than you, aww, she can hardly even take him.”

He’s dying over the size difference, the way your little hole is trying its best, the way his huge hand takes over your ass when it smacks down, the huge handprints spreading to your thighs. He’s not gentle, no, he’s fucking you like he wants to make sure you never leave, never even think of anything again.

“That’s it, takin’ my cock like you’re made for it,” he whispers, fucking you harder and harder, you’re gasping desperately, so full, his balls smacking your needy, twitchy clit with filthy fwaps, as you drip everywhere. “Makin’ a mess of that rug, hah, oh sweetheart you need me, huh?”

“N-need you – nghhh!” You’re done when he loses his control, bruising grip, fucking you senseless, strokes so messy.

“Gonna stuff you so full of white,” he chuckles, psychotic blue eyes glinting, prone over you, making everything dig in and leave its mark, cupping your face and looking down at you. “Aww, you want that? My Christmas present. My perfect fucking present. Mine.”

He keeps repeating it – mine, mine, mine – cock pulsing and thickening, pressing into your cervix, sending you over the edge, blinded when that orgasm rips through you. Your cunt clamps down on him so tight, pulsing and milking him for all the white he’s promising, earning his groan, his tensing.

“Gonna fill you up, next Christmas you’ll have all my babies,” you really should be scared, confused, but you’re still reeling from it, his hips slamming into you, railing your cunt until it is all his. “You want it, don’t you? Say it baby, please.”

“W-want it… ah!”

“Fuck, m’gonna give you so much, all you deserve sweetheart, all for you,” you feel him pulse inside you when he slams in to the hilt, hips snug on your ass now, a hot, thick flood of his white cum filling you up. “That’s it, take all of it, s’all yours.”

Satoru’s barely able to hold himself up when he busts inside you, coating your quivering walls, it’s so much it starts to leak out around his cock, mixing with your own slick and dripping down your thighs. He pumps a few more times, shakily taking breaths, hands holding you tightly, moans escaping.

“Took so much, god you’re perfect,” he whispers, pulling out to watch that creamy mix push out of your abused hole. “God you’re so good.”

The lights left their mark, but he’s massaging your skin after, cleans you up with his tongue, kisses every mark the lights left. He’s got you in his bed when Christmas strikes, smiling as you snore soundly against his chest, you’re wearing one of his shirts that swallows you, his cum still dripping from your pretty pussy.

He can’t wait until next year, when you’ll have your first baby for him, and he’ll already have another put in you next Christmas. You wake up sometime in the night, looking at him, blinking a bit.

“Merry Christmas, sweetheart,” he murmurs. “Go back to sleep.”

“Merry Christmas, Satoru,” you whisper, snug in his arms, wondering just what luck you have to be there.

Was it luck, some Christmas miracle? Or was it Satoru Gojo making sure he got his perfect gift?

heheh I hope ya'll enjoyed - idea was from my bb @strychnynegirl

[imyourightnow]

Another Yandere satoru 🥰 I love him sm

[madamechrissy]

I Want It All

Pairings: Yandere! Choso x fem reader

Summary: Choso needs you, no he really needs you, you are everything to him and don't even know it. You don't know about the cameras he watches you on, you don't know he's jerking his cock in his office right across from you. You see a sweet, hot coworker, sort of shy, but Choso sees all of you, and when you invite him over randomly to 'hang out' Choso knows then it's his chance, to have you forever.

Warnings: Um ALOT- extreme yandere behavior, obsessed ass Choso, videoing without consent, using his tongue ring as manipulation lol, explicit sex, masturbation, stealing panties, oral (f and m receiving) possessive and unhinged ass behavior, overstimulation, some dacryphilia, somnophilia low key, manipulation of reader, rough sex, dirty talk, belly bulges, mating press, him being oddly sweet and cute for a nutcase, you name it. Subby Choso isn't here, only batshit Choso mmkay- (Please don't read if you don't enjoy darker content, I have lots of fluffy smut elsewhere) Oneshot- WC- 9.8k

Based on Yandere Bestie Choso - art in the banner from 28 on X here - dividers by @/cafekitsune and @/strangergraphics

TYSM for 9k followers!? Ya'll are so sweet!! consider this oneshot my thank youuu

“Thank you, Choso!” You smile so bright and pretty at him every morning, as he always gets your favorite coffee from your favorite place, along with some sort of pastry that you always say ‘you shouldn’t have!’

“Of course, it’s nothing.” He murmurs softly, as the two of you ride up in the elevator up to the high floor you two work on, you’re touching his shoulder with your little hand, burning through the material of his suit.

Choso hates this job, but he stays for you.

When no one would even listen to him, you sat there and paid attention to everything, to how he misses his little brother who went off to school, to just how much he loves guitar. Every lunch break is spent with you, nodding with your hand under your chin, watching him with your full attention, only breaking to nibble or have a sip of a drink.

You made him feel so good, it’s only right that Choso Kamo makes you feel so good, and he can imagine just about every fucking way to do so. He can imagine licking your pretty pussy till you cry for him to stop, but latching on more, watching your face cover in glistening tears. He can imagine fucking you so good you’re drooling, that you can’t even function.

Choso was never this way though, if anything he was more submissive in relationships, he got used or walked over for how sweet he was, and they usually controlled him in the bed. Though Choso loves to please, the things he wants to do with you are insane, to the point he’s vividly pictured tying you up in rope, knots pressing into your delicate skin, and having his cock in all of your holes.

Every single one would be so full of him, pouring cum out so gooey and white, he’s pictured using you so vividly he’s cumming to the thoughts alone multiple times a day. You seem so interested in him, but he wants more from that, no Choso wants you to need him, in every single way.

“I would never eat without you, I swear!”

He smiles at your comments, but it’s true, you always forget to eat and that just won’t do! He can’t have you fainting when he finally gets you spread open in his bed, when he gets to decorate that pretty ass he sees under those business skirts with his hand prints.

You’re going to need energy.

Plus, he likes to watch you eat, drink water, take care of yourself, you just work too hard lately. He notices, every tired blink of an eye, and every yawn, Choso notices it all- including things only he can see - like how you shift your hips in your office chair, how you cross and uncross your legs, wearing a different color of panties every single day.

Sometimes you wear lace.

Once you wore crotchless.

He got very mad at you.

Who were they for?

Men at the office flirted with you, bustling and busy and a little more men working to women, they all were after you. He has lost count how many dates you’ve been asked on, but you always sweetly decline, Choso likes to think it’s because you already know-

You’re his.

“You should eat more, and relax a bit. Ever took a day off?” He asks you now, and you shake your head, sighing.

“Too many bills to pay.” You yawn once more, before pecking a kiss on his cheek, making him blush, which you find adorable. “Sorry, is that okay?”

“Oh it’s f-fine.” Choso is over six foot, towering over everyone, buff under that suit- you can feel it- and far too handsome for his own good, but he’s so shy he acts as if he has no clue of his effects.

On you especially.

Just being in his proximity gets you too excited, his dark violet eyes flashing just a bit as he looks down at you, when the elevator dings and you two walk out, your hand falling then. “I’ll meet you at lunch?” You tease with a wink, and he nods a bit then, that flush fading just a bit from his cheeks, while you walk into the bright, open office.

Floor to ceiling windows abound, and cubicles are all over, but Choso works in his own private office, as he’s a higher up manager, and you’re the owner’s receptionist and assistant. You prance up to your boss, Mr. Higaruma, who offers you his own kind and tired smile.

“Good morning.” He says your name softly, pouring over his paperwork then and downing his coffee, dark brows knitted together.

“Good morning, Mr. Higaruma, want me to take half your stack?” You put down your purse and your breakfast at your desk, he sighs then, running a hand through his black spiky locks.

“Would you be a doll and do just that? This weekend I got…” He looks around as if he’s not the boss, whispering in  your ear. “Hungover.”

You nearly snort, covering your mouth then, and Higaruma grins at your cute expression. “Sorry!”

“It’s fine, no, it is kind of funny. But I never drink anymore, ugh.”

“One sec…” You go to pull out a bottle of tylenol now, pouring water into a paper cup. “This will help, along with something greasy.”

“Greasy?” You both start talking, and Choso glares across the office, waiting for you to just sit down already.

How close did you two need to get!?

You finally do sit down, and he eyes your panties from the camera he has strategically placed, seeing that they’re purple today, making his cock throb as he sits in his office, he goes to shut the door then, staring at the image on his phone, watching you shift this way and that. Today the lace is clinging so tightly to your puffy lips he can see the outline of your perfect cunt.

“Oh my god…” He murmurs softly, if only you were his assistant, he’d have you bent over his desk right now, but for the moment he strokes his cock over his slacks, as you cross your legs, deterring his view. “Open them for me, baby, please…”

As if on command you do just that, lean back and spread your thighs, god he can’t stand how good you look, he eyes you out of one of his office windows as you smile over at him, waving so pretty. Clueless that he’s stroking his now leaky tip against his thumb, while he smiles back over to you, eyes torn between your pretty face and the upskirt view he has.

Choso’s cock springs free as he strokes himself under the desk, whimpering softly as he pictures it inside you, this is his daily routine though, stroking himself, over and over, he does so at least every day if not multiple times, using the precum and his own saliva as lube to stroke his thick cock faster. He bets you’re so tight, he bets you taste as good as you smell.

He’s leaned back, closing his eyes and murmuring your name when he hears a knock knock knock then, but he’s already cumming. “Shit, shit, shit…” He’s trying to hide his whine as he pours hot sticky ropes into his hand. “Hold on a minute!”

“Sure thing, Choso.” It’s you.

Fuck.

Choso hastily cleans himself up the best he can, tissues swiping at the sticky mess his cock has become, some of it is sticking to his black boxer briefs when he pulls himself together, opening his door. You’re smiling up at him, and he wonders if he should feel bad. You don’t know he sees your panties every day, but he brushes it off, because it’s not like he can help himself.

It takes everything not to drag you in as you just stand there curiously. “Can I help you with anything?”

“Oh, I’m sorry.” You’re flushed as you look down a bit, biting that lower lip that makes him think insane thoughts. “I wondered… would you like to come over?”

“Come over!?” He’s got his eyes wide now, and you feel your cheeks heat up more, shifting nervously.

“Is that too much? Is it weird?”

“What no I… you… huh?” Choso sputters now, imagining every way he wants you, god your lips probably would feel so good wrapped around his tip, wouldn’t they? Cleaning his cum off himself-

“Sorry, it’s stupid. Ugh. We just are so close here but we never hang out? And I have no friends here, just a cat I think.” You’re babbling, as he’s staring at you like you’ve grown another head.

You’ve wanted to ask him out for so long, surprised he never made a move, maybe you’re not his type? But curiosity gets the best of you, just who is he when he’s not so shy, when he’s not all in his business mode. Those glimpses of tattoos on his arms when he rolls his sleeves up are too enticing.

“A date?” He whispers, and you giggle then.

“It doesn’t have to be. Or it could be.”

“I’ll be there, I’ll… bring wine?” He grins as you brighten up.

“I love wine!”

Oh, he knows.

He knows the brands you like, the type you enjoy, he knows so much about you already, he’s seen the outside of your home almost every night after work, just to make sure you get home safe of course. You live alone and you’re just a sweet, fragile thing, there are too many crazy men out there. Once he watches you, he leaves of course!

But he does notice you enjoy a glass of wine, you leave your window wide open when it’s nice out, petting your cat and sipping on it, reading some book. God you look so pretty when you think no one is watching, when your shoulders relax just so, in those moments his thoughts are far more pure, not like when he has to be tortured by the obscene amount of panties you have.

“I’d love to come over. Do you want me to bring dinner?” He’s trying to sound calm, not like he just noticed with horror he has some cum sticking to his pant leg then, which you seem to notice, tilting your head. 

“I think you’ve got something…” You bend down, brushing it off, making his cock jerk as you look at the sticky substance curiously, blinking while he panics.

“Oh it’s just… it’s some… the glaze, from the donuts!” He’s taking your hand now, and you’re already just licking it off your thumb.

You just licked Choso’s cum.

Fuck.

“You got donuts? Weird you got me bagels this morning. Silly.” You tease now, brushing your thumb back across your skirt, smiling up at him again.

“I uh… raided the… office cafeteria.”

“You have such a sweet tooth!”

You have no idea. Once he tastes you he will never stop.

He doesn’t think he’ll even let you leave,

“I do, okay I’ll bring dessert, you do dinner?” You nod and giggle just a bit, the sound making his heart clench.

“Perfect, I’ll see you after work and give you my address.”

As if he doesn’t know.

“Sounds good.” You shut the door, and he leans his head on it, exhaling, as you curiously roll your tongue around your mouth.

What kind of donuts taste like that?

*****

“This is my favorite wine, oh my God how’d you know!?” You take the bottle of blackberry wine, it’s not even common and sold at one specific store, Choso just smiles down at you, looking far too hot in his soft black shirt and jeans.

You only see each other in business gear, but seeing rolled up sleeves revealing veiny forearms is far too much to handle, along with the dessert ingredients he pulls out. “Was just a guess, is all.”

“A great guess.” Choso just smiles softly, with his lidded gaze drifting across the little tank top and skirt you have on. Just from his gaze your nipples press up, as if they’re trying to tempt him with your every breath. Thank you.” You kiss his cheek, making his tummy clench, god he can’t wait to fuck you, fill you, when you’re ready of course, when you’re begging him like the good girl he bets you can be,

“You’re very welcome. Oooh that already smells so good.” You giggle a bit, taking the wine and bag out of his hands, heading over to where the ingredients are sizzling, you’re making steaks that smell far, far too heavenly already. 

God you’re perfect, shimmying a bit when you taste the sauce you’ve mixed up, beckoning him over with your two little fingers crooked up. “Come taste this.”

Choso urges his cock to go down at your innocent words, but were they innocent really, when he sees how your lips curl up at the corner, cozy inside your pretty little kitchen. He can tell you cook a lot by the amount of mixers, grills, devices and utensils neatly lined along your light countertops.

“Delicious, oh my god.” He murmurs, after you hold the ladle to his lips, brushing some sauce off the corner of his mouth with a sigh, for a wild moment you think of kissing it off him.

But he just touches your wrist, wrapping long thick fingers around it completely, the grip so tight it excites you, before he’s just pressing a kiss on it. Great, you’re some horny slut and he’s this… gentleman or something? You could damn near jump him - how good he looks, how long you’ve been wanting this - but you make yourself act correctly, as you watch him work in the kitchen with you.

He’s got the sweetest chocolate mousse, his turn to ask you to ‘have a taste’ and you lap it up off the beater, short circuiting his brain, while he simultaneously takes in absolutely everything in your home. Every little picture, and every knick knack that comprises you. Of course he sees your cat slinking around, right before the movies he goes to pet it.

“He likes you, that’s rare.” You admit, grabbing two glasses of wine, pouring the dark swirling liquid, handing him one as you sit down the plate with the mousse, taking a bite and moaning. “Heavenly.”

He bets you taste heavenly.

He wants to say it, when you’re right next to him, your legs tucked under you, sipping on the wine, leaving a pretty lip print with the color you’re wearing, a color Choso would love to see smeared across your face. He’s tensing as you lean closer, his arm up and above you on the couch, casually strewn as if he’s not losing his mind.

He’s mapping out more of your house even as he casually brushes his hand up and down your shoulder, as the gory movie begins, and he quickly notices you are not a fan. “Everything okay?”

“Too much… oh god…” You’re suddenly against him, he pulls you close to his hard body, as you’re exhaling, shaking your head. “Scary.”

Choso’s fingers brush against the bare skin on your shoulders, when you’re burying your face against his chest, he’d laugh at how cute you are scared of this zombie movie, but you against him alone has him throbbing. Your hands clutching his shirt as your hot little breaths blow on his neck is too much, he can’t take it anymore, not having you.

His hand moves lower, brushing the sensitive skin down your arms, until he drops it to your hip, pulling you closer, hearing your breath catch as he does. Your nipples tighten in reaction, fuck it’s been a while and Choso smells so good, he feels good too. You don’t move for a moment, feeling warmth spread, mixing with the wine in your body.

You were hoping he’d make a move, as you just weren’t one to do so, but his hand doesn’t stray from your hip, as his thighs spread just a bit, and the sounds of the screams on the screen ebb for a moment. “It’s over now, are you alright angel?”

You blush at the nickname, already overheated, shaking your head and snuggling deeper. “No, it was too freaky.”

“You picked it!” You giggle a bit then, pulling back to look up at him, with eyes he can’t wait to have rolling back in your skull, his hand tightens at the thoughts, as your own grip tightens.

“I knew you liked horror, so I wanted to seem cool.” Choso watches you flush, so fucking cute then, and he pulls you more against him, now cupping your face with one of his huge hands. “Is that lame that I remembered that?”

Oh you’re so cute, as if he doesn’t know everything about you.

You’re feeling so small compared to him, when his hand takes over your face with his long, thick fingers, only making you wetter when he brushes a thumb over your lips. “You don’t have to try to seem ‘cool’ with me.”

“Choso… I…” You lean forward now, and your lips touch, but that’s when Choso loses any semblance of hope of remaining normal, calm, shy even, not when he finally gets your lips on his.

You’re on his lap before you can blink, gasping as his tongue swipes inside your mouth, barbell clicking your teeth gently, and you’re pulling back to gasp, looking down at his eyes. So dilated they’re black, he emits the softest growl as he presses your clothed cunt down on his lap, and you cry out, gushing wetness until your panties are sticky.

“God, look at you…” He whispers, his voice is so different, everything about him is, when you lean forward, pressing a kiss to his lips, rolling your hips and feeling his thick length under his jeans.

He yanks you back down, mouths messy as you grind, as you move, nipping at his tongue ring with your teeth and pulling it, as his cock starts pulsing precum from your heat. “Choso…”

“Fuck…” He’s whimpering as you kiss down his neck, up to his ear, and he pulls you down harder, hands slipping up your skirt to grab that ass he’s stared at every day for a year. “You’re so wet.”

“S’much I… embarrassing…”

“No, no, not at all.” He’s pushing you back gently, so he can look at you, your nipples prominent against your top. He nips it over the thin material with his teeth, while you’re leaving a wet spot on his jeans.

He never thought he’d actually have you like this, silently begging him, one of your hands gripping his hair as he pulls down your top, revealing a nipple already perked up for him. You’re panting when he sucks it in his mouth, feeling the weight of the other one in his palm, your tits are even more perfect than he could ever imagine, the thought that anyone ever saw them makes him furious.

No one will again.

“Perfect.” He murmurs, as he is now slipping down his finger until it hits your clit, rolling in small circles over your panties, as he feels himself already too close, when he sees your lidded gaze, your thighs trembling on either side of him. “Can’t help yourself, can you baby?”

“Fuck…” Choso, sweet and shy and blushing, is talking dirty to you, as his barbell is flicking on your nipple, making you ache, so ready he could slip his cock in with ease. “Fuck me, please.” Your words make him pause, words you don’t just say, when have you ever asked- or fuck, begged?

Someone knocks on your door then, and you grimace in frustration, kissing him once more as he feels himself about to bust if you move once more, and the knock continues. “Should you get that?”

“It’s probably my neighbor, they're always asking for rides or for something.” You frown then.

“You’re sweet, that’s why hmm?” You just smile a bit, hoping they’ll go away, but ever persistent you hear her, shouting your name as Choso laughs a bit. “You can get it, it’s fine.”

“It’s so not fine.” You hop up, leaving Choso a moment to breathe as you adjust yourself and head to the door, where your neighbor starts going on and on, and you sigh, looking back at Choso. “Just a minute!”

“No worries.” As you step out on the porch to hear her ranting about another neighbor from what he can catch, you give him the perfect opportunity, he stands quickly, blood rushing to his head, he is so close to busting, he has almost forgotten about the little cameras he has.

He sneaks into your room now, finding it smells so much like you, your little plushies all along the dresser, which he casually takes one and puts a camera in, before opening the drawer, and seeing you do have an insane amount of panties. Just who are these all for he wonders, running a finger over your pretty bras now too, soft and silky and neatly folded.

God he wants them, but, he needs something you’ve worn, these are all clean and smelling of fabric softener, that won’t do. He eyes the rest of your room, your bed just a little rumpled, opening the drawer of your nightstand, scowling when he sees your dildo and vibrator.

You won’t get to use those on yourself once he has a say.

He thinks briefly of tossing them, but that would look a little suspicious, though he contemplates it for a beat too long, as he runs out when he hears the door shut, and stands there casually, pausing the movie as you peer in. “Just one more minute, I’m so sorry…”

“It’s all good.” He smiles sweetly, and exhales in relief, heading to your bathroom now, where he finds the pair he’d seen earlier sitting right at the top of your hamper, those purple ones that you clearly soaked, he sees the wetness left from them and moans softly, before shoving it in his pocket

Finally you’re back inside, kissing him in his arms, up on tiptoes, your own hands trailing down his body, until you’re touching him, and just the touch and he feels himself about to cum. He needs to stroke himself before he even lets you come near him, clearly, he grabs your wrists, and you pause, blinking up at him, lips in a pout.

“Am I moving too fast for you?” You ask then, brows knitting, while Choso tries to envision everything terrible to make his cock stop, panicking.

“No, I just… I have to… I got a call, while you were outside and um… I have to… leave.” He mumbles, you just blink a bit, pulling back and frowning.

“You have to leave right now?”

“Yes I… yes.” Choso kisses your forehead, before darting out and leaving you alone, standing there in confusion.

Were you coming on too strong!?

The thought swirls through your head as you take the glass of half finished wine, plopping down and sitting on your bed, frowning as you peek at your phone, he seemed so into it, was it the interruption, did he think better? You pause a bit, setting the glass down on your side table with a little clink, before laying and spreading your thighs, touching yourself with a hiss.

You’re so wet you’re sticking to them, ugh.

You call him then, right as Choso has your panties on his face, stroking his cock and moaning, he has the image of you laying on your bed when he opens his eyes and peeks at the monitor, rushing to answer your phone. “Choso… I’m sorry, but did I come on too much?”

“What? No, no…” He’s pulsing as he fucks his hand, now entranced by the vision of your legs spread like they are, it’s all he can see, when you’re shifting a bit.

“Okay um… I guess I’ll see you at work tomorrow?”

Say something.

Choso wants to so badly, but now he’s leaning forward, staring at you as you touch yourself, hearing a hitch of breath, and he continues stroking his cock as he watches you. “Cho?”

“You didn’t do anything wrong, I got nervous.” He admits, continuing to watch as you giggle just a bit, gathering your slick when your fingers dip under your panties, he watches your hips roll and hears your little sigh.

It’s like you know he’s watching.

“Are we still cool? I don’t want it to be weird at work.”

“No never, I-”

“I have to go.” You say suddenly, and he watches as the phone falls from your hands, glaring just a bit when you whine out, he can barely hear you, you hang up on him like a little brat.

You are rolling your finger on your clit as you smile just a bit, it’s a little petty sure, but he just walked out on you, so you get just a little satisfaction hanging up, remembering his touch, how good his hot mouth felt on your breasts. How good his length felt pressing up in his jeans, against your clit, god you can imagine how big it is when you slip two fingers in.

Picturing his tongue ring in the most wicked places, you feel yourself drenched, finally pushing down soaked panties, giving him the most perfect view when he finally sees your pussy bare. He blushes, looking away for a moment, should he be going this far he wonders, but he hears his name moaned from your lips, so he continues, wishing he could just call you back.

Just go back.

But he’s not ready- not just yet- you don’t need him enough, do you? But he can tell you’re starting to, as you’re pumping your little fingers in and out of your perfect, pretty pussy- he’s not sure he’s ever seen one that looks that good. He knew it of course but god he can’t wait to bury his face between your thighs, to lap up those juices he sees glistening.

“That’s it baby, cum for me…” He’s murmuring, as you do just that, thighs shaking, as Choso finishes with a whine, and then he could swear you almost smile at that camera, but no way…

*****

You already have breakfast the next morning.

You already have coffee the next morning?

Your boss apparently bought them for you, and you’re sitting right on his desk giggling a bit, as Choso looks on with a scowl, crumpling the brown paper bag as a coworker comes up to him then. “She’s so hot.”

Choso scowls, as another one walks up as well. “Yeah she is, damn dude I thought you were gonna shoot your shot?”

“I… she…” He’s stuttering, you gaze at him and wave a little bit, as Higaruma’s hand is dangerously close to your thigh while you’re sipping on coffee.

“Is she single then?”

“No. She’s not.” They back off when the tall, buff man glares violet eyes at them, and Choso feels his body raging, hand itching to spank that ass of yours till it’s covered in his handprints.

You notice his glare, turning away your face then, you know you shouldn’t be flirting, but you’ve never tried so damn hard to get with a guy who just leaves you in the middle of you grinding on him. He left without even a ‘goodbye’ or ‘had a nice time’ - he ran away, and part of you has your feelings hurt, because it feels like you’re making all the moves.

You could feel his angry gaze all damn day, until you see him at one point stomp off to the breakroom, and you can’t help but follow him curiously, surely a little flirting wouldn’t upset him that much, right? “Choso…”

Choso shuts the breakroom door then, pressing you against it and making you gasp, as he leans over you, one hand on the door, the other gripping you by your dress skirt, making you gasp. Your hands shoot up to his chest, as if to press him away, but when he is sliding up that skirt roughly you feel your heart thudding in your chest, feel your tummy heat up with desire.

Who is this Choso?

“Do you like him?” He demands softly - you blink a bit, biting your lower lip to hold in a slutty moan as his hand slips up your inner thigh, making you tremble.

“Who?” You whisper, smiling just a bit, but the smile freezes when he’s looming even more over you, taking over your every sense.

“Your boss, Higuruma. Do. You. Like. Him.”

You giggle a bit, breathless. “You're jealous, why?”

Choso shocks you when his fingers find you under your skirt, your cunt drooling all over his thick digits when he presses the cotton against you, you're whining out at the touch, clit twitching in response, head falling back against the door. When your eyes threaten to flutter shut, he grips your chin, making you look up at him.

“Do you like him?” He whispers again, and you shake your head nervously, hips arching for more of his touch, and Choso Kamo smirks, a man you’ve never seen do such a thing, a man that blushes and smiles sweetly. “Use your words.”

Fuck.

“No, no I like you… but you don’t- f-fuck…” He’s slipped his fingers under your panties now, exhaling against your lips, sweet breath like mocha against your lips, when he first touches your slick pussy without the barrier, he exhales, his hand on your chin slipping to tangle in your hair.

“You have no clue what I want, so was that… to make me jealous?” He demands, scowling as he sinks two thick fingers inside your gummy walls that grip him, even though he’s so mad at you, he can’t stop thinking how perfect your pretty face looks, how you’re tighter than he could imagine. He pumps inside you, hitting that spongy spot, pressing his lips right against yours. “Answer me, now.”

“Y-yes.” He laughs just a bit, curling his fingers while you’re wriggling in his hold, covering his lips with yours now, drinking in your cries as he hikes a thigh up over his hips, more and more inches of his fingers in your tight little drippy cunt.

“You wanna cum, don’t you baby?” He’s whispering, kissing up your jaw, as you cling to his suit jacket, nodding eagerly, Choso acting like this is nothing you could even fantasize, you hear the squishing of your wetness even in the room. You nod in between his kisses up your neck, his teeth sinking into your skin, as he hits just that spot like he already knows your pussy.

“Please…” You whisper out, and he thumbs your clit now, pressing against it and grinning as he feels you gush wetness, so much it’s insane to him, he’s fingering you in wonder as he feels your body tense.

“Were you a good girl? Do you deserve to?” You whine out when he pulls his fingers out just before you cum, making your lips part, when he sucks you right off his fingers, moaning at your taste, possibly the hottest thing you’ve seen.

You cannot figure him out.

“Good? Are you being good? Can’t answer?” He eases your panties back on, pressing your skirt down as you struggle to function.

“No.” You admit, his cock is pressing against his slacks, leaking precum while he is fixing your hair.

“You’re so pretty like this.” Choso’s whisper resonates through your body, which his dilated eyes trail down. “Tell him you’re not interested, and I’ll actually let you cum, hmm?”

You just nod, gulping as he stares so possessively at you. “When?”

“Tonight, I’ll be at your place. He kisses you once more, a brush of his lips like some insane promise, while everything you think you know is flipped. “I’ll be watching for when you tell him.”

With those words, he’s gone, leaving you to try to compartmentalize his words, his demeanor, as you’re aching for him, leaving you wanting twice now. You huff a bit, glaring up at him. “Fine then.”

“You’re so cute.” You scoff as you walk out, and Choso watches with a proud smile as you back off, as you sit right at your desk, and he sees just how soaked he’s made you.

*****

This time, there wasn’t any wine or awkward talk, there was no movie playing, the moment Choso walks in you’re yanking him by his collar, slamming your lips up on his as he locks the door with a click, his hands slipping up your waist. He pulls back for a moment, taking a breath, before he’s picking you up like nothing, and you wrap your arms around his neck.

“You were a good girl, did you tell him you’re mine?” You blink a bit then, confused, brows knitting.

“Yours?”

“Mine. Mine, mine, mine.” He’s whispering now, gripping your ass with his huge hands, earning your whine while he squishes it in his hands. “Did you?”

“I will.” He smiles softly, walking you right to your room, far too familiarly, but you let him, he plops your right down, so the camera will capture the perfect angle, when he starts kissing down your pretty, perfect body.

“You’re being good, a little bit at least.” He’s whispering, dragging your skirt off your hips, revealing another black lace panty, which he touches, finding it dripping with your slick. “Wear new panties every day, they’re all so slutty, do you want people to see her?”

“What? I…”

“Want them looking at what only I should see?” He’s slipping the panties up between your lips, pressing his own cock into your mattress as it’s pulsing from just being this close.

“No. I don’t want them to see.” Your whisper ends him, he laps a hot, wet stripe over panties he has pulled so tight, exhaling at how pretty you are when he looks up at your face, and your hands grip his hair. “I want you to see.”

“Me?” He’s dragging the soaking lace down your thighs, face to face with the pretty pussy he saw on a fuzzy camera, exhaling when he laps your pooling arousal from your slutty little hole. “So you want to drive me fucking crazy?”

“Y-yes…you…” Your sweet murmur along with how you taste ruin him, he’s spreading your plump lips, sucking in a breath as he sees you wide open, feeling your manicured nails pressing into his scalp while your thighs are shaking on either side of his head.

“So you know what you do to me, huh?” He swirls his tongue around your clit, tongue ring hitting it and making you cry out, back arching off the bed. “Answer.”

“N-no I don’t know… I just wanted you to… make a move I-”

“Teasing me? Making me stroke my cock till it hurts? Tsk.” Choso bites at your little clit now, and you’re screaming when he flicks the barbell on your engorged little clit, you’re gushing all down his pretty face. “That’s being bad, you know?”

“I’m s-sorry… you touch your-”

“Oh baby…” He’s looking up under long lashes. “I hope you can make it.”

“Make what!?” Your words are met with a moan as he devours you, shoving your thighs up.

“Hold them up, now.” His dominance not just shocks you, it ends you, the boy you thought you’d suck, ride, show things to, is a fucking menace when it comes to eating pussy.

No one has ever licked you like this, and he’s got two thick digits deep in your pussy, fuck his fingers are bigger than men you’ve been with, you’re spasming around them as you’re rolling your hips up and down. You’re pausing when he’s suffocating against your drooly cunt, his free hand pressing into your thigh, leaving bruises from his fingertips.

“No, fuck my face, like a pretty slut f’me.”

Yep, you’re done.

You do just that, pulling his hair so hard it hurts, as he laps up every bit of your pretty pussy, you’re closer, closer, he feels it, looking up at you with a glistening chin and lips reddened from drinking you. “Cum, let me drink you.”

“Shit…” He’d chuckle but he’s lost in you, in the girl he can’t stop watching, the girl he’s stalked for so long, just begging for him, screaming out, fucking his entire face, up to the straight nose that he buries inside your cunt. “Choso, I’m gonna… f-fuck I’m gonna…”

He just sucks your little clit in his mouth and hums, shoving two fingers and curling them up, when you’re shattering, screaming his name, and he feels himself cumming then, how can he not. His cum is sticking to his boxers, his jeans even, so much white seed pouring when you’re shaking, twitching, and he’s gasping as your thighs tighten on either side of his head.

“F-fuck… oh m-my god…” You’re weak as he leans up, smirking down at you, stroking a cheek. “Let me…”

“No, I’m not done yet.” You blink in confusion, when he stands. “Give me just a minute.”

Before you can process what’s happening, he’s back from the bathroom, and you’re on your knees, wanting to suck him, but he’s shoved you back down, lapping at you again, and you’re so weak, screaming out his name over and over while his tongue ring flicks your clit and he’s scissoring those fingers.

Choso had cleaned up but he’s hard again, you just do something to him, fuck why do you do this!?

“C-can’t take more… fuck me, please…” He smiles on your thigh, he’ll fuck you soon, but you’re not desperate enough yet, don’t need him enough yet.

“Cum again.” His order is met with him dragging your cunt along his face, and tears start falling with overstimulation, you’re hiccuping, pussy throbbing, so overstimulated. He’s smiling down at you, that sweet smile with dark eyes. “Oh, angel, we’re not close to done.”

“Huh? Choso… I came a lot lemme…”

“Not yet. Been waiting too fucking long.” He’s devouring your pussy again, sipping you up as you keep cumming, your pussy so sweet it’s drugging him, he’s got you bent over, fingers moving in and out as he smacks your ass, but never fucking you, just making you cum over and over with his mouth, his hands.

“C-can’t take anymore… p-please, too much…” You whisper, then he clicks his tongue, pressing kisses to your titties, leaving brutal bite marks all over your chest, thumb hitting your now sore clit.

“You’re even more pretty crying, I knew it.” You’re sniffling, tears, drool all mixing when he kisses you, and you taste your pussy on his lips, as he sticks in three, and you’ve cum so much you can barely move, fatigue dragging you with the force of each orgasm. “One more, f’me, hmm?”

“C-can’t… p-please Choso…” He’s grinning now, brushing your hair back sweetly like he wasn’t three fingers in your sore little cunt.

“Begging me, crying for me, look at you. Do you realize how bad you were today?” You sniffle, nodding, but he’s unrelenting, curling three fingers and making you cry in pleasure and pain. “You’ll get fucked when you act right.”

“Please! Too much… mnh!” Choso’s back down eating you out, he’s lapping his tongue inside your hole, you feel every inch of his tongue, down to the texture as he looks up at the mess he’s made you, you feel the lines of his teeth when he grins, pressing up the hood of your clit. “Ah, ah! M’gonna… pass out I…”

“One more time, you can take it. I need to drink more of you.” You’re shaking your head, but you can’t stop the orgasms he elicits to the point where you’re gasping and clinging to him, to stay tethered, but the last thing you remember before you pass out is violet eyes bright, and a white grin from his face.

Choso laps at you after you’re limp, how can he not, he’s already cum again just drinking your juices, but now you’re so sore even in your knocked out state you’re jerking, hissing. He’s exhaling even, and his breath on your clit with those lips spread, he can watch the poor little thing twitch.

“Oh, you’re so sweet, look at you. So comfortable with me.” He cooes, brushing back your hair as your tears are drying all sticky on your face.

He’s sure the camera caught it, but he can’t help taking some pictures for himself later, while you’re so knocked out you lightly snore, while he brushes the dried tears off gently. He goes to clean his cock off again, coming back to clean you up, dress you once more, your body limp and pliant, just begging for him even in your sleep, but Choso wants your first time with you awake.

He can fuck you in your sleep after.

Curiously he sees your phone text, some guy asking if you’re free for coffee on the preview, and Choso scowls furiously, picking it up. It’s a fingerprint lock, he kisses your hand in an apology before he uses your print, and starts scrolling though, seeing the amount of men that are in your dms. You seem to not respond to many, but this just won’t do!

What if one of them tried to take you?

Choso deletes them all, blocking them one by one, and when he’s done he stands up, tucking you in carefully, brushing a kiss on your lax lips.

“Much better. Sweet dreams, angel.”

*****

“Choso Kamo!” You’re shoving at him that morning, right outside of the office building, he blinks curiously, lids lowering.

“Didn’t eat you out enough? Need more?”

“You- what!?” You hold up your phone, earning his dopey grin. “Where are all my numbers?”

“You have your boss, unfortunately. And me.”

“That’s it aside from like my girls, what the fuck!” He’s scowling down at you now, backing you up until you’re against the wall of the building, where anyone could see you all, his thigh between yours.

“You don’t need to talk to them.”

“You’re not even my boyfriend yet-”

“No, I’m more. You’re more. Everything.” You’re whining as he kisses you, feeling the wet spot on his slacks, while he grips the fat of your ass, pulling you down on him. “You don’t need them.”

“I just-”

“Want me to fuck your pretty pussy?” You gulp now, nodding and looking down, shocked at yourself.

What this man does.

This psychotic man.

How can he look like a kitten but be such a deviant little psycho!?

“Then get in the car. Now.”

“But… work, Choso-”

“Now.” You follow him to his car, and he’s driving insanely fast, for a man that has a damn Volvo, the safest car there is, he’s scaring the fuck out of you, when he reaches  a hand over, pulling you by your hair, kissing you at the light. “You want it, don’t you?”

“I w-want you, yes.” He moans at the words he’s died to hear.

“Then show me.”

Words and actions that seem so foreign, like the sweet exterior of him is peeling back and revealing how depraved he is, how badly he wants you, when you bend over, unzipping him as the car starts, and you’re bracing yourself on his thigh, revealing a pretty, thick cock. Your cunt starts drooling at feeling him inside your mouth, inside your throat, choking him down deep.

“Fuck… why did you have to make me so mad?” He demands, free hand entangling in your hair as you bob up and down him. “Can’t you see I did it for us, for you, to k-keep you… safe… from- mnh…”

Choso whines out as you’re lapping him up, his hand trailing down your spine to find you soaked, his other hand gripping the steering wheel when he comes to another stop. He has never been one to even let women suck him or give him oral very often, but now he finds he wants to wreck your tight little throat, to stop your bratty mouth, the things you do to him.

“Slutty panties, every day.” You should be concerned, worried maybe, but instead you’re soaking them further, as he hits the gas pedal again, forcing your mouth more on him, your tongue tasting the musky, sweet precum coating your mouth. “All for me?”

“Mmhmm…” Is all you can manage, as he continues torturing you over your panties, and comes to a stop, you are lifted off his cock, he swipes the pretty lipstick smeared on your cheek, slamming his lips down furious.

“Don’t drive me so insane, angel. I can’t take it.” He whispers, violet eyes so dilated they look black as he cups your face so tightly you cry out a bit. “I need you to be mine, no one else’s, can you do it for me?”

You nod weakly, body acting against any better judgement. “Y-yes.”

“You’re being so good for me, finally.” He’s smiling all sweet, as if he wasn’t admitting to being insane, and you can’t find any words to complain, when he picks you up in his arms, your arms wrapping his neck, his hands gripping your ass, you barely take notice of his house, aside from when you start seeing pictures of you all over his desk.

“What… is all…”

“Shh, baby.” He’s got you naked in moments, as you look in horror to see your pictures printed and scattered, you blush as you see lotion and tissues. “I’ve wanted this for so long.”

Psycho, he’s psycho…

But your pussy doesn’t really seem to care.

“Are these my panties!?” You demand, gasping when you see two pairs on his nightstand that look just like the ones you’ve had on, and Choso just shrugs a broad shoulder, arm wrapping around your body, hand slipping up to grip your throat, lips plump against your ear.

“You have plenty, too many really.”

“How-”

“Now.” Is all he murmurs, turning you and unzipping your work dress, watching as the goosebumps rise on your precious skin. “You’ll be all mine, say it angel.”

“H-huh?” He yanks that zipper until you’re completely bare, panting breaths making your chest rise and fall in Choso’s large master bedroom, where you start to see more and more things that are yours.

Missing pony tails, single earrings, a bracelet, how much of you is there exactly you wonder with a gulp, as he’s behind your bare body fully clothed. When he slips an arm around your waist, hand slipping down your tummy, making it tremble in response, your head falls back with how good it feels against any better judgement.

“You knew you did this, admit it angel.” His words are honeyed, you can feel his pout on your cheek, while he’s rubbing your clit with one hand, the other holding your body against his, curve of your back on his chest, when he grips a bare breast, squishing it in his hand and overwhelming you with sensations.

“D-didn’t know… this…”

“Tch, can’t speak already? Try… All mine. Mine, say it. Now.”

“I…”

“Now.”

“Yours.” Choso goes feral then, turning you so you’re looking up at him, and he’s cupping your face so tightly, leaning down as your shaky hands pull at the lapels of his jacket. “Please…”

“Begging, you’re so perfect, sweet like this?” You’re gulping as he steps back, eyeing your body and groaning softly, hands slipping down the sides of your breasts, down to your waist, the jut of your hips, as he drinks in your beauty. “Beautiful.”

One moment degrading, the next looking at you precious, his fingers trailing off while he then slips off his top, and you see him shirtless, his tattooed and buff body, muscles over muscles leaning to a narrow waist. A slutty waist, that’s what he has, with red tattoos along one side of his defined ribs, flat nipples, you briefly register one his pierced as he pulls that shirt over his head.

“God…” You’re trailing fingers down his body, and he turns you, until your knees hit the back of his soft bed, and you’re on your back, throwing you around like you’re nothing, slipping his pants off with your help over the plump of his firm ass, hissing when his cock is free.

“No one else can ever touch you.” His words are batshit, but your pussy is drooling, tummy clenching when he lines his blushing tip, all reddened and sticky with precum, right between your glistening folds. “No one can, right? I can’t hear your cute little mumbles.”

“F-fucking… shit…” He’s smiling a bit, yanking up one of your thighs high, positioning himself at your soppy entrance, whimpering as your hot gummy walls now engulf his tip.

“Need to hear you, words, pretty.” He’s acting all sweet, like he doesn't have his huge cock right against your hole, like he doesn’t have a screen watching your room, apps on his phone now to keep track of you, plenty of rope to keep you from leaving if he needs to, no he looks sweet.

“No one but you.” He exhales, shoving his cock inside you then, you hiss at the burn, nails digging into the strong muscles of his back as you arch up.

“G-good girl… fuck you feel perfect, I knew it.” Choso is lost then, your pussy is so tiny, struggling to take him, gushing down his veiny length to accommodate, but he’s already too far gone, he’s thought of this too much, far too much. “So fucking tiny compared to me aren’t you?”

You’re whining pathetically as he fills you, stretches you with several inches, too fucking many, your thighs tremble on his hips as he grips two of your wrists, pressing sweet kisses as he pushes them over your head, sinking in deeper and earning your hiccup of pleasure. “Choso!”

“There it is…” He’s whispering in wonder, you thought Choso would be passionate certainly, after he’d eaten you out until you literally tapped out, but the feral grin on his sweet face when he eyes you is overwhelming. He lets your wrists go to spread your thighs, moaning as he watches your tummy. “Look how big I am inside you, hmm?”

You blush as you see it, your tummy bulging and moving, he’s enamored by it, while he slows his movements, now a hand is touching your tummy, pressing just a bit to feel it. “Too much… it’s…”

“No, baby you can take it, hmm? Just like last night?”

“I passed out!?”

“You’re so pretty like that, in your sleep..” You gasp as he leans over you further, shoving your thighs up against your breasts, until you’re folded in half. “I’ll take care of you even in your sleep, you don’t have to do anything angel.”

“Choso w-what?” He’s lost now, tip slamming your cervix, pounding your pussy so deep while you’re convulsing around his length, cumming with one more slam so deep, and he moans at the sensation.

“I’ll keep fucking you, don’t worry beautiful girl. Wanted this so fuckin’ long, you know? How long…” Your eyes roll back in your skull, body struggling to keep a hold of any sense as your climax rocks through your body, as Choso’s hands press into the backs of your thighs. “God I can’t wait to fill you over and over…”

“Mnh! Too m-much…” It’s too good, when he grinds and rolls his hips, black hairs on his pelvis grinding into your engorged clit, you’re gripping those blankets, sobbing with a trembling lip as he works you, losing himself in you.

“No, you can keep going f’me, huh baby? Nod for me.” You manage a weak nod, and he’s grinning again, leaning back to spit on your clit, in a thin long trail of saliva, rubbing your clit again while sinking in your fluttering walls. “There we go, need you to take all this cum, can you?”

“Y-yes… ah m’gonna-”

“Cum, milk him baby. So good.” You’re cumming as if on command as his rough thumb and spit hits that spot, and you can’t see anything but black spots and the glow of his violet eyes and his brows contorted, when his hand leaves your clit, to press your thighs up higher. “Ready for me to fill her?”

You gulp, nodding weakly as Choso loses himself finally, in your perfect face, covered in those tears that just make him pulsate more as he finally busts his hot, gooey load so deep in your pussy, which is sucking it in greedily. You feel him everywhere as his white ropes fill your hole, coating your contracting walls, while he’s drunk off you.

Drunk and whimpering in your ear while he has your little frame folded right in half for him, your pussy so eagerly taking all he gives, so wet and messy as he kisses your swollen lips. He tastes the salt of your tears, letting your thighs fall finally, one hand entangling in your hair, pulling your head up as his tongue plunders your mouth, the other slipping down your waist, leaving goosebumps.

“God you took so much, you’re so good f’me, look at you.” You’re whining as he pushes deeper, white drizzles falling down his cock, and you blink into focus, to see his face is soft again, sweet again, like your little work bestie. He even has the audacity to blush just a bit when he leans up, caressing your face. “Perfect, pretty slut for me.”

“For you…” You should hate that, but it just makes your pussy clutch his cock, he moans then, easing out with a suctioned wet pop, his heavy cock making a sticky mess as cum starts pouring from your puffy lips. “Ah! F-fuck…”

“Look at all this, don’t you want all my cum baby?” He asks with a pout, shoving two fingers back in your pussy, watching the cum disappear with a smile.

“Too s-sensitive- you’re c-crazy…”

“You haven’t seen it all yet, baby.”

Choso has you bent over, ass in his face as he’s eating you out from the back, while you’re gripping his sheets, headboard banging on the wall when he’s back inside you, deeper like this. He has you cumming again and again, eventually tying you right up to the headboard, ropes digging tightly in your skin as he looks down at you, covered in him.

His cum, his handprints, his bites.

His, you’re his.

“I need some pictures, pretty, just a moment?” You’re delirious as you shake your head, tugging at the knots he has you in, but he’s already up, and for a brief moment you take in the surroundings, of all the things he’d stolen.

You panic momentarily when he’s back, and he’s smiling with a lidded gaze, caressing your cheek gently, down the curve of your neck. “Choso?”

“I’ll untie you, I won’t just leave you like this. Well…”

“Choso…”

“I won’t, don’t worry pretty.” He’s thinking of it, of never letting you leave the bed, he could just feed you right, keep you tied at the wrists when you needed things- 

Nah.

He shouldn’t.

Right?

“You won’t leave me now, hmm?” He’s pressing kisses on your forehead so sweetly, as you sniffle just a bit, shaking your head, earning his exhale relief. “Just a few pictures.”

Choso’s snapping them then, dark messy hair falling over his brow, adding them to the collection of photos of you inside your home, from out your window mostly, along with those from last night, of course he’d printed them. He’s positioning you just so, pressing sweet kisses while he snaps away on his phone, finally releasing your wrists, rubbing them so gently.

“Are you alright, angel?” He is frowning, so concerned like he didn’t have a growing collection of your things, you just nod a bit, as he sees where your vision heads, sighing. “I’ve had a… crush.”

“A crush?”

“Well, a really big crush. I’m in love with you.” He’s cupping your face now, smiling down at you. “Maybe I was a little shy?”

You blink before bursting into laughter, you’re losing it, you may just die or be trapped here, but you’re too fucked out to comprehend it. “Shy?”

“Yeah. You’re just so perfect, I needed the right moment. But you were bad, weren’t you? Made me so jealous.” He’s glaring, hand tightening around your throat as he kisses your lips so tenderly, thumb on your fluttering pulse. “You won’t make me jealous again, right baby?”

You shake your head, letting him kiss you now.

Choso has no intentions of letting you go, it’s the next morning and you can barely walk as he’s grinning at you, shirtless and handsome, cooking up pancakes and all sorts of yummy things. Your tummy growls in response, trying to forget the horror as you’d seen you were his pc background even, his phone background, finding more and more things all over.

“Good morning, beautiful.” He comes to you, flour on his cheek which you brush off with a trembling hand. “You should skip work today.”

“I can’t…”

“You can, don’t worry. It’s for the best, that's all, you can stay here.”

“Choso, so soon?”

“I can’t have you working, I need you home, our home. Eating good…” He’s forking a bite of pancake into your mouth, as horror mixed with the sweetness mixes in your body.

“I mean, just a day off?”

“Sure, a day.” He’s smiling brightly, as if he hasn’t already sent your boss a video of your cum pouring out of your pretty hole.

He’s sure he enjoyed it, but maybe not the not so friendly message associated with it.

But you won’t need that job anyway!

“Okay, a day won’t hurt.” You sit down and wince, sore from the endless amounts of times he’d stuffed you full with his cock.

“You need tylenol and coffee!” He’s quick to grab them for you, sitting next to you, brushing your hair back as you swallow the pills so quickly, he brushes back your hair gently, oh he’s so proud of you. “Good girl, hmm? You’re gonna feel better soon.”

Choso is BATSHIT in this my god ahaha, I cracked up writing the donut scene AND the end- TYSM again for 9k followers I am so glad you all enjoy my bullshit lol. Love you all and see you in the comments hehe <3

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[imyourightnow]

CHOSO THE MAN YOU ARE 😍 I love that he’s batshit crazy

[honey-snail]

Nothing But Wolves

Sum: In an old western town where gossip passes as law and wolves wear badges, running was never going to be enough. Yandere! SatoSugu x Reader ➸ WC: 5.1k Warnings: yandere behavior, AFAB! reader, psychological horror, implied non-con, coercion, abuse of authority, violence, mentions of blood, mentions of alcohol, mdni

Your daddy’s a mongrel - or at least that’s what the townsfolk are whisperin’. Even the men mutter behind their roughened hands, palms callused from cattle ropin’, leaning close to trade stories about the visitors your daddy had last night. You’re used to the pretty ladies down by the general store whisperin’ about your daddy too, mostly for other reasons, waitin’ to flutter their feathered fans or twirl parasols just enough to muddle their lips, so you can’t quite read what they’re sayin’. 

Yet for all the town’s gossipin’, you’ll still see those same men and women sittin’ straight-backed in the pews every Sunday. Mouths sealed tight in prayer. Ain’t they know God counts gossip as sin? Or maybe they just think the lord ain’t listen’ so hard out here in the wild west. 

You know your daddy ain’t the best of men. A liar and a cheat. Hell, he’s nearly shot every boy who’s dared to step on your doorstep ever since you turned eighteen. Not because he’s not eager to get rid of you, it’s because he doesn’t intend to give another man access to the gold on his land, nor to anything else he owns. 

You wonder if that gold is what drew the visitors in last night. 

You weren’t meant to be awake. The hour was late, moon hangin’ high and pale, its light strained thin through cottoned windows. Still, you sat perched at the top of the stairwell, bare feet tucked beneath your pale nightdress, listening in as two well-dressed gentlemen occupied the parlor across from your daddy. 

You couldn’t see their faces from where you were - only fragments. One had the silkiest hair you’d ever laid eyes on, gathered low at the nape of his neck with a ribbon of worn leather. Fresh-ink dark. His voice slid out, smooth and indulgent, a sinner’s purr that had your heart thumpin’ in your chest. He had a broader frame than the two, shoulders stretching the fabric of his dark as night shirt taut, the cloth shifting with each movement. A practiced man. A smooth talker. You’d never seen your daddy so rapt and willing to listen. 

The other man was leaner, sharp in a way that made your skin prickle, hair white as a winter’s frost, posture lax, legs sprawled wide like his ma never taught him an ounce of manners. You wonder if they existed at all in his eyes. 

You shifted carefully, nudging your nightdress out of the way so you wouldn’t stumble when you stood. The floorboard, damn thing, needed a fixin’, betrayed you away. The sound was hardly more than a sigh - but it was enough for someone with the hearing of a hawk. You caught the gleam in the white-haired man's eyes. No one else seemed to notice. Your daddy didn’t pause, and the dark-haired man never broke the rhythm of his speech. Just a tap on his knee. It would’ve been easy to blame the noise on the house itself - old bones settling, or that wicked wind woryin’ in the eaves. 

But the white-haired man had seen you. 

You watched his mouth tilt, just barely forming into a knowing smile before his gaze slid away, attention folding back into the conversation as if nothin’ had happened at all. You finally released a breath, you never realized you were holdin’. 

They felt familiar, the pair of them. Not in a neighborly way, but in the sense of somethin’ you’d seen once before, like some movie poster or something from a newspaper. Not some outlaws that the folk in town had been whisperin’ about. Yet, no decent man ever smiled like that when they thought no one was watching. 

You decided not to test your luck too much, easing yourself back to your bedroom, careful of those old rickety floorboards. You thought that’d be the last of them, a one-time investment of some sort. 

Yet that one-time visit quickly became weekly visits, visits that got the town talkin’ because your daddy had been awfully sweatin’ this past month. Stressed beyond sin. Drinkin’ and smokin’ more and more before the two gentlemen’s visits. 

You weren’t sure why, but they always came with gifts. Flowers for your mother’s table. Suguru - the dark-haired one- always insisted on bringing you a new thing to wear. A broach for church, a new ribbon, sometimes a piece of jewelry. One time, you almost asked him where he got it from, such an expensive piece of rubies and silver, but the lead on your tongue was telling you not to ask such a thing. Not when his smile seemed so pure, but that gun on his hip said otherwise. Anytime he gave you a new necklace or two, you’d have this feeling to wash the piece because who knows maybe red rubies are actually white diamonds stained with something sinister. You found yourself prayin’ before bed a little harder that night. 

Satoru - the white-haired tease - seemed to favor sweets. 

Anytime he visited, he’d whistle for you, passing along a little bag of candy: sometimes taffy, sometimes a caramel or two, or if you’re lucky, a rare hard candy you’d never had the luxury of gettin’ your hands on before. Always with a note tucked inside: for my little sneak. 

He’d whistle the second he stepped onto the porch. 

“C’mon now, sugarplum,” he’d croon, loungin’ back like he owned your ma’s parlor, one boot - splattered dark along the white leather - propped right atop the nice coffee table your daddy paid a pretty penny for, bought from a man from foreign lands. “You been hidin’ from me all mornin’? Heat gettin’ to ya?”

You’d frown, your gaze settling on the stains along the side of his boot. Could be animal blood, you suppose. You’d heard a gunshot earlier that morning - folks said the coyotes got into the sheep again last night. Still, the teasin’ only deepened your scowl. 

“I ain’t hidin’,” you muttered. “Just don’t like bein’ whistled at like I’m some dog.”

“Couldn’t be no dog,” Satoru murmured, his eyes tracking every inch of you, teeth worrying at his lower lip when he noticed your fists bunch tight in the frill of your dress. “Dogs bark. You darlin’? You’re the purrin’ type. Takes a while to coax you out - more like a cat.”

Suguru only laughed softly, lifting his teacup for a slow sip. Always warm - he never bothered with ice. His fingers toyed with a strip of wood and a knife, carving something careful and precise. Your eyes could never settle on him; he was always too pretty. Yet it seems wherever he was, he was always focused on you, too. Like a wolf stalkin’ prey. 

“Be nice, Toru,” he cooed, his voice gentle in a way that reminded you painfully of your mother’s, back when you’d cry yourself into hysterics, “We’re guests, remember?”

“Ah. You’re right.”

Satoru’s grin stretched wider as he leaned forward, catching a loose strand of your hair between two slender fingers as you sat beside him. His crystalline gaze locked onto yours, voice drawlin’ low. “Forgive me, sugar. It’s just hard to behave when you’re sittin’ there lookin’ like temptation. Almost makes a man wanna settle down in the next town over.” 

When you sat with him in the parlor that late afternoon with the bugs buzzin’ in the fields, you tried not to look at the blood on his boots resting carelessly on your ma’s nice table. A man with no manners whatsoever. 

And your daddy - for all the beast he could be - never once told you to stay away from them. Perhaps he couldn’t because of things you’d never be able to understand. 

You noticed, though. Every time your daddy’s eyes landed on you talkin’ with them, or when Suguru leaned close to tuck a wildflower into your hair, your daddy’s gaze would dart straight to his boot tips, as if the snake embellish was far more interesting than your conversation. His hands would fidget, restless and unsure, fingers flexin’ like he wanted to reach for a gun that wouldn’t do him a lick of good. 

Your ma was no use either. It seemed the moment those men started comin’ around, the doctor began prescribin’ her a tonic - to ease her nerves, your daddy said. All of it started after you heard glass breakin’ between the two of them one night when you should’ve been on your knees prayin’ before bed. 

Now, she just lingers in her rocking chair on the porch, the slow creak of the wood the only sound she makes anymore. Her embroidery lies untouched in her lap, thread gone slack between her fingers. Her eyes were glassy, dulled over, like she was lookin’ clean through the world instead of at it and its wonders of what’s to come. 

You found yourself curlin’ up beside her more and more, the way a child would. Layin’ with your head in her lap, guidin’ her hand back into your hair whenever it slipped away. Sometimes she’d stroke it absentmindedly, fingers movin’ on muscle memory alone. 

After a long while, she speaks. 

“Used to be my daddy’s land,” she murmured, voice thin and distant, like she was talkin’ to someone long gone. “Mama’s before him, too. Every fence post, acre, tree… I know it all by heart.” 

Her fingers stilled in your hair. 

“Funny how easy it is for somethin’ to stop bein’ yours,” she added softly. “All it takes is the right kind of man.” 

You didn’t know if she meant your daddy - or the men who’d come after. 

✩₊˚.⋆☾𓃦☽⋆⁺₊✧

A few months pass, winter comin’, and your daddy grows more hysterical than usual - frayed thin, like a rope used too long.  

He keeps himself cooped up in his office now, pacing restless grooves into the floorboards and grinding his boots into the rugs you scrubbed clean on a warm Saturday afternoon. All that careful work ruined, fibers darkened and worn. His guns - polished to a dull, obsessive shine - hang heavy on his hips even inside the supposed safety of the house. He checks them often, fingers lingering too long on the grips, like cold steel might make up for everything that’s already slipped out through his hands. 

He doesn’t come to supper anymore. No matter how hard you try. Not even now, when you’re the one cookin’, stretchin’ meals thin since he fired the maids in one sharp, liquor-soaked rage. He’d muttered then about money bleedin’ out, about gold vanishing like smoke, somethin’ about trust bein’ a fool’s currency.

Plate sittin’ cold on the table, untouched. You eat alone more often than not, with the house echoing hollow around you. Once filled with life, now with none other than you and that beast of a man.

You haven’t seen much of your two wolves lately, either, not that you minded. Though the company would be nice. 

Their visits had grown scarce, then vanished altogether. No whistle cuttin’ through the porch air. No flowers laid gentle on the table with rose thorns already trimmed - not even your mother’s grave tucked quietly and unmarked on the edge of the property. Your daddy never put up a headstone, nor a cross. Said stone was expensive and nobody ain’t got the time to carve wood. Said names didn’t matter once the dirt had settled. Only God needed to know where she lay. 

No sweets slipped into your palm. Not even a careless grin. No folded note you’d later feed to the fire watchin’ the ink curl and blacken into nothin’. 

You tell yourself it must mean they’ve finished the work they were hired for. That the land is secure now. That whatever bargain your daddy struck - however crooked it may have been - has been settled and closed. 

But late at night, when the house creaks and sighs like it’s rememberin’ better days, you hear him mutterin’ behind his office door. Words whispered sharp and brittle - owed, soon, can’t - each one cracking under the weight of panic. 

And still the house feels watched. 

Like somethin’ patient is lingerin’ just beyond the fence line, breath slow and steady, waitin’ for a man to realize he’s out of gold and only got flesh left to offer. 

✩₊˚.⋆☾𓃦☽⋆⁺₊✧

The bank came by in the early spring, when the ground was still soft, and the air smelled like thawed earth and old promises. That if you survive the winter, you can somehow pay off your debts before the law gets you. The man spoke politely, but firmly, his hat held tight in his hands as he explained your daddy was overdue on his credit. Said papers had been filed. Said a sheriff from the next town over would be stoppin’ by soon enough to collect what was owed - one way or another. 

You tried talkin’ to your daddy after. 

You pressed your forehead to the office door, the wood warm from the fire with the sound of pacing on the other side, and you whispered like it were prayer. “Daddy.. What’s goin’ on?” 

What came back wasn’t an answer. More like a bark from a dog. “Get.” 

The word cracked through and straight to your chest. You didn’t ask again. 

You stopped showin’ your face at church after that. You weren’t goin’ to walk there either after Daddy sold the horses. You knew - even with the tough hide you’d grown over the past year - you wouldn’t survive the looks, the murmured scripture, the quiet cruelty sharpened behind their tight smiles and frilly fans. You could already hear their words, feel them like welts before they landed. 

They’d say your daddy bled himself dry. That he hired unlawful men and mistook wolves for guards. Let them drain the land down to bone and dust. 

They’d whisper that your daddy was the reason your ma lay in the ground without a stone. Whatever broke her started long before that tonic ever touched her lips. 

And maybe, alone in the quiet, with nothin’ but the creak of the house and your own breath for company, you wondered if they were right. 

They didn’t come like wolves that night. 

They came like men collectin’ a debt long overdue. 

Suguru stood easy in the lamplight, posture relaxed, hands folded loose as if this were a cordial visit instead of a reckoning. His voice carried smooth and measured, silk-soft but edged sharp beneath the polish. “Now, now,” he murmured, tone mild as warm tea. “There’s no need for all that noise. We’re only here to settle things.” 

Your daddy stalked the length of the room, boots grinding against the scuffed floorboards, breath coming hard and uneven. His fingers twitched near the holsters at his hips, knuckles pale, eyes wild and bloodshot. 

“You think I don’t know what you are?” he snapped, spittle flying. “You ain’t law. Ain’t got no badge. Ain’t got no right to be standin’ in my house -” 

Suguru hummed thoughtfully, tilting his head just so, dark hair slipping loose over his shoulder. A fox considering a trap already sprung. 

“Law’s a funny thing,” he said softly. “It listens closely to money. Guns do some persuadin’, sure - but money…” His smile curved, slow and knowing. Already winning the game. “Money does most of the biddin’ around here.” 

His gaze drifted then, unhurried and thorough. Over the stripped shelves. The overturned drawers. The safe yawning open, empty as a mouth with teeth pulled clean. 

Something like sympathy flickered across his serene face. As if practiced. 

“Looks like you’re in a bit of trouble,” Suguru added gently, almost kindly.

✩₊˚.⋆☾𓃦☽⋆⁺₊✧

You awoke - just like the first night they came - just this time to shouts and hollers tearing through the house. 

“You ain’t no sheriff!” Your daddy screeched, glass shattering on the floor, the sharp crash echoing loud enough to rattle the walls. You figured it was the last of his liquor, flung empty and desperate. 

You stayed in bed, frozen beneath the quilt, breath trapped in your chest as your hands fumbled for the letter opener tucked inside your bedside drawer. Anything for a lick of protection. You held still like a child waitin’ for a storm to pass.

Another voice slipped through the walls - far too calm and amused for anything good to come of it. 

“Oh, but I am now,” came the lazy drawl. Satoru’s voice, thick with smugness, a grin folded right into the syllables. “Sheriff of that sweet little town downriver. Ain’t it funny how quick folks’ll hand you a badge when you clear out a few problems for ‘em?”

You could hear him move then.

The sound of his boots - always light on his feet - crossing broken glass. Unhurried. Confident.

“They even asked kindly to help out this shithole of a town,” he went on lightly. “Seems there’s been a bit of an issue between you and the bank.”

A pause, you could hear the teasin’ lilt behind his voice, that cocky grin of his burned into your mind. Somethin’ you think a little too often, sometimes unholy things. 

“’Course, they didn’t ask too many questions about how we went about fixin’ things,” he added lightly. “Guess givin’ the people peace over a mongrel like you is reason enough to want you dead.”

“I’ll give you anything you want,” your daddy choked out.

You heard him scrambling, boots skiddin’ uselessly across spilled liquor and broken glass, breath hitchin’ sharp and wet like he couldn’t quite pull enough air into his lungs. A gun clicked, loud and naked in the space, the sound trembling with the same panic that cracked his voice.

“My daughter,” he blurted, tryin’ to save his skin. “Yeah? You took an interest, didn’t you? You both did?”

That was when you slid from your bed. Almost like a cue that things are about to get bad. If your daddy was savin’ his skin. You should be, too. 

Bare feet met the cold floor, slow and careful, every step calculated as you crept toward the door. Your fingers clenched tight around the letter opener, its thin blade biting into your palm, useless but comforting all the same. The house groaned softly around you, old wood complaining under the weight of what was about to happen.

A low whistle cut through the hall.

Not playful like Satoru’s. A sharper sound. You knew without seeing him that it belonged to Suguru.

“Sellin’ off your daughter?” Suguru said softly, voice smooth as oil, touched with something almost like amusement. “When you haven’t even paid us for all that work we did for ya?”

You pressed closer to the door, heart batterin’ your ribs like an untamed stallion, fingers clenched white around the letter opener. The house felt too small, walls closing in, the air thick with the coppery tang of fear.

“We slaughtered every man in those mines,” Suguru went on calmly, like he was recitin’ figures from a ledger. “You think that’s easy on the mind?”

A beat passed. You wonder if your daddy was a stammerin’ mess and you just couldn’t hear it. Beggin’ and pleadin’ like a sinner in church. 

The only thing that broke the silence was Satoru with a long and dramatic sigh, like a bored child denied a treat from the general store down the road.

“Aw, c’mon,” he whined lightly, voice sing-song and wrong in the middle of all that panic. “Can’t we just kill him already?” You could hear him shift his weight, boots scraping lazy circles through broken glass. “We were gonna take the girl anyway.”

Your stomach dropped at the sound of that. There was a wet, choking sound from your daddy, something between a sob and a prayer gone unanswered.

Suguru didn’t answer right away.

You imagined him standing there in the lamplight, considering it, head tilted, expression thoughtful, as if Satoru had just asked a reasonable question instead of sealin’ a man’s fate to be hung.

“…Toru,” Suguru murmured at last, gentle but firm. “Don’t be rude.”

The pause stretched. Suffocating.

“But,” he added smoothly, “you’re not wrong.”

The words settled heavy in the air, pressin’ down on your chest until your breath came thin and sharp, each inhale scraped raw against your ribs.

You had choices. Not real ones, only the kind that are ugly and desperate when the world has already made up its mind for your fate. 

You could run.

Bare feet slapping against warped floorboards, the skirt of your nightgown gathered tight in shaking fists as you bolted into the night. The spring air would bite cruel and wet, the last of the frost still meaning business, stiffenin’ your joints and burnin’ your lungs as you fled toward town. You could pray your legs were faster than theirs. Pray the dark loved you enough to hide you.

You could stay quiet. Melt back into the house’s narrow bones, wedge yourself into some forgotten corner and hope the men who’d stalked mines and slaughtered towns somehow overlooked a trembling girl and her ragged breath.

You could beg. Fall to your knees and offer tears where gold had failed. Hope mercy lived somewhere behind sharp smiles and even sharper eyes.

You could even fight - rush them with the letter opener clenched white-knuckled in your fist, blade flashing, desperate and small. Save your daddy. But the thought soured before it could settle.

You knew, deep and certain, that he’d sell you again in a heartbeat if it bought him one more breath. One more chance to crawl free.

The house groaned softly around you, old wood sighing as it had already accepted what was coming.

So you ran.

You didn’t care that you were still in your nightdress, thin cotton clingin’ uselessly to your skin as it snagged and tore against brush and fence wire. You didn’t care that the cold bit straight through you, numbin’ your legs even as they burned, muscles screaming with every frantic step.

You didn’t care about the gunshot that cracked the night wide open behind you - too loud, too close - nor the sound that followed it: bright, childlike laughter, sharp and delighted, chasin’ after you through the dark. Boots struck the dirt hard and sure behind you, unhurried, like they knew you’d tire long before they would.

Tears streamed down your face, hot and blinding, streakin’ your vision until the world smeared into shadows and silver moonlight. Your breath tore ragged from your chest, each inhale shallow and panicked, throat achin’ like it might close up entirely. You stumbled more than once, heart a hammerin’ so violently you swore they’d hear the wretched sound poundin’ in your ears.

You didn’t care if wolves or coyotes were out tonight, teeth gleaming somewhere beyond the fence line, hunger sharp enough to rip you apart. You’d grown up on stories - whispered warnings about girls who were alone with no protection, about what happened when they were caught by men worse than beasts.

You weren’t goin’ to be another one of those stories. Not to be another cautionary tale at church. Not another girl laid in the dirt without a marker to say she’d ever been here at all.

You ran and ran until your foot caught on a fallen branch, and you hit the ground hard, cheek scraping against bark, blood already trickling warm down your knee. You scrambled, breath hiccupping in your chest, draggin’ yourself through leaves and rot until you found it: a hollowed-out tree, just wide enough to crawl into.

You curled tight, knees pressed to your chest, the letter opener shaking uselessly in your hand. Blood streaked across the white of your nightdress. An unforgivin’ color. Adrenaline spiked too high for you to even consider the pain. Your feet throbbed. Frost crept up your spine like ghost fingers from those stories you’d share at the bonfire. 

And still, you heard them coming. Satoru’s voice rang out first = sing-song, giddy, off.

“Just like a cat, Sugu!” he cackled. “Dogs’ll come runnin’ to a whistle, but this one? She’s got claws.” A pause, boots crunching closer. “We’ll have to get her a bell.”

You clapped a hand over your mouth, chest heaving, hot tears streaming past your fingers. Every breath you took was laced with pine and blood and terror.

Suguru didn’t laugh at that. You could picture him hummin’ at the thought. Like he could pick you out a nice ribbon in town just for a soft bell to lay against your throat. You only heard his soft whistle, a tune of sorts. A lullaby for prey. Not hunting. Just waitin’ to see if his trap worked.

“Play nice, Toru,” Suguru’s voice slipped through the trees, unhurried, almost affectionate. “She just lost her daddy. She’s gonna need a couple of strong men to take care of her now, hm?”

You shoved yourself deeper into the hollow, splinters biting into your back. Your hand slipped in blood. Your lungs ached. Tears wouldn’t stop streamin’.

“Boo!”

Satoru exploded into view like a firework, crouched just inches from your face, his grin feral, unhinged, too wide for his face. Eyes glitterin’ with wild delight, pupils blown wide, frosty hair disheveled from the run, cheeks flushed with exhilaration.

“There you are,” he panted, breath hot in the cold air, fog curling from his lips. “God, you run so cute. Sugar, sugar, sugar - look at you! All scratched up and sobbin’. Good thing we’re here to patch ya up!”

He reached for you, fingers blood-slick and shakin’ from all the excitement. You’d never seen a man so joyful until he grabbed your ruined knee. You cried out, sharp and pained, as he dug his blunt nails into the open wound, thumb pressing into torn skin like he meant to keep you there by the bone.

“Oh, sugarplum,” he cooed, and that grin didn’t waver. “Don’t cry like that. You’ll make me worse.”

His other hand slid up, knuckles brushing your face, smearing a tear across your cheek. His eyes didn’t blink - just drank you in, tremblin’ with the high of having found you.

“You look so pretty when you’re scared.”

Satoru dragged you from your hiding place like it was nothing, hauling you out into the cold dirt and pinning you there beneath him. He loomed over you, all long limbs and feverish energy, his knee wedged firm between your thighs to keep you still. His sky‑blue eyes drank you in, bright and blown wide, alight with the manic thrill of finally having you right where he wanted.

Suguru’s voice followed, low and indulgent, drifting in like a cruel comfort.

“Sorry about him,” he cooed gently, “He’s been waitin’. And waitin’. Took a long time to get here to you.”

Bile burned up the back of your throat.

Suguru’s presence settled closer, not touching, not needing to. His shadow stretched long and deliberate over you, causing you to fold into yourself more. Like prey. 

All you could shake out between hiccupin’ sobs was a string of, “Please let me go,” and “I won’t say nothin’.”

“You ought to think about what comes after,” he said gently, voice low and patient, like how your ma would be when you were throwin’ an awful tantrum. “A young woman found alone. Nightdress torn. No father left to speak for her.” His violet eyes traced the ruined hem of cotton, the scraped skin, the trembling in your hands. “Two men with her.”

Men carried weight. Finality.

“Towns don’t care for truth,” Suguru continued softly. “They care for stories. And stories rot quicker than bodies.” A pause, almost tender, you watched his silky hair in the night shake with his head as he pondered what could come of you if they let you go. “No dowry. No family. No man lining up to marry what folks already believe has been spoiled.”

The forest felt closer then, branches crowding, shadows thickening, the air gone damp and cold as if the night itself were closing ranks.

“Best case,” he went on, mild as a sermon, “you’d be passed from place to place on pity alone. Worst case…” He let the silence finish it. “There are houses for girls who don’t belong anywhere else. Places you’ll have to pay without money. Awful places.”

Your breath shook, whether it be from the cold or the way Satoru straddled you, sittin’ right on your torso, barely putting his weight down but enough for you to struggle. 

Satoru shifted above you, restless energy finally finding its shap. Hands searching, finding place on your cheek or under your nightdress. Thumbs brushing over your hardened buds in awe, you could see the drool on his soft pink lips as he drew himself to you. He really was a man with no manners. His touch wasn’t hurried. It was hungry. Lovesick. As if he’d waited his whole life to feel you breathe beneath his palms.

“That’s why I fixed it,” Satoru added on quickly, almost breathless. “Took care of the law part. Nobody gets to decide things about you anymore.” His voice wobbled with something like relief, eyes shining too bright in the dark. “I couldn’t stand the thought of them touchin’ you. Talkin’ about you like you were already gone.”

He leaned closer, forehead nearly brushing yours, devotion cracking through his grin. All you could stare at was how his blue eyes seemed to have matched the moonlight glow tonight. “We’re keepin’ you safe,” he insisted softly. “That’s what sheriffs do. That’s what I do.Suguru will handle the church, and I’ll handle the law.”

Suguru smiled then, his hand moving to pet your hair like your mother would, blunt nails against the scalp, slow movements like calming a frightened animal.

 “We’re the only ones who love you enough to stay,” he murmured. “The world isn’t kind to girls left alone.”

The woods stood silent around you. No lantern light. No roads. No witnesses. Just dark trees, damp earth, and the distant, lonely sound of something howling far off.

Satoru’s mouth brushed close to your ear, his voice dropping sweet and thrilled into the quiet.

“It’s okay to holler,” he whispered. “Nothin’ but us and the wolves out here. We’ll make sure you’re still honorable for your weddin’ day.”

Could you even tell the difference anymore? Between the man and the beasts outside? 

Leavin' you prayin' while Satoru’s mouth sucked against your neck and something hard pressed against your bare thigh. The sound of an unbuckle near your head where Suguru sat. Dread lay thick in your stomach. Nothin' but hope that this was all just a dreadful dream. That you were still in the summer heat, curled next to your ma. 

