Alpha Kita accidentally knotting you the first time you two have sex. His rut is nowhere near, the knot just snuck up on him. He didn't even realize until he tried to roll his hips as you ride out your orgasms and he suddenly can't pull out. He'd be soooo embarrassed, half folded over you as he tries to hide his face in your neck but you smell so good it's making his hips jerk and just reminding you both that you're kinda stuck here which makes him more embarrassed and-
You're trying to comfort him and tell him its ok, you dont mind, these things happen (never with you. And you assume never to Kita. But its not unheard of, and you consider it flattering in a way?) You're scratching at the nape of his neck, trying to soothe him with praise because you can feel his stuttering breath on your neck and you're kinda afraid he's going to cry because he's shaking like a leaf and his grip on your hips is almost bruising. Then he says - murmurs it into your collarbone, really - "It's never gonna go down if you keep doing that" and you're so focused on his lips moving against your skin that you don't really register the words at first. It clicks, eventually, and you move your hand away from his neck with a bashful "Oh! Sorry."
And its like, without your hand on him, he deflates. His grip on you loosens and he's still shaking but not nearly as much. He's able to move his limbs, at last, and adjusts so that you're laying on top of him, still firmly tied together. His hands rub up and down your sides before wrapping around your back. "I really am sorry about this. I woulda warned you, at least. " But now its your turn to bury your face in the crook of his neck as you tell him "Stop apologizing, this is nice". You punctuate your words with a kiss where his scent is strongest, and you just know from the way his body shudders under yours that you've just bought yourself a little more time in this position.
summary: You had always heard a weird, mocking voice in the back of your head telling you that the things were going to end just like that between you and Satoru. The Prince and the Pauper. You were destined to eventually drift apart.
Or not?
tags: AU, angst to fluff, breaking and making up, classical disparities, insecurities, gojo is a certified loverboy and a yearner as usual. mdni! eventual smut, p in v sex, soft emotional sex. nobamaki cameo!
MINORS AND AGELESS BLOGS DO NOT INTERACT! PLEASE HAVE YOUR AGE IN YOUR BLOG!
word count: 13.9k
author's note: hi everyone!! this is not the oneshot i wanted to finish in may, but i had some ideas brewing for quite a long time, though the concept is not really original. happy ending won, soooo enjoy and let me know your thoughts! art in the banner by @/yamada_souko. dividers are mine.
Looking back, you realised you had never got it easy for Satoru.
The tale as old as time: the Princess and the Pauper. Or, in your case, the Prince and the Pauper.
And you couldn't put it in a better way.
Satoru Gojo — the Prince of the campus, the heir to the Gojo Enterprises, the man who would get the business world in the palm of his hand, the captain of the university basketball team, whose face was plastered all across the campus, the president of the Alpha Delta Nu, so on and so forth. You got the gist. The crowd parted before him, the Universe shifted itself to accommodate his presence: he walked in every room as if he owned it, which he pretty much did — ruling every place with a charming grin and a quick wit. Guys were wishing to be like him. Girls were dying to be beside him. He barely granted anyone more attention than needed — keeping people at arm's length, except for a couple of his friends. Of course, you didn't belong to them. Not like you desperately wanted to. You were well aware of the hierarchy of the university: people like Satoru Gojo rested at the top, eyeing the crowd down. People like you? Scrambling to get to the middle. If you were lucky enough.
One spring day, you realised that either Satoru Gojo didn't know about those unspoken rules or couldn't care less about them. Because you couldn't come up with a plausible explanation for why he suddenly started pestering you. Or, in his eyes, flirting.
It began rather innocent: him accidentally bumping into you, flashing an apologetic grin; asking for a vacant place at the cafetery at your usual table in the corner, the one where the noise cut down a little and you had a better view on the students — naturally, that place become the center of everyone's attention, because wherever Gojo was, the crowd followed; helping you to get a book from the highest shelves in the library and then crushing your study sessions; waiting for you after the classes just to walk you out to the next campus with an excuse that it was on his way (it didn't. Business majors classes were hold in the corpus 20 minutes away from yours).
At first, you politely declined every single invitation to a frat party or a match. Then you tried to ignore him, but your disinterest would even more pique Gojo's attention. After this, it turned into clipped, gritted-out "no's". You even attempted to talk to his friend, Shoko Ieiri, the girl you shared the Advanced Chemistry class with.
"I don't think there's something I can do," she would murmur, eyes firmly set on some sample through the microscope, when you turned to her as a last resort. The sigh that left your lips was truly desperate. Shoko's gaze softened a tad as she looked up finally, since your presence kept looming over her like a tiny, grumpy cloud. "Satoru can be pretty stubborn, unfortunately. Especially, when he's pretty set on something."
"Yeah," scoffing under your breath, you crossed your arms, trying to ignore the sinking feeling in your chest. "Unfortunately for me. Am I another check mark on his to-do list? I just don't get it." The pencil in your hand almost snapped from the strength of your grip.
"Listen, I am not in a position to advice your something or anything," Shoko's lab chair screeched — the sound annoyingly loud in the tense silence of the lab — as she turned to face you fully. The irritation at her words flared up in you, but you forced yourself to listen to her. If not her, then who?! "But you might try to hear him out. He's not that bad of a guy."
Grimacing at her, you turned to return to your own table. "If he's not that bad, he would've taken a hint long ago."
An indifferent shrug was the only response you got.
After talking to Shoko, Gojo's pitiable attempts at "courting" you had weakened severely until coming to a complete halt. You couldn't believe your luck. But what annoyed you even more than Gojo himself was the way you would jump at seeing the familiar spark of frosty white hair in the crowd; the way your heart would do a little flip at the sound of his distant chuckles. The way the loneliness would engulf your usual table in the corner of the cafeteria without his company: you subconsciously craned your neck to see him, for all his persona and the impossible height were impossible to miss, and slumped in your seat, when he didn't happen to stroll in with a familiar effortless grace in his stride. In the quietness of the library, after the countless hours of studying, you could basically hear the grin in his voice as he handed you a couple of blueberry muffins and the bergamot tea from your favourite bakery — you didn't have the slightest idea how he managed to find out your usual order — and tapped on your nose, remarking that you actually should eat.
Somehow, Satoru Gojo annoyed you enough to...like him. Managed to creep under your skin like an itch you couldn't get rid of.
Or… didn't want to?
***
One basketball match changed everything.
"Sorry, sorry, oh— sorry again," you mumbled awkwardly, navigating through the crowd and somehow managing to balance two beer cups on your way to your seats.
"Geez, finally, where have you been?"
Rolling your eyes at Nobara, your bestie slash roommate slash the only person who made your university life not so miserable, you handed her the cup and tried to shout through the cheerladers' voices, the endless roaring of the crowd and the music coming loud from the speakers.
"There was a line!"
"Huh? What?"
"THERE WAS A FUCKING LINE!"
She took a sip from her cup with a satisfied nod and grimaced at you. "Don't scream at me."
Her audacity stole your voice, and you slumped down in your seat, huffing rather indignantly.
"Hey, don't pout. Sorry for that." Nobara lightly elbowed your side and opened a pack of salted peanuts, offering you a truce.
"Can't believe I agreed to go with you," a light grumpiness coloured your voice as you drank from your own cup.
"Aw, that's because I am awesome and you love me so, so much," she chirped gleefully and planted a kiss on your cheek. With her head on your shoulder, Nobara sighed dreamily at the sight of Maki Zenin — the manager of the university's basketball team. "She's so cute, isn't she?"
Meanwhile, Maki gestured widely, screaming something at her phone (not very pleasant as you might assume from your seat) and threw her bag at a guy in front of her. The guy followed her figure with puppy eyes.
Your lips twitched with a barely concealed smile that you hid behind another swig. "An angel, truly."
"Hey, what's that supposed to mean?"
Her words fell on deaf ears because at that moment, some airy melody rang from the speakers, followed by the joyful voice of the commentators to finally announce the start of the match.
Swallowing nervously, your eyes darted across the court, and the moment your gaze landed on the tall figure with stark white hair, your heart galloped at a racing speed.
"Who are you gawking at, huh?"
Gojo might've really had the eyes on the back of his head — he wasn't called Six Eyes for nothing, some weird sixth sense that you assumed related only to the basketball court — because that very moment he turned around and briefly scanned the audience. His eyes widened in surprise as he spotted you: the bright blue of his gaze and the joyous smile that broke on his face caught you so off guard you nearly dropped the cup. Like he was happy to see you there. Actually happy.
You offered Gojo a shy wave — a subtle move of your fingers — that only made his grin wider. Then, Suguru Geto tapped on his shoulder, and he quickly turned back.
Your hand fell limply to your side.
"Babe, what the hell was that?" Nobara hissed, jerking her chin towards the players gathered around for the last guides from the coach Yaga. "Have you just casually flirted with Satoru Gojo? Don't you hate his lungs?"
The next words came in a breathy voice. "I don't know anymore."
Your knowledge of basketball was rather... limited, but you dutifully roared along with the crowd the moment your university scored yet another point. The people's excitement was contagious, seeping right into you as well and lacing your voice with joy. You booed at the judge when he gave advantages to the rivals, screamed at the top of your lungs and held your breath at the last quarter. Your team went neck-and-neck with the other, and every point was crucial. You could see it in the way the player's uniform was drenched in sweat, their hair stuck to their temples, and laboured breathing. The stakes were too high.
The scorebox showed the fifteen seconds left — mere moments for you and the whole eternity for those at the court. Your eyes drifted to Gojo, as driven to him by some unknown force. His sharp gaze quickly darted from one teammate to another, calculating the last opportunities to score. And then...it found you amidst the sea of spectators. Cheeks flushed, hair a total mess, chest expanding with deep breaths. A small grin tugged at the corner of his lips as he took you in. Adorable.
But for you, the moment Gojo's gaze landed on you felt completely different — resembling more of a bolt of lightning that sent every nerve in your body on fire. You couldn't hear your own thoughts with the blood pounding at your temples.
Gojo barely tilted his head, nodding towards the basket and mouthed.
"This is for you."
He dodged one guy, then the other with perfect dribbling — you barely saw anyone in their element as much as Gojo was at the basketball court — and finally went for a shot.
Time seemed to stop moving in the gym of the Jujutsu University. The hundreds of eyes watched the ball cutting through the air with an impeccable trajectory.
Until it went through the net without hitting the rim and sealed the win.
You barely released a shuddering breath when Nobara crushed you in a hug, her beer mercilessly spilling on you both, but no one gave a damn. The crowd erupted with an ecstatic cheer and rose to their feet right then and there. The commentators were on the verge of crying, judging by their voices, but your world narrowed to one particular person. Gojo's teammates ruffled his hair, patted his back, and hugged him by the shoulders; someone even put him in a playful headlock, to which he responded with a wide grin.
A tight knot in your chest slowly seemed to loosen a bit.
Gojo found you later, at the party.
You stood a little away from the crowd, watching Nobara laughing with Maki Zenin near the bonfire. The light painted her auburn hair in copper tints every time she tilted her head, and judging by the way Maki's gaze lingered on her form, she noticed that too. A little smile curled your lips at the sight of lovey-doveys.
"Your friend has a crush on Maki, huh?"
Putting a can to your lips, you mumbled absent-mindedly, "She's pretty obvious."
"They both are, actually."
A light brush against your shoulder finally caught your attention. You lazily shifted your gaze, only to gulp at the sudden proximity to Satoru Gojo.
He stood beside you, hands tucked in his pockets, watching the rest of the party unfold with a faint smirk on his face. Standing there, existing, like he wasn't the one who flipped your world upside down a couple of hours earlier.
A forced smile made your cheeks hurt as you tumbled out nervously, hastily wiping your mouth, "I am— I, I mean, congratulations! You did so great! I don't understand much about basketball, but you—," your worried your bottom lip for a second before breathing out, "you were magnificent."
At your words, Gojo finally turned around. His grin softened into a gentle smile that showcased a pair of dimples on his pale cheeks. The firelight danced on his hair strands that seemed more ivory tinged now.
"You think so?"
"I do!" A sudden feeling of boldness flooded you as you stepped forward and reached for his arm to show how sincere you were. Or maybe it was just a beer.
Gojo immediately cast his gaze down and slowly wrapped his long fingers around your wrist. You gulped, but didn't look away from his face. The gods clearly spared nothing in sculpting it, otherwise you couldn't explain the sharpness of his jaw, the plumpness of his lips and the prominence of his cheekbones.
No one had a right to be that beautiful. Satoru Gojo wasn't aware of it.
His thumb pressed just a tad against your soft skin to feel an erratic pulse beneath it, but you did not attempt to pull your hand away. On the contrary, it felt strangely...natural.
"I am glad you were there." A gentle murmur hit you harder than expected.
Breath bated, you searched Gojo's face for any hint of the usual theatrics and grandeur until you saw none.
"You are?"
"Yeah".
The words about the last shot were on the tip of your tongue already, but they quickly died at the sight of shimmering blue in his eyes as Gojo finally looked up and released your hand from his grip.
You already missed its warmth.
"Listen, I knew I was a jerk towards you. Crowding and flirting and so on. I know, I know," a self-deprecating chuckle left his lips as the ironic roll of his eyes followed. You watched every expression, soaked it like Gojo was about to disappear again from your life. "I am not proud of this, I admit. I want to apologise to you for this."
You parted your lips to answer, but Gojo cut you off with a slight shake of his head.
"But I am not going to apologise for my feelings," his voice grew stronger, rising from the gentle murmur to the steady tone, eyes boring into you with an unsettling intensity that left you speechless. The people's cheerings fade into the background, and that chilly evening, thick with emotions so deep you couldn't name them, enveloped both of you in its bubble.
"I meant everything. I do like you. I like the way you smile when you finally grasp the concept you've been studying. The way your voice goes all that animated when you talk about the book you were reading. That little sparkle in your eyes when you saw the last cherry pie in the cafeteria...I love it all. And that shot was for you. I really meant it."
"I am gonna ask you just this once, and if you reject me, I will step back and never bother you again. You have my word," the weight of Gojo's promise would almost physically pin you to the ground, if not for the desperation lurking behind his gaze, darting between your eyes and your lips. He forcefully tore it away to glance right into your face. "Will you go out with me?"
You didn't believe what you were about to say. But hey, that day was already weird enough. You offered Gojo a crooked smile. "Yeah."
"Just one date, you won't — ", he blinked in surprise, a light frown crossing his handsome face. "Wait, what?"
You stifled a laugh and nodded, stepping closer, until you felt the hard planes of his chest. "I will go out with you."
A slow, almost dopey in its joy, grin curled Gojo's lips, until a small disbelieving chuckle left him. "You will? Just like that?"
Now you couldn't contain a smile either. "Just like that, Gojo."
A whoop full of happiness cut through the air and the noise of the party that slowly came to its eventual end as Gojo swept you off your feet and twirled you in a bone-crushing embrace. Your laugh was the prettiest sound Gojo had ever heard.
"Thank you! Thank you, thank you, thank you! I swear you won't regret it!"
Satoru Gojo kept his promise. And many others he whispered in the dead of the night to you beneath the star-spilt sky. His hand was a steady anchor amidst the stormy life that awaited both of you. His voice offered you peace of mind when the world was a little too harsh for you. His fingers traced reverently the silk of your skin every time he shared a night with you. His gaze was the first you searched for in every crowded room. His arms had become the safest place in the world.
Satoru memorised the way you organised your life, but you were more than happy when he eventually disrupted your usual order. Not because he was doing that on purpose. Rather, since that was Satoru: he was too big for your world, and you didn't want him to shrink himself into someone he wasn't. Dimming Satoru's light was the last thing you wished.
He had learnt by heart the things that even you didn't pay attention to: for example, your toothbrush always had to face the door — Satoru wordlessly turned it the way you preferred; your favourite plant was Zamioculcas that he made sure was always watered visiting you; you usually carried a few packs of wet cat food for the stray babies in your enormous bag — he ordered large boxes, so you wouldn't run out of them; your drink of choice was Margarita that you shared only while hanging with Nobara — Satoru learned on his way to pick you up; you hated the loud harsh sounds, and Satoru was the first one to whisper sweet nothings to you and rub soothing circles against the small of your back until you calm down. In other words, he made your life easier.
You, on the other hand, only added more difficulties to his. Satoru never told you that, not even mentioned in any way that you were somehow different from him. But some things didn't have to be pointed out to catch your eye.
Like his Prada glasses, which cost like your monthly rent or two. Satoru could leave them somewhere without batting an eye. Or the luxurious gifts he would get you out of nowhere just because you barely glanced at something while strolling. That warmed your heart, yes, but the cheque that Satoru couldn't care less about startled you. You stayed in the lab until you almost fainted from fatigue just to finish the project before the deadline to get an extra payment to spend on the gift, since you were adamant that the relationships were about taking and giving in equal measure. Not to mention the one social gathering he invited you to, just off-handedly, before the day it actually happened; you drained your bank account to look presentable by his side, and lived on the instant ramen the entire month after. Maybe if you had accepted Satoru's offer to live together, none of that would have happened, but you learned the hard way to rely only on yourself. Luckily, the iron argument sealed the deal: your tight schedules at the lab and his as a pro basketball player didn't match well.
The Gojo family was another... topic. While no one said anything directly to your face, you noticed the way their brows knitted in confusion for a fleeting second, eyeing you up and down. Sensed the baffled glances and fake, saccharine sweet smiles behind your back, questioning the fact of your presence. No. Your existence. The mere raise of the brow from one of Satoru's distant cousins at the sight of your shoes — the ones you borrowed from Nobara, who got them after the Fashion Week in Paris, albeit last year's Dior collection — had you doubting your entire life.
Complaining had never been on your list, though some thoughts did cross your mind. You made sure not to voice them, stoically listening to all the hushed whispers. Not once did your smile falter in front of them. It was the least you could do for Satoru. You knew he didn't have a lot of joy in standing up for you every single time, so, eventually, the gatherings got shorter, the invitations came rather rarely, and the calls, already small in number, would always leave him in a bad mood. The sound of your name appeared quite frankly between the gritted words and heated yells.
"Don't worry, baby," Satoru's lips always found the crown of your head in the reassuring kiss when you asked him what was going on. The bitterness in his voice poisoned your already tired, insecure mind even more. He was a master at hiding his emotions, but never from you. "I got this."
A strained smile — the corners of your lips lifting just barely — was your usual answer.
"Of course."
Satoru then offered you a quick grin that never reached his eyes. His large hands cradled your face in the gentle, trembling grip, and the faint murmur would twist yet another knife between your ribs. "I love you. I love you so much. You know that, right?"
Leaning into Satoru's palm like a kitten, seeking warmth, you bit inside of your cheek not to cry. Your hand came up to cradle his hand against your cheek just to memorise the way it perfectly engulfed your face.
"I love you."
Not to dwell on the way you voice cracked, akin to ice beneath one's feet, you simply moved forward to capture his lips in a kiss, until all you could taste were tears. Yours, his... Did it matter anymore?
And then, under the pale moonlight coming from the lone crescent peering right into the bedroom of his large penthouse, your gaze drifted unabashedly over Satoru's face, taking in every flutter of the long, snowy eyelashes. Every breath that left his lips. Every faint twitch in his expression, and even every tiny snore. Your finger tenderly traced the bridge of Satoru's nose, making its way to the perfectly sculpted mouth and down to the sharp cut of his collarbones. Committing each pale freckle and beauty mark to memory.
For you knew that night would be your last one.
Satoru loved you, and you loved him. He loved you fiercely, with the force so burning it could rival the Sun itself. It was only fair for you to step back and let him shine. Not to drive another wedge between him and his family. You loved Satoru enough not to burden him with your presence. He should soar up in the sky, not stay chained on the ground by the dead weight of you and waste his time knocking some sense into his parents.
A muffled sob escaped your throat as you pressed a small kiss between his collarbones. The next thing you felt was Satoru's strong arm curling around your waist to pull you against his strong chest. The faint smell of musk still clung to his skin, but you had never revelled in it as you did now.
"Why aren't you asleep, baby? Something's wrong?" Satoru's voice came in a deep, throaty tone that would usually have your toes curling.
The edge of the blade dug deeper into your heart, drawing blood.
"Nothing, love. Just some weird thoughts, that's all."
A boyish grin adorned his face — so handsome even in the middle of the night — as he lightly flicked your forehead.
"Your head will hurt from all the overthinking. Head so tiny, yet so many thoughts. Come here," Satoru let a shuddering yawn and tucked your head under his chin, nuzzling gently against your hair. "Better?"
Biting on your lip, you prayed to all the gods that Satoru wouldn't hear the tremble in your voice. The steady beat of his heart lulled you to sleep, but you knew you wouldn't close an eye that night. "Yes."
"Try to sleep, okay?" Satoru's finger came to play with a lone strand of your hair. The smile in his voice was evident. "And if you don't, just wake me up. We can talk or watch that documentary you mentioned earlier. I mean, did Tyra really not take any accountability?"
You gathered any ounce of your strength not to fall apart right then and there.
"Of course, Toru. Go to sleep now."
He sighed in mock exaggeration. "Always so bossy."
His chest rose steadily under your cheek. His skin felt warm under the weight of your palm. You registered it all subconsciously, clinging to every part of Satoru.
And only when his breath fully evened, you allowed yourself to whisper to the night.
"I love you. And I am so sorry."
***
You sincerely thought you were a nice girlfriend for scheduling your breakup over the weekend. Waited until Satoru finished showering and emerged all smiley and happy from the bathroom. Waited until he recalled all the TikToks he sent to you in the early morning, not even knowing you already had blocked him on all the socials. Waited until he dug in the last breakfast you cooked for him — fluffy pancakes with strawberry jam.
"Babe, this is so delicious," Satoru hummed, pointing a fork at you. "Are you sure you didn't wanna become a chief? I mean, this is the gift from the heavens."
"I think we should break up."
Satoru paused mid-way, mouth still open. He slowly closed it and heaved a hollowed chuckle, chewing on the pancake with more force than necessary. "Very funny, sweets. An excellent joke."
Straightening in the seat, you furrowed your brows in confusion. Weren't you clear enough?
"I said we should break up."
That time, Satoru finally stopped chewing and slowly lifted his gaze at you. The electric blue pierced deep in your soul as he pressed again, "And I said it was an excellent joke."
"Satoru," the movement of your throat was sharp as you fumbled with words. "I am not joking."
The desperate flex of his fingers caught your attention immediately when Satoru curled them into a fist before taking a deep breath. The smile that carved into his lips was as sharp as the knife.
"Care to explain why?"
A thousand thoughts twirled in your mind those days like a restless whirlpool, each of them seemingly worse than the previous: "I don't love you anymore", or "You suffocate me with your love", and the traitorous "I cheated on you."
All of them lie, of course.
So, you settled on offering Satoru the least you could do — the truth.
"We just don't work out, Satoru. It's better to break up before — "your voice was so tiny and fragile, Satoru thought he was hallucinating: his worst nightmare coming to reality, " — things get more serious."
The loud, screeching sound of the chair being pushed away, followed by a self-deprecating, disbelieving laugh, filled the room. You glanced up at Satoru only to find him pacing around like a caged animal. Your words punched him right in the gut.
"We don't 'work out?' Before 'things get too serious', huh? Sweets, that's gotta be a joke. The most shitty, not funny and cruel joke you have ever pulled on me, but okay," he nervously carded his fingers through the white hair, before walking to you. "Tell me this is it. Please."
You cast your gaze down, not able to see the way his eyes frantically searched your face for any hint of a joke and hear the crack in his voice, usually so steady and certain. A rock, a lighthouse in your stormy ocean.
The shake of his hands was violent as they came up to frame your face. You choked on a heavy sob, trembling like a leaf with the tears blurring your eyes so hard you couldn't see anything.
"But we were —, are working just fine. Have I done something wrong? Is it because of me? Just tell me what to do, I swear I'll fix everything!"
"It's not about you, Satoru. Never has been. It's about me."
His white brows furrowed in confusion. "You? What about you? But you are perfect for me," he chuckled almost tenderly — a small sound frayed around the edges — that only ripped your heart out. "You listen to all my stupid jokes, know how many sugar cubes I put in my coffee, and put the curtains down because you know how sensitive my eyes are. You stayed with me at the hospital after the injury and cheered for me the loudest." His voice rose just a tad to coax a smile from you. "You have never told me how to be someone I am not. Always seen me, not the Gojo heir. Not the star player. How can it be about you? No one in the world knows me as well as you do. Like —," his gaze swept across the room like something might've helped him to talk you out, "like your last Christmas gift, huh? That premium card you swore you just stumbled upon in the store, but I knew better how much it — Wait."
Satoru's smile slowly died as the realisation downed at him like a wicked joke of fate. "No, no, no, no. That can't be it. Is that because of money? My status? I told you countless times that it doesn't matter to me! What I have is yours." His voice dipped into the fragile, almost sacred warmth that he reserved only for you. "All I have is yours."
You couldn't do that anymore. Not even in the wildest thoughts did it occur to you that breaking up with Satoru would hurt that badly. It rather resembled a never-ending torture.
He never understood it. Growing up in a family that barely made ends meet. Pouring your blood, sweat and tears into studies to get a tuition fee waiver, because there wasn't any other option for you to get into the university. Scraping by taking double shifts at the cafe. Fighting tooth and nail over the place in the chemistry lab.
And never would.
Pushing Satoru away, you closed your eyes in defeat before forcing yourself to look back at him. He didn't dare to mutter a word, watching your face twist with pain as you shouted.
"It matters to me! It matters to me, Satoru, how fucking inferior I feel next to you!"
Something in his gaze faded away. He didn't recognise his voice when it came in a short, fractured breath, devoid of all strength.
"What?"
A violent sob rattled your frame as you hid your face in your palms. You cried and cried and cried until your chest tightened with pain, and you managed to utter hoarsely. "Every time I get into your home, or every time someone sees me besides you, I want to run and disappear into the cave. Don't you see that, To — Satoru?" No. He wasn't your Toru anymore. "I am like, dunno, a disastrous glob of ink on Monet's painting. A patch of dirt on the Versace gown. A bling-bling amidst Graff's and Harry Winston's. Well, you get it. Something to wipe away or hide in the closet. Someone who doesn't deserve to stand by your side."
"I don't get it," Satoru dragged his hands over his face and shook his head, letting out a humourless laugh. His eyes flashed with a weird gleam. "Did my parents or anyone at that point say something to you? Because if they did, I fucking swear —"
"No one said anything to me, Satoru! It doesn't matter. Because they say it to you —"
"And as I said, I don't care — "
"BUT I DO!" The rise of your voice to a frenzied cry startled both of you. Satoru stared at you with a gaze so desperate that a kiss of the gun would've been more merciful. You fiercely wiped your snotty nose — hell, you must've looked so ugly — and walked over to cup his face. He watched your every move as if you were about to disappear. In a way, you were going to.
"I do not want anyone to say something about me to you. I do not want you to fight with your family over me. I want you to be happy. Do not be torn between me and the world you belonged to."
Satoru wanted to shake you by the shoulders just to knock some sense into your head, scream and shout what a total bullshit your words were, but instead, he got rooted to the spot by your doe eyes. His stomach twisted at your next words.
"You'll meet a beautiful, smart, and kind girl, who wears pearls that cost more than I will ever be able to make, plays Brahms at the family gatherings, and who doesn't turn red in the face, while asked about favourite Japanese modern artists. Well, now I know plenty." You couldn't help but huff a tiny chuckle. Nothing twitched in Satoru's face. "And you will fall in love with her, and your whole family will like her. Everything will be just fine."
Satoru couldn't believe what was happening. Nothing in his life could ever prepare him for the pain that would follow with your leaving him. It didn't feel real. Probably, never would.
He slowly tilted his head down and rested his forehead against yours, whispering, barely audible. Like every word cost him a fortune. "Please, baby, please. I swear on my life, I will do everything. Just don't leave me. I don't —," Satoru's hands slip up your face as well, but you closed your eyes in defeat. Any ounce of strength left in your body evaporated. His arms fell to his sides as he croaked out helplessly. "I don't know who I am without you."
"You are you, Satoru. Always have been and always will be. A brilliant, wonderful, kind boy with a golden heart. And I..I am just me," you pressed your lips in a thin line before forcing a smile. "But I will work on it. As I said, it's all because of me."
"You don't get it." Somehow, Satoru's lifeless whisper hit you harder than any scream would. Because Satoru never raised his voice at you. Even now. There was a hunch to his shoulders that you rarely saw, if ever, as he turned from you and gripped the edge of the table. "I want to marry you. To become your family. But guess that doesn't matter anymore. Before things get too serious, huh?"
The room spun around you as you knitted your brows together, slumping in the nearest chair. Marrying… you?
But, on the other hand, it didn't change anything. You were still miles away from each other, standing on opposite sides of the societal hierarchy.
"I am so sorry, Satoru," words clawed up your throat as you shook your head.
Satoru finally turned around, and the dimmed, utterly devastated blue of his gaze tore you apart at the seams. "You are not sorry. If you were, you won't be leaving me now."
You didn't have enough in you to counter this. Words seemed meaningless, slipping like sand through your fingers.
"Please, Satoru. Let us go. It is for the better."
You had never seen an expression that hopeless and defeated on his handsome face.
"Is that what you want?"
"No," you wanted to scream, to shout, to cry out loud. "How can I possibly want to leave you? I have to. For both of us."
The silence stretched thin between you for so long, Satoru sincerely thought you didn't hear him. He stepped forward only to see you giving a short nod, almost cruel in its curtness.
After all, he never denied you everything. Even that. Even if it killed him from the inside.
Standing by the door with your bag, you couldn't help but steal a last glance at him. You parted your lips to say goodbye, but nothing even remotely plausible came to your mind. Satoru sat on the couch, shoulders slumped and gaze fixed on the floor. His name left your lips for the last time.
"Satoru."
His head snapped up as if he had been waiting for it that entire time. Maybe you changed your mind?
"Yes?"
That fragile hope in his tone twisted your insides.
"I love you."
Before he could answer, you slipped out of his apartments. And his life.
***
These months, the four agonising months, marked by Satoru's absence in your life, had sucked. Mildly put.
You sincerely thought you were doing the right thing — well, still were — breaking up, sparing his life from your presence, but it didn't mean it hurt any less. In a way, it was the opposite.
Pushing the love of your life away and then grovelling in the silence of your small apartment after putting on a brave face and assuring everyone that you were okay sucked. Crying yourself to sleep sucked. Feeling your heart breaking to pieces each time your gaze stumbled upon something that instantly reminded you of Satoru — like a photo on the fridge, his note with a smiley, kissy face between the pages of your comfort book and the tome of the manga he was reading — sucked. Walking around the places you used to hang out sucked.
What sucked even more was the fact that Satoru's presence seemed to linger everywhere. His laugh haunted you while you were lounging on the couch. The look of pure happiness on his face was ingrained in your mind while you were walking in a familiar park. And when your eye caught sight of a ball? Didn't even mention it. Perhaps that was your punishment. Now you were subjected to a lifetime of loneliness.
Still, you tried to do the thing you promised Satoru the final time you saw him. Attempted to go out of your shell. Took on some hobbies. Had a lot, a lot of time for self-reflection (given that you were free most of the evenings when you didn't throw yourself into work). And took small steps to discover what made you whole.
What and not who. That realisation sank on you with the force of a tidal wave. Kept you awake in three of the morning. Occupied all your thoughts until you finally, finally, were getting used to it. Still, there was a lot to be done. You only wished for Satoru by your side, though. Were you allowed to think about him, after all?
The revelation, of course, only made your mind drift to Satoru even more. How was he? Was his injury getting better? Did his father officially appoint him as the next CEO?
Gods. You sure had no right to worry about him anymore. Not after breaking both of your hearts. An utterly desperate and lifeless look on his face flashed every time before your eyes when you closed them.
You dragged your feet back from the nearest combini: Friday had finally marked the end of a long, exhausting week (not like you had many left, huh) and you treated yourself with sushi and a bottle of wine. There was nothing you wanted more than to run a bath and put Sex and the City on, rotting under the blanket. It would've been thousands of times better if Satoru were there, but alas...
A few raindrops fell on the asphalt, successfully putting the train of your miserable thoughts to a halt, and you hurried to the entrance of your block. Quickly fishing a pair of keys, you glanced up from your bag as something caught your attention in the periphery, and you got immediately rooted to the spot.
You would recognise the set of those shoulders, now slightly hunched, everywhere. A grey hoodie did nothing to hide his figure. White tufts fell over his forehead under the hood, and something twisted viciously in your chest at the sight. Your fingers twitched with the urge to feel the silk of that hair under your touch.
You took a deep breath, trying to take a rein over your hammering heart, and stepped closer, calling the man out softly. Rather hesitantly.
"Satoru? What are you doing here?"
Satoru went rigid for a moment at your voice. His shoulders tensed even more. Your throat clogged up.
But then he turned around and smiled. A tiny, almost pathetic lift of his lips, and he offered you a small wave. Just like the one you gave him at that basketball match.
"Hi, ba —" Satoru immediately corrected himself, wincing just for a second. His smile wavered, as did your composure. "Hi."
The effort that took you not to drop your things right then and run into his arms was only between you and the gods.
"Hello to you too." Swallowing the lump in your throat, you stepped forward. That totally wasn't the way you imagined that meeting would go.
"What are you doing here?" You prompted again, trying not to sound either harsh or desperate. Desperate to hear his voice. See his eyes. Look at his face.
"Just... was going around. Stumbled at your place. You still live here." Satoru lifted one shoulder in a nervous shrug, and his little smile morphed into a quick, uneasy grimace.
You didn't question those stalker-ish tendencies, but the doubt was clearly evident in an arch of your brow, because Satoru instantly raised his hands in surrender.
"No, really. I guess my legs just carried me there. Some memory, you know," he rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly, but then sighed, seeing your suspicion. "Come on, sweets. If I had been stalking you all that time, I would've done it way more discreetly."
That brought you some relief. "Guess you would've."
His Adam's apple bobbed with an effort. "Can we, uhm, talk?"
Something in your guts was telling you had a pretty good sense of the way this talk would go. You weren't sure it was the right time and way.
Casting your gaze down, you worried on your bottom lip before breathing out, "I'm — I'm not sure this is a good idea, Satoru."
"Please", his voice took on a pleading edge. You closed your eyes for a brief moment. "I just want to know how you are. That's all."
He was lying. And he knew you were well aware of it.
But, in the end, wasn't that what you wanted? To see him, at least? Well, here Satoru was.
Thunder roared somewhere in the distance, and you were pretty sure that soon you both would be drenched to the bone.
"Besides, you don't want to get me standing under the rain, do you?" An amusement curled Satoru's lips before he let a humourless chuckle. "Have some mercy on your ex-boyfriend."