Would've been better to be eaten by the wolves.

✩₊˚.⋆☾𓃦☽⋆⁺₊✧

dividers by: @/saradika

[imyourightnow]

This made me kinda sad 🥲 poor girl almost cried for her

[madamechrissy]

mdni- Law professor! Higuruma x law student! reader

Your law professor Hiromi Higuruma is exhausted, he'd asked you to come for a meeting to discuss your upcoming internship with him - you were a top law student, after all, but he had no damn sleep and his coffee is too weak. He's eased back with his dark eyes shut, hands over his face, trying to wake himself up enough to see you.

It's hard to see you too, hard to even look at you, how fucking pretty you are makes his job difficult to say the least. You're a good twelve years younger, not that its' that much of an issue, the problem is you're his student.

He certainly can't cross that line, and he certainly can't jerk off every time he sees your thighs in your little pencil skirts, all professional and smiling as you bring him breakfast, lunch, fuck you're always bending over to give him something - and making him feel like a fucking depraved pervert. He tries not to think of you when he jerks his cock at night, but you flit through his mind.

How he'd fuck you right here on this desk, pump all his cum inside your pretty cunt. How he'd eat your surely cute little cunt, have your squirt all down his dress shirt, his tie, every inch covered in you. Fuck he'd bathe in it if he could.

Even now just thinking of seeing you has his cock throbbing, he's so tired he can't stop it like he usually can, jumping up when you walk in, clearing his throat and quickly sitting up, praying you don't get close enough to see the tent in his slacks. You smile all pretty, today your blouse is unbuttoned too much, hints of your tits peeking out as if to taunt him.

"Mr. Hiromi," you say softly, shutting the door behind you and holding two cups precariously. "I got your favorite espresso."

"Oh fuck I love you," you giggle when he panics, tired eyes lidded as they gaze down at your lips.

How would they wrap his cock?

"I mean..." He starts stammering just a bit, but you smile.

"I will take that," you tease, handing it to him, your fingertips brushing together when he takes it. You feel that heat shoot down into your tummy, a gnawing ache that's just constantly there for your professor -months of having to watch him lecture, watch him in court, your vibrator hates to see you coming after days you join him and watch him argue.

When he gets angry? Fuck.

He seems so calm but it's just brimming underneath the surface, he takes a sip and moans. "God that's good, so much better than the shitty coffee here."

"I figured so," you sip your own drink - much more foamy and sweet, handing him the documents he asked for. "Here you go."

"They can wait," he tosses them to the side now, sighing and leaning back in his chair. "It's the weekend, don't you have some party to go to or something? A date?"

"Nah I was just gonna watch Bridgerton and cuddle on the couch," you sit on his desk, crossing your legs, his gaze darts to them, fingers damn near twitching with how badly he wants to grip them.

"You're twenty three, shouldn't you be having fun?"

"As if you're so old," you tease, uncrossing them and swinging your ankles around just a bit. "But no, not my thing."

"I see," he tilts his head and leans close. "What season are you on?"

"You do not watch it!"

"Who says I don't," you're giggling all cute, ruining his muddled mind even further. "Okay I don't but I have heard of it."

"It's really good! You probably just rewatch Lincoln Lawyer on repeat."

"Tch," you're giggling again and drinking your cup. "You're right."

"Called it!" You hop down and nearly trip, he catches you buy your hips quickly, the coffee precariously falling but you some how catch it with both hands. "Oh I'm so sorry."

He says nothing, not when your tits are right in his face, and he can feel the curve of your waist, he hardly holds back a gutteral moan, not letting go. You set the coffee down with a shaky hand, heart hammering in your chest, stepping between his spread thighs now.

"Are you all right, Sir?"

"Don't fuckin' call me that," he rests his head on your waist now, exhaling and tugging you closer, nuzzling the little buttons of your bodice when your hand brushes back his messy dark locks. "You really should go."

"Oh? Why's that?" he chuckles just a bit, looking up at you underneath those lidded eyes, black from his pupils being blown out.

"If you stay I'll put a fucking baby inside you, how do you think your law career will be then?" You suck in a breath, thighs pressing together, filthy images fill his mind - pumping so many loads of cum in your cunt you can't walk without them dripping down your legs. "Go."

Your answer is to sink to your knees, he barely holds himself back when your fingers undo his zipper. "I don't want a baby yet but you can certainly say you wanna, you can cum inside me."

"God," he's hissing when you pull out his cock, the tip already leaking all that white he wants inside you. He holds your hair in a ponytail when you're flicking your tongue on his tip. "I won't give you special treatment in class, but I will fill you with all the cum you want."

"Mmm," you take him in your mouth now, sucking and watching him with your pretty eyes, he tugs your hair into a better ponytail, watching as you glide your throat down him. You're touching your clit over your panties as he starts to get mean with it, desperately rutting his hips up, hardly able to keep quiet.

"F-fuck, your slutty throat is that good? Sweetheart," he's mumbling now, your drool is spilling down his balls, tight and heavy, your nose brushing that dark pubic hair as you gag and choke on it. "Touching yourself? No."

He yanks your fingers off, you pull back with a wet pop, lips dripping with saliva and pre. "I need to cum, please Sir."

"You're asking for it," he grumbles - every time you call him that more pre spurts from his red, swollen tip, sucking you off your fingers, you gasp at the action, just to get tugged up by your hair to stand. "Turn around and lift your skirt f'me, hmm?"

This isn't meticulous, exhausted law professor Hiromi, this is dominant, commanding Hiromi with his big cock leaking, you eagerly obey and he sighs, sinking to his knees as you tug that skirt over the curve of your ass. He buries his face against your cunt, panties on and all, soaking wet already.

"You're already this wet? From sucking me?" Your answer is a muffled whine, trying not to let the entire college know that Hiromi is about to bury that long nose inside your cunt. "Prop that leg up - atta girl, there you go. Good job."

"F-fuck," you're clinging to his desk when he tugs your panties to the side, tongue lapping a fat stripe from your clit to your ass, slipping down to fuck into your quivering hole.

God you taste good - he can't get enough of it, the slick coating his tongue and lips, dripping down his chin. He parts your swollen folds to look at it winking right at him, cunt just gushing arousal in clear little drips that leak down your thighs. He licks it up greedy as it spills, and you're arching, begging for him.

"Please, inside," you're barely able to form a word when he nudges your twitchy clit with his nose, his papers just fucking scattering as you start clinging to the desk. "Mnh, please!"

"Shh, I'll give it to you," he leans up, turning your face to his - he's a gentleman and he hasn't kissed you yet, that just won't do. "Open."

You eagerly do what he asks, cock slapping against your ass with a loud thwack, your tongue out, he spits your juices right on it, closing your mouth and urging you to swallow, tip nudging that messy cunt, pressing in, she's so wet she's soaking his cock, dripping down onto the polished hardwood underneath.

He sinks his cock deep inside your walls, your head falls back, ragged little breaths escaping as your tongues swirl all messy, one of his hands tugging your thigh up even higher, bottoming out in one stroke. You can hardly take just how girthy his cock is, the tip kissing your cute cervix as he lets you adjust for just a moment.

"Feel better than I even imagined," you blush now - how cute you blush with cock inside you, walls quivering around him, his spit down your throat, when the door knocks and you tense up Hiromi just slams inside you harder.

"Ah!"

"Shh darling," he covers your mouth with his hand, fucking inside of you deeper, the wet squelch just echoing in his office. "Yes?"

"I need to talk about class tomorrow," it's professor Nanami, as soon as he talks your cunt pulses, Hiromi gets unreasonably jealous, his other hand toying with your twitchy clit.

"You're getting that wet from him?" You shake your head, but Nanami talks again and you're soaking his cock as it shoves fully in, balls smacking as he moves, the wet sounds obscene. "I don't share."

"Hiromi?" Nanami asks, his lips are on your ear as he lets your mouth go and you bite on your lip.

"Want him to know you're getting bred by your professor, pretty girl?" You do in fact, filthy thoughts are racing of fucking both your professors, though Hiromi is pounding your cunt so good you don't think you could handle more, his finger roughly pressing patterns on your clit faster. "Go ahead, cum."

"C-can't, psycho," you glare and Hiromi just smirks all tired, wrapping an arm around you to drag your messy hole right down him. "Mnh!"

"Is everything all right in there?"

"It's fine Nanamin, I'm just... wanting a nap, you know? Can I come see you in a f-fuck..." You're clenching too tight, he almost can't take it, cunt milking him for all he's worth. "In a few?"

"Always fucking napping and shit," Nanami sighs and stomps off, just in time for Higuruma's curved cock head to nudge your spot, you spasm and gasp out, barely able to cover your mouth in time, cunt squirting all down your thighs as your orgasm hits.

"Oh fuck, and you're a messy little law student, huh?" He's fucking you harder, pressing your back down so you arch even more, his fingers slipping inside your mouth. "Squirting just for me?"

"Mhm," you're nodding, letting him pin you down, your face next to those law books as he fucks you through it and into another orgasm, Hiromi's pinning your wrists down behind your back, moving harder, until you can't see.

No amount of masturbation prepared him for your needy, messy hole, nor how pliant and eager you are, letting him use your body however he wants. He hovers over you, lips brushing your temple tenderly as he moves his hips so goddamn mean. "I'll w-watch Bridgerton with you if you let me fill your cunt up."

You barely manage a laugh, turning your head as he lifts it by your hair and kisses you. "All seasons?"

"God anything, j-just wanna fill her up so full," you nod and Hiromi busts as if on cue, his messy white ropes all puffy and sticky in your slick walls, he's moaning desperately not even trying to be quiet. "Fuckin' taking all of it, want your cunt bred by me, hmm?"

You didn't think Hiromi would be filthy.

You didn't think he'd spit in your mouth, tell you he was gonna breed you or finger his cum back inside you. And you absolutely didn't think he'd actually come watch Bridgerton with you in your little off campus apartment, but he does. Though you're cockwarming him and he's torturing you, not letting you move.

Maybe Hiromi Higuruma is just a little sadistic.

****

that episode has me unwell tagging my bbs @cupidstrace @kamiflix @uhnosav hehe

[imyourightnow]

🥰 that man is so hot

[narumi-gens]

Just Another Collar

Tamsy Caines x f!Reader

summary: Tamsy can't stop staring at your choker.

warnings: 18+ minors/ageless/blank blogs dni, smut, tamsy (the warning is tamsy), no manga spoilers but possibly manga vibe spoilers (if that makes sense?), tamsy is a freak, pretty graphic depictions of choking/fantasies about choking, noncon/dubcon, tamsy is jerking off on the reg to the mental image of you and your choker, tokushin being used as god intended, minor blood kink but only as it relates to possessiveness, mentioned human trafficking, tamsy is really out here trying to trigger a ptsd episode, submissive!reader, sadist!tamsy bc duh, manipulative!tamsy bc duh, yandere!tamsy bc duh

notes: tumblr didn't like my original title for this so I had to settle for this less good title and I'm sad. ofc my first fic in over a year was never going to be easy.

words: 4k

minors, ageless, and blank blogs do not comment, like, or reblog

Chokers are so universally worn on the ground that they hardly warrant a second glance. Some people try to turn them into a true accessory by attaching charms. Others wear them as bracelets rather than around their necks. But no matter how people dress up or style their chokers, there’s nothing remarkable about them.

And yet, Tamsy finds himself unable to look away from yours. At first, he thinks it’s as simple as wanting to savor the sight of something wrapped around the elegant column of your throat. He’s spent countless hours imagining it’s one of Tokushin’s ropes circling your neck instead of the communicator. He’s spent just as many hours fisting his cock and imagining taking Tokushin’s rope once it’s around your neck and tightening it with his bare hands until your teary eyes roll back as you lose consciousness. 

But for as much time as he spends fantasizing about your throat, his hands, and navy rope infused with Anima, he knows it’s something more than that.

So then, he thinks it's because he's the one who gave it to you when he found you, when he saved you, and recruited you for Team Eager. Just knowing that an object he gave you is constantly hanging around your neck, and that it carries his blood, is enough to make him hard — especially when he thinks about how your blood is imbued in the choker around his own neck.

He remembers that when he first cut his thumb to swipe his blood along your choker, it took monumental self-control to keep from shoving it past your closed lips and forcing you to drink his blood straight from the source — so that a piece of him would always be part of you. And when you hesitated to cut yourself for a brief moment, looking to him first for assurance, before nicking your finger and giving your blood to his choker, the urge to grab the digit and give it a harsh suck had been almost painful to suppress.

However, even his sick satisfaction with knowing that you never take off the choker, not even when sleeping or showering, isn’t enough to explain what has him so obsessed with the ubiquitous device.

The answer finally comes to him one day, months after his perverse fixation began, when you’re sitting innocently across from him and he’s daydreaming about stringing you up in Tokushin’s net and fucking you from behind, your bonds only tightening with every brutal thrust of his cock into your dripping and abused cunt. You’re complaining about the paperwork Semiu has been nagging you to complete, protesting that as a giver who rarely, if ever, sees combat, you’re ill-suited to filling out reports. You insist that it should be Team Eager’s leader — giving Tamsy a pointed look — that should have to complete them. 

It’s as he gives you an indulgent smile and gently admonishes you — just enough affection and amusement in his voice to keep it from feeling like he’s lecturing you as he says that Semiu is just doing her job as the Cleaners’ receptionist — that he gets to the part in his fantasy where reality crashes down on him with all the strength of a trash beast.

Because in his head, he imagines slipping his fingers beneath the back of your choker and yanking on it hard enough to have your back arching in an unnatural angle, or as unnatural an angle as Tokushin’s iron restraints will allow. But then he realizes that you’re wearing your choker so tightly that he doubts his fingers would even fit between the thick cord and your fragile skin. 

Where everyone else's chokers hang loosely around the base of their necks, roomy enough that they usually leave the hollow of the throat exposed, yours is snugly wrapped around the middle of your neck.

The revelation — because it truly is a revelation — goes straight to his cock, and he’s thankful for how the many layers of fabric that make up his baggy uniform, the table between you that hides his lap, and his unflappable nature all work in his favor. 

In all of his many, many, many fantasies, never once has he imagined that having something tightly wound around your neck — whether it’s his hands, Tokushin’s ropes, his belt, his tie, the hose to his oxygen tank, a seatbelt in the backseat of one of the cars, even his own long, silky strands on more than one occasion — would actually be welcome. 

There’s a small part of him that’s disappointed. Your tears, your choked pleas for him to stop, your nails biting into the backs of his hands, your fingers frantically trying to yank whatever’s around your neck loose, your gulping gasps when he withdraws his cock from your throat that last only as long as it takes for him to constrict your air supply again, and the look of betrayal in your shining eyes as the light fades from them have always been integral to every fantasy. 

But the disappointment is quick to pass because while you clearly prefer having your choker snug, he thinks that if you were ever forced to confront it, you would be left lost and confused about what it might say about you. After all, when he found you, when he saved you, the first thing that you had done was to beg with tear-filled eyes for him to break the constricting metal collar that your captors had welded shut around your neck. 

So his fantasies begin to take a slightly different shape. You’re still helpless beneath him. You’re still desperately trying to loosen the grip on your throat. You’re still crying and pleading and wasting what precious little breath you have to ask him why. But now there’s an added layer.

Because now, when he dreams of you helpless beneath him, your pussy is dripping with the sticky strands of your arousal. Now, when you desperately try to loosen the grip on your throat, your pussy clenches down around his cock in time with every squeeze of his hands. Now, when you’re crying and pleading and wasting what precious little breath you have to ask him why, it’s not why are you doing this to me, Tamsy, but instead why do you like it when he does this to you.

He knows it might break you to realize that the symbol of your captivity, when your worth was measured only in a monetary amount, is the same thing that makes you wet. And he hopes for it. 

It’s easy to find you alone, wandering the halls of HQ late one night. It’s no secret that you’ve always kept odder hours. However, it’s not him who finds you but Tokushin, one of its threads silently trailing after you in the dark. The yarn is light enough that you don’t notice it as it slides up your body, closer and closer to your neck. 

You remain so clueless, even as the thread reaches your choker, that Tamsy feels like it’s his duty as a fellow Cleaner to caution you about being more aware of your surroundings. But for now, he’ll reap the rewards of your ignorance as he uses Tokushin to pop open your choker and remove it from your person entirely. 

He watches you from the other end of the hallway with a frown as you continue to walk away, Tokushin retreating towards him, the end of the string wrapped around your choker. You really should be paying better attention, even in the safety of HQ. 

When it reaches him, he plucks your choker from Tokushin’s thread before it rewinds itself around the wooden spindle in his pocket. Anima drains from the object and it becomes a simple distaff once more. 

The choker is warm between his fingers, still carrying your body heat after having been flush with your skin for so long, and Tamsy can’t help but rub it slowly against his cheek with a contented sigh. He could spend the rest of the night just savoring the feel of your choker, but you’re about to enter the stairwell and he doesn’t want to let you get too far. 

He calls out your name and you come to an immediate stop, your foot hanging in midair above the first step down. You look back and when you see him walking towards you, you turn to face him fully, the curious frown on your lips quickly morphing into a cheerful smile. 

“I didn’t realize you were back already. I thought the job was gonna take another day or two,” you greet him. “Did everything go all right?”

He smiles in return with a nod and an affirmative hum, but your attention is quickly drawn away from the topic of his assignment to the choker twirling around his index finger. Your eyebrows knit together in confusion. You instinctively bring a hand up to your neck, only for shock to light up your features when you realize that it’s your choker that Tamsy is twirling around his finger. 

“You dropped this,” he needlessly points out, both the dark and your surprise providing him with enough cover to keep his gaze trained on your fingers as you rub the bare skin of your throat where your choker usually sits. 

“Yeah, I guess it got loose. Thanks for grabbing it. It would have been so annoying if someone else found it first,” you reply, your nose wrinkling at the thought. “I’d never hear the end of how I’m constantly losing things.”

“It’s a good thing I’m around,” he offers, his tone benign. He gestures for you to come closer and a rush of satisfaction courses through him when you close the gap between you without a second thought. You hold out your hand to take the device from him, but he shakes his head and leans down to meet you. “Let me.”

Your eyes briefly widen in surprise, before hesitation creeps into your demeanor. You slightly curl in on yourself and your hand drops from your throat as you begin to play with your fingers, a clear sign of your nervousness. 

“A-are you sure?” you ask, suddenly extremely conscious of how little space there is between you. 

“Mhmm. This way I can make sure it’s on right,” he explains, entirely rational. He’s already opening it and raising the band before you can protest any further. 

It’s a simple thing — all he has to do is loop it around your neck and snap it shut, maybe give it a gentle tug to ensure the clasp isn’t faulty. But he didn’t orchestrate this late-night run-in to be done with it all in a few quick seconds. 

So, he leans even closer in and takes his time sliding the choker around the back of your neck. He skims his fingertips along your skin under the pretense of trying to guide the band to the exact spot where he knows you wear it. You’ve never had a very good poker face, and even if there weren’t only a few inches separating you, he would never miss the shiver that runs up your spine at the sensation. 

“You know, I’ve noticed that you wear your choker a little tighter than most people,” he remarks absently as he fiddles with the ends. 

He thinks if you weren’t so thrown off by the unexpected turn your night has taken — or if you weren’t so trusting of him — you might think it odd that someone with his skills in combat is taking so long to do what’s essentially an everyday task. 

“Y-yeah, I guess…” you murmur, clearly distracted by the way his thumb sweeps a small line right up the center of your throat. “I haven’t really thought about it. It just…seems like that’s how it should fit.”

When he brings his face just a little closer to your neck, he can feel each one of your exhales on his temple. He’s sure you’re aware of it as well, considering how your breathing starts to quicken. 

“It’s just a little surprising since you spent so long with something trapped around your neck,” he says. His tone is casual, like the observation just came to him and that he doesn’t think much of it. His words are punctuated by a soft click! as he snaps the choker closed, and the noise combined with the abrupt mention of your past has you freezing. “And they kept it tight, didn’t they? I can still see the scar here.”

“I d-don’t…it’s not…” you stumble over your words, unnerved by the reminder of your time in captivity and the collar that you had been forced to wear for so long that it left a permanent ring etched into your skin. 

You can faintly recall how self-conscious you used to be of the scar when you first joined the Cleaners, and how it was only the scar that took up almost half of Tamsy’s face that eventually eased your anxiety. Because, while you don’t know the history of it, if he could wear a scar so prominently on his beautiful face without a care, then shouldn’t you be able to as well?

“Actually, I remember being surprised you took the choker to begin with. I thought I’d have to convince you to at least wear it on your wrist,” he muses with a soft huff of laughter. He continues to fiddle with the clasp, tightening it so slowly that you don’t even notice — like a frog jumping into warm water without realising the temperature is incrementally increasing. 

He’s so close that he doesn’t only see you swallow, but the sound echoes in his ears. Your tongue peeks out as you lick your lips and he has to hold in his sigh of longing at the hint of pink, settling instead for relishing how your wet lips now shine in the moonlight filtering in through the windows. 

What he wouldn’t give to see you drooling around his cock, your spit messily trailing past your chin and down your throat to coat Tokushin’s fibers, your saliva becoming another cherished part of his Vital Instrument. 

“Y-you said it was important for me to wear it. That it connects us,” you finally reply, breathless from the position he has you in and the topic he’s brought up. He glances at you to see the slightly dazed way you’re staring at the ceiling, fully exposing your throat to him, too trusting to be aware of the danger he poses. 

“That’s right,” he hums pleasantly. “It ties us together.”

With your gaze directed up and away from him, he allows his mask to slip for the briefest moment, his lips stretching into a wide, sadistic grin as he suddenly tightens your choker beyond how you normally wear it. Your reaction is instantaneous — you gasp, your body tenses, and your hand makes an aborted gesture to grab onto the front of his jacket, your senses half a second behind your reflexes, before it changes course and reaches up to the choker itself, only for him to bat your hand away. 

“Tamsy! It’s too tight!” you protest, although it comes out as more of a wheeze, your chest rising and falling rapidly as panic begins to build. He’s never heard you say his name with such anguish and it sounds so beautiful, like a perfect melody.

His posture straightens as stands back up to his full height, looming over you in the dark, and when he sees the mixture of confusion, fear, and alarm on your face, it’s almost enough to make him groan and shove you to your knees — all that’s missing are streaks of his cum. 

But it’s the desperation he sees in your eyes that will stay with him forever, the way you’re pleading with him because you know that he’s the only one who can provide you clemency. It’ll fuel every fantasy he has of you from that point on. Every time he imagines something wound around your throat or his cock pistoning in and out of your pussy or your knees forced wide open by Tokushin’s strings, it’ll be with the same desperation coloring your expression. 

He turns pitying as he looks down on you. He’s released the choker — it’s tight enough that it stays in place without needing to be held — but his hands are still loosely hanging around your neck. He soothingly rubs small circles on your throat with his thumbs as he shushes you, like he’s trying to calm a spooked animal.

“Shhhhh, you’re fine. It’s just a little snug,” he consoles you, every word dripping with condescension as he makes light of your distress. 

“Tamsy,” you beg, helpless to what you believe is his uncharacteristic cruelty, but he just shakes his head and gives you a look of sympathy. 

“I can’t make it looser. It could just fall off again,” he explains, as if he’s telling a child why they need to take their foul-tasting medicine. He almost sounds pained, like it hurts him as much as the choker is hurting you. His thumbs haven’t ceased moving along your throat and he softly gives you another shush. “You’ll get used to it.”

It looks like you’re about to protest and tell him again that it’s too tight. 

“Be good for me and take it, okay?” he breathes into what little space remains between you, and he’s surprised he doesn’t come on the spot with how quickly the fight drains from you at what appear to have been the magic words. 

“These chokers are the only way you and I can stay constantly connected,” he murmurs as he watches how your breathing begins to calm, your tension easing with each rub of his thumbs. “So, you have to be good.”

You nod dumbly in his hold and he lets one of his thumbs trail just slightly down until it’s right above the center of your choker. He waits half a beat and then applies just enough pressure on the middle of your throat for it to be noticeable. He wonders if it’s going to set you off again, especially when your hand suddenly grabs his wrist, but rather than trying to push him away, you simply cling to him — like those pathetic little kittens hanging from branches in those lame motivational posters that turn up every so often in the trash. 

While his expression remains sympathetic, as he takes in the way your lips have slightly parted, how your pupils have blown wide, and how your breathing is picking up again, only this time not from panic, he can hear the resounding cackle in his head as his internal self celebrates the realization of his fantasy.  

He stays perfectly still, allowing himself another minute to savor the moment, before he loosens his hold on your neck, although he refrains from releasing you altogether. Instead, he returns to fiddling with the clasp of your choker, as if he’s checking one final time that it’s secure.

“Now, aren’t you gonna say thank you?” he gently teases you. However, the small, playful smile that tugs at the corner of his lip is belied by the flash of something darker in his eyes. 

It takes you a moment to come back to yourself. Your eyelashes flutter as you blink and your tongue makes a second appearance that evening when it darts out again to wet your lips. 

“T-thank you, Tamsy,” you say in a broken whisper, and he internally scoffs in disbelief over how good his luck is that not only does he have his hands around your throat, but you’re actually thanking him for it.

“Anything for my favorite teammate,” he assures you with a smile so genial that it has his eyes turning into two crescents. He slowly lets go of you entirely. But as he drops his hands back to his sides, it doesn’t escape him how your own hand is reluctant to release his wrist. 

He takes a step back, putting a more appropriate amount of space between you, as the tense and heated aura hanging over you both slowly begins to dissipate. However, he can see how the awkwardness still continues to linger in your form, like you’re not sure what’s just happened or how to act.

“You really should get on a more regular sleeping schedule,” he gently chides, his tone laced with concern. “Don’t I owe you a trip into town soon? How am I supposed to take you if you’re going to sleep just as the day is starting?”

The nagging seems to reestablish the sense of normalcy you were desperately scrambling for because your features scrunch together unattractively. He watches with hawklike eyes as your hand absently reaches up to instinctively adjust your choker before you realize what you’re doing and drop it.

“You’re starting to sound like Delmon,” you grumble, your fingers toying with each other again to keep them busy, and he snorts with amusement. “Fine. I’m off to bed.”

You give him a half-hearted wave as you begin to head in the direction that you both came from. But just as you pass him, he says your name and loosely wraps his fingers around your wrist to stop you before you can make it much further. You look up at him curiously only to freeze, because while he’s still wearing the same smile that you’re so used to seeing from him, there’s now something about it that unsettles you. 

You don’t know what it is or why you feel your skin breaking out in goosebumps, your hair standing on end. There’s nothing out of the ordinary about how he’s looking at you, but for some reason, you feel like you’re trapped in the threads of a spider’s web. What confuses you even more is the unexpected urge you feel to squeeze your thighs together.

“You look good with a collar,” he says, looking pointedly down at your choker.

Your mouth suddenly feels dry. Dread pools in your stomach. A small tremble appears in your fingers. 

Not once have you ever thought of the choker you willingly wore — that keeps you connected to the people you’ve come to care so dearly about — as anything similar to the collar that tore your skin and chained you to your captors.  

But is he right in referring to it as just another collar? You’re becoming increasingly aware of how tight the choker feels around your neck all over again. 

“Tamsy…” you trail off, entirely helpless before him. 

He simply smiles in return, as if his words hadn’t sent you spiraling, and lifts a hand back up to your neck, his baggy sleeve sliding down his forearm as he does. He manages to squeeze the tip of his left pinky — the only one he still has — beneath the band’s center, making you flinch harshly. With the finger he’s hooked around it, he gives it an unexpectedly harsh tug that has you tripping slightly towards him, before he releases you again. Your own hand comes up reflexively to rub your throat as you watch him with wide, teary eyes.

“All that’s missing is a little bell, so I always know where to find you,” he teases, but there’s something slightly darker in his tone that makes you think for a second he’s not joking. You forcefully shake your head and tell yourself to forget it because this is Tamsy. “Be good and get some sleep, okay?”

You can only nod dumbly in response as he gives you one last smile before walking away towards the stairs, where he soon disappears from your sight. You’re left alone in the dark and silent hall, confused, shaken, and with no one for company but the shame that creeps up on you as you notice how wet you are.

[imyourightnow]

He’s so manipulative it’s hot wtf 😭 I could feel poor y/n head spinning

[tinibun]

my human

pairing incubus!tamsy caines x fem!reader

desc 18+ you found him broken in an alley and thought you were saving him. you didn't realize he was something hungry, and slowly deciding you belonged to him.

a/n req from @zyasia ♡. thank you so much for being the first, i honestly love reqs because sometimes a girl gets brain fry and cant think of anything, but its just fun to see some interesting ideas and improving my works. i actually loved this idea so much and omgoshheje i fucking love tamsy with my whole being you dont understand hes so gorgeous. pls enjoy…

wc 1460

you find him collapsed in the shadows of the alley, half-hidden behind a dumpster, shoes scuffed, hair falling across his face in a way that almost hides it. at first you think he's hurt, maybe drunk, maybe worse—but there's something about the way his body moves, even when still, that makes you pause. he doesn't look at you, doesn't flinch. he just tilts his head.

"hey," you murmur, voice low, careful, "you okay? want some help?"

he finally meets your eyes, and you swear something flickers there—interest, amusement, hunger—and it sends heat straight to your chest. he doesn't answer, just lets you crouch next to him, lifting his wrist to check for a pulse, brushing the dust off his pants.

you find yourself talking to him anyway, offering water, wrapping your jacket around his shoulders, feeding him scraps of your snack. he watches you while you move around, still, silent, and every glance lingers too long, every tilt of his head too deliberate. it's unnerving and thrilling.

he hums once when you brush your fingers over the cut on his cheek. low, soft, almost a purr, and your stomach flips. "you're gentle," he murmurs. "interesting."

you pause, looking at him. "i'm just… trying to help."

"help?" his lips curl into the faintest smirk, shadowed in the dim alley light. "hm. yes. your human instincts."

something about the way he says it makes your chest tighten. your hand hovers over his arm, and he lets you touch him, leans into it like it's exactly what he wanted. the subtle thrill of holding him, the heat radiating off him, the quiet dominance in the way he allows it—it all coils around you.

he finally sits up fully when you guide him to your apartment, still silent except for the faint sound of his breathing, and it's enough. enough to notice the tiny details about him: sharp nails, the way his jaw catches the light, the way his pupils dilate when he catches you staring. and slowly, inch by inch, you start to realize something's… different about him. not human different, not injured lost human different. dangerous different. alluring different.

you've been taking care of him for days now—feeding him, tending to the scratches you swore were nothing, making sure he's warm, letting him lean against you while he recovers. each small gesture, each quiet moment together, has built a tension you hadn't fully recognized until now. the way he waits for your attention, the way he studies you in silence—it's becoming impossible to ignore.

you inch away from the couch and he leans against the armrest, eyes never leaving you, voice low and smooth. "don't wander too far. i like having you in my sight."

that's when it hits—you feel it in your chest, in the small hairs on your arms. the way he watches, every glance, every flicker of muscle, like he's memorizing you piece by piece. the heat radiating off him, quiet but insistent, makes your skin hum and pulse in a way you didn't expect.

your movements feel deliberate now, almost instinctive, every shift of your weight pulling him closer. every brush of your fingers along the couch, every tremble in your breath, makes him lean in, pressing his heat against you. the tip of his nose brushes your shoulder. his hands roam—gripping, kneading, dragging along the curve of your neck, the line of your jaw, the swell of your chest. you shiver under his touch, back arching, hips tilting into him without thought.

he murmurs your name over and over, low and wet against your ear, calling you his human as his lips trace shallow kisses down your neck, then biting just hard enough to make you gasp. his hands wander to your thighs, pressing, squeezing, moving you against him until every inch of you aches for more. you grind against him, chest flush, nipples brushing the fabric of his shirt, desperate for friction, for contact, for the way he dominates without words.

when he tips you back, presses you fully into the couch, skin sliding against skin, you're caught entirely but you don't pull away. you let him have you, let him teach you, let him mark you as something beyond just a human who cared for a lost stranger in an alley.

his mouth moves lower. his teeth graze your lower stomach, trailing kisses as his hands hold you steady. you gasp, hips tilting instinctively as his tongue brushes against your slit, teasing over your wetness, tasting you. your back arches as he moans softly, lips sucking, tongue pressing, fingers dragging along your thighs. you clutch his hair, tug him closer, moans slipping past your lips.

"so sweet," he growls, voice low and controlled. "you taste incredible, my human."

you're trembling, thighs quivering as he licks, sucks, teases. fingers curl into your hips, pressing you into him as your body reacts, every flick of his tongue sending shivers, every press of his lips drawing gasps from your throat.

he alternates between sucking and teasing, fingers brushing, tongue curling, every motion deliberate. you moan openly, hips rocking, hands gripping his shoulders.

he pulls back just long enough to line himself up, hips pressing against you, hard, teasing. your body writhes, desperate for more. he pushes inside slowly, letting you feel every inch before moving fully.

"there you are," he growls. "so perfect."

your back arches, chest pressed to his, every nerve on fire. his hands clutch your hips, controlling the rhythm. your moans grow louder, head tipped back, nails raking down his back.

he leans down, mouth brushing yours in a heated kiss, groaning over your lips, jaw, neck. you're trembling, completely lost.

"cum for me," he murmurs.

you do, almost immediately as if he was in complete control now. clenching, shivering, crying out into his neck as he presses, thrusts, holds you tight, milking every sound, every quiver. lips on your shoulder, voice harsh, needy, praising.

he's still inside you, thick and impossibly hot, every thrust slow and dragging out the tension until your body shakes. his hands grip your hips, thumb circling your clit.

"you feel exquisite, so warm…don't make me stop," he says, teasing and commanding.

"yes… don't stop…" you whisper.

he chuckles, thrusting deeper. "that's it… my good human. so perfect, trembling for me."

you moan, hips lifting instinctively, trying to ride him, and he presses you flat.

"you belong to me," he growls. "every sound, every shiver… i feel it all."

his hand cups your ass, pulling you flush against him. "don't fight it. scream if you need to… no one else hears it."

"please— keep going…" you gasp.

he smirks, teeth grazing lightly. "i'm far from done."

you arch, legs trembling, body wracked with pleasure. he presses harder, rolling his hips slowly. you cry out, hips jerking, every nerve on fire as he drags you up the edge again and again, whispering filthy praise into your ear.

"look at you, squeezing me… mine… all mine," he hisses. "cum for me… human, all over me."

and when you cum, it's not gentle. thighs clamp around him, body convulsing, chest heaving, voice raw. he doesn't pull away, grinding slow, deep, circling your clit as he whispers, "good girl… not done yet."

your vision flickers but he stays, moving again, dragging you into the next wave. moan after moan, gasp after gasp, breaking apart in multiple staggered climaxes. he hovers, lips brushing your jaw, murmuring, nipping, reminding you how tight and wet you are.

"don't fight it," he hisses. "finish again… i know you love it."

you cry out, arching, shaking, writhing under him, cumming again, muscles clenching, shivering, and he keeps going, hands pressing, lips claiming, voice low and steady.

finally, your body trembles uncontrollably, mind swimming, vision flickering—but he's still there. still inside. still moving. still claiming. whispering your name, "so good… so perfect…"

your body goes limp, shivers fading… and you feel him continuing, deliberate, a low hum vibrating against your skin, keeping you tethered as consciousness slips.

when you wake, your body is warm. heavy. sore in the best way. your chest rises sharply as awareness comes back in pieces, he's still there, still inside. eyes glowing faintly, gaze fixed on you with possessive hunger. not moving fast. not rough. just slow. steady thrusts, like he never stopped. when your gaze finally focuses on him, his mouth curves.

"there you are," he says quietly.

his hips roll once, deeper, just enough to make you gasp.

"i was wondering how long you'd last."

his fingers slide along your jaw, down your throat, over your collarbone—possessive.

"did i exhaust you," he asks softly, "or do you want me to keep going?"

and the way he says it makes it clear—he absolutely will.

©tinibun 2026 ― please dont repost, steal, translate, or place my works into ai ♡

[imyourightnow]

He’s so gentle it’s sexyyyyyy 🥰 I’m blushing

[hushkira]

flirty friendship with tamsy caines.

genre   suggestive , flirty , canon au

pairing   tamsy caines x cleaner! female reader

warnings   suggestive scenes , semi-established relationship , profanities , sexual tension , 3 scenarios

wordcount   1.5k / 1563 wc

a/n   finally wrote something for tamsyyy ! my sweet evil beloved angel >.<

𝜗ৎ - masterlist

૮ ․ ․ ྀིა : feedbacks and reblogs are much loved and appreciated ! thankyew !

You and Tamsy are quite known in the Cleaners as the ‘troublemaker couple’. No, you aren’t dating. You aren’t exactly friends either. But who cares about those things ? They just make no sense ! Are the sentiments that you share with him every time you make excuses when people ask what you guys are.

When there are open commissions, it’s usually the two of you who are sent there as a team. Sometimes, accompanied by one or two other cleaners. But most of the time, it’s just you and him.

Shit always goes down whenever you’re left with him.

The client wants a clean finish—Tamsy makes a mess. You complain. He talks back. You snap at him. You roll on an argument. A trash beast shows up. You two fight it. Still arguing though. But in the end, you get the job done, you manage to find a solution to the mess he made, a win’s a win. But you’re still mad at him. So, he ends up making it up to you by buying you your craving with a kiss on the cheek.

“Knew you couldn’t resist me.”

“The dumplings saved you. Don’t be cocky.”

“I bought it.”

“Do I care ?”

“No.”

“Exactly.”

“You’re lucky I think you’re hot.”

“Baby, I am hot.”

He only smirked. Lower lip caught between his teeth. Eyes nearly rolled to the back of his head as he crossed his leg over the other. Poorly concealing your effect on him whenever you talked back like that and knew exactly what to say. Fuck, he’s so aroused.

“Tie me up ?”

“Fuck no. Are you crazy ?”

He’s not gonna beg, is he ?

“Please, baby ?”

Ah, hell.

The Cleaners definitely think you’re dating. You’re not. Semiu once asked what’s up with you and Tamsy. You only shrugged and hummed. Said you were friends. Tamsy laughed, saying he doesn’t need friends. And you certainly weren’t one. This caused a negative reaction.

You scoffed. Turned around. Walked out with a loud slam of the door. Semiu watched with wide eyes and slowly turned to Tamsy.

“Tamsy, you little bitch. You gon’ lose her if you keep actin’ up like that.”

“I don’t need her.”

“Uh-huh. We’ll see about that…Anyway, Corvus called for you just now.”

That evening, you didn’t come to his room like usual. You didn’t call through your chokers. You didn’t even leave a message. Whether it was you cursing him out or whatever, no nothing. He only looked at himself through the mirror of his vanity, long hair draping down like waterfalls—talked to himself.

“She’s gonna come back. She can’t live without me. I’m not the one that needs her.”

But nope, was he wrong. The next day, instead of going on a mission with him as usual, you went with Team Akuta. He saw how Enjin was all over you. Saw how you laughed at one of his stupid and flimsy jokes. Watched the way that you placed your hand on Enjin’s arm while you told him something. Glared at Enjin’s hand that dared to place itself on your lower back where his hand was supposed to be touching.

His blood was fucking boiling. But then again, he didn’t need you. You needed him. You’d come crawling back to him again soon.

Yeah, no. This shit went on for two whole fucking weeks and he’s losing his damn mind.

Knock, knock, knock !

The sound against the door of your bedroom disturbed your sleep. You scowled and ran your fingers through your disheveled hair. Your shirt was wrinkled and was hanging by your one shoulder. Your hair is a mess. And you probably looked like shit too.  Who the hell is it and why the fuck is this bitch knocking at 2 in the morning ?

That question was immediately answered when you opened the door. Tamsy stood there. His long hair wasn’t in its usual updo. He had bags under his eyes. That never fucking happens unless he’s going through shit. You raised an eyebrow. What the hell does he want ?

“What the fuck is wrong with you ?”

“I’m sorry.”

You blinked. Paused. Your spirit literally awoke. Did Tamsy just apologize ? To you ? At 2 in the morning while you looked like shit and he looked majestic despite the restlessness in his eyes ? Yep.

“I- what ?” You laughed breathily. This is unbelievable. In a really shocking way.

“I’m sorry. Do I have to spell it out for you ?”

“Don’t give me that attitude.”

“You’re acting deaf again. You know I hate being like this.”

“What ? Being a decent person who knows how to apologize ?”

“I thought you needed me.”

“You’re a bitch.”

“I’m your bitch.”

“Damn right.”

You both smiled. You opened your arms and he fit right in. Face buried in your neck with his arms wrapped around you tightly. Your fingers ran through the silken locks of his long hair. He sighed in contentment before beginning to press light kisses against your neck and up to your jaw.

“Let me make it up to you ?”

“Be honest. This is what you’re actually after.”

“You know me so well, darling.”

“Fuck you.”

“You don't have to tell me twice.”

The next morning, you’re paired up with Tamsy again. Semiu watches as you’re practically glued together. Or, his hands are all over you. She’s already tired of this PDA.

“Told ya.” Semiu smirked at him.

You raised an eyebrow. Tamsy only pulled you away to get that mission done and have you all to himself.

God, he’s so fucking smitten he can’t even hide it anymore. And he doesn’t bother hiding it. Especially in front of Enjin and all the other wannabes that ogle at you.

You were sent on a commission. A solo mission to be more exact. Corvus said you could handle it, you agreed. Tamsy obviously thought otherwise. Not because he thinks you’re weak. Hell no. But because he doesn’t want you roaming around Ground all alone with all those dangerous people that could jump at you anytime.

Though you’d definitely knock them all out without needing his help.

“I’m coming with you. Who knows what you’ll encounter out there ?”

“Tamsy, I’m a trained cleaner who can take down most members of our org. What the hell are you even worried about ?”

“I’m not worried about you. I don’t like the idea of other people approaching you with malicious intentions. You need your angel with you, darling.”

“You’re the embodiment of malicious intention, Tamsy. Don’t fuck with me.”

“Is that a compliment ?”

You slammed the door at his face as you left your room. Vital instrument in hand. The others watched as you walked through the hall with Tamsy following you from behind. They’ve never seen him like this. And it’s so hard to imagine him being like this. It’s harder to believe that he’s being like this even though the image is right in front their eyes.

“Woah, is that really Tamsy ?”

“He’s usually calm and collected. Now, he looks like a puppy.”

“The effect of being obsessed."

Once you reached the front desk where Semiu was at, she looked up from the magazine that she was reading and raised an eyebrow at the sight of your exasperated expression and Tamsy tailing you like a freak. Which he is.

“You’re not planning on coming with her, are you, Tamsy ?” Semiu asked and sat properly, crossing her arms over her chest

"I am."

“You can’t. Boss’ orders.”

“Who cares.”

“Tamsy, I swear if you don’t behave-” You groaned.

“Make me.”

You glared at him. He stared back. A sly grin on his face. The air between you turning thick.

“Don’t do that shit in front of me. Go find a room or somethin’.” Semiu rolled her eyes.

So, you did.

“You are not coming with me. That’s final. Don’t make me repeat myself.”

“And why should I listen to you ?”

“Because I said so.”

The corner of his mouth lifted. He stepped closer. Successfully backing you up against the nearest wall. His head lowered as he gazed down at you. A sinister glint beneath his yellow-hued irises.

“I said, make me.”

You glared. He’d been pestering you since last night. Your patience surely would have run out. You wouldn’t have the energy to tell him off anymore and you won’t have a choice but to let him tag along. After all, you love him too much to leave him here just to follow Corvus’ orders.

But your response certainly made him falter and rethink his thoughts on you.

You pulled him by the collar. Soft lips crashed onto his. Tongue slipped into his mouth as his arm automatically snaked around your waist to pull you closer. Your back pressed against the wall as he kissed you back with the same fervor. But he successfully lost it when you bit down his lower lip to tug at it while looking right into his eyes. He swore he almost fucking came.

“You’re staying right here and you’re gonna wait for me like a good boy.”

“...fuck.”

You ended up going on the mission alone. A victory against Tamsy. Meanwhile, he was left standing in his room with his fingers pressed against his bottom lip. Eyes darkened with an intensity that nobody can name. His breathing, low but ragged. His lips slowly formed a smile. Thoughts filled with you. And the realization dawned at him.

He’s totally obsessed with you and he’s never letting you go.

© hushkira - all rights reserved. please do not plagiarize my work in any type of form.

[imyourightnow]

This is cuteeee I love their dynamic 🩷

[tonycries]

Nothing Is Lost - G.S.

Synopsis. Research on the Herwi clan of Pandora is both sparse and sacred. Current reports claim the existence of an icebound Na’vi residing in the bitter sub-zero mountains of Pandora: snow-white and unforgiving, as elusive as the fleeting snowflakes. Though physical evidence of these people are so far non-existent, and so are the eyewitnesses alive to tell the tale.  As a scientist on Pandora, you have only one goal: to prove the existence of the Herwi clan. As olo’eyktan of the Herwi clan, Gojo Satoru has only one goal: to make you his mate.

Pairing. Gojo Satoru x Reader

Content. MDNI, fem!scientist!reader, Na’vi!Gojo, Avatar AU, based on James Cameron’s movies, snow Na’vi, hidden tribes, snowy setting, scientific research, Shoko cameo, plot, culture, Na’vi language (translations at the end), Eywa, YEARNING Gojo, fated mates, size differences (he’s 11 feet), oraI (f + m rec.), standing oraI, pússydrúnk Gojo, fìngering, bíting, spìtting, cervìx kìssin’, trying to fit, he’s BIG big, feraI Gojo, tummy buIges, pressing down on it, MANHANDLlNG, matíng presses, monsterf-ing (Na’vi), rough s, stopping you from running, p sIapping, p talking, dúmbifícation, chokíng, cIit pinching, he’s slightly lNSANE, slight bréeding, mentions of kids, overstím, creampíes, cúmfIation, cúmpIay, bonding, happy ending, pet names, swéaring.

Word count. 15.2k

A/N. This one’s to all the lovely babygirls who’ve been begging for this heheh, I lob you all <33

“Satoru of the snow—once the ice disappears so shall your name.” One amongst the elder members of the Hunt sighs.

Gojo Satoru was a phantom figure before them. He led the way—towering and lithe. Long ivory hair dancing in the flurry. Bioluminescent freckles upon skin such a pale blue that it was practically white. Even amongst the Herwi, Gojo stood out.

Their olo’eyktan. Their leader. 

He cuts a pathway through the wind and snow, carrying the carcasses of several snow beasts that he’d hunted himself. They rested upon his strong shoulders - the group’s largest catch, as always - and Gojo was unyielding to the howl of Pandora’s highest peaks. These mountains were a crown upon the young Na’vi’s head.

The elder clicks his tongue, “Do you not believe it is time for this clan to see our olo’eyktan mated-”

“So let the snow melt.” Had it been anyone but Gojo Satoru, then these words would be lost to the snowstorm. “But I shall forever remain waiting for my mate.”

“But the absence of a tsahìk-”

“Mawey- do slow down.” For not the first time since their trek started, Gojo is turning his head behind him. He might have been a firm leader, but he wasn’t unfair. He watches the Herwi hunters that extend from his feet to far beyond hills of ice and frost - some middle-aged and weathered by the snow already, some fresh-faced and cold with the eagerness to prove themselves. Following them were six-legged canines they called txeylan—powerful hinds pulling sleds piled high with hunt. “The younger ones are having trouble keeping up.”

Gaping, the elder looks between his leader and the younger members near the middle of their group. Flanked by older Na’vi. “But- but olo’eyktan-”

He’s looking up at the irritated sky, “I will see no further talking.”

Though there is an easy smile across his face, the elders know not to cross him. Senior in age—only age. 

They bowed their heads and looked away above all because he is their leader, but below that - deep, deeeeeep below what their prides would allow them to ever admit - because they knew he was stronger. The strongest.

The heir born of a blizzard, Satoru of the snow. 

It was said he opened his eyes during the coldest night of that year. Ice-blue. Bitter blue. Like the pools of crystallized water that the Herwi people would dance their celebrations upon - and that night they held the longest celebrations to date. Arms in arms and singing songs. And giving thanks and giving the young his first taste of snow. 

And though the position of olo’eyktan had an aspect of inheritance to it either way, it was undeniable that the world had just borne their future leader.

He’d grown up taller than other Na’vi his age. Stronger. Stormy flurries wherever he stepped, and a blizzard himself. 

There almost seemed to be a gap between him and everyone else.

Gojo had been sixteen when he was officially granted the mantle of ‘The Strongest’ by the clan. It was only about time, and only because of the elders’ reluctance that it’d taken this long.

And now it was impossible to say whether he was more loved or respected as a leader: the more boisterous of the younger Na’vi certainly loved him, the elders couldn’t stand him, the ones of mating age just couldn’t get enough of him. Though it was all for naught.

In all the twenty-eight years that he’d sifted through these snows - in all the ten years since he’d come of age - Gojo hadn’t so much as looked at another with a degree of infatuation.

Not for a lack of propositions- in fact, if you asked his attendants then they’d tell you that Gojo had a surplus of propositions. At least five Na’vi would stroll up the familiar pathway to his underground hut, calling out sing-song wishes to braid his hair, to walk amongst the ice glaciers together, to mend his fur clothes. 

Hopefuls. 

His attendants were ordered to send them all away with a gift from the olo’eyktan and a firm rejection (though, Gojo finds that that certainly didn’t deter them…)

They just didn’t seem to understand why such a suitable young Na’vi seemed to be waiting…watching…for something even he himself didn’t seem to understand. Always turning his blue eyes to the skies, ever since he was a child, always, always-

Gojo stops in his tracks.

One of his arms raises to halt the procession behind him. 

The Na’vi hunters freeze.

The Na’vi hunters let their tails swish.

The txeylan sniff the air.

Gojo’s long pointed ears twitch in every direction before resting in a single direction up ahead - where the belly of the snow seemed to swell with something. Something that the recent snowstorm had swallowed.

“Olo’eyktan…” One of the younger Herwi behind him whispers. “What is it?”

“Mawey. It might be a dead snow beast.” He hisses, though he knew that wasn’t right. It wasn’t uncommon for even the creatures of these terrains to be bested by nature. But something about the figure in the snow was…different from the hounding things they hunted. Much more delicate, much more scrunched in on itself.

Gojo keeps his hand held high in the air and passes on his hunt to the nearby clansmen. Still holding onto his bow and arrows, he edges closer. “Ì’awn- the clan stays here while I investigate.” Leaving no room for a word edgewise.

The wind whips his long hair and kuru as the Na’vi steps closer. And some maddened part of him almost feels that it was as though Eywa, their goddess, herself was trying to get him to stay away.

But an even madder part of him wanted to get closer—needed to get closer.

He was being drawn in.

Making not even a single noise with his padded feet, he’s crouching down before the unmoving figure and using his long skeletal fingers to wipe away those dredges of snow. 

Away from a face—

He gasps.

The rest of the Herwi startles behind him, “What is it- what is it, olo’eyktan?”

“Is it a snow beast? Must we commence the rituals-”

“Cease! Are those fingers it has-”

“Five?”

But Gojo doesn’t answer their queries, instead he’s silently pressing his ear to the swell of the body’s chest and—ba-dump!

Listening to that faint heartbeat.

He’s not sure how this little human was still alive, and he pulls back to look at them- the first he’s ever seen. Gojo has already heard the whispers from other Na’vi clans, of these aliens named mankind whom had settled upon Pandora a few years ago.

He’s heard about humanity’s wits, their machinery, their greed.

He’s heard of the way they’ve hurt his people.

But he’s never seen one up so…close. Were they all this small? How could something so small be so destructive?

Gojo tilts his head down at you and runs one of his cold indexes down the side of your masked face, did they all look so hurt by the cold? He can’t imagine that it didn’t hurt- after all, the only reason that the Herwi had managed to reside in these mountains for hundreds of years was because of its harsh environment. Not human nor animal nor Na’vi wanted to be here—but Gojo always loved this place, as did his people.

He wondered whether it was such passionate love or hate that drew the little human in his arms to climb such peaks. To come this far. 

He can’t help but lean down and scoop the human up into his arms.

“O-olo’eyktan what is the meaning of this-”

“Fnu- shhhh.” Gojo responds in his native language, “She’s resting.”

The olo’eyktan carries the human all the way back the treacherous path to his clan huts.

And every time he looked down, he could see the way that smaller body fell and rose with each faint breath. He could see the flying of human-made coats that did nothing to fight off the cold of Pandora. He could see the pen and notebook stuffed inside it as if they were the most precious treasure of all.

He can see you.

.

.

.

Day #1 in the Herwi village: 

Woke up in what seems to be the healer’s hut, a wide insulated space that is more or less steeped into the underground with a berth of the entrance AS (above snow). Capped dome on top. Walls are composed of wooden planks on the interior flanked by compact ice from the outside, decorated in the thick furs of what appears to be snow beasts. Long book shelves. Kindling lantern of something bioluminescent and emitting heat. Shockingly warm inside. Vents are present but small to prevent an excess of thin air. Separate storage spaces and areas for examination, implications of advanced surgery and medical procedures taking place far beyond what we humans can understand.

Though Herwi healing techniques seem to be similar to that of other Na’vi clans (particularly the Omaticaya) in terms of relation to Eywa and natural resources, it must be noted that Herwi healing makes prominent use of ice for anti-inflammatory and vessel constricting methods.

Sparse presence of herbs and more emphasis on pressure points (for a copy of the Herwi circulatory system diagram see Page 8…), though the olo’eyktan reassures that there are a multitude of flora endemic to the Pandoran heights. 

The olo’eyktan seems particularly eager to give a tour?

With your eyes blinking open…you think you’ve died and gone onto whatever there was afterwards.

It would’ve been just like you to meet your demise during the pursuit of your research- the higher-ups at your laboratory predicted the same thing. The last thing you remember before blacking out was feeling faint - weeks of hiking up this arduous peak and you’d run out of your provisions a few days ago, surviving on only melted ice to fill your belly. At least, until the sudden threat of a snowslide had resulted in you abandoning your tent and bags behind for escape.

From then on it had only been: you, your pen, your notebook with your research, your translator, and your burning passion to find the Herwi.

It was no surprise that you didn’t last long.

But you suppose you just didn’t expect the ‘afterwards’ to be a blue, blue summer sky. 

Oh—how you missed the cloud-frothed ocean of blue down on Earth. It was never quite the same on Pandora, and you’re just beginning to wonder whether heaven was really home-

“Yawne, txen?”

Before your muddled mind realizes that this really wasn’t your sky after all.

What you were looking up into were the eyes of a Na’vi warrior.

He’s leaning his overlarge body above yours, and you’re pressing yourself flatly against a mattress—one that was made of copious amounts of furs and the softest spun wool to make you feel as though you were floating up on the clouds.

But the farther you’re getting, the more he dwarfs you with his curious peering.

Closer.

And the only thing you can do is look up into his handsome blue face- the lightest of blues you’ve ever seen. 

Now, you have to start this off by saying that every single Na’vi you’ve seen was beautiful—every single one of them. 

But you don’t think you’ve ever seen someone like him before: long white hair, blue eyes almost like a Metkayina, and glowing spots scattered like snowflakes across his cheeks. Heavy eyelids. Taller than your average Omaticaya. Perhaps a bit bulkier, as well.

If you tilted your head just past his looming figure then you could take in the tufted fur clothing he wore, slightly more coverage than of Na’vi from the more tropical areas; with patterns of rosettes peaking out wherever his skin was exposed and dotted like a fainter version of a snow leopard’s. From your own planet.

But you were not on your own planet.

Far from it.

You’re realizing with a jolt that he was one of the Herwi clan-

“Are you…” And though you’d dreamed and wished and hoped for this day for so long—right now you find yourself absolutely speechless. “Are you- fuck.”

To which he only beams- “Nga lu rusey- oh, nga lu rusey.” His pearly white teeth are on full display, one little dimple crinkling at the edge of his smile. He just looks so handsome like this that you almost lose your breath- no. It must be the hypothermia that’s getting to you. It must be. And if you didn’t know any better then you’d have said that he almost sounds utterly relieved—“Oe'm lefpom. Txen? Lu nga txen? Tsal pung?”

“I ah…” Mouth dropping open. Shit—your translator!

Before he can say anything more, you’re digging in your coats- or at least attempting to. It doesn’t take long for you to shuffle behind the thick blankets and realize that you weren’t wearing those humanly thin layers you did when climbing up the mountain. Well-fitted for the Earth’s cold, but not for the harsh ever-winters of Pandora.

Instead you were wearing…a thick woolen coat?

Much too large on you- almost comically so. It had sleeves that reached a few feet past your fingertips, draped down to your toes, and enough space that you could hide at least five of you inside it. 

No translator.

No pen. No notebook-

He sees this smaller figure fluttering about worriedly and tilts his head curiously, “‘Upe lu nga fwew?” Before handing you your notebook and pen from a table behind him.

“Pardon? Ah- thank you so much—!” You beam at him, and he beams back. But looking into his blue eyes once more, you feel a sudden sense of helplessness wash over you. “But I’m sorry, I still can’t understand you.”

At this the Na’vi furrows his pale brows - you’re not quite sure whether he knew what you were saying, but he seemed to have picked up on your emotions. Nudging his large face against yours with a purring sound, “Yawne? Oe'd tìng aynga.”

And a part of you somewhat melts- “I said I really can’t- hahah.” You half-heartedly try to push his incessant face away with a laugh, taking particular delight in noting how happily his tail was swishing. Fluffier with more fur than you’ve observed on other types of Na’vi, also covered in pretty rosettes that swayed to and fro.

It’s right now that you wished you had the patience to stay behind and immerse yourself more in the Na’vi language lessons your laboratory had provided. Most scientists didn’t even go out into the field until they were experts - but you were too antsy, too greedy to know. Something seemed to have called you here whether it cost you your life.

Given you’d picked up on some phrases here and there, but it seems that the Herwi had a different accent from the clips played in those listening tests. Slightly softer, slightly more of a whisper.

Like the breath of winter, his words cooled your mask and heated up something entirely different inside of you. “Oe pey ngim krr.”

Before you know it, the Na’vi clasps both your hands in his—and you’re startled by just how large they are, just how cold. You’re analyzing the way his pale fingers hold your own as if it was all that was tender in the world.

Intertwining.

“Ngim krr.” He looks at you with those azure eyes seriously, opening up the palm of your right hand and touching his to yours. Palm against palm. Breath against breath. “Nìt'iluke.” 

You get the feeling that you were missing something very important- “I’m sorry I really wish…I’m so sorry to ask any more of you- I really am. But have you happened to see my translator anywhere?”

“Tìnga’prrnen?” He cocks his head in confusion, trying to mouth the word.

“Erm- yes?” Hoping that he understood you, “My translator—” You emphasize the syllables- “It’s a little device to understand you-”

You’re gesturing between the two of you- and you swear you see the light blue Na’vi pale. “Tìnga’prrnen? Oe?”

“Yes?” You knew that ‘oe’ referred to oneself.

He balks- maybe you were getting through to him? “Nga new ne kanom oe tìnga’prrnen-”

“Skxawng.”

Before he’s suddenly cut off by a hard smack to the back of his head- and you’re looking up just in time to see another Herwi Na’vi enter the hut. The dimorphism between this particular strand of Na’vi wasn’t anything too prominent, you find - both were tall, both were pale, both had long tails and rosettes scattered across their agile bodies.

The only real difference was that the one at your bedside was more rugged, with even more pure-white beads woven into his hair. Though that you could chalk up to their separate duties within the clan.

She walked inside as though she owned the place, throwing her long loose hair behind her shoulder. She doesn’t even flinch as she shuts the other man up—as she brings out a black earpiece from behind her and hands it to you. “I believe this is yours. It was dropped in the rush outside.”

“O-oh!” You’re surprised to find that it was none other than your translating device. Taking it gratefully, “Thank you so so much.”

“Don’t mention it.” 

At your baffled expression - as far as you knew, the Herwi were the last remaining uncontacted clan of Na’vi, with no knowledge of humankind nor their many languages. “I learned your language from my books-” Gesturing around her - you were right to assume that this was her hut, filled to the brim with ointments and books. Mostly of Na’vi origin, but you could spy a few in English and Japanese. “-sent by friends in the Omaticaya. I find your human stories are…quite amusing.”

“I see.” You breathe.

She gestures at herself, “Ieri Shoko of the heart.” Then at the male Na’vi member, “Gojo Satoru of the snow. I apologize for him, he is our olo’eyktan- also the one that found you.”

“So you’re my saviour.” You’re looking towards him- Gojo once more. He catches your eyes and looks away with a pale blue hue dusting his face. “Irayo nga.” Giving your thanks (one of the few phrases you could speak with complete confidence). 

You’re looking towards him- He shudders, “Oe ke ronsem tsonta lu tìnga’prrnen.”

As soon as he’s saying it, Shoko smacks her hand on her forehead- and you wonder what exactly he means. 

So without further ado, you’re fixing the earpiece onto yourself.

“Idiot.” Shoko’s turning back to Gojo, “You know that’s not what she meant?”

Gojo crosses his arms and huffs- “I’m just saying I wouldn’t mind if it’s for her-”

“Not even Eywa could make that happen.”

“Getting preg-”

“Hello?” Testing—and if the way both Na’vi jerk their heads to you in slight surprise is anything to go by, then you’d say that the translator was working rather well. It was less an earpiece that translated and more a device to target that part of your brain that communicated and understood foreign languages.

Allowing you to both understand and speak in the dialect of the Na’vi - an invention by yours truly, of course. You’d (as close as) perfected it just last year for this expedition. “Can you understand me?”

Gojo stares at you with wide blue eyes.

With his pretty lips parted.

With his tail swishing back and forth.

“I see y-”

“We understand you.” Shoko nudges him roughly in the ribs, “I apologize if we’re a bit startled- it’s the first time we’re seeing a human in person.”

“I could’ve guessed that.” You giggle, flickering your eyes over to the starstrack Na’vi. Though you were equally as such. Somehow you speaking in his language just seemed to make him…“But I want to emphasize that I come in peace- I just want to learn as a scientist, not even my laboratory knows exactly where I am. And I intend to keep it that way.”

Shoko crosses her arms and looks gravely at you, “What do you want?”

“To learn. To research you and your people.” You look between them both, “To confirm the existence of the Herwi clan has been a dream of mine for a long time- not for the papers or the accolades, but because I just wanted to know you.”

“And how can we trust you?” Shoko says, getting nudged by Gojo afterwards.

“I won’t reveal anything you don’t want me to.” Determination dripping in your tone, “Not even if they kill me for it.”

They appraise you, and it’s silent for a beat before Shoko looks at Gojo.

And Gojo nods.

Shoko shoots you a barely-there smile, “Well…human, what do you want to know?”

.

.

.

After you woke up, it was after a long talk and almost three or so hours later that you’d gotten up- Shoko and Gojo had both rushed to your side. Waving them off, you’d attempted to shrug off the coat and hand it back to Gojo - long since realizing that it was his - but he’d almost been offended by the gesture.

Refusing. 

He’d kept a hand behind on the small of your back to steady you with every step climbed towards the entrance. And once you were out- you could practically feel the storm freeze around you.

Colder than cold.

The Herwi looked at you with fear.

They stopped in their tracks and didn’t even look to breathe until Gojo had followed right after. And standing beside him like that, you’d been made too aware of the drastic height difference between you two. The average Na’vi was about nine to ten feet tall, though by the look of it the Herwi of the snow were much larger than their oceanic counterparts—slightly thicker, with limbs that were long and covered in sparse fur to protect them from the cold.

The Herwi average was about ten feet, you’re finding.

Though Gojo stood at a proud eleven feet (11’1 as you come to interrogate out of him more precisely later on) and rested his hand gently upon your shoulder. They had faint scars on them that marked him as a warrior, and you could feel the slight callouses send shivers across your coat-swathed body. His tail curled around your thigh.

You don’t think you even came up to his stomach-

“My people…” He announced in booming Na’vi. “-as some of you may know from the hunt today, we have a guest.”

You shift at the stares.

“More importantly, my guest. And we will make her feel welcome like family.”

“Family?” The whispers came.

“But she is one of the sky people…”

“Part of the family is…but if the olo’eyktan says so…”

“I’ve never seen him so casually touchy with someone before-”

“Shhhhhhh!”

“I understand if you are scared, and to those who wish it- you are free to leave and never interact with her while she is here.” Though none of them do move. Fixated. “But to those who aren’t, I urge you to share the beauty of our culture.”

To which you’d gulped before introducing yourself as you had to Shoko and Gojo.

.

.

.

Day #2 in the Herwi village: 

The governing system of the Herwi is quite reminiscent to that of other clans - made up by a singular olo’eyktan or olo'eykte, accompanied by a tsahìk (though Gojo assures proudly that he is not mated as of writing this), and a council of clan elders that act as an advisory board.

Most decisions are made solely by the wisdom of Gojo himself, though large choices require a vote from the council as well as his people. Such requisites are rare, however, as it seems the olo’eyktan’s impact extends to the non-council people in such a way that they trust him with everything. (For more on the lovely reception and the sheer popularity of Gojo Satoru see Page 11…)

Governing seems to be harmonious if a little quietly tense in regards to certain elders that disagree yet are ultimately obeisant to their olo’eyktan.

This scientist in particular caused a little stir in the Herwi leadership once a research visit was proposed by the olo’eyktan to the rest of the elders. Though initial reactions had been reluctant, after a terse discussion, ultimately six moons had been granted to collect all appropriate research (due to be checked by the elders prior to leaving). No more. No less.

Six moons should be more than enough!

Shoko might have let it slip that it was Gojo who used his privilege as olo’eyktan to convince the council…and he wasn’t too happy that they’d granted you merely six moons (five days if you’re counting the first night there) to stay here. He wanted to gawk at this new human more, you supposed.

But you were so very grateful to each and every one of them either way - even those wizened elders who scowled at you suspiciously wherever you passed. Though even glares seemed sweet when you were living your dream, hm? And it best be believed that you were taking advantage of every single second you had with the clan - every single second.

Because this was exactly what those cigar-smoking higher-ups had laughed at you for. 

They thought you were chasing a myth.

The Herwi people had been so gracious as to offer you an empty hut, despite Gojo’s fervent insisting that you take his and he can simply tough it out in the cold outside-

And the next day you were up early- perhaps a little too early for the olo’eyktan who’d apparently tracked your trail and followed you around for an hour. Before he finally managed to stop you in the middle of your field study - helping out a young Herwi mother take care of her crying toddler, whilst learning about Herwi childcare techniques - and raised his bag full of food.

Breakfast.

You’re smacking your hand against your forehead as you’d completely forgotten - not quite out of the ordinary for when you got too immersed in your work. But it was different when you had someone seeking you out to take care of you…

And so after sharing the abundance of breads and berries and soups (far too much for but the two of you) with the Herwi mother and child, the two of you sit outside her hut and admired the view of the village. The soft half-sun that melted across the capped peaks, a buttery layer of light that was not even half as bright as on Earth.

But somehow gentler.

Gojo’s raising one berry to his lips before- “Ah…” His mouth drops when he takes a glance at you- more accurately, at your masked self. And he’s stopping in his movements, “Excuse me for just a second, beloved.”

“Oh? Of course.”

You watch as he’s standing up and sprinting light-fast towards the edge of a great steaming lake in the horizon. His figure’s crouching down and cupping his hands in the sparkling water, bubbling with fury. Gojo brings it up to his face and whispers a mantra that you couldn’t quite determine. Not from where you were sitting.

Before carefully bringing it right up to you- “Drink, beloved.” 

He gently leans down to let his fingertips meet your mask.

And you’d had no option—you consider it for science, though a part of you knew you didn’t have to linger your lips so much on his cold skin- but you lift your mask up and drink it.

Once the water floods your throat, you knew something was different.

Your lungs quiver.

Once.

Twice.

And you’d found yourself able to breathe—

Breathing on Pandora.

“How did you…” As you gasp, Gojo reaches out and removes the mask off of you completely. He’d let the earpiece stay on, of course, but lightly grazed his cold digits against the shell of your ear and made you shiver. “I don’t even know what to say- thank you. I didn’t even know this was possible—no other Na’vi clan let alone a mere human has discovered a way to let us breathe normally on Pandora.”

“For you. Lake Yapay.” Gojo says, large hand still cupping your face. “It steams great billowing heat in the day, and freezes by night. Here in Herwi, we use its water to expand our lungs during snowstorms.”

And you want to write it down- you know you should, but the pen in your fingers won’t move. Or more accurately, your fingers won’t move.

He continues, “This land is alive and works in mysterious ways. It has worked for you, beloved, as I knew it would.”

“Thank you again, olo’eyktan.”

“Satoru.” He interjects.

“Satoru.”

He smiles as if it meant the world.

And so your feast commences.

“You have to remember to eat.” Gojo says to you as he scoffs down a sweet paste made of ice-blue berries, “How will you brave the winter storms otherwise? Of course, I will protect you—and yet still.”

“Well, I sure hope I survive six more nights for my research then, hm?” You joke.

But you hadn’t expected Gojo’s face to darken, for him to shake his head. “It’s not fair.”

“Pardon?”

“Six more nights…” And you hadn’t exactly expected him to be so…invested in your research - you admit that you would benefit more from a longer period of studying the Herwi, but you were ready to take what was given. He looks down at the glaring snow and whispers—more to himself. “It’s not fair. I will correct it.”

“Correct?”

“Oh?” And you look from him to the village straight ahead, “Well, I’d be happy either way, Satoru.”

Just then that little Na’vi you’d been helping to watch over before comes waddling and giggling out of the hut to hold onto you- and you pick her up readily.

Gojo took one look at the two of you and shivered.

Shivered.

.

.

.

Day #3 in the Herwi village: 

Hunts are an imperative part of the Herwi lifestyle—not only is it how the people are nourished, but it’s a social activity, it’s a coming-of-age activity. 

As aforementioned, hunts are commenced and led by none other than the olo’eyktan. A large group of Herwi warriors shall trek across the icelands in one unit, and it was quite interesting to note that most of the younger hunters are positioned in the middle where they are less likely to get injured during such a trip.

It is in the middle of their hike that Gojo will alert when the group is to split up: Snow beast hunters and snow marine stilts. Divide and conquer seems to be the only strategy that somehow tames such an unforgiving environment, and Herwi marine-hunters seem to be picked from the most patient of warriors. They carve out a hole in the middle of frozen bodies of water (never Lake Yapay, this divine body is never harmed) and each positions themself atop a tall icicle beside it to escape prowling beasts and currents. Crouched and ledged atop one, the sheer core strength and balance is divine once they cast their lines and wait.

On the other side of things, we have the Herwi beast-hunters. Using a large variety of weapons, the most popular is noted to be the bow and arrow - used by the olo’eyktan himself. They stalk in the cold white billows of snow with not even a single shiver, they lay in wait for hours, they tire their prey out.

And nevertheless this scientist found today’s hunt rather interesting…

The third and fourth days had passed by in much the same fashion - except for the slight tweak in your routine that included opening your hut door and finding the olo’eyktan standing there every single morning.

Always with food, always with a smile, always with some interesting niveous flower for you to press into your notebook. Then afterwards the two of you would set out to help you interview the Herwi people of all ages and backgrounds, to take samples, to explore the natural fauna, to even join Gojo on one of his Hunts on the third day. 

They admitted that they didn’t focus on hunting as much as they normally did on that trek, too enamored with this strange little human that had showed up one day and had their olo’eyktan glued to her side.

You interviewed hunters and elders (well, the ones that didn’t ignore you completely or were on the verge of cursing you out until they caught their leader’s eye) until your mouth hurt. And Gojo had taken you into the best spot with natural Pandoran fauna, making you jot down notes until your fingers cramped.

Once the sun was beginning to set and the Na’vi were getting ready to head back to their village for the night, you’re taking the opportunity to interview some of the young hunters. Gojo was off in the distance making up for the slightly lowered hunt by ice-spearing more snow beasts. And you were more than happy not to distract him while he took care of his olo’eyktan duties- after all, the other hunters were nice. Never having seen a human before, they’d been more than happy to answer your questions.

Ribbing each other, guffawing as they answered, placing their hands down on you and ruffling your head from above.

Almost as if you were a plaything- and you admit it was in the name of science, you didn’t mind it too much until a particularly boisterous hunter about Gojo’s age had kept swatting at you no matter how many times you politely moved away. Until he’d caught you on the scruff of your coat and tried to lift you up—

You hear the sound of bones breaking before you realize what it is.

Whipping your head behind you in an instant to see that Gojo was behind the other hunter and pulling his hand hard enough that you hear other Na’vi cry out. 

He lets go of you, of course, and you watch with widened eyes as Gojo then bandages his fellow Na’vi’s arm himself. Though you note that he doesn’t apologize.

Gojo didn’t leave your side for a single second after that.

That night after the dinner by the lake, Gojo walks you to your hut and sleeps outside in the bitter cold- no matter how much you tried to get him to take up the bed inside. He’d insisted.

After mating, he’d said.

You wonder whether your translating device was malfunctioning…

(See Page 26 on Herwi possessiveness…).

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Day #4 in the Herwi village: 

Beads.

A well-known part of Na’vi culture, one of the most recognizable, perhaps. The scientific community has written long and extensively on the importance of bead-sharing in the Omaticaya clan, however, this scientist shall be the first to detail the beauty of how this tradition extends to the Herwi clan.

According to the artisans of this village, beads aren’t fashioned through molten stone or seeds or clay—given the availability of such in this environment. Rather, they’re made with snow.

Never-melting snow.

Yes, the design of hona beads from snow is a practice unique to the Herwi clan. Broken off from the hardest icicles growing at a peak of Mt. Hoet said to touch the sky, not only is it a treacherous passage to get to those specialized bits of ice, but the process of making the beads finds itself just as arduous. These icicles are then welded into delicate beads and dipped into the waters of Lake Yapay at night, letting them soak and then carried to freeze at the highest peak once more.

This process is repeated until the beads are as hard as diamonds on Earth- perhaps even harder. Never-melting. Never-breaking. Never-forgetting. Though not too hard so that the Herwi will be unable to carve unique patterns and symbols special to themself. Rinse. Repeat.

Though the clear meaning of such is ambiguous, it is most certainly a way of showing appreciation - as one would have to love someone very much to do this, no?

It was on your fourth day amongst the Herwi clan that Gojo didn’t show up with a beautiful flower or trinket from the terrain- instead, he’s bounding up to you with a string of beads and knotting it against the side of your face.

Pushing it back and taking you in with it.

Without a question.

“Satoru, did you…” You’re holding the line of beads up to the sunlight and watching the little patterns glimmer. They were slightly frosted and flurried like the smallest of snowglobes, “Did you make this for me?” 

And you swear they had the most intricate design of clouds on them, swirling and tumbling.

“Of course.” He smiles proudly. “Us Herwi are taught how to design our very own hona beads ever since we were children, and as Na’vi coming of age we walk up the path to make the first one for ourselves…as adults we make one for our family or…” Mates.

“And this- god, I need to…write about this but I can’t even imagine how long this would’ve taken.” 

“Four days.” Gojo cocks his head and looks down at you- and that brilliantly confident grin of his plasters across his face once more. “For most it takes four years, but for you I did it in four days.”