That sounded like a slur coming from Satoru. You glared at him. His smile turned even sharper.
Torn between the current state of your... relationship, and the fact that Satoru was standing right in front of you, you completely didn't know what to do. You didn't part your ways that badly. And you had never wanted to be that person who would resent his ex and scowl at every mention of them.
Because that was never true. You loved Satoru. And, judging by the yearning lacing his gaze and the nervous flex of his hands as he awaited your response, he still loved you, too.
After minutes of debating, with the rain intensifying, you finally gave in and nodded towards the entrance.
"Get in."
Satoru's wide smile now resembled more of a child's on Christmas.
"Yes, ma'am."
The weight of Satoru's gaze, burning a hole in your back, felt rather physical. The tension in your kitchen threatened to suffocate you both, while you busied yourself with making tea and a gigantic cup of hot cocoa for Satoru.
You placed the drink in front of him, and Satoru shot you a small, curious grin.
"Whoa, marshmallows."
"Yeah," you still absent-mindedly bought them at the grocery store. Habit. "You know, three years of always getting your marshmallows weren't in vain."
Satoru looked at you as if he seriously considered offering himself as a sacrifice at your altar.
Damn those puppy eyes.
Rubbing your palms up and down your thighs, you cleared your throat and offered an awkward smile. God, you wanted the ground to swallow you. "So, uhm, how have you been, To — Satoru?"
He pressed his lips together and leaned back in his seat, right hand on the back of it, like he was incapable of sitting straight. Well, some things never changed.
Satoru didn't look at you, instead glancing out of the window at the heavy rain, drumming against the windows.
"Not so good."
You immediately dropped your gaze, hugging the cup with sea buckthorn tea. The scorching liquid might've burnt your hands a little, but it was nothing in comparison with the sharp pain in your chest.
Licking your lips, you forced yourself to look up at Satoru. He was still staring at the rain like it held something only visible to him. The muscle in his jaw jumped.
"I am sorry, but —"
Satoru released a long sigh and turned to you. You almost flinched at the sight of his eyes — usually so bright blue, flashing with mirth and charm, now reduced to the lifeless, dull grey. Under the better light, you also noticed the dark bags under Satoru's eyes, the hollow in his cheeks and even the light stubble. You had never seen him like it. Like he aged ten years or more in those months.
That was all because of you, right?
Tears filled your eyes so fast you couldn't even blink them away, when you felt salt on your lips.
You wanted to apologise once again, but then Satoru leaned forward and rested his elbows on the table, feverishly running his fingers through the white strands. Were you a little crazy, or even his hair seemed more…ashy?
"I am not gonna lie, I have never felt more awful and pathetic and miserable — well, you get it, in my entire fucking life," he waved his hand dismissively, and you closed your eyes just for a fleeting second, because you couldn't afford even a moment of not looking at him. That talk went even worse than you imagined. "But after you left, something has…changed."
You sat upright and drawled hesitantly, "Like…what?"
He huffed a humourless chuckle, and his eyes flashed with a weird, almost malicious glint. Your insides went cold.
"Well, I just told my father that he can suck my dick —"
You slowly covered your face with one hand. That was not good. Very, very bad, actually.
" — if he even for a moment thinks I was going to marry one of the girls he and my grandfather suggested. And then he started threatening to cut my trust fund off, blah blah, blah. Like I've ever given a single fuck about it."
Something in his tone was telling you that wasn't everything that had changed.
Satoru's voice sharpened in a way that could cut even the hardest steel.
"That was okay. Nothing I've heard before. But when he started talking about you," his voice dropped to a whisper and dangerously cracked. You couldn't hear it anymore. "That's where I draw the line. He knows that. Now everyone knows that."
A loud groan left you as you dropped your head in your hands.
"What have you done, Satoru?"
He just rolled his eyes. Harsh and sharp. "What I should have done, obviously. A long time ago. Tell all of them to fuck off."
"Oh —"
"Mildly put," Satoru scratched his head with a mild grimace. "And then got kicked out of the house. Trust fund cut off, obviously."
You couldn't believe what you had just heard. Satoru might've thought that his words would somehow soften you, so you could coo at him or whatever. But never did he expect you to slam your fist against the table and grit throught your teeth.
"Have you fucking lost your mind?"
Satoru blinked in shock, watching you suddenly stand up and turn from him, your hands curled into fists by your sides.
"What?"
Taking a deep breath, you tore your gaze from the windows and threw your hands in the air.
"Are you an idiot?"
Well, that kind of hurt. "I don't understand."
"Satoru." Oh no, he knew that tone. That only meant you were seething with rage. There were no means of escape, especially as you loomed over him. "So let me get it straight. You fought with your entire family, they kicked you out of the house and left you with no money."
"Pretty much, yeah."
"All because of me!?"
Satoru didn't like the way you said "me". As if you were something not even worth mentioning. The dirt beneath his feet.
"Satoru, we are not together! I am not your girlfriend anymore, I am not even in your life! We don't even talk! You can't throw your life away because of me! That's stupid!"
"Well, maybe I am stupid, hasn't it occurred to you?"
"Satoru," your voice trembled on the edge of tears. Why didn't he understand you?! "I am serious. This is serious. This is your life! This is all you have— had, especially given you can't damn play with your injury now!"
Satoru didn't answer you. You only saw the way he swallowed with effort, and the look of utter longing on his face told you everything.
You helplessly slumped back in your chair and hid your face in your palms for a small eternity. Satoru didn't dare to interrupt. He just watched you, soaking up every feature as if you were about to kick him out of your apartment forever. That was an option. You were pretty pissed.
He attempted to soothe you, "But there's something good."
You slowly glanced up, and Satoru almost snorted at the look of total disbelief in your eyes. "Such as?"
Satoru quickly stood up and kneeled between your chair, taking your hands in his. Cold as usual. Absent-mindedly, he rubbed your palms with his thumbs. As usual.
"I mean, you said it yourself, sweets. That is all I have known for my whole life. Rich kid, golden youth, spoilt guy born with a silver spoon in his mouth, all that stuff. I thought maybe it was it? My chance to find myself, huh? I don't want to be their toy to boss around all because of money."
Something crawled up your skin and twisted sharply in your chest as you breathed out, "What do you mean?"
Was he serious? So you both were doing the same thing all that time?
Satoru squeezed your hand harder and gave you a crooked smile.
"Just been here and there. Doing…some stuff."
You tilted your head in a silent question. He chuckled breathlessly and shook his head.
"Don't laugh, okay? I am teaching some kids basketball at school."
"Oh," your lips curled up in a tender smile as something warm bloomed in your chest. "That's really nice. You like it?"
"Yeah," Satoru's answer was immediate. And for the first time that evening, you saw a familiar spark in his eyes. "Kids can be a pain in the ass sometimes, but they are really cute. Listen to me, call me Gojo-sensei. Kinda gets in your head, you know."
A small snort escaped you, and the wide grin broke on his face. Oh, how he missed that precious sound.
"Where do you live now?"
"Crashing Suguru. He's not particularly happy when I drown my misery in another pint of strawberry ice-cream — "
Your smile slowly disappeared.
" — when he brings in some girl, but I bribe him with dark chocolate. You know he can't live without it."
"That he can," you uttered in a strained voice. Satoru's grin wavered as well, and he hesitantly reached to tuck the lone strand of your hair behind your ear. His hand trembled a little.
"What about you? There are boxes everywhere," he leaned back with a soft murmur, glancing around your apartment with packed staff around. "Moving out?"
Your heart suddenly felt twice its size, thumping violently against your ribs. "Uhm, yeah. Moving out."
"Where?"
Well, that was it. You squirmed in your seat, and Satoru's hand slowly fell to his side. He just waited.
"Eh…France."
He pinched his brows together with a slight frown and repeated incredulously, "You are moving to France?"
Satoru's sharp blue gaze seemed to pierce through you. Unable to meet it, you looked away.
"Yes."
"Why?"
Sighing deeply, you stood up and leaned against a kitchen counter, hugging yourself. Satoru immediately rose to his feet.
"That was a pretty much hard time for me too. Not delving into details, but…yeah. I felt like shit. Everyone was dating someone, or building a successful career, or, I don't know, just doing something meaningful," you gestured vaguely and combed your hair with a shaky hand. Satoru just stared at you like a lone, kicked puppy. "While I willingly kept fucking my own life over. Cooped yourself in that place. Left the love of my life."
Something in your face softened at the last words. Satoru forgot how to breathe.
"And that certainly shouldn't be…in vain, whatever. I told you I was going to work on myself, and I kind of do. Step by step, but I am going there."
"I still don't understand. I am happy for you, really am, but why are you leaving Japan? What about your mother, your job?"
What about me?
"My department's had its financing cut. My presence is not required anymore, as they said. I am just working the last two weeks, and that's it."
"Oh. I am..I am sorry to hear it."
"As for my mom," you didn't seem to hear Satoru's words at all, staring somewhere past him. "You know, she's never really cared that much about me anyway. She'll survive."
As cruel as your words might've seemed, you were right. Your mother was an…interesting woman indeed.
Satoru desperately cling to anything that could make you stay here like a lifeline.
"What about Nobara?"
Surely, you couldn't leave her. You two had been together from the first time he saw you at the university campus.
"Actually, she was the one who offered me that."
"Huh?!"
"She's recently been promoted at her job to the French edition of their magazine. Fashion weeks, runways, photoshoots… You know her, she's been ecstatic about it. So, when she asked me about it…I said I would give it a thought. I mean, it will be a nice fresh start, won't it? I don't have anything left here, so…why not? Gotta take risks, something like that."
Satoru couldn't believe his own ears. That would've been his nightmare coming true, if not for the fact that his worst one already was real. No. He wouldn't let you go that time. That was the stupidest thing he had done in his life, and if he had to beg…well.
The worst thing that you seemed pretty confident about it. But looking closely, he saw your hands trembled a little by your side, and your gaze darted nervously around. So, there still was some chance.
He ran his fingers through his hair. The gears seemed to work nonstop in his mind as he glanced around for any clue or sight for support. Until…
He weakly breathed out, "I am going with you."
Your eyes nearly popped out of their sockets. "You what!?"
Satisfied with your reaction and his genius mind, Satoru smirked lazily, "I am going to France with you."
Did you stare in The Office or something? Was there a hidden camera to look at?
Helplessly blinking, you finally managed to utter, "Excuse me? You going to France? With me?"
"I know, I know what you are thinking. He's crazy, an idiot, proper name, last name, backstory stuff, but hear me out!" Satoru walked to you and squeezed your shoulders, his eyes frantically searching your face for a hint of understanding. You still stared at him as if he had just announced he was going to fly to the Moon, no less. "You broke up with me because, citing "you felt inferior to me," right?
Pressing your lips into a thin line, you gave him a flat look. "Correct."
"But I am not superior in any way to you now! You're discovering yourself, me too, so why don't we do that together? Start everything from scratch? Including," his Adam's apple bobbed with effort as his hands slowly slid down your figure to rest on the dip of your waist. Your skin tingled at the contact. "Including us."
Blood defeaningly roared at your temples, and your heart jumped right into your throat. Wouldn't it be strange and weird? Getting back together after you pushed him away? After breaking both of you?
One of Satoru's hands drifted upwards to cradle your face, while the other pulled your figure closer to him. Your head spun at the sudden proximity. His thumb delicately traced the line of your jaw and settled on the apple of your cheek.
"How is that stupid and weird, if I love you?" Shit, had you been musing aloud? "And you love me."
You parted your lips to answer, but then Satoru tilted his head down just a bit, and it was enough to feel the faintest brush of his lips against yours. With knees slightly trembling, your hand flew up and twisted the fabric of his hoodie for support. Your tongue darted out to lick your lip for a mere second; it was enough for Satoru's gaze to flick there and stare at your mouth as if hypnotised.
"Or you don't?" You almost leaned in for a kiss when he suddenly pulled away, despite being a breath away from devouring you. You gulped and lifted a pleading gaze at him — and not like the look on Satoru's face was any better. A strange kind of bitterness settled in your chest at the shakiness of his voice: he really doubted it. Well, you gave him a good reason to, didn't you?
It baffled you. No. Weirded out in the worst way possible.
So, instead of answering, you simply stood on your tiptoes and pressed your lips against his. A feathery, almost invisible, but it was enough for Satoru to release a groan and kiss your back.
You forgot how to breathe. The room spun around you, and if not for Satoru's hand holding at your waist, you would've collapsed for sure. The familiar sense of heat shot through you as you boldly slid your hand up Satoru's toned shoulder, grazed his undercut — wait, did he actually whimper at that or what — and ran your fingers through the silky white hair. The months of raw longing, poured in that kiss, laced every brush of your tongues, stifled moan and impatient tug with desperate want. Damn, you almost forgot his lips slotting perfectly against yours, his gently nipping at your bottom lip, and his hot, raspy breath fanning over your cheek when you pulled away before delving in again and again.
Blinking away dizziness, you managed to gather your bearings together just to mumble, "Does it count as an answer?"
Satoru's chest rose up and down as if he had just run a marathon, and he slowly shook his hand in response before tilting your chin up. His eyes resembled more of a stormy ocean than a breezy sea, but his hold was as tender as always.
"I love you, Satoru. Still am and always have been. I told you the same when —," you swallowed the lump in your throat, "— when I left you." Voice sinking into a small, almost miserable whisper, you went on, "And I am sorry for that, so damn sorry, you didn't deserve it."
"No, no, no, baby, stop it," now both his hands cradled your face as his gaze gently caressed every twitch in it, every shift, every freckle and mole. "You did what you felt right to. I accepted that, even though it was the hardest thing in my life. Believe me or not, I felt so stupid and shitty and miserable for letting you go, but I had to respect that. I only wish I had noticed you feeling that way sooner," he ended with a small, bitter smile, placing a kiss on the tip of your nose before gently nuzzling it. "Missed you so, so much."
As much as you wanted to lean into Satoru's touch again with no care in the world, you felt the need to apologise for once again, "No, Satoru, but — Maybe if I told you that instead of going away, we wouldn't be apart these months. I am sorry."
"Stop that," his voice cut you off, not firmly but enough to shut you up. "Really, stop. I am not mad at you. I could never be mad at you. And maybe I need that too. Shook me good to realise what things really mattered in life."
A sad sigh left your lips when you remembered what happened between Satoru and his family. Yes, they were jerks, but you never wanted to be the reason for the wedge between them.
"But hey, now we're two psychos together, trying to figure out what to do with their life! Together, right?" Satoru's gaze carefully searched yours, and as you nodded enthusiastically, his face broke into the brightest grin possible. Maybe only rivalling the one he gave you when you agreed to go out with him at that bonfire party.
"Love you, love you, love you," you murmured between kisses, nuzzling against his jaw, eliciting shaky moans. Your hands slid under his hoodie to feel the hot skin under your palms, but the sudden roaring of the thunder made you jump.
"Oh, fuck."
Satoru wanted to tease you at first, but he quickly bit his tongue, remembering that noises like that still scared you. You mindlessly gripped his hoodie tighter, pressing your frame against his for comfort. His hand cradled the back of your head, and he tucked it under his chin, whispering soothing words.
"Maybe you wanna lie down or something?" Whispering into your hair, Satoru pressed his lips against the crown of your head as another tremble shook your body at the particularly frightening sound. His gaze briefly flicked at the sky through the windows. "Yeah, not getting better soon."
Without further ado, you sighed in response and gripped his hand to walk to your bedroom. In every other situation, his hands would've been on you in a second, but not now. Especially given that you had just gotten back together.
Your bedroom hadn't really changed: your favourite stuffed plush bear sat over the sheets, guarding your sleep; a stupid lava lamp that Satoru once gifted you was still on the bedside table, not to mention the horde of houseplants (he sadly noticed the absence of some) at the windowsill. You hadn't packed the bedroom stuff yet, though a couple of boxes obediently waited in the corner.
After all those months, Satoru's presence felt kind of weird in your bedroom, but now, with his hands enveloping you in an embrace, you had never felt happier.
You both stayed up the whole night: gods, you almost forgot how easy it was to talk to Satoru. He told you more about the kids he was teaching, the school, and that he tried to do some modelling photoshoots. It turned out pretty good. "Might be a nice gig," he shrugged nonchalantly, but you noticed his eyes sparkling with mirth.
You filled him in on the work drama, places you visited in your attempts to go out of your shell, hobbies you tried — his eyes widened at the mention of drawing and pottery, and he demanded to see your works the first thing in the morning.
You snorted quietly. "I don't think they are anywhere as good as your photos."
Satoru huffed under his breath and lightly nudged your shoulder. You both lie face to face now, smiling and giggling like a pair of students you once were. You felt as if you were floating in happiness.
"Come on, baby, don't be shy. I am positive they are nice."
"No, Toru, they are not. Believe me, my first flowerpot was disastrous." You turned a bit and waved at the deformed blob of clay, hiding in the corner. Satoru followed your move: his lips pressed into a thin line at the sight of a poor thing.
"Uhm…well, it's not that bad." His shoulders shook with a barely suppressed laugh, and you rolled your eyes good-naturedly.
"It's okay, you can laugh."
The laugh he let was truly thunderous, and even you, the mighty creator, couldn't help but laugh alone.
"Babe, I am sorry, it's just looking at me like I have to end its suffering," after some time, Satoru finally wept some tears and breathed out weakly with his hand on his stomach. You both looked at the hopeless blob. "Why do you keep it, anyway?"
Sighing in response, you murmured, "Dunno. I can't bring myself to throw it away."
Satoru just hummed in response and settled back against the pillows. "Will you take it to France?"
Your heart skipped a beat at the mention, and you just shrugged indecisively. The light mood you had slowly evaporated. After some minutes, you rolled back to face Satoru again, only to find him already watching you closely.
"Were you serious?"
He tilted his head in question; his hand came up to brush a hair strand behind your ear. "About what?"
The next words came in a hesitant whisper.
"Moving with me to France."
Satoru's thumb traced your bottom lip before he dropped his arm to the side. Shrugging casually, he lifted a steady gaze on you. "Are you still thinking about moving there?"
You swallowed nervously before nodding. "Yeah."
"Then I was serious too. We're dating again, it's only logical then."
You couldn't fight with that argument.
"Guess it is. I just…," you lifted one shoulder, still doubtful. "Can't believe you do that for me."
And he couldn't believe you questioned it. But instead, Satoru just blinked at you and muttered in the most serious tone possible.
"I told you I was going to marry you. Yes, I still want to. I wasn't joking and trying to hold you back in the heat of the moment —"
You wordlessly glanced at him.
" — okay, I did, but I was serious. And still am. Hell, baby," the mattress dipped under his weight as Satoru scooted closer. "You're the only thing — not a thing, person, I mean, you're the most serious I've ever been about anything and anyone in my life. I swear. Where you go, I follow."
His voice cracked at the last words, and you let a shuddering breath, cupping his face.
"Are you sure? What will your family say? Job? Suguru?"
Satoru lifted a corner of his lips in a small grin, recalling the same arguments he used to talk you out of moving.
"I am pretty sure I can find something there. Isn't this a part of discovering yourself, too? It could be pretty fun. Who knows, maybe I have some secret talent for pastries. Not just eating. Baking! Plus, I know French," he beamed at you like the Sun. You couldn't help but grin back. "It's a little rusty, though."
You both snorted, but then a frown crossed Satoru's face, and his tone turned more serious.
"Suguru…he'll understand. We still will be talking, right? Not as we used to, but…hey, now I will have an excuse to send him even more stupid memes."
"I am sure he will be ecstatic about it."
"He won't have any choice, heh. And my family…honestly? I don't really care. We both said everything we wanted to each other. I do not see any sense in bowing and scraping."
Your face crumpled in a grimace as you recalled that you were one of the reasons that entire thing happened, and hunched your shoulders. "Still sorry about it."
"And I am still saying you shouldn't be."
Minutes passed between you in a relative silence, interrupted only by the car noises and distant humming of the refrigerator as you stared at the ceiling. Finally, you turned to look at Satoru. Moonlight painted his features in an even more breathtaking way, highlighting the sharp jawline and illuminating the blue of his eyes.
"So…we are really going to France."
Satoru smiled at you — the gentle one he saved only for you — and reached for your hand to interlace your fingers slowly.
"We really are."
***
The morning sun crept through the blinds, bathing a bedroom in a soft, ethereal light, and its beams lazily caressed your face in feathery kisses. As your nose twitched at the sensation, begrudgingly, very begrudgingly, you blinked and reached for your phone. It came to life with a faint buzz; you tried to focus your bleary gaze on the time and sighed in relief as you still had half an hour before the alarm.
A careful attempt to sink back into the sheets didn't go unnoticed by the whole mountain of heat and muscle beside you. Satoru's arm snaked around your waist with an energy too restless for a sleepy man.
"Where are you going to, huh?" His voice, still deep and thick with sleep, felt like a pure sin against your nape. A shudder ran through your body as he gently nuzzled the soft skin there and pressed his lips against the point that shouldn't drive you crazy like it did. "Morning, ma choute."
Amusement curled your tone as you breathed out a chuckle, "Your favourite word, huh?"
Instead of answering, Satoru hummed something unintelligible against the curve of your neck, nosing it, while his lips found your pulse point.
"Can't help it. Not my fault if it fits you perfectly. So sweet," his head went into a dizzy, hazy state at the whiff of your chocolate shower gel and something so uniquely yours. "So soft." The hand that rested leisurely on your belly lazily drifted upwards to cup the tender swell of your breasts. Your breath caught in your throat as you arched into Satoru's touch with a quiet, sleepy moan.
"Ah, Satoru…"
When your voice dipped into that syrupy bedroom voice, laced with so much want, Satoru never could help himself. His hips bucked involuntarily, eliciting a surprised gasp from you, as you felt the throbbing of his length against your backside.
Your hair fanned over a pillow like a halo, catching the bright light, and Satoru's heart skipped a beat. He gently bit down on your pulse point, and as your gasp rose in a tone, he quickly soothed it with a lick of his tongue.
"Fuck, you're so beautiful. So, so beautiful. Can't believe you're mine." The heat crept up your body all the way to your cheeks, not only at the way Satoru rolled your nipple between his fingers, palming at the soft skin there, but at the bewilderment in his voice. As if he were actually shocked.
Another moan left your lips as you closed your eyes in the utter pleasure, coursing through your body and tightening your insides into the sweet knot. Subconsiously, you pushed your trembling thighs back against his front, to which Satoru responded with a low hiss.
"You're in a teasing mood today, huh?"
A sharp pang of disappointment shot through your body when his hand left your chest.
"Satoru…"
"Shh, patience, baby. Good things come to those who wait, don't they?" You almost whined at the loss of the contact, but then his hand — god, that hand — wrapped around your throat with a light grip, just enough to turn your face and capture your lips in a lazy, unhurried kiss. He licked at the seam of your mouth, and you immediately opened it, granting Satoru access. Your tongues lazily tangled, exploring each other; you slid your free hand down his toned pecs, sharp abs and wrapped it around the already hard cock. Giving it a few unhurried pumps, you heard Satoru moaning unbashfully against your mouth.
"Oh, fuck, yeah, keep going, love. Just like —, oh, just like that."
You fondled his balls with a sly smirk, to which he responded with a sharp, almost desperate cry, and…stopped.
"Hey, baby," the pout was evident in his voice, "That's not fair. Like totally not fair."
With a smirk widening, you turned just a tad to see his half-lidded gaze darkening with lust. "Haven't you just preached to me about patience, Toru?"
Satoru's head hit your shoulder as he let a groan, followed by a disbelieving laugh. "Vixen. You drive me crazy, you know that?"
"Yeah, yeah, yet you're still not inside me." After rolling your eyes impatiently, you finally heard the sheets rustling. Your insides clenched in anticipation.
Laughing quietly, Satoru kissed your shoulder, pulling you closer against his front. His hand slid under your hip, lifting it for better access, and hoisted it over his own. You almost whimpered as the thick head of his cock nudged your already wet entrance.
"Look at tha-a-a-t," the heat flooded your body even more at the cocky tilt in his voice and the way his fingers lightly grazed your folds. "For someone so soaked, you have a pretty big mouth running, ma chérie."
You attempted to glare at Satoru, but it ended rather poorly with the way your eyes were glazed with desire. Giving you a smirk, not even trying to hide his arrogance and smugness, he hastily fisted his cock and aligned it with your entrance, slowly yet surely filling you up inch by inch.
"F-fuck, you're so tight," Satoru's hot whisper fanned over your jawline as he pressed heated kisses up to your mouth. "So warm, so good, so p-perfect — babe, don't clench me like that, f-for me."
Your lips parted, forming almost a perfect "O" in its shape at the burn of the stretch, and the first loud moan tore from your chest, when Satoru finally gave you a shallow roll of his hips.
"Sa-Satoru, yeah…"
With no hesitation, you reached behind and tugged at the soft white tufts above Satoru's undercut, pressing his head into your nape to seek even more contact until your bodies fused in a messy, unintelligible tangle of limbs, needy touches and wanton moans. His hips built a slow, languid rhythm, moulding your insides into the shape of his cock; each thick vein and ridge of him against your velvet walls made your mind swim in pleasure, so overwhelming it drowned every coherent thought. One of his hands snaked up to squeeze your breasts, eliciting more shaky whimpers from you.
"Love you, love you so fucking much, you don't even, ngh, under-understand, shit, y-yes," Satoru slurred against your cheek after yet another sloppy kiss, his tongue darting to taste the salty skin as you literally cried in ecstasy when he hit that sweet spot inside. You were completely sure he would never let you forget this. His moves gradually lost their rhythm, giving in to a raw, primal desire. A string of desperate whimpers spilt from your lips, and you turned your head to muffle these cries in the pillow.
Wrong move.
Seeing it, Satoru's lips curled into a sharp smirk. He quickly wetted his fingers and dragged them down to press quick, tight circles on your clit, and with all the stimulation, your body jolted in pleasure. Heat, shameless and urgent, built at the base of your spine, coursed through your veins and lit every part on fire. His cock twitched inside you at the way you breathed out his name with such desperation that put all the prayers to shame.
"Give it to me, baby. Be a good girl, yeah? Cum for me."
Your thighs shook violently, which was a telling sign that you were close; he feverishly rutted against yours, rubbing your clit in quick motions, panting against the curve of your neck. His eyes rolled in pleasure as your cunt fluttered around him, coating his shaft in juices, and with a shameless guttural groan, he cummed too.
The sound of your name, spilling from Satoru's lips like it was the only word he knew, brought tears to your eyes. Of love, of longing, or devotion, you weren't even sure.
Satoru was still in you, behind you, wrapping you in his arms and scent, when you awkwardly tried to turn around. He lazily blinked at you — the blue of his eyes resembled the glimmering waves of the Mediterranean Sea, which lapped the shores of the city that had become your home. Swallowing a lump in your throat, you lean in to press a quick, almost chaste kiss on the corner of his lips. They twitched with a soft grin.
"Someone's awfully sweet. Good morning, I guess. Really good, that time. What if — "
Before Satoru finished, your hands framed his face, and you kissed him again, taking your time. He released a quiet, unexpected sigh and melted into it immediately, giving you all the reins. Sweet and soft, your tongue swept over his plump lips and explored his mouth, until you both pulled away to catch your breath. Resting your forehead against his, you muttered quietly.
"I love you."
Satoru didn't answer you right away; instead, he cupped your cheek, his thumb grazed the soft skin under your eyes, and he murmured back.
"I love you more."
You didn't want to delve into the endless fight of who loved whom more, so you just settled against his chest with a soft sigh. Satoru tucked your head under his chin and gently ran his fingers up and down your spine.
"How are you feeling? Wanna cuddle a little or go showering?"
"I wish we could cuddle more, but Nobara and Maki are coming in…very soon, actually."
Satoru stilled for a moment and released a groan, reluctant to let you go and leave that bed, jutting his bottom lip in the biggest pout known to the Universe.
"Is it today? Do we have to go with them, baby?"
"Yes. Toru, we promised them to show the Fine Arts Museum. Maki didn't visit it last time they were in Marseille because it was shut for some renovation. Apparently."
"Geez, I was hoping for a round two. And maybe three in the shower. Besides, we were there with Suguru last summer." His hand slid down to squeeze your butt in the last attempt to persuade you, but you stood your ground. With great effort.
"Satoru, no. We don't see them often. Get up."
Saoru's hand that reached to pinch your side as you hopped off to get to the shower, limply fell to his side. He groaned as his head hit the pillow, but as the sounds of water running filled the space, he enthusiastically got up and padded to the bathroom. He could be pretty…convincing when he wanted to.
Indeed, an hour later, Nobara suspiciously eyed both of you up and down — your hair told her everything she needed to know. Satoru didn't even try to hide a big dopey grin that screamed "I just got laid by the most gorgeous woman in the world". You elbowed him. Hard. His smile got even wider, so you sent him to help Maki with their suitcases.
"You know, I am so happy for you." You gave Nobara a cup of scorching latte, just the way she preferred. Her lips curled into an amusing yet soft grin. "No, really. You both look radiant."
She laughed heartily, nodding in gratitude; however, her gaze was fixed on your front yard. You followed the direction and chuckled as well, seeing Satoru and Maki trying to coax Nobara's cat — a fluffy, totally spoilt Persian named Lady — out of the carrier. She only hissed in response.
"Yeah. Me too. She's…I don't know how to explain it. But I am so happy she agreed to move here. The same is for you, by the way. Provence does wonders for both of you. Even Gojo."
You rested your elbows on the table with a melancholic sigh. Yes, the start of your journey in France was quite turbulent: a total mess with language, documents, fighting with landlords over the rent, and taking up any gigs for money…It only helped that you had some of it saved. Endless hours of work, tears and efforts poured into building your new life finally got its fruits: at one of the fashion shows, Nobara introduced you to the famous photographer, who instantly fell in love with your works. And Satoru…
"Phew, finally," the front door opened, revealing beaming Satoru with Lady in his arms, who…purred in content. Nobara's eyes widened in shock.
"Lady, what? He's a man! Have some dignity!"
"Can't help it if I am that charming," he scratched the kitty under her chin. "Even cats know that."
"That's, unfortunately, true." You squeaked in delight at Maki's tired voice and jumped into her arms. After a few solid minutes of hugging, you finally released her as she begged you to show her the bathroom.
"So, Gojo," Nobara drawled in a voice too casual. Satoru exchanged brief yet pointed glances with you. Lady cracked one eye open and yawned, staring at her catmom. "Do you have, by any chance, some calissons left?"
In Nobara's language, that meant she had been dying to taste them, but she would never admit it to Satoru. "Don't tell him, or his ego would grow even bigger!"
So you just happened to drop that you wanted to have those candies, and of course, Satoru whipped some up: they just waited to be baked. Judging by his cocky smirk, he already figured both of you out.
"Why do you call me Gojo? She's a Gojo too, you know?" The oven beeped a couple of times when Satoru put the tray with callisons inside. Nobara only rolled her eyes and hugged you with a grin.
And Satoru once decided to try his hand at the things that he loved the most in the world (after you, of course): sweets. In particular, pastries. To put it concisely, baking. It took a lot, a lot of time and years of learning in culinary academies under the guidance of chiefs, before he could finally name himself the one.
Marseille greeted you with arms open, the fresh scent of pastries lingering in the air, mesmerising views and the centuries of history ingrained in its walls. You left Paris after you realised it was high time to move forward, and since you mentioned a couple of times that you wanted to live in Provence for some time, Satoru started to look for a home and a place for his own bakery. His own thing. That he built only by himself, with no family barking and ordering him around. He and you. And Satoru could've never been happier for it.
You indeed had never made it easy for him. But now, seeing you laugh with your friends, among the paintings, with the sun casting a soft, almost amber glow on your figure, Satoru realised he would rather have things difficult with you than easy with anyone else. Because you were worth it.
You wake to wet heat between your thighs, Caleb’s tongue working methodically against your folds. His hands grip your legs, keeping them spread wide as he devours your still half-asleep pussy.
“Mmm, good morning,” you mumble, voice thick with sleep as your hips instinctively rock against his mouth.
Caleb responds with a groan, the vibration traveling through your sensitive flesh. His eyes flick up to meet yours, pupils already blown wide with hunger. Even after days of this, he still looks at your cunt like it’s the first time he’s tasted you.
It’s been like this since that day on the couch—Caleb’s apparent addiction to the taste of you only growing stronger with each passing day. Sometimes you wake to his face between your thighs. Other mornings, he’s barely stirring when you straddle his face, lowering yourself onto his waiting mouth without a word.
He never complains. Not even once.
Your fingers tangle in his sleep-mussed hair, tugging him closer as his tongue circles your clit with precision.
He knows your body now—knows exactly how much pressure makes your thighs quiver, knows the rhythm that usually pushes you over the edge. His hands slide beneath your ass, lifting you slightly to give his tongue better access to your entrance.
“Fuck, ge ge,” you sigh, closing your eyes as pleasure builds in familiar waves. “Your fucking mouth.”
He hums in approval at your language, sucking your clit between his lips in that way that normally sends you spiraling into ecstasy within minutes.
But today—like yesterday, and the day before—the release seems just out of reach, hovering at the edge of your consciousness but refusing to crash over you.
You grind harder against his face, chasing the sensation. Caleb’s enthusiasm never wanes—if anything, he works with more determination as he senses your struggle, his tongue flicking faster, his grip on your ass tightening to the point of bruising.
Finally, after what feels like an eternity of building tension, your orgasm washes over you.
It’s good—of course it’s good, Caleb never leaves you unsatisfied—but it lacks the mind-shattering intensity of those first few times. It’s like drinking watered-down liquor when you’ve tasted the pure stuff.
Caleb laps at you through the aftershocks, cleaning every drop of your release with reverent attention. When he finally pulls away, his chin gleams with your slickness, his lips swollen from use.
“You taste even better in the morning,” he says, voice rough as he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. “Could eat this pussy all day.”
Three days of Caleb’s tongue—sometimes twice or three times a day—and your body seems to be building a tolerance. The orgasms still come, but they’re taking longer to achieve and feel less intense when they finally arrive.
“What’s wrong?” Caleb asks, instantly alert to the shift in your mood. He crawls up your body, hovering over you with concerned eyes. “Didn’t you like it?”
“No, it was good,” you assure him quickly. “It’s always good.”
His eyebrow arches skeptically. “But?”
You bite your lip, embarrassed to voice your concerns. How do you tell the man who worships between your thighs daily that his efforts are becoming less effective?
“I think something’s wrong with me,” you finally admit, unable to meet his gaze.
Caleb’s hand cups your cheek, thumb brushing your lower lip. “What do you mean, Pips?”