“Oh, they’re just amazing.” You run a hand down the ice-cold globules, “Thank you, Satoru.”

He holds your hand as he leads you out into the village.

Gojo tells you that night to wear those very beads to the clan dinner - once a week (at the very least) after a particularly successful Hunt, the Herwi people will get together for a massive feast. You’d heard excited whispers about it from the public you surveyed, and it seems that the olo’eyktan had chosen tonight.

Night had begun to fall, and you were dragged playfully by some younger girls straight to the edge of this vast frozen lake. Past snow-capped huts that stuck out of an even more snow-capped ground like eager heads, and ice-jeweled trees and frozen rivers and pathways lit with bioluminescent algae trapped in lanterns of ice.

It was a world in frost.

Where Na’vi had gathered with their families, their friends, their food—all in an array of tables that circled the crystallized body of water like a wedding ring.

Under the snowy night sky they communed. 

“You are wearing my- I mean your hona beads.” Gojo had beamed as he eventually caught up with you and guided you himself. He led you by hand again - even though you weren’t exactly quite sure why…at least it kept you from being toppled over by the other tall Herwi rushing to snag their own seats. “You look beautiful with them, beloved.”

And you weren’t quite sure what to say- though the bubbling pit at your stomach certainly wanted you to tell him something. Instead you divert the topic, “You hunted today as well, yes? Is there anything here that you hunted?”

To which he looks at you with a rather cocky smile, “Beloved, I have hunted more than half of the feast tonight. Trust that you will enjoy it.”

And you might have joked about him being presumptuous- but you really did enjoy the feast.

Under a star-studded sky and glimmering lanterns that twinkled like the freckles upon Gojo’s face, he led you to the very head table that no other Na’vi dared touch. It was rather obvious that this one was meant for the olo’eyktan himself, but what was curious was when your seat had been placed right next to his.

Perks of being a special guest, you suppose?

Shoko was beside you and shot you an amused smile, before preening for another Herwi next to her with a scar that ran across her face and half-braided hair. 

“Utahime.” Gojo had whispers in your ear, “Shoko’s mate.” 

“Ah- I see!” Pen quivering in your hand, you’re jotting down your observations in your notebook under the table. “Perfect. I’m quite curious about the mating rituals of the Herwi, you see. Do you suppose I’d be able to ask them some questions later on in the night?”

“Don’t ask them questions- ask me.” Gojo huffs. Brows furrowing. Lower lip jutting into a pout.

He leans over and wraps his arm around the back of your chair. Squirming, “O-oh…but you’re not mated yet, are you, Satoru?”

“Nope!”

“Right…” But then how could you ask him about mating if he wasn’t—nevermind.

Because just then the group in charge of cooking for the clan had rounded the tables and begun placing their most savored delicacies on top of them. Meats upon vegetables upon berries that you’d seen growing naturally across the mountainside they lived on. It was steaming hot and everything that you could dream of.

Whether you didn’t like meat, whether you didn’t like vegetables- there was always something there for you.

Most of the richest dishes were allocated around the olo’eyktan and your single table, stuffing the surface to the brim until you had to squeeze next to Gojo for space. Of course, he didn’t seem to mind. Perhaps too busy piling his place with the sweetest treacly milks and frozen desserts that he could reach.

After dinner came the dances.

It happened every night after the community dinner when everyone - full and satisfied by then - would start humming and chanting their ancient hymns. Echoing into the sleepy snow and the ever-young night, someone would pull out two snow beast-skin drums by then. Thumping away to the songs of the snow. 

Children ran off and made snow-prints and snow-fights in the mountains of powder. Family members would begin drowsily feeding each other and insisting they eat more. Others traced their own hona beads and promised they’d make ones for the one they love.

More would punch small holes through the frozen lake and bring the water up to their mouths, of which a sudden blow would make the water freeze and scatter out into the air in twinkling snowflakes. Emulating the stars themselves.

Snow-breathers. 

They’d sing, they’d sound, they’d show off and then…the first mated couple would walk onto the middle of the frozen ice.

Then the second.

The third.

The fourth and the fifth and the sixth-

What a way to end the night, love warming the cold air and couples twirling around each other with their tails intertwined. Usually, you’d be content to clap and attempt to sing along—

But then Gojo stands up- and you almost believe he was ready to leave the table altogether…until he’s reaching his hand out to you.

You.

And you look around in slight surprise- almost as if expecting someone to materialize right beside you and take Gojo’s hand instead. But the only thing you’re getting is Shoko’s approving nod from next to you, before she lets herself be dragged by Utahime onto the frozen lake.

And so you’d danced.

Rather an interesting sight considering the height difference, you admit—but it was beautiful. Gojo scoops you up into his arms with one steadied underneath you, the other holds one of your hands in his. 

So much larger. So much more powerful.

And yet so gentle.

He twirls you around to the music and you laugh at the wind stinging your face.

“Satoru, you’re going to drop me—”

“I should rather die than drop you.”

“But- but what of the other Herwi that will be mistaken?” You ask then, already sensing the envious looks that were thrown your way. 

“There goes my dream of being tsahìk, I’m almost sure of it now-”

“But I haven’t been able to try my luck with the olo’eyktan yet-”

“Oh shush, girl! You seriously think any of us had a chance?”

You look into his handsome face, eyes trained on you despite all the whispers and disturbance amongst his people. Only you. “You won’t be able to find a mate this way.”

Something unreadable in his blue eyes, flickering with fire from the tables and something else entirely. “Perhaps I don’t want one.”

“Well that would be entirely your decision.” You place your hands on his broad shoulders, flexing as they move you around with ease. “But it seems in Herwi tradition, the olo’eyktan is wont to take a mate.”

He raises a white brow, “And who should you believe must be my mate then?”

You didn’t quite know how to answer that.

Averting his eyes- and those of the Na’vi staring at you two. “W-well, Herwi has many fine women and men. Reykol is the best singer.”

“I do not want Reykol.”

“Tìtaron is a good hunter.”

He pulls you closer, “Yes, she is a good hunter. But I am better, and I do not care for Tìtaron.” Reaching up one hand to brush away the snowflakes that had begun dusting your face, “I believe I have already been fated to. Even before I was born, I have already chosen.”

You swallow, “Who, Satoru?”

He only smiles.

“Who?”

But he does not answer, you’re twirled around once more and the moonlight catches your dangling beads.

“Is that…”

“Surely our leader isn’t saying what we think he is saying-”

“But look at him, he looks so…happy.”

You turn your head to catch the fact that most of the Herwi were looking at you, whispering behind their hands. In hindsight, you think that perhaps it was not a coincidence that they ogled you - and particularly the hona beads that you’d been gifted. Not a coincidence at all.

You wore his signature because you were his.

And they all knew you were his.

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Day #5 in the Herwi village (the last day): 

Leaving tomorrow, a perceptive scientist may notice that there is only one thing missing from this comprehensive research into the Herwi clan.

The source of Eywa.

As a deity to all Na’vi people, her influence seeps into the songs and prayers of even the highest terrains on Pandora. Into the healing. Into the well wishes. Into the belief system of a people so accepting and harmonious that their tree of Eywa does not need to be visibly present for her will to be carried out.

But as for where she resides here…

Your fifth and final day was less research and more saying your goodbyes to all the friends you’d made in the Herwi clan. You’d be leaving first thing tomorrow, before the sun even rose, according to the sternest of the elders. 

Gojo hadn’t met you outside your hut that morning, and you’d idled away the time packing and repacking your bag of samples and books. Thrice, before you started to believe that he might not come after all.

But that was alright, ultimately believing that he’d show up later on in the day, you visited all the healers, the hunters, the dancers, and the chefs. The mother and toddler you’d grown close to on your first day here, and even a stray elder that had sought you out to bow goodbye. 

All the young Na’vi and the old Na’vi.

All the Na’vi that had come to not fear you and the Na’vi that had found you endearing at first sight.

They’d warmed up to you since you first came here. They gave you gifts, each of them, and your heart ached as you thought of leaving. 

Goodbyes were always painful - but perhaps one most of all. Gojo.

He still hadn’t met you by the end of your route, and you’d circled the village about twice by the time you were done. He was nowhere to be seen.

It was almost as if he’d disappeared into thin air.

It was with a heavy pit in your stomach that you started to head back to your hut—your last dinner with the Herwi people would be in a few hours. Afterwards, Gojo had previously arranged for you to be accompanied by some of the clan’s best warriors on your trek down. 

You just thought that’d include him.

Perhaps you could sleep it off until the final dinner- and you were shutting the door just behind you…

Before sounds a hurried, hasty knock—

You open the door to see the olo’eyktan of the Herwi tribe.

Panting. Covered in snow.

“My apologies, I have spent the day clearing the pathway for us.” Gojo huffs out, leaning against your door frame with one hand. The other reaching out to you—“Come with me, beloved?”

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.

The Herwi source of Eywa was inside an ice cave.

One that would get blocked when the goddess herself did not wish to be seen, one that Gojo had torn through layers of packed ice to burrow a pathway for the both of you. He’d carried you all the way to the gaping mouth of blue ice and ghost snow.

Closing in on you like arms of rime beckoning you to the tree of Eywa. The Tree of Winter.

The cold embrace of a mother.

One you were still not quite sure whether you were allowed to see—but Gojo knew he wanted you to see. He saw you. 

At the end of the cave was an ice column about eighty feet tall and naturally formulated to look like the winding branches of a tree. Dripping to the ground in phantom white snow, each one delicate and graduating from white to blue. There almost seemed to be a glowing aura about it.

Clear mirrors making up the tree’s vines. Honed tips of the icicles rising from Pandora and stabbing down towards it. The top of the tree reached where the cave roof was hollow, beaming a circle of light from the skies that donned Eywa in innocent pink.

You gasped at the white snowsprites that bounced off of the tree and onto your two bodies. 

Where Gojo stand with his back straight, his meaty thighs spread—pearly white teeth biting down to stop himself from fucking moaning at the feeling of your mouth sliding up n’ down his hot cock.

While you were standing.

You didn’t even have to get on your knees.

His eleven foot figure loomed above you, one hand on the back of your head and the other pumpin’ his furious erection. Your maw slips down his puckered tip and he shivers- bucking ever-so-slightly and hitting the back of your throat dead-on—

And yet he wasn’t even fully bottomed out.

He wasn’t even fully bottomed out.

The sudden realization makes you claw at the sides of his blue skin with a whine- direct vibrations that make the puckered tip lodged inside your mouth twitch. He’s sploshing out even more syrupy pre like he couldn’t stop it.

He’s not even trying and it’s already so much, cascading like a waterfall down the front of your chin.

“Now- hah, now.” One of Gojo’s prolonged fingertips reaches out to smear away the slippery sheen across your face- at least, that’s what you think he’s doing.

But instead you’re feeling him curve his rude digits between your lips and push those dewy droplets inside. Shovelling his cock just a little bit deeper, “S’not good to waste it, beloved. Open your mouth and take it all like a good girl, yes?”

“Mmmpf-” A damn miracle that you could get out that much sound in the first place. You’re pulling off to answer, and Gojo jerks his hips a lil’ to chase your damp mouth. “You’re saying you want me to take it all—?”

He shivers, leopard-like tail twitching. “Yes.”

And right before your very eyes, you can see his shaft throb even bigger. 

Harder. 

The prettiest bluish-pink on his tip, one with a divot that leaks out a line of precum. You’re following it with your dazed eyes- before the next thing you’re seeing is a close-up of it.

Gojo has his massive hand plastered to the back of your scalp and is pushin’ your head in, digging his dripping wet tip against the back of your throat. With a groan, the Na’vi pins you to him and hammers out a few sloppy thrusts of his cock.

Again and again.

Slurp after slurp—

“Gonna take it all- hah- my entire cock inside that pretty mouth, yes?” He’s cocking his head to the side and asking down at you sweetly. And he might look all in control, but Gojo’s voice fucking breaks at the very end of his sentence. 

Right in synchronization with the way you were draggin’ your sizzling tastebuds down the veiny sides of his erection. Just the cutest tongue that was eagerly lapping up everything he was giving—“Doesn’t matter if you’re a lil’ human, you’re gonna take the leader’s biiiiig cock, aren’t you?”

Removing yourself from his thickened tip with a wet pwah! “Y-you’re really serious about the-”

“Yes.” 

And he’d apologize for cutting you off later- hell, he’d grovel at your feet if he has to. But right now all Gojo can think of doing is holding onto the back of your head and strollin’ his thumb down the column of your throat. The olo’eyktan can feel that fat cylindrical intrusion where his cock was pumping in and out- and he’s sliding his fingertip dooooooown that bulge. “Aren’t you a scientist, beloved?”

“Y-yes?”

“Then aren’t you curious about just how far a human can take Na’vi cock?”

“Well…” You blubber out, “I guess so-”

“Then consider it for your research.” With each syllable he’s cutting your breath off by thudding his cockhead against the roof of your mouth. “Then just fucking- haaaaah—” And you’re finding that the pre Na’vi cock exuded was actually rather sweet- almost like honeydew flooding up your mouth n’ being slid all round by the intrusion of his shaft. “-take it.”

“Mmmpf—ngh.” Tears were streaming down your face by now, wetting your cheeks and making the Na’vi wipe them away with his thumb.

“Don’t cryyyyy—” He’s airily calling out, almost nothing like the level-headed Na’vi you’d met before. “Big girls don’t cry. Don’t worry- m’gonna give you all of my cock, beloved.”

“S-Satoru-”

But each of your broken yowls were being bullied back in with his bludgeoning wet tip, bruisin’ away its splitted end anywhere and everywhere. 

He swabs into the tiniest nooks and crannies inside your mouth with his sheer size, leaving your knees utterly weak where you were still standing. He’s holding your head up to his cock- “C’mon- feel.”

You peer up at him in confusion.

“Feel for your research.” Fluttering his long pale lashes down at you, a sultry smile spreads across his lips. “How many loooong thick inches you’re being given. How many veins are filling ya up. How many times I hit the back of yer throat like this-”

A shuddering slam right where you were most tender. “Please-”

“M’helping you with your- fuck, research.” He chuckles down lecherously, “By shutting that smart human mouth of yours up.”

“Fuck-”

“Feel it- just feel.”

He thrusts so hard that his heavy ballsack smacks! against your chin, “Feel the way that lil’ mouth of yours can barely even take me. Feel how fat my balls are with cum just for you. Count them? Wanna calculate the girth?” Until it was stinging a permanent girth on your skin, rubbed raw with impact. “Feel the way I- ngh, bruuuise your throat n’ those sensual lips until anyone that talks to you knows I’ve been here.”  He’s babbling on stupidly by now, eyes falling more n’ more half-lidded by the minute. He’s holding on tightly to your restless head and shoves- “Feel the way I fuck my mate—”

Gojo trails off as if shocking himself, and you’re snapping your teary eyes up to him with a muffled- “What?”

But you don’t know whether it’s on cue, you don’t know whether it’s the startle of being caught- but Gojo’s slamming his cocktip way past the back of your throat and cumming.

Oozing out hot dollops of cum that take over your pretty mouth.

Shaft throbbing furiously. Balls twitching like no other. He throws his head back and squelches straight down your throat, and you can feel the thickness of it plug up your voicebox.

So sweet.

So much.

And you’re not sure whether it’s a Na’vi thing or it’s a Gojo thing that he’s cumming so much in one go.

Loooooong miry stripes that trickle down the sides of your mouth- he leans down and pushes them back between your lips with one of his thumbs. Ivory sap constantly leaking down onto your tastebuds, he feels the heady slip n’ slide of his cock against those wads of cum. “Fuh-fuck…”

And then he’s not moving, merely clasping the back of your head and bringing you firmly up against his slender pelvis. 

Your nose rubs against the tufts of white on his abs before you realize that he’d just bottomed-out—just once, like he’d promised. 

And it was enough to send you reeling, feeling the pushback of his swabbin’ tip. Pouring out even more heady liquid every time he was draaaaging down your velvety tongue. 

The tip of your tastebuds flicks his sensitive slit just right and you can feel him pulse deep inside. “Feel me in there?” Gojo’s groaning from above. “Feel how much I ache for you. Feel the volume of my cum- are you counting it?”

“I-I—”

But evidently your half-sob wasn’t enough.

And the Na’vi is reaching down and pinching your nostrils together with his free hand. “Ah ah- focus on your research, beloved.”

And you’re struggling uselessly against his mean action, to which Gojo watches with a predatory gaze at the way you huff n’ sputter. And he has the audacity to snicker-

“I really can throw you around like a ragdoll, huh?”

It’s as if the realization had just struck him and he’s shuddering. 

It almost feels like ages before he’s finally pulling away with a loud plop!

An excess of your cum was leaking out of your maw and threatening to drip onto the floor- “Tch, this is a sacred place, my human.” He’s rasping out—swipin’ up the frothed white cum as if he wasn’t absolutely desecrating you. Pushing those clingy wads between your maw.

He then guides his honed tip to glide across your lips, gluing your lips shut with all his seed.

And Gojo can’t help but admire you- peering up at him with his towering height. All covered in his syrupy slick and speechless, unable to talk even if your voicebox had been left intact.

He smiles, tail swishing happily to and fro. “My human.” Gojo leans all the distance down to kiss you upon your sopping wet lips. “My m- pretty human. My pretty human…”

But you don’t have enough sense at the moment to ponder too long on his little slip-up before he’s bending down close with his hoarse mouth against the shell of your ear.

Making you feel so sensitive.

“-did ya get enough research yet?”

And then he’s good on his other promise: throwing you around like a ragdoll.

Before you know it, Gojo’s thundering down onto his knees upon the frozen floor - taking you right along with him. He grabs his fur coat from a little ways away and makes you rest down on top of it. With ease.

Back flat on the coat. Legs spread high in the air.

Twisted around the back of Gojo’s neck and locked in place-

“Satoru-” You look around the Tree of Winter that only seems to glow even brighter, the snowsprites buzzing. “-are you sure we should be doing this h—oh.”

Gojo doesn’t say anything - he doesn’t have to.

He’s merely unhinging his jaw and letting his loooong pinkish tongue drip out. It was glossy with ravenous saliva, thick at the base, and curved at the tip. The end of it dripped tantalizingly with spittle- almost torturously. 

Achingly needy.

There was an almost feline quality to it that made your thighs clench.

“N-nevermind.”

The only thing you’re managing to get out before Gojo had his tongue stuffed against your wet core and swabbin’ away until you saw white—“M-mmmpf.” His mouth was just so large that he could engulf your pussylips with a single bite, honed canines grazing the outer edge of your cunt while he kisses inwards. “My pretty mate- my tasty mate.”

It’s almost as if he was pussydrunk already.

With just a single slurp of his curvaceous tongue glidin’ up and down your slit, Gojo has his blue eyes rolling to the back of his head and his hips bucking. Wildly. “Why didn’t Eywa tell me that you’d taste so good-”

“Oh my—” Your back arches while his thickened fingertips come between your legs to pinch your puckered pussy into his mouth. Pushing you against him even more - greedy. “Shit, it just feels so-”

Smack!

And without a single warning, Gojo has his roverin’ fingertips slamming down on your pussy. Straight on top of your slit where your clit was hidden, it sends shockwaves of both pain and pleasure up your spine.

You’re gasping and staring down at him-

“Now now, no cursing- be good before Eywa, hm?” That damn hypocrite - and you could see it in that sultry smile of it. Gojo was getting off on the way you’d squirm your cunt restlessly against his face, sighing into the way he starts fucking your pussy once more. “Or else m’not gonna eat this pretty pussy of yours out, ya hear?”

You gape, “That’s not fucking fair-”

Smack!

“What was that, beloved?”

“I said—”

Smack!

Smack!

Smack!

Until Gojo’s leaving your pussy raw and needy, and even then he wasn’t done with you- he has the audacity to purse his plump lips and spit. Spit. Letting the sharp strike of saliva make you shiver—

“What was that?” He asks you in such a breathy tone, such a ruined tone. Gojo spoke like if you told him you needed him right now then he would simply shatter. 

And you can only gulp at the state that he was in - you’ve researched Na’vi during times of high pressure, during battles, during their coming-of-age ceremonies. But never had you met one that simply seemed so…feral. “I-I’ll be good, Satoru.”

He smiles like he’s been wanting to hear those exact words for years.

Fingertips jittering with excitement, he then reaches for your intertwined ankles with his tail. 

Locking them in place, Gojo murmurs. “Good…” Before he’s getting ready to dive straight back into your sweetened cunt once more, “Because you better not run-”

And you don’t get to ask just what might constitute you running from his mouth. His tongue.

You don’t get to ask just what it meant when he looked at you with that dark inkling of something carnal, as if he was about to devour you whole.

You don’t get to ask anything, in fact, and whatever questions were already in your throat burst into a zillion pieces at the feeling of him pushing his tongue inside your hole. Properly.

Not lapping away coquettishly on your outer cunt, not slurpin’ up all your treacly juices.

Gojo had his tastebuds stuffed inside your entrance and was draaaaagging them all across every orifice inside of you. Thrusting his entire length in and out at a rapid pace, you could feel the edge of his chin hitting your base with every movement.

Inside and out.

Inside and out.

But the sheer speed of him wasn’t even the bit makin’ you the most dizzy- see Gojo’s Na’vi tongue was something amazing. Something incredible. 

Just so large and lavish that it was stretching your walls out like never before.

“P-please-” You don’t think you’ve ever felt anything like this- the way that Gojo’s textured tongue would mold against your walls, the way he’d pinpoint even the tiniest orifices with his flexible tip, the way he’d expand and contract his tongue purposefully. Until you saw white. Bucking—“Please it just feels so-”

“Where’d ya think you’re going?”

And the slur in his voice makes you pause- “Wh-what…?”

The last thing you’re managing to get out before Gojo tightens the rude grip of his fingertips on your pussylips. And the other one of his hands holds onto your waist to haul you back down onto his mouth- you hadn’t even realized that you’d been edging away in sensitivity. 

“Didn’t I tell you not to run?” Spankin’ those rugged fingertips of his down on your clit once more. You get the feeling that Gojo’s meanly choosing your clit because he knew that’d make you clench ‘round his tongue even more. “Don’t run. Don’t even move.”

“You’re just so fucking- ngh, big and you expect me not to move?” You wail out in indignity.

“Well, who told you to fuck a Na’vi warrior?” He’s countering, those half-lidded eyes of his twinkling with humor. “Better yet- who told you to fuck the olo’eyktan-”

And you suppose you had no explanation for that.

Especially not even Gojo was pumping his thickened tongue into you so fast that any and all explanations in your throat start to dissolve. Instead being replaced by the most pathetic whines and groans as he keeps fucking your pussy greedily.

As though Gojo was a man parched.

Because your wettened pussy was more refreshing to him than the waters of the lake- and if he could, he’d have his head stuffed between your legs every second of the day. Simply slurpin’ up every dewy droplet that escaped out of you, Gojo catches even those tiniest of wads.

Slipping his looooong tongue inside—you’re driven damn near mad once he slithers his length in and grazes your g-spot.

Hips bucking, eyes snapping open. “H-how did you even manage-”

“Ah ah—” His familiar tut, and soon enough you’re glued back down onto his pretty mouth again. Gojo doesn’t even need to try to ease you pliably back onto his face no matter how much you try to run- but oh, it was just so fun to watch your sultry surprise. The way you only got wetter when he manhandled you. “So this is that cute lil’ g-spot human have, hm? I thought it was just something in Shoko’s anatomy textbooks.”

“You- you read her textbooks…” You ask.

“All day and all night.” Gojo replies with a smirk, his ears twitching as he hears the quickening of your heartbeat. “Only Eywa knows how much I’ve touched myself imagining this.”

“Oh—”

It hits you like a flash of lightning- and so do the sudden swipes of Gojo’s tongue reaching your sweetest spots. Thud-thud-thud-thud he’s ricocheting against your bundle of nerves rapidly, making it echo like your own heartbeat in your ears. Thud-thud-thud-thud—

“Shit-” And suddenly you understand- you thought you understood before? But no, now you understand why Gojo had been telling you not to run away initially.

“Don’t run.” He warns.

Because all you’re feeling are the large stripes he’s licking up your slick walls, and the only thing you can think of doing is bucking. Rutting. Reaching for his lips wildly- though your body moves torturously as if you didn’t know whether you wanted more or to run away—“Shit.” 

“Don’t run.”

But how could you not run from it? How could you not even move when Gojo had your body teased n’ toyed with till absolutely no end?

He was hammerin’ his tongue against your g-spot furiously—and you were sure by now that he has the exact pattern of his tastebuds bruised right on that area. Shapin’ your velvety walls to his tongue, Gojo dives in just so animalistically.

And you can’t help but buck. You can’t help but arch your back. You can’t help but reach your hand out and attempt to grab onto something- anything for dear life. 

Again and again. “Shiiiiit is it even allowed to feel this good-”

But the Na’vi leader merely stops your hands with his own, folding them neatly into his hair. Holding onto his clammy scalp- “As Eywa wills it.” He smiles and your cunt’s just so sensitive by this point that you can feel the exact degree of curvature of his grin. “Which reminds me…”

And for your profanity you’re getting three more direct spanks, “Shit-”

One more.

Before you feel him then twist his fingertips on your throbbing clit and pinch- “Ya reeeeally can’t be a good girl f’me, huh?” Gojo asks you with a smile, though there was a hint of something in his voice that reminded you why exactly he was the olo’eyktan of such a large clan. “Look at you—”

“Sh-shit, that feels so-” But he isn’t listening, and you’re fighting the heels of your feet against his broad back. 

“Look at you.” He’s tightening his tail on your ankles and dragging you back down. He’s spitting down through clenched canines, every single word sending sparks up to your hazy brain. Barely even working by this point, surely. “Swearing. Squirming. Moaning like a slut and trying to escape- as your leader, I should punish you, beloved.”

“No more pussy spanking—” You whine, “Just makes me so sensitive…”

“I’m not talking about pussy spanking, beloved.” To emphasize his point he gives just a light tap on your sensitive nub once more.

It leaves you shaking to wonder just what else he has in store for you- though you don’t have to let your mind grapple in the dark for too long. Because in absolutely no time - just a few more vulgar thrusts of his tongue - you’re feeling the sudden plump intrusion of something slender at your hole.

It certainly couldn’t have been his tongue, because you knew what that ridged texture felt like. 

It certainly couldn’t have been Gojo’s cock, because you’d tasted that and you knew he had a much larger circumference. 

So that left only one option—Gojo had your pussylips spread apart and your entrance gulping up every inch of his fingers. They just looked so stark with their blue color disappearin’ into your hole, and Gojo’s increeeeedible length making you feel so full. 

Two of them were all that were shovelled inside- and yet he was already stretching for your very cervix on his first thrust inside. He scours the spongy end of your pussy then slides back out—in and out, in and out, in and out.

Each time his knobbly joints push against your g-spot and left you crying-

“Feel my fingers inside you?” Gojo rasps ruthlessly, his mouth wrapped around your throbbing clit. Groaning at the way you grow even wetter- Na’vi senses were strong, and he could smell the impending orgasm on you. “Feel the way I reach for your- hah, womb all inside? Feel the way I can fuck a baby in you so easily?”

“Yes-” You answer to them all, “Yes yes yes yes—”

And before you can say anything more, his powerful tail hauls you down. Bashin’ in even deeper with his plush fingertips. “Feel the way I’ve found eeeevery cute spot of yours? Feel the way I know your pussy inside and out?”

“Yes- fuck.” And you don’t even care if you’re ‘punished’ any more for breaking Gojo’s stern rules. Gojo himself was slamming his knuckles red and raw against your cunt, fucking his human’s tight pussy. “Fuck, I’m gonna-”

“Feel the way m’making you mine—?”

“Satoru, m’gonna cum-”

“Note it down in your research.”

And then you’re exploding straight into your high - and you know it’s the best you’ve ever had.

Your eyes fall shut and the only thing you’re seeing behind them is pure black with stars of white, pulsing against your bleary vision in time with the furious throbbing at your cunt. Little zaps of pleasure shoot all the way down to the tips of your toes every time he’s moving his maw across your core. Sharp. Sensitive. He’s wedged between your legs and lappin’ up each pulse.

Sluuuuurp—!

Long, aching drags of his tongue. They’re roverin’ over the most sensitive spot of your clit, meanwhile his fingers were glazed in slick n’ fucking you stupid already.

Gojo thrusts you through your high as if he was angry at you. As if he can’t get enough. As if he’s losing his damn mind and you n’ your pussy are the only reasons why-

It takes you only a minute more for your wave of bliss to taper out, fully riding through it. 

And then only another minute more for you go from fucked straight to overstimulated by a few more of his rovering thrusts. He swabs your g-spot once more and you think you’re bawling- “S-Satoru, I’m already done-”

But he doesn’t respond. He doesn’t even seem to hear you.

In fact, you couldn’t sworn that he was grabbing onto your right thigh with his free hand and keeping himself plastered even more into your cunt-

“Satoru—!” You’re calling out helplessly, “Satoru, I’m already- ngh, done-”

“Mhmmmm?” Muttering something wet underneath his breath, and you have to strain your ears to actually hear him. Breathy. Panting. “Research- fuck! More…”

“I can’t even- oh.” It was almost dangerous just how potent he was with his mouth and fingers, and before long your thighs were starting to shake with sensitivity. Causing you to grab onto his scalp even tighter and-

“O-oh.”

And accidentally tug on the long braid of white hair thrown over his shoulder—his kuru.

Did that manage to…

Your breath hitches, and you’re reaching out to graze your fingers down his kuru once more-

“Fuh—fuuuuck.” Gojo throws his head back in a voice that almost sounded like a whimper, his slick lips quivering. His skin covering in goosebumps. His erection throbbing from where you could spy him. His entire large body shakes with the zaps of hypersensitivity going down his spine, “D-don’t think you know what you’re getting into, beloved…” His murky breath clouds out in front of him. 

“You sure?” You challenge - what a privilege it was to see him break.

The olo’eyktan grits his teeth—-“I’m warning you…”

But when were you ever one to listen to warnings?

Without thinking much of it, you tighten your hand ‘round his kuru and tug—

And then he’s on you in a split-second.

He’s not even moving- he’s grabbing onto your hips and bodily puuuulling you right back down till your cunt lips kiss his cock. He’s pushing your legs up until your kneecaps hit your tits. He’s hunching his entire body forwards and-

“Sh-shit.” Your eyes widen, “Satoru, did you just-”

“Yes.”

Just you teasing his kuru is enough to make Gojo spuuuurt out in creamy wads of cum once more, coating the outer part of your pussy in a thick layer. It feels hot and wet on top of you, streaming down to drench the coating. Before he’s swervin’ his swollen tip inside and fucking you-

No hesitation. No preparation.

You’re getting what you deserved, and that was to be fucked like an absolute anima by the Na’vi.

“You don’t know what you’ve done.” He’s spitting- straight into your hotly opened mouth. Those sharp canines of Gojo’s nipping at your bottom lip, “You don’t know what you’ve done- you don’t know what you’ve done-”

“Shit, shiiiit—Satoru.” Moaning out his name like a broken record player. He’s bullying out harsh semi-thrusts against your cunt that leave you scrambling for breath- just shovin’ his puckered tip inside, just tasting the inside of your pussy with his cockhead, just trying to fucking fit.

“Sayin’ my name like that and you don’t even fucking—” Before Gojo feels your soppy walls clench tightly ‘round him, and his lips part a little before racing down and spitting on your cunt. “Fucking fit.”

“You say that like it’s so easy-” You sob out. 

He was pistoning his hips into you ferally.

The only thing he was doing was stretchin’ out your cute hole a few times, just so big that you’re being push-push-pushed up the fur coat you were splayed out on-

A hand at your throat.

“Don’t. Fucking. Run.”

And you don’t have the chance to tell him that you weren’t actually running and in fact it was just his roverin’ hips forcing you upwards- but before you could do that, Gojo’s already rendering you speechless with his cock.

He’s grabbing an even tighter restraint of your neck.

He’s manhandling your entire body down like he’s crazed.

He’s juuuuuust barely managing to squeeze in a sultry inch of two of his massive length- the mere sensation of that in itself enough to send your mind bursting into a heap of stars. It was almost numbing on your lower half, to have this much of him fitted inside you.

Stuffed inside you.

Throbbing inside you.

And it seems that the only one more affected by that fact wasn’t you - it was Gojo Satoru himself. Head falling into the crook of your neck. Tail flinching as it now wraps around your right thigh. Mouth parting with an agonized groan.

“F—fuck.” He’s echoing out hollowly into your ear, “Fuck, you’re so fucking…tight.”

Gojo spits out the word as if it was the very reason the olo’eyktan was shattering right about now. And almost on cue, those sopping wet walls of yours clench ‘round his tip and makes the Na’vi yelp—

“Fuck, don’t do that.” He’s shuddering through his sloppy strokes, his split-ended tip filling you up with dewy precum. “Fuck, don’t do that unless you want to be taught what happens when you pull on the kuru of a Herwi like me, little scientist.”

“What happens?” You ask innocently.

“S’why I’m telling you to fucking—oh.”

Just a few more pulsating clenches of your cunt, and Gojo shivers as though he’s being held hostage by your wet walls.

He bears his canines and snarls at you in the way you’d seen Na’vi do when they want to signal, to intimidate, to mate. 

But you stare up at the olo’eyktan of the Herwi clan with determination.

And he’s giving you one final probe-

“I’m going to get you fucking pregnant.”

He breathes out against the shell of your ear, almost like the last whisper of his sanity before Gojo stares into your wide heart-eyes—and he’s reeling his hips back to plunge.

Uncaring how unready your poor entrance was.

Uncaring how your tiny human body shakes underneath his larger one.

His fat cock swipes between your glittery folds and puuuuushes against the instinctual restraint of your hole, all the way until you start to tremble- and he knows he can’t push any more. He knows he can’t break you.

He’s fighting back every sudden primal urge in him that just wants to fuck you all the way inside- and furiously pumps his solid inches back and forth. Back and forth. Back and forth. Keeping a hand always on the top of your stomach for when he’s feeling his hard globular tip push upwards.

Gojo was just so big that he could feel himself sinking in from the outside-

“And that’s not a promise, beloved.” Gojo’s pale brows furrow as his cockhead starts swabbin’ even deeper after each thrust, “That’s not a promise- that’s not even a challenge-”

“Th-then—?” He’s pushing doooown on your overstuffed core and you find it hard to breathe, both pressures from between your legs and from Gojo pushing on your cylindrical tummy bulge was just…

The olo’eyktan grins when he watches his cute lil’ human struggle to take his entire cock, the bluish hue of it spreading apart your thighs. He reels his slender hips back in quite the long drag—before ultimately hammering- “It’s an oath. Before Eywa.”

A divine oath.

Added to the fact that Gojo was slamming his ruddied tip into you with each syllable- and you could never forget about the sheer size difference. The way that it helped him bend over you and fold you in half as though nothing but a lawnchair—your ass was cleanly dangling off the floor with how much Gojo was bending you.

A mating press. The meanest one you’ve ever seen.

You’re hit with the sudden inclination that you weren’t about to walk out of here any time soon.

And Gojo seems to be doing well on that fact- he hadn’t completely bottomed-out yet, but he was still drilling into you with such fervour. Streaking his cum from before across every inch of you, a layer of white that you feel from the inside.

Feverish cocktip swabbin’ all the way at the back of your cervix, full balls smacking your cunt.

Every time he was hurtling his hips forwards, it almost felt as if the ground beneath you was trembling. 

It almost felt as if he was hitting each of your geysering spots without even needing to try. Just so big that the veiny sides of his cock rubbed n’ dubbed up against those orifices unfairly. 

It almost felt as if you were losing it-

“So I think you’ll have a loooot of fuckin’ research, beloved.” Gojo snickers, his tail flicking you playfully. And at this point you’re not even sure what the conversation was about, just knowing that it was the background music to the lecherous thwacking of his hips on yours. 

So hard that you could feel the wads of his high from before glazing your insides. Dripping all the way near the rim of your cunt before being pumped back inside.

He pushes down on top of that bulge once more and watches you whine, “I almost don’t want to, mmm, ask what it’ll be about…”

“Ohhh, y’know—” Gojo trails off airily, something shaky in the back of his tone that sends shivers up your spine. It makes you almost content to know that you’ve gotten him so pussydrunken- but then again you weren’t too far behind. He tilts his head to the side and looks at you through partially closed eyes, smiling. “-human-Na’vi babies.”

And it’s with that that Gojo finally - finally - drills his cock all the way to the hilt.

Bottoming out.

His breath catches at the realization.

Blue eyes widening. Mouth watering.

It feels so different to have your hot innards surrounding him entirely- and fuck, Gojo wasn’t even sure whether a human like you would be able to take all of him. But it seems that you really were made for him, yes? Every curve and edge of you. Every bit of your cunt that he gives an experimental buck into, before pumping inside like a madman-

Pounding you into the smooth ground of the celestial temple.

It feels like you’re being thrust into heaven itself because of the way he was so big, big, big—all the way from the purple-ish tip that was zig-zagging your walls, to the oversized tummy bulge he was fucking into you, to the way he had you folded. Manhandled.

Gojo’s only lasting a few strokes before he’s crushing you to him so hard that it almost hurts- “Right here—right here.” The hand atop your stomach pushes down where his ruby-red tip was kissin’ and kissing at your womb. “You’re gonna have a lot ta research about fucking- ngh, getting bred by the fucking olo’eyktan. A lot to research about carrying my next heir, yeah?”

“Yes…” Arching your back into him.

“And then here—” That very hand now drifts down to the in-betweens of your pussylips and rubs his thumb over your clit. He’s drawing little circles and hearts on top of your sensitive nub that makes you wrack with pleasure, “Yer gonna have to research giving birth to such a biiiig baby, beloved.”

You shiver at the thought, mostly excitement.

And he purrs as he rubs his cheek against the sweaty crown of your head, “But s’okaaaaay- I’ll help you through every step of it, beloved. My mate.” The Na’vi’s staring down at you lovingly, fucking you filthily. “M’gonna breed you all full, okay? You might just have to research more about Na’vi phenotypes- heh.”

You can only nod. “Please…”

And before you can dwell too long on that last particular word—mate—he’s continuing. “And then you don’t have to worry ‘bout a thing- I can take care of eeeeverything. I’ll wash our kid. I’ll dress our kid. I’ll feed our kid. I’ll do everything and anything just please-”

“Y-yes?” Your voice cracks.

And he winks down at you almost mischievously, “Let’s do some research together on when I’ll be able to breed you all full of my cum next, hm?”

And with only a few more vicious thrusts, you’re feeling your second wave of pleasure tonight take over. You knew it’d been bubbling inside your veins for some time now- and right now it almost felt as if that euphoria was overflowing.

Overspilling.

Just like the gushing wads of slick that drivel over the front slit of your cunt and leave you so wet that you feel like a waterpark. Just rhythmic bursts of your high that leave your body loose and limp, shaking a bit every time that Gojo’s cockhead plummets inwards.

Head muddled.

Eyes rolling to the very back of your head.

This might just be the best orgasm of your entire life, and your wave of pleasure is looooong and drawn-out with how many times Gojo thrusts his cock in to fuck you through it. “Shit, Toru—” 

Again and again and again.

Each time hitting the target of your g-spot dead-on and watching as you gush around him even more. 

You were at Gojo’s complete mercy…almost.

Shaking. Your hands find themselves in his hair once more- or more precisely grazing the long length of his kuru. “Satoru.” You’re breathing out as he shivers carnally, “Satoru, I want it- ngh, inside.”

His eyes widen, “Demanding something of the olo’eyktan, are you?”

“Inside, Toru.” Desperate now.

To emphasize, you’re lightly tugging on his kuru and watching as it makes the Na’vi above you shudder. His cock pouring out heaps of precum that only act as a warning for something…more. “F-fuck, better keep this all in until tomorrow-”

At the very least.

You’re honestly not sure if you can keep it all in even now—because then Gojo’s throwing his head back and cumming long and hard. Harder than he ever thinks he has before- his seed dribbles out of him like a gooey waterfall, taking place inside every nook and cranny you have.

Heavy balls clenching almost aggressively as they empty out inside you.

He’s swervin’ each ounce of it inside by dragging his globular tip, that reddened cockhead making you swear you taste Gojo all the way at your throat. 

Flooding.

Your toes curl, it almost feels as though he’s fucking you into a third and fourth high altogether-

“Until tomorrow-” Gojo barks out through his smoky tone, “Until always-” After reaching his high so many times in one night, his sparks of euphoria just rip through him. And you can feel the sheer intensity of it by the way his slippery slick thwacks! against the back of your pussy, hot and heavy. It seems to inflate you from the inside, “Until we have our…fuck.”

And it’s not like Gojo to let up a sentence. Especially one that wavered with emotion.

“Until I have…” He starts again, blue eyes twinkling. “…you.”

Right now he was cupping the side of your face with his left hand- accidentally…or perhaps not…dslodging the translating device from your ear.

And then the Na’vi olo’eyktan leans with his forehead pressing down on top of yours.

Dragging his hand down the side of your head, where his beads for you twinkled in the glow of Eywa’s tree. Breathing out the words—“Oel ngati kameie, muntxa si.”

He looks at you with a slightly sad smile as if he was almost bitterly glad you didn’t understand. Though little did he know…“Oel ngati kameie, Satoru.”

And the look on his face was worth all the time you’d spent poring over Na’vi language books with Shoko these past few days. At least you understood this.

You grin, “I did a bit of research myself.”

He holds you tight, he holds you as if he wanted you two to become one.

More so.

Eventually—after about four or so more rounds, and once you were thoroughly shattered and kept on begging for it, Gojo had swiped his long kuru into his hand and raised it up to you. You yourself didn’t have one, but if there was anything you learned from being with the Herwi people—it’s that love comes in all forms and differences.

You press your lips to his flower-like nerves at the very end of his braid. Immediately, a rush of something between you two and you understand what he meant about being mates.

You feel what Gojo sees.

You feel what Gojo smells.

You feel what Gojo hears.

You feel what Gojo tastes.

You feel what Gojo feels.

You feel complete.

.

.

.

Day #6 in the Herwi village (day after the mating):

The ancient of the Herwi clan were one of the only believers in fated mates, of one who had been destined to walk beside you upon this good planet through Eywa’s will. It was said that life does not flower until one meets one’s fate, not even the skies shall migrate, not even the ice shall melt. 

Two souls bound to meet.

And until then one can only look up, up, up…

This scientist was found in quite the curious position as mate to the olo’eyktan on the morning after.

Re-entering the village, hand-in-hand, it was inevitable that the Herwi people would stare. Not only was it quite past the deadline of six moons given, but each bore resemblance of a mating session that could’ve been spotted a smile away.

Bite marks. Bruises. Slight falter in walking.

Not to mention that it seems word had spread about the…inoccupancy of the Tree of Winter just the night prior. (Additionally for more on Herwi stamina read Page 69…)

Circling back, the stares were rather unabashed. Some gasping. Some ribbing. Some tuts by elders of the clan who then again turned around with a smile.

It was obvious that they had been praying for the olo’eyktan’s happiness for a long, long time.

It must be noted that congratulations were doled out heavily at the communal dinner that night. Food. Dances. Parades.

It must be noted even further that preparations for coronation at the Herwi tsahìk shall be taking place in a week’s time. Who would have thought, a human being a tsahìk? Who would have thought that humans had fated mates as well?

For this scientist’s final note, preparations are already being planned meticulously for the arrival of a new heir to the Gojo name.

And that leaves the scientific community with one last thing, now that fluency in the Na’vi language is on the path to be attained: the glossary.

Tsahìk - Head shaman, high priest, interpreter..

Olo’eyktan - Male clan leader.

Mawey - Calm.

Txeylan - Best friend.

Ì’awn - Stay.

Fnu - Be quiet.

Txen - Awake.

Nga lu rusey- oh, nga lu rusey. - You’re alive- oh, you’re alive.

Oe'm lefpom. Txen? Lu nga txen? Tsal pung? - I’m happy. Awake? You’re awake? Are you injured?

‘Upe lu nga fwew? - What are you looking for?

Yawne? Oe'd tìng aynga. - Beloved? I’d give you anything.

Oe pey ngim krr. - I’ve been waiting a long time.

Tìnga’prrnen - Pregnant.

Tìnga’prrnen? Oe? - Pregnant? Me?

Nga new ne kanom oe tìnga’prrnen. - You want to get me pregnant?

Fì'u - This.

Irayo nga - Thank you.

Oe ke ronsem tsonta lu tìnga’prrnen. - I wouldn’t mind being pregnant.

Lake Yapay - Lake Steam.

Hona beads - Endearing.beads.

Mt. Hoet - Vast.

Kuru - Neural queue.

Oel ngati kameie, muntxa si. - I see you, my mate.

Oel ngati kameie, Satoru. - I see you, Satoru.

A/N. It must be acknowledged that Herwi culture was influenced by some aspects of Inuit culture, as well as some aspects of my own Sinhalese culture! Both such beautiful cultures that I was honored to research more in-depth on. Also this Na'vi vocabulary bank was used, and for longer Na’vi sentences this translator was used and might not be fully accurate ahhh-

Plagiarism not authorized.

[imyourightnow]

NA’VI GOJOOOO YES PLEASE I LOVE YOU

[tonycries]

Older - N.K.

Synopsis. Your duties as a nanny are simple: pick Itadori Yuji up from elementary school, bathe him, feed him his veggies, and take care of him until his hot blond dad gets home. It doesn’t include something like…spending Valentine’s Day with the overworked, overstressed, absolute DlLF Nanami Kento. Does it? Does it?

Pairing. Nanami Kento x Reader

Content. MDNI, fem!reader, older!Nanami, age gap, DlLF!Nanami, reader is in early 20’s, Nanami is in 30’s, he’s overworked and STRESSED, down bad!Nanami, desperation, Valentine’s Day, pùssydrùnk Nanami, oraI (fem rec.), p talking, p sIapping, punishments, dégrading but also soft Nanami, spítting, bíting, fíngering, yearning, teaching you, fírst times (yours), Iessons, talking you through it, he’s stern, he’s BIG, BRÉEDlNG BRÉEDlNG BRÉEDlNG, matíng presses, manhandIing, cervíx smoochin, overstím, vírginíty loss (yours), corruption, he’s feraI, DÚMBIFlCATION, calling you ‘momma’, mentions of kids, implied marathon, HEADLÓCKS, creampíes, cúmpIay, Yuji cameos, Papamin, HAPPY ENDING, pet names, swéaring.

Word count. 15.7k

A/N. BOO! SURPRISE VALENTINE’S DAY POST?! HAPPY VALENTINE'S DAY BABYGIRLS <33

Nanami can’t help but sigh—“One more meeting and I’m quitting.”

Even though he knows he wouldn’t.

Those boxed-in, white-collar jobs felt just as lukewarm to quit as they were to work. One learns to numb oneself to the constant drone and sputter of the office, the ceaseless fury of a microwave that wouldn’t heat, and the wail of a printer printing listlessly furlong - too far behind its service date. So was there even a point?

That stupid screech followed him even out of the office: one could ignore the cracks and jolts of joints, but that doesn’t actually stop the noise.

He feels a headache coming on.

But Nanami can’t lie- the pay wasn’t all too bad. Besides, the extra hours helped him pay for the nanny he’d recently hired for Yuji—speaking of, he could hear you shuffling about inside.

His key’s just reaching for the door before it swings wide open.

“Welcome home—!”

And Nanami Kento can’t understand that strange, sweet flutter in his heart.

One of his hands jerks upwards- right to the pounding space above his heart. He knows he must look a bit of a sight right now - a grown man pawing at his chest - and part of him wonders whether this was all the all-nighters taking a toll on him. About time.

But another part of him wonders whether he should consult a cardiologist.

Also about time.

Because it’s been like this ever since he hired you - the vetting process for finding a nanny had been a long and tedious one. And Nanami had rejected (he’s sure) at least fifty different candidates, had been blocked by five different agencies, before he finally landed on you. Either they’d been too strict, or too lenient, or too new, or simply not cut out to handle the benevolent whirlwind that was his adopted son.

The poor man had been on the verge of giving up.

In fact, he was two paragraphs into an email to HR whilst stress-eating a homemade Danish pastry and wondering whether buying his boss flowers would be overkill- when it happened. God, could this day get any worse? First his manager gives him a ton of work just before he clocked off, certainly not in his list of responsibilities, then he’d burned those damn Danish pastries, then one of the nannies he’d interviewed had nearly passed out at the sheer energy Yuji had.

He’d been working more and more these days. And Nanami needed just a few more months - a few more nights putting in overtime before he could-

It was then that the doorbell had rang.

Ba-dump! 

He opened the door tentatively, hoping that it wasn’t yet another ambush by a salesperson - each with their bright plastic garbage, and their even brighter smiles. But what he’d been met with instead wasn’t one of those visitors he dreaded…not in the very least. It was you—

And your explanation that you were here because of Shoko.

“Erm- she told me that you were looking for a nanny?” You flashed your conversation with Nanami’s clinical friend as proof. He flickered his gaze over to the screen but his eyes remained unreading—he remembers turning them back over to you.

Blinking at the vision of you.

And you’d slightly jolted at the intensity in them.

Digging through your pin-covered bag, “I also have my CV in here…somewhere.” He watched as you only grew more and more frustrated as that CV evaded you- “It really should be somewhere- give me one second-”

“That’s alri-”

But instead of your CV, your bag had poured out notes and pens in return. So much of it that Nanami marvelled at just how much fit inside that humble satchel. They dropped to the floor and you dived to pick them up, wincing. “I’m so- sorry-”

“Let me.” Crouching down in front of you, Nanami’s much-larger hands had had no trouble scooping all those papers up. In an instant he had them aligned neatly and handed to you. Prim. Proper.

By the tie still ‘round his neck, you guessed he’d just come home from work - and little did you know he’d also just finished four failed interviews for the position of nanny - yet he didn’t have a single blond hair out of line. They were slicked-back and handsome in a way you’d seen only in old movie stars. You thought you saw a few strands of silver.

Lines at the edges of his eyes. That tired strength about him.

It was hard to not ogle him.

Your fingertips brushed his rougher ones as you took the papers from him. “Thank you.”

“It’s my pleasure.” The older man peered down at you—so intense that you could almost feel yourself sinking into the mediocre polyester carpet lining the apartment hallway. Neither of you made a move to get up. “I want to ask you about your availability.”

You’d jumped slightly. “You…you actually want to hire me after that- I mean!”

“Should I not?” And what was this? Nanami Kento had to stifle a chuckle at that? How curious…it must’ve been the work day getting to him at that point- yes. He was feeling a little delirious.

“I mean- please do…”

He’d looked away with a slight smile once you reached into the depths of your bag once more. This time, you didn’t make it erupt in scribbled notes- instead you were pulling out a printed table that looked to be a time table. “Sorry I just- printing makes it easier for me to remember…sometimes.” You explained, “I don’t have any lectures on Wednesday and Friday- and the ones I have on the rest of the weekdays are rather flexible so—”

A college student!

Nanami’s jaw had dropped then.

He knew you looked young but-

A college student?!

“Wait a minute…” One of his hands twitched, almost as if to beckon that time table to himself and make sure.

But then you nodded, “I first met Shoko-san during a medical conference she gave at the university, and she told me you worked late on weekdays. I should be free in the evenings then, but will you be working late on the weekends as well? Because I do have this one professor that really-”

Nanami didn’t know how on Earth the topic of him would’ve even cropped up in your conversations- but he needed to end this.

Now.

Listen. It wasn’t that you seemed like a bad kid- you seemed great, even! But Nanami himself was well into his thirties with absolutely zero idea on balancing Yuji and his work life. So he really didn’t want to burden someone over a decade younger than him with-

“Papa?”

The sweetest, sleepiest voice echoed from inside.

He doesn’t even have to turn his head to know that Itadori was swaying, all decked-out in his Spiderman pajamas, at the end of the hallway. Likely having gotten out for water or because of the ruckus caused outside. He blinked his sluggish eyes open and ogled the two of you.

Nanami doesn’t know why- but he shoots up to a stand. Almost as if he was caught doing something he wasn’t supposed to.

You followed.

Which one of you three was the responsible parent here, by the way?

His parched mouth opened to—what? There was nothing to explain. 

It was true that Nanami hadn’t had the time to even stop and think about dating or relationships in the time since he’d adopted Yuji. Not even if he wanted to. And, admittedly, he did have dreams of getting married one day - he watched all those sappy TV shows, alright? He knew how it felt.

He wanted to walk beside someone to that shrine. He wanted to have a few more kids, to give Yuji a bigger family than this. He wanted to quit his dead-end job and move out with his family to a bigger house in the countryside. 

But none of that was as important as his son right now.

However, he knew that Yuji saw all those happy couples during pick-up at the elementary school- and his boy was sweet. The sweetest, actually. Nanami knew that Yuji wouldn’t say a single thing about him being the only exhausted father to arrive all alone. Day after day.

The two of them in their lonesome.

His sweet boy would beam the biggest smile nevertheless. 

But kids were smarter than adults gave them credit for. Doesn’t he feel that loneliness, too? 

Perhaps that was why Yuji ran up to you in an instant.

Right past his haggard father and only towards you - all previous sleepiness now gone - he reached up towards the pretty stranger with the pretty pin-covered bag.

Stubby finger pointing up at a particularly red one—“Do you like Spwiderman, too?”

“Of course.” Leaning down, you smiled warmly at the boy. His hair was a rose-colored mess that stuck up at all odd angles. “And my spidey senses are telling me that a certain someone does, too?”

He gasped, “That’s me!”

Before Nanami knows it, you were held hostage and dragged inside by a particularly overactive pink-haired boy. Shown all around the apartment as part of your tour to be shown-off Yuji’s prized Spiderman-themed bedroom. 

And unbeknownst to him - against that lock-and-key and jaded guard - you’d walked into Nanami Kento’s cozy Tokyo apartment (and the strange cavity in his chest that softened whenever you were around).

He sighed.

A college student!

Still, Nanami can’t deny that it’s been a delight having you around.

Despite your packed schedule and your note-filled bag, you were always there to greet him when he came home. Without fail. Either tapping away at some assignment due before midnight, or humming to yourself as you wiped down the kitchen counters—last minute fluffy pancake emergency, he thinks of those nights.

Even though it’d been about eight months since your initial meeting, it’s almost fearsome how easily he’d gotten used to the routine of it all.

Something that should be so mundane - he flips each moment through his mind over and over again until it felt like they made up the grooves of his brain itself. The gyri and the sulci. Or so he’d heard you muttering to yourself as you studied one night. 

He’s studied, too. He’s memorized how you’d open the door for him, with a smile across your face and a finger to your lips- telling the older man to be quiet as he shook off his shoes. He’s memorized how you’d never fail to tell him about the leftovers in the fridge as you reached for your satchel. He’s memorized how you’d hesitate to meet his gaze- but smile the brightest once you do, and how you’d linger at the doorstep telling him about Yuji’s day.

Nanami has memorized how it made some dust-covered part of his heart stir. Blinking away the exhaustion of the day. 

Nanami Kento has never felt more invigorated than he is during those sparse few minutes that he caught up with you at the end of the night. Voices low, like neither of you wanted to interrupt a sleeping thing—Yuji, yes. But something else, too.

He gets the feeling that it’d feel like this even if you weren’t around as a job. If perhaps the two of you had met- the same age, at the same university.

Maybe in-between the sluggish hours of study sessions where you help him with some particularly hard question. Maybe in the library where he helps you reach some dusty ol’ book from the topmost shelf.

Times like this, he allows himself to dream.

You’d make the best wife.

You were the best nanny he could’ve ever chosen.

But one always has to wake up to one’s alarm. He sets his alarms himself.

“Come in.” Nanami tells you as he shrugs off his coat at the entrance. He watches as you stop in your tracks at the doorway, fiddling with your familiar pin-draped bag. “I’m just about to fire up some brownies for tomorrow.”

You pause.

“I-if it’s not too late and you don’t have any classes early tomorrow or-”

“I’d skip all my classes for some of your brownies.”

He lets out a breath of relief as you start walking back from the doorway. “Please don’t.”

It takes a little less than half an hour for the brownies to bake until they are crisp on the top and perfectly gooey in the middle. Layers of chocolate that are only sweetened by the conversation that you brought into Nanami Kento’s humble kitchen. 

He listens as you talk about your day, about that professor that’d been out to get you, about that exam you were sure you’d fail (he knows you won’t in the end). Only adding brief hums of affirmation and nods as the older man sweeps through his counters, broad back turned to you, muscles flexing against his office shirt as he whipped up a hot fudge as well as a strawberry sauce for you to add to your brownies.

“—and you’d never guess what Yuji told me today.” Tonight you seem a little more breathless than usual. Stuttering out your thank-yous as he brings out the tray from the oven and cuts out the first piece for you.

“Blow on it. It’s hot.” Nanami leans over the other side of the kitchen island. He watches as your pretty lips fall into a soft circle, “What were you saying, my dear?”

“Well-” You dart your gaze around the rest of the empty apartment. “You know how it’s Valentine’s Day tomorrow, Nanami-san?”

Nanami runs a hand through his silver-streaked hair. Smoothing it down. He knows how his son can be, and he has to bite back the grin that threatens to spread across his face. “Mhm?”

“Yuji here seems to think that- well…” Bringing a hand up to your lips, fingertips slightly shaking. The brownie was just amazing. “He seems to think that Valentine’s Day is a bit like Christmas, you see. And so the entire day he wouldn’t stop making a list for Cupid.”

Now that piques his interest particularly- Nanami was never a man to skimp out whenever his loved one wanted something. “Oh, is that so? And what does he ask from this ah- Cupid?”

“That is- I don’t even know if this is appropriate for me to say but…” Looking around one last time. “But it seems Yuji is under the impression that we are together.”

“Oh.”

“Together together.”

“Oh.” He can’t help but inch just a little closer- a strange weight in his stomach. Not entirely unpleasant. “I see.”

You’re mustering up a little more courage, “And it seems that what Yuji wants the most this Valentine’s is…for us to get married. Spiderman-themed wedding, he says.” Watching as Nanami’s eyes slightly widen. “B-but of course, I told him that that might not exactly be in erm- Cupid’s range of power! He kept insisting however-”

He looks at you silently as you rub your temples.

“Because then he said a little brother or sister would be fine, too…” Was it time for the conversation about the birds and the bees already? Instead of storks, Yuji relies on Cupid?!

Nanami follows suit, running a hand through the silver streaks in his hair. “Is that so?” He sighs. “I shall have a little talk with him about asking…immoderate requests of Cupid.”

“He’s a sweet boy. Just a little confused.” You smile sheepishly. “Though I can’t really blame him- my friends think we’re together, too.”

Just an inch closer. “I see.”

And Nanami feels your breathing go heavy- enveloped in the hint of his cologne, the sweetness of the brownies, the musk of something that was entirely him. “I-it’s silly, isn’t it…”

He stares at you intently, reading your every reaction. “Quite.” Pupils flickering down your face. Just another inch closer—you wonder how much more space was left, and what you wanted to do with it. “I’m far too old for you, my dear.”

Your lips part-

The clock strikes eleven.

Both of you startle as if shocked with electricity- “I-I really should-”

“Yes, I understand-”

“The brownies were amazing-”

“Please, take this.” He pushes a bag topped with that delicacy and more of whatever topping you liked into your hands.

“Thank you so much.” You rush out breathlessly, other hand snatching your bag from the counter. “Night, Nanami-san—!”

“Goodnight, my dear.”

“And thank you for the brownies!”

The door shuts—with a lingering creak and ebb of your smile behind it. And soon enough Nanami finds himself lumbering in the direction of Yuji’s bedroom.

It’s not long before he stands before the parade of red and blue and masked superheroes: personnel stationed all to take care of the boy with a tuft of pink hair. His precious treasure. Nestled in the middle of his car-shaped bed. 

A small bedside light traces a glow across his chubby cheeks.

As he does every night, Nanami walks up to the little boy and crouches down beside the bed. Forearms rested upon the soft mattress, face rested upon his forearms- it was always around this time that Yuji would stir and look up at his father.

“Papa…” He sleepily mumbles. Rubbing his sleep-swollen eyes, “Gone?”

“Mhm.” Nanami nods. “Left just now, sunshine.”

“Awww, man—” Yuji seems to deflate- but that only pushes him deeper into the puffy pillows. Making him yawn so wide that it makes the older man chuckle. “I really like her, papa.”

His father pauses before he answers. “I like her, too, Yuji.”

“No, but- I really like her. You know, she’s my best friend along with Kugisaki and Fushiguro and you-”

Nanami starts tickling the boy on his sides until he bursts into peels of laughter. “Really, huh?”

Through giggles, he nods. Before stretching his arms above his head and falling back onto the comfy bed- perhaps he was still dreaming. “Why can’t we keep her, papa?”

“We can’t just keep people, Yuji.” Nanami has to hide his own smile. He knows he should mention the thing about Cupid right now, but he just can’t bring himself to do it. Maybe tomorrow…

“Yes, but…”

“I know, I know.” Nanami pushes his face deeper into his strong forearms. Sometimes, he still felt much like a kid himself. “I get it.”

.

.

.

The next morning, Yuji still wasn’t giving up.

“Papa, it’s Valentine’s Day!”

Papa was about to burst a blood vessel.

He’d chattered on and on about Valentine’s Day as Nanami shuffled him out of bed, he’d announced what chocolates were the best according to his very distinguished five-year-old palate as Nanami helped him brush his teeth—he’d even turned his nose up at the heart-shaped scones that Nanami had made for breakfast.

“Papa, you’re gonna hafta make better hearts than this if you want to marry-”

“Yuji, sunshine, we’re going to be late.” 

Nanami Kento was barely a match for his son. And it’s with something akin to relief - like the exhausted sigh of a stranded man, finally coming across the silhouette of a rescue boat in the bleak horizon - that he manages to hurry the boy into finishing his breakfast. Tuggin’ on his Spiderman backpack, Nanami held Yuji’s hand as they exited the apartment.

Today wasn’t even a school day.

It wasn’t even a school day! And yet the teacher wanted all students in for a short assembly and some chocolate party in class. Nanami would be damned if he didn’t let his son enjoy these small pleasures. 

The elementary school that Yuji attended was only a short distance away from the apartment- usually they’d just make the trip by foot. During those ten minutes it’d become routine for the little boy to jabber away about whatever came to his mind.

How unfortunate for Nanami Kento today that, today, all Yuji could think about was you—

Not because Nanami wasn’t doing much the same- but because he didn’t like thinking of himself as doing much the same. Even though he knew. Query: if both father and son couldn’t get you off their minds, then which one of the two was going to use it?

The older man shakes his head just a little as Yuji suggests a Spiderman wedding cake again—he disagrees with both the cake and…the wedding. Right?

But the boy catches the movement and pouts-

“Why don’t you want to tell her, papa?”

They’re stopping at a red light. Nanami didn’t want to think about how those miniscule bulbs had been programmed to flicker in the shape of a heart today, instead of the usual pedestrian walking. What an apt metaphor for his life, no? Nanami Kento wanted to find something wrong in the traffic light - in the visibility, the practicality, the color - but he couldn’t. 

In fact, it was rather pretty. 

The crossing threatened to bubble over with salarymen and salarywomen and groups of families each hoping to be the first, the fastest, to jump the road. He tugs both himself and Yuji more towards the back where they were well out of the way of whizzing cars. Is it just him or were there more wedding cars than usual today?

“Tell her what? To marry me?” He absent-mindedly answers, “What did I say about no forced marriages, Yuji?”

“No.” He lightly stomps his feet. Making the blond man look down- “I mean why don’t you tell her that you like her, papa?”

And Nanami can’t help but look around like a caught teenager. “You- you can’t just say those things, sunshine! What if she’s heading to class and nearby…”

“But you told me you did last night?” Yuji answers.

Which, fair. And it leaves Nanami slightly at a loss for words. “I…”

“But why can’t you tell her?” The child nods sagely to himself, “S’like when I broke Fushiguro’s red crayon- and I told him. Don’t you always tell me not to lie, papa?”

“That’s…true.” His father hesitates. “But that’s different from-”

“But anyway- that’s why I asked Cupid.” Yuji hums. Content. “You’re a scwaredy-cat, papa, but I asked Cupid for you. Like Santa. And Santa always gives me what I ask for.”

One day, Nanami will consider telling him that Santa had to work a month overtime to get him that car bed—happily however. But that day’s not today. “Oh?”

“Yeah.” He looks up at his father with wide, innocent eyes. “And I also asked Cupid for a bwother- maybe this year I should ask Santa, too.”

“Oh.”

“Do you think Cupid will make my wishes come true, papa?”

“I’m…afraid I can’t be sure, sunshine.”

The light turns green.

And Nanami’s the first to step out onto the road.

From here, even the crosswalk seemed to twist and turn into the shapes of hearts.

Along the rest of the way to his elementary school, Yuji tugs on Nanami’s coat and asks him for his phone—“Alright, but no games before school, Yuji.”

“Not playing games!”

And he didn’t think much of it.

Not until Nanami was on the subway heading to work, about to shoot a phone call to one of the contractors he’d be working with today- and he finds Shoko’s name in his call log.

Outgoing call → Shoko [8:01AM]

Lasted three minutes.

How strange. Nanami doesn’t remember calling his friend at any point today - it must’ve been Yuji during his walk to school. 

A mistake?

How strange, indeed…

But to be quite honest, Nanami doesn’t get the time to ponder upon this happening too deeply. The very second he’d considered clicking on that name himself and asking Shoko- the train had slid to a halt at his station.

Then came the chaos of the office: it seems that one of the interns had forgotten to fax a file yesterday. And Nanami had five angry clients on the phone before 9:00AM, one presentation to lead before 10:00AM, a few more angry clients just after the meeting, and a few more contracts to type up and edit before 12:00AM. Those utterly gaudy pink decorations hung about the room didn’t do anything to help with his oncoming headache.

Everyone in the office knew not to wish him today.

By the time that the overworked man was free for lunch, it was close to 2:00PM. His joints pop as he stretches his arms above his head, flickering a look at the clock above.

It was almost time for Yuji to be let out. Nanami knew you’d be humming to yourself as you walked to his school - and if his son was there, he’d join in, too.

At risk of sounding like a creep, he admits that he’s often listened to the low drift of your voice as you walked out of his apartment. It would start up once he shut that door. And he often stood there - on the other end - until it disappeared. Along with the sound of your footsteps.

His house always seemed smaller then.

Shaking his head free of such thoughts, Nanami stands and walks out of his department, wondering what he’ll have for lunch today. This usually wasn’t a problem with him, but this morning he’d been rather a bit…frazzled. So to say.

All those questions and ‘requests’ that Yuji had left him with just barely enough rationality to scrounge up something for the boy. As for himself, he was meandering through the busy streets of Tokyo - tarmac carpets flying by at a pace faster than he ever seemed to be able to. How was it possible for something inanimate to soar, to race, to live more than he did? Was it always built this way or was he one of the unlucky few?

He wonders which category you’d fall into.

That cheap ramen shop down the street wasn’t too bad - their broth was so good that Nanami was almost able to ignore the sappy love songs crooned from their battered radio. They had a special deal going: 80% off for all couples on Valentine’s Day! All ribbons and glitter. All special pink desserts and lovers holding hands. All love…love and a happy elderly couple behind the counter - the owners, it seems.

It was quaint- cute. The type of place he thinks you might like.

As he was walking back to the office, it seemed as though the city was fit to brim with similar sentiments. 

Flower shops bursting with bouquets like carnivorous sunsets, bleeding hearts and ruby-red roses. Candy shops with something sweet for every color of the rainbow—and more covert advertisements for more…adult indulgences. Sex shops that Nanami had to speed-walk past because of how full and flush they were. Ripe with Valentine’s Day.

Nanami Kento might try to ignore what today is, but the world sure as hell wouldn’t let him forget.

Once he finally runs back to his cubicle- he ducks his head and focuses his eyes solely on the computer screen. He hopes no one comments on the numerous glitzy bags beside him.

.

.

.

“What the hell are you doing in my apartment?”

“Y’know- most people would say—‘Wow, it’s so nice to see you. Now I should totally stop brushing off your invites for drinks. Thank you for being such a kind and respectful and understanding friend, Ieri Shoko.’” The woman in question stretches languorously on top of the couch, her test tube-patterned socks dangling from the other side. “And you’re welcome, by the way!”

Nanami raises one hand in front of him- almost as if to pause the scene entirely. He closes his eyes—when he opens them, he hopes that this had all been a bad dream and he’ll wake up to his glaring computer screen.

He opens them.

Nope- still real.

“Let me rephrase- what the hell have you done to my apartment?”

Shoko gets off the couch and gestures at the apartment like a magician showing off a trick. “Ta-da!” At all the yellow candles that cast miniature sunrises where they wept, at the music that crept sensually from some mysterious corner of the room, at the humble dining table that now looked like it came out of a Times’ 10 Best Spots To Take Your Lover for Valentine’s Day. 

Nanami’s stern lips part as he takes in the silver-covered dishes on top, on top of some white cloth—was that his goddamn blanket?!

“Oh c’mon-” Shoko rolls her eyes. “Don’t act so surprised, I see the bouquet in your hands. You obviously planned something of the sort.”

He forgot about that damn thing. Nearly dropping those flowers in his haste to hide it behind his broad back, though there was really no use - he simply couldn’t stand Shoko’s laughing eyes any longer. “Th-this was for Yuji.”

“I see the smaller bouquet in the bag.” She points out. Almost empathetically, Shoko sighs. “You really aren’t slick, Kento.”

“This isn’t- this is just—” But the longer she smirks at him, the less he seems to have an answer. Soon enough, he’s bringing out that massive bouquet from behind him and letting his friend fawn over the thing.

“Wow, she’s really going to love this-”

“It’s called being nice, by the way!” Nanami answers, belatedly.

The look Shoko gives him is enough to make him click his mouth shut.

“I hope you know that I bought one to give you tomorrow…I’m throwing it out now.” Because no matter how much Nanami denied it, today was about love. Parental. Platonic. Even the love that he could never have. As Shoko rummages through the bag with an excited squeak, he drawls on. “Where even is she, by the way? What have you done to her?”

“Hm? Oh, Yuji called me this morning. Thank you for these, by the way.” Shoko stands with a beautiful yellow rose and purple zinnia bouquet in her arms. She sniffs at the sweet fragrance- “Yuji called me asking whether he should leave out cookies for Cupid just like he does with Santa. It seems he wanted Cupid to bring us a wedding, and guess what? I wanted Cupid to bring us a wedding.” Her face breaks out into a smug smile - the one he’s only seen when she used to cheat through biochemistry exams without anyone ever knowing. “So we called up your darling nanny and let her know that her schedule’s changed for today- then Yuji and I did a little sprucing up in here.”

“Sprucing up…”

She turns around to admire her work, “Honestly, Kento, if I knew that you didn’t have a romantic bone in your body then I’d have dissected you-‘

“Papa!”

Spared from hearing whatever gory plans that Shoko had for him by the excited yelp of his son—Nanami hears his footsteps before he sees him. He feels the impact before he sees him.

Yuji’s running down the hallway and launching himself at his father at full speed- “Papa, you’re home!”

“That I am, sunshine.” Nanami smiles down at the boy. “How was your day? I have something for you.”

“For me?” Tufts of pink curls bobbing as he cocks his head, following his father’s movements as Nanami crouches down and reaches into one of the bags. Before breaking out into the most brilliant smile at the sight of the flowers. “Woah- they’re so pretty—! Thank you.”

Crushing the bouquet of pink carnations and hydrangea to his chest, he wraps his arms around Nanami’s shoulders and hugs him.

“Happy Valentine’s Day, papa. I’ve got a gift for you, too-” Breaking away, Yuji’s throwing an arm out towards the room at large. “Auntie Shoko said this was how you bring Cupid! And we also tried to make those heart-shaped cupcakes you make, but it tasted like tar so…”

“That’s perfectly alright, Yuji.” He swipes at a smear of icing still on the boy’s face. “We can learn together on my next day off, right?”

“Right!” Yuji jumps in excitement. “And after your wedding today-‘

“Yuji…”

“And right on time.” Shoko’s voice permeates the room- right alongside the sharp fwip! of the window shutters closing. She turns away from the glass and pushes off from her station. “C’mon Yuji, now the plan is a-go! Go! Go!”

“Aye-aye!” With a chubby hand raised in salute—Yuji wastes no time giving his father a final hug. “Bye bye, papa.”

“Wha-” Nanami looks at the harried duo in confusion. “What are you two-”

“And don’t mess this up, Kento.” Shoko gives him a stern wave. 

Before she clasps Yuji’s hand and helps the boy match her longer stride- the two of them speed-walk in the direction of the door.

“Yeah- don’t mess this up, papa!”

“Uh, where are you taking my son?” Nanami stalks after them. Not letting the front door close behind them, he watches the two figures - bouquets and all - race down the hallway. How strange that they didn’t take the usual route - instead opting for the one that would let them leave through the back entrance. “Hello? Shoko-”

“Don’t mess this up!”

He has half the mind to chase after them - it’s not that he doesn’t trust Shoko with his son, but really, what on Earth could they be getting up to?! Especially so late past Yuji’s bedtime. At the very least, maybe he could run up to them and let Shoko know of his son’s Spiderman ritual before eating and the tendency he has to bite fingers when-

“Nanami-san?”

Your voice.

Was he dreaming?

And yet—Nanami snaps his head towards the source of the noise so fast that it almost causes whiplash. He breathes your name out in a whisper.

So this is what Shoko meant about-

“Am I hallucinating or is that Shoko-san and Yuji running down the fire escape?” You point at something beyond his line of vision, though Nanami doesn’t need to look to know that it is, in fact, Shoko and Yuji running down the fire escape.

“I think I’m hallucinating, to be quite honest.” He mutters. Because surely there was no conceivable world in which he would see you like this - standing outside his door on Valentine’s Day, looking all gorgeous as you always did - and dare to bring out the bouquet that he had bought for you. Also was that…was that a bit of make-up you’d dabbed on? More so than usual?

His eyes linger on the glitter beside your eyes.

The thought that it might’ve been because it’s today - that it might’ve been because you’d been as nervous about seeing him today as he was about seeing you - makes him jolt. He’d been smoothing his hair down the entire subway ride home thinking of you.

Thirty-something years and he’s acting like a teenager in puppy love.

Certainly no conceivable world…

And yet…he does. He reaches behind him to bring out that prideful bouquet: 520 flower-heads that blushed themselves silly over not being even half as beautiful as you.

“For you.” He croaks out. Awkwardly pushing up his glasses. 

“Oh.” Your jaw drops, and the bouquet weighs heavy in your hands. In nothing but a whisper- “It’s beautiful, Nanami-san.”

Red, red roses.

.

.

.

Nanami explained the situation before he invited you in…somewhat.

Certainly nothing about how badly he’d been teased because of this little scheme or the ah- confession of feelings. Heavens, no! Nanami himself wasn’t entirely sure whether he’d go along with their plan…

As far as you knew, Shoko and Yuji thought it’d be a funny little prank to ‘invite Cupid’ into his apartment this Valentine’s Day. Leaving the two of you alone in an apartment draped in candles and roses like the most deviant of mistresses. 

And Nanami knew you knew. You knew that Nanami knew.