The tenderness in his voice gives you courage. “It’s taking longer for me to cum. And when I do, it’s not as... intense.”
“You’re not getting bored of me, are you?” There’s a teasing note in his voice, but you catch the flash of genuine concern in his eyes.
“No! God, no.” You rush to reassure him. “Your tongue is fucking magic, ge ge. I just... I don’t know, maybe I’m broken or something?”
Caleb laughs, the sound low and warm against your skin as he presses a kiss to your neck. “You’re not broken, Y/N. Your body’s just getting used to one type of stimulation. It’s completely normal.”
Relief floods through you. “Really?”
“Really,” he confirms, trailing kisses up to your ear. “Think about it. If you eat the same meal every day, even if it’s your favorite, eventually you start craving something different.”
You nod slowly, understanding dawning. “So my pussy’s just bored of your tongue?”
“Not bored,” he corrects, pulling back to look you in the eyes. “Just ready for more.”
“More what?”
A slow smile spreads across his face, hungry and promising. “More everything. Your body’s telling you it wants to be stretched, filled.”
His hand slides between your bodies, fingers tracing your still-sensitive folds. “This greedy little cunt wants more than just my tongue now.”
“But I’ve never... I don’t know how to—“
“You don’t need to know anything,” Caleb interrupts, voice dropping to that commanding register that makes your stomach flip. “I’ll teach you. Just like I taught you how good my mouth can feel.”
“You’d do that?” You search his face, finding only sincerity and hunger in his expression.
Caleb laughs again, but this time there’s an edge to it—something darker, more primal. “Pips, there’s nothing I wouldn’t do to make you feel good. Nothing I wouldn’t teach you.”
His finger traces your entrance, not pushing in, just teasing the possibility. “Do you trust me to show you what comes next?”
“Yes,” you whisper, spreading your legs wider in invitation. “Show me everything, ge ge.”
Satisfaction transforms his features, his smile sharpening into something almost predatory. “Such a good girl,” he praises, leaning down to press his lips against yours.
The taste of your own arousal lingers on his tongue as it pushes into your mouth.
When he pulls back, his eyes are dark with purpose. “I’ll make you feel things you’ve never imagined, Y/N.” His thumb brushes your clit, making you shiver. “By the time I’m done with you, you won’t remember what it felt like to be unsatisfied.”
The conviction in his voice settles something in your chest. Whatever’s happening to your body, Caleb understands it.
Caleb will fix it.
He’s never failed to take care of you before.
“Now,” he says, sitting back on his heels, “let’s explore your options.”
Caleb has you spread-eagle on the bed, your knees bent and legs pushed wide apart by his broad shoulders.
Your head rests on the pillows, giving you the perfect view of his dark hair between your thighs as he devours your pussy with the same enthusiasm he’s shown for days.
But twenty minutes in, and your orgasm still feels like a mirage in the distance—visible but frustratingly out of reach.
“Fuck,” you whine, arching your back as his tongue makes another slow pass from your entrance to your clit. The sensation is good—it’s always good—but it’s not enough anymore. “Caleb, come on.”
He responds by humming against your sensitive flesh, the vibration sending ripples of pleasure through your core. His hands grip your inner thighs, thumbs pressing into the soft flesh as he holds you open for his feast.
The wet sounds of his mouth working against your slick folds fill the room, obscenely loud in the quiet afternoon.
You try to focus on the building pleasure, to concentrate on the skilled movement of his tongue as it circles your clit with practiced precision.
Closing your eyes, you chase the sensation, rocking your hips against his face in a desperate bid to increase the pressure.
But your mind keeps wandering, the familiar rhythm failing to hold your attention like it once did. Your body craves something more—something deeper, more filling than just the shallow dips of his tongue into your entrance.
“Ge ge,” you plead, your voice taking on a desperate edge. “I need more. Please.”
Caleb pulls back slightly, his chin glistening with your arousal as he glances up at you. “Patience, Pips. I’m getting you ready.”
“Ready for what?” you demand, frustration sharpening your tone. “I’ve been ready. I’m fucking soaked.”
To prove your point, you reach down, dipping your fingers between your folds and holding them up to show him the clear evidence of your arousal. Your fingertips glisten in the afternoon light, connected by strings of your wetness.
Instead of being chastened, Caleb just grins. “I can see that,” he says, before diving back down to continue his ministrations.
Your frustration mounts as he returns to the same techniques that have become predictable over the past weeks.
The lick-suck-circle pattern that once sent you spiraling into ecstasy now feels like a tease, a prelude to something your body desperately wants but isn’t getting.
“God damn it, Xia Yi Zhou,” you growl, your hands flying to his hair. You tangle your fingers in the dark strands, yanking harder than you intended in your frustration. “Fucking do something different or I swear I’ll—“
Your threat cuts off in a gasp as he sucks your clit hard between his lips, the sudden intensity momentarily silencing your complaints. But even this more aggressive move isn’t enough to push you toward release. Your body feels wound tight, tension coiled in your core with no outlet.
“I’m getting tired,” you whine, tugging at his hair again, trying to pull his face deeper between your legs as if you could force him to give you what you need. “Make me cum already!”
Caleb allows you to guide his head, his tongue still working diligently against your clit. But you can feel him smiling against your flesh, clearly amused by your bratty demands rather than bothered by them.
“You’re being such a little bitch today,” he murmurs against your pussy, the crude words vibrating through your sensitive flesh. But there’s no real heat in his voice—just amusement and something like satisfaction, as if your frustration is exactly what he wanted.
“I don’t care,” you snap, lifting your hips to grind against his face more forcefully. “Just fucking make it better.”
Your behavior would probably offend anyone else, but Caleb just chuckles, the sound rumbling through your core.
He finally pulls back, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand as he looks up at you from between your thighs.
“You know what your problem is, Pips?” he asks, his purple eyes dark with a mixture of hunger and amusement. “You’re ready for more than just my tongue.”
“Then give me more,” you demand, spreading your legs wider in blatant invitation.
Caleb sits back on his heels, his hands still resting possessively on your thighs. “I’m trying to, you impatient brat. I’m warming you up so you can take my fingers without any pain.”
The explanation makes logical sense, but you‘re too far gone in your frustrated horniness to care about his careful preparation.
All you know is that your pussy is aching, empty, and his mouth isn’t solving the problem anymore.
“I don’t need warming up,” you insist, reaching down to spread your lips apart with your fingers, exposing yourself completely to his gaze. “Look how wet I am. Just fucking finger me already.”
Caleb’s eyes darken at your display, but he shakes his head. “It‘s not just about wetness, Y/N. You’ve never had anything inside you before. I need to make sure you’re relaxed and ready.”
“Blah blah blah,” you mock, rolling your eyes dramatically. “Always so fucking careful. Maybe I don’t want careful. Maybe I want it to hurt a little.”
His expression shifts at that, something dangerous flashing across his features. “You don‘t know what you’re asking for.”
“Then show me,” you challenge, your frustration making you bold. “Or I swear to god, I’ll give you the silent treatment for a week.”
The childish threat draws another laugh from Caleb, this one deeper, darker. “The silent treatment? Really, Pips? That’s the best you’ve got?”
“Try me,” you warn, crossing your arms over your chest like a petulant child. “See how you like it when I stop talking to you. Stop letting you eat my pussy. Stop—“
“Alright, alright,” he interrupts, holding his hands up in mock surrender. But the glint in his eyes tells you he’s not really giving in—he’s just shifting strategies. “You want more? You think you’re ready?”
“Yes,” you hiss, uncrossing your arms to grab his wrist, trying to guide his hand between your legs. “I’ve been ready for fucking ages.”
Caleb resists your pull, his strength easily overpowering yours. “You know,” he says conversationally, as if you’re discussing the weather rather than begging him to finger you, “I love it when you get all bratty like this.”
“I’m not being bratty,” you protest, even as you pout and tug harder at his arm. “I’m being honest.”
“Mmhmm.” His tone is indulgent, patronizing. “And what happens to bratty girls who make demands instead of asking nicely?”
There’s a warning in his voice that sends a fresh wave of heat through your core. “I don’t care. Just do something about this sopping fucking pussy before I lose my mind.”
His eyes flash with approval at your vulgarity, even as his expression hardens with determination.
“Fine,” he says, his voice dropping to that commanding register that makes your stomach flip. “But don’t say I didn’t try to go slow for you.”
Before you can respond, he’s leaning down again, his tongue making one more broad stroke up your slit.
“Last chance to be patient,” he warns, his breath hot against your sensitive flesh.
“You’re such a fucking tease,” you spit at Caleb, your frustration boiling over. “All that talk about giving me more, and you’re still just—“
The rest of your sentence dies in your throat as Caleb’s purple eyes darken with something dangerous. His hand, which had been resting on your inner thigh, suddenly moves.
“You were saying?” Caleb’s voice drops to that low, commanding register that makes your stomach flip even as you try to maintain your defiant glare.
“I said you’re a fucking tease,” you repeat, doubling down despite the warning in his expression. “All talk and no—oh!”
Your bratty tirade cuts off abruptly as Caleb’s index finger pushes inside you without warning.
The sudden intrusion—the first time anything larger than the tip of his tongue has entered you—makes your back arch off the bed, your eyes widening in shock.
“There,” Caleb says, his voice deceptively casual despite the intensity in his gaze. “Is that what you wanted, Pips? Something inside this greedy little cunt?”
You can’t answer. The sensation of his finger—thick and warm and so different from his tongue—has robbed you of words.
It doesn’t hurt exactly, but the stretch is unfamiliar, foreign. Your body seems frozen between the impulse to push him out and pull him deeper.
“Breathe,” he instructs, his free hand coming to rest on your lower belly, steadying you. “Relax around me.”
You hadn‘t realized you were holding your breath until he mentions it. The exhale comes out as a shaky moan, your inner walls fluttering around the intrusion as your muscles slowly unclench.
“That’s it,” Caleb encourages, his finger remaining still inside you, allowing your body to adjust. “Just like that.”
When he’s sure you’ve relaxed, he begins to move—pulling his finger back until just the tip remains inside, then pushing slowly forward again.
The friction is unlike anything you’ve felt before, sending sparks up your spine that make your thighs quiver.
“Look at you,” he murmurs, his eyes fixed on where his finger disappears into your body. “Taking my finger so well. Where’s all that bratty attitude now, huh?”
Your hands fist in the sheets, head thrashing against the pillow as he establishes a slow, deliberate rhythm. Each push inward seems to reach deeper, touching parts of you that have never been touched before.
“Shut up,” you gasp, but there’s no heat in the words—just desperation as your hips begin to move of their own accord, rising to meet each thrust of his finger.
Caleb’s laugh is dark, knowing. “So fucking mouthy,” he says, but his voice holds admiration beneath the mock scolding. “Always ready with a comeback until I get my hands on this wet little pussy. Then you’re all whimpers and moans.”
He’s right, and you hate how right he is.
Every sharp retort you might have made dissolves into incoherent sounds of pleasure as his finger curls slightly, exploring your inner walls with meticulous attention.
“You like being filled, don’t you?” he continues, his thumb brushing teasingly against your clit with each inward push. “Like having part of me inside you.”
“Yes,” you admit, past the point of pride as pleasure builds in your core. “Feels—feels good.”
“Better than just my tongue?”
Your eyes roll back as he presses against a spot inside you that sends electricity shooting up your spine. “Yes! Fuck—right there!”
“Knew it would be,” Caleb says, satisfaction evident in his tone. “Knew your body was ready for more. You just needed to be put in your place first.”
Just as you’re getting used to the sensation, adjusting to the rhythm of his thrusts, Caleb withdraws his finger entirely. The sudden emptiness makes you whimper, your hips chasing his retreating hand.
“No, don’t stop,” you plead, previous attitude entirely forgotten in your desperation. “Please, ge ge.”
Caleb‘s eyes glitter with triumph at your begging. “Don’t worry, Pips. I’m not stopping. Just switching things up a bit.”
Before you can ask what he means, his hand is between your legs again. But this time, it‘s his middle finger that presses against your entrance—noticeably thicker than his index finger, and longer too.
“Wait,” you gasp, suddenly nervous as you feel the blunt pressure. “Is that—“
“My middle finger,” Caleb confirms, his voice steady even as his eyes burn with hunger. “It’ll reach deeper. Hit spots my index finger couldn’t.”
He doesn’t wait for your permission—perhaps knowing you’d only delay out of nervousness rather than genuine reluctance.
With slow but insistent pressure, his middle finger pushes past your entrance, sinking deeper than his index finger ever did.
The stretch is more pronounced this time, drawing a strangled sound from your throat that’s half pain, half pleasure. Your body instinctively arches, legs spreading wider as if to accommodate the intrusion.
“Holy fuck,” you breathe, eyes wide as you stare at the ceiling, overwhelmed by the sensation of being filled.
“Too much?” Caleb asks, pausing with his finger halfway inside you. Despite the dominance he‘s been displaying, there’s genuine concern in his voice now.
You shake your head frantically. “No, no—don’t stop.” Your hips shift, pushing down against his hand, taking him deeper. “It’s good. So good.”
Relief and renewed hunger flash across his features as he resumes his careful penetration, pushing until his finger is buried to the knuckle inside you.
“Look at that,” Caleb murmurs, his gaze fixed on where your body swallows his finger. “Taking me so deep. Such a good girl.”
The praise sends warmth blooming through your chest even as pleasure radiates from your core. You find yourself nodding mindlessly, agreeing with whatever he says as long as he keeps moving, keeps touching you like this.
When he crooks his finger, pressing forward against your front wall, stars burst behind your eyelids. Your back arches sharply off the bed, a sound you‘ve never made before tearing from your throat.
“There it is,” Caleb says, triumph lacing his voice. “Your sweet spot.”
He repeats the motion, rubbing firmly against that spot that makes your entire body jerk with pleasure. All thoughts of brattiness and demands have vanished, replaced by pure sensation and the desperate need for more.
“Yes, yes, yes,” you chant, no longer caring how wanton you sound, how completely you’ve surrendered to his touch. “Right there, please, don’t stop.”
“Not so bossy now, are you?” Caleb teases, but his voice has lost its edge, softened by the obvious pleasure he takes in your reactions. “Just taking what I give you. Letting ge ge make you feel good.”
You nod frantically, beyond words as his finger works magic inside you. Your entire world has narrowed to the point where your bodies connect, to the sensation of him filling you, touching parts of you that have never been touched before.
“That’s it,” he encourages as your hips begin to rock against his hand, seeking more pressure, more friction. “Show me how much you like it. Show me how much you need me inside you.”
And you do, shamelessly rolling your hips, fucking yourself on his finger as pleasure builds to levels you didn’t know were possible.
Whatever complaints you had about his tongue not being enough anymore have evaporated, replaced by the dawning realization that this is just the beginning of what Caleb can make you feel.
Caleb’s finger continues its relentless assault on that spot deep inside you, making your legs tremble as pressure builds at the base of your spine.
Just when you think you might explode from the sensation, he slowly withdraws, leaving you empty and aching. Your pussy clenches around nothing, hungry for the fullness it just lost.
“No,” you whimper, reaching for his wrist. “Please don’t stop.”
“Patience,” Caleb murmurs, his voice thick with arousal as he brings his slick finger to your clit. The pad of his middle finger, now coated with your arousal, slides easily over the sensitive bundle of nerves, making lazy circles that send electric pulses through your lower body.
“Need to make sure you’re wet enough for what comes next.”
You let out a breathless laugh, gesturing to the obvious evidence of your arousal gleaming on his fingers and undoubtedly soaking into the sheets beneath you. “I think we’re well past that point, don’t you?”
Instead of answering, Caleb increases the pressure on your clit, rubbing up and down with firm, deliberate strokes that make your hips jerk involuntarily.
Each pass of his finger sends pleasure radiating outward, but it’s a shallow kind of pleasure—not enough to satisfy the new emptiness you feel inside.
“I’m sorry,” you find yourself saying, the words tumbling out as his finger continues its maddening path across your most sensitive spot. “For being a brat. For pulling your hair and being impatient.”
Caleb’s eyes soften, though the hungry edge never fully disappears. “Are you really sorry? Or are you just saying that so I’ll give you what you want?”
“Both,” you admit, honesty winning out over pride. Your hands reach for him again, fingers curling around his strong wrist. “I’m sorry and I want more. Please, ge ge.”
A slow smile spreads across his face—part triumph, part genuine affection. “That’s my good girl,” he praises, his finger never stopping its rhythmic circles on your clit. “Using your words instead of demands. Asking nicely.”
You nod eagerly, beyond caring how desperate you look. “Please. I need to feel you inside me again.”
“Since you asked so nicely...” Caleb’s finger leaves your clit, trailing down to gather more of your wetness at your entrance. For a moment, you think he’s going to tease you with just his middle finger again, but his hand shifts slightly, and you feel a different pressure—wider, more insistent.
Your eyes widen as you realize what’s coming. “Wait, is that—“
Before you can finish the question, Caleb pushes forward, and both his middle and ring fingers slide into you in one smooth motion.
The stretch is immediate and intense, drawing a startled cry from your lips as your inner walls struggle to accommodate the increased girth.
“Fuck!” The word explodes from you, your back arching off the bed as dual sensations of stretch and fullness overwhelm your senses.
It doesn’t hurt exactly—you’re too wet, too aroused for pain—but the pressure is so much more than before, making you acutely aware of every millimeter of space his fingers occupy inside you.
“Too much?” Caleb asks, his fingers remaining still, giving you time to adjust. His other hand strokes soothingly along your thigh, a contrast to the intensity of the penetration.
You shake your head frantically, unable to form words as your body processes this new sensation. It feels right somehow—like a puzzle piece clicking into place.
The initial shock fades quickly, replaced by a deep, throbbing pleasure that radiates outward from your core.
“No, it’s... it’s perfect,” you finally manage, your voice barely above a whisper. “So full.”
Pride flashes across Caleb‘s features, his purple eyes darkening as he watches your face.
Slowly, carefully, he begins to move his fingers, pulling them back a fraction before pushing deep again. The friction sends sparks up your spine, your inner walls fluttering around the intrusion.
“Look at you,” he murmurs, his gaze traveling down to where his thick fingers disappear into your body. “Taking two fingers so easily. Like your pussy was made for me to fill.”
The dirty words send another wave of heat through you. You find yourself nodding in agreement, too consumed by pleasure to be embarrassed by his explicit praise.
Each thrust of his fingers reaches deeper than his tongue or single finger ever could, touching parts of you that feel like they’ve been waiting forever to be awakened.
Caleb establishes a steady rhythm, his fingers pumping in and out with increasing confidence as your body yields to his intrusion.
The wet sounds of your arousal fill the room, obscene and thrilling. Your hips begin to move of their own accord, rising to meet each thrust, silently asking for more, faster, deeper.
But just as you’re getting lost in the rhythm, Caleb slows his pace, his movements becoming more deliberate, more measured.
The change is maddening—you were so close to finding the perfect friction, the perfect angle.
Acting on pure instinct, your hand shoots out, gripping his wrist tightly. Caleb’s eyebrows rise in surprise, but he doesn’t pull away.
Instead, he watches with fascination as you take control, using your grip on his wrist to guide his fingers back into the faster, deeper pace your body craves.
“Show me,” he encourages, voice rough with arousal. “Show me how you want it.”
Still holding his wrist, you begin to fuck yourself on his fingers, using his hand as a tool for your pleasure.
You angle his fingers to hit that spot inside you that makes your vision blur, controlling the depth and speed with surprising precision.
“Like this,” you pant, driving his fingers into you at a pace that makes the bed creak beneath your writhing body. “Right here—fuck—right there.”
Caleb lets you take control completely, his muscles relaxing under your grip, allowing you to use his hand however you need.
His eyes never leave your face, drinking in every expression of pleasure, every gasp and moan your movements produce.
“That’s it,” he praises, his free hand coming up to stroke your cheek with surprising tenderness. “Take what you need. Use me.”
You're working his fingers like a toy while he's touching your cheek like you're made of glass—the mixed signals make your insides do a hot little dance.
Your movements become more frantic, less coordinated as pleasure builds to a fever pitch at the base of your spine.
“Gonna cum,” you warn, voice breaking as your grip on his wrist tightens to the point of bruising. “Fuck, Caleb, I’m so close.”
“I’ve got you,” he assures, making no move to take back control. Instead, he shifts his position slightly, giving you better leverage as you chase your release. “That’s my good girl. So perfect, learning to take what you want.”
There’s pride in his voice—genuine admiration as he watches you pleasure yourself with his fingers. With one last thrust of his fingers, angled perfectly against that spot deep inside, the tension breaks.
Your orgasm crashes over you with an intensity that steals your breath, your inner walls clamping down on his fingers as waves of pleasure pulse outward from your core.
Your legs shake uncontrollably, your grip on his wrist tightening and then relaxing as the peak washes through you.
Caleb watches it all with hungry fascination, his eyes tracking every tremor, every gasp, every flutter of your eyelids as you come apart around his fingers.
And through the haze of your pleasure, you see something like awe in his expression—as if witnessing your pleasure is the greatest privilege he could imagine.
“Beautiful,” he whispers as your spasms begin to subside, his fingers still buried deep inside you. “So fucking beautiful when you cum for me.”
You collapse back against the pillows, chest heaving, limbs suddenly heavy with satisfaction.
The emptiness you felt earlier, the frustration that drove you to take control, has been thoroughly banished. In its place is a warm, pulsing contentment that makes your lips curve into a smile.
But even as your breathing begins to slow, you notice something in Caleb’s expression—a hunger not yet sated, a determination that tells you he’s far from finished with you yet.
“Such a good girl,” Caleb murmurs as your breathing slowly returns to normal. His fingers remain buried inside you, feeling the aftershocks of your orgasm as your inner walls continue to pulse around him.
“Look how wet you got,” he observes, slowly withdrawing his middle and ring fingers. They emerge glistening, coated in a thick layer of your arousal that strings between his fingers like honey when he spreads them apart. “All this cream just for me.”
Your cheeks flush at his observation, but you can’t deny the evidence.
Your thighs are slick with your own wetness, and you can feel more of it pooling beneath you on the sheets. The orgasm was intense—more powerful than any you’ve experienced from his tongue alone—leaving you feeling boneless and satisfied.
But his purple eyes remain dark with hunger, fixed on your exposed pussy with an intensity that makes your core clench despite your recent release.
“You deserve a reward for that,” he says, bringing his wet fingers to his mouth. He sucks them clean with obscene thoroughness, eyes closing briefly as he savors your taste. “For taking control. For showing me exactly what you needed.”
“A reward?” you ask, voice still slightly breathless. “I thought that orgasm was my reward.”
Caleb’s laugh is low and dark with promise. “Oh, Pips. We‘re just getting started.”
Before you can ask what he means, his hand returns between your legs. You expect him to resume the now-familiar intrusion of two fingers, but instead feel a different pressure—wider, more insistent.
Looking down your body, you see Caleb positioning three fingers at your entrance. Middle, ring, and index.
“Wait,” you gasp, suddenly nervous at the sight. “All three? Will they fit?”
“They’ll fit,” Caleb assures you, his confidence unwavering. “You’re so wet from cumming, and your body’s learning to open for me.” His eyes meet yours, searching. “Do you trust me?”
Despite your apprehension, you find yourself nodding. “Yes.”
“Good girl,” he praises, and begins to press forward.
The initial stretch is uncomfortable bordering on painful—your body resisting the unfamiliar width despite your arousal.
Caleb moves with slowness, watching your face for any sign of distress as his three fingers work their way inside you millimeter by millimeter.
“Breathe,” he reminds you when you realize you’re holding your breath. “Relax around me.”
You follow his instructions, focusing on relaxing your muscles as he continues his careful penetration. The burn of the stretch gradually subsides, giving way to a fullness that feels both foreign and oddly right.
“That’s it,” Caleb encourages as his fingers sink deeper. “Taking me so well.”
Despite the initial discomfort, you find yourself growing aroused again at the mere thought of what’s happening—at Caleb being inside you, filling you more completely than before.
Your hips shift restlessly, trying to adjust to the intrusion while simultaneously seeking more.
“So full,” you whisper, eyes wide as you look down at where his hand disappears between your legs.
“And taking it like a champion,” Caleb praises, his free hand stroking your inner thigh soothingly. “But I think we can make this even better for you.”
Acting on some instinct you don’t fully understand, you reach down and grab behind your knees, pulling them up toward your chest.
The position feels vulnerable, exposing—but it also relieves some of the pressure, allowing your body to open more fully around Caleb’s fingers.
“Fuck,” Caleb breathes, his eyes darkening at your display. “Look at you, spreading yourself wide for me. Such an eager little slut.”
That filthy insult would've made you cringe, but right now—with his fingers knuckle-deep and your legs spread like you're begging for it—it just makes you wetter, hungrier, desperate for whatever comes next.
“Is that better?” he asks, experimentally moving his fingers now that you’ve given him more room to work.
“Yes,” you gasp as he begins to thrust shallowly, the three fingers moving together. “Different, but... good.”
Caleb’s expression turns focused as he watches your reactions. “Let’s try something,” he murmurs, and then his fingers are moving in a new way—no longer just in and out, but spreading apart inside you, stretching your inner walls in different directions.
“Oh!” The sensation is startling, making your back arch and your toes curl. It’s not quite pleasure, not quite pain, but something in between that makes your nerve endings sing.
“Too much?” Caleb asks, stilling his movements.
You shake your head frantically. “No, don‘t stop. It’s just... a lot.”
Encouraged, he resumes his exploration, his fingers moving inside you with growing confidence. Sometimes he thrusts them together, other times he scissor them apart or twists his wrist to change the angle of penetration.
Each movement seems calculated to expose a different part of you to his touch, to prepare your body for even more.
“Look how you’re opening up for me,” Caleb says, his voice thick with wonder as he spreads his fingers again, stretching your entrance wider. “Your pretty little cunt is learning exactly what it was made for.”
His praise sends another wave of heat through your core. You can feel yourself getting wetter, your body producing more slick to ease the considerable intrusion of his three thick fingers.
“Caleb,” you moan as he finds that spot deep inside you again, the one that makes stars burst behind your eyelids. “Right there, please.”
He obliges, focusing his attention on that sweet spot, pressing and rubbing with deliberate precision.
Your previous orgasm has left you more sensitive, more responsive to his touch, and you can feel another climax building with surprising speed.
“Gonna cum again,” you warn, your voice high and breathy as tension coils tight in your core.
“That’s it,” Caleb encourages, increasing the pressure inside you. “Give me another one. Show me how much you love having my fingers stuffed inside this greedy pussy.”
His words push you closer to the edge, your inner walls clenching around his intrusive fingers as pleasure builds to an almost unbearable pitch.
When his thumb finds your clit, pressing and circling with ease, it’s enough to send you hurtling over the precipice.
Your second orgasm hits harder than the first, drawing a strangled cry from your throat as your body convulses around his fingers.
Waves of pleasure pulse outward from your core, making your legs shake and your vision blur. More of your arousal gushes out around his fingers, adding to the mess already coating your thighs and the sheets beneath you.
“That’s it,” Caleb croons, his thumb continuing its relentless circles on your clit as he extends your pleasure. “Cream all over my hand, Pips. Let me feel how good I‘m making you feel.”
The wet squelching sounds of your arousal fill the room as Caleb continues to move his fingers inside you, pushing through the tight grip of your spasming walls.
“Listen to how fucking wet you are,” Caleb says, his voice rough with his own arousal. “The sounds your pussy makes when I’m inside it. So fucking perfect.”
As your orgasm begins to subside, you expect him to withdraw, to give your oversensitive body a reprieve. Instead, his eyes lock with yours, determination hardening his features.
“We’re not done yet,” he informs you, his fingers still buried deep inside you. “I know you can give me more. And I expect you to take it like a good girl.”
Despite your exhaustion, despite the lingering sensitivity from two powerful orgasms, you feel a fresh surge of arousal at his words.
Caleb believes your body is capable of more pleasure than you ever imagined, and you find yourself desperately wanting to prove him right.
“Yes, ge ge,” you whisper, spreading your legs wider in renewed invitation. “Whatever you want.”
“Let me help you with that position,” Caleb murmurs, noticing how your arms are starting to shake from the effort of holding your knees to your chest.
His eyes narrow in concentration, and you feel the familiar weightless sensation as his gravity evol activates. The invisible force takes hold of your legs, pulling them back and up until you’re completely exposed, folded nearly in half in what you vaguely recognize as a mating press.
“Caleb!” you gasp, surprised by the sudden use of his ability. Your legs hover in the air, held firmly by his power, leaving your hands free to grip the sheets instead.
“Perfect,” he says, satisfaction evident in his tone as he admires his handiwork. “Now I can really see everything.”
His three fingers remain inside you, stretching you open in a way that’s become almost comfortable after your second orgasm. But when he slowly begins to withdraw them, you feel a pang of emptiness, a protest forming on your lips.
“Don’t worry,” Caleb soothes, noticing your expression. “I’m not stopping. Just... adjusting.”
Before you can ask what he means, he’s repositioning his hand. Your eyes widen as you watch him press his three fingers together, and then—to your shock—add his pinky to the formation.
“Wait,” you breathe, sudden anxiety fluttering in your chest. “Four? Isn’t that too many?”
Caleb’s eyes meet yours, his expression serious despite the hunger darkening his gaze. “Do you want me to stop?”
You consider the question, genuinely weighing your answer. Your body feels stretched already from three fingers, sensitive from two powerful orgasms.
And yet... there’s a part of you that craves more, that wants to know just how much pleasure—how much of Caleb—you can take.
“No,” you finally answer, your voice small but determined. “Don’t stop. Just... go slow.”
Pride flashes across his features, followed by a tenderness that makes your heart ache. “Always so brave for me,” he murmurs, then returns his attention to the task at hand.
The pressure is immediate and intense as he begins to push all four fingers against your entrance. Despite your abundant wetness, despite your body’s previous accommodation of three fingers, this new intrusion feels impossible at first.
The stretch burns, drawing a hiss from between your clenched teeth as your body fights the invasion.
“Breathe,” Caleb reminds you, his free hand stroking your inner thigh soothingly. “Relax and let me in.”
You try to follow his instructions, forcing your muscles to unclench, focusing on your breathing as he maintains steady, gentle pressure.
Tears spring to your eyes—not from pain exactly, but from the overwhelming sensation of being stretched beyond what you thought possible.
“That’s it,” Caleb encourages as your body slowly yields, allowing the tip of his four fingers to slip past your entrance. “Opening up for me. Taking everything I give you.”
A tear escapes, rolling down your temple as you stare up at the ceiling, overwhelmed by the fullness. Caleb notices immediately, concern flashing across his features.
“Too much?” he asks, stilling his hand. “We can stop—“
“No,” you gasp, shaking your head frantically. “Don’t you dare stop. It’s just a lot.”
He holds his position, not pushing deeper but not withdrawing either, giving your body time to adjust to the considerable stretch.
Just as you’re about to tell him to continue, to push deeper, Caleb does something unexpected.
Leaning forward, he gathers saliva in his mouth, then deliberately spits directly onto your exposed pussy where it’s stretched around his fingers.
The action is so lewd that it momentarily startles you out of your discomfort. You watch, transfixed, as the glistening glob of his saliva lands on your swollen flesh, immediately mixing with your own arousal.
“What—“ you begin, but your question dies in your throat as Caleb uses his thumb to spread his spit around your stretched entrance, lubricating the tight ring of muscle.
“Need you wetter for this,” he explains, voice rough with arousal. “Want to make sure I don’t hurt you.”
It‘s filthy, degrading even—your brother spitting on your most intimate parts. But you find yourself hypnotized by the path of his saliva as it trickles down to where his fingers are stretching you open, mixing with your own juices before disappearing inside you.
“Your spit,” you whisper, the realization hitting you with unexpected force. “It’s inside me.”
Caleb’s eyes darken at your observation. “That’s right,” he confirms, slowly pushing his fingers deeper now that the extra lubrication has eased the way. “Part of me, inside you. Mixing with your wetness.”
It’s not just his fingers invading you now—it’s his DNA, his essence, mingling with yours in the most intimate way possible.
“Your spit, inside my pussy,” you repeat, the crude words feeling right on your tongue. “Your DNA... mixing with mine.”
Something flashes in Caleb‘s eyes. Understanding, hunger, approval. “You like that idea, don’t you?” he says, pushing his fingers deeper still. “Like having me inside you, becoming part of you.”
You nod, unable to deny the truth of his words. Each thrust of his fingers feels like he’s claiming you from the inside, marking territory that no one else has ever touched, ever will touch.
“Say it,” Caleb commands, his thumb finding your clit as his four fingers work deeper. “Tell me what you’re thinking.”
“I love having you inside me,” you gasp, abandoning all pretense of shame. “Love how you’re stretching me open, filling me with your fingers, your spit. Making me yours.”
Your words spur him on, his movements becoming more confident as your body continues to yield to his invasion. The squelching sounds coming from between your legs grow louder, more obscene with each thrust of his fingers.
“Listen to how fucking wet you are,” Caleb groans, his eyes fixed on where his hand disappears inside you. “Your greedy cunt sucking my fingers in, making those slutty noises.”
Your inner walls clench around his invading fingers, your clit throbbing beneath his thumb as tension builds to an unbearable level.
“Gonna cum,” you warn, voice high and desperate. “Caleb, I’m—I’m—“
“Do it,” he commands, increasing the pressure on your clit. “Cum all over my fingers, Pips. Show me how much you love being stuffed full of me.”
The orgasm that tears through you is different from the previous ones—more intense, more wet. Your back arches sharply despite the restraint of Caleb’s gravity evol, a guttural sound tearing from your throat as pleasure explodes outward from your core.
And then something new happens—fluid gushes from you in a hot rush, spraying around Caleb’s fingers to soak his hand, his wrist, the sheets beneath you.
“Fuck!” Caleb’s eyes widen in delighted shock. “You’re squirting for me. That’s it, baby, let it all out.”
You’ve heard of squirting before but never experienced it—never imagined your body capable of such a response.
Wave after wave of pleasure crashes through you as more fluid pulses from your core, your inner muscles contracting violently around Caleb’s fingers.
“So fucking pretty,” Caleb murmurs, watching in fascination as your body releases in a way it never has before. “Look at you, making a mess all over me. All because of my fingers inside your tight little pussy.”
The intensity of the orgasm leaves you gasping, trembling, tears streaming freely down your temples now.
Caleb’s gravity evol holds you firmly in position even as your body shakes, ensuring you remain spread wide open for his hungry gaze as you ride out the most powerful climax of your life.
The force of your orgasm is so powerful that it actually expels Caleb’s fingers, your pussy contracting with such strength that his four digits slip free in a rush of fluid.
You both look down in shock at the sight—his hand glistening with your release, your pussy clenching around sudden emptiness, more of your arousal trickling from your entrance to pool beneath you on the already soaked sheets.
“Well,” Caleb says after a moment, his surprise giving way to a slow, predatory smile. “That’s a first.”
You blush, embarrassed by your body’s violent reaction. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to—“
“Don’t you dare apologize,” he interrupts, his eyes gleaming with determination rather than disappointment. “That was fucking gorgeous. But I take it as a personal challenge now.”
Before you can ask what he means, Caleb lowers his face toward your exposed center, so close that you can feel his hot breath against your sensitive flesh. To your surprise, he begins speaking—not to you, but to your pussy directly.
“Looks like she wants to talk to me,” he murmurs, his lips nearly brushing against your swollen folds. “Pushing me out like that. But we‘re not done yet, are we? You want more of me inside you, don’t you?”
“Yes,” you whimper, arching your hips toward his face, seeking contact. “Please, more.”
Caleb’s eyes flick up to meet yours, satisfaction evident in his expression. “See? She agrees with me.” His gaze returns to your center, still held open by his gravity evol. “So greedy for me. Can’t get enough.”
His hand moves between your legs again, four fingers pressing together as he aligns them with your entrance. Despite your body’s attempt to expel him moments ago, you find yourself eagerly anticipating his return, your hips pushing forward to meet his touch.
“That’s it,” Caleb encourages as the tips of his fingers breach you again. “Welcome me back inside.”
The reentry is easier this time, your body still loose from before, slick with the combination of your arousal and his saliva.
His four fingers slide in gradually, your inner walls yielding to his invasion with less resistance than before.
When his fingers are fully seated inside you again, Caleb pauses, giving you a moment to adjust to the fullness. His other hand comes up to stroke your lower belly, feeling the slight bulge where his fingers fill you from the inside.
“Can you feel me?” he asks, pressing down gently on your abdomen.
You nod, gasping at the sensation of his fingers shifting inside you from the external pressure. “Yes. So deep.”
A look of intense concentration crosses his features. “Good. Because I’m about to go deeper.”
His hand shifts slightly, and you feel his thumb, which had been resting against your outer lips, begin to move. Instead of circling your clit as it has before, it now presses against your entrance alongside his four fingers.
Your eyes widen as you realize his intention. “Caleb, wait—it's not gonna fit.”
“It will,” he says with absolute certainty. “Your body was made to stretch, to take me. We just need to go slow.” His eyes meet yours, searching. “Don’t you trust me?”
Despite your trepidation, you find yourself nodding. “I do.”
“My perfect little mei mei.” The approval in his voice sends warmth blooming through your chest. “Now, breathe with me. In through your nose, out through your mouth.”
You follow his instructions, focusing on your breathing as Caleb begins to work his thumb in alongside his fingers.
The stretch is immediate and intense, your entrance burning as it struggles to accommodate the widest part of his hand.
“Breathe,” he reminds you when you instinctively tense. “Relax everything. Let me in.”
You force yourself to exhale slowly, consciously relaxing your muscles as Caleb maintains steady, gentle pressure.
It seems impossible—his hand is so much wider than four fingers—but gradually, incrementally, your body yields.
“That’s it,” he murmurs, his voice thick with concentration. “Almost there. You’re doing so well, Pips.”
The moment the widest part of his hand slips past your entrance, the pressure changes. There’s a strange popping sensation, and suddenly his entire fist is inside you, your entrance closing around his wrist like a tight bracelet.
“Holy fuck,” you gasp, eyes wide with disbelief at what your body has just accomplished.
Caleb looks equally amazed, his eyes fixed on the point where your body swallows his hand. “Fuck, Y/N,” he breathes, awe evident in his voice. “You took my whole fist. My perfect little sister.”
He remains perfectly still, allowing you to adjust to the unprecedented invasion. You can feel your inner walls pulsing around his fist, adjusting to his shape from the inside.
“How does it feel?” Caleb asks, his voice gentle despite the extreme act you’re engaged in.
“Full,” you whisper, struggling to find words adequate to describe the sensation. “Like... like you’re part of me now. Inside me completely.”
Your answer draws a groan from him, his eyes darkening further. “That’s exactly what I want,” he confesses. “To be inside you. Part of you.”
The admission sends another pulse of arousal through your core, your inner walls clenching involuntarily around his fist.
“Don’t want you to ever leave,” you admit, the words tumbling out without conscious thought. “Want you inside me forever.”
Slowly, cautiously, he begins to move his hand, not pulling out but rotating his wrist inside you, exploring your depths from a new angle.
“Fuck!” The sensation steals your breath—his knuckles brushing against spots inside you that have never been touched before, the pressure shifting and changing as his fist turns within you. “Caleb, that’s—oh god—“
“Good?” he asks, though the answer is written plainly across your flushed face.
“So good,” you confirm, your hips beginning to move of their own accord, grinding against his wrist as his fist continues its careful exploration of your inner walls. “Please don’t stop.”
As Caleb’s fist works its magic inside you, a new need arises—your clit, neglected since he stopped using his thumb to rub it, throbs with desperate hunger.
Acting on instinct, you reach down, grabbing Caleb’s head and pulling it toward your exposed bud.
He understands immediately, a smile curving his lips as he allows you to guide his mouth to your clit
“Greedy girl,” he murmurs approvingly. “Wants my fist inside her and my mouth on her clit. Taking everything I can give.”
Without further prompting, Caleb seals his lips around your swollen clit, sucking gently as his fist continues its careful rotation inside you.
“Yes!” you cry out, one hand fisting in his hair to hold him in place while the other grips the sheets beneath you. “Right there, don’t stop!”
Caleb responds by increasing the suction on your clit, his tongue flicking rapidly against the sensitive bud while his fist maintains its steady rotation.
His free hand grips your thigh, holding you open as his gravity evol continues to keep your legs suspended in the mating press position.
The combination is overwhelming—too much sensation, too much pleasure for your overworked nervous system to process. A pressure builds low in your abdomen.
“Something’s happening,” you gasp, panic edging into your voice as the pressure increases to almost unbearable levels. “Caleb, I feel—I think I’m going to—“
He lifts his mouth from your clit just long enough to say, “Let go, Pips. Give it to me. All of it.”
His lips return to your clit with renewed hunger, sucking harder while his fist makes a quarter turn inside you, pressing against your front wall.
The shift in pressure is the final push you need—the dam breaks, pleasure exploding outward from your core as fluid gushes from around his wrist in a powerful spray.
Unlike your previous squirting orgasm, this one goes directly into Caleb’s waiting mouth. His eyes widen momentarily in surprise, but he doesn’t pull away—instead, he seals his lips more firmly around your clit, swallowing your release as it pulses from you in rhythmic waves.
Watching him slurp up your juices like a man dying of thirst while his whole damn fist is still buried deep in your guts has you cumming so hard you think you might actually pass out.
“Caleb, Caleb, Caleb,” you chant, his name the only coherent thought your overwhelmed brain can produce as your body continues to convulse around his fist.
Tears stream freely down your temples now—not from pain but from the sheer intensity of the pleasure consuming you.
When the final pulses of your orgasm begin to fade, Caleb gently releases your clit from between his lips.
His chin glistens with your release, his eyes almost black with hunger and satisfaction as he looks up at you from between your trembling thighs.
“Fucking perfect,” he murmurs, pressing a gentle kiss to your oversensitive clit before resting his cheek against your inner thigh. “Taking my whole fist and squirting in my mouth. Such a good girl for me.”
His praise washes over you like a warm blanket, soothing the raw vulnerability of what you‘ve just experienced.
You lie there, trembling and spent, his fist still buried inside you, his gravity evol still holding your legs open, feeling more completely possessed—and more completely satisfied—than you’ve ever been in your life.
“I need to take my hand out now,” Caleb says gently, his fist still buried deep inside you. “Try to stay relaxed for me.”
His wrist moves, rotating slightly as he begins the careful process of withdrawal. The sensation is strange—your body both reluctant to release him and grateful for the relief from the intense fullness.
As the widest part of his hand reaches your entrance, you feel a momentary resistance before your body yields once more, his fist slipping free with a wet, obscene sound that echoes in the quiet room.
You gasp at the sudden emptiness, your pussy clenching around nothing as it adjusts to his absence.
Caleb’s eyes remain fixed between your legs, his expression a mixture of pride and fascination as he observes what he’s done to you.
“Need to see,” he murmurs, bringing both hands to your center. His thumbs hook at the edges of your entrance, gently pulling you open to examine the aftermath of his invasion. “Fuck, you’re so pretty here. All pink and swollen for me.”
The cool air hits your exposed inner walls, making you shiver as Caleb spreads you wider, tilting his head for a better view.
Before you can respond, he’s burying his face between your legs again, his tongue delving into your sensitive opening.
Despite your exhaustion, despite the oversensitivity from multiple orgasms, your body responds to his ministrations with a weak pulse of renewed arousal.
Caleb doesn’t try to build you toward another climax—he simply laps at your folds with broad, gentle strokes, cleaning the evidence of your pleasure from your skin.
His eyes close in apparent bliss as he tastes you, drowning himself in your juices one final time.
“Mmm,” he hums against you, the vibration sending tiny aftershocks through your oversensitive flesh. “Could eat this pussy forever.”
Your body twitches under his attention, caught between pleasure and discomfort as he continues his gentle feast. You reach down, fingers tangling in his hair in a gesture that’s half encouragement, half plea for mercy.
Understanding your wordless communication, Caleb gives your pussy one final, reverent kiss before pulling away.
His face is a mess—chin and cheeks slick with your release, lips swollen from sucking your clit. He looks debauched, wild, yet somehow more satisfied than you’ve ever seen him despite having received no direct pleasure himself.
With a final glance at your well-used center, Caleb sits back on his heels. He examines his right hand—the one that was just buried inside you—with something like wonder, turning it in the light to observe how it glistens with your arousal.
“Look what you did to me,” he says, but there’s no accusation in his tone—only pride and satisfaction. He makes no move to clean his hand immediately, seemingly content to wear your essence on his skin like a badge of honor.
Finally, he wipes his hand on his t-shirt, leaving dark wet streaks across the fabric.
“You did so fucking well,” Caleb praises, his voice thick with genuine admiration as he releases his gravity evol, carefully lowering your legs from their suspended position. “Taking my whole fist like that. Squirting all over my face. Such a good, perfect girl for me.”
The release of his evol sends blood rushing back to your legs, pins and needles prickling along your thighs as circulation returns.
Caleb notices your discomfort immediately, his hands moving to massage your calves and thighs with firm, confident strokes that ease the sensation.
“Sorry about that,” he murmurs, working the stiffness from your muscles with practiced ease. “Kept you folded up for too long.”
“It’s okay,” you assure him, your voice raspy from crying out during your orgasms. “Felt good being held open like that. For you.”
He leans forward, covering your body with his larger frame. His mouth finds yours in a kiss that tastes of salt and musk—your own essence transferred from his lips to yours.
The kiss is surprisingly tender given the filthy acts you’ve just performed, his hands cradling your face as if you’re something infinitely precious.
When he pulls back from your lips, his mouth doesn‘t leave your skin. Instead, he begins trailing kisses down your jaw, your neck, your collarbone—each press of his lips gentle but insistent, marking a path across your body.
“Mine,” he whispers against your throat before sucking hard enough to leave a mark—a visible reminder of his claim on you. “All mine.”
His mouth continues its journey, leaving a constellation of small hickeys across your skin—some in places easily hidden, others deliberately placed where they’ll be visible to anyone who looks at you.
“Everyone should know,” he murmurs against the tender spot where your neck meets your shoulder. “That you belong to someone.”
You wrap your arms around him, holding him close as he continues marking you with his mouth. Your body thrums with satisfied exhaustion, every muscle loose and heavy in the aftermath of such intense pleasure.
“How do you feel?” Caleb asks eventually, propping himself up on one elbow to look down at your face. His expression is soft now, concern replacing the hunger that drove him minutes before.
You consider the question, taking stock of your body—the pleasant soreness between your legs, the sensitivity of your well-used flesh, the lingering tremors of satisfaction still pulsing through your core.
But most of all, you notice the absence of the frustration that plagued you this morning, the dissatisfaction that led you to challenge Caleb in the first place.
“Complete,” you answer finally, the word encompassing everything you’re feeling. “Like you filled a space inside me I didn’t know was empty.”
“Thank you,” you whisper, pressing a kiss to his palm.
Caleb smiles—that rare, genuine smile that transforms his entire face, the one reserved only for you.
“No, Pips,” he corrects gently. “Thank you for trusting me. For letting me be the one to show you everything your body is capable of feeling.”
⁀➴☕︎ | Papa!Caleb won't stand for his son disrespecting his wife
"Hey" You greet your son, ignoring the bag he's just flung onto the couch as he storms into the kitchen "How was your day?"
"What do you think?" He snaps, coming to stand across from you around the island "Everyone- and I mean, everyone went to the concert last night! No no-" He retraces his words, shaking his head "Not everyone because I was stuck at some dumb airshow I didn't even want to go to!"
You sigh, one of long suffering as you come around to put a hand on his shoulder "Hon, we talked about this. Your Dad was being commended at the event and as family, if we didn't go-"
Your son's obviously not listening to reason as he goes on, shrugging your arm off "Yeah? Well, then you should've gone alone! Do you know what it was like to sit there and hear everyone talk about what a great night it was and how much fun they had?" Flinging his arms around, he huffs "Steven even got to go backstage and grab signed posters"
Your usually sweet boy behaving in such a flippant manner was surprising but then again, going to highschool and adjusting to the workload obviously was not easy on him and you were trying your best to be understanding "How about next time they're in town, I'll get you VIP tickets?"
"God knows when that will be" He rolls his eyes, scoffing as he pulls off his hoodie "I'm sick and tired of missing out. You won't let me join the summer camp, I can't apply for the exchange program and I didn't even bother asking if I could participate in the annual fest because-" Making air quotes and twisting his face in a sneer, he spits out "-I have curfew"
Your brows furrow at that, frown pulling at your lips "Why wouldn't you sign up for that? We'd have given you permission and even swung by to check out the scene"
"Because you never let me do anything! I can't stay out a minute past my curfew without getting grounded. I have to trade in schoolwork for free time because you guys are too wound up. Cut me some fucking slack, Mom"
"Language" You immediately snap, like a reflex, and your son's face twisting further into annoyance is clear indication that you're proving his point "We let you do tons of other things, alright? Just because we have some non-negotiables doesn't mean we're being too much"
"Like what?" He's getting agitated by the second, voice pitching higher as a vein protrudes on his temple. And in that moment, with his amethyst orbs glinting with anger, he looked like a spitting image of his Father, almost making you do a double take.
"We took you to that gaming event you wanted to go to! And and- bought you the Lego set you wanted" Sighing, you step closer to him again and put your arm around his shoulders this time "You know we just care about your safety and that's why we want you home on time. When you go to college, you'll have all the freedom to do whatever you want. Is it so bad that we want our son to spend time with us right now?"
Slapping your arm away, your son picks up his hoodie from where he'd tossed it, seething in a scalding voice "Ever wondered if I wanna spend time with you, Mom? I'm kinda sick of you guys"
You can still feel the sting on your skin from where he'd slapped it away. Looking into his enraged eyes, you want to be patient with him, understand that it's coming from a place of burnout and stress with a heavy dose of feeling left out. But you can't help the hurt seeping into your bones at his flippant behavior, wondering when it became okay for him to dismiss your feelings.
He's brushing past you but stops short and even steps back. Not because he heard the sniffle you'd tried to suppress but because someone else had.
"Hey, buddy? Disrespect my wife again and you and I will cease having any blood relations till I put you in your place"
You hadn't even heard Caleb come in. But suddenly the entire room filled with his presence. Especially with the words he'd just delivered to his son, speaking in a tone so low that it was more threatening than if he had yelled.
"Now apologize to her immediately and never, ever speak to her like that again. You hear me?"
You want to tell him to stop. That you know your son was going through a rough patch and all teenagers behaved this way but you were too busy trying to hold the tears in to interrupt. Next to you, your son looks visibly pale. Sure, he admired and respected his Dad and almost never suffered any dire consequences for any mistakes he made but to see his father so visibly vibrating with the effort it took to suppress his anger, he was terrified.
When he fails to respond, Caleb's voice claps into the room like a lightning strike "Speak up, did you hear me?"
"Yes, sir" Your son is also on the verge of tears as he turns to you "I'm sorry, Mom"
You're about to respond but Caleb cuts in "Good. You're grounded for two weeks and will hand in your phone every night before bed. Is that clear?"
"Yes, sir"
"Go to your room and tidy up. I'll be with you in a minute, we're going to address this little behavior properly" Your son has never faced his father's wrath this way and is desperate to make amends as he grabs your arm so you could shield him away like you always did.
Caleb's eyes drop to his trembling arms and he pulls you back against him, making him let go of you "No. You don't get to speak to her like that and use her as your defense too. She'll forgive you when she wants to"
You almost want to comfort your son when you see the kicked puppy look in his eyes as he sniffles, moving past you both to go upstairs and await further scolding.
For a long moment after he leaves, neither you nor Caleb move. He's still got his arm wrapped around your shoulder and after a tense moment, you lean into him "When did you get home?"
"Just in time to hear enough. We didn't raise him to be ungrateful like that. I almost threw him out of the house"
"Caleb-"
"No, Pips. He needs to learn that just because his Mother pampers him, he can't get away with talking to you like that" Turning you in his arms, Caleb bends to your eyelevel "And you need to stop letting him"
"He's just a little boy. Our little boy. You know he's had trouble adjusting since we moved last year. He's right, maybe we should cut him some slack"
"We can do that without excusing the disrespect" Kissing your shoulder, Caleb straightens "Let me talk to him, alright?"
He's about to walk away when you grab his arm "No matter what conclusion you come to, my son is not sleeping outside as punishment"
Smiling, Caleb presses a quick kiss into your hair "I'll try" When you give him a stern look, he laughs "I promise I'll try to be more...lenient"
You hear his footfalls on the staircase, a quick knock followed by the quiet thump of the door closing. As you start prepping for dinner, you relax more. Caleb pampered his son just as much, if not more. You trusted him enough to know he'd handle the situation with care.
You're putting the lid on the pot and clearing out the space when you feel arms around your waist, hugging you tightly from behind as your son sniffles against your back "I'm really sorry, Mom. I'll do better from here on out"
Smiling, you turn to hug him back "I'm really glad to hear that and-" You pull back till he's looking at you, nose red and eyes slightly puffy that indicated that he really did feel awful "-I forgive you, okay? Don't beat yourself up over it anymore" You squeeze him tightly once again and ruffle his hair before kissing his head "Now go freshen up before dinner"
He's exiting the kitchen, nodding at Caleb who was leaning against the doorway watching the entire exchange. Once he's gone, Caleb takes his place and wraps his arms around you, sighing deeply into your hair and making you laugh.
"How'd it go? I'm guessing good?"
"Hardest thing I've had to do in my life" Caleb admits as you run your fingers through his hair, patting his back while he tightened his arms around you "Thank God we didn't raise a troublemaker though I did promise we'll revisit the discussion for summer camp"
"You handled it well" You praise as Caleb pulls back to look at you, your fingers mussing up his hair into that cute, dorky look you'd first fallen in love with "Really well" At your conspicuous grin, your husband's eyebrows nearly touch his hairline when your fingers start twisting in his shirt "No one gets away with disrespecting your wife, huh?"
Caleb's fingers reach under your shirt, drawing patterns on your skin as he pulls you closer "You're my wife before you're his mother. He needs to learn that" Kissing your jaw, he nips at the skin as he whispers "So yes, nobody talks to my wife like that without facing consequences"
"Nobody?" You grin up at him.
Lowering his mouth against yours, Caleb's also grinning "Some of us have special privileges-" You jump when you hear your son's bedroom door shut again, trying to pull out of your husband's grip but he's insistent "Relax, babe. He knows how he was made and that the stock story isn't true"
Swatting his arm, you chastise "Caleb!" You're trying to escape his hold but it's hard to remember why you want to when he's got his hands on you like this and is kissing that secret spot under your ear like that "He could come downstairs at any time and- and...and dinner- oh"
Caleb's smirk is marred into your skin as he's bending your back over the counter "If we can make a baby when I'm D-12 minutes away from being wheels up, then this should be a piece of cake, right?"
synopsis: You ran from your arranged marriage in a torn white wedding dress, desperate to escape the cruel lord your family sold you to. By midnight, you’re on your knees in front of the village butcher, begging for shelter.
Toji Fushiguro doesn’t help runaways.
But when you blurt out that he’s your husband in front of the biggest gossips in town, suddenly the whole village believes you’re his. Now you’re trapped in a fake marriage with the terrifying butcher — a massive, rough, possessive man who has decided that if you’re going to call yourself his wife… he’s going to make it very, very real.
pairing: butcher!toji fushiguro x runaway bride!reader
mdni | warnings: smut, first time, size kink, breeding kink, creampie, cum play, rough sex, possessive/jealous Toji, dirty talk, spanking, manhandling, strength kink, overstimulation, oral (f receiving), fingering, spitting, multiple orgasms, multiple positions, fake marriage
word count: 14.8k
a/n: im kinda obsessed with this ngl... also lmk if your enjoying these longer fics!
The great hall of your family estate felt more like a tomb than a place of celebration.
Thick beams of dark oak loomed overhead, and the air was heavy with the greasy smell of over-roasted venison, spilled sour wine, and your father’s desperation. Two massive iron chandeliers flickered with dying candles, casting long, distorted shadows that danced across the walls. Servants had long since been dismissed, leaving only the three of you: your father, Lord Kato, and you — the silent prize being traded away.
Your father slumped in his carved high-backed chair, cheeks bloated and flushed deep red from too much drink. His once-fine tunic was stained with grease and wine. With a trembling hand, he slid the sealed parchment across the table. The wax bore your family’s broken crest.
“She’s untouched,” he slurred, trying and failing to sound proud. “Barely nineteen summers. Fertile. She’ll give you strong sons, I swear it. Obedient when properly disciplined. This marriage settles every debt between our houses — the gold, the eastern lands, the failed harvests… all of it wiped clean.”
Lord Kato sat across from him like a spider in human skin. Tall and unnaturally pale, with sharp cheekbones and eyes the color of frozen ink. His lips curled into a thin, cruel smile as he let his gaze crawl over your body without shame. He studied the swell of your breasts beneath your gown, the narrow dip of your waist, the way your hands clenched into fists at your sides. The way you trembled.
He took a slow sip of wine, then spoke, voice smooth and cold as winter steel.
“She’ll do nicely. The ceremony will take place tomorrow night at my estate. I expect her delivered in the finest white lace and silk… and nothing beneath it.” His smile widened, revealing teeth that seemed too sharp. “I want easy access the moment the guests leave. I’ve waited long enough for my new bride.”
You stood motionless in the center of the hall, heart pounding so violently you could hear it in your ears. Your skin crawled as if his eyes were already peeling the gown from your body. Nausea twisted in your stomach. This man had already buried three wives. Whispers spoke of bruises, broken bones, and screams that echoed through his halls at night. And now your own father was selling you to him for coin and land.
No one asked if you agreed.
No one asked what you wanted.
No one ever had.
You kept your face blank, eyes lowered like the obedient daughter they expected, while inside your mind screamed.
Later that night, when the household finally fell into drunken slumber and the torches burned low, you moved.
You had planned this in secret for weeks. A plain dark wool cloak stolen from the stables. A small bundle of hard bread, dried cheese, and a waterskin. Soft leather shoes you hoped would last. But the most valuable thing you owned was the wedding gown itself. You had decided to wear the half-finished white dress during your escape — the expensive satin and delicate lace might fetch enough coins in a distant village to buy you passage far away from here. It was risky, but you had nothing else of real value.
You slipped out through the narrow servant’s entrance at the back of the kitchens, the heavy door groaning softly behind you like a warning. The moment your feet touched the cold, dew-soaked grass, terror and fragile hope surged through you in equal measure.
You ran.
The forest swallowed you whole.
Ancient trees loomed like silent judges, their branches clawing at your white gown as if trying to drag you back. The delicate satin — still only half-finished, with pins and loose threads — snagged mercilessly on thorns. You heard fabric tearing again and again: sharp rips that sounded far too loud in the darkness. The long lace veil caught on a low limb and nearly yanked you off your feet; you tore it free with shaking hands, leaving half of it fluttering behind you like a surrendered flag. Mud and wet leaves caked your bare feet. Sharp stones and roots sliced into your soles until every step left bloody prints in the dirt. The cold night air burned your lungs. Sweat soaked your back and chest despite the chill, making the torn gown cling obscenely to your skin. Your legs screamed with exhaustion after only an hour, but fear kept you moving. Behind you, distant shouts echoed through the trees — your father’s guards, torches flickering like angry fireflies. Dogs barked. They were coming.
You pushed harder.
Branches whipped your face, leaving stinging cuts across your cheeks. Your hair fell loose from its elegant pins, wild and tangled. Tears streamed down your face, mixing with blood and dirt. Every shadow looked like a man ready to grab you. Every snap of a twig made your heart seize. You ran until your vision blurred and your chest felt like it would burst. You ran until the shouts grew fainter and the trees finally began to thin.
Hours had passed. The moon hung high and merciless overhead, bathing the world in cold silver light. Your legs trembled violently as you stumbled out of the treeline onto a wide, muddy road. In the distance, warm golden lantern light glowed between clusters of simple wooden buildings. A village.
You nearly collapsed with relief.
The main street was deserted, shutters closed tight against the night. Only one building still showed signs of life. Warm light spilled from its open front door onto the dirt road, carrying with it the thick, metallic scent of fresh blood and raw meat. A weathered wooden sign creaked overhead in the cold breeze:
Fushiguro Meat Co.
You limped toward it, every cut and bruise screaming.
A massive man stood under the wooden awning, illuminated by the lantern light. He was enormous — broad as a barn door, easily over six feet tall, with shoulders and arms so thick with muscle they looked carved from stone. He wore a blood-streaked leather apron tied low on his narrow hips. Beneath it, a simple white tank clung to his sweat-slicked chest, the thin fabric molded to heavy slabs of muscle and dark, scattered scars. His black hair was damp and messy, strands falling across his forehead. A deep, jagged scar twisted the corner of his mouth, giving his face a permanent, dangerous smirk even when he wasn’t smiling.
Thick veins stood out on his forearms as he slowly wiped a long, wicked boning knife clean on the edge of his apron. The blade gleamed.
He looked like violence given human shape — raw, brutal, and utterly terrifying.
You didn’t know his name. You didn’t know anything about him except that he was the only soul still awake, and you were completely out of options.
Your legs gave out the final few steps. You dropped hard to your knees in the cold dirt right in front of him, the torn white satin of your ruined wedding gown pooling around you like spilled milk mixed with blood and mud. Your chest heaved. Fresh tears cut clean tracks down your filthy cheeks.
“Please—” Your voice came out cracked and hoarse, barely more than a whisper. “Hide me. Just for one night. My family… they sold me to Lord Kato to settle their debts. He’s going to break me. Hurt me in ways I can’t even speak of. I’ll do anything you ask — scrub floors until my hands bleed, haul carcasses, sleep in the cold room with the meat, be your servant, your cleaner… anything. Just please… don’t let them take me back.”
You bowed your head, trembling, and clutched desperately at the bloody hem of his apron with both hands, staining your fingers red.
The man stopped moving. He looked down at you slowly, sharp green eyes narrowing as they took in every detail: your torn and filthy wedding dress, the cuts on your face and feet, the desperate tears, the way you knelt before him like a supplicant before a god of slaughter.
He flicked the long knife shut with a loud, metallic click that echoed in the quiet street.
“Not my problem, princess,” he rumbled. His voice was deep, low, and rough — like gravel being dragged across stone. There was no pity in it. “I don’t hide runaways. Go beg somewhere else before you bring trouble to my shop.”
You stayed on your knees, fingers still twisted tight in the bloody hem of his apron. Tears kept falling, mixing with the dirt on your cheeks. “Please… I have nowhere else. They’ll find me by morning. Lord Kato will—”
Footsteps. Soft, quick, coming from the narrow alley beside the butcher shop.
Three women emerged into the lantern light, their shawls pulled tight against the night chill, each carrying a small lantern. They stopped short at the sight of you kneeling in your ruined white gown in front of the massive butcher.
“Gods above,” the tallest one gasped. “Is that a wedding dress? Child, what in the world happened to you?”
The women hurried closer, lanterns swinging. Warm golden light spilled over your torn satin, the mud-caked hem, the blood from his apron smeared across your bodice and hands. One of the younger women pressed a hand to her mouth. “She’s bleeding… and look at her feet!”
You looked down at yourself — the once-beautiful dress now filthy and shredded — then up at the stranger towering over you. His green eyes were narrowed in clear irritation, jaw clenched like he was seconds away from shoving you into the street and bolting the door.
A wild, desperate plan came to your mind.
You pushed yourself up on shaky legs, ignoring the sharp pain in your cut feet. Before he could step away, you grabbed his large, calloused hand with both of yours, clinging desperately. His palm was warm, rough, and still faintly sticky with dried blood.
Turning to the three women with the most exhausted yet radiant smile you could force, you announced clearly:
“This is my husband.”
The words rang in the quiet night air.
The women froze.
You kept going, voice trembling but determined. “We were married in secret this evening. My family didn’t approve — they tried to sell me off to a cruel lord to settle their debts. So I ran away through the forest to reach him. The dress… it got ruined on the way, but I’m here now. I’m exactly where I belong.”
Silence stretched for a heartbeat.
Then the women erupted.
“The butcher got married?!” the tallest one exclaimed, eyes wide. “Toji Fushiguro actually took a wife? I never thought I’d live to see the day!”
One of the younger women clapped her hands together, beaming. “Look at her, even all torn up she’s lovely! Brave thing, running through the woods in the middle of the night just to get to her husband.”
The third woman laughed warmly. “We’ll bring fresh bread and some stew first thing in the morning for you newlyweds. Can’t have Toji’s new wife going hungry on her first day here!”
Toji.
So that was his name. Toji Fushiguro.
You felt the man — Toji — stiffen beside you. His massive hand twitched hard in your grip, muscles flexing like he was fighting the urge to rip free and deny everything. His sharp green eyes burned into the side of your face, dark with fury and silent threat. But the women were watching excitedly. The whole village would know the story by sunrise if he contradicted you now.
You squeezed his hand tighter, nails digging into his skin in a silent, desperate plea. Please. Just play along.
Toji’s scarred jaw flexed. A low, dangerous growl rumbled deep in his chest. For one terrifying second you thought he might expose you.
Then, in the flattest, most reluctant voice you had ever heard, he grunted:
“…Yeah. She’s mine now. Wife.”
The women squealed with delight. They offered more congratulations, promised gifts for the “newlyweds,” and finally bustled away down the dark street, lanterns bobbing and their voices already carrying the juicy news.
The moment their footsteps faded, Toji’s grip turned bruising. He yanked you forward so hard you stumbled against his broad, solid chest, then dragged you roughly through the open door of the butcher shop. The heavy oak door slammed shut behind you with a resounding thud that rattled the walls.
Inside, the air was thick and heavy — cold iron, raw meat, woodsmoke, and the faint metallic tang of fresh blood. A single lantern burned low on the wooden counter, casting long, flickering shadows over heavy chopping blocks, hanging meat hooks, and rows of sharp knives.
Toji spun you around and shoved your back against the closed door. One thick, powerful forearm braced beside your head, completely caging you in. His massive body loomed over yours, heat rolling off him in waves. The scent of blood, sweat, and raw masculinity filled your lungs.
His green eyes were dark with fury… and something much darker, much hungrier.
“What the fuck was that?” he snarled, voice low and lethal. “You just told half the goddamn village you’re my wife. You got any idea what you’ve done, little runaway?”
Your heart slammed against your ribs. You could feel the hard press of his chest against yours, the sheer size of him making you feel tiny and trapped.
“It was the only way,” you whispered, breathing fast. “They would’ve dragged me back to Lord Kato by morning if they knew the truth. Now they think I belong to you. No one will question it. Please… just let me stay the night. I’ll disappear at dawn, I swear it.”
Toji stared down at you for a long, heavy moment. His scarred mouth twisted into a slow, dangerous smirk. His free hand came up and gripped your chin firmly, tilting your face up so you had no choice but to meet his intense green eyes.
“Disappear?” he growled, thumb pressing hard into your jaw. “Too late for that, princess. You just tied yourself to me in front of witnesses.”
He leaned in closer, so close his breath ghosted hot across your lips. His voice dropped even lower, rough and full of promise.
“You owe me now. Big time.”
His gaze dragged slowly down your body — over the torn white lace barely clinging to your curves, the bloodstains, the way your chest heaved with fear and adrenaline. He just held you there, pinned against the door, letting the heavy tension coil tighter and tighter between you.
“Upstairs,” he finally ordered, voice like gravel. “Now. We’re gonna have a long talk about what you just got yourself into.”
Toji didn’t give you time to argue.
His massive hand clamped around your upper arm like a steel band and he hauled you away from the door. You stumbled after him on aching, bleeding feet as he dragged you through the back of the shop. The scent of raw meat grew thicker near the cold room, but he turned toward a narrow wooden staircase tucked behind a heavy curtain.
“Move,” he growled when you hesitated at the bottom step.
You climbed. Each step sent fresh pain shooting up your legs, but you bit your lip and kept going. Toji followed close behind, his heavy boots loud on the old wood, one hand still gripping your arm so you couldn’t possibly run.
The stairs opened directly into a small, sparse apartment above the butcher shop. It was surprisingly clean for a man who spent his days covered in blood. A single main room served as both living space and kitchen — a sturdy wooden table with two chairs, a stone hearth with dying embers, a few shelves holding jars of preserved meat and dried herbs. A narrow hallway led to what you assumed were the bedroom and washroom. Moonlight spilled through two small windows, painting everything in cool silver.
Toji kicked the door at the top of the stairs shut behind him and finally released your arm. You immediately backed up a few steps, the torn hem of your wedding dress whispering across the floorboards.
He folded his thick arms across his broad chest, blood-stained apron still tied around his waist, and stared at you like you were a problem he was deciding how to carve up.
“Start talking,” he said flatly. “And don’t leave anything out. Who the fuck are you, why is a lord hunting you, and why the hell did you decide to drag me into your mess?”
You swallowed hard, still catching your breath. You introduced yourself by name, then continued quietly, “My family is in debt. Deep debt. They sold me to Lord Kato yesterday to settle it. He’s a cruel man. Three wives before me, and none of them lasted long. He told my father in front of me what he plans to do on our wedding night.” Your voice cracked. “I couldn’t stay. I ran in the only thing of value I had — this dress. I thought maybe I could sell it in a village for enough coin to disappear.”