The implications were there for all to see.

It was there in the way his face burned red, and Nanami couldn’t meet your eyes- “I’m aware of how it looks. And it seems that my son still holds the idea that erm…either way, ahem, I completely understand if you would much rather go home. Please do know that this will not affect your job in any way whatsoever- in fact, I will cover your fee double tonight-”

“Nanami-san.” You’d interrupted him. Cocking your head with a slight smile, “May I come in?”

From there he’d been the perfect gentleman - not that he wasn’t usually. Even in the months since you’d worked for him, you’d come to find that Nanami was the type of man that opened doors for you, that pushed your chair for you, that covered your taxi fare home, that escorted you as far as he could by foot either way.

But now…oh, right now he was putting any Prince Charming to shame.

He had his hand hoverin’ right above your waist- leading you inside to the romantic dinner table. Here, he’d pushed your chair for you—and before you could even thank him, Nanami had his hands helping you out of your coat. 

He insisted on plating for you.

You couldn’t help but gawk at the way his biceps pushed against his work button-up, flexing slightly as Nanami stood beside the table and neatly cut your bread - one he’d baked just this morning, according to him. Shoko had clearly rummaged through his kitchen well…

Conversation was somewhat breathless at first- the both of you waiting for the other to go first. The both of you anticipating every single word.

Wondering what every single word meant.

But after the first two courses - Shoko certainly hadn’t burned these - the both of you were talking freely. Moving on from the more polite topics, like your day, his day, that were really a front for something more - speaking with Nanami was always so easy, he was the best listener you’ve had in a while—to dessert: strawberry shortcake cupcakes and a confession that slips from your lips. 

“Y’know- this is the first Valentine’s Day I’m spending like this.” You giggle, wiping off the cream that sticks to your lips. Nanami watches with half-lidded eyes as you devour the delicacy he’d baked this morning.

He swirls his half-empty wine glass. Certainly not enough to get the man tipsy - Nanami was quite the heavy drinker when he wanted to be - but enough to make him ask. “Oh? Tell me more, my dear.”

The candlelight catches on the rim of his glasses, encasing his eyes in an intense glow. You think he looks even more handsome like this- “Sorry. It’s probably going to sound stupid to someone more experienced…”

“There is nothing you’d say that would be stupid.” He pushes his glasses further up his sharp nose. Fingers crossing before him, he leans in. “Continue, my dear.”

“It’s just- I haven’t had many serious relationships, is what.” You admit. And he looks at you so intently- “With life and university, it’s hard to find the time—if I was looking anyways, that is.” You sputter, before he can ask anything about whether the nanny job was cutting into your time. “The selection in my department isn’t great at all.”

“So…” Nanami runs the tip of his finger ‘round that glass cup. The thin rim. The gaping mouth. “-no lil’ boyfriend, then?”

“No boyfriend.” You echo. And perhaps being drunk on the proximity is what makes you blurt out- “But if I did have one, I think I’d like someone older—”

He quirks a brow in interest, “Older?”

You nod. Crossing your arms in slight embarrassment, “Boys my age will ask you out and then go halfsies just because you don’t want to go home with them.”

“Mhmm.” Nanami’s lip curls in distaste.

“I just want someone to like me for me- y’know? Just to sit across from me like this and really talk to me for once.”

“Has no boy ever wined and dined you like this?” He asks.

“No.” You admit, somewhat sheepishly.

“Has no boy ever bought you flowers?”

“No.” You cast a look at the 520 roses - now housed in a large vase that Nanami had pulled out from one of his cabinets.

“No…” You breathe.

He inches forwards, forwards, forwards—and wipes at a remnant of sweet, sweet cream on your lips. That roughened edge of Nanami’s thumb grazes the edge of your mouth. “Has no boy ever been sweet to you like this?” He catches the look in your eyes. And his own lower. “Has no boy ever treated you like a man would, my dear?”

The older man doesn’t hesitate in reaching his thumb back up to his mouth- and lickin’ off the cream. “Has no boy ever eaten you out like this?”

“No-”

Your lips upon his are even sweeter than the cupcakes he’s baked- and he’s lavishin’ his tongue over your mouth gently. Opening you up so wide—

And even that isn’t enough.

Nanami’s thumb finds permanent purchase at the end of your chin, letting his own sinful tongue slip inside. In and out. In and out. In and out.

Almost as if he was fucking you with it-

You’re not sure how long Nanami’s kissing you like this. 

Maybe minutes. Maybe hours.

You’ve lost track of time- and the only thing you know is that your head feels dizzy. Your knees were growing weak in your seat. A slick line of spittle glides down the side of your mouth- and Nanami reaches a thumb up to smeeear it.

“My dear…” He murmurs, his deep baritone taking on a husky tone. Hot breath fans across your face, heating you up from the inside out.

You’re raising your face to meet his molten gaze- and it almost shocked you just how handsome Nanami Kento is. Noble features chiselled in the soft candlelight. His mouth slightly kiss-swollen. Blond hair unravelling from his usual neat style n’ cascading across his forehead. 

He reaches closer to you and siiinks his teeth into your lower lip, “Have you ever been kissed like that- here before?”

You squirm. Shaking your head-

But he tugs on your pretty maw. “Tell me in words, honey.”

Gulping as one of his rugged hands snakes down your middle. A carnal jolt echoes through your body once Nanami presses the edge of his palm between your skirt- your legs. “I…” You think of all the disappointing dates you’ve been on before, of all the disappointing hands in places almost forgettable. “Not like that, Nanami-san.”

“Now now—when we fuck, call me Kento.” He mutters, finally making his way ‘round the table. Before you know it, he’s looming over you- and two of his strong hands rest underneath your legs. “Upsy daisy.” 

He’s lifting you uuuuuup, up, up to splay out across the dinner table.

Lifting you like you weighed nothing.

Pushing aside first and foremost those plates and flowers- you’re being rolled with your back against the tabletop, and Nanami’s honed hips pinning you down. A dimly-lit halo of light behind his golden hair. He wastes no time before throwing both legs of yours on top of his shoulders- “M’gonna teach you how a real man eats pussy.”

You nod-

“First lesson. Big girls use their words.” 

And your jaw drops—

“K-Kento—”

You’re not sure whether the primal noise escapes you because of his words, his tone, or because of the utterly desperate way that Nanami Kento falls to his knees. Thud!

Loud enough that it should hurt- but you don’t think it even registers in Nanami’s frenzied brain right now. 

Not when he was pushing up that damn sinful skirt of yours- extra tight tonight. Nanami wasn’t a fool - he knew what you were doing. Not when he was starin’ deeply at your pussy, all wet through your panties and throbbing so hard he could practically see it.

Count it.

One-two-three. 

Not when he was worshipping you as close as a man possibly could—“Not quite the answer I was looking for.” Then the next thing you’re hearing is a sudden thwack! The next thing you’re feeling are the five pointed tips of Nanami’s thick fingers, smacking down on top of your pussy. “But I’ll let it slide since s’your first time being eaten out all properly, mhm?”

“Mhm.” You nod.

“What was that?” Those mean fingertips of his raise again.

“Yes, Kento.” You’re hurrying to answer. And just as a little reward, Nanami smears his digits atop your swollen folds. 

“That’s more like it.” The glaze of your sweetened slick lets out the loudest squelch, and you squirm as he’s tuggin’ aside your panties with a single index. “Are you ready, my dear?”

“Yes-”

“Are you excited, my dear?”

“Yes-”

“Good girl.”

Let the feast begin, he’s thinking. And Nanami Kento doesn’t wait. Nanami Kento doesn’t tease n’ toy. Nanami Kento doesn’t even swivel his fingertips around your wet hole more than a few times to check how soaked you are before he’s taking what he wants—he doesn’t have the damn time for anything else. 

He’d been starving for far too long.

And the closer n’ closer he gets to your pussy, the more his mouth waters. 

Nanami’s left drooling at the mere sight of your wet fuckin’ hole—you swear you could hear his stomach start to growl. Fuck.

He gulps.

He takes a single sniff. 

With a sudden lurch - like he couldn’t hold it back any longer - he leans up and shoves his face nose-deep between your legs.

His tongue swiping your hole, jaw hittin’ the end of your slit.

He’s curving that wet, wet muscle against your walls. Just so soft that it feels as if you’re melting around him- “Fuck.” It escapes him- harsh and cracking. A primal groan at the back of his throat - one he doesn’t seem to even realize himself. “Fuck.”

You tremble at the tone.

Because there was something dark in it. Something almost…predatory.

This was nothing like the calm, composed Nanami Kento that you were used to - absolutely nothing. This was…you didn’t even have words for it.

So fiercely needy that it shoots electricity up your spine- Nanami’s tongue was ravenous. He was holding onto both sides of your legs and- and correction…he wasn’t merely holding onto them. Nanami Kento was using all his strength to push them as faaaar apart as they would go before suffocating himself on your sopping wet cunt.

Such strong hands. Furious tongue.

No matter how much you’re bucking your hips- he just keeps fucking his muscle between your wet pussylips like the last thing on his mind was breathing. 

Swooping his head even deeper and munching for more. More. More, more, more. 

Nanami crushes his mouth against your pussylips - so deep that you start to wonder whether his oral area would start to bruise—

And it’s only because of that broken call of his name that Nanami flinches. He freezes. He puffs out a murky breath. As if only now registering where he was, what he was doing, and just what his name was at the moment-

He’s breaking free from your pussy with an echoing slurp!

“K-Kento…” You’re looking on in pure worry at the dazed man - his eyes were still glazed, and there was something almost…feral about his demeanour still. Though he seemed to be much calmer than before, “Kento, are you okay to contin-”

“I am.” His voice comes out strong. Firm. Like he’s never been more sure of anything in his entire life. 

Nanami lets out a few stilted breaths- running a hand through his now-unruly hair. The glisten of a silver streak in it. “I am. I just…it’s been a long time…forever, actually, since I’ve tasted anything so delicious.” Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, “I hope you can forgive this old man for getting a little carried away, my dear.”

Was he really that ruined from but a single taste of your cunt?

He stares down so long and deeeep at your quivering pussy. That cute hole peeking out from your panties—“She’s just so…sweet.”

And though he was speaking to you, Nanami looks down lovingly between your legs. 

Now that he didn’t have his lips all plastered to your folds- he was rubbin’ his right thumb vertically down your slit.

Pressing down on the cute button of your clit-

“Awww did I scare you, honey? I sure hope I didn’t.” Honey, because you were just too sweet sizzlin’ on his tastebuds. Guiding one of your hands to grip his scalp, “Forgive me. When it gets like that, don’t be afraid to pull me- to use me, alright?”

“Kento, you don’t have to-”

“Consider it my second lesson.”

You squirm, “B-but don’t they say to…respect your elders, Kento?”

And you’re just too cute—he can’t help but flatten his palm down and spank your pussylips once more. It makes so many beads of slippery slick spray out from your cunt n’ glue against that chin of his. “You certainly can.” He hums, thoughtful. “But just remember- I won’t be respecting this pussy, honey.”

“I see.” You gape.

And while speaking to you - while speaking to you - Nanami lavishes out lil’ kitten licks between your folds. Lick. Lick. “I bet this pretty pussy’s never been eaten out like that before, huh?” He continues. Merely peeking up at you through blond lashes to confirm- and you can only nod—

Yet another spank sputtering down on your wet crevice.

“Words.” Nanami reminds. 

Hiccuping, “Yes, please. All those boys usually just like- graze my clit and that’s all.”

He nods. He continues, voice nothing but deep murmurs that sets your entire body aflame - and it’s as though the more syllables he’s uttering, the harder n’ harder he rubs on your clit. “Awww poor girl. I just can’t help but think of how long this pussy has been wasted on- haaah, boys who didn’t know how to handle her.”

“Too- too long.”

Lovingly—almost drunkenly, he’s pressing a direct peck against your hole. The tip of his tongue just lightly slipping out and teasing your entrance- Nanami’s free hand grips onto your thigh as if holding himself back. “Mmmm, that’s what I thought.” He murmurs. “And how long has she waited to be eaten out by a man who isn’t afraid to get a little…sloppy?” 

“Too long-”

At this, he chuckles. “And as for my last question-” Not even smooching anymore- he’s just smeeeeaering his puffy lips along your slit. More rapid. More hungry. “Actually- take this as my third lesson.”

You’re scrambling up onto your elbows. “Yes?”

“Can you settle down like a good girl?”

Whatever that means…you aren’t given the time to figure out. Because before you know it, Nanami purses his lips and plants a wad of spittle that hits your cunt with a wet splat!

Only making you even wetter for him to gape his jaw open- “Fuck.” For him to swirl his ridged tip around and around your snug entrance until it left your mind all dizzy, it makes your cunt streeeeetch incredibly once he digs the tip of his tongue inside. Thoroughly.

It’s almost as if he was splitting you apart on the thickness of his tongue. 

Expanding and contracting. Expanding and contracting. 

The stretch is so incredible that it leaves your mind searing

“Settle down. Settle doooown-” He’s humming in a low tone. Whenever Nanami feels you squirmin’ or clenching just a tad too hard, he’s making note of that particular spot and bashing it all in again. Thick muscle reaching in and out for your deepest depths until your tight hole can’t take it anymore- until you’re screaming for mercy. 

“Oh fuh-fuuuuck—” You’re arching straight off the table, the fabric clinging onto your skin briefly. Only for a few split-seconds before one of Nanami’s hands fastens onto your hips, pushing you right back down where you came from.

“What did I say?” He wasn’t even using much of his strength- you were just so easy for him to move ‘round. Especially when he has his mouth attached to you in a way that was so ravenous—

Ruined. 

“Settle. Fucking. Down, girl.” 

Pinning you to the flat surface and letting his gaped maw run wiiiiiiild. It’s making you realize that he wasn’t going feral in the beginning- he was merely holding back.

Both in strength and in pure carnal hunger.

No matter how badly you were craving to grind down restlessly on his face for hours- Nanami keeps you on a tight leash. He keeps you restrained on the table n’ getting only what’s given. Pushing down. Maneuvering his greedy mouth. No matter how much you wanted to plant your feet down and take control - Nanami Kento really does know what’s best.

“Failing the third lesson already, huh?”

Tears stream down your cheeks without you even realizing. “S-sorry, I didn’t-”

“Shhhhh shh shh. No need for an apology, honey.” He opens his swollen lips up wider n’ latches them around your clit for a few seconds. “My poor girl’s just overstimulated because she’s getting her pussy eaten out, huh? This pretty pussy’s just excited?”

“Yes-”

“That’s why your Kento’s here.” Nanami hums, his cold glasses frames hit the front of your cunt and you flinch. Making the man push them up his nosebridge with a chuckle—“And m’gonna take care of this pussy, baby.”

The way that Nanami looks dead-set into your widened peripherals as he says this makes your heart race.

Spitting a few more times down your dribbling slit. He was teeeeasing you before reaching his right hand down n’ smearing your pussylips open with two fingers- the rugged tips of his index n’ middle streeetching your damp hole apart. Just so goddamn thick. “Fourth lesson: sometimes…fingers feel even better.”

“O-ohhh—” Your voice breaks out in carnal trills. Trying to bend your spine but then holding yourself back-

He was thrashing inside a few more sloppy strokes - swiping, slurping, scrapin’ every inch of your velvety walls. Anywhere you could think of, his thickened digits were pumping in. 

At one point, he flicks his glistening tongue outside for you to take in his sheer size. “Size does matter when it comes to pleasing this needy pussy, alright? Don’t let any fuckin’ boy convince you otherwise.”

You mewl, “I-I wouldn’t need another boy if I just had you, Kento…”

And there’s something in his tone that sounds ecstatic- “Mmm, good girl.” Showing you a demonstration of his previous statement by mazin’ away straight towards your g-spot. And you could feel yourself shaking- all those times you had to worry about whether a guy could manage to make you cum?

Nanami was eatin’ you out like his one and only purpose in life was to make you cum.

“Always teasing me.” He scoffs out in a scalding breath. Raggedly running his mouth- his tongue. “Always riling me up with those pretty looks and that- damn-” Pushing and pushing onto your g-spot so hard that it makes you sob out of pleasure. “-mouth.”

Your jaw drops. “I l-love it—fuck.” 

Practically on instinct, you’re gliding a hand down your tummy- where you could feel butterflies. They only seemed to grow even harder n’ rougher with his textured tongue…“I think I can feel you right- ngh, here.”

“S’that so? You love it, huh? I can feel this pussy growin’ so wet—She’s so fucking tight, bet she’s never been fingered properly before.” As if anticipating your next moves, he’s digging his fingers deeper against your flesh. Leaving little crescent marks.

Whatever rational part of you is left begins to wonder just why he might have to pin you down even harder.

“And for my fifth lesson, honey.”

You’re waiting with baited breath as he presses a few more heated-open-mouthed kisses. Nanami’s luscious tongue reaching spots inside you that you weren’t even sure you had - ones undiscovered—

And it’s the only warning you get before the puckered, pretty flaps of his mouth opens up your pussylips. Just past where your folds were all swollen n’ tight- it was quite a squeeze even when it was just his tongue. Just his fingers.

So to have both Nanami’s fingers and his tongue inside?

It was sheer madness.

It was driving you stupid with his touch in but a single stroke- the jostling feeling of his wet muscle and his digits pressing against your walls and each other. Your walls. Each other. Your walls. Each other. Your channel was so snug that even the slightest movements made it feel as though you were bulging from the inside.

Pressing in. Fucking in.

In and in, and in—

“A real man is- haaah, always hungry.” Alternating between slipping his tastebuds into your hole, and then fishing himself back out—not to breathe. No, not even close. He was merely roverin’ his mouth over to spank down on your clit. “A real man would never get tired of his lover, my dear.”

“Kento—ngh.” You’re echoing out. 

Your moans bang against the four corners of the room and straight into his ears- the prettiest song he’s ever heard. “See how good you feel? S’only my duty to you, my dear.” 

“But Kento-”

Mouth makin’ out with your cunt as if he’d gone mad, too.

“Kento, don’t you need to breathe-”

“Fifth lesson. Who cares about breathing?”

He gasps out in interruption. Tongue swiping at a constant rhythm - it was difficult to get a single syllable out when all Nanami wanted to do was stick himself to your cunt and lick and lick and lick—

Both of you are realizing at the same time that he’d miscounted.

“For my fifth…” And he sounded maddened, too. Octaves higher. Tone breathy. There was a feral sort of hunger in his eyes that shook you to your core- “Sixth…?” As if he was just so pussydrunk that it was causing his brain to melt, acting on pure carnal instinct. “For my sixth lesson, honey. This old man’s mind is a little foggy, you see…”

You don’t get the chance to answer.

Because with that, Nanami only accelerates. First those fingertips of his were shoved all the way in and making your walls twitch with every hard prod—thud-thud-thudding way. Then he was smoochin’ over that same bruised spot with his slithering tongue, just swipin’ up where you were most sensitive. 

Before draaaaagging all the way out and about to suck on your clit. Throbbing so hard that he managed to time his lil’ bites to each pulse.

It was a dual sensation that left you driven mad. Absolutely mad.

Rubbin’ his fingers absolutely raw on those knotted bundles of nerves- 

You buck.

You get hit with a sudden spank.

“Mmmm—do you think you deserved that, my dear?” He asks. Too cute- the more he eats you out, the more he’s twitching in his pants. 

You sob, but you’re nodding. “Y-yes…”

Another spank.

“What was that?”

“Yes, Kento.”

“Good girl.” And honestly you could feeeel that sultry stretch of his grin—gently dabbing his tongue over your clit. Nanami Kento might’ve been a stern man, but he certainly wasn’t merciless. “But forget one more time and I’ll make you call me ‘sir’.”

You couldn’t deny the way that made your cunt twitch…

“Seventh and final lesson.” Nanami pronounces, his mouth slicked with so many layers of your sap that it gleamed—he wore those dangles of goopy syrup like a medallion. “When I make you cum- hah, you better reward me by cumming aaaaaall inside my mouth, honey. Or my cock.”

Your throat was utterly parched by now. And the only thing you could do was rasp out- “U-understood, Kento…”

Soon enough, he was babbling out hot breaths of something you could barely even understand- though each promise only sounded more ravenous than the last. 

Mouth glued to your cunt. Nails digging into your skin. Rougher than you ever thought was possible before, he’s sucklin’ at your clit and pounding his fingers into you so hard that it looked like nothing but a blur—

Nanami counts one, two, three rapid clenches of your pussy walls-

Before you’re throwing your head back and absolutely shattering into your high because of him.

Your toes curling. Your throat ragged raw.

His textured tastebuds are swipin’ across every bead of slick you were dripping out. Dripping. Every bead of slick. All over your puffy pussylips. All between them till he meets your hole- even all the way up your inner thighs.

He wasn’t letting a single bit go to waste.

Not even as that translucent sap dribbles down the sides of his mouth and ends up splashin’ right up to his handsome cheekbones-

The pleasure washes over you twofold - both with your orgasm and the way that Nanami was eloooongating your orgasm. Both his fingers and his mouth were working overtime to press into each peak of your high. “O-oh—” Thighs trembling on top of his shoulders- you don’t know when, but they end up locked so tight around his head. “It feels s-so good.”

Each tiny curve of his fingers made your body twitch in the aftershocks. “Extra lesson- fuck back into me.”

“Wh-what?”

It takes you a significant amount of effort to even open your eyes - let alone start to swerve your body uuup n’ down. And yet you’re doing it anyway—moaning as you ride all of Nanami’s handsome features in looooong, sloppy drags. “Fuh-fuck, like this?”

And he was just loving it.

“Mhmmm.” He gurgles out. Cracking one eye open, “Exactly. I know this is the best fuckin’ orgasm you’ve ever experienced, my dear.”

He wasn’t even being cocky - and you usually would’ve called him out on it - this was just plain true. “I-it is-”

“I know this pretty pussy wants it again, my dear.”

You can only nod.

“I know I surely want to eat her again, my dear.”

And nod and and nod as he’s fucking you through even the tiniest peaks and spasms—the surplus of bliss making your veins bubble. Burst. Bulldoze your senses as you’re practically vibrating with the sheer amount of pleasure that runs through them.

There seems to be a hazy aura covering your vision as you finally ride through your entire high.

Struggling up onto your elbows once more-

“Stay down—”

“Yes…?” Your eyes widen at Nanami’s strict order. He leaves a final slurping kiss at your clit before he stands onto his feet. Slightly swaying—

There was a glaze over his eyes. There was your slick coating all the way from his lower face, and puddling dooown to form a dark patch on his button-up. There were the short, panted breaths he was emanating - like a predator honed in on his prey - the longer he looked at you splayed out on the messy table.

Nanami Kento almost looked drunk - and not on the dinner, not even on the sparse wine. 

He was completely n’ utterly ruined on nothing other than your pussy.

He lunges towards you-

“Fuck, Kento—” You’re squealing at the rugged hands that tear through your clothes as easily as if they were butter. Shirt and bra easily landing on the carpeted floor- and your skirt was to follow before you even realized.

You’re just about to help Nanami shuffle you out of your panties - hips raising to facilitate it - before he takes another look at you. One long, hard look. And his hands leave your body as though that was enough-

He wanted your panties on.

Nothing but a sopping wet mess twisted ‘round your hips. Evidence of his depravity. 

“I want these off then.” You’re reaching up to tug on one of Nanami’s sleeves. He was still partly in his office clothes: button-up, formal pants, tie. And those sleeves of his had been pushed up to his elbows during your dinner, leaving you struggling not to gawk at the older man’s forearms. Strong. Slightly veined. Slightly tanned. 

He was just so attractive that it made you squirm. 

Nanami looks down at himself and lets out a hoarse—“Oh…right.” Like he’d been so caught up in you that he hadn’t even realized he was still clothed.

Pop!

Pop!

Pop!

Pop!

Those neat white buttons end up flinging to the ground- useless against his sheer desperation. Nanami wastes no time before tearing through his layers, ripping them off. Fabric pools onto the carpet below. His belt buckle clangs as it hits the ground.

Gentlemen couldn’t deny such a thing when their lover’s asking so nicely, could they? At least Nanami couldn’t-

And fuck…

Now, you always assumed that Nanami Kento was the kind of guy to be well-built. It was naturally in the way he moved, the way he stood, in the broadness of his shoulders.

But you’d never in your wildest dreams could have imagined that he’d be this chiselled. This toned.

You have to stop yourself from ogling him—you have to. But you can’t help it.

Not when Nanami’s body was ridged and curved in muscle- almost Herculean in nature. He had pecs that looked lush enough for you to bite - and you could already feel your mouth start to water - with a faint coating of golden and silver hair scattered across his skin. Wide shoulders. Trim waist.

His biceps flexin’ as he moves onto the buttons of his pants.

Lined through the middle with similar golden hair that drove down, down, down…

But you think your favorite part of him wasn’t the muscles or the hardness- no. Though they were certainly a nice addition, what made your pussy throb the most was just how…thick Nanami Kento was.

It was evident that Nanami was the type of person who liked hitting the gym often- but then again, it was evident that Nanami was the type of person who didn’t have the time to be hitting the gym often.

As often as he used to, at least.

And you? You were loving it.

Because all those muscles of his were naturally-formed. But with all the years of responsibilities as a father which meant his body was comforted by a layer of slight chub, big. Strong. Suddenly, you understood why ‘dad-bods’ were all the craze on social media—because you - for one - couldn’t help but linger your eyes at the sight of the softness to his shape. The slight roundness to his belly, abs barely peaking through.

“My dear…”

“Kento.”

He presses a thumb against the hemline of his trousers-

And then he’s letting you see him—all of him. 

From his V-shaped waist to his meaty thighs.

So thick. So strong.

You just wanted to be crushed between them.

And right down to the furious cock that stood upright and erect between them. Such a bulbous red tip, streaming with never-ending ribbons of pre. Such a thickened shaft that made you swallow—he had so many veins zipping down either side of him. You think he was about nine or so inches- perhaps on the lower end.

Before you’d realized it, you’d been reaching your hand between his legs- only for Nanami to stop you in your tracks.

“K-Kento…”

His thick fingers intertwine with yours and press your hand down on the tabletop. “Honey, you don’t have to reciprocate.” The older man stares deeply into your eyes- “You don’t owe me anything. I ate your pretty pussy out because I’ve been starving for her.”

“But I still want to.” You insist.

“Mmmm, how about after then?” He reaches his free hand up n’ thumbs across your bottom lip. “As much as I want to paint these beautiful lips with my cum, there’s another pair who’ve been waiting patiently for their turn…”

You shiver, “Erm- Kento, you should know that…this is my first time.”

He pauses. “Excuse me, my dear?”

“I’ve never done it before.” Looking up at him through your tear-draped lashes. “You’ll be my first.”

The thought takes a second to register in the older man’s sex-hazed mind. That animalistic part of him being overpowered by the rational.

Your first time.

Your first time.

Your first time.

He was about to take the virginity of that cute lil’ nanny he’s had his eye on for so long. “Honey, are you su-”

“Yes.”

Nanami almost moans at the sheer eagerness in your voice - your eyes were shining, and your legs locked tighter around him. “Well…” The man starts, dipping two thumbs down to your glistening pussy and spreading your folds wide open. He takes a good look at your entrance in comparison to the thickness of his cock, “Brace yourself then, my dear. S’gonna be a tight fuckin’ fit.”

In a split-second, he’s jerking his hips closer and smoochin’ your naked cunt with his cock. His rounded tip spreading your pussylips. His shaft sliding between your slit and massaging you with his veins.

Nanami was so goddamn hard that it looked painful.

And what better way to alleviate the pain than by pushing his pretty lil nanny’s legs apart and shoving his cock between them? Aching and needy for you.

Nanami was big enough to fuck you stupid with just his tip.

And he knows it, too. Having such a hard time completely fittin’ in his crowned girth, he just barely fucks the top of his shaft inside before groaning. Taking a peek at the way you were squirming below him, sobbing below him. Absolutely ruined- “Shit, honey.” Cupping his hilt with his left hand- Shit, honey, can you recite the lessons for me?”

You’re wobbling up onto your elbows, “Recite them?”

He can only nod. “Just—oh.” Cut off with the slightest sliiiiide between your sweet, swollen pussylips- he’s only managing to nudge the rounded edge of his length. “Just recite them. You have them memorized f’me like a good girl, yeah?”

“Yes-” Nodding frantically. “Yes, Kento-”

And that cute obedience of yours is enough to make him smile- tap-tap-tappin’ away the curve of his tip down there. For absolutely no other reason than wanting to. “Good.” He reels his hips back. “Then say it f’me, my dear.” And then forwards- “Say it while I fuck you.”

And the only thing you can fucking do is to babble out those words- the very same ones that’d been drilled into you. “The first lesson is that—fuck.” All the while Nanami’s probin’ tip enters your hole in a sudden thrust. “-th-that big girls use their words.”

Nanami grunts, voice shot. “Goooood good good- keep breathing now.” Hand clawing down your front—feeling for himself as he pumps inside. Tiiiight fucking fit, like he said. He almost wonders whether it would go in- “And then?”

“The second…” 

But it’s almost impossible to remember- to even think with those rapidfire haaaard hammers of his cock. 

That curved tip of his shaft kept pushing iiiin with the most lecherous squelches, drawing more n’ more sweetened slick out of you with every single thrust. That stretch was just incredible- it was making you see white. Just the first few inches of his pretty pink cock squeezing inside and pushing in and in and in—

Thwack!

Those rugged fingertips of his come spanking back down on your cunt - this time, however, they fit between your pussylips and latch onto your clit. And they stay there. He’s tuggin’ on that poor nub a few times just to bring you back to your senses- “Awww, you didn’t think you’d go unpunished for that—-did you, my dear?”

“I-I—no.” Because tears stream down your cheeks, and Nanami still isn’t letting go. He’s flopping out his tongue and lapping at that salty flavor-

“Then continue.” Humming at the taste of you. Fitting and fitting and—trying to stretch your elastic hole out to take him. It’s the first time you’ve ever felt something like this. “You’re doing so good. Keep going for Kento.”

Thwack!

“Keep talking, honey.”

“Second lesson-” Unable to do anything but arch your back, you’re being met with Nanami’s soft chest. Those pecs. The thundering of his heartbeat. It’s enough to make your mouth already water—“t-to…use you.”

He leans in, “What was that, my dear? Old man, you know…”

“To use you-”

“To not be afraid to use me.” He corrects. 

And it’s the last thing you hear before both Nanami’s hands snake down to grab your ankles- restraining them. Tightening them.

He’s bending you easily in half.

Legs on top of his shoulders. Thighs against thighs.

Pushing you all the way back into a mating press.

A fucking mating press.

Of course the hot DILF that you’re nannying for puts you in a mating press. Of fucking course!

And it’s only causing you to become wetter than you’ve ever been in your entire life- your head falls back against the table surface. Thud! An action that makes the older man on top of you reach behind n’ cushion the back of your scalp. “Easy there, my dear. Eeeeeasy.” His left palm lightly massages your sweaty head. 

“K-Kento-” Through your tears.

“Easy there- third lesson, remember?” 

“To s-settle down…”

“That’s my girl.” Nanami hums, head threatening to tip backwards at the sensations of your quivering cunt. It’s impossible to keep his mind when you were gushing out so much slick that it coats his shaft and leaves his ballsack all drenched.

And if he was this gone, then where did that leave you? 

Well, you were just babbling away the pretty syllables of his lessons. “The f-fourth lesson is that fingers feel better.” Hips bucking upwards. “The fifth is that real men are hungry—” Eyes scrunching with tears. That large circumference of his were pushing into tender spots n’ crevices that you didn’t even know you had - it felt as though your poor pussy was being split by him. Push after push.

After probe after probe.

Just animalistically trying to fit inside—

“The sixth- the sixth-”

“Breathe, honey.” Those smoky words of his scorch your face, as if Nanami himself was burning from the inside out. And there truly was a feverish tint to his words—to his actions, fuckin’ away sloppily between your pussylips. Slurp after slurp. “Breeeeeeathe- c’mon do it with me.” 

Conducting you through these relaxation exercises for a few strokes.

Listening to his own advice - that fourth lesson - his right hand lifts off of your thighs to roll over your throbbing clit. Just so neglected by now, it makes you see white to have him massaging that sweet spot all slow and sensual.

“The sixth lesson is…who cares about breathing?”

“Mhmmm.”

A guttural tone that sent vibrations straight from your drippin’ core and up to your brain. Only growing more muddled by the inch- “And oh! The extra.” As all good students do, you’re deciding to show a demonstration. How sinful that this sort of demonstration is you balancing your hips on the table n’ choosing to bounce right up to meet Nanami’s rutting hits. His pounces. “To- ngh, fuck back into you.”

“Oh, good girl- this old man almost forgot that one.” Sleazily, he’s pushing his glasses up his nosebridge.

Staring at the lewd sight below of you griiiiinding your hips up into his. It was just so messy because your lips were jittery with pleasure.

His happy trail rubs carnally on top of your clit- and it sends you into a frenzy—

“F-fuck that was-”

“Shhhh shh shh, easy.”

You waddle your ankles from their perch atop his shoulders. “Yes, I know-” Hissing out—“I’m breathing, Kento. I’m listening to what you’re saying, promise…”

“Good girl. Now inhale.” Of course, you can’t help but take a looooong gasp of the heady air thick in the dining room - the candles were scented like roses. “And-”

“And…?”

And Nanami doesn’t finish his sentence. He doesn’t bother telling you to exhale before his fat, throbbing cock is fucking every volume of air from your lungs. In this mating press, he could hit each angle even deeper than before - and that meant you’re feeling his thick circumference bruise all the way against your womb.

Your cervix.

Bottomed all the way out and Nanami was pummeling his length away as if there was even more, more, more of him left. A hint of something metallic hits his nostrils—and he can’t hold back the victorious chuckle that leaves him. He’s done it. “Continue.”

“I—what-” Struggling to catch your breath. “Oh my fucking-”

“Continue.”

“Who cares about breathing-”

A sixth lesson that he was fully demonstrating.

He really was mean.

He really was merciless.

Because he was fucking you into the dinner table like a damn animal—and the thing is Nanami wasn’t even going at a particularly fast pace in order to leave you speechless. He wasn’t merely half-thrusting away and hoping that you liked it. He wasn’t just tracin’ his cockhead down the sweet spots at the back of your pussy.

Nanami Kento was holding you down tight in his mating press. He has one hand gripping onto the back of your scalp - such a gentle gesture turned so sinful - and another crushin’ the fatness of his palm to your pussy.

Purposefully, the older man pushes the edge of his palm down on your clit. Harder. Harder. Harder.

And he was drilling into you harder by the second, too. Harder didn’t mean faster.

Just draaaagging every inch of his vein-covered shaft down your slick channel - he’s making sure that you can feel every single curve n’ ridge down his cock. He’s making sure that he massages your insides so thoroughly that it feels as though you’re being molded to his cock. Nothing more. Nothing less.

You swear you’re seeing the pearly gates spread wide open before your very eyes. “O-oh my god-” Reaching your hands up, Nanami lowers his strong body further into yours. Pushing you down against the dinner table, the pressure from all sides is too much that you have to claaaw down his perfect back. “Kento, what—fuck. I didn’t know that it could feel like this-”

And deep inside, you can feel his thickened tip flinching. Directly at your g-spot. “Mhm?”

“Yeah-” Voice shattering in your throat as his circumference swells just a few millimeters thicker inside of you. He was growing even bigger, harder, just by the sensations of your slurping cunt. “I-it just feels so good- I’ve never been fucked like this.”

“Honey…” Nanami’s mean yet pointed tone makes you stare up at him. “You’ve never been fucked before me.‘

“Oh.”

“Your virginity is mine.”

“Oh.”

Just that gone on his cock that you’d almost forgotten - even the realization itself seems to take up too much storage inside your already-muddled brain. Now filled with only the thought of him n’ his achingly hot cock—pouring out bucketloads of precum until it sloshed around inside.

Inside and inside.

Stirring ‘round and ‘round with his probin’ cockhead. He pushes deep into spots that you hadn’t even known existed, let alone could be smooched away by his pulsating shaft. He constantly whacks your g-spot until it feels numb.

Enough to render you speechless- 

“—graduated.”

And that makes your eyes blink open. “Wh-what?” 

“Oh, honey…” Nanami plants a loving peck on your lips- until that peck turns into a rugged bite. “What world are you on, hm? S’my cock that good? Awww, my poor girl—here.” Nanami’s perspired forehead sticks against yours. This time, he’s staring deeply into your eyes as he pronounces the words, “You’ve graduated.”

You cock your head in confusion, “From university?”

He chuckles, fine lines popping out from the edges of his eyes. You’re noticing that his glasses have slightly fogged up by now- “No, silly girl. From my lessons.”

“Oh…” Pouting, “But I liked your lessons, Kento.”

“Mmmm, you’ll like this one even more.” Dipping down- Nanami presses his stern lips right to the shell of your left ear. Whispering as if a secret shared by no one but the two of you in this world, “Remember how Yuji mentioned he wanted a little brother…”

A jolt goes through your body- as does the realization.

“If you’d like then-”

“Yes.” You know it might be rash. But looking at him like this - looking at Nanami Kento so deep in the pangs and plunges of his carnal pleasure - how could you deny what you want? “Yes—”

The blond man’s breaths start to grow heavier, eyes slightly widened. For the first time in the longest time, he actually looks like his usually-sensible self. Those molten eyes of his search yours for an answer- “Honey, really think this throu-”

“I did.” You’re insisting. And if that wasn’t enough, he could feel your wobbly ankles surge with the strength to lock ‘round his neck. “Inside, Kento.”

Nanami’s mouth moves noiselessly with an answer, but his cock does all the swelling. So painfully hard that you were sure it was tougher than rocks-

And there’s only one thing left for you to do. “Inside…sir.”

If he was any less of a gentleman - of a man, really - then Nanami would’ve cum inside you then and there. At least in his mind—which was focused solely on digging his heels into the carpet, solely on gritting his teeth and holding his damn cock back from pouring out those wads of cum like he knew he wanted to.

Was on the verge of doing.

He was instead collapsing the entirety of his weight upon your body- feeling your limbs strain, hearing your joints pop. But not even that noise crackling in his eardrums is enough to get the man to slow down.

Now he was just fucking you sloppy—grunts filtering between his grit canines by the minute. By the thrust. “The first to fuck you.” And what a rare occasion: to hear the ever-eloquent Nanami Kento stutter. “I’ll be the first to breed you too, my dear.”

“Oh—fuck, yes.” Your entire body shivers in excitement. You could feel the pit of pleasure starting to grow in your stomach. 

“I’ll be the first to give this pretty cunt a taste of cum.” And you could hardly believe that such a sinful sentence was leaving the confines of his mouth—“She’s probably so thirsty by now, no? I’ll be the first to quench that thirst, my dear, just you wait-” Pinching your clit between the fingers on his right hand once more. “-mama.”

Really, if you were calling him ‘sir’ then it was only fair for him to call you by that pretty nickname. Something primal awakens inside of you-

“I’ll be the first one to stuff this pretty pussy-” Nanami gurgles out, eyes locking in on your stomach. That was where his rounded tip occasionally made an appearance by bulging through your flesh n’ skin as he fucked inside you. “-with so much of my cum that you’ll be bloated.”

You gasp hysterically, “Yes-” So turned on that it almost hurt - you wanted him. Now. “Yes, yes, yes—”

“I’ll be the first to make you feel me in here- for weeks. Months.” Thrust after thrust. Pinch after pinch. It was incredible how much he was stimulating you to tears- “I’ll be the first where—when you walk down the street, everyone will know that I fucked you. Everyone will know that- that this pretty pussy is mine, that I’m the one fuckin’ her and stuffing her and—and giving her my cum every night.”

Rolling a sweet, sweet heart on top of your clit.

“They’ll know that I’m the one fuckin’ the cute, sweet lil’ nanny—all of them. The professors. Those parents at pick-up. Your friends. My friends.” He chuckles darkly. And he doesn’t care who’d be scandalized. “Wanna know why, my honey?”

“Wh-why—” You sob out.

And he leans in to whisper in your ear- “Because I’ll be the one making you a momma.”

Until you’re all round and glowing with his seed.

Until you’re so full of him that you can’t take anymore.

Until you’re so stuffed that you wouldn’t be able to hide it- he hopes you’re walking ‘round with his cum between your legs for weeks.

It’s taking only that and a single puuuush against your g-spot for you to topple off the edge of your high. Bliss pumping through your veins in waves, you couldn’t escape from the constant throb and ebb of it. Dimming the edges of your vision. Making the lights seem brighter.

Again and again and again—

He’s probin’ inside that swollen cockhead to push you through the bouts of your pleasure. In the time he’s had you like this, Nanami’s already mapped out where every single one of your sweetest spots where- and first he’ll thwack! his hand upon your clit. Then he’ll move onto your tender bruised spots at the rim, then his cock delves deeper until he’s hitting your g-spot—then again and again he’s knockin’ on your womb.

Filling it with so much of his cum.

“Breathe.” Your orgasm hits you so hard that you have to manually control your breathing- and Nanami’s right beside you. Walking you through every step, every exhale and inhale. “Breathe iiiiiin.”

You’re sucking in a breath. “Fuck-”

And it’s just then that he’s emptying out a particularly powerful wave of his own euphoria. Balls clenching as his ribbony white cum leaks near your cervix- with your breath sucked in, you’re only feeling the sensations even stronger. “And out.”

Panting out with a whine. “Fuuuuck- f-feels so good.”

Too good, almost.

You never knew it could feel like this to have someone pourin’ out all their lecherous sap inside of you- the thick layers clinging onto either side of your walls. There’s so much of it - so much volume that you wondered just how he managed to keep it all stuffed inside - frothing out and forming a circle of white ‘round Nanami’s hilt. Gleaming with every thrust. Puddling out and sticking your thighs together— 

Head throwing slightly back, though still peeking at you through his lashes. “Honey…”

Nanami’s gruff tone makes you jump. “Yes?” Still slightly twitching from the aftershocks of your incredible high.

He stares into your eyes with a slight smile. Something unreadable. “You forgot the seventh lesson earlier.”

The seventh…?

Oh.

Oh.

Fuck.

It’s with a sudden cold thrill that you’re registering what he said- and remembering the mistake you’d made during your recitations earlier. “I-it was to cum all over-”

“That’s quite alright, my dear. No need to tell me now.” Nanami smiles the sweetest smile that makes your cunt start to throb - his eyes shuttered closed, his lips pecking yours. His cock shovels a long, hard thrust inside you—“But I will have to rescind your graduation.”

You gape, “What, why-”

“Until you’re completely and fully stuffed by me.” He grumbles out the rest of his statement. His condition. 

Hands rovering all over your body, Nanami makes sure that every slight tingle of your high has passed before he’s pulling out of you with a loud sluuuuurp! Immediately scooping you up into a princess carry n’ walking in the direction of his bedroom.

It isn’t long before you find yourself draped over Nanami Kento’s large mattress - on all fours so that he can slip inside you with ease. Pumping away immediately- “Until you’re fuckin’ pregnant, consider that you’re still taking lessons.”

You’re sobbing into your newly-caught pillow. “Oh—oh fuck.”

To which Nanami leans over and snatches your neck into a fucking headlock- his strong biceps pushing against the sides of your throat. “Happy Valentine’s Day, my dear. When this is all done- fuck, m’gonna show you how much I love you.”

“I l-love you—” Feeling his rounded tip immediately pierce across your g-spot and towards your womb. Full. “-too.”

“Mmm, I love you more.” Watching as you shake and quiver. “We’ll get you something sweet after this, honey, don’t you worry.” He hums- before sneaking a look at the both of you through the mirror in his bedroom and chuckling. 

Ruined. Completely and utterly ruined.

“If we make it out of Valentine’s Day alive, that is.” 

Maybe Shoko could babysit Yuji a little longer?

“Papa’s gonna do his best to try for a second child, alright?”

.

.

.

Morning shed its sunlight like the clothes upon Nanami’s apartment floor.

A stream of white-gold Sun, the richness of the day, enters through his windows and splays out perfectly on the bed. It dapples light across his naked chest and leaves him stirring—

Valentine’s Day.

The dinner.

The table.

You. Being taken on the table.

Afterwards on this very bed, afterwards on the damn bedroom floor after he heard a snap coming from somewhere on the bed frame. He’d shovelled himself n’ his gooey white sap inside you until the Sun had risen—

And it’s enough to make him jerk upright in his bed.

Blankets falling around his waist, sleepy eyes scanning the room for any sign of you.

From here, he couldn’t see what’d been made of your clothes in the dining room- or your panties in his bedroom. But it was obvious that you weren’t here. If from your physical presence, then from the warmth you brought into his drafty Tokyo home.

Just to make sure, he casts several wide-eyed looks around the room - breath-still in case there was a single noise from the kitchen - and still…nothing. Absolutely nothing.

There’s a sinking feeling in his chest that he doesn’t want to make sense of.

Of course, what was he thinking? He’d said…those words to you last night- but just because you’d said them back didn’t mean it was real. It was probably in the heat of the moment, you’d probably snuck out before dawn broke so you didn’t have to face him. You’d probably woken up disgusted.

He didn’t blame you - there were no promises between the two of you. And even if there had been, he knows he can’t find it in himself to get angry at you.

If anything - if you chose to quit after this - he supposes he’ll have to start looking for a nanny again. Something in Nanami’s chest twists, and he reaches up to rub the spot where his heart was.

He wouldn’t mind the long and tedious process if it still led him back to you. He wouldn’t mind the long and tedious process if it meant you were there with him - not as a nanny, just yourself being you.

It was a cold morning.

And Nanami Kento was clenching his sheets, just about to throw his legs over the side of the bed and get out—he needed to put away his clothes anyways before Shoko came with Yuji. What was the time anyway? It was his off-day today, and maybe he could take Yuji out to the park to take his mind off of-

And it’s then that several things happen at once.

Nanami’s eyes catch the face of the clock on his bedside cabinet: 12:48PM.

Nanami’s jaw drops at just how late it is.

Nanami snatches his phone off of the cabinet and makes to race outside while calling Shoko-

And he makes it about two frantic steps, too, before getting stopped by a sudden squeal of laughter. Loud and bubbling. Euphoric.

Of course, it was none other than his son. 

Echoing a short burst of laughter throughout the apartment- before abruptly cutting himself off with a pronounced ‘shhhhhh!’ It rings even louder than his laugh, and reaches Nanami’s ears alongside some words. “Sowwy! Yuji promises not to wake papa!”

And Nanami’s brows furrow, wondering whether Shoko had somehow managed to forge a key to his apartment and get in. Before out of nowhere—your voice is the one that answers him.

“S’alright, sunshine.” You’re using that nickname he always did. Sleepiness was still laced into your tone, and he could tell it hadn’t been long since you must’ve waddled away. 

Since you must’ve put away the clothes in the dining room, since you must’ve opened the door for Yuji - Nanami would hate to imagine the smug look on Shoko’s face then, but the surplus of texts from her were already doing the job. “Papa needs to be awake for breakfast-in-bed, doesn’t he?”

The smell of pancakes drifts through the bedroom door - along with Yuji’s answering call. “True…but what if papa won’t wake up?”

“Then we eat the pancakes.”

“Yes—” Yuji echoes, “Thank you, Cupid.”

“Hm?”

“Because Cupid made you n’ papa married, right?” But of course. It leaves you stunned for a few seconds, and Yuji obliviously chattering. “I’ve always wanted to keep you- papa, too. Even though I know he won’t say—can we keep you now, Ms. Nanny?”

Your voice sounds slightly thicker than before. “You can keep me as long as you want, Yuji.”

“Thank you, Cupid!”

Two evil cackles, and the sound of footsteps.

You’re opening the door with a flood of sunlight and a tray of pancakes in your hand. Yuji rushes in after you with a call of ‘good morning’ - and by the smile on your face…yeah.

Yeah, it really is a good morning.

He still doesn’t know how to explain to Yuji that the two of you aren’t married yet, however.

It’s in an hour that you finally break the news- but rush to assure the little boy before he bursts into tears, that he could ‘keep you’ as long as he wanted. And that the two of you were together—yes, together together. Nanami puts off answering Shoko (she ambushes him for gossip the very next day). 

It’s in a month that you start officially calling yourselves lovers - boyfriend and girlfriend, whatever it is. It seems like so much more than that, however. And so Nanami just settles for introducing you as his partner at those tedious work dinners.

It’s in a few more months that those work dinners become the last he’s attending. Because Nanami Kento quits that damn job, using everything he’s saved up to buy a little bakery and a house just a small ways off from the heart of the city - not quite the countryside as he once imagined, but this was good, too. It was still a manageable distance from your university and Yuji’s school, and yet so much bigger than the apartment.

It’s in a year that Nanami’s bakery is at the height of business - a figure that will only keep growing as the years pass by. Word spreads far and wide about those treats- and soon enough, he’s forced to fire extra hands and more part-timers than he ever thought would be needed. The little bakery grows into a big bakery, with time.

You couldn’t have been more happy to see those dark circles underneath his eyes cease for once, to see him pursue his dreams. Yuji couldn’t have been more happy to get all the sweet treats he could’ve ever wished for.

And now, Nanami could buy him all the car beds he could’ve ever wished for.

He also starts looking into wedding rings.

He still isn’t sure about a Spiderman-themed wedding, but he knows he’ll be baking the cake.

A/N. Hehehe that Nanami and the flowers scene was inspired by my father having a tradition to always buy me a bouquet as well today.

Plagiarism not authorized.

[imyourightnow]

I’m gonna have a field day with this one 😝

[tteokdoroki]

jock yuji doing shirtless pushups above you awakened something in me bc he’d be making all these sounds that have you clenching your thighs together and just being so close to his biceps flexing ooooo i need him

🏁 eighteen plus only ! ⋆  minors don’t interact ⋆ smut ⋆ push ups ⋆ dry humping ⋆ pussy jobs ⋆ edging ⋆ characters in their 20s ⋆ jock bf yuuji itadori, fem reader !

no like he’d be so sweaty, droplets running down his face maybe between his pecs which jiggle with every movement. at first yuuji asks you to lay underneath him as motivation … but then it quickly turns to torture because he instinctively grunts all low and sexy every time he lowers himself over you and his expression is strained like when he first pushes into you after hours of holding back. n maybe he doesn’t notice how wildly turned on you are at first, too focused on counting his pushups to realise you’ve been squirming this whole time, unintentional grinding your clit against the seam of your panties because you’re so needy it hurts.

“ah, shit,” yuuji chuckles, starved for breath as he exhales into the next push up. “my arms are gettin’ shaky.”

he’s laughing, your undies are drenched and your whole pussy is throbbing and he’s laughing… because he truly has no idea how gorgeous he sounds while working out. showing off his strength, glistening and grunting. it’s not even funny, you’re like a second away from cumming untouched — keeping your own whimpers trapped under your tongue as your greedy gaze slinks down to the bounce of tanned pecs whilst yuuji stoops low and bends his arms in quick fire succession. you feel his stomach muscles ripple against yours, abs hot and hard where you are so so soft and you swear, you feel a small trickle of arousal run between your swollen folds — its scent tangling in the temperate, sweaty air of the gym.

it’s not until he looks down at you to ask if he should try one handed push ups because at practise the other day fushiguro said he couldn’t he catches your pouty lips and the glossy sheen in your eye. yuuji blinks, once then twice and then smiles. it’s neither cruel nor wicked — not that you can tell.

“oh, i see baby,” itadori coos down at you, not intending to be patronising — even though you like it. his head cocks to the side, chocolatey eyes peering through his lashes as though he’s seeing you right down to your needy soul. then suddenly, his waist angle a little lower — intentionally pressing against you so that all you can feel is his thick, oozing hardness through his shorts. “i’ve been holding back too. let’s try a different work out, that sound okay?”

now you’re nodding, legs instinctively raising and hooking onto his hips to make sure he hits just where you need. your hands fly up to steady themselves on his rugged, bulging biceps to anchor yourself to reality when yuuji finally nestles his cock between clothed folds — a breathy and amused scoff escaping him at the lewd squelch your sex makes from how sticky it is.

“p-please, yuu,” you sniffle, clenching around nothing, gushing even more so. your trembling thighs bracketing yuuji’s hips threaten to with draw and squeeze shut — desperate for any kind of friction to ease the aching heartbeat in your mound.

the jock tuts, bowing down on his forearms with his hands planted firm either side of your head, to press kisses to the teary apples of your cheeks. you had no idea you were even crying. “i know, honey,” yuuji coos softly. “so keep these perfect thighs open for me, yeah?”

one heavy hand claps against the side of your ass, short and sharp — enough to make you yelp…but itadori quickly offers you a short reprise, snapping his hips into yours and nudging his bulge against the swollen, precious nub tucked away behind your ruined panties. just enough to have you gurgling and quivering through your release.

end. reblogs and comments are always appreciated! just liking doesn't do anything. so leave a comment to motivate this writer if you'd like to see more!!

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED © TTEOKDOROKI 2020-26. all fanfics & layouts belong to me. do not copy, repost, translate, feed into ai, or recommend elsewhere.

[imyourightnow]

I love how yuuuu is so comforting 🥰 I’m a sucker for being talked to like a princess. This is beautiful!!!!

[tonycries]

Back To Black - N.K.

Synopsis. When you came knocking at Nanami Kento’s mansion, stranded in the middle of a storm, he couldn’t turn you away just like that - could he? After all, you smelled so cold, so scared, so…delectable. And you might learn that there’s a reason they keep demons locked away in large, lonely mansions. Because didn’t you know that he’s one hell of a butler?

Pairing. Nanami Kento x Reader

Content. MDNI, fem!reader, demon butler!Nanami, Black Butler AU, plot, powers, mansions, use of ‘my lady’, slight bIood and vioIence, slightly yan!Nanami, slight angst, reincarnations, yearning, pússydrúnk Nanami, fíngering, oraI (fem rec.), spítting, chokíng, p talking, manhandIing, matíng presses, use of his demon powers, x-rays, he’s a gentleman until he breaks, rough s, running from it, creampíes, cúmpIay, soul bonding, happy ending, pet names, swéaring.

Word count. 15.6k

A/N. Spooky season isn’t over until I say so…

“Goddamm- oh.” The merciless hand of the storm swipes your face, and you instantly clamp your eyes and lips shut against the sting.

It was a night colder than cold, a storm crueler than cruel. Fallen instantly: it was as if someone had simply snuffed out the light of day, and plunged you into a world that hurtled on its axis. Despite the portico you stood underneath, you clutched your tattered coat tighter against the wind.

This place had been the first you’d encountered during your treacherous walk. A light. And without thinking, you’d stumbled towards it. 

Perhaps a home. Perhaps shelter. 

The fog thickens. Your fist raises, knock-knock-knocking against the tall, wooden door. It was decorated in intricate swirling patterns and engravings that you couldn’t make out in the darkness right now.

You wonder whether whoever was inside could even hear you over the storm. Desperately, your fist raises to knock again when-

The door opens.

And inside stands a handsome blond man.

Almost otherworldly.

“My lady.”

Your breath hitches, and you’re not entirely sure why. Perhaps it was the rich baritone of his voice, the way it pierced your ears even above the wind, wetness, and anger of the storm. Perhaps it was his classically handsome face - slicked-back hair, high cheekbones, a pert mouth that was somehow knowing - like in one of those historical paintings, a Prince Charming. 

You wouldn’t have been able to pinpoint him in any century.

Or perhaps it was the way that when you stepped back, on instinct, he leaned down to loop a strong arm around your waist in a single, fluid motion. So fast that you muse he might’ve teleported.

Whoosh–! 

You startle at the noise above you, and look up to find that the strange man had unfolded an umbrella over the two of you - one that you hadn’t even realized he’d been holding.

He lets the berth of it cover your frame, like the dark wings of a bat stretched taut. Uncaring of whether he himself gets wet, the man shields you against the icy billows of rain that blew through the portico. His warm grin stretches, urging. “My lady?”

“O-oh.” It registers that he was speaking to you. You’re unsure where to place your palms, and they lay flatly open against the man’s toned chest. Still. “My apologies for- for the intrusion so late. But I…”

You were getting distracted by his kind, molten eyes is what. But he finishes for you with a slight huff of amusement, “Happened to get caught in this monstrosity of a storm, am I right in guessing?” At your nod. “Well, it’s no wonder then, my lady. I’m only glad you made it here safe.”

“I-” You were right in feeling like you weren’t able to pinpoint which century he was from. Because his tone of speaking wasn’t reminiscent of any dialect you’ve ever heard before - something melodic yet stiff, something understandable yet…dated. 

And despite your incessant pondering, he stands as patiently as ever. Holds you as patiently as ever.

Even though the wind ruffled that neat hair of his, and the rain pelted his sides without the cover of the umbrella. You hasten to explain yourself, “I was actually on my way from a work function, a bit far away. When this storm suddenly hit and my car broke down in the middle of it- actually, I think it ended up in some ditch with no power, which is why I ended up- well- here.” You finish, lamely.

He looks thoughtful, nodding empathetically.

“And I really do apologize for the intrusion, really, but if I could stay just until the storm blows over and I can call for help-”

“Do forgive me for interrupting you, my lady.” The man’s precise tone speaks once more, “But you may stay here as long as you like.”

Relief washes down your spine like a bucket of heat, melting you instantly. “Oh, thank you- thank you.” And before you know it, you’re falling deeper into his arms. 

“A lady must not thank a mere worker.” He hums with a tut, and you wonder whether that means he was one of the staff at this large building - what little you could see of the silhouette seemed larger than a normal house, and you’d assumed that it was some hotel at first.

He steps soundlessly to help you steady yourself. And you’re soon being warmly gestured inside, the umbrella being held over your head with each step, even as he stepped aside into the rain to let you through. “Come now, we must dry you off at once. Being in the cold for this long won’t be good for your constitution, my lady.”

You step inside as he directs, and it feels like stepping into a warm bath - just right.

And what you’d seen in the distance - that yolky, blinking light that led you here, your body moving as if on instinct - wasn’t actually a lightbulb, as you’d thought. In actuality, it was about a dozen, flaring chandeliers.

Illuminating a fresco of gardens and flowers and spring. Lined along the sprawling ceiling like fruits that were overripe, fit to burst. They danced ever-so-slightly in the draught that the open door brought, yet not a single candle extinguished from what you could make out.

You felt so tiny in the house- mansion, as you were quickly coming to learn. 

Greeted by an imperial staircase made of marble, and accents of gold that fought with the chandeliers over which one of them shined brighter. You don’t think you could possibly count how many hallways holed themselves into the mansion just from here. Hidden caverns filled with antiques, and ever-green chrysanthemums, and paintings that you could just see the corners of. Upon either side of the entrance were large Clerestory windows that provided snapshots of the flared lightning outside; so high up, so large, that it made the front door feel dwarfed. 

You think it looks strangely familiar - perhaps something reminiscent of those illustrations you’d seen in classic stories.

Curiously, along the winding corridors, you note that there were many mirrors. Some small and bejeweled, some tall from ceiling to floor.

In intervals unknown to you, they stood out - the brightest of them all.

You jump at the feeling of something touching your elbow-

“My apologies for startling you, my lady.” Comes your host’s deep voice, and you whirl around to find him bowed. With a warm, citrus-scented towel presented to you (when did he even have the time to get that?) “Please, do make use of this towel to rinse off the water on your body. If you would like, I may do it for you?”

“No no, I can do it.” You insist, feeling your heart race. His stern lips quirk up ever-so-slightly when you reach for it. “Thank you.”

“It is my pleasure. I wouldn’t want my lady getting sick.”

My lady…

You shake your head, trying to get it free of that giggling lil’ voice that kept repeating those two words. Instead, you take the towel from the beautiful man and—oh.

Underneath your breath, you gasp through your nose. Because the very second that your fingers had grazed his own when taking the towel, a chill wafted down your spine. So cold. So…unnatural. You weren’t sure whether it was the sheer temperature, or the fact that it was the sheer temperature of his hand.

Why was he so cold?

Almost as if he sensed your thoughts, the man swiftly pulls his hand away. And it’s only then that you realize that he was dressed so smartly.

Shoes polished till they reflected your bewildered stare. Well-fitted black pants. A three-piece suit filled out by his broad shoulders. Black tailcoat. High collar. Steely buttons. And an emblem on his coat pocket that you couldn’t read from here. Gloves. Ah—so that was why he was so cold, you guessed.

Surely there was no other reason, right?

Lightning flashes.

The rooms lights up in ice-white.

“Oh dear, it seems the storm won’t be getting any better tonight.” He announces, clapping his hands twice. And then, previously unseen curtains start closing in on the windows so high above. Effectively shutting out the storm, the night, and with it, the world.

You wondered what automatic mechanism that was.

“We best get you to bed immediately, my lady.” The blond-haired man says, his hair gleaming in the candlelight - and you could’ve sworn that it’d been all ruffled and messy by the storm just prior. Now, it was untouched, as if he’d never stepped outside. 

He rounds the entrance, politely gesturing at you to follow. 

“Such a lovely place.” You observe, as you’re led up the staircase and into the East wing. The hallways were tall and ancient, humming with centuries of stories untold. And, as you’d expected, the antiques, the chrysanthemums, the paintings.

Blurs of faces that you were walking too quickly by to properly make out.

“Why thank you, my lady.” He looks back briefly, holding a golden candelabra to light your pathway. Still walking, he doesn’t need to stop to speak. “This is an old home, with old bones, old secrets.” The man cracks a grin, “I should know, I have been lucky to call myself a worker of this fine home for a long time.”

So he did work here - a butler, all signs were pointing to. You hum, butlers had always seemed like something out of a soap opera, or those regency novels.

Having him in front of you like this made you feel somewhat dizzy.

And you were entranced by the noiseless way he moved, “And how long is a long time?”

“Oh, one could say it feels like…centuries.” He chuckles to himself.

You make a few turns, heading deeper into the mansion. And you can’t help but notice that you’ve yet to see a single other person here except the two of you-

“The masters of this home are more in name.” The butler says, in his smooth tone. Like he could sense the question forming. “This house has been passed down through generations, and I fear that I have yet to officially meet whoever owns this grand establishment now.”

“Oh?” Your brows raise, “They seriously don’t come to visit a house this beautiful? Not even as a vacation home?”

“I’m afraid so. It is all but abandoned.” He nods, “But alas, I do not complain. They employ me here to clean and take care of this home, and that’s all I can ask. To preserve a piece of history so magnificent, no matter how much they try to forget…it shall always haunt you.”

“So you’re alone here?”

He stops then. And turns back to you with an unreadable expression- oh, something about the way the candelabra outlined the hollows of his face made you feel cold all over again. “I’m afraid so.” Voice quiet. “Would you prefer otherwise, my lady?”

In the distance, the growl of thunder trundles.

“No no, nothing like that.” You rush to answer, not wishing to offend the kind soul helping you for the night (and honestly, even despite that, you didn’t feel a speck of discomfort with him- in fact, you felt…at ease). “Honestly, you’ve been more than a delight- I was just wondering whether you don’t get lonely in such a big house, all by yourself. I certainly would visit.”

He observes you for a moment. Before his warm expression is back again- “Do not worry yourself over my wellbeing, my lady, of course, as all good workers do, I have gotten used to it. Yet…I must admit that there is the occasional night in which I, too, crave humanity—”

You listen, enraptured.

Before he then gestures to the door in front of which you’d stopped at - you hadn’t even noticed. It was an unassuming mahogany door, polished and pristine like all the rest.

His gloved hands gently twist the doorknob and lead you inside. “Your room, my lady.” He leaves the candelabra on top of a cabinet by the doorway. “I have arranged for a warm bath to be prepared for you, with a fine selection of body washes and shampoos from around the world. After which I ask you to allow me to treat you to a light supper in bed, as you must be hungry after such an exciting night. Kindly ring the bell-” He gestures at a slim handbell on the cabinet beside the candelabra that you hadn’t seen before. “-and I shall be here for you before the second ring.”

“This is…” You look around the room- chamber, more like. 

The candles on the chandelier inside had lit up as soon as you stepped inside (you had to figure out that mechanism, somehow!) Bathing the expansive bedroom in a soft glow, like this, it almost looked like a piece of heaven itself.

An antique chamber. A four-poster king-sized bed in the middle. A plethora of sweet-scented flower pots. A few paintings of landscapes. A floor-to-ceiling window overlooking the balcony, the garden. Though now, you could only see the storm outside. On one side of the room, you could see a shelf of thick tomes, impeccably dusted, and next to it was a fireplace. Roaring. 

You wondered how he had the time to light it.

On the other side it opened up to what you imagined must be an equally as luxurious bathroom. The polished tile squeaked as you made your way inside, reflecting your wind-torn coat that felt more than out-of-place in such a room. It almost felt like you were wading across a ballroom. 

You whirl, and you note that one of the walls adjacent to the bed wasn’t taken up by some painting or mural or wallpaper- it was nearly covered by a gleaming mirror. How interesting.

“-this is amazing.” You breathe.

“I am glad that it is to your liking, my lady.” He bows, “If you need anything, or wish to ask anything, simply ring the bell.”

And as the blond-haired man moves to exit with a final bow, you reach your hand out- “Wait-”

He turns. “My lady?”

“Ah, I didn’t ring the bell but- your name.” You fiddle with the drenched fabric of your coat as you ask, wondering whether it was salvageable anymore. You tell him your own name, before questioning, “Can I ask your name?”

He smiles. “Nanami Kento, my lady.” And there’s a zip of excitement that runs through your body at finally putting a name to a handsome face. Nodding, you expect that that would be the end of your small pleasantries, and you turn back-

But before he leaves for good tonight, Nanami speaks over his shoulder. “And worry not, I am one hell of a butler.”

You snap your head back to listen to him speak, and find that he was already gone.

The hallway was dark outside, and there was a slight wind coming in. You hasten to shut the door and find that you can’t even hear Nanami’s footsteps disappearing, can’t even hear his shadow—well, you always had the bell, right?

You shook off the slight prickling at your skin, and welcomed yourself into the clouds of warmth spiffing from the bathroom.

.

.

.

That night may have been the best sleep of your life, you had to admit. Like you’d been home, and doubled by the luxury of the place.

It might have something to do with the fact that the massive bed was amongst the comfiest things you’ve ever felt, or it might have something to do with the easy cotton fabric of the pyjamas that Nanami had left while you were bathing.

You’d come out of the bathroom, refreshed (the bathroom ceiling was blanketed with the most beautiful mosaics, and the bathtub was accented with gold), only to find that he’d left out nightwear of your liking.

Of your exact size.

You’d stopped then, wondering how he managed to find something that fit you so perfectly. 

Perhaps it was a lucky guess, and a previous owner of the mansion happened to be your exact size? Then again, it did feel so new in your hands…

Without wearing yourself out even further, you’d rung the bell and partaken in a quick dinner (you’d been famished, having only scoffed down a protein bar during the conference). And then chosen to ignore the shivers that ran down your spine to tuck yourself in. Soon oblivious to the storm, and the mansion’s creaking, and the eyes that seemed to watch you at night.

It all felt like part of a dream.

In the morning, you’d awoken to the twittering of birds, and a slab of golden sunlight, like butter, filtering in through the window. Nanami had already laid out a gorgeous princess-line dress of emerald green for you, with a deep v-cut collar that showed just a coy bit of skin, and a silhouette that flattered your frame perfectly.

That, too, was the perfect fit.

You adjusted your sleeves and couldn’t help but titter to yourself as you felt like a princess. In no time after you got ready, there was a knock at the door.

“Oh, come in.”

It couldn’t be anyone but Nanami. And he looked as handsome as the last time you’d seen him (earlier, in the late hours of the night you’d almost wondered whether it was the dimness that made him look so extraordinarily handsome).

But no, he was as beautiful as ever. His golden hair glinting in the sun, like a halo, and his smile beaming as he walks closer to you. “Good morning, my lady.” Nanami bows, “I see you have already prepared yourself for the day. How exquisite you look, should my eyes fall upon such a sight every morning then I should be blessed. Am I correct in assuming that the dress is adequate to your tastes?”

“It’s just beautiful, Nanami.” You run your hands down the sides, admiring. “I don’t know how you managed to get my perfect size.”

He brings a gloved index up to his lips, with a wink. “A butler always had his secrets.” Before he straightens up, “Now, if you would allow me, may I help you with your hair and make-up?”

“Oh-” You’d just thought about rifling through the vanity’s drawers, with the slight hope that you might find the products you use. And as if he could read your mind, he was offering. “Are you…sure?”

“It would be my honor, my lady.” Nanami sits you down on the chair before the vanity mirror. His broad frame behind you- from here, you could see just how snugly that tailcoat fit his slender waist. “You may keep your eyes on me, or on yourself- please tilt your chin up—”

Soft, cold hands get to work.

And you really did feel like a princess.

.

.

.

By the time you’re walking downstairs for breakfast, you find yourself all dolled up just the way you like it - and you didn’t even have to give Nanami too many directions. You thoroughly considered taking him back once you leave.

With the crook of his elbow stuck out for you to hold onto, his biceps flexed, you made your way to sit at the head of a long table. Narrow and at least as lengthy as two of your bedrooms back home.

Him trailing behind you at the entrance, you excitedly walk forwards to sit down- and have your chair pushed in by…Nanami?

You look towards the entrance once more, you could’ve sworn that he was still there the last time you looked.

He swiftly placed a steaming silver dish of breakfast in front of you, and then filled the table up with so many fruit platters upon toast upon sneaky puddings. Your eyes took in the kaleidoscope of food, feeling slightly dizzy at the sheer amount. “Did you—did you make all of this just this morning, Nanami?”

“What, this?” He looked in slight surprise at the table, as if wondering whether that was really an incredible amount. “Just part of my duties, my lady. Along with the cleaning, the baking, and the watering, a few to name.”

You look behind you - the dining room overlooked part of the garden that you hadn’t noticed last night during the storm.

Plush plants that somehow seemed unaffected by the torrents of water that had poured down: roses, chrysanthemums, marigolds, and weeping willows that all swayed idly in the wind. Like they were welcoming you. Welcoming you back. They were planted in a maze-like pattern. From here you think you could see flower-filled archways, and a lake that glittered underneath the sun.

You wondered how you missed it all last night - surely you would have stumbled across a few of the hedge growth? It all seemed so barren as you’d wound your way up to the portico, so acrid. But now…

“And if you don’t mind me being so brazen, I hope you do forgive me for this.” Nanami says, and you whip your head back to him- him and a very familiar set of car keys he was holding. “I took the freedom to move your car into our driveway.”

Your eyes nearly pop out of their skull, “You mean you pushed it all the way here?”

“Perhaps. Perhaps not.” Nanami smiles that secret smile, “Would you like to take a look at it after breakfast, my lady?”

You nod fervently, gulping down the rest of your breakfast. 

In a few minutes, you’d already finished and was being tutted by Nanami into drinking enough water and putting on the outside slippers (procured by him, also your exact size) before you went outside. As expected, your car was a wreck.

There was one wheel missing and the engine seemed to be completely busted.

“I have already summoned the town’s mechanic.” He’s telling you, as you looked on at the car in gloom - that thing had taken up a lot of savings to acquire, and above all you hated to see it in such a sorry state. How would you get home?

“And?” You ask, eagerly. “Did they say when they would get here?”

“I’m afraid he won’t be here for at least a few days, my lady.” Nanami frowns empathetically, mirroring you. “The storm last night was quite vicious, you see. It has most of the roads blocked with trees, and until those get cleared up, he won’t be able to make it up here.”

You swear underneath your breath.

“But the good news is you can stay here as long as you like!” He attempts to lighten the mood, with a smile. “In fact, I might just keep you even longer.”

“Oh, but I really couldn’t impose…”

“I insist.”

And that was that, it seems you’d be staying here for a little longer than you’d originally planned. Though, with Nanami’s hospitality, you doubted you’d feel anything but at home.

Right?

.

.

.

The rest of your day and the next was spent simply reading the fantasy novels in your bedroom, lounging in the gardens and corners of the mansion. 

By your second day there you’d explored every inch of the mansion that there was to explore (except for, perhaps the basement. A strangely nostalgic door outside. Which you had reached the very foot of, before Nanami had gently nudged you back inside with some comment about wines being mulled there that cannot see the light of day until the time was right). It’d taken you five entire days to get yourself properly acquainted with the place.  

And with your profanities.

Spewing them out, you don’t think you’ve ever used before as you attempted to get even a single bar of signal for your phone.

“Goddammit-” You grit your teeth, for the nth time in the past hour. It’s your second day in the mansion, and you’re leaning over the balcony of your bedroom, so far outwards that you think you might just fall off. 

With your hand outstretched, phone fisted in the air and searching for a signal. You couldn’t call anyone like this, let alone the mechanic to confirm. None of your messages or emails went through, either. “How are we this far up and yet I can’t get a single bar- oh, when I get home I’m cancelling this stupid subscription mark my words.”

“Might I suggest, my lady–” Nanami says from behind you. He stood beside your bed, changing the blankets and fluffing the pillows. “-that in the meantime you perhaps take a look at our library? I think you’ll find that we have certain books that are quite riveting.”

“Maybe…” You respond, still stung by the uselessness of your phone. “I don’t suppose that in the meantime you could also arrange a messenger pigeon for me, could you?”

He perks up, “I shall tame a pigeon immediately-”

“No no, it’s alright.” You wave off, with a stifled laugh. Ah- he always did manage to put you in a better mood, despite your circumstances. “Maybe I’ll take a look at the library tonight, it beats trying not to smash my phone to bits.”

“Quite.” Nanami quips.

And before you can say anything more, he’s walking over to you. Placing his hand on top of the phone - effectively on top of yours—“After all, it is a beautiful day outside. Would you fancy a walk in the garden, my lady?”

“Y-yes please-” You whisper, at his proximity. Cold to the touch. 

“Then, I shall get your slippers ready.” He smiles, and leaves. You can only look from afar as he exits, letting a breath leave your chest that you didn’t know you’d been holding in for the moment.

Your head drops down without thinking to look at your phone. Only—

NOT FOUND ERROR 404.

You furrow your brows, trying to press on a few buttons- but the error message doesn’t leave. It glitches. Different from the meager ‘no signal’ symbol that’d been there earlier. And the crashed page is all you can see once more.

NOT FOUND ERROR 404.

NOT FOUND ERROR 404.

NOT FOUND ERROR 404.

.

.

.

The error message lasts until your walk in the gardens.

The error message lasts all the way until after lunch. After dinner.

It was in the dead of your third night here, under the veil of darkness, when you finally manage to find a signal. 

Despite your phone having crashed, and despite your feet aching from your productive day, you found yourself leaning over the edge of your bedroom balcony once more. The edge of your phone reaching outwards—one bar of signal obtained.

You breathe out in relief, falling back onto the heels of your feet. The wind was whipping in spirals around you, creating a cloud of your nightdress to billow. Soft silk. Feeling like the touch of a hand.

You look at the phone screen that had finally stopped flashing that error sign, and eagerly tap towards the phone app. Only—

Your phone vibrates with a call.

Confused at the Unknown number, you wonder whether this might be someone from home that’s been worried about your whereabouts. And so you don’t question it much when you slide the blaring bar and answer the call. “Hello?”

No one answers.

You repeat, “Hello? Can you hear me?” 

No one answers.