Toji’s green eyes flicked over the ruined white lace clinging to your body — torn, muddy, bloodstained. He let out a low, humorless snort.
“And instead of keeping your mouth shut and hiding somewhere quiet, you decided the best plan was to announce to the biggest gossips in the village that you’re married to the local butcher.” He took one heavy step closer. “You realize what you’ve done?”
You nodded quickly. “They won’t hand me over now. Not if they think I belong to you. The whole village will protect the butcher’s wife… right?”
Toji laughed — a short, dark sound that sent a shiver down your spine.
“Protect?” He shook his head. “You just painted a target on my back too, princess. Lord Kato isn’t the type to let his property run off. When he comes looking — and he will come looking — he’s going to hear all about how the village butcher stole his bride.”
He dragged a large hand down his face, clearly pissed off, but there was something else in his expression now. A glint of dark amusement. Maybe even reluctant interest.
“You’re either the bravest idiot I’ve ever met… or the most cunning.”
You stood there trembling in the middle of his living room, arms wrapped around yourself. The torn bodice of the dress had slipped dangerously low on your shoulders, but you didn’t dare fix it.
“I’ll leave at first light,” you promised again, softer this time. “I won’t cause you any more trouble. Just… let me stay until sunrise. Please, Toji.”
Hearing his name from your lips made his eyes narrow.
“Don’t,” he warned. “You don’t get to say my name like we’re actually married.”
He turned away from you and walked over to the small hearth. He crouched down, added two fresh logs, and stoked the fire back to life with practiced efficiency. The warm orange glow slowly filled the room, chasing away some of the chill.
When he stood again, he looked even bigger in the firelight — shoulders impossibly wide, muscles shifting under the thin tank top, the scar at his mouth pulling as he scowled.
“Sit,” he ordered, nodding toward one of the wooden chairs at the table. “You’re bleeding all over my floor.”
You obeyed, lowering yourself carefully onto the chair. The moment you sat, exhaustion crashed into you like a wave. Your feet throbbed. Every cut and bruise ached. You were filthy, terrified, and running on nothing but fear and adrenaline.
Toji disappeared down the short hallway and returned a minute later with a metal basin, a clean rag, and a small jar. He set the basin on the floor in front of you, then dropped into the chair across the table, watching you with those sharp green eyes.
“Clean your feet,” he said gruffly. “I’m not carrying you around if they get infected.”
You dipped the rag into the water and started wiping away the mud and blood as carefully as you could. The silence stretched between you, thick and heavy. The fire crackled. Outside, the village was completely quiet.
Toji leaned back in his chair, arms crossed again, studying you like livestock.
“You really think this marriage story is gonna hold?” he asked after a long minute. “Village folk love to talk. By noon tomorrow everyone’s gonna want to meet my mysterious bride.”
You kept your eyes on your injured feet. “I just need a day or two to figure out where to go next. I can… I can work. I’m not useless. I can clean, cook, help in the shop—”
Toji’s low chuckle cut you off.
“You? Working in a butcher shop?” He shook his head. “You look like you’ve never touched anything bloodier than a sewing needle in your life.”
He watched you struggle to clean a deep cut on your sole for another moment before he made an irritated sound and leaned forward.
“Give me your foot.”
You hesitated.
“Now,” he growled.
You slowly lifted your leg. Toji took your ankle in his huge, rough hand — surprisingly gentle despite the calluses and dried blood on his fingers. He pulled the basin closer and started cleaning your wounds himself with careful, efficient movements.
The contrast was jarring: this terrifying mountain of a man, covered in someone else’s blood, carefully tending to your torn-up feet.
“You’re staying the night,” he said quietly, not looking up from his work. “Not because I’m kind. Because if I throw you out now, those three hens will ask questions I don’t feel like answering. Tomorrow we figure out what the hell to do with you.”
He finished cleaning one foot and moved to the other. His thumb brushed accidentally over a sensitive spot and you hissed softly.
Toji’s eyes flicked up to your face for a second, something unreadable flashing across his expression.
“After that…” He set your foot down carefully and leaned back again, voice dropping into a low, dangerous rumble. “You’re gonna start paying off the trouble you just caused me.”
He didn’t explain what that meant.
But the way he was looking at you — slow, heavy, possessive — made heat crawl up your neck despite the fear.
Toji held your gaze for another long moment before he finally released your ankle. He pushed the basin aside with his boot and stood, towering over you once more. The firelight danced across the hard lines of his face, catching on the jagged scar at the corner of his mouth.
“Stay there,” he muttered.
He disappeared into the back room again. You heard the sound of water splashing, then heavy footsteps returning. When he came back, he carried a thick wool blanket and a tin cup. He set the cup in front of you — it was filled with cool water — and dropped the blanket over the back of your chair.
“Drink,” he ordered. “You look half-dead.”
You obeyed without thinking, your hands still trembling slightly as you lifted the cup. The water was clean and cold, soothing your raw throat. Toji watched you drink the entire thing, arms crossed, before he spoke again.
You lowered the empty cup. “Thank you… for the water. And for cleaning my feet.”
He made a dismissive sound in the back of his throat, like thanks made him uncomfortable. Then he leaned against the edge of the table, close enough that his thigh nearly brushed your arm.
“You really thought this through?” he asked, voice low. “Running in a fancy white dress, announcing yourself as my wife in front of the nosiest women in the village… What’s your actual plan once the sun comes up?”
You stared down at your bandaged feet. “I didn’t have time for a real plan. I just knew I couldn’t let them marry me off to that monster. I thought if I could get far enough away, maybe sell the dress, I could buy passage on a cart or a boat. Start over somewhere no one knows me.”
Toji exhaled through his nose, almost a laugh but darker. “Selling that dress would’ve gotten you robbed or worse before you even reached the next town. You’re lucky you only made it as far as my doorstep.”
Silence settled again, broken only by the crackling fire. You pulled the blanket tighter around your shoulders, suddenly aware of how exposed you still were — the torn bodice of the wedding gown hanging loosely, the lace ripped in several places, dirt and dried blood streaked across your skin.
Toji’s eyes drifted over you again, slower this time. They lingered on the curve of your shoulder where the dress had slipped, the rise and fall of your chest, the way the white fabric clung to your thighs.
“You look ridiculous,” he said bluntly. “Like a bride who lost a fight with a pack of wolves.”
Despite everything, a tiny, tired smile tugged at your lips. “That’s… not far from the truth.”
He pushed off the table and walked over to a wooden chest in the corner. He rummaged inside and pulled out a large, worn linen shirt — clearly one of his. It looked big enough to reach your knees.
“Here.” He tossed it to you. “Can’t have you walking around my place looking like that. Change. There’s a washroom down the hall if you want to clean up more.”
You clutched the shirt to your chest. “Thank you.”
“Don’t thank me yet,” he warned. “You’re still in my house. Still wearing that damn dress that’s going to bring trouble to my door.”
He turned his back to give you a moment of privacy, busying himself by adding another log to the fire. You quickly stood, wincing at the pain in your feet, and slipped behind the partial wall that separated the washroom. You peeled off the ruined wedding dress with shaking hands, letting the torn fabric pool at your feet. The cool air kissed your bare skin as you pulled Toji’s shirt over your head. It smelled faintly of smoke, soap, and something unmistakably masculine. The hem fell halfway down your thighs.
When you stepped back out, Toji turned around. His eyes darkened the moment they landed on you in his shirt.
“Better,” he grunted, though his voice sounded rougher than before.
He gestured toward the narrow hallway. “Bedroom’s at the end. Only one bed. You take it tonight. I’ll sleep out here.”
You hesitated. “I can sleep on the floor. I’ve already caused enough—”
“Don’t argue,” he cut you off. “My house, my rules. Get some sleep. You look like you’re about to fall over.”
You walked carefully down the short hall, every step still painful. The bedroom was small and simple like the rest of the apartment — a large wooden bed with thick blankets, a single chair, and a window overlooking the dark village street. You climbed onto the bed, pulling the covers over yourself.
Toji appeared in the doorway a minute later, leaning one broad shoulder against the frame. The firelight from the main room silhouetted his massive form.
“Door stays open,” he said. “And don’t even think about sneaking out in the middle of the night. If I have to chase you down, I won’t be in a generous mood.”
You nodded, sinking deeper into the mattress. Exhaustion was pulling at you hard now, but sleep still felt far away with him standing there watching you.
“Toji…” you whispered.
He raised an eyebrow.
“Thank you,” you said again, softer. “For not throwing me out.”
His expression didn’t soften, but something in his eyes shifted. He pushed off the doorframe and turned to leave.
“Get some sleep, runaway,” he muttered. “You’re gonna need it.”
He left the door wide open. You heard him moving around in the main room — the creak of the wooden chair as he sat down, the quiet clink of a cup. The fire continued to crackle.
You lay there in his bed, wrapped in his shirt, the weight of everything that had happened pressing down on you. The fake marriage. The village women who now believed you were his wife. Lord Kato still out there searching. And the terrifying, strangely careful butcher who had just tended to your wounds and given you his bed.
Sleep finally claimed you, but even in your dreams you could still feel the heavy weight of Toji’s gaze on your skin.
You woke to the sound of knocking.
It was loud, cheerful, and relentless — three sharp raps on the shop door downstairs, followed by muffled feminine voices. Sunlight streamed through the small bedroom window, warm and golden. For a brief, disoriented moment you forgot where you were. Then everything crashed back: the forest, the blood-stained butcher, the lie you’d told.
You sat up quickly. Toji’s oversized linen shirt had ridden up your thighs during the night. Your feet still ached, but the bandages held firm. You heard heavy footsteps downstairs, then Toji’s low, irritated growl as he opened the door.
“Morning!” a cheerful woman’s voice called up. “We brought breakfast for the newlyweds! Fresh bread, stew, and honey cakes. Don’t tell us you’re still in bed on your wedding night!”
Another woman giggled. “We’re dying to meet your bride properly!”
Toji’s heavy footsteps came up the stairs. He appeared in the bedroom doorway, looking imposing in the daylight. He wore a clean black tunic stretched tight across his chest, the same blood-stained apron tied around his waist. His hair was messy, jaw set with clear annoyance.
“They’re here,” he said flatly. “Three of them. Loaded with food.”
Your stomach twisted. “What do we do?”
Toji’s green eyes dragged over you — bare legs, wearing nothing but his shirt. Something dark flickered across his face.
“You sold us as newlyweds,” he reminded you, voice low. “So act like it. Smile. Look happy. Keep the story straight.”
He stepped closer and tugged the hem of the shirt down your thighs possessively. “There’s a spare skirt and blouse in the chest. Change. Quickly.”
You moved fast, wincing at the pain in your feet. Toji turned his back while you dressed in the simple dark green skirt and cream blouse. They were a little loose but far more practical.
When you were ready, Toji gave you one last look and jerked his head toward the stairs. “Downstairs. Remember — you’re my wife.”
The three women had already let themselves into the front of the shop. They had laid out a generous spread on the wooden counter: warm bread, a pot of hearty stew, honey cakes, and spiced cider. The moment you appeared behind Toji, their faces lit up.
“Oh, here she is!” the tallest, round-faced woman exclaimed. “Look at you, dear. Much better than last night. I’m Mrs. Sato, by the way! My husband runs the bakery just down the street.” She gestured to the other two. “This is Mira and little Hana.”
The younger women smiled warmly.
“You clean up beautifully,” Mira said. “You already have that newlywed glow!”
You felt heat rise in your cheeks. Toji’s large hand settled heavily on your lower back, warm and claiming.
“Thank you,” you said, offering a shy smile. “You’re all so kind. I’m sorry for how I looked last night… the journey through the forest was harder than I expected.”
Mrs. Sato waved her hand. “No apologies needed! Running away from a bad match to be with the man you love? It’s the most romantic thing to happen in this village in years.”
Toji grunted, his thumb slowly stroking your spine. “Wasn’t exactly planned,” he said dryly. “But here we are.”
The women laughed and chattered while you helped serve the food. They asked how you met, how long you’d been secretly courting, and whether you planned to stay in the village. You answered carefully, sticking close to the story. Toji added short, gruff confirmations, never moving far from your side.
Just as the women were gathering their empty baskets to leave, a loud, sharp knock echoed through the shop.
Knock. Knock. Knock.
This knock was different — heavy, authoritative, and impatient.
Toji’s hand tensed on your back. His expression hardened instantly.
Mrs. Sato glanced toward the door, curious. “Are you expecting more visitors already?”
Toji didn’t answer. He moved toward the door, positioning himself so his broad frame blocked most of the view inside. You stayed behind the counter, heart suddenly hammering.
He opened the door.
Two armed men stood outside, wearing the dark crimson and gold colors of Lord Kato’s household. Swords hung at their hips. Their eyes scanned the interior of the shop coldly.
“We’re searching for a missing girl,” the taller guard announced. “Runaway bride. White wedding dress. She fled the lord’s estate last night. Anyone matching that description come through here?”
The air in the shop grew thick. Mrs. Sato and the other two women turned to look at you with wide eyes, then back at the guards.
Toji’s voice was calm but ice-cold. “No one like that here.”
The second guard tried to peer past him. “Mind if we take a look inside?”
You stayed frozen behind the counter, heart hammering. Before Toji could answer, Mrs. Sato stepped forward with the confidence of someone who had gossiped through every scandal the village had ever seen.
“Oh, for heaven’s sake,” she said brightly, waving a hand. “You boys are wasting your time. That right there is Toji Fushiguro — our butcher for the last fifteen years. We’ve known him since he was a surly teenager dragging whole pigs through these doors!”
Mira immediately jumped in, nodding eagerly. “And he has a wife! They’ve been happily married for two whole years now. We were at their quiet little wedding ourselves. Very romantic.”
Hana clapped her hands together dramatically. “Yes! They’re the sweetest couple. Toji can barely keep his hands off her even when he’s covered in blood. Always canoodling right outside the shop like they’re still courting!”
Mrs. Sato leaned toward the guards like she was sharing precious village lore. “Honestly, if some runaway noble girl in a fancy white dress had shown up here last night, the entire village would’ve known before sunrise. This dear girl has been living above the shop for ages. Helps Toji with the accounts and everything. She’s no fugitive — she’s the butcher’s wife, plain and simple.”
Toji finally moved. He reached back with one thick arm, caught you around the waist, and pulled you forward against his side in one smooth motion. His grip was firm and possessive, his large hand resting heavily on your hip as he held you close.
The guards blinked, clearly thrown by the united front.
The taller one squinted at you. “But the missing girl was wearing a white wedding dress…”
Mira let out a theatrical laugh. “Plenty of white dresses in the world! Our girl here has been wearing plain village clothes for years. Look at her — does she look like some pampered noble who ran away last night?”
Hana nodded vigorously. “Exactly! She even makes the best meat pies in the village. We’d know if she was some lord’s bride.”
The two guards exchanged uncertain glances. Between Toji’s intimidating size, the three women’s absolute certainty, and the perfectly domestic scene in front of them, their suspicion melted away.
The shorter guard cleared his throat. “Seems like a false lead, then. Sorry to bother you folks.”
The taller one gave a reluctant nod. “Apologies for the intrusion. If you hear anything about a girl in a white dress, send word to the lord’s estate.”
Mrs. Sato smiled sweetly. “Of course, dears. Safe travels back!”
The guards turned and walked off down the street without another word.
The moment the door clicked shut, Mrs. Sato burst into laughter and fanned herself. “Well! That was more excitement than we usually get before noon.”
Mira winked at you. “Don’t worry, love. We’ve got your back. No one’s taking the butcher’s wife anywhere.”
Hana grinned. “We’ll spread the word. The whole village will keep an eye out.”
Toji gave them a short, gruff nod. “Appreciate it.”
The women gathered their empty baskets, still buzzing, and finally left with more promises of future visits and gifts.
The shop fell quiet again, morning sunlight streaming peacefully through the windows.
Toji slowly turned to face you. His hand was still on your waist, heavy and warm. For a long moment he just studied you, green eyes dark and intense.
“You’re damn lucky those three are the nosiest women alive,” he muttered. “They just sold that story better than we could’ve.”
He stepped closer, backing you gently against the counter. His voice dropped low, rough around the edges.
“So the whole village’s got our back it seems.” His thumb brushed slowly over your hip bone. “This lie keeps growing. Whole village thinks you’re mine now.”
His gaze dropped to your lips for a heartbeat before returning to your eyes.
“So tell me, runaway… how long do you plan on playing my wife? And how far are you willing to go to make everyone believe it?”
You swallowed, suddenly very aware of how close he was. The counter pressed into your lower back, and Toji’s broad body blocked out most of the morning light. His hand remained heavy on your hip, thumb still tracing slow, absent circles that made your skin prickle beneath the thin blouse.
“I… I don’t know,” you admitted, voice barely above a whisper. “I didn’t think past getting away from Lord Kato. I just wanted to survive the night.”
Toji hummed, low and thoughtful. He tilted his head slightly, studying your face like he was trying to decide whether you were worth the growing headache you’d brought him.
“Surviving isn’t enough anymore,” he said. “Not after this morning. Those guards will report back. When they don’t find you, Kato will send more men. Maybe even come himself.” His fingers flexed on your hip. “And the whole village now believes you’re mine. If the story breaks, they’ll look like fools. They won’t forgive that easily.”
You met his eyes, heart thudding. “Then what do we do?”
For a moment he didn’t answer. Instead he reached up with his free hand and brushed a stray lock of hair behind your ear, the gesture surprisingly gentle for someone so rough-looking. His calloused fingertips lingered against the side of your neck.
“We lean into it,” he finally said. “Hard. You stay. You act like my wife in public — every smile, every touch, every time someone knocks on that door. No slipping up. No running off when it gets hard.”
He leaned in a fraction closer, voice dropping. “And in private… we figure out the real terms.”
Your breath caught. “Real terms?”
Toji’s scarred mouth curved into a slow, dangerous half-smirk. “You cost me peace and quiet, runaway. You cost me the simple life where nobody bothered me. So you’re going to start paying me back.”
He didn’t elaborate, but the heat in his green eyes made it very clear what kind of payment he had in mind.
“I won’t force you,” he continued, surprising you. “Door’s right there. You can still walk out and take your chances on the road. But if you stay…” His hand slid from your hip to the small of your back, pulling you flush against him. “Then you’re mine until this blows over. Or longer. Depends how good you are at pretending.”
The solid wall of his chest pressed against you, warm and unyielding. You could smell faint traces of smoke, soap, and the metallic hint of blood that never quite left him. Your hands came up instinctively, resting lightly on his abdomen.
“I’m not pretending right now,” you whispered.
Toji’s eyes darkened. For a second you thought he might kiss you — really kiss you — but he held back, letting the tension stretch until it was almost unbearable.
“Good,” he murmured. “Because the village expects a devoted wife. They’ll be watching. Bringing food. Asking questions. Asking when we’re going to have little butchers running around.”
Your face burned. Toji chuckled, deep and rough, clearly enjoying your reaction.
“Don’t worry. We’ll give them a good show.” He finally stepped back, giving you room to breathe again, though his hand lingered on your waist a moment longer. “For now, help me open the shop. Act natural. If anyone else comes asking, you know what to say.”
You nodded, still flushed.
As he turned to start his morning routine — sharpening knives, hanging fresh cuts, preparing the counter — you moved to help where you could. Every time you passed near him, his hand would brush your lower back or arm — small, deliberate touches that looked casual to anyone watching but felt heavy with intent.
By midday, a few villagers had already stopped by “just to say hello” and congratulate the newlyweds. Each time, Toji played his part perfectly — gruff, possessive, pulling you close with an ease that made the performance feel dangerously real.
An older man dropped off a small basket of eggs and clapped Toji on the back. “Didn’t think I’d live to see you settle down, Fushiguro. She must be something special.”
Toji’s arm tightened around your waist as he gave a low grunt. “She is.” His fingers flexed against your side, warm through the fabric of your blouse. You leaned into him instinctively, playing along, and felt the solid wall of muscle beneath his tunic.
A young mother came next with her toddler in tow, offering a jar of preserved berries. She smiled at you brightly. “You two look so good together. How long have you been hiding her from us, Toji?”
“Long enough,” he answered, voice rough but carrying a hint of smugness. He pressed a slow, deliberate kiss to the top of your head right in front of her. The casual affection made your stomach flutter.
By early afternoon the steady trickle of visitors finally slowed. Toji flipped the shop sign to “Closed for the Day” and locked the front door with a heavy click. The sudden silence felt louder than all the chatter combined.
You let out a shaky breath and leaned against the counter, arms wrapped around yourself. “They really believe it. All of them.”
Toji wiped his hands on a rag, watching you from across the room. He tossed the rag aside and stalked toward you, slow and deliberate.
Gods, he was huge.
Up close like this, in the quiet afternoon light, the sheer size of him hit you all over again. Broad shoulders that seemed to stretch the fabric of his black tunic, thick arms corded with muscle from years of hauling heavy carcasses, a powerful chest that rose and fell steadily. The jagged scar at the corner of his mouth only made him more striking — dangerous, rough, and strangely, undeniably attractive. Those sharp green eyes pinned you in place, intimidating as ever, yet there was something magnetic about the way he moved. Like a predator who knew exactly how much power he held and chose not to use it… yet.
He stopped right in front of you, so close you had to tilt your head back to meet his gaze. One large hand came up to cup your chin, thumb brushing along your jaw.
“You’re handling this better than I expected,” he said quietly.
You felt your pulse quicken under his touch. “I feel like I’m going to faint every time someone looks at me.”
His thumb stroked slowly over your skin. “You’re not fainting. You’re standing here in my shop, wearing my clothes, letting me touch you like you belong to me.” His voice dropped lower. “Looks pretty convincing from where I’m standing.”
The air between you thickened. You could smell the faint mix of blood, woodsmoke, and clean sweat that clung to him. His sheer physical presence was overwhelming — the heat rolling off his massive frame, the way his broad chest nearly brushed against you with every breath.
“What happens when the guards come back?” you asked, voice softer than you intended.
Toji’s expression darkened. “Then we give them the same show. Or I handle it my way.” His hand slid from your chin to the back of your neck, fingers threading gently into your hair. “But right now? Shop’s closed. No more visitors. No more pretending for a little while.”
He didn’t move away. Neither did you.
Instead, you found yourself leaning into his touch, exhaustion and adrenaline twisting into something warmer, heavier. Your hands rose to rest on his chest, feeling the hard, solid muscle beneath your palms.
“Toji…” you started, unsure what you even wanted to say.
He cut you off with a low sound. “Careful. You keep saying my name like that and I might start believing this marriage is real myself.”
His grip on the back of your neck tightened just slightly — not painful, but enough to remind you how easily he could pull you in. His green eyes dropped to your mouth, lingering this time, dark with hunger.
“You still haven’t answered my question from earlier,” he murmured. “How far are you willing to go, runaway?”
The shop was quiet except for the distant sounds of village life outside. No one was watching now. It was just the two of you, the weight of the lie, and the growing, electric heat between you.
You wet your lips, heart racing.
“I’m still here,” you whispered. “That should tell you something.”
Toji’s scarred mouth curved into a slow, hungry smirk.
“Yeah,” he said, voice rough. “It does.”
The silence that followed felt heavier than before. The shop was quiet now, the afternoon light cutting sharp lines across the wooden floor and the rows of knives hanging on the wall. Toji didn’t step back. He stayed right there, towering over you, one hand still gripping the back of your neck while the other rested heavy on your hip.
He really was massive up close.
Broad shoulders that strained his tunic, thick arms veined and scarred from years of brutal work, a chest so solid it looked like it could take a hit from a horse and keep going. The scar at the corner of his mouth gave his face a permanent edge, dangerous and rough. Yet there was something about the way he looked at you — intense green eyes, half-lidded, focused — that made your stomach tighten in a way that had nothing to do with fear.
Toji noticed you staring.
“Eyes up here,” he muttered, but the corner of his scarred mouth twitched like he was amused. “You keep looking at me like that and I’m gonna get the wrong idea.”
You swallowed. “I’ve never been this close to someone like you.”
“Someone like me,” he repeated, almost mocking. He leaned in a little more, voice dropping low. “Big, ugly butcher covered in blood half the time?”
You shook your head. “Not ugly.”
The words slipped out before you could stop them. Toji paused, eyes narrowing slightly like he was trying to decide if you were lying. Then he let out a short, rough breath.
His thumb brushed slowly along the side of your neck, calloused and warm. You could feel the strength in his hand, how easily he could tighten his grip if he wanted. The contrast between that raw power and the way he was holding back made the air feel thick.
“You’re playing a dangerous game,” he said quietly. His gaze dropped to your mouth for a second before flicking back up. “I’m not a patient man, runaway. And I’m definitely not a gentle one.”
Your hands were still pressed against his chest. Under your palms, his muscles were firm and warm, shifting slightly with each breath. You didn’t pull away.
“I know,” you whispered.
Toji’s jaw flexed. For a moment his control looked strained — shoulders tense, fingers pressing harder into your skin. He leaned down until his face was inches from yours, close enough that you could feel the heat of his breath.
“If you stay,” he said, voice low and deliberate, “this stops being fake whenever I say it does. Behind this door, you won’t be playing a role. You’ll be in my bed. Under me. Taking what I give you.” His thumb dragged across your lower lip. “And you’ll moan my name like you mean it.”
Your breath caught.
Toji held your gaze for another long second, then slowly released you. He stepped back, rolling one shoulder like he needed to shake off the tension. The sudden space felt colder than it should have.
“But not right now,” he added gruffly. “You’re still half-dead on your feet and I’ve got work to finish before the meat spoils.”
He turned toward the back counter and picked up his sharpening stone. The steady scrape of metal filled the shop as he worked on one of his larger knives. You stayed by the front counter, watching the way his back and arms moved — powerful, efficient, every motion reminding you exactly what kind of man had just offered to claim you.
Every so often he glanced over at you, eyes dark and unreadable.
The silence between you wasn’t uncomfortable. It was charged. Heavy with everything neither of you was saying out loud.
After a while, Toji spoke without looking up from his work.
“You hungry?”
You blinked, surprised by the sudden normal question. “A little.”
He jerked his head toward the stairs. “There’s leftover stew from this morning in the pot upstairs. Heat it up if you want. Or stay down here. Doesn’t matter to me.”
You hesitated, then moved to help him organize the counter instead. Every time you passed close by, his arm would brush yours — deliberate, not accidental. Small reminders that the tension hadn’t gone anywhere.
The afternoon stretched on like that. Quiet work. Occasional glances. The weight of his presence never really leaving you.
By the time the sun had fully set and the village outside grew dark and quiet, the tension between you had only thickened. Lanterns flickered in distant windows, but inside the butcher shop everything felt hushed and intimate.
Toji locked the front door with a heavy click and killed most of the lanterns, leaving only a single low one burning near the stairs. The warm glow followed you both upstairs, casting long shadows across the wooden beams.
He grabbed a spare blanket from the chest and headed for the worn couch against the far wall without a word. The piece of furniture looked comically small beneath his massive frame as he tossed the blanket over it. Then he reached back and pulled his tunic off in one smooth motion.
Your mouth went dry.
Firelight danced over his bare back and shoulders — thick slabs of muscle shifting under scarred skin, powerful arms flexing as he folded the tunic. His waist tapered into a sharp V, disappearing beneath the waistband of his trousers. Every inch of him looked hard, battle-worn, and undeniably masculine. The sight made something low in your belly tighten.
You stood frozen in the bedroom doorway.
“Wait,” you said, voice barely louder than a whisper.
Toji glanced over his shoulder, one dark brow raised. The movement made the muscles in his chest and abdomen flex visibly.
You twisted your fingers in the hem of your blouse, cheeks already burning.
“You don’t have to sleep on the couch,” you offered shyly. “The bed is… big enough for both of us. I don’t mind sharing.”
The silence that followed was deafening.
Toji slowly turned around to face you fully. The low firelight carved deep shadows across his torso, highlighting every ridge of muscle, every old scar, the faint trail of dark hair disappearing into his trousers. He looked even bigger like this — raw power barely contained, green eyes locked on you with dangerous intensity.
He took one slow step closer, then another.
“Careful what you offer me, runaway,” he said, voice low and gravel-rough. “I’m not the type to hold back.”
You swallowed hard but didn’t back away.
“I just… it doesn’t feel right making you sleep on that tiny thing after everything,” you murmured, eyes flicking involuntarily down his bare chest before snapping back up. “We’re supposed to be married. At least to everyone else.”
Toji stopped just inches away from you. The heat radiating from his body wrapped around you like a cloak. You could smell him — smoke, clean sweat, and that faint metallic trace that always clung to his skin. His sheer size made you feel small and fragile in comparison.
He tilted his head, studying you like prey.
“You offering to share my bed isn’t about being polite,” he murmured. “If I get in that bed with you, I’m not staying on my side. I’ll pull you against me. I’ll have my hands all over that soft little body. And if you keep looking at me with those wide, needy eyes…”
He leaned down, lips brushing the shell of your ear as he spoke.
“I won’t be able to stop myself from spreading those pretty thighs and finding out exactly how wet pretending to be my wife has made you.”
Your breath hitched sharply. Heat flooded your face and pooled between your legs. You pressed your thighs together instinctively, but Toji noticed — of course he did. A dark, satisfied sound rumbled in his chest.
He pulled back just enough to look at your face again, eyes heavy-lidded and hungry.
“I’m not gentle,” he continued, voice dropping even lower. “I fuck hard. I take what I want. And right now, I want to ruin that shy little runaway who dropped to her knees at my door and turned my whole life upside down.”
His hand came up, knuckles lightly dragging down the side of your neck, over your racing pulse, then lower until they brushed the neckline of your blouse. Not quite touching skin, but close enough to make you shiver.
“So think very carefully before you offer again,” he warned. “Because once I’m in that bed, the only pretending left will be how long you can keep quiet while I’m buried inside you.”
The air felt too thick to breathe.
Toji’s scarred mouth curved into a slow, predatory smirk as he watched the effect his words had on you.
“Still want to share a bed with me… wife?”
Toji’s words hung heavy in the air.
You didn’t answer with words.
You looked up at him, heart hammering so hard you could feel it in your throat, and gave a small, shy nod.
That was all it took.
Toji’s control snapped. A low, almost feral sound rumbled in his chest as he moved. In one fluid motion he scooped you up, one thick arm under your knees and the other around your back, lifting you like you weighed nothing. Your breath caught at how easily he carried you — his biceps flexing hard against your body, the heat of his bare chest pressing into your side.
He carried you the few steps to the bed and laid you down on your back with surprising care, but the look in his eyes was anything but gentle. The mattress dipped deeply under his weight as he climbed over you, caging you in completely with his massive frame. His broad shoulders blocked out most of the firelight, leaving you in shadow beneath him.
“You a virgin?” he asked, voice low and rough, green eyes searching yours like he was looking for any hesitation.
You nodded again, cheeks burning with embarrassment.
“Fuck,” he breathed, the word almost reverent. His gaze darkened as it dragged slowly down your body. “Gonna have to take my time with you then. Can’t wreck this tight little virgin cunt on the first thrust.”
He kissed you deeply, tongue claiming your mouth in slow, filthy strokes while his rough hands explored every inch of you. He took his time peeling your clothes off — first tugging your blouse over your head, then sliding your skirt down your legs, and finally hooking his fingers into your soaked panties and dragging them off. When you were completely naked beneath him, he sat back on his heels and just stared, drinking in every inch of your exposed body like a man who’d been starving for weeks.
“So fucking small,” he muttered, almost to himself. His large hands ran up your thighs, thumbs brushing the sensitive skin on the inside, then spread your legs wide open. “Look at this pretty virgin pussy… already glistening and I’ve barely touched you.”
The cool air hit your wet folds and you shivered. Toji’s eyes were locked between your legs, dark and hungry, as if he couldn’t believe what he was seeing.
He lowered himself between your spread thighs like a man on a mission. The first slow, hot drag of his tongue from your entrance all the way up to your clit made your entire body jolt. Toji groaned deeply at your taste, the sound vibrating straight through you.
“Sweet as hell,” he rasped, voice thick with lust. “Could eat this pussy for hours.”
Then he devoured you.
His tongue worked in slow, broad strokes, licking every inch of your soaked folds before focusing on your swollen clit. He sucked the sensitive bud into his hot mouth, flicking it rapidly with the tip of his tongue while two thick fingers teased your entrance, circling and pressing but not pushing in yet. When you started whimpering and rolling your hips, he finally pushed one thick finger inside you — careful, but relentless.
“So goddamn tight,” he growled against your pussy, the vibration making your toes curl. “This little hole is gonna fight my cock the whole way in.”
He curled his finger slowly, searching, until he found that spongy spot that made your back arch. He rubbed it firmly while sucking harder on your clit. The wet, obscene sounds of his mouth and fingers filled the quiet bedroom — slick, filthy, and loud. Your thighs started trembling around his head as pleasure coiled tighter and tighter in your belly.
“Toji— oh gods—”
He didn’t let up. He ate you out like he was starving for it — messy, hungry, and completely focused on pulling every sound out of you. He added a second finger, stretching you open carefully, scissoring them while his tongue flicked fast and firm over your clit. The pressure built unbearably fast.
Your orgasm crashed over you without warning. Your back arched clean off the bed as you came hard on his face with a broken, sobbing cry of his name. Your walls clamped down around his fingers, pulsing wildly.
Toji licked you through every wave, slow and thorough, drawing out every last tremor until you were twitching and oversensitive, whimpering softly. Only then did he pull back. His chin and lips were shiny with your slick. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, eyes dark and satisfied as he looked up at your flushed, panting face.
Then he shoved his trousers down.
His cock sprang free — thick, heavy, veined, and longer than anything you’d ever imagined. The flushed head was already leaking steadily.
“See this?” he said, stroking himself slowly. “This is gonna stretch you wide open, baby. But I’ll make it fit.”
He climbed back over you, pushing your legs up and folding your knees toward your chest. The position left you completely exposed. He rubbed the fat head of his cock up and down your drenched folds, coating himself in your wetness, teasing your clit with every pass.
“Deep breaths,” he warned. “Gonna go slow.”
He pushed in.
The stretch was intense. You gasped sharply, a high-pitched whimper escaping you as just the thick head popped inside. “Ah—! Toji… it’s so big…”
Toji groaned, jaw clenched tight as he fought the urge to slam forward. “Fuck— so tight,” he hissed. “Relax for me, baby. Let me in.”
You whimpered softly, fingers clutching at his shoulders. “It burns… but— ah— don’t stop…”
He worked himself in inch by slow, careful inch. Every time you tensed, he stopped, leaning down to kiss your neck or suck on your tits until you loosened again. Sweat beaded on his forehead from the restraint.
Halfway in, you let out a shaky moan, eyes fluttering. “Oh gods… I can feel you so deep already…”
Toji looked down at the bulge already forming in your lower belly. “Shit… look at that,” he groaned, pressing a big hand over the swell. “My cock’s barely halfway and I can already see it inside you.”
When he finally bottomed out, hips flush against your ass, you felt so full you could barely breathe. A broken whimper left your lips. “T-Toji… you’re all the way in… I feel so full…”
Toji stayed still, buried to the hilt, letting you adjust while he kissed you slow and deep. “Good girl,” he praised, voice strained. “Taking every inch of my cock on your first time. Such a perfect little wife.”
When your whimpers turned into soft, needy moans, he started moving — slow, deep rolls of his hips at first. The wet drag of his thick cock against your walls made you cry out.
“Feel that?” he growled. “Feel how deep I am? Gonna breed this cunt so full tonight.”
“Ah—! Yes… I feel it,” you moaned, voice trembling. “It’s so deep… Toji—!”
His pace gradually picked up. The bed started creaking rhythmically as he fucked you harder, deeper. Your tits bounced with every thrust. You couldn’t stop the desperate sounds spilling from your mouth.
“Gonna fill you up,” he panted. “Pump this tight womb full of my cum until it takes. Want you walking around the village with my kid growing inside you. Everyone’s gonna know exactly who fucked you first.”
The filthy words sent you spiraling. “Please— Toji— I’m gonna—!” You came hard around his cock, walls fluttering and squeezing him like a vice as you screamed his name, “Toji—! Ahh—!”
Toji snarled and fucked you through it, pace turning brutal. The wet slap of skin on skin echoed loudly.
“Fuck— gonna cum,” he groaned. “Gonna breed you— take it all—”
You whimpered and moaned beneath him, voice hoarse, “Cum inside me… please— fill me up—!”
He slammed in deep one final time and came with a long, guttural moan. Thick, hot ropes of cum flooded your pussy, pulse after heavy pulse. There was so much it leaked out around his cock despite how tightly you were stretched around him. Toji kept grinding deep, pushing every drop into your womb, hand pressing down on the bulge in your belly like he wanted to keep it all inside you.
You let out a soft, overwhelmed whimper at the feeling of being so full of him.
He stayed buried inside you for a long moment, chest heaving against yours, both of you slick with sweat.
Then he leaned down, kissed you slow and possessive, and murmured against your lips:
“This cunt belongs to me.”
Toji stayed inside you for a while longer, gently grinding and kissing your neck, before he finally pulled out with a low groan. A thick trickle of his cum leaked from your abused hole onto the sheets. He looked down at the mess with dark satisfaction, then rolled onto his back and pulled you against his chest.
“Rest now,” he said quietly, voice rough but surprisingly gentle as he wrapped a heavy arm around you. “You’ve had a long day, runaway. Close your eyes.”
He pressed one last kiss to the top of your head, his large hand resting possessively on your lower belly.
“Go to sleep.”
-
You woke up to warmth.
A heavy, solid arm was draped across your waist, pinning you to a broad chest. Toji’s body was curled around yours from behind, one thick thigh wedged between your legs. His breathing was slow and deep, but the moment you shifted even slightly, his grip tightened possessively.
The room was still dim, early morning light just beginning to creep through the small window. Your body ached — a deep, satisfying soreness between your thighs, faint bruises on your hips from his fingers, and the unmistakable sticky warmth of his cum still leaking out of you.
You tried to move again, but Toji’s low, sleepy growl stopped you.
“Stay,” he muttered against the back of your neck, voice rough with sleep. His hand slid down to cup your lower belly, pressing lightly. “Not done holding you yet.”
Heat rushed to your face. You stayed still, letting him pull you tighter against him. His cock — already half-hard again — rested heavy against your ass.
After a few quiet minutes, Toji sighed and finally loosened his grip. He rolled you onto your back so he could look down at you. His hair was messy, eyes still heavy-lidded, but the smirk on his scarred mouth was fully awake.
“Morning,” he said, voice gravelly. His hand stayed on your stomach, thumb stroking slow circles. “How’re you feeling?”
You shifted, wincing a little at the soreness. “Full… and sore,” you admitted softly.
Toji’s smirk widened into something darker, more satisfied. He leaned down and kissed you — slow and lazy at first, then deeper, tongue sliding against yours. When he pulled back, he dragged his hand lower, fingers brushing through the mess between your thighs.
“Still leaking my cum,” he murmured, almost proud. “Good.”
He pushed two thick fingers back inside you, slow and careful, fucking his dried cum deeper. You whimpered, hips twitching.
“Toji—”
“Shh,” he soothed, kissing your temple. “Not fucking you again right now. You’re too sore.” He kept his fingers inside you anyway, lazy and possessive. “Just keeping you full.”
You stayed like that for a while — his fingers buried inside you, his mouth brushing lazy kisses along your neck and shoulder. The morning was quiet except for the occasional creak of the bed and your soft sounds.
Eventually he pulled his fingers out, brought them to his mouth, and licked them clean while watching your face.
“Breakfast,” he said simply. “Then we open the shop.”
He got up first, completely naked and shameless. You couldn’t stop yourself from staring at the powerful lines of his back, the flex of his ass and thighs as he moved. He caught you looking and chuckled.
“Keep staring like that and I will bend you over the table downstairs,” he warned.
You quickly looked away, cheeks burning.
He tossed you one of his clean shirts and a fresh skirt. While you dressed, he pulled on his usual trousers and tank top, tying his blood-stained apron around his waist.
Before you left the bedroom, he caught your wrist and pulled you close one more time. His hand cupped your jaw, thumb brushing your bottom lip.
“Last night wasn’t pretend,” he said quietly, eyes serious. “Not for me. You’re mine. Understand?”
You swallowed and whispered, “I understand.”
He kissed you again — hard, claiming — then rested his forehead against yours for a second.
“Good.”
He led you downstairs, his hand firm on your lower back the entire way.
The village was waking up outside. And for the first time since you’d run away, you didn’t feel like running anymore.
Toji unlocked the front door and flipped the sign while you tied on a clean apron. The morning air carried the smell of fresh bread from Mrs. Sato’s bakery and the distant clang of the blacksmith’s hammer. A few early customers began drifting toward the shop.
The first hour passed in a surprisingly calm rhythm. You helped weigh portions, wrap cuts of meat in clean paper, and hand them over with a shy smile. Toji stayed close the whole time — sometimes reaching past you for a knife, sometimes resting a hand on your waist as he moved behind you. Every touch felt deliberate, like he was marking his territory even when no one was watching.
Then the bell above the door rang again.
A tall, sun-tanned man with kind eyes and an easy, friendly smile stepped inside. He looked to be in his late twenties, with the strong build of someone who spent his days working the fields. He greeted Toji with a familiar nod.
“Morning, Fushiguro. The usual shoulder cut, please.” His gaze shifted to you behind the counter and softened with genuine interest. “You must be the new wife everyone’s been talking about. I’m Haru. I run the big farm past the mill.”
You returned his smile politely. “Nice to meet you, Haru.”
He watched as you carefully wrapped his order, your hands still a little clumsy with the butcher paper. “It’s good to see a new face around here,” he said warmly. “You seem really kind. Gentle. The kind of person who makes a place feel brighter just by being in it.” He rubbed the back of his neck, almost shyly. “If you ever need anything — extra vegetables from the farm, help carrying something heavy, or just someone to talk to when things get quiet — my door’s always open. Wouldn’t want you feeling lonely so soon after moving in.”
You tilted your head, completely oblivious to any hidden meaning, and gave him a grateful smile. “That’s very kind of you. Thank you. I’ll keep that in mind.”
Before you could say anything else, the air behind you changed.
Toji’s large hand settled heavily on your hip, fingers digging in with clear possession as he pulled you back firmly against his chest. His other arm slid around your waist, locking you in place.
“She won’t be needing anything,” Toji said, his voice low and dangerously even. “I take care of my wife.”
Haru blinked, the friendly smile faltering as he finally registered the tension rolling off the butcher. “Of course. I was just… being neighborly.”
Toji’s grip on your hip tightened. “Neighborly is saying hello. The rest sounded like something else.”
The silence that followed was thick and uncomfortable. Haru swallowed hard, quickly paid for his meat, and muttered a polite goodbye before leaving without another word. The door swung shut behind him with a soft jingle.
The second he was gone, Toji spun you around and backed you against the counter. His green eyes were dark, jaw clenched tight with barely-contained jealousy. One big hand came up to cup your jaw, thumb pressing lightly against your bottom lip.
“You really didn’t notice?” he muttered, voice rough.
You shook your head, genuinely confused. “He was just being nice…”
Toji let out a short, irritated breath and leaned in closer, forehead almost touching yours. “He wasn’t just being nice. He was testing the waters. Seeing if my wife might be open to something else. Offering you a soft place to land if you ever got tired of me.”
His other hand slid under your skirt, fingers brushing between your thighs and finding you still slick from the night before. You gasped softly as he pushed two thick fingers inside you without warning, curling them slowly.
“Toji—”
“Mine,” he growled quietly against your ear, pumping his fingers in a lazy rhythm. “This pussy is mine. You are mine. I don’t want you smiling so sweetly at other men. Understand?”
You whimpered, clutching his shoulders as pleasure sparked through your still-sensitive body. “I understand…”
He kissed you then — hard, possessive, and hungry — while his fingers continued their slow, deliberate strokes. When he finally pulled back, his eyes were still dark with jealousy.
“Next time someone talks to you like that,” he said, voice low, “you let me handle it.”
He reluctantly withdrew his fingers, straightened your skirt, and stepped back like nothing had happened. But the tension in his shoulders and the dark look in his eyes remained.
“Back to work,” he said gruffly, still clearly worked up.
You nodded, legs shaky, heart racing, and turned back to the counter.
The rest of the morning passed with Toji staying even closer than before — a constant, heavy, possessive presence at your side. Every time another customer entered, his hand found your waist or lower back, silently reminding everyone (and you) exactly who you belonged to.
The rest of the morning dragged on with the same heavy tension.
Every time a male customer stepped through the door, Toji’s demeanor shifted. His hand would find your waist, your hip, or the small of your back — a silent, unmistakable claim. He answered questions in short, clipped tones and watched the men with sharp, warning eyes. You tried to focus on wrapping orders and smiling politely, but the constant possessiveness was becoming impossible to ignore.
By early afternoon, when the shop finally quieted again, you couldn’t hold it in anymore.
You turned to him while he was wiping down the counter.
“Toji,” you said softly, “you’re being too much.”
He paused, setting the rag down slowly. When he looked at you, his green eyes had gone dark.
“Too much?” he repeated, voice low and deceptively calm.
You swallowed but stood your ground. “Yes. The constant touching, the glaring at every man who even looks at me... They’re just customers.”
Toji stared at you for a long, heavy beat. Then he slowly walked around the counter, backing you up until your hips hit the edge. He caged you in with his massive frame, one hand braced beside you on the wood, the other coming up to grip your chin, forcing you to meet his eyes.
“You think I’m being too possessive?” he murmured, thumb brushing your bottom lip. “Tell me something, wife… What kind of husband would I be if I let other men think they can have access to what’s mine?”
His voice was rough, low, and dangerous. “If I smiled and stepped aside while they flirted with you? While they offered you help and soft words like they had any right to you?”
He leaned in closer, breath hot against your ear. “I’d be a fucking joke. A weak man who doesn’t know how to protect what belongs to him. And I’m not weak.”
His free hand slid under your skirt without warning, fingers pushing between your thighs. You were bare underneath. The moment his calloused fingertips brushed your folds, he groaned softly — low and rough — when he found you already wet again.
“Already soaked,” he muttered, voice thick with satisfaction. “Complaining about me being too possessive, but your pussy is dripping the second I touch you.”
“Toji—” you whimpered, hips twitching as two thick fingers pushed inside you in one smooth motion. The stretch made you gasp, your walls still tender and sensitive from the night before.
He curled his fingers slowly, deliberately, stroking that spongy spot deep inside you while his thumb found your swollen clit and rubbed tight, firm circles. His mouth latched onto your neck, sucking hard enough to leave another mark, teeth grazing your skin as he worked you open.
You moaned, loud and broken, clutching desperately at his broad shoulders. Your legs trembled around his wrist as pleasure sparked hot and fast through your body.
“You can tell me I’m too much,” he growled against your throat, biting down lightly before soothing the sting with his tongue. “But we both know the truth. You like it when I act like this. You like knowing no one else can touch you. You like being mine.”
His fingers pumped faster, curling with every thrust, the wet, obscene sounds of your arousal filling the quiet shop. Your hips rolled against his hand instinctively, chasing the pleasure even as your thighs shook.
“Ah— Toji… please—” you moaned, voice cracking. Your head fell back, exposing more of your neck to him. He took full advantage, sucking and biting along your skin while his fingers drove deeper, faster.
You were right there — teetering on the edge, muscles tightening around his thick fingers — when he suddenly pulled his hand away completely.
You let out a desperate, needy whine, hips chasing his fingers uselessly. Your core throbbed, aching and empty.
“Toji…!” you whimpered, voice hoarse and frustrated, eyes glassy with unshed tears of need. “Please— I was so close…”
Toji smirked, dark and satisfied, eyes gleaming with lust as he watched you squirm. He brought his glistening fingers up between you, holding them in front of your face so you could see how wet they were — coated in your slick right up to his knuckles.
“Open,” he ordered, voice low and commanding.
You obeyed instantly, parting your lips. He pushed his fingers into your mouth, letting you taste yourself as you sucked them clean, tongue swirling around them obediently. His green eyes darkened further, pupils blown wide as he watched you.
“Good girl,” he murmured, voice rough with arousal. “Look at you… so fucking eager. Whining because I stopped, sucking my fingers like you’d do anything for my cock right now.”
He pulled his fingers free with a wet pop and leaned in, kissing you deeply, tasting you on your own tongue. When he pulled back, his breath was ragged.
“You can complain about me being possessive all you want,” he said, voice dark and low, “but your body doesn’t lie. This pussy knows exactly who it belongs to.”
He suddenly lifted you onto the counter with ease, as if you weighed nothing. The wood was cool against the backs of your thighs as he shoved your skirt all the way up to your waist in one rough motion, baring your dripping pussy completely. He stepped between your spread thighs, his broad body forcing your legs wider apart until your knees were nearly touching your shoulders.
His hands gripped your hips hard enough to bruise, fingers digging deep into your soft flesh with unmistakable ownership. With his other hand, he freed his cock — thick, heavy, and already throbbing. The veined shaft glistened as he stroked himself once, slowly, eyes locked on your exposed, glistening cunt.
“Since you think I’m too possessive,” he said, voice rough and dangerous, “I’m going to remind you exactly why I am.”
He rubbed the fat, leaking head of his cock up and down your soaked folds, coating every thick inch in your slick. He teased your swollen clit with every slow pass, tapping it lightly until your hips jerked and you let out a needy whimper.
“Toji… please—”
Without another word, he pushed in with one deep, powerful thrust.
You cried out sharply, back arching hard off the counter as the thick head forced its way inside, stretching you wide open. The sudden, overwhelming fullness stole your breath. Toji groaned deeply, burying himself to the hilt in one smooth stroke, his hips flush against your ass.
“Fuck… still so tight,” he growled, voice strained with pleasure. “Even after I filled you last night. This greedy little cunt keeps sucking me in like it doesn’t want to let go.”
He didn’t give you any time to adjust. He started fucking you hard and deep, the heavy wooden counter creaking loudly under the force of every brutal thrust. Your moans echoed shamelessly through the empty shop as he claimed you right there in the middle of the day.
“Mine,” he snarled against your neck, biting down hard enough to leave another dark mark. “Say it.”
“I’m yours— ah— Toji—!” you moaned, voice breaking as your legs wrapped tightly around his waist, heels digging into his lower back.
He fucked you even harder, hips snapping forward with powerful, punishing strokes. The wet slap of skin against skin filled the room, loud and filthy. One of his big hands reached between your bodies, his thumb finding your swollen clit and rubbing fast, tight circles.
“That’s right,” he panted, breath hot against your ear. “My wife. My pussy. No one else gets to look at you the way I do. No one else gets to touch you. No one else even gets to fucking think about you.”
Your moans grew louder and more desperate, your walls fluttering around his thick cock with every deep thrust. The counter shook beneath you. Your tits bounced wildly inside your blouse with the force of his movements.
He suddenly leaned back slightly, gripping your thighs and spreading you even wider as he drove into you. The new angle made him hit even deeper, the bulge in your lower belly becoming visible with every thrust.
“Look at that,” he groaned, eyes fixed on the spot where his cock disappeared inside you. “You’re taking me so fucking deep. This tight cunt was made for my cock.”
You cried out, nails digging into his shoulders as pleasure coiled tighter and tighter inside you. “Toji—! It’s too deep— ahh—!”
“You can take it,” he growled, fucking you harder. “You’re going to take everything I give you.”
Your orgasm crashed over you without warning — fast, violent, and overwhelming. Your walls clenched hard around his cock, fluttering and squeezing as waves of intense pleasure tore through your body. You screamed his name, thighs shaking violently around his waist.
Toji snarled like a beast, his rhythm turning erratic and savage as he fucked you through your climax. He kept pounding into you, chasing his own release, hips slamming against yours with wet, filthy sounds.
But he didn’t cum.
Instead, he suddenly slowed his thrusts, grinding deep and slow, keeping you right on the edge of overstimulation. His breathing was ragged, sweat glistening on his chest and neck.
He leaned down, capturing your mouth in a messy, possessive kiss while still buried deep inside you.
“You’re not done yet,” he murmured against your lips, voice dark and full of promise. “We’re nowhere near finished.”
Before you could catch your breath, Toji pulled out of you with a wet, obscene sound. You whimpered at the sudden emptiness, your pussy clenching around nothing, already missing the thick stretch of him. But he didn’t give you any time to protest.
In one swift, powerful motion, he flipped you over onto your stomach across the counter. Your chest pressed against the cool, smooth surface, your cheek resting on the wood as he yanked your hips back and up, forcing your ass high in the air. Your skirt was still bunched uselessly around your waist, leaving you completely exposed — bent over like a whore in the middle of his shop.
Toji kicked your legs wider apart with his foot, then pressed one large hand firmly between your shoulder blades, pinning you down hard against the counter.
“Fuck, look at you,” he growled, voice thick with raw lust. “Bent over my counter like a proper little wife. Ass up, pussy dripping for me.”
He spread your ass cheeks wide with both hands, exposing your swollen, abused pussy completely. Without any warning, he spat directly onto your folds — a thick, warm glob of saliva landing right on your clit and dripping down. You gasped sharply at the filthy sensation, your hips twitching.
Toji groaned at the sight and used two thick fingers to rub his spit into your pussy, mixing it with your own slick, pushing it inside you. Then he brought his palm down hard on your ass with a loud, resounding smack.
The sharp sting bloomed hot across your skin. You cried out, jolting forward on the counter.
“Stay still,” he ordered, voice rough. He smacked the other cheek even harder, watching the way your flesh jiggled and turned pink under his hand. “This ass is mine too. Every fucking inch of you is mine.”
You moaned helplessly, pushing back against him despite the sting. Toji lined up the thick head of his cock again and thrust back inside you in one brutal, deep stroke.
The new angle made him feel impossibly bigger, reaching even deeper. You moaned loudly, fingers scrambling for purchase on the smooth wooden counter as he immediately started fucking you hard and fast.
The counter creaked loudly under the force of his powerful thrusts. Each snap of his hips drove his thick cock impossibly deep, the wet slap of skin against skin echoing through the empty shop. Toji’s hands gripped your hips in a bruising hold, pulling you back onto his cock with every stroke like he was using you.
“Fuck— this pussy feels even better like this,” he groaned, voice rough and strained. He smacked your ass again, harder this time, watching the way your flesh rippled red under his palm. “So fucking wet. You like being bent over and used like this, don’t you?”
“Yes— ah— Toji—!” you moaned, cheek pressed against the cool counter, eyes fluttering shut. Every brutal thrust made your breasts press harder into the wood, your sensitive nipples dragging against it.
Toji reached forward and fisted a hand in your hair, pulling your head back slightly as he fucked you even harder. His hips slammed against your ass with wet, filthy sounds. He spat on your pussy again, right where his thick cock was stretching you open, and used his thumb to rub the saliva into your swollen clit.
“Such a messy little wife,” he panted, smacking your ass repeatedly between thrusts — sharp, stinging slaps that made you clench tighter around him. “Dripping all over my counter. Taking my cock so deep like you were made for it. Look at this greedy cunt swallowing every inch.”
Your moans turned into broken sobs of pleasure. The combination of his brutal pace, the stinging heat on your ass, and the filthy words pushed you right to the edge again.
Toji leaned over you, his broad chest pressing against your back, his breath hot and ragged against your ear as he kept pounding into you without mercy.
“Tell me who this pussy belongs to,” he growled, smacking your ass one more time, hard enough to make you yelp.
“You—! It belongs to you— Toji—!” you cried out, voice hoarse and desperate.
He snarled in satisfaction and fucked you even harder, the counter shaking beneath you. His hand slipped between your legs again, rubbing your clit fast and rough.
You came with a broken scream, your walls clamping down hard around his thick cock, thighs shaking violently as intense pleasure tore through you.
Toji groaned loudly as your orgasm triggered his own. He slammed in deep one final time and came hard, flooding your pussy with thick, hot spurts of cum. He kept grinding into you slowly, pushing every drop as deep as possible, his hips pressed tight against your reddened ass.
For a long moment, the only sounds in the shop were your heavy breathing and the faint drip of his cum leaking out of you onto the floor.
Toji stayed buried inside you, leaning over your back and kissing the back of your neck possessively.
“Still think I’m being too possessive?” he murmured against your skin, voice dark and satisfied.
You could only whimper in response, too overwhelmed to form words. Your body was trembling, pressed against the counter, pussy still fluttering weakly around his thick cock. Every small shift made you feel the mess he’d left inside you — warm, sticky, and so full it was leaking down your thighs.
Toji let out a low, rumbling sound of approval. He stayed deep for a long moment, grinding slow and lazy, pushing his cum even deeper as if he couldn’t stand the thought of any of it escaping. His large hand smoothed over the reddened skin of your ass where he’d spanked you, almost soothing now, before giving one last firm squeeze.
“Answer me,” he said quietly, lips brushing the shell of your ear.
“…No,” you breathed, voice hoarse and shaky. “I don’t.”
He hummed, clearly pleased. He finally pulled out slowly, watching with dark eyes as a thick trail of his cum dripped from your abused hole onto the floor. The sight made him groan softly.
“Fuck, that’s a pretty sight,” he muttered. He used two fingers to push some of the leaking cum back inside you, then straightened your skirt with surprising care.
Toji helped you stand on shaky legs, turning you to face him. He cupped your jaw with one hand, thumb brushing your flushed cheek as he studied your expression — eyes glassy, lips swollen, hair messy.
“You’re going to feel me for the rest of the day,” he said, voice low. “Every step. Every time you move. I want you thinking about who fucked you over this counter.”
He leaned in and kissed you — slower this time, but still deep and possessive. When he pulled back, his forehead rested against yours for a brief second.
“Clean yourself up a little,” he told you, pressing one last kiss to your temple. “We’ve still got half a day left.”
Toji stepped back, tucking himself away and adjusting his apron like nothing had happened, though the dark, satisfied glint in his eyes remained.
You stood there on unsteady legs, heart still racing, feeling the unmistakable warmth of his cum slowly leaking down your inner thighs.
And somehow, you couldn’t find it in yourself to complain.
a/n: aren't the old hags kinda iconic? lmk what you think and if you'd be interested in a part two! likes and reblogs appreciated!!
jiyu's letter ᝰ.ᐟ soo i kind of gave up at the end lolol. it's just... feral snow leopard!satoru was too good to resist. perderme by miguel is such a fitting song for this fic i don't suggest i demand you listen to it while reading. hope you enjoy <3
=ᗢ=ᵎᵎ smut smut smut!! p w/o p, heat season, satoru's a desperate whimpering mess, f! oral and fingering, p in v, marathon sex, overstim, satoru is FERALLL (and rough), dry humping, biting (on satoru's end), mating press
wc: 3.7k (can u tell i was ovulating GAHSHS)
fanart by: @/xxlorinmower
ever since you fostered the mischievous snow leopard hybrid, satoru had been a handful. demanding nothing but the best shampoos and conditioners to keep his tail, ears, and hair absolutely pristine and glossy and being especially picky about what you fed him (you basically had to change your diet to cater to his needs without going broke).
you kept him plenty entertained when you left for work, giving him enough enrichment to keep him from going wild in your apartment.
despite being very high maintenance, satoru was unbelievably independent. unlike many of the hybrids you had fostered, you hardly saw him outside of meal time, and he mostly did everything on his own. you didn't mind much; sometimes it was unnerving to see the large predator appear from the depths of his room at random, though.
especially today.
it was an unusually hot day during the first blooms of spring, windows springing up to bring in the relief of gusty winds.
to no avail, however, because it seemed as though satoru couldn't find reprieve from the sweltering temperature. sweat clung so heavily to his skin he practically had to peel his shirt off of his torso. he felt his face, a horrible flush arising. his heart was begging to pound out of his chest. it hit him so suddenly, he didn't know what was going on. a fever?
it wasn't until he caught your scent in the air and the filthiest fantasies roused in his mind did he realize just what was happening to him...
fuck, this wasn't good.
he tried to restrain himself, he really did— he stripped himself down to his boxers, laid on the floor to get some relief, splashed cold water on his face to snap out of it. he even tried getting his raging boner down. multiple times.
nothing was helping.
he needed help, as hard as it was to admit. your help.
you were watching television in the living room, a fan plugged in right in front of the couch in your best attempts to cool off. you settled into the comfort of the cushions with a strawberry popsicle, hair tied out of the way of your face. a silly romcom played, capturing your attention. though, you wondered how satoru was doing with this unpredictable heat. you knew how much he detested the warm weather, especially because he already ran so hot temperature-wise.
as satoru was lethally silent, you hardly realized he had come out from his room, and you were entirely too invested in your show.
until you got a spine-chilling feeling that someone was looking at you. a sharp, primal instinct made you turn your head to the source, shoulders tense—
oh, god. it was just satoru.
"oh, hey. need anything?" you asked, a gentle cadence to your voice and a welcoming smile. you always acted as if you would scare him off if you spoke to him too casually.
his stare was almost expectant, pupils unmoving as he glanced at you. it was disconcerting, making you sit up straighter with half a mind to flee. it reminded you that you were housing a predator.
after a tense moment, he looks away. "no, just getting water." he turns towards the glass cabinet, grabbing a glass and filling it with water.
he chugged down the water, trying to wash away the filthy desires that clouded his mind when he saw you.
you had to be doing it on purpose. dressed in a flimsy cami top that he could easily rip off with a claw, and shorts that rode up your delectable thighs as you sat curled up on the couch. the way your tied-up hair left your décolleté exposed and disappointingly unmarked.
satoru could fix that. he could sink his fangs into your prized flesh, blooming bruises across your skin, mark every inch of visible skin to claim—
he adjusted his uncomfortable erection. no relief.
fuck it.
you tried to resume your show, but the looming presence of the snow leopard hybrid made you hyper-vigilant. he's never stayed out this long, nor stared at you like you were a whole meal. it was as if his elusive aura wrapped around the entire apartment whenever he came around. it made you curious, in various ways you didn't dare entertain.
his room was probably too hot to handle, and he needed some relief.
relief indeed.
unable to stand the silence any longer, you craned your head to where he was supposed to be in the kitchen, only to find him standing right in front of you, his pupils like eclipses.
you jolted, grasping the cushions below so you didn't fly from the very earth from being scared shitless. you needed to get him a bell or something.
"fuck— sorry, you scared me. you okay, satoru?" you asked, swallowing thickly.
wordlessly, satoru plops down to his knees right in front of you. your scent, slightly salty, something rich, made his mind go static.
your eyes widen, and you sit up pin straight. you were expecting anything but that.
closer, you can see the furious flush coloring his cheeks red, the hair clinging to his forehead from sweat, the sheen glistening upon his shirtless torso. your cheeks sting as you watch his abdominals flex with every heaved breath, heavier and quicker than normal. and further down—
you don't dare rationalize what you just witnessed.
"satoru— you don't look very well... do you need—"
he was purring. purring and rubbing his head against your legs, ears twitching as they made contact with your bare skin. his white hair was incredibly soft, tickling your shins. you didn't know what to do. why was he acting so strange? this sudden affection, his spiked temperature... it wasn't just the heat.
you sputtered, ears hot, "s-satoru, what are you---"
"i need help... this is so embarrassing," satoru said. his voice was low and strangely vulnerable. "fuck, i need you. please."
huh?
suddenly, everything clicked. the dilated pupils, the quick pulse, heavy breathing, high temperature---
shit. it was spring season. and it's not like the snow leopard had a partner to help with this, either.
this put you in a very bad place.
to make matters worse, satoru was sliding his hands up your calves and dragging himself closer, his crotch making contact with your leg.
shame went right out the door once he felt it. relieving pressure right at your feet.
an experimental roll of his hips had a quiet moan slipping from his pouty lips, his head nestling on your knees to hide his rosy face. his forehead was burning as it made contact with your skin.
you could barely breathe. this was wrong, wasn't it? you were giving this hybrid a home, taking care of his needs.
all cognizant thoughts were shattered right through when satoru grinded his erection right up against you again, and he propped his head up on your knees, lips pink from biting them, hair disheveled, his expression utterly ruined.
"help me, please."
well, taking care of his needs was your duty, after all.
satoru hated asking for help. it was simply not in his nature to do so, being a rather solitary hybrid.
so, when he got like this during his heat, he usually holed up in his room for the four days it lasted, curled up beneath the covers like a house cat, and tried to get through it the best he could.
he wasn't sure why he came to you for assistance. maybe because he could smell you from his room and it was fucking with him badly. maybe because you once told him he could come to you whenever he needed something.
maybe because, deep down, he was horribly attracted to you. and whenever he talked to you and you replied in that honey-sweet tone of yours, having to crane your head to gaze at his towering stature, he'd have to take a chastising cold shower immediately after to calm down.
maybe it wasn't just the heat making him act like a desperate whore.
satoru had waited for you to give him the go-ahead. a small nod was enough to have him kissing every available spot on your legs, his pearlescent fangs poking out as they got sloppier. his large hands paw your thighs apart, slipping between them to kiss further and further.
the rolling of his hips was insistent, a beg for release as his arousal grew near painful. soft moans left his mouth as he continued closer to the apex of your thighs, the doughy texture of your inner thighs giving him an irresistible urge to bite and suckle to his heart's content.
fuck, he was aimless. he had no idea how to proceed, where to go on besides clinging to you and humping your leg like a damn dog.
your teeth were tugging on your bottom lip as he placed those sinful kisses upon your skin, trying to mark you subconsciously. it was strangely pleasing, yet all the same not enough.
your hands threaded through his hair, brushing his ears. the sensation made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up, an audible shudder leaving his lithe figure.
"satoru... touch me," you whispered, a hint of something dangerously close to titillation in your breathy voice.
that completely snapped him free of restraint.
in a blur, the light was shadowed by his broad shoulders, your body pushed into the cushions of the sofa, and your clothes were all but ripped off.
satoru didn't tease. didn't build up to anything.
he made sure you felt it all. the dark, primal instincts that were telling him to breed you, the lustful desires his boyish attraction to you had festered, how his thick fingers could reach deeper than any toy that you pretend satisfied you.
he pinned your legs down by your chest with one firm arm, keeping you defenseless to his merciless gestures.
satoru's rough, feline tongue made you twitch with every lap at your clit, his fingers driving into your fluttering walls with such intensity it had your eyes crossing. his purrs vibrated into your cunt as he latched onto your sopping cunt, groans languid and yet unsatisfied.
you were left scrambling to anchor yourself to the couch, hands grabbing hold onto the pillow on which your head rested on, your back bowing with each electric pulse satoru sent rushing up your spine.
you gasp as he plunges his digits deep inside of your cunt, curling right against the spongey spot that makes you keen. he does it over, and over again, relentless in making you feel.
"oh, god— satoru!" you cry, breath ripped straight from your lungs. your hand flails to find purchase, landing in his pale locks. his ears twitch as you pull roughly, whether to push him away or hold him closer, and he shivers.
it only serves to make his rhythm quicken, wet squelches echoing from your spilling hole as his fingers piston inside, your walls clenching desperately to halt the inevitable climax.
"you're clenching around me so tightly... you want it that bad, huh?" satoru was slurring. you bet he hardly knew what he was saying. his eyes are low, predatory as he gazes up at you, dangerous with lust.
"s-satoru, haah, please, slow down—" you beg indecisively, the pleasure so mind-shattering that your orgasm was quick to wash over you without warning.
you whine, legs straining against the weight he's beared down on you, head tossing back into the cushioning as he fingers you through the aftershocks, each wave seemingly stronger than the last. his pink muscle tongues at your over-sensitive bundle of nerves as if it was a bowl of milk, your cum adding a sweetened taste to your syrupy arousal.
"slow down?" satoru's grin is feral, entirely hungered as he watched your cunt quiver around his long fingers. "how could i when your perfect pussy is crying for me like this?"
he continued fucking you through your orgasm, playing with your overwhelmed clit, your hypersensitive nerves sent into overdrive. your moans turn whiny, writhing away from his ruthless hands.
“please, satoru— it’s too much… ‘m too sensitive, ah—” your hand grabs his wrist, shakily trying to push him away.
the look he gives you is enough to make your breath halt. “move your hand.” the demand is low, borderline territorial.
you listen, your heart pounding in your ears. your babbling incoherently, knuckles whitening with how tightly you hold onto the cushions.
satoru throws you into another toe-curling orgasm, making you squeal his name with tears brimming your eyes. while you’re trying to collect yourself, he kisses your mound, then all the way up your body, gnawing teasingly at your flesh as if he wanted to eat you up.
he pulls you into a deep, unadulterated kiss, a mix of teeth and spit and tongue. it's messy, intense, and you find yourself moaning into his mouth. his body presses against yours, bare chest to chest, your legs wrapping around his waist.
satoru is drunk on your taste. he whines without realizing it, all thoughts beside you faded from his mind. his hips grind against yours, rubbing his clothed erection against your sodden pussy. your thighs clench around his waist, the friction making you sigh.
he easily picks you up from the couch, not breaking the kiss once as he takes you to his bedroom. kicking the door shut. he slowly lowers you down to the mattress, a stark contrast to how he was making it his goal to completely ravish you.