Perhaps it was the wind that was making you hard to hear? You turn away from the gales slightly, careful not to lose the humble signal that you have. And you press your phone harder against your face. “Hello? Who’s this-”

No one answers.

But that’s when you hear it: heavy breathing. 

Low and labored. Like someone had just run a mile and immediately picked up the phone, somehow dialing your number.

“Is this some sort of prank?” You hiss, “Because it isn’t funny. Who is this?”

No one answers.

Heavy breathing.

“Answer me-”

No one answers.

Heavy breathing.

“Hello?”

No one answers.

Heavy breathing.

“Answer me-”

There’s a sharp tone as the phone ends, whether by you or whoever was on the other end of the line you’re not quite sure.

Heavy breathing.

This time, not from the phone.

You whirl around with a gasp—the curtains gust out at a sudden wind. And there’s no one behind you - there’s no sound of breathing behind you, either. But you’re sure you’d heard it before. You’re sure.

Lightning flashes in the distance. 

There’s the rumble of thunder that almost sounds like laughter- in fact, you’re sure that if you let your ears keenly listen in, it was laughter. Masculine and deep. Echoing into the distance, like it was someone surrounding you.

With your phone clutched to your thundering chest, you’re quickly walking to the safety of your bedroom inside. And you decide to lock every window that night.

You couldn’t sleep.

.

.

.

The day after that - your third day in the mansion now, your fourth night - there was still no sign of the car mechanic. You’d taken to sleeping during the day, lounged upon an intricately woven love seat that was inside your chambers.

Of course, Nanami hadn’t questioned a thing.

He was as warm and welcoming as ever, of course. Always so efficient getting you the things you needed, helping you get ready, and cooking your favorite foods - almost too efficient. Any time you looked at him, he never seemed to have a hair out of place, despite being embroiled in the toughest of domestic tasks (he took offense any time you offered to pull your own weight until the mechanic arrived).

Practically perfect.

Almost unnatural. 

You wondered how he had the time to do it all…

And that foggy night, you tossed and turned amongst the sea of expensive silken blankets. Ultimately, as the clock struck 2AM and you still found yourself unable to sleep, you got off the side of the mattress and walked. To the candelabra on the cabinet. And then outside.

With no fixed aim nor destination, your feet took you down one of the paths you’d explored during your days here. Though, you had the faintest feeling that even if you hadn’t explored- you’d have known your way around here. Past unwilted flowers and paintings that seemed to stare you down as you passed. And soon enough, you were standing in front of the great double doors of the library.

One of them, at least.

Nanami had told you that the mansion boasted about five massive libraries, filled to the brim with books across all ages and authors. And the smell of pages and put-out fires greet your senses when you enter, your slippers thudding across the cold stone floor.

The ceiling was high, almost never-ending.

And from above peered severe gargoyles, their wings outstretched, and their mouths mid-scream as if to warn you not to take a step closer. You wrapped your arms around your body and shivered, looking up at the high shelves.

With one hand craned out, you trace your fingers down their thick spines. Not a speck of dust on them.

Until, finally, the hairs at the back of your neck seem to raise–

You look behind you.

Nothing.

It was dark in the library, the sole source of light being the paper-thin moonlight that filtered in through the windows. Casting an almost eerie glow on everything it’s spindly fingers touched. 

Though, you still don’t think you would be able to sleep if you headed back to your bedroom right now. And you curiously read the book spines where you stopped walking (it was too dark to make them out properly, yet you still take a few of them with you, in hopes of a distraction).

You sit down at the nearest wooden table, and the singular candle holder in the middle of it flickers to life. As if awakened by your presence.

You really wondered what this mechanism must be - you made a mental note to ask Nanami tomorrow. And in the glow, you could now see what books you’d actually picked up.

Baker’s Book (1901)

Sebastian’s Book on How to Keep the House Warm

Pride and Prejudice

A Historical Analysis of the Nanami Mansions

That one was struck through, its scabrous leather cover torn as if someone had ripped through it with a knife. You squinted as you tried to read through the title, to no avail.

Of Demons and Servitude: The Hellish Agelong Contracts That Surpass Love

That last one seemed a little out of place amongst the rest- well. You took a look around. Perhaps it wasn’t that out of place.

And in the dancing candlelight, you open the first book and begin to read.

.

.

.

You’d fallen asleep there.

Somewhere midway through a paragraph about how this very mansion had no official founder, and how it had been handed to the first owner by chance; thus, resulting in its descent into discourse over ownership (with masters who, surprisingly, rather than fighting for it had been fighting not to have it), and how the whereabouts of the last master was unknown.

You dreamt of contracts and haggling masters and packed bags and demons. The red, red eyes of a demon that watched from the shadows.

As much a part of the mansion as the mansion was part of him.

And you swear that in the depths of your slumber, you felt cold, cold hands graze your skin. Your cheek. Your arms. With his pointed fingernails that were meant to kill.

A candle snuffs out.

You woke up and it was morning, and someone had draped a blanket over you.

.

.

.

Nanami had noticed that you were becoming more and more engulfed in your books. After several more tries to reach a phone signal had failed, you’d resigned yourself to merely waiting for the mechanic to get to you.

He informed you that the road clean up seemed to have been taking longer than usual, given the constant downpour the land was experiencing. And you understood.

After all, you weren’t lacking for anything here at all. Nanami made sure of that.

You’d moved on from the mysterious, and half-recorded, history of the mansion. Somehow more interesting than you might have imagined. On towards the baking book, the novel, even the domestic book.

Until the only thing left out of the book you’d picked was the eerie one about demons. Though you could easily go back and choose another, you weren’t a quitter!

And so you found yourself flipping through its pages, all the while watched over by a silent Nanami.

You begrudgingly admitted that the book had you enraptured. And soon enough, you were drinking in all there was to drink about the rituals it took to summon said demons, the way they could take on the most exquisite appearances, and even a few ‘real life’ recounts of people who’ve encountered them.

“Look at this one, Nanami.” You pointed somewhere on the page, and he leaned over your shoulder kindly to follow your finger. “The person saying they saw a demon here is from this very town, hah! What a coincidence.”

He smiles, “What a coincidence indeed, my lady.”

“Just imagine- meeting a demon. I wonder what it would be like- I’d probably get my soul stolen in an instant.”

“Demons steal souls only after they’ve bound a human in a contract, my lady. Though other methods of payments for a demon’s services can manifest themselves in the form of blood, flesh, sex. They thirst for those things, demons. Going without is almost worse than death- of course, a demon can’t die.” At your slightly stunned silence, Nanami cocks his head. “Chapter sixteen, the ways of the body.”

“R-right.” You start, “Sorry, I just didn’t think you’d be the type to be into such things.”

He bears a secret smile. A secret, secret smile. “There is much that you don’t know of me, my lady.” Nanami spreads butter on a piece of toast without you even asking to, and places it gently down on your plate. “But of course, there is much time to find out.”

.

.

.

It’s by your sixth day that Nanami finally knocks at your bedroom door, deep into the evening. And he informs you that-

“The mechanic shall be here in a few hours, my lady.” You look outside through your window, at the blue and gold night. And of course he notices that little action - he notices everything. “I may have had a hand in the somewhat ah- untimely manner of things. You see, I had pressured him into coming as soon as possible, and it seems that the roads have only just cleared.”

“Oh, I see.” You reply, “I expect I should go down to wait for him in a bit, then.”

“If you so wish, my lady.”

After dinner, you took your demon book with you and paced the halls of the mansion. Just waiting. It was a few hours past when the mechanic was supposed to come, and you could feel yourself getting antsy. No matter how many times Nanami told you the mechanic would be here soon, and that he would take care of it all.

Nonetheless, when you found the corridors thoroughly trodden, you stepped outside. It was a clear night out, and you sat on the porch with your book in your lap.

Reading through the passages in the dim twilight as you waited.

You were on the final chapter now.

“Chapter 22: Fables From the Shadows - Nanami Mansion.

Hearken, o’ mortal. In another story from the deep, the darkness, I entrust your ears with the legend of the Nanami mansion.

Hundred of years old. It stands still, braving the storms and the times, a relic of a past that never changes. And shall never change. Not as long as the mansion is haunted by the ghosts of its past, they say that the very walls of the house are infused with a force unknown.

Or so they say.

No mortal soul can say with utmost certainty when the mansion was built, nor by who, nor for what purpose. Only that the line of its masters has been both gruesome and bloody; history claims that what had once been impassioned family feuds over ownership quickly turned into a family heirloom that no pawn shop would accept.

No soul wished to be the master of a demon.”

A twig snaps.

And you gasp, looking up- though there was no one there. The light that flooded in from the mansion revealed no one outside, and so, shaking, you kept on reading.

The mechanic still wasn’t here.

“Yes, o’ mortal. It is true.

Though one cannot say for certain the dark forces that envelop the house, it is what resides inside that is sure to catch the interest of a demonologist such as you and I.

A demon.

They say that he - or, at least, he who takes the shape of a man - runs the household as if its masters still occupy its decadent bones. As if its masters weren’t taken by the very force that now cleans the windows, and grows pretty flowers in the mansion’s garden. As if its masters still live.

Still linger.

But do not be fooled, dear reader, the only thing that lingers in this household is the demon himself. His smile gentle. His face kindly. It would not be out of the realm of possibility that those of mortal desires, like us, are disarmed by the handsome face he uses to mask his bloodthirst. And he has snuffed the mansion of anything that makes this house a home.”

Someone was watching you.

Somehow, it didn’t feel human.

“One by one, it started with the other servants, centuries ago. Those who were lucky to flee their posts and tell the tale spoke of a shadow that haunted their every waking moment, of a fleeting presence that produced nail marks in the morning, or items in their chambers suddenly unravelled.

He was the model worker, unsusceptible.

And by the time the masters of the household realized, it was far too late for their mortal souls. The servants had disappeared, the livestock had fallen to plague, and the only residents of the mansion were them. And him.”

Someone was waiting.

You knew it didn’t feel human.

“There need not be much speculation on the fates of the owners in the house at the time, after which there was a scramble to pawn the mansion by living relatives.

Though, by that point, rumors of the mansion’s more supernatural occurrences were already beginning to fester, and the effort was futile. 

And though the mansion stands lonely now, never think that it is abandoned, o’ mortal. Perhaps you shall find that the chandeliers are always lit, and the beds are made. Dinners at the mansion are lavish and a-plenty. All of this can be given credit to the demon that runs it, of course.”

You stand up.

The mechanic was countless hours past when he was supposed to come, and you guessed he wouldn’t be making it today, either. Perhaps something more urgent had come up. Your feet step backwards- but something stops you, as if an invisible force. And without taking your eyes away from the page, you step forwards.

“Why this ancient creature torments the mortals that reside in the mansion, yet takes such meticulous care of it is a question unanswered to us. Perhaps we may never know.

Though some whispers claim that the rightful owner isn’t any lord or ladyship or bastard heir. No, not at all. It is - and brace yourselves for this, dear reader - none other than the demon himself.”

Forwards.

“Of course, this is only one theory put forth by demonologists. But as the rightful heir to the estate, the demon takes his time finishing off the foolish mortals that believe that it is theirs to claim. When, in actuality, you are stepping into the very abode of the creature. And no one - no one - has lasted longer than six days in its abode.

A creature that cannot ache. A creature that cannot love.”

Forwards. 

“And he will always have his door open to the ignorant that walk in. Into what one may think is a heaven named after his very self.”

You stop.

“Nanami Kento, of the Nanami Mansions.”

The book drops from your hands.

A scream in your throat, you’re realizing that you’d walked yourself - almost in a trance - right up to the shrub-covered door to the basement. The very same one that Nanami had nudged you away from last time.

Nanami…a shiver runs down your spine. You don’t know what to think.

Almost as if it will provide you the answers, you reach out and twist the basement door handle. It creaks out in agony as it opens, and you almost have half the mind to run away right then, right now.

But you’re no quitter. 

In nothing but the pale moonlight, you step inside the basement and make your way down its narrow stairway. They were made of metal, biting through the soles of your slips with each step. You’re squinting your eyes in the darkness, hands reached out in front of you like you’d find something.

And then—

And then, right as you reach the landing of the staircase, you step in something wet.

It almost felt like a puddle after rain. Though the liquid stuck to your slippers, thicker than that. And as you raised your feet, it created a hollow squelch; the viscous sap looked much darker than water was supposed to be.

You gasp. It can’t be-

Lightning strikes.

Just a snapshot of light. Like someone had taken a photograph and burned it into your retinas.

In that split-second, you saw that what you’d thought was a puddle of water wasn’t really water at all. It was red. It was thick.

And it was leading a pathway all the way down to a body in the middle of the basement.

Two-toned hair bled red. Eyes pure white.

The mechanic lay dead on the basement floor. For how long, you weren’t quite sure.

With a scream, you almost slip on the blood as you sprint upstairs. Running out into the pouring rain outside - if you’d been guided in a daze to the massacre, then your brain was working in overdrive to guide you out. 

Slippers squelching. Eyes stinging with rain. You couldn’t even see where you were going, and it reminded you of the night you arrived here.

Yet, you’ll always find the mansion - always. And in almost no time (though it felt like eons to your poor, shivering body), you’re running inside the mansion and slamming! the front door shut.

Body pushed against the door. Lungs heaving. You gulp.

With your eyes downturned, your watch the rich carpet beneath your feet drench with beads of water. Rusted water. Blood.

Fuck. 

You had to get out of here right now. 

Just as soon as the thought has struck your brain, the candles go out. Every. Single. One of them. Startled, you’re whipping around and trying to open the door- bang! bang! bang! It only rattles underneath your hands, firmly shut with unseen bolts and padlocks that you wouldn’t have been able to open no matter what.

And it’s only with the thin glow of the moonlight that you can move your urgent body, one step after the other. Jerky, as if you have to force yourself to do it.

As if you have to fight against some outside force to do so.

You knew that no matter where you went inside the mansion, Nanami would be able to find you. What if you—the balcony.

You gasp, and try to tamper the thought down as swiftly as it had formed. 

Without a second of lingering any further, your feet dart you up the sprawling staircase. Spirals. Heart thundering, feet thudding, and your gasps laborious as you ran towards the bedroom that he had oh-so-graciously given to you.

Footsteps.

Slow.

Steady.

The complete opposite of your own, follow you the closer you get to it. Seeing that gleaming wooden door wink at you from the end of the hallway, like an old friend.

Until, finally, you’re throwing open the door and running inside-

“My lady.”

You howl in terror and it’s swallowed up by the sudden crashing of the storm outside. You hadn’t just raced into your room- you’d ended up bumping into none other than Nanami Kento’s firm, toned chest.

Carefully looping his arms around you.

“You’re-” You hiss, stepping backwards. “You’re a-”

“Yes.”

And then suddenly he’s behind you. Caging you inside the room, with no possibility of running back where you’d come from. 

He looms, larger than life. His shadow walking inside- “I can’t believe you’re a-” You stagger backwards, “So all this time-”

“All this time.” Nanami breathes out, even though you knew that his lungs didn’t need to work. Then he grins and oh- it’s the one thing that you could see completely clearly in the dimness of the night: his stark-white fangs, those crimson eyes, pupils like a snake’s. 

They bore down at you, especially when your limp legs stumble- and Nanami’s right there to steady you. With his inhumanly strong arms capturing your waist, and his chest pressed to yours. 

Oh. 

That low voice of his buries deep within your eardrums, sensual. “And I’ve been waiting…” He practically purrs, and your thighs clench. “-so, so long for you, my lady.”

You feel shivers go down your spine when Nanami nuzzles his nose against your throat, “A- a long time- so you mean that-”

“Yes.”

“Am I an descendant to the owner of this house-”

“Yes.” He sighs out his answers, like it took everything in him. Like he was breathing life into you. And you can’t help but notice that the two of you have edged towards the bed now, and you slightly turn your head to look at the mirror on the wall. “And you don’t know how starved I have been, my lady.”

Only to find that Nanami’s reflection didn’t show up on it.

It looked as if you were standing by yourself, and the blond-haired man (demon, more like) only holds you tighter in response. He murmurs in your ear, “Though enlightening, that book of yours doesn’t hold much truth.”

“It doesn’t?”

“Well-” His fangs glint, “-it does.”

You shiver. Not only with coldness, not only with fear.

Something more akin to a carnal need, with him pressed up against you like this.

“Though, it was wrong about two things-” Nanami’s plump lips graze down the column of your throat, and you wonder whether he can sense the way you grow…wet. “-a demon can yearn, a demon can love.”

Oh. 

One of his overlarge hands drag down your spine, fiddling with the ties of a dress that he’d tailored to your exact size. Perhaps centuries ago.

“And this demon has been waiting for centuries for your soul to return, my lady.”

Your arms tighten on his shoulders, and tender slip up to loop around his neck. “I’m here, Kento.” Your body is boneless in his hold, and he holds you to him like he wants you to be of one soul.

.

.

.

There’s a sodden squeeeeelch as he’s lightly tuggin’ those cute panties of yours aside- how could you even walk around with something so sweet on you?

Nanami feels his oh-so-famished tastebuds start to water at the sight of your pretty, pretty cunt. Just a thin line of drool makin’ its way down the side of his stern lips, mirroring the way that your tight hole was weeping out.

He rubs his glove-clad thumb down the front of your glistening folds, and you whimper at the scratch of its smooth texture. “Have you ever done something like this before, my lady?”

With a mewl, you nod. 

And you can’t help but notice the way that Nanami’s jaw clenches. “I see.” And there’s an inkling of something dark in his tone that you can’t quite pinpoint right now, roverin’ his mean fingerpads just over where your poor clit was. “And, forgive me if this is too forward, but have you ever fully enjoyed something like this before, my lady?”

“Well-” You try to keep your tone even, bucking off the bed. You were all sprawled out with only your drenched panties on, and Nanami Kento was on his knees by the foot of the bed.

On his knees for you.

His lips twitched impatiently, a sort of hunger in his eyes the longer he had to watch your needy pussy cling onto nothing. Continuing, “Well, I’ve liked it before with other people but-”

“Yes, my lady?”

And as you finish off, you slightly duck your head in shame. Whispering the words out (though you knew he’d hear with his demonic senses anyways). “But none of them have ever made me…cum before. I can reach it by myself but with other people- you know.”

“I understand.” You peer up to see the way that Nanami stares kindly at you. Something understanding in his eyes. Something…primal.

And your cunt starts to throb even more once he reaches his dominant right hand up to his mouth, then proceeding to bite down on the edge of his glove, and pull it off with his tongue. So unintentionally attractive. “Then, kindly allow me.”

In a split-second, his thick fingertip is probin’ between your pussylips.

Feeling the hotness of you clenching ‘round him and he groans- “You’re so ready for me, aren’t you, madam?” Just the slightest hitch in his tone as he’s then sinking in with a slooooooppy slurp. The kind that leaves your ears ringing and your mouth dropping with each scouring inch he eases in.

Your eyes roll to the back of your skull at the feeling of his tender girth poking your insides. “O-oh my god.” Bucking your hips even deeper into his touch- “How does it feel so good already?”

“Oh, is that so–?” Nanami’s blond lashes flutter in amusement, “But you haven’t felt anything yet, my lady. Won’t you just raise your hips for me-” He guides you, and you’re squirming down his lengthy digits. “-yes, yes. Just like that, keep taking it all, alright?”

“I am I am-” Sobbing.

And you don’t know where you’re bawling more from - your swollen lips on your face, or the ones down below. The ones that he was striking viciously with his mountainous knuckles, every time he thrusted to let the long, solid inches of his finger delve inside.

Inside and inside.

Pushin’ in- he was just so eager to plunge himself inside.

Until the very forefront of his knuckles smacked your pussylips, and Nanami’s ruthlessly pressing his ring finger against your outer cunt. Smooch-smooch-smooching the very round tip of his ring finger against your pulsing clit, until he’s trying to fit that inside, too.

“Easy does it.” Nanami hisses, blond brows furrowing. Beads of sweat start decorating his forehead as he concentrates. “Easy- eeeeeasy. You can take it, my lady.”

And if you thought that the stretch of one of his fingers was enough to drive you wild, then you weren’t ready for two. “Oh my- fuck. You’re so mean.” You whine, holding onto his other gloved hand. Nanami has his fingers romantically intertwined with yours, and you were just clawing at his wrist there. 

The demon raises a brow - devilish. “Would you like me to stop?”

“No!” You rush to blurt out, your hips startin’ to gyrate. It took you a few vulgar strokes to get used to the size of him stretchin’ out your tiniest hidden nooks and crannies open - you swear that Nanami’s fingers were larger than normal. Scouring oh-so-deeply inside. “No no no- keep going. Ngh, you’re a-almost there.”

“Mmm, am I?” His lip curls, “And I wonder if ah- ‘there’ would feel even better with three fingers, hm?”

“O-oh…”

“That’s all you have to say, madam?” Nanami genuinely questions, though there’s a certain waver in his voice that lets you know he was teasing you. He was making your honeyed cunt grow even wetter with how Nanami Kento, of all beings, was being mean to you.

And with a few more slashing strokes, he’s fully opened up the clingy channel of your walls- fuck, he couldn’t even reel his two fingers back without your needy pussy trying to gulp him back up again.

Then with a sudden, soaked squelch you’re feeling a third of his fingertips kiss your tight hole. Tapping just a few times before he instantly presses down on your clit and makes you gasp- “Oh, fuck.”

The perfect moment for Nanami to shove his extended digit inside. All three of them expanding and contracting, scissoring a few times to engrave the crowned edges of his fingers against your most tender spots. “There-” Nanami hisses, between clenched teeth. “There there there-”

You’re suddenly seeing white- why? 

Because on that fourth bludgeon of his, Nanami’s easily locating your g-spot to pummel.

“-you’re taking it all so well, my lady. S’like you’re made f’me…heh.” 

“Shit-” Only blubbering and panting, he’s hittin’ your favorite spot so hard that your vision starts to blue - and you don’t know whether it’s because of tears or the sheer amount of white-hot pleasure that he’s making run through your body. “Shit shit shit shit- oh. Right there, keep going, Kento.”

Yet another smack! to that gooey bundle of nerves—“Ohhh, how I love when you call me that, madam.” Hard.

Push after push after push, and he’s spreading his prying tips so open- letting the doughy edges catch on the crevices of your g-spot. Meanly caressing. 

Even though he’s speeding up, slick dripping down the sides of his overworking wrists like a faucet, you don’t think he misses that lewd target of his even a single time. Push after push after push. Dizzy with the force, you look up n’ find that Nanami’s slitted pupils were glowing.

He was using his demonic powers to perfectly angle the strikes of his fingerpads against your sweetest, sultriest spot. Stickin’ straight against your nerves, you had absolutely no chance of a breather when he was using some sort of x-ray vision to keep your pussy captive.

“Captive?” Nanami reads your thoughts, “Madam, I fear that this isn’t even- hah, half of my speed. Would you like me to accelerate?”

And he does.

And you’re feeling so much bliss at the moment that you can’t stop yourself from anchoring your feet onto the mattress and pushing off- unsure whether you wanted to help meet his cadence or run away—

“Ah ah, what an adorable feat.”

His husky baritone breaks through your hazy thoughts- and before you know it, Nanami’s free hand untangles from yours to grip the sides of your neck n’ tug you right back.

Slapping that cutely sensitive front of your pussy with his knuckles, the demon chuckles darkly as you squirm at the pleasure. “You don’t think you can run away from me, can you, my silly lady?” With a growl, he tightens his restraint on your throat and makes you wince at the lack of oxygen. “You can’t. You won’t.”

And with that, Nanami cranes his watering mouth down to kiss the insides of your thighs. Letting the syrupy-sweet sheen of your slick coat his chin, “I’ve waited for you for centuries, and I’ll wait for you centuries more. I’ll find you.” Tightening. “Don’t think of running, madam.”

“Won’t- won’t-” You squeal out, and through the blurry gaps of your vision you can see the way that Nanami’s salivating. The way that his lips edge towards your heated core, the way he looks like he’s starving the longer he stares down at your cunt. “But, Kento, I do have one request of you.”

He snaps his head up immediately, “Anything, madam.”

“Could you please, ngh-” Your lips wobble desperately as you utter, and Nanami listens enraptured to every word. “-please put your mouth on me?”

And the stern man - a demon, living for centuries, unphased as he waited for your soul to meet him again - lets his mouth drop into a heated ‘oh’ as he registers. As he lets your words throb all the way at his furious cock.

“As you wish, my lady.”

Then you’re feeling the scorching hot sensation of his breath cloud your inner thighs, slithering upwards just in time with his mouth. “As you wish-” Nanami whispers, more to himself - more like a mantra. 

“As you wish, as you wish, as you- mmm.” His mouth slips over the crevice of your cunt, and you’re feeling him perfectly slot his lips with your folds. He cracks his ravenous mouth open, “Allow me to- oh.”

Before immediately shutting himself up after the first candied taste of your cunt. 

He lets his slicked tongue squeeze inside, gulping. “F-forgive me for not finishing my sentence. What I meant was, allow me to-” You buck, shoving him nose-deep between your sultry pussylips. “-oh, fuck. Forgive me, you just have me so…”

And he can’t even finish his sentence like this.

Because every time he’s parting those stern lips of his to speak, yet another glittery wad of your slick slips between that greedy maw of his. Pooling at the back of his mouth like some puddle, he can’t fucking get enough of your sweet, sweet juices. “It’s just- the taste of you. Shit. My lady, and who has allowed you to taste this sinful?” He hums. Guttural.

“Mmm, I dunno. Maybe you should’ve found out earlier-” You say, coyly. And raise your hips up to let his strong, velvety tongue pry inside n’ out. Almost fighting his fingers for space inside.

“Maybe you should’ve appeared earli- oh, fuck.” Shit, did he love hearing your gorgeous voice in conversation. 

But if that meant breaking off his prolonged, open-mouthed kiss with your pussy then he wasn’t wasting any time. He was just slathering his maw widely agape, the flat tastebuds on top of his tongue moving back and forth and all over.

And spearheading just his honed tip inside, the crowned girth of his tongue snakes all the way to your innards. Jostling his own fingers-

You gasp when that only makes him skid his fingertips against your g-spot even further. 

“I promise, I’ll be able to finish my sentences-” Nanami seethes. “-promise I’ll be able to, just with another- mmm, just another taste-” And his tongue lavishly licks up and down your slit. “-and another- oh, maybe one more-”

Again and again.

He’s trying to control himself but he can’t.

His sizzlin’ hot tastebuds probe their way inside, before ultimately pulling out and resting against your clit. Nanami counts your throbbing pulse one-two-three-four times before he starts fucking you with it again.

All three of his digits and his tongue. Swirlin’ in dizzying patterns around and around and drawing a cute heart on top of your nub. Followed right up by his silvery initials—‘N.K.’

You’re shivering, curling the tips of your toes as the fatness of his tongue rolls over your clit. Again and again. And his fingers are just merciless- digging three slender circumferences against the side of your walls, feeling that if he could thrust even deeper to hit the side of your cervix then he would have ages ago. In fact…

“Wh-what are you-” You jump your upper half off of the springy sheets - it was as if your wet dream was coming to life. Nanami was elongating the tendrils of his fingers with supernatural powers, slipping every thorough inch even deeper. “Oh my god- ngh, now that’s just unfair-”

“And yet, I’m not the one that thought of it.” He snickers, plunging his digits further. And further and further. 

So deep, in fact, that you think you can feel his slimy, slick-glazed tips all the way near the back of your throat. Stabbing in thorough thrashes, you huff. “And yet- who’s the one that’s, mmm, pussydrunk, hm?”

“No- no no no, I’m not pussydrunk, madam.” Nanami insists, “Not at all. This is just a slight affliction that I- mmpf.”

You clench ‘round his fingers and that only makes him jerk his face even deeper- thank goodness he didn’t have to fucking breathe, because he was spending all his time swabbin’ away. Using the hand he still had on your throat, he pulls you in incredibly. “It’s not that m’pussydrunk—” Slurring his damn words. “-it’s just that…”

“Mhm—?”

You’re so wet by now that you begin to gush down his face. And Nanami didn’t have blood running through his veins, of course, but you should still feel his cheekbones burn with heat.

You’d made the centuries-old demon blush.

You’d made him gurgle on the slippery wads of your slick.

So completely pussydrunk that the thought of you realizing he was so- and taking your treacly cunt away made him glue his lips to your clit with a slight cry. A slight whimper—“D-don’t take this pretty pussy away from me.” His hand lifts off of your neck to hold onto your thighs, tugging. “Please?”

And as if to prove his point - to prove his desperation - the roverin’ tip of Nanami’s tongue moves even harder against your pussy.

Even faster.

And his scouring fingerpads probe in so deep that you throw your head back with a moan. Those wriggling tips filling up your every orifice, “Yes-” You weave your fingers into his unruly golden locks. “M’not gonna, Kento-” Gasping. “M’not gonna take myself away s-so you don’t have to- oh.”

“Thank you, my lady.” Just so rough with it. “Thank you- thank you- thank you-” 

You swear he’s bruising at the battered innards of your walls, and he’s leaving nail marks for daaaaays upon your thighs. Battling with his own lecherous fingers. Moving his lush tastebuds again and again and again-

“Thank you for lettin’ me taste such a sweet, sweet pussy, madam.” Nanami scorches out against your cunt, slobbering all down it. “Thank you for letting ‘er- ngh, cum all down my tongue.”

“C-cum?” You lift your dazed head at his pussydrunk babbling - only to find that it wasn’t just babbling, after all.

Because Nanami’s honed abilities meant that he could sense when the zapping fireworks at the pit of your stomach grew, he could fucking smell the honeyed fragrance of your cunt growing close. And, sure as day, with a few more vulgar strokes, you’re falling apart on his fingers and his mouth.

Your back arching you even closer against his nuzzlin’ nose, you cry out as your high zaps right through you. “It feels so good- oh, Kento. Oh my g-god.”

“Mmm, the opposite, my lady.” Nanami chuckles, fucking you through every peak of your high- you should have expected that he has a sixth sense for it. And with the soaring peaks of your orgasm, Nanami mazes his fingertips to directly hit your g-spot.

So good.

You’re drooling through your entire high stupidly, your eyes watering through the sensitive pangs of pleasure. Tuggin’ on Nanami’s clammy scalp to pull him in even deeper, and he was more than happy to let himself be moved. To be ridden.

Long, sloppy drag of his tongue making you arch your back. “Sh-shut up-” Mewling out, you let yourself be wrung dry of the waves of pleasure. 

“As you wish, madam.”

And he dutifully listens, there for only your euphoria. To which you respond by elongating your high by grinding down on his face—allll the way from the point of his handsome chin to the tip of his straight nose. “Shit-” You whimper, “Shit shit shit- never felt so good. Never felt like this.”

Nanami groans ‘round your clit, the vibrations sending you into a frenzy.

“M’serious-” You prattle out, your movements eventually slowing. That might just have been the best orgasm of your entire life - you were never going to be the same. “It just felt so good, Kento…wait, you’re not- ngh, done?”

He only shakes his head.

He only lets his slitherin’ tongue lap and lap at the teary crevice of your pussy.

With every lick, you’re feeling your body go into overdrive. Heat flaring. Heart racing. You absolutely thrash against the damp sheets of the bed as he continues- like you’d never even reached your high. 

Just plap after plap after plap of his knuckles against your tender outer pussy- and you start to wonder whether it doesn’t hurt for him. Whether his wrist doesn’t sting. Whether his mouth wasn’t swollen n’ rubbed raw on your drippin’ wet pussy, “Mmm, told me to shut up and make you feel good, didn’t you, madam?” You weren’t entirely sure that that was what you said, verbatim. 

Yet you’re too gone on his silvery tastebuds to bite back anything now. “Y-yes…?”

“And that’s exactly what m’doing.”

He’s overstimulating you even more. Thrusting his tongue between those sopping wet lips of yours to poke at your throbbing g-spot, you swear he’s able to elongate his wet muscle even further.

Slashing against your most tender spots-

“Sh-shit- but m’so sensitive.” Whining out, you half-heartedly attempt to tug him off of your pussy- but it was as if Nanami was plastered to your wettened lips. “I don’t even know if I can cum so soon again, Kento.”

He slightly raises his head - not enough to stop his drivelling mouth, of course - and raises a blond brow. “You don’t know, my lady?”

You shake your head.

“Well, there’s only one way to find out.”

And with that said, he’s fingering you to make a point. Staring at the writhing expressions on your face every time Nanami’s digits plunged inside, they hit the near-back of your pussy with such slurping sounds.

Hit after hit. Teasingly kissin’ against the throbbing spot of your nerves, and that’s when you can feel the fireworks start up again in the pit of your stomach once more-

And that’s when Nanami can sense it.

Smell it.

Taste it- fuck, it was as if you became even sweeter on his tongue any time you were nearing your high. And he doesn’t say a single word - doesn’t waste the time to - only thrashing and thrashing, he hits the bruised area of your g-spot and watches as you fall apart once more.

Pleasure zipping through your body.

Toes curling.

Tears were streaming down your cheeks, and your mattress was all but drenched with the moisture.

“Oh my god-” You’re all but limp by your second orgasm, letting it wrack your body mercilessly. “You were right-” Your breath hitches. “-ngh, m’cumming again, Kento. C-cumming—”

“Mmm, I know, madam.” Nanami grins, and you can feel it form against the tender folds of your pussy. Branding itself there. “I did that.”

He was mean.

You buck and you buck and you buck as he licks every crevice of your insides, and once he was done fucking you well n’ proper through your other high- the slicked tip of Nanami’s tongue slurps back in once again. As if to do it all over again.

He feels you clench ‘round him urgently, “A-again?” You ask, with a weepy tremble in your voice.

“Mmm, don’t think you can do it a third time?” Nanami gutturally groans out, “D’you wanna find- ngh, find out, hm?”

“Actually…” And he hangs onto your every word. 

Your jittery fingers intertwine with his polished hair, tugging. Continuing where you left off, “I was thinking that m’ready for something else.” He looks on in something that almost looks like disbelief - desperation. As if he couldn’t believe that these words were really spilling out of your mouth. “Wan’ your cock, Kento.”

And something in him seems to…snap.

“A-as you wish, my lady.”

He bows to you, right then and there.

In practically no time - though, to Nanami who’d been waiting for centuries, it only felt like centuries more - you’re being pushed back on the mattress until your head softly nudges the headboard. Nanami heaves himself up on the bed.

And you can’t help but notice that for someone who always looked so prim and put-together, he looked absolutely gone.

Hair sticking up in multiple angles. Eyes half-lidded and drunk. Slick dribbling down the sides of his mouth and down his prominent Adam’s apple. It drops from his fangs, which have now elongated. And lecherously down the front of his suit, which was a darker color than it usually was- drenched in heaps of your mess. In heaps of his mess. 

In quick, severe movements, Nanami takes his suit off. So fast and urgent that you can hear the whooshing sounds of the fabric attempting not to rip at the seams.

When it gets to his pants, your eyes drop down - it’s been a feast for the eyes with every layer that Nanami peeled away. First it revealed those broad, milky shoulders of his. Then it revealed his plush pecs, his ladder-like abs.

Until finally you were following the line of his sparse happy trail down to his thick, aching cock. And fuck- a few profanities leave your mouth, he was the biggest size you’ve ever seen. 

Just about nine inches (perhaps ten), with a plethora of winding veins that made it look as though he’d feel like he was twelve. A thick hilt. Ready balls. And the fat mushroom tip of his cock was glazed in a glittery topping of precum, pulsing primally as the cold air hit him. Dripping. 

“Anything you wish, my lady.”

Shivering at his serious tone of voice, you reach a hand up to your own collar-

Only to be halted in your tracks by an invisible force.

Nanami had one hand raised, his power surging. “Allow me.” He says, and with a harsh brush of his animalistic fingernails, he’s tearing your dress into shreds. Like butter under his touch. Easily falling apart. 

Your dress to your bra, they fall into tatters. And the only thing left is your slick-flooded panties that he scrapes a hand down to tear off, as well.

Before stopping- and seeming to think better of it- “Actually.” Nanami starts, “Keep them on.”

Oh, he was being filthy.

He was being mean.

And before your hazy brain can even register it, your legs are being flapped open. Kept firmly apart by two of his soft hands, feather-light, he pins them to the mattress and lets his slick cockhead slide juuuuust between your pussylips.

Back and forth, back and forth. The weight of his throbbing girth only makes you grow even wetter, and you’re gasping by the time he’s glazed himself up ‘nough to start pushing in.

“Now-” Nanami hisses, fangs grit. His heated body hunches over, and sweat beads down from his forehead to yours. The first feeling of your pussy clamping all ‘round his rock-hard length, and Nanami is a broken man. Slamming his hand down on the top of the mahogany headboard. “Now, madam, we’re gonna have to breathe, alright? Breathe with me now-”

You gasp- “Fuck- fuck, you’re so big-”

“Mhmmm—c’mon, my lady, breathe with me.” And though he was almost falling apart at the seams, he found the ability to string together coherent-enough sentences. Seething. “Breathe in. Breathe out. Breathe in–”

In and out. In and out.

Just like the way that plush, pinkish tip of his was swabbin’ repeatedly- he was pumping out half-ruts, just trying to fit himself inside your pussy.

Opening you up wiiiidely—

You try to follow along with what he says, “Fuck-” But the stretch of the first inch of his cock fitting in was incredible, he was molding his way inwards. Shaping out your snug channel, “But how am I supposed to when you feel like- hah- that-”

“Awww, difficult, hm?” Nanami coos, empathetically. You nod, all teary-eyed and pretty taking his elongated shaft that he can’t help but let himself swell just a lil’ wider. Thicker.

You’re taking this change in size with a moan.

And he ponders to himself for a few more strokes, getting used to the warmth of your cunt. Before humming like he’d just been struck with an epiphany- and soon enough, Nanami’s holding out his strong, vein-covered forearm in front of your line of vision.

Murmuring, “Then bite on it.”

Your eyes widen, “What?” But before you know it, you’re already making use of the demon’s sinful little solution - the next inch that he’s somehow mazing inside you, you’re sinking your teeth into the golden flesh of his forearm and taking it.

“Mmm, just like that.” He pants, squeeze-squeeze-squeeeezing his way past your puckered folds. The globular front of his cock kisses either side of your walls, pinpointing specks of pre everywhere his fingers had touched just moments earlier. “Take it- take it take it take it- sloooow and easy. You’re doing so well, my lady.”

Sensually, he’s managing to let your ravenous cunt swallow up his inches. 

And your sobs hitch after every stroke, it just felt like his fleshy tip was gracing your very lungs. You straddle his slim waist- tugging. “K-Kento…”

“Impatient, are we?” He raises a brow, “You have to take it easy, madam, if we want it to fit- breathe in. Breeeeathe in—”

And every time you did, he was shovelling in a few more inches. But the thing about Nanami Kento is that he made sure he tended to your every need; playfully rolling his thumb over your clit as he pumped himself into your hot core. 

Which meant that he took things slow, took things at a pace that your feverishly needy mind was being infuriated by.

Without warning (though, later on, you’re sure that he’d sensed it coming and simply let you), you lock your ankles around his hips and pull-pull-pull him in. 

And with that, his roverin’ wet shaft.

Bottoming out.

The headboard he’s holding onto cracks under the pressure.

You wanted him deep inside you. And Nanami can only respond by spitting out a line of swears that hits you in a scorching breeze, his face twisting into something of pure ecstasy. “O-oh.” Nanami’s voice stutters. Nanami’s voice cracks. “Ohhh, you shouldn’t have done that, my lady.”

And without further ado, he’s fucking you like a madman.

“Wanted to t-take it easy- you shouldn’t have done that-” He manages to spit out. Body shivering. His cock throbbing angrily right at the spongy platform of your cervix. “You r-really really…” Dazed, slightly, like his body was moving in water, he unhooks his palm from the now-splintered headboard. Then he throws those cute legs of yours over his deltoids.

Letting them lock firmly behind his sweaty neck, Nanami’s bending his ripped body doooooown. Folding you in half, too- you swear you’re hearing a few of your joints pop! 

And Nanami’s only hazily gliding his palm down your limbs, a soothing coldness overcoming them. No broken bones on his watch (even if his body was moving before his mind right now). So there’s no excuse for why you can’t bend in half for him. No excuse for why he can’t press his sticky forehead to yours and drill his hips even harder.

No excuse for the way that rotund tip of his scrapes your cervix with a rapid thud! thud! thud! The tender curve of his ballsack strikes the front of your pussy all raw—

Your mouth waters with the impact, “Y-you’re reaching in so deep, ngh.” But of course he was: he had you manhandled until the caps of your knees hit your tits.

“Mmm, just how you like it- hm?” Nanami chuckles, though there’s a certain pleading tone in his voice. Those drunken, honeypool eyes of his are boring straight into yours, and he memorizes even the slightest expressions you’re making at the massage of his puffy cock. “It feels good? Feels great? Makin’ this pussy feels so- oh, loooovely like she deserves?”

“Yes-” You’re gasping, your throat hoarse at the feeling of his zig-zagged veins that just kept intruding into your deepest hidden crevices. “Yes yes yes yes- yes-”

Somehow, he always managed to find the area that your drippin’ wet cunt needed him the most. Just straightly heading his wet tip towards that spot, and pressing a thorough smooch that made you damn near scream into his mouth.

And it’s then that a sudden thought hits you.

“Oh.”

“Oh?” Nanami echoes- fuck, you’d almost forgotten that he could read minds. And with those demonic powers of his, he was echoing out a certain cockdrunken idea that you had. “So you want to know whether I can use my extra vision to hit your g-spot with my, mmm, cock, huh?”

Restless, you nod.

“And you know what you need to- d-do to have me fulfill your wishes—right, madam?” Uttering out - stumbling though his words. 

Shit, even he was affected by the idea.

The ends of his tight fingertips shivering as you finally unfasten your mouth to ask- “C-can you please- ngh, use your powers to hit my g-spot, Kento?” And when you flutter those teary lashes of yours for effect?

Fuck, you might as well just call him a dead man (he was too far gone on your gushing cunt to register the fact that he, technically, wasn’t living).

Because with a sudden, concentrated surrender of his hips- Nanami perfectly angles the blushin’ red end of his shaft. That lil’ divot on the very end streamed out precum that made you splosh around from the inside, “Breathe in.” He rasps, thumb flitting down to press on your clit. “Breathe- out-”

“Oh- oh my–” More like you’re squealing out at the rough jab of his cockhead. The demon’s eyes activate into something glowing when he perfectly targets your needy g-spot.

Snickering. “Breathe in.”

You breathe in.

“Breathe-”

This time, he doesn’t even finish his damn sentence before letting the slit of his shaft snag your sweetest spot. You had so many cute, clingy ridges inside that he loves to stretch out with his sheer girth- and one of them was right by your g-spot that Nanami just kept rubbing and rubbing and rubbing all over.

Wadding out a mess of his precum until your walls likely looked like cobwebs from the inside- “You don’t know what you’re- hah, doing t’me, little mortal.” The fatness of his thumb rolls over your clit, making you see stars. “Have no idea. No- oh, have n-no idea.”

His free hand holds your quivering jaw, turning your face up to look at him and only him.

“You’ve made a demon fall in love with you, my lady. Tut tut.”

You’re squirming in his hold- he was losing control over his body. Unraveling at the seams. Rutting like an animal. Even the smooches of his hardened cock left your insides all bruised n’ battered, swat-swat-swat.

“And not only that—” Nanami continues, in his slightly breathy tone. You half-wondered whether he even knew what he was babbling away- “Oh- not quite, madam. I do apologize.” He answers your unspoken question.

Your breath catches - so he was pussydrunk enough to simply be prattling away. Unthinking.

The spit-slicked edges of his mouth gluing against yours, his tone was absolutely shattered as he mutters into your open maw. “But you’ve made me fall in love with your- your pussy, too.”

As if in response, your dampened cunt lets out some of the most lecherous noises. And you huff out a teasing giggle, “You’re talking as if this is your- mmm, first time, Kento—”

But Nanami doesn’t laugh.

Nanami doesn’t do anything but look at you so-very-seriously.

“W-wait-” Realization starts dawning on you, and you can feel your heartbeaten quicken as it sets in. “Don’t tell me…it really is your first time.” He grins…and nods. “And earlier with your mouth, too- was that-”

“But of course, madam.” The demon breathes, thoroughly ruined on your sweet, sweet pussy. “I did say that I have been waiting- mmm, centuries for you, no?”

Oh, shit.

If this was what he was like when he was inexperienced, then you almost feared to wonder just how good he’d be when he was experienced - with none other than you, you’re imagining. And as if to prove his point, he plunges and plunges his thickened shaft into you.

The plump circumference of his tip fitting against where he was causing your g-spot to indent—hollowing out with his rotund end.

In time with each of his thrusts, Nanami’s fingers pinch your perky clit. You were throbbing with need for him, and his mean thumb drew out so many things right on top of where you were most sensitive.

Swirls n’ hearts n’ his initials.

You could feel the branding of his name stinging against your core, each movement of his fingerpads creating the sloppiest slurps. “Oh, please-” Whimpering, you rut against his glissading abs. “Please please please please-”

“You can’t just say ‘please’ with no- mmm, command.” He chuckles to himself, as if you were the cutest thing in the world. “You have to tell me what you want. Your wish is my command.”

“I want you…”

“Yes—?”

And to utter these very words, you’re dragging him in closer. Touch burning. His breath laborious. You’re pulling Nanami in reeeeeal close and letting his straight nosebridge graze yours, lips tenderly touching yours. “Will you be cumming inside, Kento?”

He nuzzles the crook of your neck, “I shall do so as you wish. But first, don’t you know that you must give a demon permission to- take- a part of you?”

“So you can’t cum inside until I say the word?” You blink, a strange zap of power running through your body.

“That is so, madam.”

And oh- he’s pounding you into the aged bedsprings like he was trying to pound the words out of you. Thumb becoming frenzied on your clit, simply driving you wild. “I see- I- oh, ngh- I see-” A smirk stretches your lips, “And do you want to cum inside, Kento?”

“Not if you don’t wish for me to-” But just then, your cutely heart-shaped insides clench—and Nanami’s cutting himself off with a few rough swears. “Oh, f-fuck- yes.”

As you try to catch your breath, he’s completely losing his.

Again and again and again.

The lines of his veins throb n’ plaster against every ridge inside your velvety walls- “Yes, I do-” From the back of his throat, constant groans wrench. “I do I do I- do-” And each one was punctuated with the most probing jackhammers of his. “Oh, how badly I want to cum inside you.”

Before you can respond, his free hand drags down the front of your stomach. And he rests it easily where that lil’ bulge of his cockhead was thudding into your cervix.

“I need it. I desire it- I desire to stuff you full of my cum right h-here.” And then he presses down to put force on where his cylindrical length was tunneling. “I desire to see you all swollen with my seed, having taken so much that it has no place to go other than to drip onto the sheets.”

You’re squealing, feeling the world spin around you. “Oh- fuck. Please, m’not gonna last long-”

“I desire to feel every wad of cum of mine as I fuck you.” He gruffs out, “I desire to bind you to me forever-” Nanami leans in closer, as if he was whispering a secret to you. “-to let myself be truly yours. For eternity, this time.”

Sounding so pained.

“Let me cum inside, my lady-” He begs now. “I-inside. Let me cum inside, let me cum inside- please.”

“Yes- yes, I want it.” You crash your lips against his, feeling his fangs nip against your lower lip. “You can cum inside, Kento.”

And then with a final few thrusts, you’re exploding into your high.

So powerful that it results in your eyes clenching shut, white behind your vision. Back arching into his chest. You could hear the thundering of your pulse in your eardrums, right along with the husky, attractive groan of your name that Nanami lets off before he, too, finishes.

And you’re feeling it before you’re registering it.

That sultry splash! of something hot and wadded hitting the back of your pussy. It trickles all the way in lines down your cervix, and then ends up overflowing in your snug channel. 

“Oh- oh, you’re really taking it.” Nanami’s hand presses down on your front, eyes activating. “Look at you—swallowing up every single drop. This pretty pussy of yours was- ngh, hungry, hm?”

“Shit, you’re so filthy.” You whine, clawing down his muscular back. And Nanami Kento only smiles like he knew it was true.

After all, he was feeling everything that he’d described earlier - the sploshing of webbed-up seed inside you, the way it glissaded down his shaft. Every line of his veins was coated in ivory sap, and the demon was fucking in each gluey wad inside you.

Your own high is overtaken by his - and you don’t know what else you expected: Nanami was cumming like he hadn’t in centuries.

Just bucketloads of cum that left your mind all stupidly hazy. With each quiver of your own pleasure, you could feel the clingy mess slipping out of your hole. It created this intricate white ring ‘round Nanami’s hilt that he’s thumbing away with a smile.

Pushing dooooooown- “S’taken.” Nanami breathes, somewhat in awe as he gazed down adoringly at where your womb was. With those powerful eyes of his. “Fuck yes, s’taken, my lady. I’m so proud of you.”

“You mean…?”

“Yes.”

“F-fuck.”

He watches as that white hot mess dribbles down his fingerpads, and he says—“Stick out your tongue, madam?”

Slightly befuddled in the aftermath of your high - nothing more than a few sensitive twinges at the pit of your stomach by now, oh, he’d dragged it out so perfectly with his ready cock - you do as he says. And in a few sultry seconds, Nanami has his cum-glazed thumb sticking in his own mouth. Said mouth of his edging even closer to yours to spit.

And then he kisses you fully.

You moan, shocked by his sinful, sinful antics.

And it’s only then that you start to feel a strange rush go down your skin. It’s only then that you feel atoms stop in attention around your body, where yours met his.

So caught up in the feeling, you barely even notice when Nanami finishes riding out his own high. Each n’ every ounce of his sap pushed thoroughly into your deepest innards. And he was so proud of it- no, you’re too caught up in the fact that you knew that.

In that fact that you knew he was proud.

You could sense it.

You could remember it: fragments of a time spent in this very mansion, that didn’t include the last few days. A flourishing garden where you stole kisses. Pale blond hair in the darkness of this very bedroom. The screams of the scullery as they found out. Blood. A new life. You remembered it - not all, it came to you slowly.

With a gasp, you’re pulling back to look at your hands; they looked as normal as always, except for a strange tingle of…something that left you feeling like you could smash this very bed frame if you tried to.

Wait- you turn your head to the mirror on the wall, only to find that…nothing was there. Nothing but the room, in all its emptiness.

For mirrors don’t reflect demons.

“You’ve made me a-” You gulp, and he purrs in affirmation. “-a demon.”

“I’ve contracted us for life, my lady.” Nanami responds, “Look here.”

He taps his index down on the spot where his palm had been plastered mere moments ago, where he was feeling for his cum sprayin’ out into your womb. And as you look down, you can see that your skin was emblazoned with a glowing purple mark of supernatural sorts. Swirling spirals and hearts: you were branded.

“And here.”

You raise your eyes to where Nanami had stuck his tongue out now- and there it was. A matching tattoo (symbol? Branding?) that matched the one you had, right in the middle of his tastebuds.

Two peas in a pod.

Two demons in a mansion.

You could feel the exact moment that Nanami’s cock throbbed at the fact that you were growing even wetter at the notion - a soul that was formerly yours, shared now, for eternity. And you’d spend it all with this handsome man, in a mansion that would never crumble.

“I can smell it on you—” Nanami snarls, canines showing as his lips twist into a feral snarl. He gives another squelching thrust, “We’re going to have a looooong few centuries to make up for, my lady. Mistress of the house.”

.

.

.

“Chapter 22: Fables From the Shadows - Nanami Mansion. (Cont’d)

And yet, the tale of the scorned heir is only one theory seeking to explain the existence of this deeply demonic yet tragic figure of Nanami Kento.

I think you will find, dear reader, that this author in particular is quite inclined to believe a much lesser-known theory. It is one slightly less blood-curdling, though with no less a flare of drama: the theory of the scorned lover.

Though most records of interviews with the original servants that served the Nanami Mansions have been lost to time, what few have been procured did speak of what has been aforementioned in this chapter. Yet, it is in the footnotes that the most jarring pieces of information start to reveal themselves.

They speak of a rather different character to the demon, Nanami Kento. A demonic yet agreeable character: sharp, sensible, no less human (or at least acted so) than the other humans that it worked alongside, keeping the mansion shining like a crown jewel.

And perhaps most representative of the demon’s humanity of all, was the way in which he fell - and quite hopelessly, it is said by one worker - for the daughter of the mansion’s master. Her name— And her wits, her laugh, her kindness seemed to have enraptured this demon. And it makes us think that, perhaps, even the most hellish creatures of all are asinine in the face of love.

Love makes a fool of us all.

And yet, there is a reason that demons do not fall in love.

For once this secret dalliance was discovered by the household, it is said that the master was enraged - till one could not tell the difference between human and demon. In the owner’s fitful anger, some say that the dishonored daughter was made a sacrifice of, others justify that she was discarded from the mansion, never to be seen again.

Whatever the result of misplaced love (perhaps it was not misplaced, after all, who are we, as mortals, to judge?), the demon had lost her.

And that loss manifested into grief, that grief manifested into anger. The once-proud stone pathway to the Nanami Mansions painted itself red, and it has not had a master since.

They say that Nanami Kento still roams the empty halls, and keeps the house a home, in wait of his lost lover. 

As for the fate of them, only time will tell. 

Do you believe in reincarnation, o’ mortal? For, demons certainly do. And if a soulless being could not love a mortal centuries ago, perhaps there is hope that her soul may find him once more. Whether by accident, or by chance, or by fate altogether. Demons always are quite stubborn.

And perhaps, this time, they may love one another as two souls who have ever loved one another should. As one. 

This author, in particular, chooses to believe that their souls are already one. For there is a home for every lost soul, doors and arms wide open.”

—Of Demons and Servitude: The Hellish Agelong Contracts That Surpass Love by Sebastian Michaelis.

A/N. Was technically supposed to be posted last month but ah-

Plagiarism not authorized.

[imyourightnow]

This was fucking beautiful 😭 they’re so cuteee!!!!

[hellowoolf]

it will come back

synopsis: there is no doubt that mr. geto is an exceptional dancer, and a kind instructor. you have no doubt, either, that the perverse, voracious need you have for him is unrequited. of course, he calls you little dove and watches you dance low-lidded and teases you with innuendo, but surely he doesn't mean it...right?

pairing: ballet instructor!geto x ballerina!reader

tags: fluff, crazy yearning, reader can be cheeky, smut, unprotected piv, creampie (oops), semi-public sex...sort of?, dry humping, fingering, guided masturbation, mutual masturbation, dirty talk, suguru gets possessive, jealous suguru >:), floor sex...ok? quite literally doing splits on the d...ok? toji cameo...ok?

wc: 7k

a/n: it's been so long since i've posted a full length fic! i'm sorry and i love you all and please open your holes to me so i may place this fic there

18+! mdni <3

masterlist

~~~~~~~

mr. geto is nothing like the instructors you despised as a teen. 

you can remember walking to your car after your first lesson with him and pressing your forefinger to the tender crest of your ear, marvelling at the lack of ringing there. you were used to shrill yelling, to the echo of it against the mirror and back again, to higher and stretch and reach bellowed into your bones.

but mr. geto, it seems, is exceptionally thoughtful about how his sound carries, speaking only as loud as necessary to be heard by the furthest dancer from him. the register of his voice makes the floor thrum and your knees twitch and he seems to notice these things, take stock of them, adjust. 

he does not use his hands, either.

all other ballet instructors at your company use their fingers to adjust the body, to create the proper lines. you are completely familiar with fingertips in the crease of your knee, along the slope of your navicular, down your spine: it is not uncomfortable, not anymore, and it is in service of this art you have devoted your life to. you don’t mind. and in the dead of night when your duvet feels heavy over your waist and thighs you think that you wouldn’t mind, in particular, if he used his fingers to adjust your body. 

but he simply…doesn’t. he uses the shapes of himself, his own arms and torso, the extension of his own legs, to compose his requests of his dancers. higher, stretch, reach, he murmurs to the group of you, extending himself into position and showing you.

and a part of you likes that a great deal; there is no sense of injustice with him, no upset that he is asking something of you that he cannot himself achieve. you and the rest of the dancers watch as his twists and bows, displaying himself to guide through the moves, and it’s such a striking thing to behold that you can’t bring yourself to mind.

still, his beauty is the hardest part of being his student. the cording of his muscles, the sleek ink of his hair, the lithe curvature of his movements, it’s torturous. all at once you want to dance as he does, want to make your audience feel as he makes you feel, want him to shed himself of all professionalism and touch you somewhere irrevocable. you feel terrible and silly wanting it, wanting him, but there’s no helping it, you think.

and anyway, you insist that this wanting you indulge in in the dark isn’t dangerous. there is no oxygen for it in the studio, nothing to nurture your fantasies, and so you have to believe that they will wither and die with time. 

of course, while you tie the ribbons of your pointe shoes around your ankles in the empty studio, you pray this fantasy death will happen sooner rather than later. it’s completely exhausting to be so constantly wondering what his cock feels like, and mr. geto likes to remind you that exhausted is no state to dance in.

you love arriving to the studio early like this. before the room is overtaken with the smell of sweat and resin, you can breathe in the marley flooring and stretch your legs wide, grateful. you seek out lonely moments to appreciate how rare it is that you’ve succeeded in ballet enough to make a living from it; you close your eyes and get overdramatically philosophical, and it’s a privilege. you love it.

and yes, fine, it secures mr. geto’s first five minutes in the studio for yourself. this cannot be helping your attempt to suffocate your wanting, you know, but then he’s walking through the door draped in fine linen and hair pulled messy to the crown of his head, and you go boneless.

“good morning, dove,” he calls over his shoulder, turned away from you as he sets his things down.

you don’t remember when he started calling you that, and you don’t know if he uses it with other dancers, but god how can you blame yourself for getting sticky for him when he addresses you that way?

“good morning, mr. geto,” you call back, trying to sound lazy with the dawn as you continue stretching. you watch your fingers splayed on the floor, the borders of each vinyl panel, anything other than his strides towards his seat at the front of the room.

he plops rather unceremoniously down, legs spread slightly and head tipped back as he groans something truly criminal. you can feel something hot and biting between your legs but you try to ignore it, looking up at him.

“exhausted is no state to dance in,” you say with a smile.

he does not lift his head—you wonder if he wants to cause you pain by forcing you to watch the curved tilt of his throat and jaw—but you can see from the movement of his cheeks that he is smiling a little.

“i’m not dancing, dove, you are.”

you roll onto your back and starfish out, sufficiently limber. “what sort of terror will rain down on us today?”

he does look down at you then, lip still curved enough to look like a smirk, and when his head tilts just slightly you die a little death. “terror? i’m never terrible, i know i’m not.” his fingers make a soft sound against his thigh as he taps on it mindlessly. “you’ll like the combos today.”

you can’t help but bark a little laugh. “you don’t mean that. that’s something you only say when they’re hard.”

a chuckle pushes out through his nose. “yes, i know.” and then, matter-of-factly, he adds, “you like it hard.”

and god you try not to draw attention to the innuendo in that comment. just as he says it the doors are pushed open with a low thunk and the rest of the dancers come filtering in, and so you have every possible opportunity to be normal and professional and not silly and terrible, but you are a silly and terrible woman, so your chest stutters on your next breath. and he watches. 

you choose to believe, for your health and happiness, that he still couldn’t quite discern what your reaction was, or why it would have happened. but you cannot deny the fleeting scent of smugness on him, or the way his jaw twitches when his eyes flit to you between greeting your colleagues. 

he must be, you decide as you come to take your place at the barre, a cruel and unusual man who has recognized your unrequited lust and wants to punish you for it. 

yes, that must be it, you assure yourself. 

the rest of class is excruciating. all the typical torment of watching the man whose bones you are so desperate to jump contort himself into beautiful shapes is mounted further by the way he watched you this morning, the way his head dropped to the side just so to see you fluster for a moment. 

you try to channel it into the combos. as you travel across the room, you work to carve the feeling from your chest and toss it outwards, anywhere else. your legs burn with your leaping and turning but you push harder, hoping you’ll reach some critical point at which the physical soreness of your muscles eclipses the fluttering behind your navel, but you can’t quite catch it. and every time you hope you might be close, you feel your fingertips just grazing a moment of forgetting, you catch his eye again, and something hungry pulses in your stomach.

you probably need to get fucked. you definitely need to get fucked, actually, because you’ll ruin all your leotards if this continues. 

sweat shines down your body by the time class is finally, mercifully over, and the plan has already solidified then. you’ll go out tonight, you’ll get well and sufficiently railed, and at long last you will be able to address your fucking ballet instructor properly. 

even collecting your bag from the floor makes your muscles scream. your steps drag as you shuffle about, removing your pointe shoes and slinging your purse over your shoulder in the waning light of the day. 

“was that your attempt at proving me wrong?”

you straighten, inhaling sharply. when you look over your shoulder, it’s only you and mr. geto in the studio again. he’s standing in the threshold now, body leaned against the door as he watches you finish packing. 

fuck.

normally you might relish this sort of attention from him, but at this point you feel overfilled with the smoke of your desperation and you need to breathe. you need to go to the club and release some of this pent up sexual energy. you need to get out before you spread your legs for him in front of the fucking mirror. 

you try to laugh lightly, but it sounds tired and reedy. “yeah, i guess not.” shrugging a little, you add, “couldn’t help it.” and you tried to use that tone of voice one uses when a conversation is over, for the first time since meeting him hoping he simply turns and leaves, but he stays static there, watching you.

you flounder, looking for anything else to say. you want to lighten the tension that’s pulling your hips towards him, so you put on a wry smile. “i’ll try less tomorrow.”

that makes him chuckle as he brings a hand up to massage one shoulder. inevitably you think of how it might feel under your fingers, how it might tense if you were riding him and he was using that arm to lift and drop you on his—

“i do have one note for you, actually,” he murmurs, and you try to mask the horror on your face as he begins walking towards you. “show me your grand adage from the last combo.”

you hesitate a moment, clutching your purse tightly with one arm and opening your diaphragm so he doesn’t see your lungs constrict. this is normal, you remind yourself, he is being a normal instructor.

and it’s true, this is normal, but he has abnormal sex appeal and you are abnormally tightly wound and and he has never adjusted you with his hands before. this is a terrible, horrible, grotesque idea, but what are you supposed to say? no?

you drop your things slowly at your feet, tracking the sweeping of his eyes along your movements. with your hands empty again you stand still a moment, surely looking as bewildered as you feel, but he nods slightly: go ahead. 

you steady the soft tremble of your fingers as you extend your arms outwards, aligning your spine as your leg extends behind you. your core engages to keep your hips from tilting upwards, chin high to create a sloping line from your neck and down your torso. even though you do not—cannot—look mr. geto in the eyes you can feel him watching, your muscles twitch when he assesses them, fluttering like little birds under your skin.

“yes, that’s it,” he says, low, behind his teeth. he begins to walk around you, and if you didn’t know any better you’d think he was trying to make you feel predated. 

two things happen at once. you realize—and the weight of it nearly buckles your knees and takes you through the floor of the studio—that he is not going to show you want he wants by doing it at precisely the moment one long finger brushes the under side of your thigh. there isn’t even anything promiscuous about where he grazes the fingerpad, but nevertheless you feel like an open wound, a nerve, only barely restraining a full body shudder at the feeling. what the fuck is he doing?

“you can lift this higher.”

you’re almost thankful that you scoff on instinct; it makes you sound less affected by this than you are. “i’m—i’m trying, but–”

and then you really do shudder, hot and tacky from the nexus of your legs as his hand grips your thigh in full, pulling it a centimeter higher and watching your body absorb the movement to balance. your breaths puff sharp and you can’t even attempt to stop them now.

his voice is no louder than a whisper but there’s no breath in it, all timbre and sound. “there, dove. hold that.” his hand pulls away torturously slow, and at such an angle that you feel the point of each fingertip as his palm falls away. you hope he’s spontaneously blinded so he can’t see the goosebumps erupting down your arms, but instead he leans an inch closer to you, close enough that you can feel the warmth of him, watching you strain to keep the position from just behind your shoulder.

“it makes it harder if you hold your breath.” you can hear the twitch of his lips in that and it makes it no easier for you to take in air, but you pull a trembling gulp of air in anyways. to please him, you suppose, because apparently that’s all you’re capable of doing.

he hums in approval, “that’s good enough, dove, thank you.” 

and no sooner do the words leave his lips are you dropping your leg and fleeing out the door, only barely remembering your bag.

~~~~~~~

you’re learning that your desperation for your ballet instructor is an exceptionally powerful tool.

earlier today, you pushed your body beyond its limit in the name of exorcising yourself of the curse of him. you were an outward force then, expanding and swelling and trying to expel the dark sweetness between your thighs.

now, haunting the neon shadows of this club in your highest, most painful heels, you think your desperation has a scent. you can’t remember ever being looked at in this way; from across the dance floor and behind the bar and in a far away corner, you catch men’s glances, all of them wolfish and interested. they can tell you need to be fucked, immediately.

you select the largest specimen you can find; a hulking mountain of a creature with a scar down one side of his mouth. he’s not quite handsome in the way suguru is handsome, it’s a louder, more insistent sort of attractiveness, but nonetheless you eye fuck him until he approaches you, knowing his weight will feel nice enough from behind.

he grabs at your side when he arrives in front of you, sliding a paw down your lower back. “come dance with me,” he rasps into your ear, and while normally you’d ask for the decency of exchanging names, tonight you’re sold.

you laugh as he tugs you into the fray, a throng of bodies pressed close and tacky with sweat. there’s a strange relief as he settles behind you, strobes flaring in your vision and his thick fingers around your waist. you can already feel how this ends, something sloppy and vaguely grotesque but you don’t even mind, you’re so coiled and greedy for this man you cannot have.

the music pulls you together and he grinds with you in time with it, pulling your ass against his jeans and twisting your hips back and forth. 

he runs his nose down the slope of your neck, feeling how pliant your limbs move for him. “you’re flexible, huh?”

with your head tilted back against his shoulder he brings one hand slowly up the front of your body, grasping loosely at your neck. you grin and nod into it, letting your eyes go hazy as you look up at the rigged lights and the rising fog.

you’re fucking soaked. you really would just like it if he’d bully his cock into you here in the middle of the dance floor so you can finally think straight, and you’re considering pulling him into the bathroom to do something truly indefensible against the dirty basin of a sink, but you feel his tendons tense around your throat and it makes you tilt your chin back down on instinct.

into your ear he asks, almost amused by what he’s seeing, “d’you know him?”

your heart sinks. 

whatever buoy you had wrestled between your arms was dissolving back into salt water, you’re slipping, you’re frantic, you’re looking across the dance floor and fucking suguru geto is there.

his hair is down and silky over his shoulders, which pull a white t shirt taut across the planes of his chest. you can see, even from here, the shadows of lean muscle, his body’s capacity for dance. the sleeves of his shirt are short enough that you can see, for the first time, the head of a snake tattoo peeking just below the hem. 

fuck.

and no wonder your enormous dance partner figured you knew each other; the way he’s looking at you is lethal, a sharp slice of a stare from across the room, a pointed watching. his lips twitch when he sees you notice him, something conspiratorial and entirely his own there. it looks as though he’s holding a live animal in his mouth, sly and coy and biting down on a moving thing behind his tongue. a single, sinewy hand lifts from his side and he waves.

fuck fuck fuck.

in a fleeting out-of-body event, you can appreciate the hilarity of this moment. it pulls a sound from your throat, almost a laugh, almost a scoff, too, and you stumble slightly out of the hold of the man behind you. “i—well, yeah, actually.” you have no idea what look you’re wearing, but when you turn to face your dance partner, it makes him chuckle under his breath. 

“you uh,” he scratches at his scar with his thumb, “you wanna go over there?” 

he’s teasing you—this much is obvious to you—and so much of you is desperate to tell him no, i’d like to stay right here, and grip to the veins of his forearms and let him take you home. but then you think of mr. geto’s hands along your thigh as he adjusted it and it’s almost like he has you between his fingers again, towing you towards him. 

“i–i’m sorry, i just think i should go and–” you gesticulate behind you, vaguely, reaching for something dignified to say, “and say hi.” a failure of the highest order.

the man in front of you laughs again, deep and from his stomach this time. he’s already tilting his body away from you, already letting you go, already sensing that the smell of your pussy was meant for the long-haired figure a few feet away. “you go right ahead, ma,” you think if he wasn’t so huge a person, his laughing would sound like giggling, “i’ll be fine.”

the sight of him slipping away from you makes you nauseous. you’re watching your own failure, all six feet and four inches of him, dissipating again into the sea of people, already under the manicured fingers of other women who aren’t waiting to arch for someone who essentially equates to their boss.

but there’s something secret and sweet to watching him go, too. standing resigned on the dance floor, accepting whatever honeyed trap fate has set for you, you can unburden yourself from this taxing process of trying so hard not to embarrass yourself. yes, you think, i will simply embarrass myself, and maybe whatever follows won’t feel so excruciatingly painful. 

geto watches you carefully as you slink to his table. he keeps the muscles in his face slack, neutral enough to obscure the meaning from his expression, but the faint pull of his jaw reminds you of this morning, of after class. despite yourself, you align your body properly as you take the six odd steps to stand at his feet, extending your legs the way you know he’d want in the light of day. 

he smells like musk and something botanical when you get close enough. you hope you don’t smell like your own slick. 

“it was sort of deja vu, watching that,” he begins. even under the beating of the music he refuses to shout, voice unfurling from behind his lips and just barely reaching your ears.

you wrinkle your nose a little. “how do you mean?”

the ice in his drink chimes with a flick of his wrist. “watching you dance.”

you tilt your head back and forth, feigning some sort of consideration. “no, i think this might be different.”

he’s smiling enough now that you can almost see his teeth. the part of you that is desperate to be cautious screeches that he’s playing with you, he doesn’t want you, but with each tip of your skull you can feel that voice liquifying. you hope it slips out your ear.

“how so?” he asks.

you do your best to keep a straight face. “well, for one, i don’t want your notes.”

he looks almost joyful to spit this back at you: “oh i have a few, actually.”

your laugh is too breathy and real to truly hear it against the ambient noise of the room, but he tracks it anyway, swishes his ice again. “you’re unqualified, unfortunately. this type of dancing isn’t your expertise, mr. geto—”

“suguru,” he interjects. “suguru here.”

your thighs twitch, almost stinging with need now, but you steady yourself with a breath, humming, “okay, suguru, this type of dancing isn’t your expertise. i only accept edits from experts.”

“i might surprise you, dove.”

you run your tongue along the front of your teeth. he’s asking you to play, you think, and so you raise your eyebrows and tilt your chin the way he does when he wants you to begin.

“well,” he takes a fraction of a step towards you and you match it backwards, pushed by the heat of him and the smell of his cologne, “i think you moved a little too quickly.”

you’re moving entirely in tandem now, him forward and you back, all the way until your head bumps a wall. cornered like this, he eclipses almost your entire line of sight, a vignette of dark hair.

“the part when you tilt your head back here,” and he gestures to his shoulder, “that’s the best part. you fell straight into it.”

something shudders up your legs and you squeeze them together, desperate for a moment of anything against the swelling button between them.

“they need to wait longer for it. makes it better.”

his smirk is slowly fading, something more intimate making space for itself across his mouth. if he recognizes the irony of this, he doesn’t show it, demanding simply: “show me.”

you have half a mind to gape at him, at what he’s offering, but instead you turn—stupid, whorish thing—as he asked, pressing yourself slowly to him. when your ass bumps against his pelvis he groans low. he’s rock hard against you, and a gasp moves up your windpipe but he has his free hand on your chin first, forcing your head back to his shoulder.

contorted like this, his nose grazes your cheek, his breath filtered into your ear. you whine, feline and soft, and he hums in return.

“yeah, it’s good, huh?” and he ruts his hips slightly into yours to emphasize his point, nosing your cheekbone. “so you have to start somewhere else.”

the hand on your chin falls away, moving to the small of your back where it bends back for him. he pushes his thumb to your spine, and then the rest of his palm, bending you forward at the waist. your hands come up to brace on the wall and you let your forehead fall there, too, letting the cool concrete tether you to whatever sanity you have left.

he exhales like veneered restraint watching you tilt, feeling the extra push of your thighs against his cock twitching in his pants. “yes, dove, like that.” he grinds against you in earnest then, dragging the clothed shaft of him over the globes of your ass. “he should work for it a little.”

he pushes again and you moan fully. it leaps from the wall to his ears and it earns you another drag, his fingers bruising against your waist.

“and then,” his composure is dwindling, you can hear it, and he ruts again, “once he’s worked up,” he drags the hand at your hip up your side, around your front, between your breasts to arch you back to him again. your back bows taut and impossible to meet him, head falling immediately to his shoulder this time, eyes squeezed shut. you wonder if your slick is running down your legs now, or if it’s still pooled in your panties. he finishes into your ear,  “then you come up here.”

you wiggle your hips against him, needy, and he grunts. “what did he say to you?” he grits out.

your capacity to think is low, practically panting like he’s already inside you. “huh?”

“when he had you here, he said something that made you laugh, i wanna know what it was.” with his hand fanned across your stomach he can pull you tight against his thrusts.

“h-he, he said i—fuck suguru, i-”

“come on, little dove,” he coos.

your eyes flutter open to find him watching you, purple eyes skidding across your skin. “he said i was flexible,” you huff.

he smiles like he’s going to eat you. “oh yeah? and did you tell him it’s because your mr. geto stretches you?”

your fists bunch and pull against the wall. you’re certain he can feel you clenching through your dress. your mr. geto, jesus. “n-no,” you breathe.

“oh, that cuts deep, dove,” he tuts, but he fucks against your ass again anyway, “i work so hard to stretch you open and you’re not giving me credit?”

you find yourself with the fleeting and miraculous wherewithal to laugh, light and towards the ceiling. “i’ll tell him next time, then.”

that makes suguru laugh, too, the both of you almost manic with the truly absurd suggestion that you would ever be touched by anyone else.

you feel very suddenly like a stray dog at his doorstep, scrap-fed by his hand, bony and waiting for something warm to be tossed out again. the fear that he doesn’t mean this the way you’re taking it, that he wants you only briefly, chokes you still.

“are you drunk?” you ask him.

he lets you feel the frenetic pattern of his breathing against your neck. “no.”

and then even smaller, you can’t help it: “are you messing with me?”

slowly, he brings the hand with his drink up, extending his forefinger out around your front. it’s cold from the glass as it taps on your chin once, twice, and then drags down the line of your throat. “no.”

and you aren’t quite sure how you would describe what you feel move through him then, a trembling sort of shake, maybe, but as it buzzes through his hips he thrusts the momentum up into you. later, you would come to realize this was the sensation of him, at last, deciding something he could not take back.

“i think you left something with me at the studio today,” he murmurs. the electricity of knowing you did not leave something at the studio takes hold of your ribs and tugs. “you left in such a rush.”

“i think you know that’s you’re fault, suguru.”

he smiles small into the side of your face. “yes, i know.” a finger brushes under the swell of your breast. “i can drive you there to come get it.”

you’re beginning to squirm in his hold now, the beastly thing between your thighs drooling in full, usurping control of your limbs. “haven’t you been drinking?”

and suguru is all too pleased to bring his glass to your lips, tipping it slowly onto your tongue.

he’s drinking fucking sparkling water.

he isn’t even tipsy.

you’re nodding before you can even gulp enough air to say yes.

~~~~~~~

you barely make it out of his car before he’s on you. pressed against the passenger door, he kisses you like he wants to reach inside and pull out a rib. it’s teeth and tongue and your mewls in his mouth, and it makes him pull one leg up around his hip to grind slow against your clothed pussy.

he strokes his tongue along yours as he guides you to the front door, bucking into you when you bite down soft on his bottom lip.

“fuck,” he pants. “get inside.”

seeing the studio at night is strange. the moonlight glints off the mirror, bathing the room in silver streaks. stranger still is hearing geto come in behind you, locking the door with a low snick.

he passes behind you like a memory, stepping just to graze your back and shoulder before pulling away and towards his usual seat at the mirror. “stand center floor for me, dove,” he instructs.

your body moves without much thought. it’s so easy to do as he says here, to pervert the habit of following his directions as you stand at the center of the vinyl.

suguru runs a hand across his jaw, over his lips, watching you stand static as asked. you know how lust blown your eyes are already because you can see the black depth of them in the mirror behind his head. “stretch for me,” he sighs. 

a strange confidence feeds and swells in your belly, something alight and excited as you bend at the waist. your movements are no more salacious than they normally are, simple contortions to warm your hips and thighs, but you slow them enough to match the moment. your dress, too, heightens it; the hem teases the curve of your ass, your swollen mound, tight against you in ways your dance clothes aren’t. geto has sharpened the air to a fine point, and you teeter on it.

your head flips over, legs softly bent and then straight again, swishing open and closed. between each movement you glance up at him, swallowing thick at the shadow behind the tent in his jeans, the clench of his fist as it approaches his length. when you open your legs past second position and bend to stretch between them, he moans, unashamed, and you can tell from the lilt of pain in it that he’s stroking himself over his pants now. your pussy nearly opens in this position, faced away from him, and you feel the fever say his name. 

“your middle split now, dove,” he grips himself like he means to strangle, tipping his head back against the mirror to watch you over the bridge of his nose, adding, “please.”

with your hands splayed on the floor, you drop simply into it. when your clit bumps the cool flooring you whine in your throat, settling your weight. suguru is stroking himself in earnest over the denim when you peer up at him. “uh huh,” he pants, “and bend the knees now, just a little.”

your knees cant up and you tuck your tailbone, forcing your dress to ruck up around your hips and display, fully, the wet mess of your panties. the suffocated whine suguru sounds punches the air from your lungs, and you lean back onto your elbows behind you, looking to breathe, looking to survive for another moment.

you wish you could have a picture of the two of you this way; you entirely on display for him—and for yourself, too, as you cannot avoid your own reflection beside him—and your unflappably composed instructor, squeezing down the veins of his cock through the rough pull of his jeans, watching. and because you spend hours every day being directed by him, you know what he will ask you next before he even voices it, but you wait to hear it anyway.

“touch yourself for me.”

your fingers fly to your clit, drawing slow circles around, crossing over to feel yourself jolt. your hole pulses and spits, and suguru growls like he can see it from halfway across the room. the utter relief of friction, fucking finally, makes you tip your head back, moaning wild into the still air.

but then you hear his lips part to say something and you’re pulling your head back straight, still circling over your clit and then your entrance, meaningless patterns over your thong that make your toes curl in your heels.

“you know i never once—ngh, fuck—had the urge to adjust a student with my hands? i always hated that when i was in class,” he grits. with trembling hands, he begins to unbutton himself, pulling his cock out and tugging on it immediately.

god, he’s pretty. long and soft and leaning the way the rest of him leans, gliding between his fingers with the pearls of pre beading at his tip. 

“but i thought that if i,” he pauses to groan with you, “if i touched you once i could fucking forget about it.”

you speed your fingers with each word he says, each stroke of his hand over all eight inches of his cock. a far away voice registers that you’re whining, too, but your mind filters it away, tuned completely to suguru’s confession in the dark.

your smile is wry, and reveals as much as anything. “did it work?”

he laughs then, almost at you. “no, you know what dove, it didn’t really—hah—didn’t really work for me.”

your hips buck into your fingers, a buzzing coil now. “suguru,” you begin, but he doesn’t need to hear any more.

“i know,” he moans.

you have transcended his direction, you think, merged into him enough to comply without listening. he’s tearing his shirt and pants off as frantically as you tug your dress up and over your shoulders, and you’ve only barely shimmied your panties down your legs when he arrives in front of you, completely bare. you think suguru geto, tacky with sweat and need and cock nearly swollen purple, has achieved his own pinnacle, descending to his knees to meet you.

and there’s an ephemeral, fleeting moment, when you both simply watch each other in all the places you’ve kept obscured for so long. his eyes circle over your tits, the pert peaks of your nipples, the gleaming of your slit. you track the snake tattoo from the bulge of his shoulder and around his back, pupils flitting between him and his reflection.

suguru takes hold of both your ankles on each side of his narrows hips, squeezing once, and then gliding them up, up, around your knee, along the inside of your thighs. it dawns on you that he knows exactly where to press, where each muscle begins and ends, because of how much he watches you flex and extend. your breathing comes labored and round, small yips and whines when goosebumps push into his fingers.

he can’t help but tug your hips towards his bobbing cock when his hands arrive there. you squirm and twist to try and sink him inside but he holds you to the floor, jaw tight. 

“not yet, dove, i need to stretch you,” he grunts.

and you’re giggling before you can stop it. “you use a lot of double entendre, is that on purpose?”

he’s smiling now, too, but more than anything you think its a wicked joy with how your mouth drops open as he circles two fingers around your entrance. your arousal is so hot and so everywhere that you think you can hear it dripping onto the marley.

“keep your legs open.” he uses the tone of voice he employs during class and it only makes you gush more, but you do as he asks, tightening your outer thighs to hold yourself spread as he pushes two fingers inside.

“oh fuck,” you pant.

it seems to affect him in equal measure, cock twitching with each pull of his digits, lips parted ever so slightly. he scissors his fingers apart and back again, feeling along the inside of your walls, looking. 

“ah—yeah, yes, there,” you mewl, and he moans something sincere in turn. the pads of his fingers brush and swish along that spot and something behind your ribs is turning over, growing teeth. you whine out a small fuck and that’s it: suguru is gone.

in a single motion, he pulls his fingers from you, breathes in your protest of a whine, and lowers his hips to run the ruddy tip of his cock over your clit, down, down. you run your nose along his forearm as he braces them on each side of your head, feeling the brush of his hair along your shoulder.

his mouth parts directly over your ear like this, and you feel his hand squeeze your left thigh. “lift this for me.”

and as you extend it up to hook over his shoulder, legs spread in almost a full split below his hold, he notches his head inside, a lewd pop that echos up your spine and between your ears.

suguru’s head drops to your shoulder as he bares his teeth. “fuuuuuuck jesus christ.”

you’re no better, winding your right leg around his left and bucking your hips to slide him home. he indulges you this time—perhaps for the first time since meeting him—and cants his hips again. you’re so fucking wet and ready and open for him that he slides to the hilt that way, and both of you are reduced to animals then. the sounds between you are completely inhuman, and you can’t tell where yours end and his begin.

and suguru fucks you like he teaches: not slow, but intentional, precise, every movement with an insurmountable sense of purpose. 

and fucking bossy.

“ngh yeah, squeeze me like that again, dove.”

“oh f-fuck, baby, align your hips.”

“c-can you—haah—arch into me a little more? yeah, that’s right.”

with each driving thrust of his hips you rub your clit along his pelvis, warmth spreading behind your belly button and down each leg. suguru never quite recovered from that first thrust, forehead damp and still at your shoulder as he groans directions into the soft skin there. and your hands grab anywhere they can reach: into the roots of his hair, down the planes of his back, along the slope of his ass to feel the muscles grind.

the friction his happy trail makes with your clit is driving you wild, you’re fucking close, and he can feel it in the way you pulse around him.

with the sudden capacity to mock you he coos gently, “oh, little dove, are you close?”

and you can only nod and pant and whine like a bitch in heat, the crest of your pleasure tapping leisurely on the wing of your shoulder, ready to round the corner.

“hah—yeah, i can fucking feel it.” he adjusts his weight to one arm so he can band the other around your back, pulling your tits flush to his chest. the leverage only grinds him harder into you and you’re nearly screeching with the pressure. he wants to kiss you and you want to return it, but your lips meet open, exchanging air to be puffed back and forth.

“make a mess for me,” he encourages, each thrust more erratic than the last—he’s close, too—and every moan pitched higher. “c’mon, i—shit, unh—i wanna feel your pussy choke me.”

you come so hard you feel like you’re spinning, like you’re on stage, like there’s some great applause awaiting you. it detaches from deep in your groin and pulses outwards, gushing arousal and cream over suguru’s cock and entirely fragmenting you, boneless as he fucks you through it.

“fuckfuckfuck,” he bites the juncture of your shoulder with your neck, “i made this body, dove. you’re mine, huh?”

and hearing it, even from his own lips, takes him over, too, hips stuttering to a stop as he growls wild, seed spurting inside you, warm. your name, your real name, unspools from his mouth, and it sounds like thank you.

part of you expects, sweaty and still and plugged with suguru’s softening cock, that a great shame will dawn upon you now. you think maybe you should feel ashamed for letting him fuck you here, raw, his student.

but as you’re whining into each other’s mouths when he pulls out, as he smooths his hands over your stomach and thighs, as he kisses you again without the sort of demands he had before, the guilt doesn’t arrive.

suguru watches you closely—he’s good at that, you’ve determined—as he sits back on his haunches. you realize he’s waiting for that guilt to come, too.

“okay?” he asks softly.

you could laugh at him for that question, but you grin instead. “mhm.”

his chest unburdens a weight seeing that look on your face. you can see something gathering on his palate, too, something he likes the taste of. 

and then he spits it: “there’s a shower in my office bathroom.”

you really do laugh this time, full-bodied and sore and wet again.

~~~~~~~

you don’t think you’ve ever seen mr. geto with eye bags before. you don’t think anyone has. though, you suppose he seems the type to prioritize his beauty sleep.

or, most of the time, anyway. you couldn’t help that he wanted you again in the shower, and then at his desk chair, and then from behind with your knee propped against the barre, and then—

nobara bows into a pigeon stretch next to you, snickering as she assesses him in his seat. she heckles him: “exhausted is no state to dance in.”

your body seizes with embarrassment and delight all at once, and even though your chin drops to your chest as you stretch your hips, you can feel him watching you all the same.