“shit,” satoru almost growls into the clasp of your kiss, the sound entirely animalistic. “need you. need you so bad. please, please—”
you gently run up your fingers along his heated back, the muscles rippling with pleasure as you do so, moving to hold the back of his nape. you pull away from the kiss, foreheads resting against each other. intimate. a grounding gesture.
“take what you need,” you whisper.
that’s enough for satoru, enough for him to push himself off of you, blown-out pupils holding your gaze as he pulls down his boxers, bare to you. his cock is flushed, painfully so. the curve making the veins that run along his shaft apparent. he’s hard, and has been for so damn long, he’s surprised he hasn’t gone insane.
you sit up, somewhat in a daze. you grab the length, pumping a few strokes along it. you almost felt bad.
“how long have you been like this?” you murmur, keeping your pace slow.
his long, white eyelashes flutter as his eyes shut, brows furrowing as a needy moan punches out of his lungs.
“fu— fuck, since… this morning,” satoru stammers. his hand reaches for your wrist, gently circling around it as if unsure whether to stop you or let you continue. “please, shit… need to be inside. wanna be inside. please.”
you don't resist. you lie back against the sheets, spreading your legs easily. he swallows, his eyes as wide as saucers. this was a sight better than anything he could ever be offered, better than any expensive goat meat you bought for him. his tail flicks behind him, heavy and unguarded. he crawls over to you as if he were stalking prey, slow and meticulous. he kisses your knee before shrouding you, pressing his lips to your pulse.
he lines himself up to your drooling hole, slowly sliding inside. the pressure is burning, his girth stretches your hole, making your pussy flutter from the sudden intrusion. you hiss, digging your nails into his shoulder.
“ah— it’s not gonna fit,” you gasp, keening as he slips past the ring of muscle, sucking him in deeper. satoru whimpers, trying to restrain himself from ramming his entire cock inside.
“shhh, shhh, it’ll fit. relax. you can take it.” he contains himself just enough to comfort you, sliding kisses across your collarbone, down to your nipples where he suckles and fondles your breasts to get you to relax.
he slowly rolls his hips, moving according to your comfort. you moan lowly, your hand migrating to tease his ears which has him purring.
once your walls are able to accommodate all of him, he is no longer gentle. he fucks you deep, hard enough to have the headboard smack the wall with each pronounced thrust. he is unabashedly loud. whining your name like a curse, whimpering when you clench around him, his spotty tail swinging wildly with his rigor.
tears are streaming down your face by then, your back bowing, nails digging into his back. your voice croaks from mewling his name, pitchy and cracking. what makes you really scream is when satoru grabs the backs of your knees, roughly pushing your legs down to your chest, pistoning deep enough to prod at your cervix.
“ah, ah—! s… ‘toru! so fucking deep, ngh!” every noise you make is punctuated by his relentless thrusts, each pressing you into the mattress.
“fuck… oh, fuckkk… you're clenching around me, haah, yesyesyes!” satoru babbles, lost in the wet sloshes of your pussy. it's so much yet not enough all in the same. he wants more, craves more, he wants to absorb himself in you and your scent and god—
he wants to make you his.
the thought curls darkly in his mind, roiling with hormones and earnest want. it makes his pace impossibly faster, with energy you thought would be at least toned down from effort. as if in reaction to his revelation, his tail wraps across your abdomen, fur tickling you with its claim.
he lets out a growly moan, sucking on your collarbone, plunging deeper inside of you, hitting your sweet spot with mind-numbing precision.
“oh, my god— ohmygodohmygod— shit! right there, don't stop!” you whine, meeting his thrusts with a small cant of your hips. your legs quiver in his grasp, gratification rattling your nerves. satoru lets out a groan, his face dipping into the crook of your neck, small whimpers falling directly into your ear while he suckles on your shoulder.
“feel so… hngh, good— g-gonna make you mine. hm? say you're mine, please.” his words hardly register in your head, but you are nodding regardless, nails clawing at his back with every push of his cock. a sharp twinge pinches the skin of your shoulder, satoru's feline fangs biting into flesh. it makes you gasp, a broken moan erupting from your lips.
“ah— ah! i’m yours, yours, mngh—” those words only serve to make satoru’s thrusts grow sloppy, his tip kissing your sweet spot with each deep plunge.
it was filthy, entirely primal— and yet intensely passionate.
“‘m gonna cum— shit, shit, i’m cumming, yes!” he spills into your velvet walls with a choked sob, spurts of thick white painting your walls. he clings onto you, fucking you through your own release, indistinct sweet nothings purring into your ears as he kisses you along your collarbone.
“so good f’me… pretty girl, doing so well. love you, love you…” he pulled you into a kiss, one that asserted you weren't leaving this bed for a while…
minutes fade into merciless hours. even after making you orgasm so much you nearly forgot your own name, satoru's stamina seemed limitless. it was as if he was trying to carve his very existence into you with each thrust of his cock, as if it was his single goal to imprint on you. which, it probably was; deep marks littered your skin, bite marks plentiful on across your shoulders.
not to mention the way he had flipped you every which way just to stuff you full of his cum. the sheets beneath you were evidence, his seed dripping out of your tired hole, parts of the fabric ripped from satoru’s claws trying to find purchase.
after you grew too tired to hold yourself up, he laid both of you down on your sides, his fervent thrusts becoming messy grinds of his hips, though they were just as eager.
satoru was barely comprehensible. moaning your name, soft cries leaving his kiss-swollen lips when he bottomed out. his voice became a hoarse whisper as he murmured praises into your ear, biting and licking at the skin just below.
“hnghhh… you feel so good, wanna keep you like this forever, mngh… you're fucking amazing,” he groans, forehead sweltering hot as he presses it against your shoulder. his hand moves from its place at your stomach, fondling your breast, eliciting a tired whine from you.
“‘toru… can't… i can’t, it's too much,” you say, legs still shaking from your previous climaxes.
he hushes you tenderly, thumb rubbing over your receptive nipple while he litters kisses on your shoulder. “shhh, you can. one more, okay? can you do that for me?”
his fingers tease your skin as he lowers to the apex of your thighs, finding your clit and rubbing tight circles. you let out a low moan, head leaning back against his chest.
“cum for me, pretty girl.” he rolls his hips right into the spongey part of your walls, your shuddering release washing over you.
satoru’s comes not too long after, a growly whimper muffled by your skin that he presses his lips against. the base of his shaft is frothy with your mixed releases, a sinful vision that has him rearing for more. yet, with the way your body slumps against him, rationality slightly unfogs his heat-addled mind.
you needed rest. and to be cleaned up.
with a few kisses to your heated skin and murmurs of praise, satoru lays you down, leaving to retrieve a warm, damp cloth. he cleans you, the gesture oddly intimate. after tossing the towel away, he crawls over to you, pressing his cheek against your chest as he plops himself on top of you, strong arms enwrapping your waist.
you are just barely conscious enough to hear:
“think you can take a few days off work? might be like this a while.”
Cw: Smut. Oral. P in V. Thigh riding. Size kink. Panty sniffer Caleb Jealous Xavier. It includes links to 🌽 videos on X for visual examples on what was sent. 🔞 MDNI🔞
Sylus/Xavier/Rafayel/Zayne/Caleb
Yeah*sigh*I'm ovulating again. Enjoy 😝
The blue light of your phone screen is the only thing cutting through the darkness of your bedroom. You really should have been asleep an hour ago, instead, you’re spiraling down a rabbit hole you didn't even know existed.
Size kink.
You’d never really thought about it before, not until you started dating Sylus and tonight you were just scrolling, looking for something to satisfy the empty ache Sylus left all week.
This video is something you had never seen before or even thought was possible. You watch, mesmerized by the way the woman’s stomach subtly shifts a visible bulge as he stretches her out.
Heat pools instantly between your thighs, making your breath hitch and a dizzying sensation of fullness hit your gut. He's always so careful with you, so agonizingly gentle, as if you’re something precious he might break if he breathes too hard. But looking at this... a dark part of your brain wonders what it would feel like if he didn't hold back.
"Holy shit..." you whisper to the empty room.
Your hand moves instinctively, fingers sliding down to find slick heat. The video is playing on a loop. Bulge. Stretch. Deep. Repeat. You watch it while your imagination runs wild, replacing the stranger on the screen with the man who owns your heart. You’re picturing his heavy weight pinning you down, his eyes blown wide, filling you until you can’t even scream.
You’re chasing a peak that feels miles away until, suddenly, it isn't. You hit your first orgasm with a stifled gasp, back arching off the mattress, only to find yourself immediately chasing the second one, body trembling and spent in the wake of the first.
By the time the second wave of pleasure ebbs away, you’re a puddle of limbs and heavy eyelids. You’re half conscious, drifting in that beautiful limbo between wakefulness and dreams. In a daze of post orgasmic euphoria, you squint at the screen, your thumb hovering over the comment section.
"How do I send him this without actually sending it to him 😳"
You tap 'send' with a clumsy thumb. You meant to just post it as a thought, a digital scream into the void. But as your eyes flutter shut, your hand twitches a final, involuntary spasm of exhausted muscle. Your thumb slips. It slides across the 'Share' icon, hovers over the very first contact at the top of your recent list, and taps.
Sent.
You don't hear the subtle whoosh of the outgoing message. Delivered directly to the man who at this very moment is probably staring at a security feed or sipping red wine.
Sylus.
You just fall into a deep, blissful sleep, completely unaware that you've just lit a fuse.
“Come on, sweetie, don’t give up on me now" Thrust. The impact is heavy, forcing a breathless gasp from your lungs. “You can take it, can’t you?”
He isn't being the gentle, careful man you know. Not today. His hand is hooked firmly behind your head, his fingers tangling in your hair, forcing you to watch the unmistakable, fat bulge stretching the skin of your lower abdomen, proof to just how deep he’s buried himself inside you.
“You wanted this, now you have to take it and you are going to watch.”
And there it is. The reality of it. It’s visceral. It’s exactly what you saw in that video, but it’s a thousand times more intense because it’s him. It’s real.
Your vision swima and just as the shock of it all starts to settle, he shifts. He changes the angle of his hips in a calculated move that hits your G spot dead on. An uninhibited scream tears from your throat, echoing through the room.
“I've been trying to behave,” he says, and the words come out rougher than he probably intended, an edge of frustration bleeding through his usual composure “But you make it so difficult... fuck... by sending me your filthy little thoughts.”
His hand settles against your belly, firm and heavy, and the second he presses down, your body reacts with a sharp inhale. You tense instinctively, muscles coiling around him, but you don't pull away. You can't.
“Can you feel me here?” he asks, breath coming in uneven bursts. He’s buried balls deep and for a split second, you see a flicker of hesitation in his eyes. You make a face, a strange, overwhelmed expression of fullness, and he looks like he might actually pull back to give you a moment to breathe. He thinks he’s pushing too hard.
He’s wrong.
Don't you dare.
Driven by a desperation you didn't know you possessed, you move your hips in a searching rhythm, pressing his hand down harder against your stomach. You want the pressure. You want to feel the exact point where he meets your skin from the inside.
He lets out a loud groan at the sensation. Your narrow walls clamp down on him, tighter than they've ever been. Every millimeter of space between you feels like it’s disappearing, leaving nothing but friction and heat.
You don't have the words to tell him that you never want him to stop, so your body does the talking. You cling to him, legs wrapping around his waist as he holds you there, keeping you exactly where you are until your breathing turns unsteady.
Until your body softens in momentary surrender and tightens again a second later, as if you're fighting a war with yourself, trying to decide whether to let go or to hold on tighter.
In the end, you don't choose. You do both.
The world dissolves into a hot haze of pleasure. It couldn't be called an orgasm because this feels like a total system failure. You’re sobbing his name or maybe you’re just gasping for air, you can’t tell anymore as waves of pleasure crash over you, violent and unrelenting. Your pussy seizes around him in long pulses, milking him, begging for the very thing that’s pushing you past your limit.
He follows you a few seconds later, burying himself soooo deep you feel the hot rush of him filling you.
Slowly, the fog begins to lift, leaving you in a state of blissful, heavy lethargy. The hand that was just pressing so ruthlessly into your belly softens, fingers tracing lazy circles over your skin.
"You really are a menace." he murmurs, pressing a lingering kiss to your temple.
The shame you expected to feel, the embarrassment of that accidental video is nowhere to be found. Instead, there is only a sense of immense satisfaction.
"Next time," he whispers into your hair "don't bother sending a link. Just tell me. I'll give you everything you desire. Every single time."
The problem with being in love with a man like Xavier is that your brain is constantly a minefield of "what ifs."
He’s incredible, truly, but you’ve noticed the way he pulls back sometimes. When he’s brooding or when that possessive jealousy starts to prickle at him, he becomes almost too careful. Like he’s afraid he might actually break you if he lets go of that restraint.
So, naturally, you’ve been doing a little "research" to keep the inspiration alive.
Now, you’re sitting on the edge of your bathtub, scrolling through your feed, a habit that’s becoming a bit of a vice, when a video catches your eye. A girl pinned to a mattress, her head pressed down by her partner as he fucks her from behind. Hard. The sound of her moans echoes in your ears through your headphones and suddenly the bathroom feels about ten degrees too hot.
God, yes.
You quickly save the link to your "later" folder, a digital stash of things you want him to eventually try, and then scribble a quick, thirsty comment on the video "This but with my boyfriend dressed as Lumiere 🤤 " and set your phone down.
Buzz. Buzz.
A notification lights up the screen. It’s him.
[Xavier]: Found a new hot pot place. Apparently, the broth is spicy enough to kill a Wanderer. Want to go tonight? Please say yes so I can stop thinking about food and start thinking about you.
A soft laugh escapes you. He’s so predictable, yet so devastatingly charming when he wants to be. Your answer is an immediate "sure" because you’d say yes to a lukewarm bowl of water if he was the one serving it.
But he always forgets to look at the menu and ends up ordering something way too spicy or something you're not in the mood for, so you look for the restaurant's menu.
You see the link. Tap it. Copy. Paste. Add "Look at the options! The spicy broth looks insane." Send.
Funny thing is, you don't actually copy the menu's URL, you just cut it. You don't even realize you just sent him the very un culinary link to the video you were just watching to fuel your own delusions.
Little typing bubbles appear. They dance for a long time. They disappear. They reappear.
He's so indecisive.
⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐
"Lumiere?" the name sounds like a curse "You wanted Lumiere to pin you down?"
Your face is pressed so firmly into the mattress that the fabric feels like a part of your own skin, the scent of laundry detergent mixing with the heat of the moment. Every time he thrusts into you, the world tilts, your vision blurring into white light and dark shadows. The Xavier who kisses your forehead and cuddles with you is buried somewhere deep inside the man currently fucking you breathless.
"Xavie..." you try to speak, but his name dies in your throat as he shifts his weight.
"Tell me," he demands, losing the battle with his own restraint. He hits you hard, a deep, soul shaking thrust that forces a broken moan from your lips. "Tell me you don't need a costume to feel this."
You try to answer, to tell him he's being ridiculous...
Smack!
The sting of his palm against your ass makes you gasp, your fingers clawing at the mattress for purchase.
"You sent it to me on purpose," he mutters as he leans down, his chest pressing hard against your back. "You wanted to see me like this, didn't you? You wanted to see if I could be as rough as him."
He doesn't want an answer. He doesn't wait for one. He just wants to hear you whimper his name when he hits that perfect spot.
His hand presses your face down even harder into the mattress, muffling your cries. It's everything you were craving when you were scrolling through your phone earlier, but the reality is a thousand times better.
You start to move, trying to meet him halfway, trying to grind back against him to find the friction that will push you over the edge.
"Faster..." you beg, trying to turn your head to tell him that there is no Lumiere, there is only him, but he just presses you back down, his thumb grazing your hip bone with trembling pressure.
"Shhhhhh, just a little bit more," he lets out a long groan, his forehead dropping to rest against the back of your neck for a fleeting second before he surges upward again. "You should see the way your pussy is taking my cock right now, so greedy. Just for me."
His hand shifts. It leaves the back of your head to find the column of your throat. His thumb and middle finger curl around your neck not enough to hurt, but enough to remind you that he is in total control.
He stills for a heartbeat, his middle finger softly tapping the pulsing vein in your neck. "Every beat belongs to me tonight"
You just nod, a jerky movement, because you are standing on the very edge of a precipice, and the fall is coming. The tension in your lower belly is wound so tight it’s almost painful.
"Say it," he breathes, his lips brushing the shell of your ear, his words a warm, humid ghost of a sensation, his control fraying at the edges.
"Yours," you finally whisper, like secret you’ve been holding in your lungs for far too long, finally allowed to breathe.
The moment the word leaves your lips, he loses the last of his mercy.
He pulls back almost entirely, leaving you aching and empty for a fraction of a second only to drive back in, bottomless and bruising. It’s a cycle of withdrawal and overwhelming fullness that leaves you reeling.
"Give me what's mine" the command vibrates through your entire body.
The world dissolves into white light as your head falls forward, muscles spasming in the violent quake of your climax, but he catches your hair, tugging just enough to force your head up, his face inches from yours, his eyes dark and swirling with a hunger that could swallow the stars.
"Good girl," he whispers against your parted, trembling lips.
He thrusts one last time, deep and final, spilling molten heat as your name breaks from his lips, torn in half by bliss before he presses a kiss between your shoulder blades. For now, the jealousy is gone. There is only the quiet, heavy reality of being his.
The video catches your eye instantly. The lighting is a soft purple, casting a surreal glow over the two people on screen. A girl is on top, her movements slow and agonizingly deliberate as she drags her pussy over her partners cock, the rhythm of it making your cunt clench.
Tonight you are in a "no filter" mood. You need to share this. You need to tell Tara.
With a smirk, you tap the share icon, copy the link, and switch over to your messages. You find Tara’s profile pic or so you think and start typing with the kind of unhinged energy only a best friend can appreciate.
You and Tara have long since abandoned the concept of "boundaries" when it comes to your filthy late night chats.
“Omg Tara, look at this. Raf’s cock is so pretty, I swear if he’d just let me do this to him, I’d never leave the bedroom again 🥵💦”
You hit send with a satisfied whoosh and let out a long, dramatic sigh. Silence follows. For a few minutes you go back to scrolling, blissfully unaware that you have just dropped a digital bomb into the inbox of a man who is already struggling to maintain his composure.
Your phone vibrates.
It’s not a "LOL" or a "Damn" from Tara.
It’s a notification from Rafayel.
Rafayel: Is that so?
Your heart skips a beat. You frown, squinting at the name at the top of the chat.
Wait.
Your face goes from pale to a shade of red that would put a sunset to shame. You stare at the screen, wanting to physically crawl inside the phone and disappear forever. You want to delete it. You want to throw the phone out the window. You want to move to a different planet.
But then, the little typing bubbles appear again.
Rafayel: Don't just sit there blushing, cutie. I'm coming to your place and you are going to show me exactly what you want"
🫧 🫧 🫧 🫧 🫧🫧🫧🫧🫧🫧🫧🫧🫧🫧🫧🫧🫧🫧
You’ve lost track of time. Your thighs are starting to ache, every muscle in your legs feels tight, strained from holding yourself upright, yet you keep moving. You have to. The friction is the only thing keeping you grounded.
You’re straddling him, your knees digging into the soft linens, focused on the way your cunt drags over his cock. Slippery. Hot. Wet.
Every time you slide down, the underside of him, that thick ridge presses ruthlessly against your clit. You can feel the vein running along his length pulse in perfect synch with your clit.
Thump thump. Thump thump.
"Slow down..." he groans, gripping your hips "You're going to... fuuuuck... you're going to kill me"
The friction is creating a heat of its own, a sliding friction that makes your head spin. You watch slightly delirious, as the light from the moon filters through the window, catching the sheen of sweat on his pale skin and the way his hair is plastered to his forehead. He looks wrecked. He looks beautiful. He looks like he belongs entirely to you.
But his hands are far from weak. They are heavy weights anchored to your hips, and he uses them to sabotage you. Just when you think you’ve found a rhythm that might actually save you, he tightens his grip, forcing your hips to slow, dragging the slide of your pussy out into a long, shallow glide.
It’s cruel. A sadistic kind of torture, making the night feel endless, as if the clock has stopped just to watch you suffer.
He wants to stretch this out. He wants to milk every drop of anticipation from your veins until your entire body begins to tremble, not from pleasure, but from the weight of the climax that refuses to arrive. He wants to push you to that edge where even your silence sounds filthy, where the quiet between your breaths is thick with the unspoken things you want to do to him.
Once he’s satisfied with the slow pace, his hands begin to wander. They trace the curve of your waist, the dip of your spine, the swell of your breasts, learning your body the way a sinner learns to pray. Like hunger learning the art of restraint just long enough to make the eventual feast mean something.
You slide back just a fraction, settling the heat of your pussy directly over his balls and then you reach down.
Your fingers wrap around the base of his cock, just like you saw in that video. You begin to stroke him while simultaneously rotating your hips in a circular grind over the heavy fullness of his balls.
The sound that tears from his throat is something unhuman, a vibration that feels like it's coming from the depths of the ocean.
Your name is caught between his teeth in a soft, sinful exhale. He sounds undone, completely unraveled by the sight of you taking exactly what you claimed you wanted in that accidental text.
He’s right there, on the edge of an unravelling collapse.
And because you are just like him, a creature of beautiful, chaotic impulse, you don't let him have it. Not yet.
You release his cock, hand slipping away just as the tension reaches its peak, and drag your soaked cunt back up the entire length of him in one loooong slide.
It feels like a collision of two fires.
In your desperation to feel everything you let your entire weight drop. The clench of your pussy as you cum wraps around the underside of his cock, squeezing him with a force that leaves him absolutely helpless.
He has no choice but to follow you into the fire.
Spurts of his cum paint the pale skin of his stomach, the liquid warmth spreading in thick, white streaks, pooling in his belly button.
For a few seconds, neither of you moves. There is only the sound of your breathing and the humid scent of your shared exhaustion.
“Was that pretty enough for you, cutie?” he teases, though his hand trembles slightly as he reaches up to tuck a stray lock of hair behind your ear. His thumb lingers on your cheek, like he’s constantly checking to make sure you haven't vanished into the night. "Or do we need to do it again?"
It’s late, way past the time Zayne would usually be nudging you to sleep but he’s still tucked away in his office, probably buried under a mountain of medical charts or surgical reports.
Your eyes are glued to your phone screen, watching a VIDEO of a girl grinding against a man’s thigh, bodies pressed together, his hands steady even as she buries her face in the crook of his neck. The guy in the video is wearing pajamas that look disturbingly similar to the ones Zayne is wearing right now.
Suddenly, the empty space in your bed feels a little too vast, your mind drifting to the office down the hall, aching to be that girl, to climb onto his Zayne's lap while he’s buried in medical charts and just... fuck yourself stupid.
You want to reach down and touch yourself but you’re a loud sleeper and an even louder moaner. If you start now, there’s no way he won't hear you through the walls, and you aren't quite ready for that kind of intimacy yet. So, you settle for a bit of digital venting. With a flushed face, you type out a quick comment on the video: "God, I wish I could do this while he's working..."
You go to save the link to your "Filthy Things" folder for a proper session tomorrow morning, but just as your thumb hovers over the screen, your phone starts vibrating. It’s Simone. She’s calling, probably to gossip about something trivial. In your rush to swipe the call and answer her, your finger taps the wrong folder.
And because Zayne is a man who is always, always connected to his devices for work... he’s going to see the notification the exact second it pops up.
🩺 🩺 🩺 🩺 🩺 🩺 🩺 🩺 🩺 🩺 🩺 🩺 🩺 🩺 🩺 🩺
It didn't take long. After that little "digital accident," the silence between you two wasn't awkward so much as it was heavy. Charged. He didn't even tease you about the comment. He didn't even blush. He just looked at you with those piercing eyes, a tiny, knowing quirk at the corner of his mouth, and silently commanded you to come to him.
And now, here you are. Perched on his lap, doing the same thing you saw on that video. Your lower half is completely bare, your thighs hugging his muscular one as you press yourself flush against him.
The friction is driving you completely insane.
Zayne, however, is a man of terrifying discipline.
His left hand is braced on your lower back, while his right hand moves across his keyboard. He’s actually working. He’s reviewing files, typing out notes, behaving as if you aren't currently trying to melt into his lap. Every so often, he’ll pause, not to stop you, but to lean in. His breath, cool and smelling faintly of mint, brushes against the shell of your ear, sending a violent shiver down your spine.
"Ah... Zayne..." you whimper against his neck as you press yourself harder against him. The sound is loud, far too loud for his quiet office and you can feel the heat rising in your cheeks.
"Hush now," he doesn't even look away from the monitor, though you notice the slight tightening of his jaw. "I need to focus. These reports won't write themselves."
He’s being difficult. He’s being a tease. And you love him for it.
You try to be "good." You force yourself to still when he has to write something long on his computer. You sit there, trembling slightly, waiting for him to acknowledge the havoc you're wreaking on his concentration.
A moment passes. The only sound is the soft click clack of the keyboard. Then, you feel his hand slide from your hip to the small of your back, pulling you just a fraction of an inch closer, a subtle command for you to keep going.
"Good girl," he whispers, the words a warm caress against your ear.
His expression is completely professional, but the way his fingers linger on your skin tells a completely different story. He’s still working, yes but he’s also letting you feel exactly how much of a distraction you really are.
Every time your thighs tense up, every time you desperately bite your lower lip to stifle a moan that threatens to shatter the silence, the air thickens with indecency.
He’s struggling. You aren't blind. You can feel the insistent twitch of his cock beneath you, reacting to every open mouthed kiss you press against the pulse of his neck, the sharp line of his collarbone, and the smooth expanse of his Adam's apple. He’s trying to maintain that surgeon’s calm, but his body is betraying him with every shuddering breath you take.
You’re right on the edge. Your clit is catching perfectly against the fabric of his pajamas, the material already damp and clinging to you from the amount of arousal you're leaking.
"Look at me."
His voice cuts through the air, forcing your gaze up. He wants to see the exact moment your eyes glaze over, the moment your breath hitches and tells the truth that your lips are trying so hard to hide.
When his hand slides up to cup your jaw, it isn't the gentle, comforting touch you're used to during a quiet movie on the couch. It's different. It's possessive. It’s a disciplined kind of dominance, a reminder that while he is the composed Zayne in the daylight, there is a much darker man caged behind that professional composure and you are the only one who knows how to let him out.
"You are close, aren't you, love?" he whispers, his lips hovering so close to yours that you can feel the heat of his breath.
You can barely manage a nod, your lungs feeling too small for the air you're trying to pull in. You're breathing directly into his slightly parted mouth.
"Cum for me, then," he exhales, a rare flush creeping up his cheeks, betraying just how much this is affecting him too.
He shifts his thigh, bouncing it up and down in a rhythmic motion that catches your clit perfectly.
The world tilts. You feel your eyes lose focus and you can't tell if it's the shaking of your limbs or the pounding of your heart that's making you tremble so violently.
"Zaynie... Zayne..."
His name becomes your entire vocabulary, there are no words left, only the sound of his name on your lips and the crashing sensation of finally, finally letting go.
You are flicking through a never ending stream of mindless clips and memes. It’s supposed to be a quiet afternoon, just a bit of scrolling to kill the time until Caleb comes back, but then there...
A VIDEO pops up. It’s not your usual aesthetic travel vlog or a cooking hack.
You freeze, your heart doing a weird, little skip in your chest. You know you should probably swipe past it, but your eyes are glued to the screen. It’s a girl, her lace panties completely drenched. The guy in the video isn't even taking them off, he’s just sliding the tip of his cock against her through the wet lace.
A sudden warmth blooms deep in your belly, spreading down until it feels like you’re melting into the cushions. God, you’ve been craving that. The teasing, the slow, agonizing buildup. You’ve spent so much money on delicate, expensive little sets, thinking maybe Caleb would appreciate the way they look on you, but hes a fucking dog. He doesn't do "slow." He usually just rips them or tugs them off with impatience, going straight for the heat of you. You just want him to play with you like that. To linger.
Your inhibitions are a little frayed from the visual, and before your brain can catch up to your impulse, your thumbs are flying. You tap the comment section, the screen a mess of unhinged messages from strangers, and you add your own little confession: “I really need him to play with me like this, but he prefers to eat it raw from the start😢”
You hit send, a tiny, embarrassed flush creeping up your neck, and immediately swipe the video away, feeling a bit silly for being so vulnerable to a bunch of internet strangers.
You toss the phone onto the cushion next to you a second later, completely oblivious to one mortifying detail. He’d logged into his account on your phone earlier when his own battery died, and you hadn't bothered to switch back.
In his office, the most dangerous man in Skyhaven is about to watch, in explicit detail, how you want to be ruined.
🪷 🪷 🪷 🪷 🪷 🪷 🪷 🪷 🪷 🪷 🪷 🪷 🪷 🪷 🪷 🪷
It turns out your assessment of him was spot on. The man is a fucking dog.
He hasn't taken your underwear off. That’s the part that’s driving you absolutely insane. The delicate lace is currently soaked, clinging to your pussy like a second, translucent layer of skin. He’s been working his tongue against the fabric, licks so long and heavy they feel like they’re reaching deep inside you. You’ve already been hit by two earth shattering, toe curling orgasms, your vision blurring every time his mouth finds your clit through the damp cloth. He hasn't even slowed down. If anything, it's getting worse.
“This is the reason I usually take off those pretty panties you wear” he presses his face into you, his broad tongue sweeping up in one stroke against your entire slit. You let out a choked, broken sound, fingers tangling desperately in his dark hair, trying to push him away just to catch your breath.
“Your scent is so fucking addictive,” he groans against your skin, “Especially after wearing them all day... knowing you've been walking around, smelling like this, just waiting for me.”
Then, he says something that makes your heart skip a beat not out of fear, but out of pure shock.
“You have no idea, do you?” he pants, nose brushing against your clit. “Last two years of High School... I spent them stroking my cock raw just to the smell of your panties. Thinking about you. Wishing you were right there."
Your vision blurs. Your hips jerk upward involuntarily as a third wave of pleasure crashes over you. You cum hard, your entire body shaking as you spill yourself directly onto his tongue, voice breaking into a high, desperate sob of his name.
He doesn't pull away. He just drinks you in, a satisfied smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth as he tastes exactly what he's been craving.
The moment your legs stop trembling he hooks his fingers into the soaked gusset and drags it to the side, baring your swollen folds and your pulsing clit, sensitive from his relentless attention.
He doesn't thrust in. He doesn't go for the full stretch you’ve been silently praying for. Instead, he slides the drooling tip of his cock over your slit. He isn't even entering you yet, he's just... slapping it against your clit, teasing the very edge of your tolerance.
You wanted the lace, the play, the slow burn... but God, you also wanted him to fuck you until you couldn't remember your name. You wanted the stretch.
But Caleb is a man who listens. Or rather, he's a man who has spent a lifetime studying every detail of your desires and right now he is giving you exactly what you asked for.
He leans down, his eyes dark, watching the way your face contorts with pleasure and frustration. He doesn't give you the release of a full thrust, he just feeds you the tip. He slides just the head of his cock into your pussy, a teasing invasion that barely makes a dent.
The reaction is instantaneous. Your walls react to him like a living thing, clenching around him, desperately trying to suck him deeper, to pull the rest of him in. The sensation is so perfectly matched that a synchronized moan breaks from both of you.
He pulls out just a fraction and then he thrusts the tip back in. Over and over again.
“Please,” you whimper, the word sounding pathetic even to your own ears. “Baby, please...”
You’re trying to force him to go deeper. But he’s in total control. His left hand is working the length of his cock, pumping with a desperate rhythm, while his right hand finds your clit.
His eyes are pinned to yours, watching every flicker of emotion on your face as if he’s trying to memorize the way you fall apart.
And then, the teasing ends.
His mushroom tip, still nestled just inside your entrance, begins to pulse. Warm, thick spurts of cum hit your sensitive walls, flooding the tiny space he’s occupied.
Your pussy clenches around the tip of his cock, trying to suck every last drop out of him while his hand squeezes the rest of his length, forcing the remainder of his seed into you, filling you up until his cum starts to leak out.
He finally collapses against you, the weight of his body pressing you deep into the mattress.
"You're so loud when you're happy," he murmurs before pressing a slow, lingering kiss to your temple, then your cheek, before finally settling his lips against yours in a kiss that tastes of salt and everything you are to him.
He pulls back just a bit, his gaze dropping to where the soaked lace of your panties still clings to your thighs, then back up to your eyes. There’s a flicker of that obsessive intensity returning to his expression.
"There isn't a single thing in this world you could ask for that wouldn't make me crawl to you. So don't hold back, Pips."
Imagine the first time you learned to hate Gojo Satoru was when you were ten years old dressed in silk too stiff for a child.
Imagine your family had dragged you into yet another charity gala. One with gold chandeliers dripping light over polished marble, conversations wrapped in politeness and quiet calculation. The kind of place where power didn't need to raise its voice. It simply existed, heavy in the air, watching, weighing.
and Imagine, there he was. White hair too bright under warm lighting. He stood beside a group of executives three times his age. Tinted glasses perched on his nose, hiding eyes that everyone seemed to talk about like they were something rare, something untouchable.
Imagine the way he looked... Bored. Like the entire room was beneath him. "Ah." Someone murmured behind you, not even trying to lower their voice enough. "The pride of the Gojo clan." A soft chuckle followed. "And so young too. Already handling investments better than most board members." Then a quieter, sharp enough to slice straight to you. "Such a shame the heir of the (Last name) clan can't compare."
Imagine the way your fingers tightened around the juice glass in your hand. Too tight. But you didn't look away, instead, you kept staring. And as if he felt it, like he always somehow did, he turned. Then his eyes met yours. His head titled slightly. A pause. Then he smiled, not kind, not polite, just knowing. Like he had alreaday heard it all before and he agreed.
Imagine it never stopped. Not in the years that followed. Where your lives ran parallel in the same suffocating circle of prestige and expectation. Not through provate academies where your surnames mattered more than your grades. Not through business course where professors spoke to him like he was already a colleague and to you like you still had something to prove. Not through adulthood, where boardrooms replaced classroom and contracts replaced report cards, but the comparison stayed exactly the same.
Imagine in every gala, in every board meeting, in every charity auction. It was always the same.
Imagine he would arrive late, like time bent for him. White hair slightly tousled like he didn'y care. Suit tailored enough to remind everyone that he very much did. And that smile. God, that smile. It was like he was in on a joke no one else understood which is usually at your expense.
"Careful." He murmur once, passing you, brushing shoulders just enough to irritate. "You're glaring again. People might think you're obsessed with me." "I'd rather choke." You shot back sweetly. He grinned wider. "See? That's the spirit."