nobara is watching you now, too, but you notice it too late. she stifles a giggle next to you. “is that a fucking hickey?”

~~~~~~~

thank you for reading !!! comments and reblogs always appreciated >:)

taglist: @themoonshiners @qkrwidn @presssedsunflowers @selenethinksalot @realalpacorn @cathedral-spires @imyourightnow @arizona13

[imyourightnow]

Mr Geto Stretches loves helping us stretch 🥰

[sixxels-deactivated20260420-dea]

sex with a stoner

fratboy!choso x bestfriend!reader

your stoner best friend choso and you are deeeep in sexual tension, you are his girl, but not really his girl. cuddling, forehead kisses, being glued to eachothers hip, it eventually simmers down until neither of you can take it anymore. (my favourite work i've done so far) (smut with a shit ton of plot, angst, fluff, comfort.)

wc: 16k || art creds: @/einrvji

smut with so, so much plot.

choso kamo is the kind of boy people notice without realizing they’re staring. he’s not loud, never one to demand a room’s attention, but something about him pulls you in, the lazy grace of someone who’s always just a little bit stoned and completely at peace with himself.

he throws the best parties on campus, the kind that aren’t just about getting drunk or high, but about the vibe. incense burning in the corner, led lights set to red or purple, trap playing softly over speakers. and yet, you’re the only one who really knows him.

you, the sweet girl who never misses a single one of his parties. the one always curled up next to him on the couch with a red solo cup of something you can barely taste, your legs draped over his lap, your cheek pressed to his shoulder. it’s always been like this. ever since freshman year, when you met him during that stupid icebreaker event on campus that neither of you wanted to go to.

somehow, you’d ended up next to him. not even talking at first. just being. and then he’d pulled one earbud out and offered it to you without saying anything, and you’d heard frank ocean’s “ivy” playing soft and crackly from his phone. you’d smiled at him, and he’d smiled back. just a little.

after that, it was like something clicked. you didn’t have to try with choso. you just existed in each other’s space like you were meant to.

you’re sweet, outgoing, a little flirty, always the first one to compliment someone’s outfit or remember their birthday. people love you for your light, your laughter, the way you make everyone feel seen.

but when it comes to closeness, to real comfort? that’s reserved for choso.

it’s a mystery to most people. you, the glittering, glowing party girl, and choso, the stoner boy who doesn’t even have social media. but it makes perfect sense to anyone who’s seen the two of you together.

you show up to his parties before anyone else does. you help him string the lights, pick the playlist, bring snacks no one asked for but everyone eats. you’re the one sitting on the counter while he rolls, sipping from a straw and babbling about your week while he nods, smiling faintly, muttering things like “that’s wild, ma,” or “yo, you’re too nice for them.”

and during the parties, you’re never far. you gravitate toward each other like magnets, slipping into place the way you always do. choso’s usually on the couch, arms stretched over the backrest, and you’re tucked under his arm without even thinking. you lean into him when you laugh. he rests his chin on your shoulder. he passes you drinks and you take tiny sips before handing them back to him with a wrinkle of your nose.

and it’s so easy. dangerously easy.

choso’s never been one to push. he’s got feelings, real ones, deeper than he’ll ever admit out loud, but he keeps them buried. not because he doesn’t want you. he wants you in a way that scares him sometimes. in quiet moments, when he’s too high and you’re asleep on his chest, he thinks about what it would feel like to kiss you. to be yours for real. but he’s content, at least for now. content to have you like this.

you give choso a kind of peace he didn’t know he was missing. before you, things were kind of blurry. background noise. but with you, it’s all color. you laugh and the whole room tilts toward you. you touch his hand and it’s like static electricity under his skin. he pretends he doesn’t notice. he jokes, he teases, he lets it pass.

because he thinks he’d rather have you like this, close and real and warm, than risk losing you completely.

and you? you love him. maybe too much.

you’ve never said it out loud, not even to maki or shoko, but you know it. you feel it every time you see him laugh at something you said, every time he lifts your chin to tuck your hair behind your ear, every time he waits for you outside class just because he felt like it. choso is yours, in a way no one else is. and you don’t know what to do with that.

maybe you’re scared to ruin it too.

it’s not just the friendship, it’s the rhythm. the quiet glances, the shared playlists, the way you always, always end up in his bed after parties, clothes still on, hearts too full.

you’ll lay there in the dark, both of you wide awake, and you’ll wonder if he feels it too. if he notices the way your breath hitches when his fingers brush your waist. if he hears the way your voice gets softer when you say his name.

but neither of you ever says anything. not really. not yet.

there’s something unsaid between you, always has been, something glowing and soft and maybe a little fragile. like the chords of “ivy” hanging in the air, too tender to touch. it’s in the way he looks at you when you’re not watching. in the way you linger at his door after a party, lip gloss smudged and heart aching. in the way he lets his hand rest on the small of your back just a little too long.

it’s a love that’s still blooming. hesitant. deep-rooted. and for now, maybe that’s enough.

maybe not forever.

~

the party’s already full by the time you get there, but you know exactly where to find him.

bass thumps through the floor like a second pulse, red lights spilling down the hallway, laughter echoing from the kitchen where someone’s poured jungle juice into a mixing bowl. bodies press close in the living room, the air thick with smoke, perfume, sweat, but none of it touches you. not really. not when you know where you’re going.

you slip past people who call your name, who compliment your outfit, who try to keep you still, but you’re already moving, already smiling like you’ve got a secret. because you do.

he’s on the couch. he always is.

slouched like he was poured there, long legs spread, a blunt pinched between his fingers. there’s a few people around him, suguru’s sitting on the floor, half-asleep against his knee, gojo’s perched on the armrest talking to some girl, but he doesn’t really look at anyone. just stares at the smoke curling above him, the red light making shadows under his eyes.

until he sees you.

choso’s head tilts slightly. his gaze sharpens, just barely. his mouth softens, corners curling up into something small, lazy, private.

“yo,” he says, voice low and smooth like honeyed smoke. “there you are.”

and just like that, you’re home.

you drop down next to him without a word, tucking your legs up on the couch, leaning into his side like you were made to fit there. his arm lifts automatically to rest behind you, and your bare shoulder brushes against his chest, skin to skin. he smells like weed and citrus and something warm, like sunbaked cotton. familiar. dangerous.

“i brought you chips,” you say, holding up a bag. “because you never remember to feed people when you throw these things.”

he laughs, soft and breathy, and takes the bag, tossing it onto the table without looking.

“you’re the only one who eats at my parties,” he murmurs, dragging the blunt to his lips. “they’re lucky you show up.”

he inhales, slow and deep. lets it sit in his chest for a moment. then he turns his head toward you and exhales, deliberately, slow, a trail of smoke that ghosts over your collarbone. it’s not on purpose, but it is. everything choso does is like that. unbothered. intimate. effortless.

your heart stutters.

“you look good,” he adds, like it just occurred to him. his eyes dip, trace your legs, the cut of your dress, the gloss on your lips. “real good.”

you smile, sweet and slow, like you’re soaking it in.

“you’re stoned.”

he shrugs. “yeah. still true, though.”

you nudge his thigh with your knee, and he smirks that lazy, barely-there grin that never quite reaches his eyes unless it’s you.

the party swells around you. bodies dance in the center of the room, the music gets louder, someone’s yelling in the kitchen about the beer pong table. but in your little corner of the couch, everything is slowed down. hazy. sacred.

he keeps passing the blunt, and you keep refusing with that little scrunch of your nose he always teases you about.

“don’t know how you come to my house every week and still don’t smoke,” he says, flicking ash into a red solo cup.

“don’t know how you survive without eating dinner like an adult,” you shoot back.

he chuckles, tipping his head back. his throat stretches long, his hoodie slipping off one shoulder to reveal the black ink of a tattoo just under his collarbone. you don’t even pretend not to look. choso doesn’t pretend not to notice.

“you missed me?” he asks after a beat, quieter now. the smoke’s made him slow, softer around the edges. more honest.

you glance up at him, lips parted. “i was here last weekend.”

“yeah, and then the whole week happened.” he shrugs, lazily. “i got bored.”

you nudge your way closer. your knee slides between his. “you say that like you don’t have other friends.”

he hums. “don’t hit the same.”

you’re both quiet for a second. it’s a thick, heady silence, not awkward, not tense. just full. full of everything that’s been building since freshman year. everything you don’t say. everything you both feel in moments like this, when you’re a little too close and he’s looking at your mouth and his hand is resting just a little too low on your waist.

you want to kiss him. god, you do. but not yet. not here.

so instead you lean forward, just enough to rest your head on his shoulder. you feel him go still for a second, then relax, melting back into you.

you stay like that. for a long time

later, when the house gets louder and hotter and someone pulls you up to dance, you feel his eyes on you.

you’re not a wild dancer, you move like you’re in your own little world, fluid and soft and smiling. some guy tries to grind up behind you and you immediately peel away, laughing as you shake your head. but when you look over, just once, you see choso watching from the couch.

his eyes are darker now. still lazy, still half-lidded, but focused. pinned on you like he’s memorizing the way your dress moves, the way your hair sticks to the sweat on your collarbone. one hand resting on his knee. the blunt long gone.

you move back to him eventually, of course you do, and he opens the space beside him again like he knew you would.

“have fun out there, superstar?” he asks, gaze flicking over you.

you shrug, settling back into him. “missed my favorite dance partner.”

he raises a brow. “you don’t dance with me.”

you grin. “exactly.”

he snorts, shaking his head. you rest your hand on his thigh, fingers splayed over ripped denim, and he doesn’t flinch. doesn’t move. just lets you stay there. touching him. like you always do.

like you always will.

when the party starts dying down and the lights dim even lower, when suguru’s asleep and gojo’s disappeared and the couch is just the two of you again, you curl into him like you belong there.

he yawns, one arm around your shoulders, hand playing lazily with the strap of your dress.

“you crashing here?” he asks, already knowing the answer.

you nod, cheek pressed to his chest. “if that’s cool.”

he makes a soft sound, something between a hum and a laugh, and dips his chin to brush his mouth against your temple. not a kiss, exactly. just a press. warm, soft. barely there.

“always.”

you smile, closing your eyes for a second. his hand is still resting on your waist, fingers tracing absent little shapes into your skin like he’s not even thinking about it.

you could fall asleep like this. you’ve done it before.

but he shifts a little, murmurs, “come on, ma. let’s get off this fuckin’ couch. my back’s killin’ me.”

you whine quietly as he moves, and he laughs again, a lazy rumble in his chest and slides an arm around your waist to help you up.

“drama queen,” he says, tugging you to your feet with effortless strength.

he doesn’t let go.

you move through the sea of red cups and leftover smoke, past the people half-passed out in the hallway, with his hand still slung around your waist. like it’s normal. like it’s instinct. your arm hooks around his middle, and you lean into his side as you walk, slow and steady, like you’ve done this a hundred times. because you have.

choso’s room is down the hall. it’s the only one with a broken doorknob and a blacklight taped above the bed, buzzing faintly. it smells like weed and clean laundry and him.

you kick off your shoes the second you walk in and collapse face-first into the unmade bed, limbs spread.

he laughs, low and indulgent, then flops down beside you.

“yo, scoot over,” he mumbles, nudgin your hip with his.

“you scoot,” you shoot back, voice muffled by the blanket.

he doesn’t argue. just lets his body melt sideways until your shoulders touch again. you shift your head onto his chest without thinking, cheek to the soft fabric of his hoodie.

and there it is again. home.

“this party was kinda ass,” you say.

“nah,” he says softly. “you were here.”

your stomach flips.

but you don’t say anything. don’t need to. you just lie there, breathing in sync, your hands curled in the hem of his hoodie while his fingers play with your hair, slow, lazy twirls that make your eyelids flutter.

“remember the first one?” you ask, voice hushed now. “the freshman-year party where we met?”

choso smiles at the ceiling. “fuck yeah. you were wearing that little white dress and yellin’ at some guy who spilled beer on your shoes.”

“he ruined them,” you murmur indignantly.

“and i was just sittin’ on the porch, watchin’ the whole thing,” he grins. “high as shit. thought you were hot as hell.”

you lift your head to look at him, one brow raised. “you still say you don’t remember how we ended up talking.”

“i don’t. swear to god.” he shrugs. “one second i’m finishing a blunt, next thing i know you’re sitting next to me like you’d been there forever.”

“i probably just decided you looked safe,” you say, settling back down. “and hot. but, like, quiet hot.”

he chuckles, slow and low. “quiet hot?”

you nod. “like… hot in a way that doesn’t try. like you didn’t even know it.”

“damn,” he mutters. “flirting with me now?”

“always.”

his hand slides down from your hair to your shoulder, warm and broad and steady.

“that’s why i fuck with you,” he says after a moment. “you’re real.”

you blink.

“like, people show up to my parties for the vibes or whatever. you show up to make sure i eat dinner.”

you laugh. “well someone has to.”

“nah, but for real,” he says. “you’ve been showin’ up since day one. always got my back. always know what i need before i even do. shit’s crazy.”

your throat goes tight. but he doesn’t sound emotional. he sounds calm. sure. like it’s just a fact of life, gravity, weed, you.

he doesn’t say it like it’s a confession.

he says it like it’s just the truth.

“you do the same for me,” you murmur, voice small.

his thumb strokes your arm, slow.

“yeah,” he says. “i know.”

the room hums with silence after that. not heavy. not awkward. just real.

he lets you lie there on his chest, the beat of his heart under your ear, the rise and fall of his breathing making you feel safe in a way nothing else does.

you shift after a few minutes, and his hand moves automatically , tugs the blanket up over you both, settles you closer, fingers smoothing over your arm like it’s second nature.

he doesn’t flirt with anyone the way he does with you. doesn’t touch anyone like this. people know you’re close, but they don’t get it.

they don’t know how choso listens to you rant for hours about your classes even when he’s half-asleep. how he always keeps snacks in his room he doesn’t like, just because you do. how he’s seen you cry at 3am and didn’t say a word, just pulled you onto his chest and played with your hair until you calmed down.

how you’ve cleaned up after every party. how you always know when he needs water. how you never smoke but you always light his blunts for him.

they don’t know that you’ve been doing this, just like this, since freshman year.

you’re not together.

but this? this is something else.

“you good?” he mumbles, his voice starting to get gravelly with sleep.

you nod, curled into his side.

“you?”

“mhmm.” he exhales through his nose, deep and slow. “don’t leave before i wake up.”

“i never do.”

he hums, already drifting.

you close your eyes.

"night, cho."

"night, babe."

and in the dark, in his bed, wrapped in the quiet warmth of choso’s heartbeat and the hush of something unspoken between you, you fall asleep.

right where you’re supposed to be.

~

the sun’s too fucking bright.

choso’s got his hood pulled low, hands stuffed in the front pocket of his faded sweatshirt, hoodie sleeves bunched at his wrists like armor against the cold. his airpods are in, but he’s not playing anything. just using them to avoid eye contact. to avoid people.

his chem lecture starts in twelve minutes. he’s not rushing.

he’s never rushing.

the quad’s half-full with undergrads moving in packs, laughing too loud for this hour. he weaves through them like a shadow, dark-eyed and slow-moving, sleep still clinging to his bones.

he hasn’t showered. hasn’t brushed his hair. smells faintly like weed and sleep and your lotion, the floral kind you always keep in your bag.

he’s halfway across the quad when he hears it.

“yo.”

he looks up.

toji.

posted up on a low wall near the main staircase, nursing a large iced coffee and wearing the same zip-up he’s worn every morning since choso met him. he looks good, like he always does, jaw sharp, eyes tired, posture loose in that older-guy way that makes people think twice about messing with him.

choso pulls out one airpod. “yo.”

“you look like shit,” toji says, amused.

choso shrugs. “feel fine.”

“late night?”

“always.”

toji grins. “bet.”

choso wanders over, boots crunching gravel, and leans against the wall next to him. toji’s got that lazy menace vibe, like he could break someone’s nose or fall asleep in the sun, it could go either way. choso respects it.

they’re not close, but they’re good.

“you throw last night?” toji asks.

“yeah. packed out.”

“heard. saw some dude getting dragged out by the neck around one.”

choso huffs a little. “sukuna. again.”

“no shit?” toji laughs. “that guy’s a walking lawsuit.”

“got blood on my stairs,” choso mutters. “ruined the rug.”

“tragic.”

they’re quiet for a second. choso watches a squirrel dart across the walkway. toji sips his coffee.

“how much you make off the door?”

“couple hundred. enough for groceries. gas. weed.”

toji nods like that’s the natural order of things. “you ever think about pledging?”

choso snorts. “nah.”

“you’d run that shit,” toji says. “turn those little rich boys inside out.”

“i’m not good with rules.”

“fuck rules.”

choso grins a little. “you sound like yuki.”

“i taught yuki,” toji says, deadpan.

that gets a real laugh out of choso, low and amused, breath curling in the cold air.

“you got chem?” toji asks after a moment.

“yeah. lab.”

“tough.”

“i'm so fucking hungover.”

toji smirks. “so. last night. you go home alone?”

choso shrugs. “nah. crashed with her.”

toji looks at him. not surprised. not shocked. just curious.

“y/n?”

“yeah.”

a beat.

“you guys together now or what?”

choso looks up, brows drawn. “nah.”

toji raises an eyebrow. “huh. figured that would’ve happened by now.”

“why?”

“you’re always with her.”

“yeah.”

“you sleep in the same bed?”

choso shrugs again, easy and lowkey like it doesn’t mean anything. like it’s normal. “all the time.”

toji whistles under his breath, grinning. “you’re a better man than me.”

“not like that,” choso mutters, looking away.

“right,” toji says, smirking. “not like that.”

choso stays quiet. doesn’t explain. doesn’t elaborate. he just lets it sit in the air between them like secondhand smoke, warm, familiar, a little dangerous.

because it isn’t like that.

not yet.

but toji doesn’t push. just nods, takes another slow sip of his coffee, and claps choso on the shoulder with a rough hand.

“you’re cool,” he says. “but if you ever fuck that up, someone else won’t be.”

choso just exhales through his nose. shrugs.

he knows,

he knows.

~

choso slouches in his stool at station 4B, safety goggles pushed up into his messy hair, long fingers lazily rotating a test tube over the bunsen flame. he’s supposed to be running a titration, but he’s running on three hours of sleep and an edible that hasn’t stopped hitting since breakfast.

there’s a small chemical fire happening at the next table over. he doesn’t care.

his partner, some girl from his gen chem section who only speaks in whispers and perfume, scribbles answers onto their worksheet like her life depends on it. she’s never once asked him to help. choso’s fine with that.

his phone buzzes in his hoodie pocket. he pulls it out without looking, thumb unlocking the screen by feel. it’s instinct. the way he always knows when it’s you.

[10:37am] you: what class r u in rn

[10:38am] choso: chem

[10:38am] you: ew

[10:38am] choso: yea

[10:39am] you: wanna meet up after?? i’m bored

[10:39am] choso: wya

the response comes fast.

[10:40am] you: bleachers behind the field. bring snacks or i’ll cry.

choso smiles.

it’s the kind of smile he never shows anyone but you. lazy. lowkey. like a secret he doesn’t need to say out loud.

he texts back a thumbs up emoji. tucks his phone away. watches the blue flame flicker under the test tube like it’s trying to tell him something.

~

the bleachers behind the athletic field are barely standing. rusted metal, cracked paint, half the steps warped from years of cleat-stomped abuse. it’s one of the only spots on campus that still feels untouched, still feels yours. people don’t hang out here. it’s too open, too weird, too quiet.

perfect.

you’re already there when he shows up, sprawled across the middle row like it’s a chaise lounge, sunglasses perched low on your nose and a bag of kettle chips open in your lap.

you perk up when you see him. smile wide and lazy. “you brought me snacks?”

he lifts a 7/11 bag in greeting.

“you’re an angel,” you say, and you sound like you mean it. choso climbs up beside you, drops the bag between you, and sits with a long sigh like the weight of the whole morning finally got the memo that it can fuck off.

he lets himself lean back on his elbows, head tipped toward the sky. hoodie sleeves pushed up to the elbow. hands ringed in silver, knuckles faintly bruised from last night. jaw sharp, neck tattoo peeking just above his collar.

you glance over at him, bottom lip tucked between your teeth for a second too long.

he doesn’t notice.

or maybe he does.

but he doesn’t say anything.

“what happened in chem?” you ask, voice slow with sunlight.

“almost set the bench on fire,” he says. “again."

you laugh, and it’s the good kind, low and warm and familiar, like something soft you wrap yourself in. “you’re gonna fail.”

“nah,” he murmurs. “i got you. you’ll cry to shoko for me.”

you shrug. “probably.”

he grins.

you eat chips together for a while in comfortable silence. people jog past on the track below, but it’s like the two of you exist in another timeline, quieter, slower, deeper. every time your shoulders bump, he doesn’t move away. every time your fingers brush in the snack bag, he lets it linger.

you pull out a cherry lollipop from your tote. unwrap it with delicate, distracted fingers. stick it between your lips and suck thoughtfully.

choso looks over. blinks once.

his throat bobs. “you eat candy like you’re in a music video.”

“duh,” you say. “gotta stay on brand.”

“your brand is slutty candy princess?”

you flash him a wink. “you know it.”

he groans into his hands. “you’re gonna kill me.”

“you’d like it.”

“maybe.”

you both laugh.

but underneath it, there’s a tension you don’t touch. not yet. not today. not when the sun is this warm and the wind is this soft and the space between you feels like a bubble no one else can pop.

“so what’d you tell toji?” you ask suddenly, pulling your legs up under you. “he asked about us, right?”

choso blinks. shifts.

“how’d you know that?”

“i just saw him talking to you this morning and you rushed of before i could catch up.”

he sighs. rubs a hand over his face. “just asked about some dumb shit, was surprised we aren't fucking.”

“oh yeah?”

“yeah.”

you hum. “what’d you say?”

he shrugs. “told him we’re just friends.”

you nod.

but your fingers are tight around your lollipop stick. “did he buy it?”

choso looks over at you. eyes half-lidded, lazy. “dunno. didn’t really care.”

you don’t speak for a second.

then—

“you know,” you say lightly, “if we were dating, people wouldn’t question it.”

he raises a brow. “you wanna date me?”

you laugh like it’s a joke. like the idea’s crazy. “obviously not. i’d ruin your whole vibe.”

“nah,” he says, quiet and cool. “you are my vibe.”

it knocks the air out of you a little.

you don’t reply.

he doesn’t push.

instead, he pulls a lighter from his pocket. a faded red bic with a sticker of a cartoon frog on the side.

“you mind?” he asks.

you shake your head. “go for it.”

he lights the joint behind the bleachers, careful to block the wind, and takes a slow hit like he’s been doing it his whole life. like breathing.

you watch the way his lips part. the way the smoke curls from his mouth. the way he blinks up at the sky, exhaling slow, like there’s nothing in the world that could ruin this moment.

he passes it to you.

you hold it between two fingers. bring it to your lips, but don’t inhale. you just like the closeness. the ritual. the rhythm of it.

“you always smell like weed and coconuts,” you say absently.

“you always smell like sleep and candy.”

“that a compliment?”

“you know it is.”

you smile.

and then, like always, you shift until your head is in his lap, knees bent, lollipop back between your lips.

he threads his fingers into your hair like it’s automatic. like muscle memory.

you don’t say anything.

you don’t have to.

“there’s a party saturday,” choso says, like it’s just a passing thought. his voice is mellow, dragged slow with smoke and sun.

you squint up at him from his lap, one leg kicking idly off the edge of the bleachers. “yours?”

he shakes his head, dragging another pull from the joint before it sizzles low. “nah. kappa’s.”

“toji’s place?”

“mhm. sukuna’s throwin’ it.”

you make a face. “ew.”

he laughs, lazy and low. “yeah, i know.”

“what kinda party is it?”

he shrugs, flicking ash off to the side. “dunno. probly loud. messy. overrun with freshmen.”

“my favorite,” you say sarcastically.

“come anyway.”

you raise a brow. “you want me to go?”

he nods, eyes still soft from the joint. “yeah. all our people are gonna be there. gojo’s bringing that speaker he stole from the rec center. suguru’s bringing weed from the plug that scares everyone but him. shoko said she’s pre-gaming at yours.”

“she didn’t tell me that,” you mutter, amused.

“she said quote, ‘i’m getting blackout on your floor so you better have mixers.’”

“classic.”

“maki’s going too,” he adds. “and yuuji. megumi. nobara. y’all can take over the kitchen or whatever.”

you snort. “we always end up doing that. turning some random frat kitchen into our private lounge.”

“better lighting.”

“less vomit.”

he taps his knuckle to your forehead. “so?”

you blink at him. “so what?”

“you comin’?”

you stretch your arms over your head, lollipop tucked in your cheek like a secret. “mmm, depends. who’s walking me home if i black out?”

he gives you a look. “me."

“who’s holding my hair if i puke?”

“me.”

“who’s dancing with me when they put on early 2000s throwbacks?”

he smirks. “you already know.”

you grin and nuzzle into his thigh dramatically. “ugh, fine. i guess i’ll go.”

“what an honor.”

“you’re welcome.”

you stare up at him for a second, at the sharp angle of his jaw, the lashes curled against his cheeks, the faint bruises of exhaustion under his eyes.

there’s something warm in your chest.

like always.

“what time’s it at?” you ask.

“late.”

“when are we getting there?”

“later.”

you smile. “as always.”

“as always,” he echoes.

you reach over, fingers brushing the side of his hoodie pocket where his lighter peeks out, red and fading, sticker peeling at the edges.

he doesn’t notice.

but you do.

you always do.

~

the sun has long since set when you’re back in your dorm.

shoko’s stuff is already half-scattered across your bed, a tote bag overflowing with lip gloss and tequila, her ripped denim skirt folded beside your pillow like it lives here. your bluetooth speaker is charging in the corner. your fairy lights are glowing dim, and the whole room smells like something between vanilla lotion and sharpie markers.

because you’re painting.

your desk is a mess of scattered brushes, scratched acrylics, and an empty matcha can you’ve been using as a water cup. right in the center sits the new bic lighter you picked up after social, jet black, perfectly smooth, untouched.

you’re painting red spider lilies across the front, his favourite.

the petals curl across the plastic like veins, wet with gloss and attention. you’re careful with the details. you’ve looked up references. you’ve done this before.

but this time’s different.

this one’s for him.

you don’t know why, exactly. maybe it’s because his old one’s going dead.

maybe it’s because you love him.

not like that.

not yet.

but in the way you know exactly how he likes his ramen. in the way he texts you “home?” when it’s late and doesn’t sleep until you answer. in the way he rolls his blunts left-handed and always lights yours first. in the way he remembers your mom’s birthday even though he’s never met her.

in the way he makes you feel safe in a room full of noise.

in the way he never tries to make you anything other than yourself.

you lean over the lighter, the brush held steady between your fingers, and add the final line of gold detailing around the petals. your breath fogs the surface. you wait for it to dry.

outside, someone blasts a bad edm remix. the party’s already pulsing down the block.

you aren’t ready yet.

but you will be.

because he asked.

because you always go when he asks.

by the time you and shoko step into the kappa house, it’s already hell in there.

there’s music vibrating the walls, some mashup of jersey club and distorted britney spears, smoke curling from doorways, the reek of beer and weed and something you hope is a vape cloud drifting from the stairs. someone’s already swinging a half-finished bottle of patrón in the foyer, and a guy in a spiked collar is passed out half-naked on the pool table. red LEDs paint the room like a warning.

“jesus,” shoko mutters, pushing through a knot of people. “it’s worse than last time.”

“that’s saying a lot,” you reply, laughing.

you pass a makeshift tattoo station set up in the kitchen, a foldable table, three guys with gloves and prison-grade guns, girls taking shots with their shirts off, someone yelling about cross-contamination. someone else is already screaming into a paper towel, gripping their friend’s thigh as ink bleeds into skin.

“how much you wanna bet that guy’s not even licensed?” shoko asks, pointing with her cup.

a few feet away, a couple is practically devouring each other on the couch, hands in places that definitely shouldn’t be public, their moans barely muffled over the bassline. you and shoko share a glance.

“ten bucks says they’ll be upstairs in five,” she says.

“two,” you shoot back.

you find the rest of your girls near the island, maki’s drinking straight from a bottle of dark rum, nobara’s yelling at some guy for calling her “sweetheart,” and miwa looks like she’s trying to spiritually leave her body.

“there you bitches are,” nobara says, throwing an arm over your shoulders. “i was gonna beat some freshman’s ass for trying to say you weren’t on the guest list.”

“please tell me you’re drinking tonight,” maki says, eyes already glossy.

“i just got here!” you laugh, letting shoko pull you in tighter. “i haven’t even taken my jacket off!"

“well hurry up,” nobara insists, pouring something violently pink into a solo cup and handing it to you. “this night’s cursed already.”

you take a cautious sip, bubblegum and battery acid. “what the hell is this?”

“it’s called the thong dropper,” shoko says helpfully.

“girl.”

you let the chaos swirl around you for a bit, settling into the rhythm of things, catching up on nonsense, swapping wild stories, dodging spilled drinks and clumsy hands. nobara starts talking about some guy she hooked up with last week, rolling her eyes and groaning dramatically.

“his stroke game was so weak,” she says, slamming her cup down. “he kept asking me ‘is that good?’ like, cmon. do you not hear me faking it?”

maki snorts. “you faked it?”

“of course i did. i had to get it over with.”

shoko leans in. “rookie mistake. just tell ‘em straight up.”

“i can’t crush a man’s ego like that,” nobara defends.

“they’ll live,” maki says.

you giggle into your drink, letting the warmth buzz up your spine.

“what about you?” shoko nudges. “you getting any lately?”

you shrug, trying to hide your smirk. “define ‘getting.’”

they all ooh at that, but you wave them off.

“nah,” you add quickly. “just been… chillin’.”

nobara raises a brow. “chillin’ with who?”

you don’t answer.

you don’t have to.

because you just spotted him.

across the room, slouched low on the ratty couch like a king on a broken throne, hoodie slipping off one shoulder, blunt glowing between his fingers, is choso.

he’s got his head tipped back, laughing at something gojo just said, eyes heavy-lidded and hazy, lips pink and glossy from smoke. his legs are spread wide, rings catching the LED lights, and there’s a plastic crown crooked on his head like someone dared him to wear it and he just went along with it.

you hand your cup to shoko. “back in a sec.”

you beeline straight to him.

he sees you coming, of course. always does.

“yo,” he says, voice syrup-thick, laced in that lazy drawl you know too well. “there she is.”

you plop onto the couch next to him, thigh pressed to his instantly, as natural as breathing.

“hey, babe.”

he pulls the blunt from his lips and passes it to gojo. “you look real hot,” he murmurs, eyes scanning over you. “like… stupid hot.”

you grin. “you’re high.”

“and you’re a fucking bombshell.”

“so high.”

gojo chuckles. “he’s been saying shit like that about everyone for the last twenty minutes. told sukuna his chains looked ‘shiny as fuck’ and that he would fuck him if he was gay.”

“and i meant it,” choso says, nodding solemnly.

“sukunas a menace,” you laugh.

“a sweet menace,” choso adds.

gojo tosses the blunt into an ashtray and stretches. “aight. i’m gonna go find the aux before someone puts on country again.”

“godspeed,” you tell him.

choso watches him disappear into the crowd before turning back to you. “you good?”

you nod. “the girls are wild tonight.”

“when aren’t they?”

you smile. “mmm. party’s kinda gross, though.”

he grins. “yeah. it’s ass.”

“i miss your parties.”

he hums, dragging a slow breath through his nose. “next week, tuesday.”

“a tuesday party?”

“hell yeah.”

you laugh softly, eyes dropping to the front pocket of his hoodie. his lighter’s there again, the red one. the same one from earlier, edges worn down like it’s been used a thousand times.

without saying anything, you reach into your jacket pocket.

he watches you curiously as you pull out the lighter you painted, black and glossy, the spider lilies blooming across the surface in blood-red ink and gold veins.

you hand it to him wordlessly.

his fingers brush yours as he takes it, and something in his face shifts, softens, quiets.

he turns it over slowly in his palm, eyes scanning every detail like he’s memorizing it.

“you painted this?”

you nod.

“ma…” he says under his breath, almost like it’s too much. “yo. this is… this is fucking beautiful.”

“your other one’s dying,” you say, a little shy now. “figured you needed a new one.”

he’s quiet for a second, blinking slowly.

then,

“you’re such a fuckin’ angel.”

you laugh. “it’s literally just a lighter.”

he doesn’t let his gaze leave it. “nah. it’s you.”

you blink.

he says it so casually. so high. so him.

like it’s just a fact.

you don’t say anything, and neither does he. the music swells. the lights flicker. people scream and laugh and break things somewhere in the background.

but right now, it’s just the two of you, and a lighter between your palms.

“you’re gonna make me cry,” you joke, even though the way he keeps looking at the lighter makes your chest feel a little too full.

choso doesn’t answer, just keeps running his thumb over the curves of it like it’s some delicate artifact, black with the glossy gleam of fresh paint, those red lilies blooming across the surface like blood in water.

he flicks it once. flame bursts up.

“perfect,” he mumbles.

“it works?”

“better than my soul, babe.”

you laugh, leaning your head against his shoulder, and for a few seconds everything around you falls away, just the throb of the music, the warm press of him, and the soft flicker of that tiny orange flame between his fingers.

you sit like that for a little while, talking about nothing. him complaining about a group project he hasn’t started. you teasing him for skipping chem lab again. him promising you some “next-level weed” for tuesday’s party that “tastes like peaches and existential dread.”

his voice is slow, syrup-thick, a little slurred at the ends. he’s stoned, clearly, but you’re used to this. used to the way he leans into you when he’s like this, heavy and unguarded, every thought coming out a little slower and more unfiltered. it’s a version of him that doesn’t get tired of looking at you.

he tugs at the hem of your jacket playfully. “you gonna stay with me tonight?”

you raise a brow. “didn’t plan on going anywhere else.”

he grins, that sleepy smile that makes your heart tick funny.

then your name cuts through the room, pitched over the music.

“oh shit,” you say, glancing over your shoulder. “they’re calling me.”

choso hums, not looking away. “tell ‘em i said hi.”

you hesitate for a second, not wanting to leave the warm bubble you’ve curled into. but shoko’s waving you over, and maki’s already halfway across the room with a bottle in her hand and trouble in her eyes.

“i’ll be back,” you say, giving his knee a squeeze as you get up.

he watches you go, eyes dragging over your silhouette, that sway in your hips, the flash of your smile as nobara yells something at you that makes you laugh and flip her off in the same breath.

then he’s alone.

not really, the house is packed, pulsing with bodies and music and smoke, but alone in the way that matters.

the lighter’s still in his hand.

and it won’t stop looking like you.

'she fuckin’ made this.'

that thought loops through his head in lazy spirals. he stares down at it like he’s still not fully processing that it’s his now, the way it fits so perfect in his palm, like you painted it with him in mind, like you know his hands that well.

(which you do.)

'what an angel', he thinks again, your face still ghosted in his mind.

he’s high. so high. his body feels like a heartbeat, slow and deep and pulsing warm. and the lighter, it keeps dragging him back to that moment on the couch, your thigh against his, your fingers brushing his, your quiet little smile when he lit it up for the first time.

'she always does shit like this. just makes stuff better. without even tryin’.'

it hits him all at once, sudden and full-body.

he needs to mark this. this moment. this feeling.

he’s already pulling out his phone before the thought’s even fully formed, scrolling through the camera roll he swore he didn’t care about but secretly checks too often. blurry candids, selfies with you curled against his chest, that pic from two weeks ago when you were looking up at him from the floor of his room with a red gummy in your mouth and sleep in your eyes.

he pauses there.

your eyes in that picture. big, soft, glassy, sexy.

his thumb hovers over the screen.

“yo,” a familiar voice calls, sauntering through the haze. “you look fried.”

sukuna.

choso glances up. “am fried.”

sukuna grins. “figured. that couch is cursed, by the way. guy got a blowie on it last week during pong night.”

choso shrugs. “adds flavor.”

they lean on the wall together, easy silence for a second.

“you see the tat guys?” sukuna asks, chin-jerking toward the kitchen. “someone just got a fucking worm on their calf. like a literal earthworm. said it was ‘symbolic.’”

choso laughs, low and thick. “symbolic of what?”

“dunno. being dirt, i guess.”

he doesn’t respond. just looks back at his phone.

sukuna raises a brow. “you good, dude?”

“yeah.”

“you look like you just had a vision.”

choso finally meets his eye.

“yo,” he says slowly. “you ever just feel something and know you gotta do somethin’ about it right now or you’ll bitch out?”

sukuna squints. “uh. like what?”

choso doesn’t answer.

instead, he pushes off the wall, hoodie slipping off one shoulder again, lighter still clutched in one hand, phone in the other, and starts walking.

sukuna watches him go, a little amused. “damn. alright.”

the air is thick with smoke and bass as he weaves through the crowd, bumping shoulders, dodging a girl dancing with her heels off and her hair in her face.

he reaches the makeshift tattoo stand.

it smells like rubbing alcohol and regret.

“yo,” he says, voice smooth as silk and twice as slow.

the guy behind the table, ink sleeves up to the neck, black gloves, sunglasses indoors, glances up.

“what’s up, man?”

choso leans down slightly, eyes low-lidded and unreadable, body loose and stoned and sexy in that careless way he always carries.

he holds out his phone.

“can you do this,” he asks, “on my arm?”

the artist blinks, then looks at the screen.

it’s a close-up of a girl’s eyes, wide, seductive, yet still glowing with laughter. looking up at the camera like whoever took the photo was the only thing in the world.

looking up at him.

choso taps the screen once. “those are hers.”

the guy raises a brow. “like… your girl?”

choso shrugs one shoulder. his eyes never leave the photo.

the buzz of the needle starts soft, a low, persistent hum, and choso doesn’t even flinch. he just leans back, one arm draped lazily across the armrest, hoodie shoved halfway up his bicep where the artist wiped him down with alcohol. his eyes are half-lidded, bloodshot from whatever gojo rolled earlier, but locked on the phone he’s holding out in his opposite hand.

the picture’s still up. her eyes, warm and wide, lashes curled, looking up at him like she trusts him with her whole heart.

“pretty,” the tattoo guy mutters, angling a small light to get a better look as he sketches the stencil. “yours?”

choso’s mouth curves slow. doesn’t answer right away. just flicks his lighter open and closed, click, click, click, the red spider lilies catching the light each time.

then finally:

“nah.”

the guy hums. “girlfriend?”

he huffs a little, amused. “not that either.”

he sets the lighter down on the table beside him, keeps his eyes on the screen.

“she’s just,” he pauses, then shrugs, soft and slow, “her. y’know?”

the artist side-eyes him. “deep.”

choso smiles again, eyes unfocused. “nah, i’m just fuckin’ high.” the guy presses the warm stencil into choso’s arm, smooths it into place.

“you sure you wanna do this while you’re, uh,” he glances at choso’s glassy expression, the faint grin still tugging at his mouth, “clearly not sober?”

“i’m not wasted,” choso says lazily. “and i’m not dumb. it’s not a mistake.” the artist nods once, respects it. “alright, man.” he flips on the machine again, lines it up.

“you done this before?” choso grunts a laugh. “y’think i got these in my sleep?” he gestures vaguely at the black ink already crawling across both arms, jagged, abstract lines, constellations and waves, some faded with age. some done in basements like this one. “first time sober was the weirdest one.”

the guy snorts. “fair.”

the needle hits skin.

choso exhales slow. doesn’t flinch, doesn’t shift, doesn’t even blink hard. just stares at the wall across the room, jaw slack, hoodie sliding off his shoulder, the buzz settling into the meat of his arm like a low hum of intention. “you ever tattoo someone like this before?” he murmurs after a beat.

“like what?”

he shrugs again. “someone who’s… y’know.” the guy doesn’t answer right away.

choso elaborates, voice softer this time. “she’s not mine. i don’t want her to be. not right now. it’s not like that. it’s just…” he trails off, brows furrowing a little, tongue tucked against the inside of his cheek.

“she just means somethin’. don’t got a word for it.”

the artist doesn’t look up from his work, but his tone’s gentler when he speaks again. “yeah. i’ve seen that before.” choso sinks deeper into the chair, breathing even. the pain’s dull and constant, but it grounds him. keeps his thoughts from spiraling too far out, keeps his high in this exact moment.

“you think she’d be mad?” he asks, voice airy. “if she saw it?”

“dunno,” the guy says. “you gonna tell her?” he blinks slow, head rolling back against the headrest.

“nah.”

another pause.

“not now. it’s just for me.” the tattooer gives a small nod. “that’s real.”

a silence settles between them, the steady hum of the needle, the sound of someone vomiting into a bush outside the window, a muffled scream from the beer pong table two rooms over.

“looks good,” the artist murmurs, wiping excess ink from the forming lines of the eyes. “she’s got crazy lashes.”

choso huffs out a small laugh. “she’d fuckin’ love that you noticed that.”

“yeah?”

he smiles again, softer now. “talked about lash serum for like a week. gave me a whole presentation.”

the guy chuckles under his breath. “sounds like she talks a lot.”

choso closes his eyes.

“she talks just enough.” the buzz continues. the lines take shape. her eyes, right there, etched into his skin. not to claim. not to confess. just to remember.

just for him.

~

the buzz dies down gradually, tapering into a low hum before the artist finally flicks the switch and pulls back. the sudden quiet settles like a heavy blanket over the both of them, just the soft thud of bass from the next room and the subtle scrape of latex gloves against skin.

“alright, man,” the artist says, leaning back with a stretch. “done.”

choso blinks slow, still slouched deep in the chair like he’s been there for hours, like the cushion molded around his bones. he lifts his head, eyes hazy but laser-locked on the strip of bandage being pressed to his upper arm.

“yo, hold up, lemme see it before you cover it,” he says, voice low and hoarse from either weed or reverence, maybe both.

the guy lifts a brow, but obliges. carefully wipes the skin one last time, blood and excess ink coming away in soft red-black smears. the room’s fluorescent lights hit the raw lines at an angle, shining off the freshly tattooed skin like it’s something holy.

and fuck.

there it is.

your eyes.

wide and soft and open, curved lashes sweeping upward in a way no stencil should’ve captured but somehow did. that quiet way you look at him, like he hung the stars, like he’s yours even if the two of you never say it out loud. inked permanent on the soft part of his bicep, nestled between a set of waves and the jagged edge of a half-finished constellation.

for a second, he doesn’t speak. doesn’t move.

he just stares.

it hits him slow, like a good edible, starts behind his eyes, low and warm in his chest, then spreads.

yo.

he’s obsessed.

like fully, all the way, brain-meltingly obsessed.

he turns his arm slightly under the light, eyes tracing the lines, the slight curve of your upper lid, the detail around the corners like you're mid-laugh or mid-thought or both. it looks exactly like you, his favorite version of you. the version that looks up at him like nothing else exists in the room.

god.

you look good on him. not in the possessive way. not even close. it’s not that.

it’s something else. something way quieter. something he can’t even name when he’s sober, and definitely not now, baked out of his skull with his arm still tingling and his hoodie falling half off.

but still, he’s wearing you now. and it feels like something that’s always been true, just waiting for the ink to make it real.

“you good?” the artist asks, half amused, already reaching for the plastic wrap again. “yeah,” choso says, slow, mouth crooked into a lazy grin. “looks fuckin’ sick, dude.” the guy chuckles under his breath. “kinda figured you’d say that.”

“you killed it,” choso adds, finally dragging his eyes off the tattoo. “like, actually.”

the artist nods, pleased. “appreciate it. was fun as hell to do, honestly. you sure you don’t want her name or somethin’? under it?” choso snorts. “nah. that’d make it weird.”

“fair.”

he watches the guy gently press a clean dressing over the fresh ink, tape it up. the sensation’s a dull sting under his skin, not quite pain, just awareness. a reminder that it’s real now. that it’s his, for good.

she doesn’t know. you might never know. and that’s kinda the whole point. he’s not gonna flash it at you mid-party or say anything slick when you sit beside him later like you always do, throwing your legs over his lap and stealing his drink.

nah.

this one’s just for him. a secret under his sleeve, tucked into the curve of his body like a memory.

“you gonna keep it under wraps?” the guy asks, like he can read choso’s whole plan off his face.

“yeah,” choso mutters, grabbing his hoodie and tugging the sleeve back down with a practiced flick. “at least for now. don’t need her freakin’ out or nothing.”

“bet,” the guy says with a short laugh. “i get it.”

choso stands slow, body still heavy from sitting too long and smoking too much. he sways a bit but rights himself, shaking out his arms like he’s just come up from underwater. the whole basement smells like blood and rubbing alcohol and resin, but it’s warm, and the energy buzzes low and steady around him.

he digs in his pocket for a few bills, slaps them into the artist’s open palm.

“appreciate you, man.”

“anytime, bro. take care of that, don’t go dunkin’ it in a keg or anything.” choso grins. “no promises.”

he walks out with his hoodie draped low, sleeve tugged all the way to his wrist despite the heat and the crowd and the chaotic press of bodies funneling in from the hallway. music floods back in slow, a pulse of bass syncing up with his own heartbeat.

but he can’t stop thinking about it. every step he takes, every time the sleeve brushes against the fresh ink, it reminds him.

not of what they are.

but of what you mean.

upu didn’t need to give him that lighter. you didn’t have to think about him in that little quiet way you always did, like he’s more than just a weed plug or the guy you party with every weekend. that little moment, just you in your dorm, painting red spider lilies on a bic you knew he’d never throw away? that shit went straight to his chest. and now you're on his skin. maybe you'd freak out if you saw it. maybe you'd cry. maybe you'd laugh.

maybe you'd get real quiet and never say anything again. or maybe you'd look at him the way you did in that photo. maybe you'd look at him like you knew.

but all that’s for later. for now, he’s just stoned as hell, arm warm and throbbing, and so unbelievably content that it’s almost embarrassing.

he spots gojo again across the room, already perched on the arm of someone else’s couch with a red solo cup and a grin like he owns the house. choso veers toward him, slips back into the noise like he never left.

sleeve tugged down.

lighter in his pocket.

eyes on his arm, just for him.

~

later that night you navigate yourself back to choso after your banter with the girls.

you spot him sunk deep into the cushions, hood half up, curls falling into his face, a bottle of water in one hand and his eyes half-lidded and sleepy with that lazy high he wears better than anyone. he’s surrounded, gojo splayed on one armrest like he owns the place, sukuna lounged sideways with his feet on the table, and suguru perched on the edge, nursing a half-finished blunt.

“yo, look who it is,” gojo grins as you walk up, already clocking the way you move like you’re headed home, not just to a guy. “princess finally found her prince.”

you don’t say anything, just slide right into the little space at choso’s side like it was made for you. his arm shifts automatically, pulling you in like it’s instinct, and you tuck your face into his shoulder, letting out the softest exhale. you can feel the thrum of his voice in your cheek when he speaks.

“hey, ma.”

his hand’s warm against your hip, steady, grounding. he smells like weed and cedar and the faintest trace of paint from the lighter you gave him. it’s in his pocket now, safe like something sacred.

“so anyway,” suguru picks back up like you didn’t just crash-land in choso’s lap, “i’m telling you, the guy had no idea what he was doing. tried to roll with a swisher, no guts, just dumped the weed in and twisted the end like a fuckin’ lollipop.”

“god, not the lollipop roll,” sukuna groans, dragging a hand over his face. “freshman?”

“of course it was a freshman,” gojo says, grinning. “those little guys think watching one youtube tutorial makes them bob marley.”

“yo, remember that one dude at the delta party?” choso says, head tilting back slightly. “rolled a joint with a bible page.”

“amen,” sukuna snorts.

“nah, for real,” choso laughs, hand tightening just slightly where it rests on your side. “he said it made the high holier.” you huff against his hoodie, and his fingers flex like he felt it, like it was the best sound he’d heard all night.

they keep going, weed stories, party war stories, the dumbest shit they’ve ever seen in a frat house at 3am. it’s relentless, loud, chaotic, but you stay quiet, tucked against choso’s side like he’s the only still thing in the room. his thumb runs in slow circles against your waist through the fabric of your top, and you feel the way he laughs before you hear it.

“yo,” gojo says, leaning across suguru to point at choso. “what’s the craziest thing you’ve ever done at a party?”

“besides adopt a girlfriend he doesn’t kiss?” sukuna adds. choso blinks slow. doesn’t rise to the bait, doesn’t even twitch.

“probably that time at theta when i fell asleep in the bathtub and woke up with a raccoon in my lap.” suguru chokes. “you serious?”

“deadass.”

“was it… alive?”

“bro. it was chillin’. just vibin’ with me.”

“you probably hotboxed the tub,” gojo says, wiping tears of laughter from his eyes. “raccoon was just tryna get high.”

choso grins, soft and slow, and you nudge your nose into his hoodie like you’re hiding your own smile. “what about women?” sukuna says suddenly, eyes glinting like he’s fishing. “y’all ever hook up at your own party?”

“you’re disgusting, that's against reg” gojo tells him cheerfully.

“don’t lie,” sukuna drawls. “you know you have.”

“alright, once,” gojo admits. “but i kicked her out after because she tried to name my bongs.” “you’re heartless,” suguru says, deadpan.

“you don’t name the bongs,” gojo insists. “they earn names. it’s sacred.”

“what about you, choso?” sukuna’s gaze cuts sideways. “you got bodies stacked in your stoner dungeon?” choso hums, slow and easy. you feel the low sound in his chest, pressed flush to your cheek.

“nah,” he says. “i don’t hook up with girls who don’t know how to roll.” the boys howl, gojo nearly falling off the couch.

“that’s so on brand,” suguru laughs. “you need standards,” choso mumbles, amused, and leans his cheek briefly against the top of your head.

the lighter’s still in his pocket. his arm’s still over your shoulders. and beneath the sleeve of his hoodie, hidden from the world, your eyes are inked into his skin.

you shift a little, just enough to tuck your legs under yourself, settling more fully into him, and he adjusts without thinking — arm around you tighter now, palm spread warm across your ribs, thumb grazing your side through the fabric. he’s careful. doesn’t let the hoodie ride up. doesn’t let anyone see. the tattoo’s still fresh, still tender, and it’s just for him.

“yo, you good?” suguru asks, nodding at him. choso blinks slow. “yeah man’.”

“that weed hit hard,” gojo says. “i feel like i’m seein’ sounds.”

“you ever tried dabs?” sukuna asks. “that’s when shit gets spiritual.”

“you tryna kill someone?” suguru laughs. “every time i hit one, i feel like my soul’s leaving my body.”

“shit’s a rite of passage,” sukuna shrugs.

“nah, a rite of passage is hosting a rager with a cop at your door and acting like you live there,” gojo grins. “have you?” choso asks, amused.

“bro, i’ve answered the door in a bathrobe before,” gojo says proudly. they all crack up again. you don’t say anything, but your smile’s pressed right into choso’s chest, and he dips his head for a second to nuzzle his nose into your hair.

“she’s real quiet tonight,” suguru says, noticing. “nah, she’s just comfy,” choso says easily. “she don’t need to talk when she’s like this.”

you don’t. not when you’ve got his warmth, his arm around you, his voice rumbling low in your ear with every lazy joke. it’s always like this, like no one else in the room really matters, like you could fall asleep right here and he’d keep the world spinning while you did.

“that’s love,” gojo says mock-serious.

“shut up,” choso mutters. but he doesn’t stop smiling. and the lighter’s still warm in his pocket.

and your eyes are still inked into his arm, safe and secret beneath layers of cotton and smoke.

~

the house is still going when you two finally get up. it’s past 2am, maybe closer to 3, but the music hasn’t let up and there’s still people on the floor, drinks in hand, voices loud and slurred over each other. someone’s passed out with a sharpie mustache, another guy’s making out with a pillow. classic kappa chaos.

choso’s the one who moves first. you feel it in the way his arm shifts, in the soft brush of his thumb against your side like a nudge. he leans in close, voice barely above a murmur.

“you good to dip?”

you nod into his hoodie, eyes half-lidded, heart heavy with warmth and weed.

he helps you up slow, palm steady at your back. when you stand, the cold air from the open back door hits your legs and you shiver a little, instinctively leaning back into his side. he shrugs his hoodie higher and throws an arm around your shoulders like he already knew it’d happen.

“yo,” choso calls out over the couch, voice scratchy and low. “we out.”

gojo perks up from where he’s still posted with a half-spilled drink, eyes bright. “tell your girlfriend goodnight for us.”

you don’t say anything, just press your face into choso’s shoulder again, and he laughs under his breath.

“night, man,” suguru says with a nod, already halfway into rolling another blunt.

sukuna lifts a hand lazily. “text if you end up in a ditch.”

“if i do, i’m takin’ you with me,” choso mutters.

they all laugh again, and it follows you both out the front door, the porch light buzzing weak and yellow above you. the night’s cooler now, quiet in a way that makes everything feel soft around the edges. your heels click against the pavement as you walk, but only for a second, choso notices and without a word, crouches down in front of you, glancing back over his shoulder.

“get on.”

you blink, amused. “seriously?”

“c’mon, ma,” he mumbles, tugging at your wrist. “your feet hurt.”

you climb onto his back with a little laugh, arms wrapped loose around his shoulders, and he stands like it’s nothing, steady under your weight. his steps are slow and sure down the sidewalk, the frat house lights shrinking behind you, the sounds of the party fading with every step.

“you always take care of me,” you mumble against his neck.

he hums low. “’course i do. you're my.. best friend.”

you walk like that for a while, his hoodie soft against your cheek, his hair brushing your face every time the wind shifts. he doesn’t say much, just hums sometimes or comments on dumb shit you pass, a traffic cone in a bush, a raccoon on the curb that freezes when it sees you, like it knows choso somehow.

he sets you down once you’re close, only when his own building’s steps are in sight. his hand stays in yours as he leads you inside, up the stairs, past the other bedrooms where people are either passed out or definitely not sleeping. his door clicks shut behind you with a soft thud, and everything goes quiet.

his room’s the same as always, warm, dim, the faint smell of weed and whatever incense he burned earlier in the week still lingering in the corners. one sock on the floor, a hoodie thrown over the back of his chair. you’ve been here a hundred times, maybe more.

but tonight feels different. softer. warmer.

he pulls his hoodie off slow, careful of the sleeve, and tosses it toward the desk chair. the bandage underneath catches the light for a second, but he turns before you see too much.

you toe your shoes off and crawl onto the bed without thinking. he follows, slower, body still heavy with high and heat and something else he can’t name.

you’re both under the blanket when he finally speaks.

“hey.”

you look over, curled on your side facing him.

his eyes are half-lidded, soft. one arm tucked behind his head, the other stretched toward you, palm open on the comforter like he’s offering it.

“i really fuckin’ love that lighter.”

your heart stutters a little. “yeah?”

he nods, slow. “like… a lot. been using it all night. even switched pockets for it, kept checking to make sure it didn’t fall out or get swiped.”

you smile, something small and full blooming in your chest. “good. it’s supposed to be yours.”

“feels like it.”

he looks at you for a long second. the space between you shrinks until his arm slides around your waist and pulls you in close.

you go easy, always do, settling into him like he’s your own bed, your own pillow, the place you always end up no matter how far you drift.

he breathes in slow, his nose brushing your hair.

“the flowers… why’d you paint those?”

you press your face into his chest.

“they reminded me of you,” you say quietly. “red spider lilies. they’re kind of… complicated. people think they’re about death or goodbye, but they also mean memory. rebirth. starting over. they grow in all the places nothing else does.”

choso’s quiet for a second.

then, soft, “you think i’m like that?”

you shrug against him, voice even softer. “i think you’re the kind of person who sticks. who stays even when shit gets hard. and you don’t always say how you feel but… you’re steady. like those flowers. like fire.”

he exhales slow.

“fuck, ma.”

“what?”

“you’re gonna make me cry or some shit.”

you laugh, a quiet huff against his chest. he wraps both arms around you now, tucking you into the space beneath his chin, his hand sliding up into your hair.

his fingers stroke slow, gentle. again and again.

“you can cry,” you mumble. “i won’t tell.”

he chuckles low, the sound vibrating through you.

“nah, i’m good. just… i dunno. not used to someone thinkin’ about me like that.”

you don’t say anything. just curl closer, your fingers fisting lightly in the fabric of his shirt.

the room settles into silence. soft and slow. your breaths even out together.

his hand keeps stroking through your hair, steady and grounding. like he could do it forever. like maybe he will.

his voice comes again, quieter this time.

“gonna keep that lighter forever.”

you smile, eyes fluttering shut. “good.”

“not even gonna let gojo touch it."

“definitely good.”

his lips brush your hair, a ghost of a kiss.

you feel it all, the warmth, the safety, the way his body curls slightly to fit around yours like a shield, like a home.

his heartbeat’s slow against your cheek.

“night, ma,” he whispers, already half-asleep.

you murmur it back, voice slurred with sleep, breath syncing with his.

his fingers keep moving, slow circles through your hair.

and in the soft dark, beneath the blanket, beneath the silence, his arm curls around you just enough to press the fresh ink on his bicep to your side, a quiet secret. a permanent truth.

just for him.

just for tonight.

just for you.

~

~

it’s been a chill afternoon, sun’s out, classes dragging, brain fried. choso’s walking out of the lab building with his earbuds in, hoodie half-zipped, replaying your last message in his head. a pic of your shoes kicked off under a library table, captioned come save me, three broken hearts. made him smile. still does.

he’s almost past the quad when a shadow cuts across the sidewalk.

“yo, choso.”

doesn’t need to look up to know who it is.

that voice, too smooth. familiar in the kind of way that feels like smoke curling up your back.

he pulls one earbud out and slows.

toji’s leaned against the trunk of an oak tree like he’s been waiting. sunglasses on, black tee snug across his chest, arms crossed like he’s got all day. his smirk’s already half-there.

“what’s up?” choso mutters.

“you got a sec?”

choso gives him a long look. he knows toji. knows the kind of calm that means something’s coming.

“…yeah,” he says anyway.

they walk.

they’ve done this before, that time a few weeks ago before his lab, once or twice after parties, when everyone else was loud and drunk and messy. toji’s always been different. sharper. like he watches the room just to see where it bleeds.

“how’s life at delta mu?” toji asks after a few steps. casual. fake.

“same shit.”

“yeah?” he smirks. “you still throwing those weed parties with your little mascot?”

choso’s jaw ticks. “you mean y/n?”

toji chuckles. “yeah. her.”

he tosses a glance sideways. too casual.

“she’s got some energy, huh? always bouncing around, arms all over you. she like that with everybody or just you?”

choso doesn’t answer. toji doesn’t need one.

“nah, i’ve seen it,” he continues. “always tucked up next to you. on your lap. wrapped around your arm. clinging to your hoodie like it’s the last blunt in the world.”

he laughs under his breath. “kinda cute.”

choso’s fists go deep in his pockets.

“she’s just like that,” he says flatly.

toji hums. “you sure?”

choso looks over.

“what’s your point?”

“just wondering,” toji shrugs, still smiling like it’s harmless. “you’ve told me before, you two aren’t dating.”

“we’re not.”

“but you hang out every day.”

“yeah.”

“sleep in the same bed sometimes, right?”

choso’s mouth tightens.

toji grins like he caught something.

“so she’s single?”

choso stares straight ahead.

“…yeah.”

“good to know.”

silence.

the wind brushes through the quad. students chatter behind them. someone’s playing music from a bluetooth speaker in the grass, something smooth, almost romantic. it doesn’t help.

“she’s just real… open, you know?” toji says. “like, warm. sweet as hell. makes you feel like you’ve known her forever.” choso stays quiet.

“i ran into her the other day,” toji adds like it’s nothing. “outside the gym. we talked for a sec.” his tone is lighter now. teasing. like he’s digging.

“she remembered my name. smiled real nice, too. said she was headed to meet you.”

no surprise there. you always say where you're going. always talking about choso like he’s the center of your world. and maybe that’s why this stings. and toji knows it.

“you ever wonder if she does that for you?” he asks. “tells other guys she’s headed to see you. uses your name like a shield.”

he doesn’t wait for a reply.

“or maybe it’s just habit. maybe she’s comfortable. you ever think about that?”

“don’t do this.”

choso’s voice is low now. warning. toji just smirks.

“look, man. i’m not trying to piss you off. just… trying to understand. ‘cause you act like you’re her boyfriend, but then you say you’re not.”

he tilts his head.

“so which is it?”

choso breathes slow through his nose.

“we’re close. we’ve always been close. that’s it.” toji nods. like he buys it.

but he doesn’t.

“damn,” he says. “you got more patience than me.”

“what’s that mean?”

“means if a girl like that was pressed up on me every night, i wouldn’t be wasting time calling her my friend.” he says it with a grin, but there’s something sharp underneath.

“you really never tried?” toji asks. “never kissed her? not once?” choso doesn’t respond. he can’t. he kisses you all the time, on the head, never on the lips.

because the truth’s stuck in his throat, the way you fall asleep in his arms, the way you hold his lighter like it means something, the way you always come back to him like he’s home. and he’s the dumbass who never claimed you.

“so she’s single, then?” toji repeats.

“yeah,” choso says, quieter than the first time, barely above a whisper.

toji gives him one last nod.

“fairs,” he says. “just wanted to be sure.” and then he walks away. choso doesn’t move. not for a long time.

just stands there, fists clenched, teeth gritted, watching toji’s silhouette disappear down the path like it’s a threat, because it is. he knew.

he knew before he asked.

and now he’s coming.

because choso left the door wide open.

and you?

you’re free to walk through it.

~

choso’s room, late in the afternoon.

your legs are curled under you on choso’s bed, hoodie three sizes too big hanging off your shoulder, his, of course. the windows are cracked open, letting in the soft hum of birds and the echo of some guys yelling down at the basketball court. his room smells like incense, sage and something deeper, something him, warm, sleepy. you’ve been here a hundred times like this. maybe more.

his hoodie sleeves keep sliding past your wrists as you text, thumbs quick, quiet smile pulling at your lips. he’s across the room, digging through a drawer for his rolling tray. you can feel his presence without even looking. you always do.

“yo, did you move my grinder?” he calls, glancing over his shoulder.

“nope,” you answer, distracted, fingers still flying over your screen. your phone lights again.

toji [3:04pm]: you looked cute at that mixer last night.

you bite your lip. thumbs hover.

then you type:

you [3:07pm]: oh, so ur stalking me noww?

you don’t see choso pause. you don’t see how long his eyes linger on your phone. you don’t realize he saw the name, until he speaks.

“who you texting?”

you blink up, tone of his voice unfamiliar.

“hm? oh—” you shift your phone in your hand, instinctive. “just… someone.”

he tilts his head.

“someone, huh.”

you laugh a little. “why do you sound like that?”

he doesn’t answer. he crosses the room instead, slow steps. plants himself at the edge of the bed, arms folded. you look up at him and that warm energy’s gone. replaced with something colder. sharp.

“that toji?”

your breath stalls.

“…yeah.”

choso stares at you. unreadable.

“why?”

“what do you mean why?” you ask, eyebrows tugging. “he messaged me. we were just talking.”

he hums, low.

'not buying it.'

“just talking,” he echoes. “what about?” you sit up straighter. “what’s going on?”

“what’d he say?”

“choso—”

“lemme see.”

he gestures at your phone. you clutch it instinctively. like muscle memory. like guilt? “are you serious right now?” he doesn’t answer. jaw’s tight. eyes dark.

“what’d he say?” he asks again. your fingers squeeze your phone. you feel a flush crawl up your neck. not from embarrassment, but shock.

“you’re not serious,” you say again, this time quieter. he just looks at you. so you speak.

“he said i was cute, that's it.”

his jaw ticks.

“you flirting with him?”

“what?”

“you heard me.”

you scoff. “no. i wasn’t. it wasn’t even- i didn’t mean it like that.” choso steps back, runs a hand through his hair. pacing now.

“you texting him while you’re in my bed?”

“what does that matter?”

“it matters.”

his voice is sharper now. rough around the edges. not loud, but tight, like it’s fighting to stay inside his chest. “you know how i feel about that guy.”

“choso, he’s been nothing but nice lately—”

“he’s not nice. he’s not interested in being friends. he’s waiting, he’s circling, you don’t see it?”

you blink.

“so what, you’re mad ‘cause i texted him back?” he looks at you like you just spit on the floor. “i’m mad ‘cause you’re in my fucking hoodie, in my bed, telling some other guy he’s got a shot.”

you freeze.

the silence that falls is loud.

so loud.

your eyes widen. you stare at him, lips parted. unsure if you heard that right. unsure if he meant to say it.

“a shot?” you echo. he looks away. exhales hard.

“never mind.”

“no,” you say, voice firm now. “say it again.”

he doesn’t. but you both feel the truth echoing off the walls.

you look down. suddenly too warm. like the hoodie’s burning your skin. “…i didn’t know you’d care,” you say, almost to yourself.

choso swallows. “i do.” you glance back up.

“why?”

he doesn’t answer, but you already know. and now the air is thick with it. the unspoken thing. and for the first time, it’s not sweet. not warm. it hurts.

because it means everything he’s never said, everything he’s been, came with conditions you never agreed to. came with borders he never drew, but expected you not to cross.

you breathe slow. he watches you. you speak first.

“if you wanted to be the only one texting me like that, you should’ve said something.” choso’s face shifts. his mouth opens like he’s going to say something, defend himself, maybe, argue the way he always stays quiet because he doesn’t want to lose you,but nothing comes out.

instead, his brows knit together, lips pressed in a tight line. his fingers curl at his sides.

“you really think i don’t wanna be that?” he says, voice rough. “you think this shit’s been casual for me?” you blink at him. your breath catches.

“you’ve never said it was anything else, choso. what was i supposed to think?”

“fuck,” he growls, pacing again. “you were supposed to know. i thought you knew.”

his voice rises, not yelling, but loud with frustration. he’s unraveling in real time, and it’s shaking something loose in you, too.

“how was i supposed to know?” you shoot back. “you flirt but you never say anything. you touch me like i’m yours but act like i’m just your best friend—”

“you are mine.” your voice dies in your throat.

he stares at you. and when he speaks again, it’s quieter, but no less intense.

“you’re mine,” he says again, like a confession. like a curse. “always been mine.” your stomach flips.

“then why—” your voice cracks — “why didn’t you say anything?”

choso runs a hand through his hair again, like he’s trying to physically hold himself together. like it hurts.

“’cause i was scared,” he snaps. “scared that if i said it out loud, it’d fuck everything up. that you’d look at me different. that you’d leave.” you stare.

“so you’d rather let someone else have me?”

he stiffens. you rise onto your knees on the bed, fire lighting behind your ribs now. “you’d rather let toji of all people try it?”

his jaw clenches. “he’s not gonna have you.” your heartbeat skids.

he moves in fast, faster than he ever has, and grabs your wrist, firm but not rough, like he can’t bear to let the distance exist any longer.

“i’m not letting him have you,” he mutters.

you’re still frozen, looking up at him. something between fear and thrill curling in your gut.

“choso,” you whisper. he doesn’t stop. he pushes you back gently onto the bed, one hand catching your waist, the other bracing against the mattress. he hovers over you, breath heavy, eyes searching your face like he’s begging you to see it, really see it this time.

“i’m fucking in love with you.”

your heart punches into your throat. his forehead dips, pressing against yours, voice hoarse.

“i’ve been in love with you since you showed up to my first party and we listened to that dumb song together.”

you let out a shaky laugh, but your eyes are wet his thumb brushes your cheek.

“i never said it ‘cause i thought this was enough. thought just having you close was better than risking it all. but i can’t—” he pulls in a breath, voice shaking now too — “i can’t sit quiet while other people try to take you from me.”

you’re blinking fast now. breath catching. every inch of your skin feels like it’s on fire beneath his touch.

“you’re my girl,” he says again, softer this time. “you’ve always been mine.”

you don’t answer right away. your chest rises and falls beneath his, shallow and unsteady. your palm is still on his cheek, but your eyes have shifted, staring past him now. unfocused. wet.

“you’re only saying that,” you murmur, “because someone else finally had the balls to go after me.”

his breath catches. your voice is quieter, but sharp now, like you’re trying to convince yourself. like you want to believe it, but the cracks are there, and they’re splitting open.

“you didn’t say anything until he got involved. until he started asking about me. texting me. seeing me.” your hand falls away from his face. “and now suddenly, i’m yours?”

his eyes widen. “no—”

“you had so long to tell me, choso. so many chances.”

“y/n, it’s not like that—”

“then what is it like?” you breathe. “’cause i don’t get to be the girl you only want when someone else does.”

choso stares at you, heart hammering. like you just ripped something raw and bloody straight out of his chest.

he swallows.

and then, slowly, he pushes back, just far enough to sit up on his knees beside you. the mattress dips with the weight shift. his hands fumble for the hem of his hoodie.

he pulls it up and over his head in one quick move. your breath stutters.

there, inked into the inside of his upper arm, where he’d hidden it every time you curled up against him, is a tattoo.

of your eyes.

staring straight back at you.

your real breath, the one stuck in your throat, finally punches out of you.

choso watches your expression shift, eyes flicking from the ink to his face and back. he swallows once, hard, and says:

“got it the night of the party. when you gave me the lighter.” you blink.

“you were curled up on me. whole time i was talking with the boys, i couldn’t stop thinking about you. how close you were. how you looked at me like that was your home.” he swipes a thumb under his nose, like he doesn’t know what else to do with his hands. “so i got up, high as fuck, to the guy tatting people in the corner. told him to ink your eyes on me.”

your lips part, but nothing comes out. his voice softens.

“i didn’t say anything ‘cause i thought it was enough. just having you near. but it’s not. not anymore.”

your heart pounds so hard you feel it in your ears.

he looks at you like you’re the only thing in the room. like he needs you to believe it. really believe it.

“this isn’t about toji. it’s never been about him. i wanted you long before he ever said your name.”

you’re still staring at the tattoo.

he moves closer again. his hand brushes your knee, gentle.

“you think i’d get your fucking eyes tatted on me just ‘cause i’m jealous?” you blink fast.

his hand finds your face again. tender. grounding “you’re it for me.”

his voice is low, raspy. not just from the emotion, but from how hard he’s holding it in, like if he lets go, everything he’s ever felt for you will come spilling out and drown him.

but he lets it go anyway.

“you’re all i think about,” choso says, brushing his thumb over your cheek again. “when i’m high, when i’m sober, when you’re across the room and laughing at someone’s stupid joke, when you’re asleep in my bed, wearing my shirt, you’re in my head all the time, ma.” your breath catches.

“every song reminds me of you. every little thing you do drives me crazy. you don’t even know how much of me you’ve got.”

he leans closer, forehead nearly touching yours.

“you gave me that lighter and i wanted to kiss you right there in the middle of that party. when you paint your nails i stare at your hands for hours. when you fall asleep on me at parties, i sit still like a statue so you don’t move. i’m always lookin’ at you like ive already lost you, and it kills me.”

his hand finds your jaw, warm and steady, fingers curling behind your ear. your breath hitches, and he’s close enough to feel it.

“you’ve had my heart since freshman year. and i didn’t say anything ‘cause i thought maybe you didn’t want it. or maybe you already had it and didn’t need to hear it out loud.”

you swallow, shaky. lips parted. cheeks flushed.

and choso looks down at them, your lips, like he’s been holding himself back from kissing you for a lifetime.

and then he doesn’t anymore.

he crashes into you like he’s starving.

the kind of kiss that drags a sound out of your throat before you even realize it, all heat and pressure and ache, all the months and years and everything he’s shoved down, poured out into the way his lips mold against yours. he kisses you like he’s afraid you’ll pull away, and like he knows you won’t.

your hands claw at his shoulders, winding into the mess of his hair, tugging him in even closer. and choso groans, deep in his throat, pressing you down into the bed, slotting his hips against yours.

his mouth moves fast, desperate, lips, tongue, teeth, like he can’t get enough. like the taste of you is something he needs in his lungs.

“fuck,” he breathes against your mouth, dragging his lips down your jaw, “you don’t get it, do you?”

your back arches, lips parting when he sucks lightly under your ear.

“how bad i’ve wanted this. you.”

his hands roam, over your waist, under your shirt, up your sides like he’s trying to memorize all of you at once. and every place he touches leaves a trail of fire.

you moan his name, soft and shaky, and he loses it a little more, bites your bottom lip as he grinds his hips down into yours, heavy and hot and so there.

“say it again,” he mutters, eyes half-lidded, forehead pressed to yours. “say my name.”

“choso.”

he shudders.

“again.”

“cho!.”

he kisses you so deep it knocks the breath out of your lungs. kisses you like he owns you, like you’ve always belonged to him, and like he’s finally letting himself claim what’s already his.

and fuck, you let him.

you’ve wanted this just as long, you've needed him just as bad.

and now, with your limbs tangled, your body burning under his, your heart thudding like a war drum in your chest, there’s no more pretending.

you’re his. he’s yours. and it’s written all over his face.

choso looks at you like you’re the only thing he’s ever wanted, like he’s starved for you, but still savoring the moment. his eyes are dark, heavy-lidded, but soft. reverent. he cups your cheek with a hand that’s just slightly trembling, brushing his thumb along your skin like he can’t believe you’re real.

he kisses your forehead, slow and grounding, like a promise. then your nose. then your lips, and that one lingers. warm, aching, deep enough that it steals the air from your lungs. it’s not just desire. it’s everything he’s never said until now.

“please let me see you, ma." he whispers, voice hoarse, like he’s been holding back forever.

you nod, lips parted, eyes locked with his. your breath stutters as his fingers ghost over the hem of your shirt, lifting it inch by inch like he’s unwrapping something precious. he tosses it aside, only to pull you in again. his palms spread wide across your ribs, thumbs brushing just beneath your chest.

“fuck,” he breathes, low and to himself. “so fucking beautiful.”

he leans in, mouth dragging hot and open along your neck, kissing and breathing you in, his lips trembling against your pulse like he’s drunk off you. he murmurs something there, a soft, almost desperate, “mine,” before he undoes your bra with one practiced flick.

and when it falls away, he doesn’t touch you right away. he just stares, like the sight of you has knocked the wind out of him.

his hands come up slow, palms warm as they cup you like he’s afraid to break something delicate. “been dreaming about this,” he says. “about you. here. like this. in my bed. lookin’ up at me like you already know i’d give you everything.”

you shiver under the weight of it all, his voice, his gaze, his touch. and then his mouth is on your chest, lips sealing around your nipple, tongue flicking before he sucks. slow, deep, just enough to make you arch into him with a needy whimper.

“choso…”

he groans, hand sliding lower, fingers hooking into the waistband of your shorts. he pulls them down with your panties in one motion, dragging his palms down your thighs on the way. and when he sits back, just to take you in, bare, breathless, flushed, his eyes go wide, like he’s trying to commit you to memory. “look at you,” he murmurs, chest rising with each ragged breath. “you don’t even know what you do to me, do you?”

you reach for him, tugging his shirt up and over his head, palms skating down the strong lines of his chest, stopping only when your fingers find his arm. your breath catches.

your eyes. inked in black and red over his skin, etched like a confession. you won't ever get sick of seeing it.

he watches you take it in, sees the exact moment you understand, and he doesn’t say anything. not at first. he just leans in, takes your hand in his, and presses it over his heart.

“see?” he whispers. “been yours. always.”

your eyes brim, chest tight with something that has no name. and then he kisses you again, slow and deep, tongue stroking yours, hand sliding between your thighs. he groans into your mouth when he feels you, warm, wet, already trembling.

“so wet for me,” he mutters, lips brushing yours. “all this for me, huh?”

his fingers dip into you, one at first, then two, slow and deep, curling just right. your back arches, mouth falling open with a gasp as he starts to move them, watching every twitch and shiver you give him like he’s memorizing the way you come apart. “fuck, baby,” he breathes. “you feel so good, been wantin’ this for so long. just wanted to take care of you. make you feel good.”

his lips trail back down, mouth closing around your nipple again as his fingers keep working you open, the room echoing with your broken gasps and soft moans. he kisses your sternum, your ribs, every inch of you he can reach like he’s trying to make up for every second he didn’t have you.

and when your legs start to tremble, when your thighs squeeze around his hand and you whimper his name into the crook of his neck, he groans, low and sexy, and pulls back just enough to strip the last of his clothes.

his cock is flushed, hard, already leaking, and still, he pauses.

he leans in, pressing his forehead to yours, breathing hard. “you sure you wanna do this hun?”

“i want you,” you whisper, voice cracking. “i want all of you.”

and when he slides in, slow, deliberate, it’s overwhelming. your nails dig into his shoulders, mouth open in a silent gasp, and he just groans, long and low, burying his face in your neck.

“fuck, sweetheart… you feel so fuckin’ good, made for me, huh?”

his hips rock into you, slow and deep, dragging along every sensitive inch inside you until you’re trembling again, mouth parted in helpless moans. he kisses you through it, messy and uncoordinated, full of teeth and tongue and need.

he doesn’t hold back anymore. not his body, not his voice. he’s everywhere, his hands, his mouth, his words, and every thrust is rougher, deeper, hotter than the last.

“been yours since the day i met you,” he breathes against your skin. “you’re mine, baby. mine. no one else gets to have you like this. no one else even fuckin’ compares.”

you believe him. how could you not, when he’s saying it like he’s been waiting years to let it out?

you fall apart first, clenching around him with a strangled moan, whole body trembling as your orgasm crashes through you, and choso follows, grinding into you with a low growl, holding you close as he spills into you.

he doesn’t let go. not even after. he stays buried deep, forehead to yours, one hand cradling your jaw like it’s fragile.

“not lettin’ you go,” he whispers. “not now. not ever.”

~

raging music throbs and the party’s already in full swing when you two walk in. the bass thrums under your feet, bodies packed tight in the kappa house. familiar faces flash by in strobes of color and sound, solo cups raised, someone laughing too loud, gojo shouting across the room with a bottle in each hand.

and then you and choso step into the chaos like it’s nothing. except tonight, it’s not nothing. it’s everything. your hand is in his. his thumb strokes over your knuckles like it’s second nature, and you’re tucked into his side like you’ve always belonged there. he’s wearing that hoodie you love, and you’ve got it slung off your shoulder like it’s yours now. he hasn’t let go of you since you walked through the door, and he doesn’t plan to. people notice.

gojo sees first. his mouth falls open around the mouth of a beer can, and he drops it on the counter with a dramatic gasp. “oh my god.” choso raises an eyebrow, smirking. “no fuckin way,” sukuna mutters, eyes narrowing. “this for real?” you don’t say anything. just smile, nuzzling into choso’s chest. and choso, god, he melts. his arm tightens around you like instinct, like he’s not even thinking about it. “you’re kidding,” maki blurts from across the room. she’s half-drunk and squinting, pointing her beer bottle at you two like she’s trying to make sense of a mirage. “you finally fucked?”

“maki,” shoko hisses, slapping her arm, but she’s already grinning. “i knew it. i knew it.” suguru lifts his drink with a slow, knowing smile. “took you long enough.” gojo, meanwhile, is spinning in a circle like he just witnessed a miracle. “wait wait wait,” he says, pointing between the two of you. “you’re telling me this entire time, we’ve been watching you two eye-fuck each other across every frat house on campus, and now you’re just casually showing up like this?”

“what can i say,” choso murmurs, pulling you even closer, “i figured it was time.” “look at his hand placement,” shoko says, leaning into maki. “that’s not friends. that’s boyfriend hand placement.”

“yeah and look at her,” maki laughs. “she looks like she just got dicked down and praised like a goddess.” you duck your head a little, embarrassed, but choso leans in and kisses your cheek, then your temple. it’s so soft, so easy, and when he pulls back, he looks straight at toji who’s staring wide eyed, steady, calm, but with a flicker of challenge in his eyes.

“don’t look at her like that,” he says, voice low. “not tonight. not ever.” toji scoffs, raising his hands in mock surrender, but his grin is sharp. “damn. someone’s possessive now.”

“been possessive,” choso mutters, like it’s not even up for debate. he turns his attention back to you instantly, brushing your hair behind your ear.

“you okay?”

you nod. “i’m perfect.” and then he kisses you. not a peck. not for show. it’s slow, unhurried, with his hand cupping your jaw and his lips moving with the kind of tenderness that makes your knees weak. the room could be burning down and he wouldn’t stop. you don’t even hear gojo’s dramatic screech until you break apart.

“yo this is crazy,” he says, spinning around and yelling to no one in particular. “choso is off the market. choso kamo, resident stoner-lover of no one but his weed and his hoodie collection, is now cuffed.”

“what’s it feel like,” suguru asks with a smirk, raising an eyebrow at choso, “to be someone’s boyfriend?”

“feels like i shoulda done it years ago,” choso says. you blink up at him, heart catching in your throat. “yo,” yuuji calls from the other side of the room. “does this mean we’re finally allowed to say you two have been in love since freshman year?” “i always said it,” nobara yells, shoving through the crowd with a drink. “don’t act like y’all didn’t see them cuddled up at every party like an old married couple.”

“wait does this mean she’s moving into his room?” gojo asks, visibly spiraling. “what’s gonna happen to the guest bed? who’s gonna roll for me when choso’s too busy being in love?”

“die mad,” choso says flatly, and everyone laughs. but even through all the noise and teasing and attention, his focus never strays from you. his hand stays on your waist. his eyes keep dropping to your mouth like he’s remembering exactly what it feels like.

“you good?” he murmurs again, like he just wants to hear you say it.

you press your nose to his chest and nod, smiling. “more than good.”

he kisses you again, slower this time, like it’s just for you. like no one else is in the room. like he’s exactly where he’s always wanted to be.

and the thing is, he is.

he’s yours. fully, finally, publicly.

more choso for you >~< 'sticky situation' 'you,always.'

awe wasn't that sweet 👩‍❤️‍💋‍👨 masterlist !!

guys look at this beautiful art @ryololart did inspired by this fic i love her go like it rn omg this is the perfect visual.

[imyourightnow]

This was fluffy 💗

[sixxels-deactivated20260420-dea]

everything i don't let myself want ~ s.gojo

slutty!fratboy!gojo x bestfriend!reader

wc: 12k || art creds: @/neoclysm || 18+

summary! your best friend satoru gojo has had a massive crush on you for years, the only issue is, he's pretty slutty. all he wants is you, god, you're the only thing he cares about these days, but he's too insecure to let himself want someone as beautiful and kind as you are.. he feels like he doesn't deserve such a loving person, so he sticks to his promiscuous lifestyle until you two can't handle pretending you're not enamoured with each other anymore. (insecure gojo, angst to comfort, gojo uses sex as an escape (no explicit mentions of said sex between others), toxicity, he's a sweetheart i promise)

satoru was off-his-fucking-face drunk.

he saw you from across the room chatting it up with shiu, a well known plug around campus, and a very attractive one at that, although he hated to admit it.

he knows he probably shouldn't of felt that stab of jelousy that just radiated through his gut, he's supposed to smile, then shrug all nonchalantly, cmon. don’t be weird. she talks to people. you talk to everyone. that’s how this shit works. he thinks.

but then he clocks the way shiu leans in closer, not to the point he's feeling all up on you, but he's close enough that it really, really pisses gojo off.

so, like any good 'best friend' who was almost blackout would do, he stalked over and threw his floppy, muscular arms around your waist with a deadly glare.

"can you fuck off shiu? no one wants you around here fucking up freshman with your fucking sketchy shit." he slurred, clinging to you like a koala.

"good cussing, satoru." shiu smiles with a new cigarette hanging from his lip.

"i hate you."

"i know, buddy..." he replies, winking at you before slipping the back of smiles into his pocket, "well uh, i'll leave you two alone then?" the obviously more mature man offers, you clench your teeth and pull one of satorus arms off of your body.

"sorry, kong. we'll chat another time?"

"no, you won't. go away shiu." satoru quipped, the black haired man just waves with a chuckle and moves on. he knew drunk gojo wasn't to be taken to heart, after all.

good riddance, he thought. everyone knew you were his, so why wasn't shiu getting that?

he sighed, but deep down he hated that part of himself. the obsessive part that wants to pull you away while knowing full well he's never once made any sort of claim on you. he doesn't get to play guard dog when he himself is the one who's taught everyone he's nothing more but a temporary play thing for others to use.

he knows it's pathetic, but still, he couldn't help but cling to you. it was just second nature to him at this point.

once shiu's gone, you exhale curtly. this always happened. despite your and satoru's relationship being nothing more than a tight friendship, he always got disgustingly possessive when you gave your attention to others, especially men, and especially at parties.

you sigh, then pry his other lanky arm off you with a big huff, fuck, he was heavy.

“you’re being ridiculous, satoru,” you groan, yelling over the music even though he's loud enough for the both of you, “i was only asking him how his studies were going.”

“don’t care,” satoru mumbles with his cheek pressed to your smaller shoulder. “don’t like him.”

“you don’t like anyone who talks to me.”

“mhm.”

you groan softly, this has happened so many times it’s become expected at these kinds of things. you reach for his collar and tug it, steering him away from the kitchen before he can latch back on to shiu who was now talking to maki.

“come on,” you roll your eyes. “you’re piss faced.”

he laughs boisterously, a stark change from the pout he was wearing a few seconds ago. “only a bit.”

“you’re literally swaying.”

“and? i sway when i'm sober.”

you can be bothered arguing with this meat head. instead, you turn toward the stairs and brace for impact because right on cue, his hand slides into yours and he pulls you up them.

“satoru,” you hiss, but he’s already halfway up, pulling you along behind him.

“i want to go to my room,” he says bluntly. “it's too fucking loud down there.”

he keeps a tight hold of your hand all the way up the spiral stairs with his thumb brushing your knuckles over and over, a nervous little tic he did when he got overwhelmed.

people smile and shout at the both of you as you walk pass, you think you can make out sukuna yelling his name, but he ignores all of them with a scoff like the dismissive drunk he is.

the moment you’re inside his room he shuts the door with his foot and leans back against it, still holding your hand.

this is always the part that makes your heart go all soft.

satoru looked so much gentler when he was inebriated like this. physically he’s still got that massive muscular upper body, still takes up all of your personal space and all, but he seems so fragile. like he’s set down the flashy go getter version of himself everyone else sees and picked up the one he only lets you have.

“sit,” he says dragging you toward his bed.

you smile at his slightly slurred speech and sit, he drops down beside you with his long lanky knees bumping yours. he immediately scoots closer until his leg presses against your own. his hand itch's until it's touching yours, your wrist, then your fingers, lacing them together.

he was always a little touchy when drunk.

“you okay?” you ask.

“yeah,” he says with a smile, then, “you’re really good.”

you laugh and lean back on your free hand. “that wasn’t the question, silly.”

he shrugs, flopping back onto the mattress and dragging you with him so you’re both propped up against his bashed up and faded wooden headboard. he loops his strong arm under your back and around your waist, pulling you closer to his body. okay, maybe a lot touchy.

you and satoru had a special kind of thing going on.

in freshman he spotted you from across the way at a mixer, he clocked you from the other side of the room and decided, for reasons he never really explained, that you were his person now.

he stole your cup, replaced it with a fresh one, and talked your ear off until you forgot what being nervous actually felt like, he seemed like a suave man on the outside, but this guy poured straight chronically online brainrot humour into your brain for like, two hours straight?.

by the end of the night you were sitting on the curb together, sharing fries he'd door dashed to the frat laughing like you’d known each other forever.

from then on, it was just a thing. you studied together, even though he never actually studied and mostly complained. you slept over, even though you both had comfy beds of your own.

you knew his school schedule, his little moods, the signs that meant he needed to leave a party early and unwind somewhere else. he knew when you were lying about being fine and when you needed him to just sit there and not try to fix anything.

people joked about you two all the time.

geto once asked why you didn’t just date already. satoru laughed far too loud and said that’d 'ruin absolutely everything'. you giggled too, telling yourself it was better like this, that you liked having him without the risk of romantic intimacy.

but like everything, the truth always came out.

one night where the both of you were almost blackout drunk, he took you upstairs after throwing his guts up into the toilet. you laughed at him and he flipped you off back, cleaning up then pulling you into his room like a rag doll.

he held you in the middle of the floor after you'd both toppled over, and he admitted everything to you through very crappy, slurred speech.

he told you how much he loved you, how badly he wanted you all to himself, how no one else could do it for him. you admitted the same, you told him how much you needed him in your life and how you felt more loved with him that anyone else.

you kissed, it was gross and quick but it happened. your feelings were out in the open.

for that night, at least.

morning came and the previous confession felt like small tiny fragments in both of your minds, you just couldn't remember any of it fully.

you went about your little friendship like nothing had changed. from what was left in your brains, you had a semi-clear thought on it all.

oh shit, maybe she/he likes me back?

sometimes, late at night, you’d lie next to him while he talked about nothing, sometimes you thought you caught drawls of that night in how he went quiet when you mentioned another guy, or when his hand squeezed yours that little bit tighter. but then he’d joke it away, or pull back, or remind you with a grin that you were his best friend.

so you stayed quiet, and so did he.

because being close to him like this felt better than not having him at all, loving him quietly was safer than risking losing him.

you didn’t know he was doing the exact same thing, from the other side of that line, telling himself over and over that you deserved better than him and that wanting you meant destroying his favourite thing in the world, your friendship.

now, your eyes drag over his pretty face as he stares up at the celling, letting out a long sigh that smelt like hard solo.

then he starts talking.

“god, this theme sucked actual nut sacks." he announces. “it was so bad, y/n. tell them to never do it again.”

you snort. “hm? weren't you the one hyping it up last week.”

“can you be quiet? i was lying. why are you lying to me?" he was making no sense.

“i feel like that's not... a proper answer?” you shake your head like you yourself were letting it go, he wasn't sober enough to be answering things correctly.

“rude.” he turns his head to look at you. “everyone looks stupid.”

“you’re wearing bright red board shorts and no shirt."

“yeah,” he says seriously. “so fucking stupid.”

you glance at the discarded lifeguard whistle on his desk, the red plastic stark against the silky oak. “you look fine, toru.”

“nah.” he shakes his head, hair flopping into his eyes. “everyone’s dressed like baywatch rejects. i hate it.”

“you hate fun.”

“i love fun.” he squeezes your waist as to prove his point. “this just isn’t fun fun.”

“yeah? what’s fun fun then?”

his face turns and he's suddenly looking happier. gosh, these drunken mood swings.. “like... a onesie party.”

you laugh and sit a bit closer. “of course.”

“like animals,” he adds, gaining conversational momentum. “or dinosaurs. geto would be a gorilla. choso would be like, a wolf or some shit.”

“yeah? what would you be?”

he breathes out an answer before you can even finish your sentence. “a bunny.”

“oh wow, no you would not.”

“i absolutely would. i'd buy ears and everything.” he whines with a forlorn expression, oh we're sad now? perfect.

you picture it and bite your lip to keep from smiling too hard, but he notices.

“see,” he says, now smug (you seriously couldn't keep up). “way better than 'surfer sluts'.”

you look at his shorts, then back at him. “at least the name was semi-creative?”

“tch, only thing creative 'bout it.”

he rambles on, complaining about the trashy pitbull music, about how someone spilled a drink on his nice new grey decarbra's, about how the freshmen are hella annoying this year. his hands wonder as he talks, sometimes he's squeezing your fingers, sometimes drifting to your hip, sometimes tracing the line of your knee cap? he's doing it absentmindedly so you guess it was fine.

you two chat about how shitty the party was for a good half hour, circling back to old gossip and relationship dramas, laughing and spit balling for ages. you'd never tell him but you loved these moments, where he'd laugh and talk to you like you'd known him since he was born, rather than just a few years ago.

he always looked at you like you were the most precious thing in the universe, whether you'd be out on long drives in his fancy car, or over at your dorm making really crappy cupcakes, he'd always gaze at you so lovingly. the bond between two best friends, am i right? you pushed away the thought of his lips on yours.

he sobers up a tad so the conversation is semi coherent on his end.

eventually, he circles the topic back you like he always does.

“so, you talk to shiu a lot,” he says quickly, darting his eyes back and forth from your face to gage your reaction.

“you know i talk to everyone,” you reply.

“yeah, but like.. you talk to him a lot.”

you smile at his badly hidden jealousy, “he’s in my stats class, satoru. nothing more.”

“still.”

you roll your eyes. “i asked how his studies were going. that’s it.”

he hums but it sounds very unconvinced.

“you get so weird about this,” you add. “it’s not that serious, i promise.”

he shifts closer again and his forehead drops to your shoulder. “i just don’t like when guys look at you.”

“they’re going to look at me.”

“i know.” his voice drops. “i hate it.”

you bump his knee with yours. “that’s a you problem, toru.”

“rude,” he repeats, but there’s no real malice in it.

you blurt out quickly, regretting it as soon as it pours out, "you're the only guy i'm this into, satoru, don't worry." fuck why did i say that?!

gojo's heartbeat is now thumping. she means that... in a friend way, right? of course. of course she did. no biggie...

he bites his lip as his hand goes all shake dragging up and down your arms.

you sit in silence for a bit as he and you both process, listening to the muffled frank ocean seeping through the floor boards. his thumb keeps tracing your knuckles, slower than before like he’s losing steam, getting sleepy.

to satoru, his room feels so much safer because no one’s looking at him like they want to eat him alive. not in here, with you. there's no one staring, waiting for him to be alone so they can make a move. sure, he's into it, but sometimes he jsut wants this, with you.

this is the version of him that he loves, sitting. talking. hands brushing without it being a big deal.

he wonders, not for the first time, why this version never feels like it’s allowed to want things. to want things like you.

the silence is comforting, but you make the mistake of opening your mouth. you promise you were only trying to lighten the mood, and/or distract from your almost confession earlier.

“c'mon,” you say lightly, not really thinking, “you should be thriving tonight, not sulking up here in your room. i mean, this theme was basically made for you.”

he lifts his head. “uh? what’s that supposed to mean?”

you shrug. “you know, surfer sluts. pretty fitting, no?"

you don't realise, but he goes stiff at your throw away comment, his fingers pause their ministrations on yours, his grip loosening until your fingers slide apart. he sits up straighter, and his body naturally moves away. his blue gaze dropping to the floor.

he’s heard it all before. much worse than this. louder than this. laughed off in locker rooms and kitchens and group chats.

'he's a slut.'

'a manwhore.'

'gojo’s just being gojo.'

he knows deep down he's built it, with every hook up being another brick. it was easier than being the guy who wanted one girl and didn’t know how to ask without ruining everything.

but fuck, he doesn’t want you to see him like that. that’s the fucked part. he doesn’t mind anyone else thinking it. just not you.

“oh,” he says.

you tilt your head, smiling. “oh, what?”

“nothing.”

you watch as his face turns into a distant blunt pull, you can't tell if he's still going through his drunken emotional switch ups or what.

“hey,” you say. “hey, i was joking.”

“yeah,” he mutters. “i know.”

he doesn’t look at you. oh shit.

without him pressed against you, the room suddenly inflates ten fold, when did it get so cold? the space between your bodies is small but very prominent, like a missing piece to a puzzle you'd spent hours putting together.

“toru?” you try again.

he scratches at his neck, a nervous habit you’ve seen a hundred times but never really questioned. “it’s fine.”

it’s clearly not, but you don’t push. you’ve learned when to stop.

he swings his legs off the bed and leans forward, elbows on his knees. the chatter downstairs seeps up, laughter and shouting coming through the walls. he stares at nothing, his mouth moving like he’s chewing on words he doesn’t want to swallow.

“everyone thinks that,” he says eventually, “so you’re not wrong.”

you frown, then fling your own legs off of the couch and hug into his side. “hm? thinks what?”

“that i’m just… that.”

oh.. you wince to yourself and drag a hand up and down his arm for comfort, “hey.. i didn’t mean it like that.”

“i know.” he huffs a laugh lacking all the humour it usually had. “doesn’t really matter how you meant it.”

he looks down at you, “it’s true.”

you don't know how to answer, because you know it's true, too. you didn't mean to be rash, but he was a slut. this guy averaged two girls a week and bragged to almost everyone about it, why was he getting angsty now? his constant rotation was the main reason you hadn't brought up your feeling for him since that night. who sleeps with that many chicks if they really did like someone for real?

he keeps going, words pouring now that the dam’s cracked.

“i mean, look at me,” he says, gesturing at himself. “everyone here’s fucked me or wants to. it’s kind of my thing now, not that i totally mind, it's just.. not all i am.”

“i don't think that's all you are, okay? you're my bestfriend, satoru. i know you better than that.” you're trying so hard to save this sinking ship.

'bestfriend..' he echoed in his mind, a solemn smile playing at his mouth, he wanted to be so, so much more than that.

"yeah, i know you don't think that.” he shrugs, smiling softer. “you're the only opinion i really care about, anyways.”

you tap his wrist for his hand again and he lets you intertwine your fingers. his heart blips, you don't normally initiate this type of intimacy, it was always him grabbing for your hand.

"of course satoru, don't worry,” you say.

he wants to say something else but whatever it was stays lodged behind his smile, any sadness he had was long gone, he was now hyper fixated on your hand.

"i know you wanna tell me something else."

“yeah but.. forget it,” he says almost too happily.

you squeeze his hand. “c'monn, tell me.”

he shakes his head, hair falling into his eyes again. “it’s stupid.”

“you’re stupid,” you say gently.

stupidly in love with you..

~

satoru stretches and lets out a deep, throaty groan. he somehow didn't have a hangover this morning, that was surprising.

he yawns and rolls over to bury his face into the pillow, his head feels packed with cotton and gravel, but it's not necessarily throbbing.

he's halfway through another groanish yawn when he realises the blankets that are pulled over his chest, when did they get there?

he stares at the ceiling, frowning. his comforter is pulled up to his chest with the corners tucked around his shoulders in a fashion he never ever does himself because he’s lazy and tall and always hangs off the bed. someone even kicked his shoes into place on his shoe rack.

you, of course it was you.

your face floats right to the front of his mind clear as day. your pretty little laugh, your hand in his, the precious way you were looking at him when he knocked out, you looked so beautiful.

he had morning wood and the thought of you was only making it pulsate harder. you were so kind to him, you'd always been there as an anchor, no matter what. he'd crash at your place when he felt like it, he'd squeeze into bed with you and hold you against his body.

shit, your body.. he presses his boner into the bed and groans, draging a heavy hand down his face.

“fuck.”

he's loved you for years, every girl he's ever fucked was a distraction. a distraction from the fact he never felt good enough to have you, all of you, all to himself. he hated it.

he catalogs the evidence like it’s a horrible case against him and his promiscuous ways. the kind words you'd always spewed, the way you can leave him without it feeling like you're really gone..

he racks his brain for every girl who’s woken up here and slipped out before he got to learn their last names. how none of them ever did this. how none of them stayed this gentle with him.

he tells himself thats gotta mean something.

then, he reminds himself that wanting something doesn’t mean he deserves it..

as he's having a deep, 'i love my bestfriend but i'm too much of a whore to deserve her, what the fuck do i do?' crisis for the fiftieth time this month, the door slams open.

“rise and shine, whore,” sukuna bellows, stepping into the room blowing a fat cloud of sweet vapor straight into the air. “get the fuck up. house looks like a dump.”

satoru squints at him. “i hate you.”

“yeah, yeah.” sukuna hits the vape again. “come clean. you threw up in the downstairs sink.”

“that wasn’t me.”

“it was absolutely you.”

satoru rolls onto his side and curls in on himself dramatically. “fuck off.”

sukuna snorts. “get up and mop you insufferable asshole.”

he waits until the door slams shut again before forcing himself to sit up. he scratches at his neck, then glances down at himself, he's still shirtless and in these ridiculous shorts. he grabs his geek bar off the side table and takes a hit, then throws it aside and sniffs.

he grabs a pair of grey sweats off the floor along with boxers from his draw, he strips, poses nakedly in the mirror for a good ten seconds, and pulls them on, not bothering with a shirt. he comes down the stairs barefoot, every step reminding him of how much of a lightweight he is. he makes it to the bottom and, holy fuck, the house was a mess.

empty cups are everywhere, bottles spilt into the carpet, peoples sweaty clothes strewn all over the place, what a palace.

choso is sweeping loads of trash into a big rubbish bag on the floor, nanami is wiping down the counters with a pissed off look, sukuna and toji are flipping the couch back over.

geto spots him before everyone else, "there he is,” he smiles, clapping a hand on satoru’s shoulder. “you okay?”

“no.”

geto grins. “heard you were real fucked up last night.”

satoru sighs. “don’t.”

he grabs a rubbish bag and starts scooping cups off the floor, his mind keep floating back to you, over and over again. he can still feel your hand in his, he can still see the way you'd hugged into his side when he got all quiet.

that’s the last thing he remembers before everything goes black is you.

he clears his throat. “hey.”

no one looks up.

“hey,” he tries again, louder. “did anyone see y/n leave last night?”

ino looks up like hes been waiting for a question like that, “why,” he asks. “you forget where you put her?”

satoru shoots him a look. “shut up.”

“i think she left kinda early,” nanami says without looking up. “before two.”

satoru’s chest loosens just a bit. “yeah?”

“yeah,” nanami continues. “she walked out with-"

toji stood up from kneeling besides the couch,

“shiu,” he says casually, cracking open a beer he had in hand. “she went home with shiu.”

the room goes quiet for exactly a second.

satoru stops and the trash bag slips from his fingers.

“what,” he says.

toji shrugs. “saw them out front walking to his car. sure looked cozy.”

he feels his heart beat thump, his head starts to throb and his eyes feel like they want to water and spill.

“that’s not-" he laughs weakly. “that’s not funny.”

toji takes a sip. “wasn’t joking.”

geto raises an eyebrow, watching satoru a little too closely. “you sure, man?”

toji nods. “yep.”

it feels like someone socked him in his mouth, his ears ring, the house feels claustrophobic, suddenly everything's very wrong.

you wouldn’t.

would you?..

he thinks about the way you held his hand, the way you tucked him in, all 6"4 of him, the way you told him he was 'the only guys you were this into.'. maybe that never happened ? maybe it indeed was just a figure of his imagination.. fuck, maybe his whorish lifestyle had finally scared you off..

he breathes in deep. if you did sleep with him, satoru doesn’t get to be hurt. he’s the guy who taught you this was normal, that this was so right and casual.

if you chose someone else, all that means is you learned the rules from watching him doing it over and over and over again.

his chest tightens and he laughs again. “ha. wow. okay.”

ino bursts out laughing. “are you deadass?”

sukuna snorts. “c'mon bro, you hook up with mad girls. don't be pressed when she does the same.”

geto covers his mouth, he wants to laugh but he knows he shouldn't. “that’s rough, but sukuna's right, satoru.”

gojo wipes a hand down his face quickly, blaming the hangover. “yeah. hilarious.”

“guess surfer sluts really was her thing,” toji adds, smirking.

that one lands.

satoru bends down and picks up the rubbish bag again with his eyes fixed to the floor, “i’m gonna go take the trash out.”

"okay, bro."

~

now, in your defence, while you did go home with shiu, you didn't sleep with him.

you couldn't, not when you were this deep under the satoru spell.

"thanks for letting me crash here, i didn't want to disturb gojo's sleep. oh, and yuki brought higuruma over last night. didn't wanna be up until 4 listening to them fuck."

you're half dressed under the covers, wiping your eyes as he come in with a cup of coffee.

"i got you, don't worry." he smiles from the door of his room, he let you take his luxurious bed while he slept on the equally as nice couch. shiu was surprisingly rich for a collage kid, maybe all that 'sketchy shit' as satoru liked to put it, was really selling.

he brings the cup down onto the table besides your bed and flicks your nose, "just remember your promise, gotta do that last section of the assignment for me, payment for my generosity."

"mm, wouldn't dream of leaving you without proper compensation." you laugh, taking the cup and sipping gently.

he looks from one of your eyes to the other like he's appreciating your presence, then quickly looks away and spins around.

"gotta make a few runs this morning, leave whenever you feel like it, yeah?" he throws over his shoulder.

you give him a thumbs up and he nods, waving while walking out.

the morning scuffles along, you eventually pull yourself out of his beautiful bed and get dressed into whatever clothing you could find that'd fit you in his draws. there were a few women's camis aswell as sweat pants in here, oh no, did he have a girlfriend?

as if being summoned by the universe, who else but shoko walks into the house, with her own key, no less.

she locks eyes with you for a second then smiles and waves like she couldn't care less.

"sh-shoko? what the fuck?"

"hey, y/n. is shiu still here?" she was so calm you just had to pry.

"why? are you two a thing? god, i promise this isn't what it looks like, i was just at a party and he offered to-"

"hush, i don't give a shit if you fucked him, girl. he's not my man."

phew... wait- not phew! you guys didn't even do anything!

you explain to her what went down, and she, in turn, told you why she was there. turns out she and shiu were hooking up on the dl, but she only felt for him physically, so you weren't a bother to her. "yeah, we fuck and he gives me drugs, pretty sweet deal. would recommend."

"yeah, i'm so good, thanks."

after that semi-akward interaction you gathered your stuff and got the hell out of there.

shiu's place was just off campus so the walk back to your own apartment wasn't far. like you did every morning after a party, you tried to give satoru a call. only, after the third ring, the line went dead.

satoru was finishing up the last little chores around the frat when he got your call, he stared at his phone as it rung on the kitchen bench, your name in cute heart emojis flashing on the screen.

he declined.

the last thing he wanted right now was to talk to you after shiu had been apparently digging in you. no way.

"yeesh, that's harsh, man." choso commented from his spot sitting at the breakfast bar.

"it's nothing, just busy right now." satoru tries his best to sound nonchalant but it's obvious he's still very much annoyed.

"oh yeah? you stop training when she calls you, man. you're never 'too busy.'" choso makes air quotes around that last part.

satoru sighs and chucks the last of the solo cups in the recycling bin, then takes off back up the stairs.

he shuts his door far harder than he needs to and falls onto his bed.

shiu.

the name keeps coming back, no matter how hard he tries to shove it away.

he tells himself he has no right to feel like this, none. he fucks around constantly, hell, it’s practically his brand. he’s built this whole thing around being easy, wanted and available. so why does the idea of you choosing someone else make his chest feel so disgusting?

you’re your own person. you always have been. he’s never tried to cage you, never tried to tell you what to do or who to see. that’s not him and he prides himself on that.

still.

you’re supposed to be his person.

not like that, he tells himself. not in a gross way he gets to possess but in the way you always end up together. the way you fall asleep next to him without it meaning anything and somehow meaning everything at the same time.

he massages the bridge of his nose with both hands.

get over it.

get over it.

get over it.

god, he just can't. instead, he unlocks his phone and stares at your pretty contact photo, the stupid nickname. his thumb taps call before he can talk himself out of it.

it barely rings twice before you're answering all giddy.

“toru!” your voice is so bright. “oh my god, i was just about to try you again. are you hung over?”

he feels pain coil up in his tummy.

“no,” he says flatly.

on your end, you're taken back by his bluntness “oh! uh, okay.”

he winces internally at your dejected response but doesn’t soften the blow. if he does, he’ll crack, and he can’t afford that right now.

“what’s up?” you ask, still trying.

“nothing,” he replies. “just busy.”

your heart clips like it'd been hooked onto a fishing hook.

“…hey, uh, are you.. are you mad at me?”

he scoffs sharply. “why would i be mad at you.”

your voice dips. “i don’t know. you’re being kinda blunt, i guess.”

he laughs curtly. “i’m allowed to be blunt.”

“not like this,” you say quietly. “you’re never like this with me.”

that hits him in his throat. he pretends to ignore it when in reality it throws his heart for a loop, "what do you want,” he asks, it's so clipped.

you go silent for a second, clearly recalibrating. “i was wondering if you wanted to hang out later? maybe get food or something. i can come over.”

normally he’d say yes without thinking. normally he’d already be planning how fast he could ditch whatever else he had lined up.

today, though, his jealousy makes the decision for him.

“can’t,” he says. “i’ve got a girl coming over.”

the line goes very quiet.

“…oh,” you say.

gosh, he can picture your face. the sweet little drop in your eyes you try to hide. the way you probably nodded even though he can’t see you.

there’s a mean, awful part of him that hopes it stings. not because he wants to hurt you, but because he wants proof that he matters the way you matter to him.

the rest of him despises that part. hates that when things feel out of control he reaches for the only thing that’s ever numbed really it.

he doesn’t want the girl coming over. he wants you. he always does. but wanting you feels so dangerously hard in a way fucking his feelings out never does.

“right,” you add. “that's okay.”

he should stop. he should backtrack and admit to what he really wants, he wants to talk to you about shiu, why you did it when you know he hated him, why you'd sleep with that fucker of all people, get some sort of closure. instead, he keeps going, so cruel and careless.

“yeah,” he says. “don’t really feel like cancelling either. kinda want good company.”

that’s a lie. he feels like shit. but he wants it to sting, shit, he hates that he wants that.

you swallow audibly. “okay. well. have fun then.”

“always do,” he replies, too fast.

the silence is horribly awkward.

“…i know you said you're fine, but really, toru, are you good?” you ask, one last attempt.

he exhales through his nose. “yeah. don’t bother coming over tonight, okay?”

there it is. the line he knows will hit you deep.

your voice wobbles a little, “i wasn’t.”

“good,” he says. “talk later.”

and before you can respond, he hangs up.

the second the call ends, regret slams into him full force.

“fuck,” he grumbles, slamming the phone onto the bed.

he presses his palms into his eyes and groans. what the hell was that? why did he do that?

you didn’t deserve that. he’s supposed to be your best friend, not... not whatever that was.

he tells himself he’s doing you some sort of fucked up a favor. that pushing you away now is kinder than letting you see how messy he actually is when he cares.

it sounds noble until he admits the truth. he ran because staying would’ve meant being honest with you.

he sits there for ages, replaying your tone over and over until it makes him feel nauseous.

he hates this. hates how jealous he feels. hates that he can’t say anything about it without blowing everything up. hates that he took it out on you because he doesn’t know how to handle it like a normal person.

his phone vibrates, instead of checking the notification he unlocks it, opens a different app, scrolls, and sends a message he knows he’ll definitely regret later.

gojo: come over

her reply is quicker than he'd thought it be.

xxx xxx xxx: omw ;)

he drops the phone and leans back, staring at the ceiling. this is what he does. when things get too much, he drowns them out. replaces one feeling with another until it’s all numb enough to ignore.

a knock sounds at his door twenty minutes later.

he doesn’t give himself time to think it over, he opens it, steps aside, and lets the girl in. she smiles at him, then she reaches for his arm like it's her god given right.

the door clicks shut behind them.

and even as he kisses her, his mind betrays him, flashing back to your voice on the phone, so sweet, so soft and hurt.

he squeezes his eyes shut and pushes it away.

anything to not feel like this.

~

now, the party a few days later is so much worse.

the theme is white out so the crowd looks like a sea of seagulls packed into this seats living room.

you're clad in a pretty little white dress with big white heels and matching accessories, pretty basic yet still jaw dropping.

you're walking past the tv when satoru comes into view, today, not only was his hair white, but his entire outfit was too.

he’s across the room near the kitchen island, leaning back against the counter with a drink in his hand and two girls pressed in real close. one of them is laughing like a hyena at something charming he said, her fingers hooked into the waistband of his jeans like she’s testing how far she can go. the other is touching his arm, tracing up his strong bicep.

he's too busy with them, he doesn't even spare you a fleeting glance.

you try not to look, you really, really do. but it’s just so difficult when that used to be your spot. when that used to be you next to him, stealing sips of his drink, talking shit about everyone else at the party like you were above it all together.

you frown, the conversations you and satoru had lately have been few and far between. he's dry as hell, and suddenly busy every time you ask to hang out.

you keep telling yourself it’s fine, it's all good. people grow apart all the time, it's collage! maybe he’s bored of being your friend. maybe you leaned too hard on a friendship that wasn’t meant to last.. and while you tell yourself it's fine, your chest twists and ticks and throbs with pain.

you step toward a couch where choso, shoko and geto are lounging around, all three of them clock your mood the second you flop beside them.

“hey, you good?” geto asks, passing you a drink.

you shake your head. “i’m okay.”

choso gives you a look. he's not gonna push but he'd like to. “you wanna sit here with us?”

“yeah,” you say quietly. “that’d be nice.”

you sit between them with your legs tucked up, watching the party happen around you like it’s something you’re not really part of anymore. your eyes keep flocking back to satoru like some sort of pathetic magnet.

you loved satoru's company. he was your favourite person on earth, you'd spend every second with him if you could, now he was pushing you away? you'd of at least liked a conversation about it. maybe a warning.

hes getting loud talking like he's the only person worth listening to in the entire room, patting girls on the ass and leaning in close to their necks to hear them properly.

every time he laughs or slings his arm around their shoulders, you feel your heart crack.

you miss him. god, you miss him so bad. not whatever this was.

choso nudges your knee gently. “c'mon, you don’t have to stay if it’s not fun.”

you shake your head again. “i don’t wanna be alone.”

he nods like he understands that more than you realise.

time drags on and an hour passes. then another. you try talking to other people, but it feels so wrong. your attention keeps snapping back to satoru.

he’s still backed against the kitchen island with a drink he hasn’t touched like, forty minutes, he's pretending bf to laugh at those girls terrible jokes, letting them sleaze all over him.

normally he’d lean into the gag. he'd flirt back and say something stupidly charming and let the night dissolve into a forgettable hook up.

but tonight it just feels so weird.

the girl on his left moves in with her mouth near his ear, saying something he pretends not to clock. her breath fans over his skin and his stomach churns, not with excitement but with this dull guilt that keeps scratching his lungs raw.

he looks at their faces and feels a light sense of absence.

he thinks about how easy it would be to disappear upstairs with one of them. how everyone would nod like yeah, that tracks. just gojo being gojo, and the thought makes him want to rip out of his own skin.

he didn’t want this shit tonight. he didn’t want these grabby hands all over him. he’s so tired of being wanted in the most bare minimum way.

he wanted you here.

eventually, after you'd stared holes through the back of satorus head, choso leans down to your ear. “you wanna go upstairs for a bit? i’m gonna smoke.”

you stumble over your words. “oh, i uh, i don’t smoke.”

“i know,” he says quickly. “you don’t have to. just… sit with me. i don’t really wanna be alone either.”

good, you really needed an escape right now.

“okay,” you say. “yeah. i’ll go with you.”

you stand together, weaving through the crowd toward the stairs. you can tell people are staring but you don’t look over your shoulder.

choso leads the way up, your shoulders brushing as he pulls out a pre roll with a smile.

across the room, satoru is midway through a sentence when he spots you. he wants to smile, its his reflex when he catches sight of you, but then he remembers he doesn’t get to do that right now, and the happy pull of his lips dies before it ever reaches his face.

you’re walking up the stairs with choso, close enough that your arms are touching. you’re leaning in to hear what he’s saying, head close to his mouth in a way satoru hasn’t had in days.

his put on smirk falls immediately.

“hey,” one of the girls says, pulling on his arm. “you listening?”

he pulls his wrist free without looking at her. “yeah. go get a drink or something.”

she frowns. “what?”

“look, just go,” he snaps.

both girls scatter away, muttering throw away curses but he really doesn’t care. he’s stalking over to where geto and shoko are now sitting with bottles to their lips.

“great,” he says bitterly, sitting down hard onto the couch. “first she’s fucking shiu and now my best friend? perfect.”

geto thinks for a second. “...what?”

shoko squints at him. “what are you talking about?"

satoru laughs bitterly, “don’t play dumb. i just saw them.”

geto follows his eyes to the stairs and sees you and choso disappearing around the corner. he sighs. “they’re going up to smoke.”

satoru scoffs. “yeah. sure, she doesn't smoke.”

“no,” shoko cuts in, annoyed. “actually sure. choso asked if she’d sit with him.”

satoru’s face drops into a deeper scowl, “since when does she hang out with him like that."

“since always?” geto replies. “they’re friends you just hog her, normally.”

satoru shakes his head. “this is bullshit.”

shoko sets her drink down with a dissatisfied groan. “you don’t get to act like this.”

he snaps his head toward her. “like what.”

“like you own her,” she says flatly. “you don’t.”

geto nods. “man, you’ve been pushing her away all week.”

“because she doesn’t want me,” satoru fires back. “she made that pretty clear.”

shoko raises an eyebrow. “did she now.”

“she went home with shiu.”

shoko’s face twists. “oh my god.”

geto leans forward. “that’s what this is about? you're ditching your best friend because she wanted to get her pussy ate?”

“what- no-,” satoru says. “you make it sound like-" he stop himself from spewing words he doesn't really mean. "it's just the fact she knows i hate that guy. that and everything else..."

shoko exhales sharply. “she didn’t fuck him.”

satoru freezes. “what.”

“she didn’t sleep with him,” shoko repeats. “she stayed the night because she didn’t wanna wake you up at the last function.”

the wave of relief that flows through him is euphoric, but it's followed closely by guilt. because despite everything you still chose him in the quiet ways. and he’d repaid that by pushing you as far away as possible.

geto turns to shoko. “oh, are you serious?"

“dead serious,” she says. “i walked in that morning. she was fully dressed and half asleep. they didn’t do shit.”

satoru feels like the floor drops out from under him and his heart is smudged into the wood.

“she told me herself,” shoko adds. “she was worried about you that morning, too. wanted to go over straight away and see if you were hung over.”

he's taken back by the revelation, satoru feels like he can't breathe.

geto runs a hand through his hair. “man…”

“also,” shoko continues, clearly not done, “she’s been really upset. you know that, right?”

satoru stares at the stairs. your face flashes in his mind. the way your voice sounded on the phone. so hurt.

“i'm gonna be honest, you’ve been acting like an asshole,” geto says gently. “and she’s been taking it like a champ. i'd of socked you in the jaw by now."

the music seems to disappear into the depths of his mind as he reels.

you didn’t fuck shiu.

you weren't up there sleeping with choso.

god, he thinks about the way he spoke to you. the way he brushed you off so calloused, the way he said he had a girl coming over and didn't brush her off for you, like he'd always done.

his stomach drops.

“oh fuck,” he whispers.

shoko watches him closely. “you're a real asshole, you know.”

he swallows. “fuck, i know.”

geto snorts.

satoru rubs a hand down his face, standing abruptly. “i need air.”

he takes off, on his way past he stops at the bottom of the stairs, staring up at them.

for the first time in days, he doesn’t feel angry.

he feels scared, typical gojo reading too deep into things and reacting rashly. he really needed to work on that.

~

"i don't know cho... this is the first time something like this has happened. i feel like he hates me or something... i just don't know what i did."

choso, bless his heart, had been listening to you pour your heart out about gojo for the past half an hour, blowing smoke out his open window. that last part caused his zooted brain to form a coherent thought.

"it's probably because you fucked shiu." he announces in uneven tones, he was more than a little gone.

you stare at choso like he’s just spoken another language.

“uhm?” you quiz.

his head falls to look at you from his spot by the window, he’s so relaxed he looks like gravity might forget about him any second now.

“yeah,” he nods, very sure of himself. “that’s gotta be it. gojo’s dramatic like that.”

your stomach drops, not in guilt, but in pure disbelief.

“i didn’t fuck shiu,” you say with a bitter taste in your mouth.

choso's neck rolls and he rubs his face, “…huh?”

“i didn’t sleep with him,” you repeat, “nothing happened. i crashed at his because i didn’t wanna wake satoru up and yuki had a guy over our place."

he processes this slowly with his face scrunching, the thought is buffering.

“okay,” he says after awhile, “but you went home with him.”

“yes,” you snap. “but that’s not the same thing.”

he hums, then shrugs. “dunno, sounds the same.”

you were gonna punch this loser.

“oh my god,” you mutter. “i have to go.”

“go where?” choso asks genuinely curious.

“i have to tell satoru,” you say grabbing your phone. “not because i did anything wrong, because i didn’t. but because he thinks i slept with someone he hates.”

choso sighs again. “you know you’re allowed to sleep with people.”

“i know that,” you say quickly. “this isn’t about that. it’s about him thinking i did it behind his back with someone he clearly can’t stand.”

choso nods like this makes sense to him, even though it absolutely does not. “okay.”

you pause at the door. “can you not tell anyone else?”

he raises two fingers in a salute. “your secret is safe with me.”

you don’t trust that for a second, but you’re already shutting his door.

you bolt down the stairs two at a time looking over the crowd. the stupid partys still bumping. you look for his pretty white hair, for his broad shoulders, but with everyone wearing the same color it became impossible.

you groan and head for the couch you left shoko and geto at.

“where’s satoru,” you breathe.

“uh. outside, i think.” geto responds surprised.

“yeah,” shoko adds. “went out front. needed air, apparently.”

you nod and make your way to the front door, the coolness of the night sweeps over your face and you notice a very tall man almost instantly.

he’s leaning against the lamp post across the street with his phone in one hand and his vape in the other.

he only vapes when he’s stressed.

stepping closer, you clock just how small this moment feels and how big it could blow up and become if you say the wrong thing.

“toru,” you say softly.

he looks up.

the second his eyes land on you, he feels his heart pulse.

“can we.. can we talk?” you ask.

he doesn’t answer, he gives you the most longing stare you'd ever seen. then, he steps forward and pulls you into his arms.

hard.

his biceps wrap around you so tight, his scrunched up face presses into your hair, his grip is stable and you want to cry at how passionate this feels.

he breathes out a shaky, “i’m sorry.”

you wrap your arms around his waist and squeeze him back.

“i’m so sorry,” he repeats. “i was a dick. i shouldn’t have been so rude. i should’ve talked to you, communication and all that shit.”

you move back to look up at him. “hey. hey, it’s okay.”

he shakes his head. “no, it’s not. i acted like a stuck up cunt. i thought you slept with shiu and i just… i lost my mind.”

you sigh. “i didn’t. i swear. nothing happened. i should of told you that.”

he nods quickly. “i know. shoko told me. i just… god. i’m sorry i made you feel so shit.”

you reach up and rub your thumb under his eye. a sweet gesture you’ve done a hundred times before. “i’m sorry you got that impression.”

he leans into your touch for half a second before catching himself. “i had no right to be mad even if you had slept with someone. i know that.”

you nod. “yeah. you didn’t. but i get it's because you thought i did it behind you back, especially with someone you really hate."

a beautiful, silent moment exists between you two before you step back, forcing a small smile. “are we all good?”

he lets out a weak laugh. “yeah, you're so good.”

“that wasn't the question, silly.” you add, gently.

after that, you'd both agreed to ditch this lame party and stay at yours for the night. yuki was at higuruma's, so the place was all yours.

at your apartment, you both shower separately then change into comfy sleep clothes. his essentials hoodie ends up on you without either of you talking about it. when you come back into your room, he’s flopped onto your bed with his big arms spread, staring at the ceiling.

“c’mere,” he says, patting the space beside him.

you smile and crawl in next to him, turning onto your side so your head rests against his chest. he adjusts automatically, one arm coming around you, fingers threading through your hair in slow, relaxing strokes.

it feels like safe, blissful warmth. like coming home.

you lie there in silence for a while, listening to his breathing even out.

then he speaks again.

“hey, uhm.. sorry for blowing you off for a chick, the other day, by the way.”

you lift your head. “huh?”

he grimaces. “i lowkey didn’t even have plans. i invited her over after i hung up. just wanted a distraction.”

your chest does a confusing little blip.

“would’ve liked to see you instead,” he adds quietly.

your heart aches and swells at the same time. you press your face back into his chest, “it’s fine.” laughs at your adorably muffled voice, then sighs. “i shouldn’t have done that.”

you shrug. “you’re allowed to see people.”

he hums. “yeah.”

you hesitate, then say it anyway. “i don’t care about the girls you hook up with. doesn't really effect our friendship, right?”

the words feel so distasteful and strange, but you push through.

he smiles a forlorn smile. "right.”

he pulls you a little closer, brushing his lips against your temple in an almost kiss. he threads a piece of your hair through his fingers like a coiled ribbon, feeling the individual stand's texture against the pads of his fingers. this was his therapy, the soothing lull of you, with him.

he can feel your soft breathing slow down as you knock out, the way you always do when you know you can trust him to stay with you.

and god, that trust truly destroys the last bit of careless arrogance he carried in him.

because just hours ago he was so sure you’d replaced him. that you’d looked at someone else and chosen them.

but you no, didn’t.

you never did that.

every girl he’s ever dragged into his bed flashes through his mind in quick, ugly snapshots like those old black and white movies.

they've got faces he can't remember, voices that sounds distorted and wrong, and their bodies look like every other persons. it's surreal.

he tells himself, not for the first time, that he never meant for it to get this bad. it all started as some quick fun. then it became a boarder line addiction, one he desperately wanted to break.. he feels sick at how it turned into something people expected from him, something he leaned into because it meant no one would ever ask him for more.

no one except you.

you wriggle around adorably in your sleep, your knee hitting his thigh, and it smacks him all over again how easy it would be to lose this bliss. how close he came. how close he kinda still is.

he’s been hiding behind it for so long. the flirting. the girls. the persona. acting like he doesn’t care.

but lying here with you? knowing you didn’t do anything wrong, knowing he almost burned the best thing in his life because he couldn’t get over his own shit, something in him finally snaps into place.

he doesn’t want to be that guy anymore.

he wants to be someone you can choose without any hesitation. someone who doesn’t make you doubt where you stand. someone who doesn’t reach for distractions the second things feel too hard for him to handle alone.

i’m gonna fix this, he thinks.

he’s not stupid enough to think it’ll be easy. habits don’t disappear overnight. insecurity doesn’t vanish just because he wants it to. but he can stop hiding behind other people. he can stop pretending he’s fine with the left over crumbs when what he wants is everything.

he wants to earn you.

not with big gestures or revolting drunk confessions he can’t really back up, but by showing up differently to what hes been doing. by choosing you the way you’ve always chosen him.

he was gonna stop. he couldn't be labeled a good for nothing playboy anymore,

~

"so bro, did you figure shit out with your girl?"

"what, you mean y/n? yeah, man. that's all sorted."

gojo was back at the frat the next day after a very messy, long night of staring at your sleeping face, (and fighting to overwhelming urge to kiss your pretty nose.) he was chatting it up with toji who had heard about the drama through shoko.

"just curious, are you two like.. a friend with bennies kinda situation? or what." he asks, shaking his banana protein powder violently in it's can to break apart the clumps.

satoru starts drumming his fingers against the kitchen bench, trying to sound nonchalant. "nah, man. she's just my friend. i've got other girls for that shit." he winces at that douchey response... hm, if he wanted to stop the slut allegations he needed to work on how he talked to guys like toji.

"yeah, and she's just fine with that?"

"i dunno, bro."

toji shakes his head and chuckles, then geto interrupts from the couch.

"ever think of like, oh, i don't know. telling her you're into her?"

gojo lets out a fake groan like he's sick of the question, not like he's obsessed over that very idea for around a year now. "can you two lay off? i'll tell her eventually."

"yeah right. you're gonna waste away your life fucking hoe's you don't even like, and she's gonna get a guy hitched. like shiu." sukuna chimes in from the stairs. fuck, was everyone coming down to clock his shit?

"fuck off with the shiu shit, they didn't do anything."

"yet."

he was seriously about to throw hands.

the chaos is interrupted when nanami walks through the large front door holding a piece of paper.

"i just got the theme for the next function." he says, holding it in the air. "it's that stupid white lies thing we did last year in june, remember that?"

oh, they remembered. everyone in white or coloured shirts with sharpie on the front spelling out a little white lie about each person. so much drama came from that, it was insane.

satoru faintly remembers sukuna's shirt saying, 'i'm not cheating on my girl.' and getting his wallet set on fire not long after said girl got to the party.

"sweet, that's easy to set up." toji commented. all satoru was thinking was how you were the first person he had to invite, his hand itching for his phone.

he smiles at your response and pockets his phone, his mind reeling with what he was gonna write on his shirt, as he taps a finger to his chin, the most big brain, amazing thought pops into his head.

god, i'm so suave.

his promise to himself was about to become really real after this party, he just hoped it didn't all go downhill..

you on the other hand, you were contemplating whether or not what you had planned for your shirt was too much. the instant you'd read his text about the theme, the idea immediately popped into your head.

being brave enough to actually go through with it? that was another story..

~

11pm saturday, the frat.

okay, you're really nervous now. you stand outside for way longer than necessary, your jumper covers the secret writing on your shirt, you can't embarrass yourself, yet.

you take a deep breath and walk into the familiar house you'd crashed at so many times.

it's still early, so only the people actually in the frat are there so far. you walk through slowly and the first one you clock is sukuna.

he’s got a beer in one hand (already? smh.), his white shirt is stretched across his muscly chest with thick black letters that read, i hate milfs.

you snort before you can stop yourself.

toji’s near the tv wiring up the music, his shirt says, i’m not a felon.

these guys weren't real, what the fuck.

shoko’s leaned against the counter nearby, one of those big chunky choofs in her hand. her shirt reads, i’m not addicted to nic.

you love her.

you pull out your phone and shoot satoru a text letting him know you've made it, you barely have time to lock your screen before arms wrap around you from behind.

big, hard, comforting arms.

gojo buries his face into the side of your neck, "there you are,” he says, pleased. “you smell good.”

the blush that covers your cheeks is embarrassing. “well, hi to you too.”

he pulls off and beams down at you, although, you can't help but see a slight hint of nerves in his eyes.

“missed you,” he laughs.

before you can overthink that, you notice that his shirt is covered by a loose flannel, hanging open but covering the writing on his chest.

he notices your eyes flick down and smirks. “don’t look yet.”

you scoff. “oh, so you’re hiding yours too.”

“maybe,” he says. “what about you?”

you tug at the strings of your jumper. “mhm.”

his eyes narrow playfully. “suspicious.”

"you love it."

he grins. “yeah. i do.”

he’s tugging you along by the hand, weaving you through the house toward the kitchen the next second.

“come onn,” he says. “it’s still early. let's pregame before it gets all sweaty and gross.”

the kitchen is devoid of people, satoru hops up onto the counter, then contemplates ad corrects himself.

“wait,” he says. “no. you sit.”

before you can argue, he lifts you and plops you on the bench, your face feels hot but you blame it on the lack of air flow.. or the way he’s standing way too close.

he pours you a drink keeping in mind you’re not trying to get wrecked tonight, then puts it beside you.

“there ya go, sweets,” he says.

“perfect.”

you sip, then notice his fingers tapping against the counter like a drum, oh yeah, he's definitely nervous.

you tilt your head, flashing him that gorgeous smile that always made him weak in the knees. "so.”

he looks at you. “so.”

you smile. “what’s your shirt say?”

...

his laugh is strangled and just a little too loud. “oh, uh. straight to the point, huh.”

“you know it."

he rubs the back of his neck. “it’s stupid.”

“uh huh.”

“and you’re gonna laugh.”

“probably.”

he squints at you. “you go first.”

you shake your head. “nope.”

“c’mon,” he whines. “you’re way braver than me.”

you giggle, heart doing that annoying thing again. “mm, absolutely not.”

he rolls his eyes, then comes up with a compromise.

“okay,” he says. “same time, then.”

you pause. “uhm?.”

“we'll both reveal it at the same time,” he continues. “y'know, like one, two, three.”

you stare at him. “c'mon.”

“you're so lame, pleasee,” he plead.

you roll your eyes. “okay, okay, fine.”

he grins, wide and oh so nervous. “really?”

“yeah,” you say, with your fingers are already curling into the fabric of your jumper. “on three.”

he nods. “okay.”

the moment stretches. neither of you moves.

“you count,” he says.

you swallow and nervously laugh. “one.”

his fingers fall into the edge of his flannel.

“two.”

your hands slide to the hem of your jumper.

“three.”

both of your fabrics lift.

his flannel drops open as you tug your jumper over your head, both of you frozen for a good minute as the truth finally, finally stares back at you.

i’m not in love with my best friend.

on both shirts.

identical. same handwriting style.

you stare at his chest.

he stares at yours.

then you both lose it.

you're both toppled over laughing at how ridiculous this was.

“no fucking way,” he gasps.

you wipe your eye, “are you kidding me.”

he steps closer, closing the space until he’s right between your knees, caging you in gently. his smile softens as he looks down at your shirt.

“wow,” he murmurs.

you feel exposed in a way that has nothing to do with fabric.

“guess we both lied,” you say quietly.

“guess so.”

his hands caress your face ever so slowly, like he’s giving you time to slap him off but you don’t.

you stare up at him with big, wide eyes. he smiles and inches toward until your noses touch.

he leans in, “can i?” he asks, quietly.

you nod smiling harder than you ever had before. “yeah.”

then, he kisses you.

it’s soft and warm, nothing like that sloppy drunk one you both pretend you forgot.

you kiss him back deeper, your fingers drift through his hair pulling him closer, and the sound he makes against your mouth is almost whiney, wrecked.

the bliss is interrupted by someone yelling from behind you.

“about fucking time,” sukuna bellows.

you break apart laughing again, foreheads still touching. satoru groans and drops his head to your shoulder.

“i’m killing him,” he mutters.

he hops you off the counter, taking your hand. “we’re leaving.”

“where.”

“my room. like, now. these assholes are not ruining my moment.”

you follow him up the stairs both of you grinning like idiots. he's pulling you softly but quick enough the moment isn't lost.

his door closes behind you. the room is dim, only lit by the lamp on his desk, nice and moody.

he doesn’t rush you and he doesn’t pounce like he did with other women. no. he reaches out and tucks a strand of your hair behind your ear, “hi,” he says, dumb and fond.

you smile. “hi.”

satoru literally can't fight this urge any longer, he pulls you into his chest and wraps his arms fully around your body. your cheek presses to his chest, right over his heart, and it’s beating oh so fast. one of his hands slides up to cradle the back of your head with his fingers threading through your hair, stroking slowly.

“i’ve wanted this for so long,” he says into your hair. “like, embarrassingly long.”

you laugh softly. “yeah?”

“yeah,” he says. “i just didn’t think i was, like, allowed to? if that makes sense”

you look up at him with a confused smile. “why wouldn’t you be?”

he swallows. his eyes flick away, then back. “because i’m kind of an asshole, if you couldn't tell.”

you knew what he meant. the women, his not so shiny reputation, his arrogance.

“you're not the only one, i didn’t say anything either.” you rub the side of his face.

he smiles into you hand, “why?”

you stop. then take a breath and decide to be brave. “because you sleep with everyone. and i thought if you wanted me, you would’ve... i don't know, stopped.”

ouch, but deserved.

“fuck,” he says quietly. “i hated that you saw me like that.”

“i mean,” you shrug weakly. “it’s kind of hard not to.”

he laughs. “yeah. fair.”

he presses his forehead to yours. “that shit was never about wanting other people, y/n. it was about not knowing what to do with wanting you.”

your head just went really fuzzy at his poetic expression.

“i made a promise to myself,” he continues. “after i realised i was gonna lose you if i didn’t get my shit together. i’m done with it. all of it. i don’t wanna be that guy anymore.”

you search his face, looking for the joke, but he's dead serious.

“i didn’t think i deserved you,” he admits. “so i kept proving myself right.”

for a moment, neither of you speak. then you reach for his hand and hook your pinky around his.

“okay,” you say. “then let’s just… talk. no more of this back and forth.”

“pinky promise.” he smiles and seals it, then leans in and kisses you again. he pulls back for a second then begins to pepper your face in sweet little pecks, making you giggle at the ticking movement.

“i’ve wanted to do this,” he says between kisses, grinning like he can’t stop himself. “just whenever. whenever i felt like it.”

you laugh, hands in his hair now, tugging him back down. “you’re so silly.”

you end up tangled on his bed, just talking. his legs are weaved through yours as he kisses your face occasionally. you tell him you'd been feeling for the past, what, two years? you tell him how the women always made you jealous, how you'd wish it were you he wanted. he spills his guts just as much. he tells you how they never meant anything, how he knew he had a problem and he was working on it, for you.

three hours of straight yap fly by.

he eventually goes really quiet and clears his throat out. “hey.”

“hmm?”

“would you wanna,” he hesitates, suddenly adorably shy, “go on an actual date with me? like. flowers. dinner. me trying really, really hard.”

you smile so hard your cheeks hurt. “yeah. i would.”

his grin is blinding, him and his stupidly perfect teeth.

“holy shit,” he laughs, pulling you close again. “i got the girl.”

you smile, then drift off wrapped up in each other, both of you finally feeling secure in your feelings for one another.

"night, toru."

"good night, sweetheart."

A/N: i'll be writing some spicy/dating headcanons for this fic !!

n e ways like and reblog my shit twin 🤞🏼

[imyourightnow]

They’re so cuteeeeee 😩 bestie Gojo is my favorite

[moonflowergirlsworld]

A dear anon Requested; Yandere Rover with unlucky reader.

While thinking about how to write it, I remembered a request in my Wattpad; Yandere Male Rover with an Isekai'd simp reader.

The ideas opened the flood gates and I combined the two to write it, But accidentally I posted the half written Oneshot instead of saving in drafts, in a panic I deleted the whole thing and then lost the anon Ask.

(⁠╥⁠﹏⁠╥⁠) ༎ຶ⁠‿⁠༎ຶ

After having a meltdown, I got back the motivation and wrote it from scratch.

Yandere M! Rover x unlucky simp isekai'd F!Reader

This was the blueprint / reference sheet for this sotry.

Slowburn

12k words (was having so much fun writing this I didn't even notice the word count.)

Wuwa Version 2.0 Rinascita spoilers

Part 2 coming soon

Rinascita was never ready for your thirst.

You were losing your mind. Not in a metaphorical, “haha I love this game” way—no, actually losing it. Right there on your bed, wrapped in a blanket burrito, your phone inches from your face, you screamed at a pixelated man who had no idea the chokehold he had on your soul.

“YESSSSS! 100K DAMAGE! GO OFF, KING!”

Your screen was a whirlwind of Havoc energy—your Rover dodging as your fingers maneuvered with precision on your phone screen. With a flick of his fingers, the Umbra bar pulsed to max, you clicked the resonance Liberation.

His voice came:

“You will Obey!”

“AHHHH I SWEAR TO GOD YOU COULD MURDER ME AND I’D THANK YOU—”

Dark Surge erupted. His scythe formed from a pulse of void-black resonance, and in a single sweep, the TD was gone. Like, deleted. A 100K crit damage number splashed across the screen and you collapsed backward like it had personally hit you.

You clutched your phone above your head, grinning like a madman, heart pounding like you'd just been proposed to. “This is it. This is peak gaming.”

Then gravity remembered you existed. The phone slipped from your fingers and smacked you right on the nose. You yelped, hands flailing, dignity nowhere in sight.

Peak gaming? More like peak misfortune.

After picking up your phone, you started to do your dailies. The dailies were easy. With him by your side, you finished off everything with a grin. You tried to act normal—keyword tried. But you still found yourself whispering, “Look at my man gooo~” every time he did that spinning blade combo.

"Now, I just need to finish the Rinascita quest and Aero Rover is mine!" you declared dramatically, just as your phone clung to life at a tragic 5%. You stared at it like it had personally betrayed you. With the sigh of someone who's been wronged by fate itself, you slapped it onto the charger.

When you finally logged out, you sighed long and hard, rolling onto your stomach.

“God, I wish I was there,” you muttered. “Like, not even in a weird way.” You rolled around on the bed, talking to yourself like any sane person would. “Okay, maybe a little weird, but I just wanna meet him. I’d totally be chill, right? I’d be cool. He wouldn't know I'm mentally married to him. I can fake normal.” You stared up at the ceiling.

“Just one chance, universe. One chance.”

Like the protagonist of every isekai anime ever, you fell asleep like that, mind filled with daydreams about him. Blanket half on the floor. Still mumbling about scythe physics and “how hot it is when he says anything in that voice of his.”

You woke up mid-scream.

Not because you were in danger. You were falling. Your body was currently plummeting through the air like a sack of potatoes. A flash of green, a swirl of clouds, and now—face-first into a patch of moss.

“Mmfh—ow—oof—my back…” you groaned, rolling over with all the grace of a flipped turtle. Leaves stuck to your cheek. Something—probably a bug—buzzed suspiciously near your ear. You slapped it away with a shriek and scrambled up, wobbling like a newborn deer.

What the hell?

You looked around, eyes wide. The trees swayed gently above you. As you looked up, a breathtaking sight unfolded—towering trees and jagged mountains pierced through the clouds. Ancient ruins peeked through the foliage, whispering tales of a bygone era. The air was thick with the scent of moss and hummed with strange frequencies.

Everything shimmered faintly, like the game’s graphics got injected with magic steroids. Except... this wasn’t your screen. This was real.

You smacked your own cheek once. Twice. “Ow—okay. Okay. This is happening.”

Your heart thundered. You spun in a circle, awe and panic slamming into each other like bumper cars. “This is Rinascita. This is actually Rinascita—holy SHIT I’m IN the GAME.”

You shrieked and tripped over a tree root you definitely should’ve seen, collapsing into a bush. It scratched the hell out of your arm, but the pain was just proof: real, not a dream.

And then you heard footsteps. You froze, your butt still plopped on the bush.

Crunch. Crunch.

Shadows danced across the moss. A low hum of resonance energy vibrated through the air, in a way that sent goosebumps down your spine.

As he came into view, your lungs forgot how to function for a second as your gaze collided with his. Broad shoulders, lean waist. Black belts/straps wrapped around his hips and chest—he looked very dreamy up front.

And those eyes, so magnetic. “I love you,” you blurted out without even letting the thought cook in your brain.

The silence was loud, as he paused, shocked by the abruptness and genuineness of your tone. Even the wind paused like, girl.

You clamped your hands over your mouth, eyes wide in horror. “I—I mean—not like that—I mean yes like that but not in a weird way—well, okay, maybe a little weird, but—oh god, I just—I swear I’m normal. Sometimes... Fuck.”

Rover tilted his head, stepping closer, his eyes zoning in on the cut on your arm. “Are you injured?”

“Yes—no—I mean emotionally, yes. Physically... just my ego,” you mumbled the last part, still embarrassed.

You tried to stand, but your foot caught the same cursed root and you fell again, this time right at his feet. Like a peasant paying tribute.

You groaned into the dirt. “This is why I can’t have nice things. My unlucky streak is at it again...”

He didn’t laugh. Of course not. He is a gentleman through and through. Instead, he crouched down beside you.

You stared up at him from the ground, limbs tangled and expression fully dead inside. “You’re even hotter in person. That’s not helping.”

Pause, try not to be so obvious. you scold yourself, reminding yourself to keep the fangirling to a minimum.

He held his hand in front of you to help you get up, voice low and calm. “You seem... disoriented. Are you actually alright?”

You shook your head, took his offer with the kind of reverence usually reserved for divine intervention, allowing him to pull you up. He didn’t comment on the way you tripped again immediately after and used his jacket to steady yourself.

“I am sorry,” you whispered, gripping the fabric like a lifeline. “I’m not usually like this...”

He helped you be steady on your feet. His eyes didn’t leave your face. “That’s difficult to believe,” he said softly.

You couldn’t tell if he meant it as sarcasm or observation—but either way, damn, it did things to you, and he was so close.

You feel the lingering warmth of his hand on yours.

Not metaphorical warmth, Not the “he touched me, oh my God I’m swooning” kind. Actual heat, like a campfire still flickering in your veins. You glance down at your fingers You’d clung to him like he was the last thread tethering you to sanity—because maybe, he is.

He hasn’t stepped away, still hovering near. You guess he’s staying close so you don’t trip again. aw, how nice of him!

You’re still staring at that hand of yours. It’s shaking, combined with the sting of the scratch on your arm.

You blink down at your fingers. Curl them. Uncurl. You press your thumb into your palm like you’re trying to wake up—you already know the answer but you are still in denial. Nothing happens. The world doesn’t blur. There’s no logout button hovering over your peripheral vision.

Your throat tightens.

“I’m in Wuthering Waves,” you whisper, voice barely carried by the air. “The game. This is the game.”

You blink up at the sky—those shattered clouds, the hazy blue, the orange-tinged light that never feels quite right. It’s too beautiful to be real, and that’s the problem.

“I’m in the fucking game.” Your legs go stiff. You can’t look at Rover. Not yet. You can feel him beside you though. “Wait, wasn’t Truck-kun in charge of Isekai?! I mean, I love this game and I’m in it… I was happy a moment ago, but now I suddenly feel anxious!”

“I can’t even run two miles without gasping like a dying fish,” you mumble, voice catching on a breath. “I sprain my ankle walking too fast in socks. And now I’m here… in a post-apocalyptic monster hellscape…”

A breath escapes your lips. It sounds like a laugh, but it’s broken. It doesn’t make it past your teeth.

“I’m going to die here,” you whisper, almost stunned by your own words. “Of course this happened to me. Of course, knowing my luck. My life is just a string of bad RNG. And now in a game that would have me killed in less than a second!”

Your knees feel unsteady. The nausea creeps in like a slow wave, curling into your gut. Rover silently stands beside you, So completely unaware that you are currently having a mental breakdown in HD 4K resolution.

Maybe he knows but doesn't want to interrupt, ah, you are too far gone to think about that. You inhale shakily, Try to joke it off. “Haha, yeah, I’m sure I’ll be fine,” you whisper but Your voice cracks.

Cool. Cool. Everything is fine.

You stare at him, Then you ask, “Have you met Cartethyia yet?”

He tilts his head. “...Who?”

You laugh. It’s the kind that sounds like it’s trying to crawl its way out of your throat, a panicky exhale.

You start mumbling.

“Montelli family… yeah, you’re supposed to team up with Carlotta. There’s this whole bit where you join the Troupe of Fools? Fight against Phrolova but make it look like a carnival performance. And then you receive the Laurel from Cartethyia, the Maiden. You meet her when she is dancing on water.”

You rub your temple, your brain short-circuiting, You crouch on the ground, slowly curling in on yourself, arms tightening around your knees.

“I don’t want to die,” you whisper, too soft. “I don’t even know how to hold a sword. I can’t fight monsters. I can’t run.”

Seeing someone fall, Rover quickly ran to help the said person. He had noticed you long before you realized he was watching.

Not just the way you stood awkwardly in this world—your posture not matching the other inhabitants, not aligning with the rhythm of this reality—but the way your eyes followed him. That slow trail of longing, like your gaze held a history no one had written yet.

He sees people look at him all the time. Wanting something. Needing something. Dressing up desperation in flattery.

But you blinked at him like someone seeing a memory in flesh. Like someone who couldn’t quite believe he existed. And then—“I love you.”

The words landed with a sincerity so bare, so vulnerable, it made his breath still for half a second.

Not lust. Not seduction. No angled smile or slanted voice. Just a truth, trembling at the base of your tongue, so unfiltered it didn’t even wait for permission.

His mind locked onto you like a puzzle piece with edges that didn’t match anything else in the box.

Flirting—he’d seen it all. It was currency here, like pain or adrenaline. Everyone tried it. A hand brushed too long, a compliment too smooth, a feigned stumble into his chest. It was the unspoken agreement of survivors: flatter the strong, and they might protect you.

He’d grown immune to it. So when you said you loved him?

He waited for the follow-up. The manipulation. The ask. The trade. But it never came.

You just stood there, awkward and pink in the cheeks, with eyes darting like you regretted speaking too loudly in church.

He noted the way you bit your lip, then tried to backtrack. The fumble of your fingers, the way you kept glancing away like maybe if you looked somewhere else long enough, time would rewind itself and un-say what you’d said.

Cute. He found you cute.

He’d catalogued emotions a thousand times. Studied expressions for lies, eyes for betrayal, postures for threat.

But yours didn't fit any category.

And then came the dump.

The babble of a girl who knew too much. Who said names like passwords, dropped references like prophecy.

At first, he assumed you were delirious. Shell shock, maybe. Madness. The kind that comes after a concussion, you did appear out of nowhere from the sky.

But the more you spoke, the more specific it all became.

You told him he was a character. That you had played through this world, and he was at the center of it.

He didn’t believe it.

But the clarity of your voice, the ache in it, the precision with which you whispered names—it didn’t match a lie. It matched conviction.

He stored it. Like a tracker tagging something rare. Slid the information into a mental folder and filed it next to things he wasn’t supposed to understand yet.

Later. He’d circle back to it later.

He watched as your body began to tremble. As you sank into yourself, shoulders hunched, head bowed like the weight of this world and the other one you came from had finally crashed together.

“You’re still alive, see,” Rover finally spoke, making you look up at him from your knees. He crouched down beside you again.

“Let me help you. We should definitely go somewhere safer. The forest is filled with TDs.”

Offering you his hand again, he watched as you stared at him like a deer in headlights.

“I’ll ask Zani to accommodate a place for you to stay. It seems you’ve lost your way.”

You blink rapidly. Rover watched you with a calm, unreadable gaze, waiting for you to take his hand. It seemed you had finally calmed down—or perhaps he’d distracted you—because the last trembles of your meltdown were fading.

“So,” he said, voice smooth like worn velvet, giving you a small smile. “What is your name?”

You, still high off panic and full simp-mode, blurted, “You can call me your wife.”

Instant regret. Your eyes went wide. “Wait, I didn’t mean—I mean—I don’t mind if you do, but I didn’t mean to—oh god, I’m making this worse—sorry—ah, I’ll stop!”

You buried your face in your hands, wanting the ground to open up and swallow your simp soul. “Forget I said anything. Please.”

Rover couldn’t help the amused glint in his eyes. He wanted to test something. The edge of his voice dipped, smooth and amused, just enough to tilt the world sideways.

“...Would you tell me your name, or should I start calling you ‘my wife’ ?”

You squealed internally. Your soul left your body. Your mind short-circuited. “That would be nice,” you said in a dazed whisper.

Rover chuckled softly. You were quite fun to tease.

Your eyes flew open. “Ah! No! I mean—sorry! My name is [Name]!”

You finally took his hand as he helped you stand. You let go quickly, already embarrassed and internally cringing at your slip-ups. You wanted to keep your fangirling side locked up, so you took a step away from him.

“I’ll guide you back to Ragunna City and help you settle,” Rover said, already walking ahead.

You stayed frozen in place.

Noticing you weren’t following, Rover glanced back. “Stay close,” he said calmly.

Startled, stumbling a bit before quickly jogging to catch up, falling into step beside him.

Oh god. You are so fucked.

You and Rover have been walking for… you don’t even know how long. Not to mention, as you two were walking out of the forest, there were so many TDs that attacked. Thank god Rover took care of all of them, and you were happily cheering him on from the back.

The misfortunate situation is not lost on you, knowing how your luck is, you were kinda expecting to run into more trouble after that. But this journey so far has been peaceful, and now you really don’t want to jinx it.

Oh, thinking about how peaceful it is might jinx it. I should stop. You shake your head to dispel the thought.

The weather’s nice too. Sunny, but not too much. The clouds, thick, cottony ones, hide the sun occasionally. Just the right kind of sky to take a walk and touch some grass.

Reaching a set of stone stairs, you notice a Resonance Nexus nearby. Rinascita Nexuses are shaped like the lower part of a fish’s tail, it’s unique. And on your left side… is a cave. A very dark one.

“Do you know this place?” Rover’s smooth voice comes from just beside you, making you snap out of your daze.

“Umm… I don’t know much of the map of Rinascita since I just started playing and then got dumped here. Well, I already know about the port part, where Brant and his crew leave you and then you meet Zani. I think… My memory’s a little fuzzy. Wait, no! You meet Phoebe first… now that I think more about it, you meet an NPC called Cristopopo. No, um… what was his name?”

You ramble on, words slipping faster than your common sense.

“Cristoforo…” Rover answers, his eyes narrowing as he watches you with a sharpened gaze. “How did you know all this?”

At first, he chalked off your ramblings as a possible concussion response. But now? You know how he arrived here. Who he met. Too much, actually. All of this is starting to feel very suspicious.

“Because I was the one behind the screen, Rover!” you chuckle, then pause.

Wait…Your brain stutters. Shouldn’t I be hiding the fact that I know too much? I’ve seen enough isekai anime to know this is a red flag move.

“Oh shit…” You slowly meet Rover’s gaze and smile as innocently as possible. “I am a normal human… who’s a little crazy. Yep! I think I actually got a concussion by falling from the sky! Weird… hahaha…”

You laugh nervously, trying to lighten the mood, where was your common sense when you needed it the most?!

But those golden eyes, glint with something unreadable. The air suddenly feels thick with tension.

Rover nods slowly, and you exhale a breath you didn’t know you were holding. “This is the way to the city square.” he says, pointing toward the cave.

…?No way. If you remember correctly, this actually leads to the Cathedral—the Order’s base.

Still, you follow him into the cave. He walks a few steps ahead while you lag behind. It’s dim, lit only by candles on either side, on the ground, shadows licking the stone walls. The air is cold and damp.

It’s so dark that if someone were to murder anyone in here… no one would know.

You chuckle to yourself.

Imagine if Rover brought you here to murder you because you’re suspicious. Hahaha… funny.

Rover pauses mid-step as if he heard that thought.

You freeze.

He turns to look at you and you swear his eyes are glowing.

“There are stone stairs up ahead. I think I should guide you from here, knowing how you can trip unprompted.” he says, offering his hand.

Aw, how nice! But wait, did he just make fun of you?

Eh, whatever. You can’t focus on that when Rover just remembered something so trivial about you! Your heart does a little flip as you take his hand without hesitation.

He helps you walk down the stairs, and the cave opens into a half-balcony area. From here, you can see the structure of the place more clearly.

There’s an opening to your left where the stairs lead down to a wide area with a fountain in the center. Another balcony lies to the right, and what looks like an elevator structure stands to the left.

Oh! you know this place.

“Rover! This is the Cathedral area, not the city square. The elevator leads down to the entrance of the Cathedral and…”

You walk to the balcony that overlooks the Cathedral’s massive dome.

“And I remember doing an Echo Challenge: Flight VI here!”

You turn to face Rover. “So why did you—” Your voice dies inside your throat as you see the look on his face.

He’s smiling, The I-just-confirmed-my-suspicion kind of smile.

And he looks so hot.

“…you know a lot more than you let on,” he says, casually.

You raise both your hands in surrender. “Look, I’m from another universe who got dropped into this one out of nowhere! And then I met my future husb—”

Rover raises an eyebrow. You panic and pivot mid-sentence.

“I mean, I told you everything I know! I’m no threat! I can’t even fight or anything!”

You’re really selling this like a bad NPC, and the delivery is getting desperate. A true Oscar performance.

Rover nods again, as if still processing your info. Then he lifts his chin toward the landscape. “That’s Ragunna City. But you already know that, don’t you?”

You look out across the scenery. In the game, it’s beautiful but in real life? It’s stunning.

“Are we gonna take the elevator, then a boat to the city?” you ask, excited.

“No,” Rover says. And suddenly, he’s standing right in front of you.

You gulp.

His eyelashes are so long. His lips look kissable as hell

Focus!

“—Ready?”

“Huh?”

Before you can even process it, Rover’s hand wraps around your waist and pulls you close as he jumps off the balcony.

His Flight wings appear just in time, catching the wind, and the two of you are soaring through the air. The wind rushes past you, your heart threatening to beat right out of your chest.

Down below, the city opens up in all its glory. It’s breathtaking.

Rover lands gracefully on the city square, letting go of you immediately. You wobble, regaining your footing, eyes wide.

“You should’ve warned me first!” you exclaim. “But that was awesome! It’s such a bummer you can only use this utility in Rinascita and not in Huanglong.”

Rover frowns slightly, but then smirks. “I did tell you we were about to fly down to the city square.” He leans closer to your eye level. “Seems like, you were lost in that head of yours.”

Ugh. This man. Why is he so……illegally attractive?

Ragunna City in all its glory, where the architecture immediately captivates with its harmonious blend of form and function. Buildings rise in warm hues of beige, ivory, and terracotta, their facades adorned with intricate carvings and ornate balconies that seem like something straight out of a dream.

Canals weave through the city like veins, crossed by arched stone bridges that connect various districts. Along these waterways, colonnaded walkways provide shaded paths, their columns supporting overhanging terraces lush with greenery.

"Wow!" You’re blown away by how breathtaking the city is. “It’s about time Zani called…” Rover murmurs just as his terminal rings.

“Unfortunately, bad news, I did connect with the places around, but there aren’t any rooms available in any of the hotels in the city,” Zani says over the call. Rover had asked her if she could arrange a room for you.

What surprises you more is that Rover didn’t mention a single thing about how he found you, where you're from, or any of your wildly suspicious ramblings. He simply stated you were someone important to him and that Zani should treat you like she treats him.

Weird… but you don’t dwell on it.

“I’ve told some of my people to keep searching. This is uncanny to say the least,” Zani continues, and Rover hums in response.

“If we can’t find anything,” Rover says, turning his gaze to you and calling your name, “you can stay with me.”

You blink. Spending a night with Rover? In a room? Alone?! Count me in.

After the call ends, you’re busy ogling the streets—your eyes wide as you try to soak everything in.

“Would you like to look around the city?” Rover asks, voice smooth as silk.

“Can we?! Don’t you have to, like… go meet the head of the Montelli family? Maybe a certain troop of fools to plan the Carnival performance?”

There you go again, digging your own grave with the shovel. Might as well throw in a few flowers while you’re at it, because Rover is clearly locked onto you again.

“…”

“Ah—I would love to! Let’s look around the city!” you shout, immediately speed-walking toward the Tub Tacet Discord to distract him.

“Hey Rover, she is very suspicious…”

“Shh…Abby, now is not a good time.”

Rover simply follows, letting you lead the way, subtly steering you through the city like he’s indulging you… or observing. Either way, you're too thrilled to care.

The shops are narrow but deep, with arched doorways and canvas shades overhead. The lighting is dim but golden, bouncing off copper lanterns and polished wood counters. Markets are open-air, scattered through the city like hidden gems.

You’re definitely enjoying yourself. Doesn’t this feel like...a date?

And to think—your mother luck has finally shown up for you, because nothing bad has happened so far. This whole exploration? Solid 10/10.

“I won’t be coming back to the hotel tonight, so the room’s all yours. I have some things to take care of. We might see each other in the morning.” Rover says as the two of you finally arrive at the hotel he’s staying at.

Might…? You blink. Right, it’s probably the quest time. Maybe he’s off to meet the Troop of Fools or something. It is nighttime, after all.

“We won’t see each other in the morning?” you ask, the disappointment slipping out before you can stop it.

“Maybe, maybe not. It Depends.” Rover gives you a smile and with that, Rover walks off after handing you the room key.

You enter the room and plop onto the bed with a dramatic sigh. So tired. Your legs are aching like you walked across the entire map. Rolling back and forth on the mattress, you try to find a comfortable position.

“I wonder… why didn’t Abby appear when I met Rover? In the Rinascita quest, Abby was always out and about…”

With that final thought, sleep takes you, deep and heavy, completely unaware that, somewhere out there, you had already slipped beneath their skin, settled into their thoughts.

The next morning, you're already up and about, practically skipping through the sun-dappled streets of Ragunna City. How could you not? You're in the world of Wuthering Waves! The most logical thing to do? Soak in every glorious detail.

Well, after that nervous breakdown yesterday, you’ve come up with a brilliant idea—you're going to settle in Ragunna City, find a job, and live a comfortable life, far away from the wild and hostile Tacet Discords.

You gasp, the memory of the Phrolova fight and its breathtaking cutscene flooding back. Oh. My. God. You're so ready.

You race toward the gathering crowd, the air buzzing with anticipation. Brant sits atop a high platform. But where's Rover? Maybe he's with Carlotta, preparing for the performance.

Suddenly, red petals begin to drift from above, catching the sunlight as they fall. You look up, and there she is.

Phrolova.

Your heart skips a beat. The sky parts like a curtain, revealing a scene that's both eerie and mesmerizing. The atmosphere is tinged with an otherworldly aura, sending a thrill down your spine.

The crowd's cheers swell as Phrolova begins to speak, her voice resonating through the square. She gracefully settles onto a circular hoop suspended in the air, exuding an ethereal elegance.

It's about to begin!!!

You watch, enraptured, as Carlotta and Rover take the stage, battling wave after wave of Tacet Discords. Brant narrates the scene like a grand play, his words weaving the action into a captivating story.

The climax arrives with a burst of fireworks as Rover slices through Phrolova's wand with his scythe. He lands on the stage, the remnants of Phrolova's domain dissipating around him. A laurel materializes, crowning his head.

You're practically bouncing with joy. Witnessing this in real life is beyond anything you could have imagined. It's absolutely magnificent.

Suddenly, a feeling wraps around you like a hug, it's suffocating.

You feel Eyes on you.

You glance around and find Rover staring directly at you, his golden eyes burning with an intensity that sends a shiver down your spine. There's something in his gaze, so unnerving.

Instinctively, you feel an urge to hide, to escape those hauntingly beautiful eyes.

Without thinking, you turn and weave through the crowd, slipping into the narrow alleys of Ragunna City, your heart pounding in your chest.

After the Carnival, Rover walks into the hotel, footsteps soft on the polished floors. He’s greeted instantly.

“Mister Rover, another room has been prepared for you. Here’s the key,” the receptionist says with a practiced smile.

He smiles back, taking it without a word, fingers curling around the cool metal. Once inside his suite, the door clicks shut behind him.

Not a single thought passed through his head, just the static buzz of your voice echoing in some unreachable corner of his mind.

With a heavy exhale, he dropped down onto the edge of the bed. he sat with both feet planted wide on the ground, knees spread, forearms resting atop them.

One hand slid through his hair, slow, rough, pulling at the strands like he could rake the thoughts from his skull.

“I’m in the fucking game.”

“Have you met Cartethyia yet?”

“Montelli family… yeah, you’re supposed to team up with Carlotta. There’s this whole bit where you join the Troupe of Fools? Fight against Phrolova but make it look like a carnival performance. And then you receive the Laurel from Cartethyia, the Maiden. You meet her when she is dancing on water.”

“Umm… I don’t know much of the map of Rinascita since I just started playing and then got dumped here. Well, I already know about the port part, where Brant and his crew leave you and then you meet Zani. I think… My memory’s a little fuzzy. Wait, no! You meet Phoebe first… now that I think more about it, you meet an NPC called Cristopopo. No, um… what was his name?”

“But that was awesome! It’s such a bummer you can only use this utility in Rinascita and not in Huanglong.”

“Because I am the one behind the screen, Rover.”

Your previous conversations loop around in that big brain of Rover's. He rests his chin on his clasped hands, elbows propped on his knees, eyes glued to the wall.

The pulse in his temple beats a little too hard.

“She said I’m a character,” he whispered, eyes narrowing. “This world isn’t real.”

A sharp breath rattled into his lungs as he closed his eyes, tilting his head slightly, as if listening to some whisper only he could hear.

“She knows Huanglong. She knows Rinascita. She talks like she has known me since the beginning of my journey...”

“I love you.”

The moment it replayed in his mind, something fractured beneath the surface.

Abby burst from the Tacet mark, crackling into the air with a spark of gold light. “What if all she’s saying is nonsense?”

It pouted when Rover didn't say anything. “Rover, don’t we have to meet Carlotta, Brant and Roccia for the celebration tomorrow? Let's just sleep!”

He didn’t move. His eyes were still on the wall, still seeing the shape of your smile in the cracks of the paint.

“Abby… what’s her frequency like?”

Abby blinked, startled by the question. “Eh? I mean—it’s normal. Kind of weirdly low, actually. But it’s got this… this vibe to it. Hard to explain.”

Abby floated in slow, thoughtful circles, frowning in concentration. “It just feels…”

Rover’s gaze finally broke from the wall, softening when turning to Abby.

“Out of this world!” Abby said suddenly, snapping its little paw-fingers. “That’s it!”

He nodded. “Otherworldly,” he murmured, almost to himself. Then his voice dropped. “Can you absorb her?”

Abby jerked in mid-air, appalled. “Ew! No! She’s sweet! Like aggressively sweet! I’d get indigestion.”

A slow exhale left Rover’s mouth. He stood without another word, walking to the door, movement fluid, like the weight of his thoughts no longer held him down.

“Will we go to the party tomorrow?” Abby zipped after him, in an excited spiral. “Umm..where are we going?”

Rover nods, smiling softly at Abby. “Yes we will. For now I just need some fresh air.” Abby floats beside his shoulder. “What about the strange girl?”

He pauses at the threshold, a shadow stretching long behind him from the hallway lights.

“I must keep her close.”

You weave through the streets, your steps slowing to a casual stroll despite the frantic beat of your heart.

It felt like… no, you don’t want to finish that thought.

There’s no reason to. Rover would never—he’s gentle, thoughtful, the kind of man who's Carring and always waits for your answer. He’s your Rover.

The sun has long dipped below the skyline, shadows stretching like claws across the cobblestones. The streets are lit by eerie blue lamps, that give off that weird hypnotic sound.

The occasional flutter of a curtain from open windows, or the low creak of Ragunna City's buildings, the distinct sound of people are the only thing keeping you company, You have walked towards the empty part of the city.

You’re not walking with any direction, just letting your feet take you through the winding alleys, marveling at how this place feels so much like Rome. So beautiful, so rich with history and yet, so easy to get lost in.

The wind howls through the upper levels, curling around the rooftops like a predator circling in silence.

And then it hits you, that feeling. That dreadful, skin-prickling, breath-snatching feeling. Something is watching you.

You lift your gaze, heartbeat stalling.

Two glowing purple orbs, blink into existence atop a rooftop. They shift, jump, moving roof to roof, always staying just far enough to make you doubt…

but close enough that you know they’re watching. And they’re getting closer.

No. No, no, no.

One single word cuts through every thought Run.

And so you do.

You bolt through the city, panic clawing at your throat, your shoes skidding on the stone paths as you turn corner after corner, blindly sprinting down alleyways and corners that all look the same.

The wind behind you screams. You don’t dare look back. You don’t need to. The orbs are above you now, gliding overhead like phantoms. They’re keeping up, very easily.

Your lungs are burning. Your legs ache. But still, you run.

You make a sharp turn, too sharp and slam headfirst into something solid. You stagger back, the impact jarring your senses.

And in your dazed panic you hear the person in front of you whisper your name softly, Spoken like a question, and yet it cuts through your fear like a blade. You’d know that voice anywhere.

“Rover!” you gasp, your voice a ragged mess of relief and exhaustion. “Oh thank god, Rover, I think I was being chased! There were these orbs, like, ghost things, jumping over rooftops!” You point up, frantic, your breath hitching.

But there’s nothing. Your outstretched finger trembles. You blink up at the empty rooftops.

Rover steps closer, brows furrowed with visible concern. “You didn’t return to the hotel,” he says, voice soft but serious. “I got a little worried…”

The way he says it, that makes guilt wrap tightly around your chest. You hadn’t thought about that. You’d gotten so swept up in the fear of getting away from him, but he was the only one who came to your rescue.

Before you can respond, a sharp, slightly indignant voice cuts in.

"Meh! She better have a good explanation! You wasted my precious time!"

Your heart leaps with recognition.

“Abby!!” you squeal, spotting the tiny, cat-like Echo floating indignantly beside Rover’s shoulder.

You lunge forward and scoop it into your arms before it can float away, smothering it in your excitement. “Oh my god, you're so fluffy in real life! You’re adorable! So cute!!”

“Let. Me. Go!” Abby grumbles, squirming and kicking its little limbs in protest. It floats upward with an angry wobble as soon as you loosen your grip, glaring at you with narrowed eyes.

You pout. “Ok, ok sorry! I know I didn’t ask before hugging you but I got hit with cuteness aggression! You can’t hold that against me.”

The little Echo huffs and sticks its tongue out at you without missing a beat, you stick yours right back.

Rover watches the interaction in silence, noticing how easy it is to distract you.… but that earlier intensity still lingers at the very edges of his expression.

After that long, nightmare-like night, you returned to the hotel with Rover. Morning came too soon, walking out of your room you catch a glimpse of familiar dark fabric moving past you, Your heart jumps.

Quickly, You follow him along the hallway, Rover is already walking ahead, his silhouette framed by golden light from the lobby windows.

“Rover!” you call out, voice echoing softly across the corridor.

He pauses mid-step, turning just slightly. That warm, boyish smile spreads across his face—“Good Morning.” and that breathy softness of his tone. The kind that makes your chest squeeze painfully and your legs feel weak.

It’s stupid how fast he can do that to you.

You greet him back with enthusiasm, falling into step beside him, trying to ignore the butterflies in your stomach. It's too early to be simping again, gotta make your brain think of something else.

“You know, I was thinking... I’m going to stay in Ragunna City. Maybe get a job, settle in a bit. That way I don’t have to run into any Tacet Discords...and honestly...I really don’t want to learn how to fight.”

Rover’s eyes flick toward you as he opens the front entrance of the hotel. The door glides smoothly, and he holds it open without a word, letting you step through first.

“That’s smart thinking,” he murmurs, and for a second, you swear there’s something weightier behind his tone.

Your heart does a flip. Rover just called me smart. He thinks I’m smart! Heh!

You glance up at him, beaming, but the smile on his face has vanished. He’s watching you now. A stillness in him, like the air before lightning strikes.

“But,” he says slowly, and starts walking again, now the two of you are walking down the streets. “You told me about what happened last night… and it sounds like Ragunna City might not be as safe as you think.”

You blink at him. “Wait… you believe me?” The shock is real, raw. You hadn’t expected him to take your words seriously.

He stops walking and Turns. His golden eyes meet yours, catching the sunlight just right, there’s a glimmer in them that feels too sharp to be soft, too intense to be gentle.

“Yes, I do,” he says, voice smooth, measured. “Every single word since we met… I’ve believed you.” He leans in slightly, lowering his tone to something quieter, something softer that curls beneath your skin. “You wouldn’t have a reason to lie to me. Right?”

There’s no threat in his voice. None at all. Only kindness. Too much kindness. It floods over you, sweet and heavy. You gulp.

But then you see it. That unwavering focus in his eyes. Like he’s not just hearing you but memorizing every syllable, and every feature of yours.

Still, your smile returns, hesitant but hopeful. He believed you, About the ghost. You weren’t crazy, and somehow that felt like everything.

“Yep! I was serious about that.” you say, a little breathless. “Thank you.”

Right then, his terminal buzzes.

But Rover doesn’t reach for it immediately, His eyes linger on you, longer than necessary, longer than what should be polite. like the interruption has offended him somehow.

Only when the buzzing repeats does he finally pick it up.

“Were you awake, Rover? I trust you had a restful sleep?” a woman’s voice purrs from the other end.

You slap a hand over your mouth to stifle the squeal building in your throat, eyes going wide. Oh my god. It's Carlotta! This is it! This is where he goes to meet with Brant, Roccia. You're practically vibrating with excitement, quietly giggling into your hand like a lovesick person.

“Psst! What are you giggling about!?” a tiny voice snaps beside you.

You blink, turn your head and flinch. “Abby!? When did you get out of Rover’s Tacet mark? You’re still weak, you shouldn’t be out!”

Abby floats right into your face, squinting suspiciously. “You’re weird. You know things only me and Rover should know. I’m watching you.” It squints harder, doing the two fingers motion from its eyes to yours, then promptly zips back into Rover’s Tacet mark like a gremlin vanishing into shadow.

The call ends with a soft beep.

Rover turns back to you, but there’s something unreadable in his gaze, like he’s thinking too much. Or not thinking at all. “Don’t mind Abby,” he says. “Would you like to come with me?”

You blink. “Where?”

He raises an eyebrow, as his lips quirk up slightly. “You already know the answer. So why ask?”

You huff, flustered, watching as Rover turns his back to you, walking ahead with a casual confidence. Like he already knows you’ll follow.

The space you arrive in is open and tastefully decorated, big plush couches arranged around a low table, soft lighting casting warm glows over the area.

And your breath catches.

Because there they are—Brant, Carlotta, and Roccia. In the flesh. Living, breathing, talking. Not just pixels or dialogue boxes. You practically light up, your eyes going wide and sparkling like you’ve stepped into a dream made real.

You barely register the soft click of Rover’s boots behind you.

He watches you. Watches the way your mouth parts just a little in awe, the way your body angles forward in excitement.

He drinks in every detail like he’s parched...

but it’s not enough. Because for the first time since you met… you’re not looking at him.

You’re looking at them.

And he doesn’t like it.

Not one bit.

There’s a weight in his chest, something sharp and unfamiliar. A prickling tightness blooming behind his ribs like thorns.

He clears his throat softly, a warning disguised in civility.

You blink, glancing back at him. He’s smiling But something in his eyes is off.

Rover gestures toward the trio and some other people from the troop of fools with a tilt of his head, silently urging you forward. You step ahead with a nervous bounce, and he trails just behind you.

His eyes never leave you.

Not even for a second.

“Raise your glasses! Shout it loud, friends! To us! To the carneval! And to our very own Laureate!” Brant cheered, his voice a bit too loud and his steps more than a little wobbly. He looked absolutely wasted, swaying on his feet as he raised his drink high into the air with a proud grin.

You paused, standing just a few feet away from him, trying not to let your expression reveal the internal screeching happening inside your head. Rover stepped forward slightly, close enough that his shoulder nearly brushed yours. “Please, stop,” he murmured. “You’re making me feel embarrassed.”

Brant gave Rover a sloppy, closed-eyed smile, completely unbothered by the scolding. Then his gaze shifted and landed on you and he lit up like a firework. “Oh! The Laureate's Maiden!” he exclaimed, voice cracking with excitement as he stumbled a little. “You were the one Rover left so early for, aren't you?”

He extended his drink toward you in a cheerful toast, and you froze. Your heart practically stuttered at the title, ‘Laureate’s Maiden.’ The words echoed in your mind like a prophecy.

Rover said nothing. He only lifted a hand to his forehead while shaking his head.

Carlotta’s sharp, observant eyes flicked toward you in curiosity. Meanwhile, Roccia leaned in toward her and whispered, “He’s drunk again,” before offering you a small, apologetic smile, in her shy demeanor.

You were losing your goddamn mind.

You stood there, barely holding it together, silently screaming. You were watching Brant be an absolute mess, Roccia being adorable, and Carlotta giving you the “I see you” stare. And then it hit you again how real everything is.

Your inner fangirl was one step away from combusting.

You felt it building up—your excitement almost boiling over your lips.

A hand wrapped around your wrist.

Your head snapped up, eyes locking with Rover’s. His face didn’t betray much, but the look in his golden eyes was enough—sharp, steady, and entirely too aware of what was happening inside you.

Somehow, he knew.

That you were about to slip, about to fangirl out loud and shatter the whole illusion. You didn’t even get how, but he caught it. As if he was tuned to your every breath.

You swallowed your squeal and took a deep, steadying breath. Then gave him a small, sheepish nod.

But he didn’t let go of your wrist and you could feel it in the pressure of his touch, the way he refused to release you.

Carlotta’s gaze softened, her attention drifting from Rover’s hand on you to your expression.

She smiled, and looked down for a moment, then patted the empty space beside her on the couch. It wasn’t direct, no announcement or fanfare, but the invitation was clear in her casual, elegant way. Just a subtle gesture, as if saying; Come sit. Let’s talk. You’re welcome here.

Carlotta rose gracefully, lifting her glass with a quiet confidence that commanded attention. “A toast, everyone!” she called, her voice ringing clear across the space. “drink freely and celebrate without restraint—everything’s on me.”

A ripple of cheers followed, glasses raised, laughter blooming in the air like fireworks.

You giggled to yourself, heart warm, eyes sparkling as the atmosphere buzzed around you. Slipping from Rover’s grasp—fingers parting with a reluctant drag—you moved to sit beside Carlotta on the plush sofa, feeling a soft thrill.

Carlotta turned to you, her expression calm but kind. “Welcome,” she said smoothly, folding one leg over the other. “You’re Rover’s special person. You’ll be treated as such.”

Your chest gave a small, involuntary flutter. You blinked at her, caught off guard by her directness. “Ah—Thank you! Um… but I don’t know about being special…” Your voice trailed into a mumble as you tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, cheeks heating. “I want to be, though…”

Carlotta tilted her head, repeating your words with an airy lilt, “You’re not?” a flicker of relief, so subtle it almost slipped past you.

Before you could open your mouth and spill something mortifying —your unfiltered thoughts like, ‘Rover's fingers felt like silk ropes and I think I stopped breathing for three seconds’—a sudden shift interrupted.

Rover moved, Just strode forward and sat himself directly between you and Carlotta, his body sliding into the space. His shoulder pressed lightly against yours, and you had no choice but to scoot slightly to the side—caught off guard by the smoothness of the maneuver.

Carlotta blinked in mild surprise, eyebrows raising ever so slightly. Your own eyes widened too. The tension was brief but palpable, like the quiet before a lightning strike.

Carlotta adjusted her posture with ease and offered no protest. She simply redirected the flow of conversation, her tone shifting into something professional as she began discussing details about the event.

Rover and Carlotta kept talking, their tones low and deliberate as Roccia chimed in now and then. You stayed quiet, content to observe. but the heat at your side was impossible to ignore.

Rover’s leg brushed against yours, now settled there, beside yours. His hand settled near his knee, close enough that you felt the weight of it, even without touch. There was less to no distance between you two.

Whatever that gesture meant, it was received. Even the Order’s acolyte, who was spying from afar noticed it.

No one would approach you. Not now. Not with him right there.

It would be reported to Primus, an unexpected detail they’d soon turn into a calculated advantage.

You’re alone again.

The wind cuts soft against your skin as you stand on the balcony—that balcony. The one Rover brought you to the cave opened up into a place, Order's Cathedral.

He got summoned by the Primus. Some urgent request, diplomatic bullshit. You didn’t want to go inside. So you told him you’d wait here—where it all began. Where you both first touched Regunna’s sky.

The elevator hums behind you.

Ding.

“Excuse me, Miss. Are you with Rover?”

You blink, caught mid-thought. When you turn, you find an acolyte standing just a few feet away, the fountain splashing steadily behind him.

“Yes?” you say slowly, confused. Why the hell is one of them talking to you?

“With the Primus’ request, we’d like to give you a tour of the Order’s wildlife.”

Huuuh!?

You stare at him, deadpan. “Does Rover know about this?”

He doesn’t answer, Instead, his hand appears from behind his back, holding out a bouquet. A beautiful one. Flowers in shades that don’t exist in Regunna’s natural palette, arranged like a bribe wrapped in silk.

“For you, my lady,” he says with a thin smile. “A gift from the Primus. As a welcome.”

Huuuuuuuhhhhh?!

You feel your social anxiety flare like a damn solar flare. You grab the bouquet on instinct just to make this weirdo stop looking at you. The scent hits you immediately—sweet, heady, with something underneath, Faint and Strange.

Rot?

No. It’s not bad. Just…

“Would you please follow me?”

You don’t want to.

You don’t want to.

You want to ask more questions. Call Rover. Push this guy into the railing and run. But your body… it’s moving. Feet light, legs slow, floating forward.

The bouquet trembles in your hands.

Your throat tightens. “Ro...ver…” you try, but your mouth opens soundlessly. Not a whisper, not a wheeze. Nothing.

Inside, you’re screaming. You are begging for your voice. For control of your body.

Help me.

But all you can do is follow.

You’re in a field now.

Wide, open, The sky is dimmer here. Or maybe you’re imagining it. You blink—your vision sharpens. The man’s walking away, saying nothing. His silhouette fades into the distant treeline like he was never there.

And just like that, you drop the bouquet.

It hits the ground with a soft thump, and suddenly—it’s like you can breathe again. Like some part of your soul just clawed its way back into your chest.

Your hands shake.

“That bastard,” you hiss, furious. You want to run back, grab someone—anyone—by the collar and scream at them, What the fuck was that?!

But… who would believe you?

Then a voice, warm and steady, echoes in your memory.

“Every single word since we met… I’ve believed you.”

Rover.

Your breath hitches. Yeah. He would believe you.

But first, you need to get the hell out of here.

You spin around, scanning the field. You don’t even know where you are. There’s grass. Rocks. A distant shimmer of trees. You have no idea which way is back to the city. And of course, the second you realize how alone you are, The air shifts.

It gets cold. And then you hear it. Skittering. Growling. Clicking. Then, like stars in a nightmare sky, they appear—one by one. Tacet Discords...At least twenty of them.

All shapes. All sizes. Some teddy bear like. Some Grotesque silhouettes against the horizon—elongated limbs, blinking eyes, wet jaws, razor-wings.

The air hums with primal danger.

Your heart drops straight into your gut.

“Nonononono! fuck me sideways...” you breathe, taking a shaky step back.

Then they move, Fast. All at once. You run.

There’s no plan. No direction. Just sheer, animal panic. You dodge a spiked tail that slams into the ground where you stood a second ago. The impact makes the earth tremble, and you scream—loud, raw.

Your luck is absolute shit—no, scratch that, it's cosmically cursed. You were having such a good time.

And now? Thrown into this mess.

Funny how things go to hell the moment Rover isn’t by your side. When he’s around, your luck feels blessed, like the universe has your back. The second he’s gone? Boom—chaos and now apparently a welcoming bouquet laced with “fuck-you” energy.

Branches whip at your arms as you dive into whatever passes for cover here—rocks, shallow dips, ruins of something ancient and forgotten. You keep going, because stopping means dying.

You trip once. Twice. A claw nearly catches your ankle. You don’t look back.

Your legs burn. Your lungs are begging for mercy.

Your brain is just screaming: You’re going to die here.

You’re not built for this. You never trained. You’re not a Resonator. You don’t belong in the middle of a Tacet Discord bloodbath.

All you have is your decent sense of sarcasm, and what you hope is enough spite to fuel your survival.

“Great!” you shout breathlessly. “This is fantastic! You guys didn't even ask me on a date and now I’m on the fucking menu?!”

A Tacet Discord shrieks behind you in response. You scream back, middle finger raised in pure survival-mode insanity.

They’re everywhere. Every direction you turn..You can't outrun them. You know that.

But you’ll damn well try.

Because dying like this—alone, devoured in the dirt like trash?

Not on your list of acceptable Tuesday activities, wait is it Tuesday here? Nevermind.

And if you’re going down... at least one of these freaks is gonna have indigestion afterward.

The air is thick with dread.

Your legs are jelly, lungs burning, and the cacophony of Tacet Discords closing in is deafening. Each breath feels like a countdown to oblivion.

Suddenly, a blinding light pierces the gloom.

A shockwave erupts, sending Tacet Discords flying like ragdolls. The ground trembles beneath you, and for a moment, the world holds its breath.

From the epicenter of the blast, a figure emerges—Rover.

But this isn't the Rover you know. His eyes blaze with an otherworldly light, and an aura of raw power radiates from him. The very air around him seems to bend, acknowledging his dominance.

He moves with lethal grace, each step purposeful. With a mere gesture, he summons ethereal weapons, dispatching Tacet Discords with surgical precision. The creatures, once so terrifying, have become his playthings.

His eyes glow—brighter than the stars, colder than space.

The frequency thickens around him like a cloak of shadows alive and hungry. His Spectro resonance still hums at the core, pulsing in rhythm with his heartbeat like a ticking bomb.

In a blur of movement, Rover twists—hand slicing the TDs clean and efficiently, like a surgeon cutting through rotten flesh.

More surround him. A pulse of Havoc ignites—Dark Surge expanding. He warps forward, vanishing for a half second—then reappears behind them mid-spin, hurling his scythe from both hands. The Tacet Discords shudder before collapsing, torsos sliced clean.

You blink—and two more Tacet Discords have already fallen. You can’t even see how he did it.

You sigh in relief but damn it, he looks terrifyingly hot. That dark gleam in his eyes, the effortless precision, the sheer dominance in every move…

Yeah, you’re shaken, but a part of you? Still hopelessly down bad.

The adrenaline drains from your body like a snapped string. You can finally let go, but your limbs tremble uncontrollably. Now that the fear has passed, your body finally realizes just how close you came to dying.

A sharp crunch pulls your attention up.

Rover steps forward, walking toward your crouched form with slow, steady steps. The ground doesn’t quake beneath him anymore, and that unbearable frequency that had screamed around him moments ago has vanished. The pressure lifts.

Your Rover is back.

You wrap your arms tightly around yourself, heart pounding like a war drum as you watch him approach. He crouches in front of you, and for a moment, it’s like déjà vu—just like when you first met. That same soft smile curves his lips, like the battlefield around you doesn’t exist.

He extends a hand.

That’s it. You can’t hold it in anymore.

Tears spill over your cheeks—hot, heavy, unstoppable. The sob rips from your throat before you can even stop it. You were going to die. You were so close to being torn apart and—

You don’t even register him moving until his arms are around you, pulling you into a firm, grounding hug.

You bury your face in his chest, fists clutching the undershirt beneath his jacket like it’s the only thing anchoring you to reality.

One of his hands moves slowly over your back, tracing calming circles. The other cradles the back of your head gently, like you’re fragile glass and he’s terrified of cracking you.

And in that moment, you feel safe. Safe like never before. Not because the danger is gone.

But because he is here.

Your sobs have finally faded to sniffles. You rub your puffy eyes, shifting just a little away from his chest but still firmly in his embrace.

“I actually thought I was going to die,” you mutter, voice scratchy. “Like! I know I broke my personal record of staying alive for a week, which is amazing, but I still didn’t wanna die, you know?”

Rover hums softly, his gloved fingers gently threading through your hair. The motion is rhythmic, soothing. “You’re still alive,” he says, voice calm and warm. “See?” And there it is, that smile. Soft. Sweet. Heart-melting.

You’d fight twenty more Tacet Discords for that smile. Urm… hide behind him while he fights.

“Yeah… thanks to you,” you reply, trying to gently pry yourself from his hold.

Keyword: try.

His arms don’t budge.

“Rover… I think I’m okay now,” you laugh awkwardly. “We can head back to the city?”

You’re not sure why it came out as a question but somehow, when it comes to him, you feel like you need permission to even breathe.

Rover finally nods and lets go, though his eyes linger on you, scanning, calculating, checking every tiny tremble in your limbs.

You stand beside him, brushing dust off yourself as he steps ahead, leading the way. The silence is easy… until he speaks, like it’s casual small talk.

“I met with Primus. Can you guess what happened?”

He’s smiling, but... something’s off. You glance down and see his fists clenched so tight.

“Oh yeah!” you perk up, totally missing the tension. “I remember that quest—kind of. Doesn’t he like, talk in riddles about ‘The Maiden’ or whatever?”

You ramble, voice light and airy now, blissfully unaware that your words aren’t answering his question so much as distracting yourself.

“Mostly accurate, but he mentioned you as well. And threatened me, indirectly.”

You don’t notice how Rover’s gentle tone shifts—how frustration slips into the spaces between his words, how tightly he’s reining it in.

“Wait! Wait! Wait, what?! Am I ruining the plot?!” you blurt, wide-eyed. “No way! I don’t wanna get involved, nope. Rover, can you like—send me to Jinzhou? That place is super peaceful right now and it’d be perfect for me to start a new life in. Like then I won't have acolytes luring me into a place filled with Tds...”

Rover stops walking. There’s so much in your words that bugs him. The way you talk about leaving like it’s that simple...like he could ever let you go.

“So,” he mutters, as if confirming something to himself, “that’s what happened…”

Then louder, firm enough to cut through your spiral. “It’s okay. Nothing will happen to you.”

And he says it with such unshakable certainty, it doesn’t feel like reassurance, it feels like a threat to the universe itself. this is his vow to you.

You exhale. “Thank you…” The walk continues, and there’s a light brush of Rover’s hand against yours.

You hesitate, then test it, fingers creeping toward his, shy and slow. Like you’re asking a question without words.

And rather quickly, Rover answers.

He intertwines his fingers with yours, firm and grounding. No hesitation. Just his hand, holding yours, like he’s always meant to.

You grin to yourself, giggling inwardly like a little gremlin. Heheh, holding hands before marriage. How scandalous.

Well, you muse dramatically, we’ve held hands before… but this is different. This is sacred. Because I initiated it.

You beam with inner pride, your silly little heart puffing. Because yes, this moment matters. Because yes, you’re holding your husband’s hand.

Husband as in: you married him in your daydreams. Details, details.

As you and Rover entered Ragunna City again, you were immediately met with Carlotta. it seemed like she had been waiting for the two of you.

“Rover!” she called out, striding toward you both. Her expression brightened, then faltered the moment her gaze landed on you. Concern twisted across her face like a storm cloud. “Are you okay?! My goodness...”

“It was the Order,” Rover replied, his tone calm but clipped. Then, turning to Carlotta, he made a quiet request—asking for her help. His eyes found yours again. “I need to take care of something. Carlotta can be trusted, don’t worry. I’ll be back before you know it.”

Your hands were still interlocked—his grip firm, grounding. Then, with a final squeeze, he let go and walked away, his figure disappearing like a tether snapping loose.

You turned to Carlotta, awkwardly brushing back your disheveled hair. “Um… sorry for how I look? I feel like I offended you somehow.”

Carlotta blinked, clearly startled. “No, no! Please, be at ease. As I said before—Rover’s special person will be treated with the utmost care and respect. Please, follow me.”

She led you to her estate and provided a guest room stocked with fresh clothes. After a soothing shower and a change into soft, clean fabric, you collapsed into the bed like a soul exorcised of fatigue.

It wasn’t long before a gentle knock on the door pulled you from your nap. “Come in!”

Carlotta entered, a composed smile on her face, followed by a butler carrying a silver tray. Your mouth practically watered on reflex. The far end of the room revealed a small table and chairs. The butler wordlessly placed the tray down and exited with the elegance of a ghost. Carlotta gestured for you to sit with her, settling into one of the chairs with regal ease.

You took the seat across from her, and she offered you a genuine smile. “Don’t mind me. Please, dig in.”

You didn’t need to be told twice. The food was warm and familiar, like a safety blanket in edible form.

Finally relaxed, your guard temporarily down, you decided to bring up the thought that had been gnawing at your mind.

“So, I was thinking of going to Jinzhou. You know, that city in Huanglong...”

Carlotta tilted her head with interest, eyes glinting. “May I ask why?”

“I don’t feel safe in Ragunna City after the...” you hesitated, poking at your food, “You know... and Jinzhou is, like, very peaceful right now. A perfect place to not get attacked by anything!”

Carlotta nodded, leaning back and folding one leg over the other with the poise of a queen. “I can help you with that. Arrange transportation. I’ll make sure you arrive safely and are well taken care of once you’re inside the city.”

You gasped, hand pressed to your chest dramatically. “Omg! You would do that? Thank you so much!”

Carlotta nodded, her smile never faltering but her eyes held something calculating beneath the warmth. Of course, she had her own reasons. She was a woman of business, after all. And every investment had its return.

Carlotta had escorted you back to the hotel after receiving a message from Rover—he wouldn't be able to pick you up himself. You didn’t think much of it. Maybe he got caught up in something.

You made small talk with Carlotta.

Once you reached the hotel entrance, you turned to her with a small smile.

“Thanks... for walking with me. And for, well, everything,” you murmured, scratching your cheek awkwardly.

Carlotta smiled, her gaze softening. “Of course. Take care of yourself.”

You waved her goodbye, entering the building and making your way up the stairs, shoes clicking softly against the polished floor. As you reached your floor, something odd caught your eye. You noticed a door, just beside yours, was slightly ajar.

Curiosity won over common sense, and like the nosy little gremlin you were, you peeked.

And immediately regretted it. Who are you lying to? You didn't regret it a slightest bit.

Rover stood inside, his back to you, just as he was taking off his jacket. Then came the gloves, tossed onto a nearby chair. The strap across his chest followed, sliding off in one smooth motion. Then he reached for the hem of his shirt. That clingy, perfectly-fitted grey undershirt. He was halfway through tugging it off when your soul panicked.

You panicked, raising your fist and knocking loudly. Your eyes widened. Your cheeks caught fire.

Rover turned his head slightly, catching you in the corner of his eye, shirt now caught at his ribs, he lets go of it.

Your face flushed immediately.

He looked unfairly good like this—hair slightly tousled, collarbone peeking out, that necklace glinting against his skin like a silent warning.

“Oh, you’re back... safe and sound.” he said, voice dipped in honeyed relief. His eyes roamed over you, then lingered just a second too long. “Good.”

You cleared your throat and stepped inside like a guilty cat caught knocking over a vase. “I—uh—y-yeah, I just—sorry, I didn’t mean to peek or anything, I just—your door—it was open and—uh—” You were absolutely malfunctioning. “Your shirt is committing war crimes.”

Rover chuckled softly and didn’t press it. His smile was warm, and yet something about it felt strained, like there was static just under the surface. As he turned fully, the soft lighting dancing across his face, the shirt clinging to his muscles.

You cleared your throat, You sat down on the arm of a chair, legs swinging slightly. You figured now was a good time to talk. “Anyway, I wanted to talk to you... about something.”

He tilted his head, eyebrows lifting as he leaned against the table. “I’m listening.”

“So… I kinda had a conversation with Carlotta while I was stuffing my face with food. And, well…” you paused, watching his hands still, You smiled awkwardly. “So... I talked to Carlotta. And she said she could help me get to Jinzhou. You know, because Ragunna’s not exactly ‘let’s settle down and bake cookies’ levels of safe.”

Rover’s smile didn’t vanish—it simply froze, like a painted expression.

“Oh?” he said, with an almost imperceptible pause.

His tone stayed even. “And why would you want to go there?”

“Like I told you before..” You shrugged. “I don’t feel safe here. I mean, what happened in the field? That’s not something I want a round two of. And Jinzhou's got, like… zen energy. I can heal a bit. And I think... I need that. I think I’d feel better there. You could come visit too, of course.” You grinned at him, clearly trying to keep the conversation light, because the strange, tense atmosphere is becoming suffocating.

“I see,” Rover said softly. He took a step closer. “Leaving is the right choice?”

“I mean… yeah?” you answered with a sheepish grin. “Don’t get me wrong, I’d miss you. A lot. You’re like the world’s best emotional support. Like—seriously. Who gave you permission to look that good covered in dust?”

That got a small laugh out of him but the tension didn’t fade. His fingers flexed slightly at his side.

Then your eyes caught something, on the edge of his undershirt sleeve, just beneath the fabric...

Your heart jumped, Blood. A faint, dark smear near the hem of his shirt.

Your lightheartedness fizzled. “Wait… are you hurt?” You stood, frowning. “Did something happen?”

Rover tilted his head, then looked down like he’d forgotten the evidence on him. “No,” he said quickly. “Not my blood.”

That did not make it better. Not his? You blinked. “Then whose—?”

“It’s nothing you need to worry about,” he said with a gentle smile, the kind that felt... wrong now. “You’re safe. That’s what matters.”

That strange calm in his voice made your skin crawl in the oddest way. You tried to shake it off. Your body stiffened instinctively.

After a pause, he looked at you again—this time softer, almost vulnerable.

“Will you stay?”

You hesitated. He waited. You shook your head slowly. “No. I mean, I care about you, and I have made that clear, I guess very clear… but I just don’t want to stay here anymore. It doesn’t feel right. I need space. Maybe you can come visit me in Jinzhou when you get a break or something?”

You smiled gently and stepped toward the door.

But it shut before you could touch the handle.

A hand pressed flat against the wood in front of you, and heat rushed down your spine. Rover was behind you now, close enough that you felt the weight of his presence in your bones.

“That,” he whispered, voice no longer gentle but absolute, “is not an option.”

Your breath caught in your throat.

You turned your head slightly, only to find his face right there, cheek against your hair, mouth near your ear.

“I didn’t believe you at first,” he began, voice barely above a whisper. “When you said all those things. About me. About this world. I thought you were just being poetic. But I listened. Every word. Every little slip. You’ve known me since the beginning, haven’t you?”

You slowly turned to face him. His eyes weren’t wide with madness. No. They were too calm. Too lucid. And that was so much worse. You backed up slightly but there was nowhere to go, Your back pressing against the door.

“You talk like you’ve always known me. From the beginning of my journey. Every choice I’ve made...you understand it before I even speak…”

He exhaled a laugh—short, humorless. “I started noticing things after I met you. Things I shouldn’t notice. The way the world shifts around us. The way time bends. The way... none of it feels real anymore.”

You blinked. “What are you talking about—?”

“I see it now,” he breathed. “The repetition. The scripted kindness. The way people pause just long enough for you to speak. I am in a story. I wholeheartedly believe you now...And you…”

He leans closer, his elbow bending, caging you gently between him and the door.

“You are the only unpredictable thing in this world. The only one who looks at me like I’m more than lines of code. The only one that feels real. Because you are the only one anchoring me to the real world.”

You could hear the tremble building under his voice, like a crack in the earth before the quake.

“I started wondering—what am I? A character in a story? A game? Made for people’s amusement?”

His voice broke, briefly. “Am I real, or just code wrapped in skin?”

You tried to speak, but the words caught in your throat.

“You’re the only thing that makes sense now,” he continued. “You’re the only one who doesn’t glitch. The only one who talks like she’s seen me.”

“Rover—”

“No. Listen. Do you understand what that means?” His hand cupped your cheek—soft, reverent, yet trembling with obsession barely restrained. “You are my anchor. Without you, this world dissolves. Without you, I become... just another piece of fiction.”

His forehead pressed against yours.

“I don’t want to forget how your voice sounds. I don’t want to wake up and realize I imagined you. I don't want to go back to a loop where you never existed.”

You felt his breath tremble against your lips.

“I need to know that I’m not just a story you’ll get tired of.”

Your heart thundered in your chest—part fear, part something far too complicated to name.

“I fucked up...” you whisper to yourself, barely audible.

Rover smiles.

That soft, puppy-like smile. The kind that used to melt your heart, the kind that once made you believe he could never hurt you. The kind that now feels like a mask.

He steps away for a moment—only to hook his fingers around your wrist with a gentle tug, pulling you back. You stumble, breath catching, and the back of your knees meets the edge of the bed with a muted thud.

“I notice everything about you,” he murmurs. “The way you dote on me... those little moments? They don’t go unnoticed.”

He extends his hand—like he always has. From the moment you met until now, it has always been there, waiting. Waiting for you to take it.

And you always did. With no hesitation. Sometimes even with joy.

But now...

Now you hesitate.

His hair is slightly disheveled, a few strands falling into his eyes. There’s a faint smear of blood at the hem of his grey shirt—crimson staining cotton like paint across canvas. When he tilts his head, the necklace he always wears catches the light, swinging like a pendulum.

Even now, in this moment, he looks so...Beautiful. Unreal.

“Don’t you want to be my wife?” His voice is low, coaxing. “Why hesitate now...?”

He says your name like a lover's prayer. Or a spell. Like the idea of you slipping away is unbearable. And it makes you ache to take his hand again.

“You said you loved me. Remember?”

His eyes widen. The desperation in them is stark, unhidden, raw. Wild. Like a man teetering on the edge of a cliff and calling it faith. Like falling is a choice... and dragging you down with him is a promise.

Then, in a voice so quiet it makes your stomach twist.

“So prove it.”

Your breath stutters. He was patient. He gave you your space, didn’t he? Gave you time to think. To breathe. He waited...

But patience is fragile.

And even if you run, it won’t matter. he’s the main character of this world. He knows that. he knows this world bends to him.

You can’t escape.

Everyone loves him, adores him. They always will. He’ll use that love, twist it into a cage so soft you won’t even know you’re inside it.

He sees it now, your fear. Sees the way your body tenses like a trembling leaf. He exhales, slow and measured, and steps into your space until there’s nothing left between you.

“Jinzhou,” he repeats, like he’s tasting the word. “You want to go there?”

You nod quickly, reflexively. Any wrong move could shift the moment. Could turn gentleness into something else entirely.

His hands lift, hovering in the air, waiting, Would you flinch? He would never do something that would push him away from you.

But you don’t flinch. You don’t move.

So he cups your cheeks with such tenderness it makes your skin crawl.

“There,” he whispers. “Relax. You can go to Jinzhou. I won’t stop you.”

Because this world already belongs to me. I don’t need to lock you up to keep you.

You shiver. His voice is calm, but his eyes... those eyes aren’t the ones you fell in love with. They’re deeper now, darker, bottomless pits that don’t reflect light, only swallow it.

“Don’t worry,” he soothes, fingers brushing along your jaw. “You’re safe. I’ll make sure of that.”

And you nod.

You lean into his touch because, in this world—whether you like it or not—he’s the only one who can protect you. The only one who won’t let you go.

Because This isn't pure love.

This is love born from obsession.

[imyourightnow]

Rover can do anything to me 😍

[wildestdreamsblog]

Elysian: a Latibule Spinoff

Pairing: Doctor/Mafia!Kim Seokjin x Intern!Reader 

Warnings: Yandere behavior, Possessiveness, Manipulative behavior, If you’re not 18+ please, PLEASE, do not interact. Be mindful of the warnings. Let me know if I miss anything.

A/N: Jin Wick is finally happening!

Masterlist, Part XII of XIII

Kim Seokjin’s POV

He was six when he first took a man’s life.

He didn’t remember what exactly happened or how his father made him do it.

He didn’t remember the details — not the man’s face, not the smell of gunpowder, not the sound of his father’s voice urging him on. What he did remember was the weight of the gun in his small hands, heavier than it should have been. He remembered how his fingers trembled and how his father’s hand steadied them — not out of comfort, but out of command.

He just remembered how loud his mother screamed when he returned to the mansion, his pristine and expensive shirt ruined with blood.

He just remembered how his mother called him a monster.

He just remembered how she said she never should have married Seokjin’s father, then maybe, he wouldn’t exist.

He was ten when he first realized that although there was no love lost for his mother, his father was deeply enamored by his mother. It was the kind of love that was too much – something that was obsessive, toxic and hurtful.

Seokjin’s mother loved his father’s money while his father craved control over his mother.

It wasn’t love, he realized when he was thirteen.

And if it was, he vowed never to love anyone.

He was seventeen when it dawned on him that he could leave this all behind, that he could be someone who didn’t have to hurt anyone, that his hands could heal instead of hurt, that he could be anyone else but a Mafia Prince, a title that had been thrusted on him since his very first breath.

He was eighteen when he quickly learned that if he wanted to save his brothers from the same fate as his, that he needed to become the very man he tried so hard not to be: he needed to be the Mafia Prince.

He became the monster his mother accused him of being.

He ended his father’s reign and coincidentally, he became a prisoner of his own decision, a life built in deceit, of having blood in his hands and a life built to heal. He had long accepted it. This was his life: a doctor by oath, a criminal by birthright.  He built a life in deceit with one that healed by daylight and bled by dusk. A man with blood on his hands, and a heart that refused to stop trying to save others even when he knew no one could save him.

Until you came into his life.

You were a force to be reckoned with, something that could never be predicted. He was content with his life. In fact, he had long accepted that he would always live a double life. He promised himself that he wouldn’t be like his father, that he would never damned someone else to a life with him.

He built walls too high that he unknowingly became a prisoner of them. But you…you came into his life with a smile that could disarm anyone. Every warmth you sent his way, regardless of how undeserving he knew he was, thawed the coldness in his heart. 

He promised not to love the way his father did — possessive, consuming, cruel, obsessive. 

Deep down, he was terrified that a part of his father was ingrained in him, that when he did allow himself to love, that he’d hold onto that person tight enough that it’d kill her. Deep down he knew. He knew that there was no erasing a father from son. And like his father before him, he was terrified that his love no matter how pure it felt would be the very thing that destroyed you.

But you never gave him a choice.

He should have known he never stood a chance when it came with you.

He tried.

God, he tried. He buried himself in work, stayed longer in the hospital, stitched up wounds that weren’t his just to forget the one you had opened in him, put irreparable damages on people who thought they could take down the Bangtan. He avoided your calls, your eyes, your touch. He ran away from you in the most literal sense and in his haste to escape the feelings you forced to the surface, he ended up hurting you. 

But you were everywhere: in the scent of jasmine that lingered in the corridors, in the sound of his own heartbeat that quickened whenever he thought of you, in the tenderness that he couldn’t forget.

You were simply a cliff. And he had been standing at the edge his whole life, pretending the fall wouldn’t kill him.

But then you smiled at him one evening. It was just a simple, unguarded smile and he realized it was too late. He was already falling, helplessly, hopelessly, completely. He realized that he could only deny for so long before the truth caught up to him. He realized that his world returned to lifeless gray when you took all your sunshine away with you.

There was no saving himself from you.

And so when you came home injured, he didn’t exactly know how he remained calm, or at the very least, how he was able to play a façade of a man who was calm and wasn’t craving violence. He wanted to destroy whoever had done this. Wanted to make them feel the kind of pain that didn’t heal. But instead, he clenched his jaw and swallowed it down, every muscle in his body screaming for release. He forced his hands to be gentle as he reached for you, his touch feather-light, almost reverent.

Right then and there, he realized that the reason why fate didn’t let him turn his back on the dark world was because of you. It hit him like truth often did — quietly, cruelly, completely.

It was because he needed to be strong to protect you.

“You know, I wasn’t done playing with her. I am having fun playing with her,” the man who would soon wish he was dead said as he picked up a knife while Seokjin was bound to the table. He must have been the boss of these idiots.

Seokjin would reserve the worst death for him. 

Blood dripped from his lip onto the cold metal, slow and steady. He didn’t flinch. His breathing was calm — too calm — his eyes steady as he watched the man approach. The ropes around his wrists cut deep, but he didn’t struggle. He let them tie him up.

He let them think they had won.

He let them, of course. Also, this was his punishment for letting them hurt you. Had he claimed you sooner, had he accepted his feelings sooner, then this bastard wouldn’t have been able to hurt you. Had he come home unscathed to you, then it would be suspicious. You were an intelligent girl, you would find it hard to believe that a doctor like him would ever leave this scene unharmed. He was, after all, an upstanding citizen. He wouldn’t know anything about hurting anyone. 

To you, he was just a doctor who was too good at his job. Nothing more.

“And you think you could just saunter here and what? Pay her debt for her? Save her? Who do you think you are? Her knight in shining armor? Hah!”

The man’s voice was coarse and mocking, the kind that reeked of cheap whiskey and arrogance. The words were barely out of his mouth before his fist came crashing into Seokjin’s cheek, the sound of impact sharp and wet against the quiet of the room.

Seokjin’s head snapped to the side, a small trickle of blood running down his lip. He didn’t move. Didn’t flinch. He just stared at the floor for a beat, jaw tightening before he turned his gaze back up.

He had experienced worse…far worse, to be honest. His father’s fists were heavier, colder, more deliberate. His father knew how to hurt. His father knew where to hurt. Pain was nothing new to him. Pain was familiar, almost comforting in its predictability. This? This was nothing.

He straightened slowly, the metallic tang of blood in his mouth before he spit the blood on the ground, his eyes unreadable. “Are you done?” he asked softly, voice calm, dangerous in its restraint.

The man laughed, loud and guttural, mistaking composure for weakness. “Oh, you’ve got some balls, doctor. I like that. But let’s make something clear. Your money cannot save anyone here. Especially not her.”

A slow smile tugged at the corner of Seokjin’s bruised lip, a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. He looked up at him emotionlessly. “You’re right,” he murmured, voice low, almost gentle. “Money cannot save her.”

He chuckled, the sound cold and haunting. “I do.”

The ropes snapped loose with one sharp, practiced twist, the sound of metal against metal echoing through the dim room. His eyes widened at him. With swift movements, Seokjin managed to land a powerful blow on the man’s throat, rendering him incapable for a moment. He calculated that there were seven men inside the warehouse, two guarding the perimeters and five inside with him. He was severely offended by the number of people brought here to contain him. 

They weren’t enough to clench the burning anger he felt inside him when he found you injured.

Two men ran to him, fully intending on subduing him and ending his life. They thought numbers could save them. Seokjin caught the first one by the wrist before the blade could reach him, twisting sharply until bone snapped with a clean, wet crack. The man screamed, dropping to his knees. The second lunged from behind, but Seokjin moved with surgical precision, a sharp elbow to the jaw, a swift kick to the ribs. The man crumpled, gasping for air that would never fully come back.

It was almost disappointing.

Their attempts were hilarious, really — pathetic in the face of the fury that lived inside him. They were street rats trying to bite the hand of a lion.

Three down, four to go.

The warehouse was a mess of groans and the metallic tang of blood. One man lay sprawled against a stack of crates, another clutched his broken arm, whimpering for mercy that would never come. His arm was bent in a way that shouldn’t be humanly possible. Seokjin stood in the middle of it all, breathing steady, knuckles slick with crimson, the faintest trace of boredom flickering across his face. His suit remained almost impeccable, not a drop of blood on them but a crease that happened when he was thrown in the car several hours ago.

One of the remaining men moved in a blur, or what he probably thought was one. The knife flashed toward Seokjin’s side, but Seokjin sidestepped with the kind of grace that should not belong in a place like this. The blade cut through air, nothing more.

“Too slow,” Seokjin murmured, almost disappointed.

He caught the man’s wrist mid-strike, fingers tightening until the knife wavered, then stilled. With a swift jerk, Seokjin slammed the man’s hand against a nearby crate. Once. Twice. The third time, the knife dropped, clattering down beside the fallen bat.

The man gasped, stumbling back, clutching his swollen hand—only to find Seokjin already in front of him.

A knee to the gut drove the air from his lungs. A palm strike snapped his chin upward. Then a final punch—clean, precise—sent him crashing onto a pile of discarded sacks.

The man didn’t get up.

The remaining man raised a baseball bat, his grip trembling. The other brandished a knife, waving it like it could actually make a difference.

Seokjin almost laughed. Really?

He wanted to roll his eyes — and nearly did. Instead, he exhaled slowly, tilting his head as if he were assessing a mildly interesting patient rather than two men preparing to die. “You sure you want to do this?” he asked, voice deceptively calm, even gentle.

The man with the bat snarled. “You’re dead, pretty boy!”

Seokjin’s smirk was cold before he ran his hand through his dark locks. “We’ll see about that.”

The first swing came fast, but Seokjin was faster. He ducked, caught the handle mid-arc, and yanked hard — the man stumbled forward just in time for Seokjin’s fist to connect with his throat. The sickening crack echoed through the room. He dropped like a stone. But Seokjin didn’t want an easy fight. No. He wanted them to suffer the worst fate. He landed fatal blow after blow, his fist bruised and bloodied but he didn’t care. 

He didn’t hear the cries of the man begging for mercy. And if he did, he found it in himself that he couldn’t care less. The man’s face was now unrecognizable, his nosebridge bent in itself, his eyes bulging out of his sockets.

He didn’t care about anything outside of the violence he was taking part of. It was as though all his senses shut down to quench the burning anger in him. 

The man stopped fighting.  

Only then did Seokjin pause, chest heaving, blood dripping from his fist onto the body beneath him.

He pushed off the ground and turned—

—and froze.

You were breathing hard as you ran inside the warehouse, your eyes wild with worry, your hair disheveled as you assessed the situation before you. Your eyes were wide, frantic, skimming the room, the bodies, the blood—until they landed on him. Your eyes were wide with fear as you looked at him, at the man covered in blood.

And for the first time since the fight started… Seokjin felt something slice through the fog of his rage.

Because you were looking at him like you didn’t recognize him at all.

Two hours ago

“Noona, I am not kidding. Seokjin hyung will kill me if I let you leave-”

“Jungkook! He won’t! He can’t even kill a fly!”

Jungkook looked at her weirdly before sighing so loud one would think he carried the world on his shoulder. He opened his phone, tapped his fingers swiftly until you saw what appeared to be a map. 

Was that a GPS?

“-on the other hand, if I don’t let you leave, you’re only going to find your own way out of here. Seokjin hyung will also kill me-” he started with a wondering tone, his hand rubbing his forehead in stress. 

You frowned at him before walking closer to him menacingly. You gripped his shirt in your fist as you tried to meet him eye to eye which was difficult by how physically huge he was. “Jungkook, you listen to me. He’s been missing for almost 20 hours now. He could be anywhere by now! They could have hurt him now! If you don’t let me leave, don’t worry about Seokjin killing you. Worry about me.”

Jungkook blinked owlishly as he leaned away from you. “This is why Seokjin likes you,” he sighed before shaking his head and heading to the door. “Fine. Let’s go. But let’s be clear! You tell hyung that you threatened me and that the only reason we are wherever he is is because you had a knife on my throat!”

“Fine!” 

Why were you here, Seokjin thought. 

His brows were furrowed as he met your terrified eyes. Suddenly, it was as though the entire warehouse was silenced, as though the sound of groaning men in pain faded into nothingness. Kim Seokjin, for all his intelligence, forgot about everything and everyone but you at that very moment. He forgot the fight, the danger, the blood dripping down his knuckles. All he saw was you. Looking back, he could clearly remember how your eyes were filled with confusion, questions that remained unanswered gracing your lips. 

You weren’t supposed to see him like this.

He remembered how terrified you were and despite it all, how you ran to him, your hands gently cradling his bruised face as you looked up at him. You touched him as though he was breakable, fragile. You touched him with a reverent gentleness as though he wasn’t the monster he believed himself to be. 

Your tears were falling. 

You were crying.

You were crying for him.

His breath caught in his chest. 

No one had ever cried for him before, not even his mother when his father lashed his back so many times that he went home bloodied, his skin barely hanging on to his flesh. 

Your eyes ran over his form, your hands soon followed in an attempt to pinpoint where he was hurt. You were trembling as you stubbornly wiped your tears off your face. “W-we need to get you to the h-hospital,” you began 

“W-we need to get you to the h-hospital,” you stammered, voice breaking as you tried to steady him, steady yourself. “Your hands… Y-you’re hurt—Seok-”

Seokjin held your small hands in his bloodied ones. He wanted to shiver from the feeling he got when his skin touched yours, something he denied himself from doing too often. He met your eyes and offered you a smile. “I’m okay. See? I’m fine, Sunshine. Please don’t cry-”

“It’s because of me—” your voice cracked.

His chest tightened painfully. “Nonsense. None of this was your fault—”

“You wouldn’t be hurt if not for me!” you burst out, your voice breaking under the weight of guilt, fear, and the sight of him bleeding in front of you. “If I didn’t…If I didn’t go after you, if I didn’t like you, then you wouldn’t be hurt!”

Seokjin’s eyes widened at what you said. Your confession washed through him like water over flame, quenching a burning demon he had carried for so long it felt like part of his soul. The rage. The bloodlust. The coldness he clung to for survival. Your words were the only one that could calm the demon in him. 

“Sunshine,” he breathed, voice low and rough, almost disbelieving. “Are you stupid?”

Your eyes widened, a wounded sound caught in your throat—but before you could pull away, he cupped your cheeks with his bloody hands, forcing you to meet his gaze.

“You are the only good thing in my life,” he said, voice shaking with a truth so raw it almost hurt to speak it. “I don’t care what happens to me. I don’t care what I have to do. You are the only—”

“Touching. Really,” a voice drawled from behind you both.

The man who made your life a living hell for the past years was standing behind Seokjin. His face might have been bruised, his walk might have been staggering, but the darkness in his eyes was unmistakable. This was the face of the man who knew this was the end, and he would be taking everyone down with him. 

Your heart slammed against your ribs as Seokjin instinctively tensed, but it was already too late.

Before he could even turn, before he could react, a blade flashed in the dim light of the warehouse.

It plunged into Seokjin’s back with brutal precision.

Epilogue