Imagine he was always there. In every negotiation, in every acquisition rumor whispered over champagne. Always better, always ahead, always smiling like it was all just midly entertaining. And worst of all, he never seemed to take you seriously. Not once.
so Imagine of course, when everything started falling apart, it had to be him.
Imagine the bar was tucked away from the city's main pulse. Dim lights, low music, privacy bought at a price only people like you could afford. The kind of place where reputations were protected. And ruined.
Imagine he was already there. Of course he was. And he was there leaning back against the counter, sleeves rolled just enough to look careless but deliberate. A glass in his hand, untouched for the most part like he'd been waiting. Like he knew you would come. In which of course you would, you ask for this.
"Soo?" Gojo Satoru drawled the moment you approached, turning towards you with that sae infuriating ease. "What does the lovely heiress want from me?" And god, you hated his voice.
Imagine the way you didn't sit gracefully. You didn't ease into it. You just dropped into the seat next to him like you were making a statement. "Marry me."
Imagine the silence, then. "Without a ring?" He laughed, low and amused, turning fully towards you now. "No." Your eyes twitched. "Look." You exhaled, pressing your fingers to your temple as your headache pulsed harder. "I need a favour." "And we're close enough for that?" He asked smoothly, brows lifting behind those tinted lenses. "That's new."
"I know we're not." You snapped, patience already fraying. "I can't stand you. I don't even like breathing the same air as you." "Then why me, princess?" The question was light, too light for the weight on your chest. So you hesitated for half a second. Then met his gaze anyway. "Because I trust you won't fall in love with me." And for the first time in your life, Gojo Satoru blink.
and Imagine, you almost laughed. Almost. Because your head was pounding, your pride was barely intact and asking him, of all people, for this, felt like swallowing glass. You hated him.
Imagine you hated how effortlessly beautiful he was. How annoyingly unserious he could be in rooms where your entire future was on line. How your life has been measured against his for as long as you could remember. How him and his equally insufferable best friend, Geto Suguru had made sure of that throughout your school years. Always around, always watching, always just a step ahead.
And yet, Imagine, you trusted him. Not because he was kind. Not because he cared. But because Gojo Satoru didn'y attach. Didn't linger, didn't love. And you needed that. You needed something controlled. Something predictable. Safe. Someone who wouldn't complicate this. And maybe. Maybe because there wa a part of you buried somewhere deep and inconvenient that didn't trust yourself nearly as much.
"Whatever." You muttered, pushing your chair back when he did not answer fast enough. "Geto's available, right? Oh wait-fuck, No he wasn't. Then I'll just ask someone from the Itadori family. And if that doesn't work-" Your voice hardened, the reality of it settling heavy in your chest. "Then I'll marry that Zenin bastard."
Imagine your family's company had been declining for years. Quietly, carefully hidden behind PR statements and strategic partnership that only delayed the inevitable. But the Zenin group didn't wait. They circled, they pressured, and their proposal? It wasn't partnership. It was ownership disguised as marriage.
Imagine you did not even take a full step when his hand caught your wrist. Firm, immediate, warm. And so you froze, you turned back and his glasses were gone. And for a moment, everything ese disappeared. Because his eyes, bright, sharp, unreadble. Was looking at you in a way that made your chest tighten, like you were something he couldn't quite place.
"I'll do it." Your heart stuttered. "Just..." He paused, like the words didn't come as easily as everything else usually did. "Just?" You pressed. "I'll be the one to call it quits." He said, quieter now. "When this ends, it ends on my terms." Ah. There it was. Control. Of course. You let out a small, humorless breath. "Divorce? Fine. But it last a year-"
"Second." You stare at him. "What?" "I'll propose." He added, leaning slightly closer, voice lower like this was the only part of the conversation that actually mattered. "Give me time." "That's unnecessary-" "Do you want this deal to go through or not?" You glare at him. He leanded back again, like the moment of seriousness had never happened. Like he hadn't just shifted your entire life with a single sentence. "Your answer, princess?" You clenched your jaw. "...Fuck you." "I love you too, honey." He winked.
Imagine your heart did not calm down. Not then, not when you left the bar. Not even when the weight of what you had just fone finally settled into your bones. A contract. A year. A marriage built on mutual hatred and convenience. Safe. Controllled. Impossible to turn into something more. Right?
Imagine you told yourself that was why you didn't regret it. Not even a little. Because this? This would either ruin you, or become the only thing you'd never want to lose.
[ⓒdark-night-hero] 2026° ko-fi?
: i have this on my drafts for almost 2 months now.
Reincarnated as a Doomed Villainess, I Must Marry the Duke of the North to Escape My Execution!!
A modern girl wakes up as a villainess in a manhwa and quickly learns her fiancé—the Crown Prince—is destined to kill her, so in pure panic and survival logic she does the only thing she can think of: rewrites her fate by aiming for the one man even scarier than him—the Duke of the North.
Warning: Contains stronglanguage, suggestive humor, and mature themes.
Part 1
· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·
“Duke of the North—Sir Gojo, or whatever your title is! Please, marry me. I don’t have much to offer except my family name and my body—”
Y/n’s POV
“Wh—what?! Wedding?! Me—?!”
My voice came out louder than I meant to, slightly hoarse like I’d just woken up mid-argument.
I pushed myself up too quickly, my head spinning for a second.
Okay… pause.
Think.
What happened last night?
I blinked, trying to piece it together.
I didn’t drink. I’m pretty sure I didn’t. And even if I did, there’s no way I ended up… here.
My hands pressed into the sheets beneath me. Soft. Way too soft.
Slowly, I looked around.
This wasn’t my room.
Not even close.
Everything looked expensive. Clean. Put together in a way that didn’t feel real—like something straight out of a historical drama.
“…What the hell,” I muttered.
“My lady?”
I froze.
A woman stood nearby, dressed like a maid. Not “cosplay maid.” Not “theme café maid.”
An actual maid.
“My lady, are you feeling unwell? Should I call for a physician?”
“I—I think I’m fine,” I said, slower this time.
My eyes moved around the room again.
Why does this feel familiar?
Not like I’ve been here before.
More like—
“I’ve seen this somewhere…”
“My lady?” she asked again.
I frowned, pressing my fingers lightly against my temple.
“I feel like I’ve seen this room before.”
She hesitated, then said carefully,
“…My lady, this is your bedroom.”
My stomach dropped.
“My… room?”
That didn’t sound right.
At all.
My gaze shifted to the vanity beside the bed.
There was a mirror.
Of course there was.
“…No way,” I whispered.
I reached for it anyway.
The moment I lifted it—
I stopped breathing.
…
That wasn’t my face.
Clear skin. Different features. Hair styled too neatly.
And the eyes—
I knew those eyes.
I’d seen them before.
“No… wait…”
My grip tightened slightly.
“Isn’t this that bitch from that manhwa—”
I cut myself off.
Because it clicked.
The room.
The clothes.
The maid calling me “my lady.”
“…You’re kidding.”
A quiet laugh slipped out, but it didn’t sound amused.
More like disbelief.
“I got… transmigrated?”
Silence.
“Into a manhwa?”
My eyes stayed locked on the reflection.
“…As the villainess?”
And just like that—
I remembered.
The engagement.
The Crown Prince.
The ending.
· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·
Two days.
Two whole days in this absurd life, and I had done absolutely nothing except sit in this room and spiral.
I hadn’t stepped out. Not for meals, not for fresh air—nothing.
Thankfully, this body came with privileges.
As the favored second daughter of House Valemont, locking myself away wasn’t questioned. No chores, no responsibilities. Just silence.
Which would’ve been perfect…
If not for one thing.
The wedding.
“…This is insane,” I muttered, dragging my hands down my face.
A knock came before I could continue panicking.
“Enter,” I said quickly, forcing my voice steady.
The door opened, and she walked in.
My—so-called—mother.
Elegant. Composed. The kind of woman who didn’t need to raise her voice to be intimidating.
“My dear daughter,” she began, her gaze sweeping over me, “you’ve let yourself go. You must tidy your appearance.”
Right.
I glanced down at myself—half-slouched on the couch, the corset digging into my ribs, the dress wrinkled from how long I’d been sitting like this.
“…Yes, Mother,” I replied, straightening slightly.
Her eyes narrowed just a fraction.
“Posture,” she added calmly. “A lady of this house does not slouch.”
I immediately fixed it.
God, even sitting properly feels like a full-time job.
She took a seat across from me, lifting her teacup with effortless grace.
“Still,” she continued, studying my figure, “I commend you. Your discipline with your diet has shown results.”
Ah.
Right.
The “diet.”
More like I’ve been too stressed to eat without feeling like I’ll throw up.
“…Thank you, Mother,” I said, offering a polite smile that felt a little too tight.
“I appreciate your concern. Though, I wouldn’t wish to take too much of your time—”
“You cannot dismiss me so easily,” she cut in smoothly.
Of course I can’t.
Her gaze settled on me, sharper now.
“We are here to discuss your wedding.”
…There it is.
My fingers curled slightly against my lap.
“Your long-awaited union,” she continued, as if this were a pleasant topic, “one you have insisted upon since childhood.”
Yeah.
Not me, though.
Wrong girl.
“I have arranged for you to meet His Highness, the Crown Prince, tomorrow.”
“…What!?”
The word slipped out before I could stop it.
My hands hit the table with a soft thud.
Silence.
My mother slowly raised a brow, taking a delicate sip of her tea.
Right.
Fix it.
“…Forgive me,” I said quickly, forcing a small laugh. “I was merely… surprised. And—excited.”
Excited to die, maybe.
Inside, my thoughts were anything but calm.
No, no, no—this is bad.
I can’t meet him.
Not now. Not ever.
That man—
He didn’t just dislike the villainess.
He hated her.
In the story, he had already tried to get rid of her more than once before the wedding even happened.
And tomorrow?
That’s basically me walking straight into his line of sight.
“…Mother,” I started carefully, keeping my tone soft, “might it be possible to… reschedule the meeting?”
Her teacup paused midair.
Then, slowly, she set it down.
“…Reschedule?” she repeated.
The temperature in the room dropped.
“That is a most unreasonable request, Y/N.”
I swallowed.
“The Crown Prince’s time is not something to be adjusted on a whim. You, of all people, should understand the importance of this engagement.”
I do.
That’s why I’m trying not to die from it.
“You must present yourself properly,” she continued, rising from her seat. “Do not forget—you carry the name of House Valemont. You will not embarrass us before His Highness.”
She turned toward the door.
Panic spiked in my chest.
“Mother—wait—”
She paused, but didn’t turn.
“You will attend tomorrow,” she said firmly.
And just like that—
The conversation was over.
The door closed behind her with a soft click.
Silence filled the room again.
I stared at the empty space for a long moment.
Then—
“…I’m actually screwed.”
I let myself fall back against the couch, staring up at the ceiling.
“Meeting him tomorrow?”
A humorless laugh slipped out.
“Great. Amazing. Fantastic.”
My hands covered my face.
“I just got here and I’m already about to die.”
A pause.
Then, slowly, I lowered my hands, eyes narrowing with a hint of something sharper.
“…Unless I don’t follow the script.”
Because if there’s one thing I remembered clearly—
It was this:
I don’t have to marry the Crown Prince.
There’s another option.
Someone the original villainess never dared approach.
The man everyone avoided.
The one place even the Crown Prince couldn’t easily touch.
“…The North,” I murmured.
And more specifically—
“The Duke of the North.”
A slow breath.
“…Yeah.”
A small, determined smile formed despite everything.
“If I’m going to survive…”
“I’m marrying him instead.”
· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·
“Lyria.”
I leaned in slightly, lowering my voice like I was sharing state secrets.
“I’ll be sneaking out later. You will help me—and keep this absolutely between us. Or I’ll… I don’t know, slap you or something.”
There was a beat of silence.
I nodded to myself, satisfied.
Yes. Very threatening. Very noble. Very convincing.
I straightened up again, hands folded neatly in my lap like I hadn’t just issued emotional blackmail.
The maid—Lyria—blinked at me.
“…Yes, my lady.”
Good.
I cleared my throat.
I’ve decided something important… since I already have a bad reputation. I might as well use the built-in privileges.
Lyria hesitated.
“…Shall I escort you, my lady?”
“No need.”
I waved her off casually.
“Instead, prepare a carriage. I need to meet the Duke of the North.”
That did it.
A loud gasp escaped her.
“My lady?! Surely you are not intending to meet that Duke?!”
Her face went pale like I’d just said I was going to wrestle a dragon barefoot.
I raised a brow.
“…I intend to! you’re dismissed!” can’t let her know much
She looked genuinely alarmed now.
“I will… I will prepare the carriage immediately!”
Ah.
So that’s the reputation he has here.
Perfect.
I smirked slightly as she rushed out of the room.
Alone again, I leaned back in my chair.
Okay.
Time to work with what I’ve got.
As someone who had read way too many manhwa at 2 a.m. instead of sleeping like a normal person, I remembered bits and pieces about him.
The Duke of the North.
Cold, untouchable, terrifying in battle—
…and apparently weirdly weak for sweets.
That was it.
That was the whole detail.
But honestly?
That was enough.
I stood up and looked down at the small box on the table.
Homemade mochi.
Not exactly something from this world, but close enough to pass as “foreign delicacy” if I played it right.
“…Alright,” I muttered to myself.
“If I’m going to gamble my entire survival on a man I’ve never met…”
A pause.
“…At least let it be with dessert.”
I picked up the box, adjusting my expression into something confidently unreadable.
Then I walked out.
“Duke of the North,” I said under my breath, stepping toward the carriage waiting outside.
“Please don’t be allergic to mochi.”
· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·
Walking through a public market without attendants was something the second daughter of House Valemont had never done before. And yet, here I was—cloaked plainly, carrying my own belongings, surrounded by strangers who did not bow, greet, or whisper my name. It felt strangely peaceful.
House Valemont. One of the empire’s most influential noble families. A family famous for power—and for raising its greatest embarrassment.
Me.
In the original story, Lady Y/N Valemont was remembered for only one thing: her obsession with the Crown Prince. Since childhood, she had cried, pleaded, and clung to her parents’ robes, begging to be promised to him. The engagement had eventually been secured through political pressure rather than affection.
The result?
A prince who despised her.
A prince who loved another woman.
And a future where the “villainess fiancée” conveniently died before the wedding.
Poison. Assassins. A falling chandelier. The novel had been very creative.
I touched my neck unconsciously as I walked. I would prefer not to die repeatedly.
The moment my memories returned, I understood my only path to survival: cancel the obsession, avoid the Crown Prince, disappear somewhere he would never bother to look.
Which left only one option.
The Duke of the North.
Untouchable. Isolated. A man even the royal family avoided. If I married him, the Crown Prince would finally lose interest in eliminating me. A political marriage was infinitely preferable to assassination attempts.
I tightened my hold on the wooden box in my arms. Inside lay carefully prepared mochi. In the novel, there had been one insignificant line—the northern duke possessed an unexpected fondness for sweets. It was barely mentioned, but I intended to stake my life on it.
I turned a corner, focused on rehearsing polite greetings—and collided directly with someone.
“Ah—!”
The impact sent me stumbling. The box slipped from my hands. The lid flew open. Mochi scattered across the ground.
My heart stopped.
“No…!”
I dropped instantly, gathering them in alarm. Dust clung to the soft rice cakes. One flattened entirely beneath a passing boot. My shoulders slumped.
“…How am I supposed to bribe the Duke now…” I muttered helplessly.
Silence followed.
Slowly, painfully, I realized I was not alone.
I looked up.
A tall man stood before me, wrapped in a dark cloak. His posture was relaxed, almost leisurely, as though watching an amusing play.
Oh no.
He definitely heard that.
I cleared my throat and resumed collecting the sweets with dignity. Five-second rule, I reassured myself internally. Surely northern nobles value determination.
I brushed one piece carefully against my sleeve and placed it back into the box. Another followed. Waste was unacceptable.
Without hesitation, I ate one of the slightly dusty pieces.
The man spoke.
“You intend to bribe the Duke of the North?”
I nearly inhaled the mochi whole.
“I said no such thing.”
“You spoke quite clearly.”
His tone was calm. Curious. Infuriatingly composed.
I stood, lifting my chin. “A lady is allowed private thoughts.”
“You voiced them.”
“That was… intentional.”
It was not.
His gaze lingered on me, faint amusement hidden beneath his hood.
“A distracted lady walked into me,” he added mildly.
My eye twitched. “You cannot even apologize?”
“I believe we share responsibility.”
Unbelievable.
I gestured at the ruined sweets. “These were handmade.”
“You continue eating them.”
“I refuse to waste.”
I placed another into my mouth with resolve. He watched in silence.
“…You are a noblewoman,” he said slowly.
“Yes.”
“And this does not trouble you?”
“I have survived worse humiliations.”
Such as begging the Crown Prince for affection in front of half the imperial court. Compared to that, dusty mochi was nothing.
A quiet laugh escaped him—low and warm. It startled me. I straightened immediately, remembering my role. Elegant posture. Calm expression. I was still Lady Valemont, even while eating fallen desserts.
“I must continue north,” I said. “Please step aside.”
And there I go to my journey to live.
· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·
The audience chamber of the northern estate was colder than I expected. Not unpleasant. Just… severe.
Tall windows allowed pale northern light to spill across polished floors, illuminating banners marked with a crest I had only ever seen described in the novel. Every step I took echoed faintly, reminding me that I had walked willingly into the territory of the most untouchable man in the empire.
And now—I sat across from him.
The Duke of the North.
White hair fell loosely around his face, catching the light like frost. His eyes—clear, piercing blue—rested on me with unsettling focus. Broad shoulders filled the dark uniform he wore, posture relaxed yet impossibly commanding.
He was beautiful. Unfairly so. And far more terrifying up close.
A man capable of surviving political isolation does not become gentle, I reminded myself.
Still… he was beautiful.
Which only made this harder.
A table separated us, the wooden box of mochi resting carefully between my hands like a shield.
“So,” he said at last, voice smooth and calm, “what brings you here unannounced, my lady?”
His gaze moved slowly over me. Assessing. Measuring.
Was he… inspecting me?
He is definitely inspecting me.
I resisted the urge to adjust my sleeves.
Perhaps I should have worn something more revealing.
I straightened my back.
“Y-Your Grace,” I began, then corrected myself quickly, “Duke… I am Y/N Valemont.”
One pale brow lifted.
“Well, of course you are,” he replied, lips curving faintly. “You are quite infamous.”
Ah. Yes. The reputation.
The obsessive fiancée. The jealous noblewoman. The empire’s most embarrassing villainess.
I forced a composed smile.
He was smirking. He was absolutely enjoying this.
He’s cocky, I realized. Dangerously cocky.
Good. I could work with arrogance.
“I have come,” I said carefully, “to present a business proposal.”
He leaned back slightly, surprise flickering across his expression.
“A business proposal?” he repeated, clearly amused. “From Lady Valemont?”
His gaze sharpened. Then his smile turned knowingly wicked.
“My lady… are you asking for assistance regarding the Crown Prince? Are you not still engaged?”
I exhaled slowly.
Of course that was what he assumed.
Everyone believed my world revolved around the prince.
“You misunderstand,” I said quietly. “It is quite the opposite.”
Before he could respond, I slid the wooden box toward him and opened it.
The mochi rested neatly inside—carefully chosen, carefully preserved.
“My request can wait,” I added. “Please taste this first.”
He looked down at the sweets. Then back at me.
Suspicion flickered openly now.
“You traveled to the North… carrying desserts?”
“Yes.”
“…For me?”
“Yes.”
A small pause followed.
Then, slowly, he picked one up.
I clasped my hands together beneath the table, praying silently to every possible deity.
Please like sweets. Please let the novel be accurate.
He took a bite.
And the change was immediate.
The faint severity in his expression softened. His eyes widened just slightly, surprise replacing caution.
Hope sparked in my chest.
I might live.
He finished the piece without realizing how quickly he had eaten it.
“M-my lady,” he said, almost thoughtfully, “what is this delicacy?”
Relief nearly made me laugh.
“It is called mochi,” I replied, allowing myself a small smile. “I can prepare many varieties. Sweeter ones. Softer ones. Even better than this.”
His gaze returned to me, interest unmistakable now.
“…I see.”
Good. Very good.
I folded my hands together, gathering what remained of my courage.
“However,” I continued, allowing confidence to slip into my voice, “there is a condition. Surely Your Grace understands—nothing offered by a lady such as myself is free.”
A slow smile appeared on his face.
“Speak.”
His tone carried amusement… and curiosity.
I inhaled.
This was it.
“As the second daughter of House Valemont, my proposal benefits us both,” I began carefully. “You gain political connection to a powerful central family. Increased influence at court. And… a wife who will not interfere with your actions.”
He watched me closely now. Not amused anymore. Interested. Measuring every word.
My heart pounded.
Then I stood abruptly, bowing deeply before I could lose courage.
“Duke of the North—Sir Gojo… whatever title you prefer,” I said quickly, words rushing despite my effort at elegance, “please marry me!”
Silence filled the chamber.
I continued before fear could stop me.
“I do not seek affection. I will not demand attention. I offer only my family name, my loyalty, and—”
I hesitated.
Then forced the words out.
“bod—myself, as political value.”
The room felt unbearably quiet.
When I finally dared to look up—
He was staring at me.
Not menacing. Not amused.
Something far more dangerous.
Intrigued.
Slowly, the Duke leaned forward, resting his chin against his hand.
A smile spread across his lips.
“So,” he murmured, voice low with unmistakable delight, “the empire’s infamous villainess travels across half the continent…”
His blue eyes locked onto mine.
“To propose to me instead the Duke. While being engaged to the crown prince”
Summary: It had been years since you last saw your childhood friend, Satoru Gojo. Your family had moved away suddenly and the two of you lost contact. You hadn't seen him again until you just so happen to end up at the same university, but he wasn't that same sweet, blue-eyed boy that you used to know.
wc: 1.5k
“Excuse me?” You were baffled, utterly flabbergasted.
“I know it seems like a hard concept.” There was no way that the sweet, innocent, kind Saturo Gojo that you used to know had turned into this disgustingly sleazy playboy. You refused to believe it. “But a one night stand is exactly what it sounds like, so don’t think because we slept together once means that you can come up to me like you know me.” Wow.
What a dick.
What had you done to deserve this sort of response from the blue-eyed, white-haired astrophysics major? Nothing. Absolutely nothing.
You had only come to the library today because your new friend, Kento, had said they required a certain number of students in order to reserve one of the study rooms. One of the guys in his frat had ditched last minute and they were down a body, so, being the good friend that you were, you agreed.
You had gotten there a little early and decided to go to the small coffee shop at the front of the library. As you turned away from the counter, coffee in hand, you noticed a familiar mop of white hair sitting at one of the corner tables. Excitement immediately filled you. There was no mistaking who that hair belonged to, even if it had been nearly ten years since you’d last seen him.
You had honestly thought you’d never see him again. Your family had moved away before middle school and you had no way to contact each other back then. Such a precious friendship— lost, or so you had thought. Because, there he was, sitting at a table in a coffee shop in a library at the same university as you. With a bright smile on your face, you made your way to the table. Only one of the guys looked up from their phone as you approached, an eyebrow raised. You just give him a small wave then turn your attention to reason you had come over in the first place.
“Satoru?” He’s leaned back in his chair, arm thrown over the back, legs spread, scrolling on his phone, circular sunglasses resting on the tip of his nose. He doesn’t even look up. Maybe he didn’t hear you? “Toru?” His thumb stops mid-scroll. His brows furrow and he lets out a long, exaggerated sigh.
“Come on, Toru.” One of his friends mock. He looks up to glare the man across from him— pink hair and…face tattoos? Satoru looks back down at his phone, not bothering to make eye contact with you.
“Look, just because we fucked once, doesn’t mean we’re together or something.” And that brings us back to the present. He’s lucky you’ve been craving the coffee in your hand all day because otherwise, he would’ve been wearing it by now.
“I see.” You hiss through gritted teeth. It was taking everything in you not the crush the flimsy paper cup in your hand. The same friend from before seemed to be amused by your frustration.
“Don’t worry babe, I’m available.” He smirks, slowly eyeing you up and down. By the time you turn your attention to him, you’ve wrangled your anger back in place.
“Thanks,” you deadpan “how generous.” He pouts. The other guy at the table, that had been sitting quietly until then, snorted behind his hand. Pink Hair shot him a glare. He only shrugged in response, his long black hair falling over his shoulders still shaking from laughter. “Just to be clear,” you turn back to Gojo. “I’ve never slept with you, and never will. Entitled man-whores with daddy’s money and Digimon boxers don’t really do it for me.” Satoru tenses, thumb frozen on the screen. The dark haired friend raised a brow as he looked between the two of you, because how could you possibly know that?
“Ha!” Pink Hair holds his stomach as he bursts out laughing.
“Sorry I bothered you. You guys have a nice rest of your day.” You turn on your heel. A chair scrapes loudly behind you.
“Hey!” Satoru calls after you, you stay your course and don’t turn around. “Wait- shit!” You heard something tip and spill over the side of the table, splattering on the floor. The pink haired guys laughter turned into howling until something must have gotten on his bag and he started yelling.
“Damnit, Gojo!” They start arguing loudly with one another while you slip into the library, out of sight.
°̩̥·‧̥༄
“She had you pegged, bro.” Sukuna was still laughing at his friend’s misfortune. “Fuckin’ hilarious.” Gojo shot him an icy glare. He was currently mopping up the mess he made when he knocked his coffee over trying to stop you. Big L to his ego. He had an image to maintain, and being a clutz trying to chase after a girl could do some serious damage to his reputation.
“What are you doing?” Nanami’s flat tone was filled with judgment. Gojo pouted, leaning on the handle of the mop.
“Snowflake here made a fool of himself.”
“Shut up! Did not!” He did.
“Yeah, okay.” Sukuna rolls his eyes, standing from his seat. “Hurry it up, would ya? We gotta get to our room.” Satoru sticks out his tongue at his friends back and returns the mop to the staff. Nanami, unamused, checked his phone.
“My classmate already grabbed the room for us. We shouldn’t keep her waiting.”
“Her~?” Satoru teases, smirk on his face as he slings his bag over his shoulder. Nanami narrows his eyes.
“Is she hot?” Sukuna prods, a mischievous glint in his eye. At this rate, if Nanami kept rolling his eyes, they were bound to get stuck in the back of his head. He ignores their comments and starts for the door to the library. The rest of them snicker and trail behind him.
°̩̥·‧̥༄
“Apologies for being late.” You give him a smile as he comes through the door.
“Not at all! I literally just got here.” He sets his bag down, taking the seat next to you. You go back to unpacking your own bag when there’s a sharp bark of laughter. You look up to see the same pink-haired, face-tattooed guy from earlier walk in and throw his stuff on the table across from you. Following him, the ravenette and…
“You gotta be kidding me.” You mumble under your breath as none other than Satoru Gojo brings up the rear— frozen in the doorway staring at you.
Great.
“Everything alright, y/n?” Nanami was pulling out his chair, about to sit down, when he saw your face. At the sound of your name, Gojo’s eyes widen even more— glasses falling to the tip of his nose.
“Yeah,” your eyes didn’t leave Satoru’s blue ones. “Everything’s fine.” Only then to you break eye contact and give Nanami a smile. The two of you start chatting and take your seats, discussing something to do with your shared class.
“Ah, I almost forgot.” Nanami introduces you to his frat brothers— telling you each of their names and them yours.
“Nice to meet you guys.” Sukuna was far too amused by this turn of events. He snorts, eyes flitting between you and Gojo— Geto smacks his arm as he plops down in his own seat.
Surprisingly Luckily, none of them decided to bring up what had happened earlier and worked in silence. They were actually very studious for a group of frat guys. The two hour time slot was coming to an end and you were starting to think you could get out of there without further incident— hopefully forgetting it altogether and preserve the memory of the blue-eyes boy you used to know, instead of what he had become.
°̩̥·‧̥༄
“Thank you again for coming.” Nanami thanked you as he held the door open for you— ever the gentleman.
“No problem! I should be thanking you. I really needed some study time and you’re a great tutor.” A light blush crept up his neck and he cleared his throat.
“Would you like me t-”
“Can we talk?” You couldn’t help the startled gasp that escaped you when Gojo’s voice sounded from right behind you— cutting Nanami off. You hadn’t heard him approach. You will your heart to slow down before you turn to face him— arms crossed, brows furrowed. He was looking at his feet, and for a moment, just a moment, he looked like that sweet boy from way back when. Maybe that’s what made you agree.
“Fine.” Your answer is flat. He perks up at that, straightening back to his full height, eyes still not quite meeting yours. You turn back to Kento and give him a smile. “I guess I’ll see you in class Monday.” He looks between the two of you— face unreadable, then he nods.
“Alright. Will I see you Saturday?”
“Wouldn’t miss it.” The corner of his lip turns up just slightly before it falls again. He nods, gives Gojo what seems to be a warning look before heading off. Once he’s out of earshot, you turn to the man next to you. “Well?”
Likes, comments and reblogs are very much appreciated! Let me know if you'd like to be added to the tag list for part 2!
The thing is i'd do snything for Caleb is concerning... Tencent did a good job for msking Caleb. I fear i might not found someone elses. And the day when they will stop the game might be one of the worst day thst might happened to me
okay, yeah, maybe you should've realized a vague job posting promising cash in exchange for essentially nothing was definitely sketchy. but, it wasn't like you thought you'd be doing...sex work?
was that what this was?
getting rutted ruthlessly into your bed by a hot snake hybrid you only met ten minutes ago while he murmured something about eggs in your ear. you weren't even hungry, but your brain was so fried from the sheer size of his fat cock stretching you out that you couldn't bring yourself to care about whatever he was planning on making after this.
just mindlessly nodding along, whining under the weight of his firm body, his chest pressing against yours while the edge of his tail wrapped against one of your calves.
"my pretty mate," he purred, his forked tongue dragging up the inside of your throat as your hips tried to arch up, to drive his thick cock inside you deeper until it had bottomed out completely. "gonna look so fuckin' gorgeous stuffed full of my-"
"s-suguru," you whimpered his name, thighs shuddering as one of his palms slid down your stomach, pressing down below your belly button like he could feel himself inside there.
you tried to recall how you ended up here.
attempted to remember what you signed up for.
you hadn't thought anyone would get back to you when you sent out your resume and head shots, but when they immediately accepted you and claimed they found you a match, promising a hefty bonus, you just sorta blindly signed whatever they sent over, skimming over the details once you saw the words 'helping rescues' and 'doing an overlooked community a great service'.
honestly, you sorta figured you'd be taking in a stray animal or something.
not letting a hybrid in heat fuck you through his rut.
but it was hard to mind when you opened your door to him and his stupidly charming smirk, those pretty purple eyes of his practically hypnotizing you when he introduced himself. you only really caught his name, distracted by his bare chiseled chest as you stepped aside to let him in.
and once he was inside, well, it didn't long for him to sink those sharp teeth of his in your throat and tear your clothes off.
his cock certainly wasn't like any of the guys you'd been with before. thicker and longer, reaching every sensitive spot without trying, every rough thrust practically rearranging your guts as he grabbed one of your thighs and pressed it up against your chest.
god, forget the paycheck.
you wanted to keep him.
"gonna be a good girl and take it all for me?" he half-hissed, working his tongue back over the sore spot just above your collarbone he'd bitten earlier.
"mm, mhm," you whimpered.
you weren't.
but it wasn't until you felt him stall, noticed the sudden pressure of something swelling by the base of his cock as it froze at your entrance, that you started to second guess what you signed up for.
a broken gasp of his name was ripped from the back of your throat, half an octave too high as the strange sensation continued up, up, up. it didn't hurt, not exactly, but the intense pressure of this new stretch was tinged with discomfort, the feeling of being molded, remade.
you couldn't even formulate words, just an incoherent string of moans escaping as you suddenly felt his tip swelling where it was firmly lodged at your cervix - and then white-hot pleasure exploding throughout your entire body, too busy trembling to realize what was happening until it was too late.
until he was in too deep.
forcing yourself to look down just to see a distinct bulge in your stomach. feeling an odd, unfamiliar weight settling there as his cock throbbed - and pushed something else through to join it.
"i-is that-"
"only a few more eggs, baby," he muttered, sweat making his dark bangs stick to his forehead as his brows scrunched together in focus. "you can take it."
you watched dumbfounded, body shuddering and shivering as your brain refused to process the fact you were being fucked full of eggs. womb stuffed to the brim as he shoved one after the other in, their soft shells bumping softly into each other as his tail around your leg tightened.
the hand that had been on your stomach shifting to toy with your clit, soothing you through it, coaxing you until you were cumming at the same time as him, thighs trembling as you tried to contain your loud moans, your body on the brink of overstimulation as you felt warm ropes of his cum starting to leak out of you.
he didn't collapse on top of you.
but he kissed your throat, trailed more delicate pecks up to your jaw and across your face. that lopsided smile of satisfaction lulling you back into a sense of security and distracting you from glancing down again.
"are you hungry?" he spoke softly, cocking his head to the side while his intense stare swept back over your body, like you were now something to take care of. "thirsty?"
"a little," you croaked, voice cracking as your lashes fluttered.
maybe you weren't an expert in snake hybrid biology, had no clue if the eggs would like, slip back out or somehow absorb your DNA, but you supposed this meant you really were mates now.
and despite how strange it felt to squirm, to move around and feel something move inside of you, you couldn't even bring yourself to be mad about it.
even if you were pretty sure you'd be stuck in this bed until the eggs came out.
a living incubator.
he ran his hand over your swollen stomach, leaning down to press a kiss to where he deposited his clutch inside you.
"snakes normally don't mate for life," he muttered with a soft hum, dragging his fingers over the outline of one of the eggs. "but i wouldn't mind spending the rest of mine like this."
div cr: @/tsumiinum
reblogs + comments are always greatly appreciated :3 clearing out some of my drafts and thought some of you would appreciate this one
The same week your beloved cat goes missing, Gojo Satoru enters your life. It’s uncanny how similar this man looks and acts to your cat. It’s almost like…no that’s impossible…right?
word count: 12.5k
(smut, slight pet play, gojos a freak but what else is new, based on this post, for @indiewritesxoxo's Lust-filled Love Fest thingy!!! banner link)
Before you found Snowbell, you never had an interest in pets.
You owned a fish as a child. By that, you mean your parents felt the great misfortune of watching you clamber through your childhood home with a gap-toothed smile and a carnival fish trapped in a plastic bag that screamed, ‘I’m your problem now’. At your current age, you wondered how it was even legal to let a child win an arcade game that gave them a living, breathing thing to take care of. Back then, you were just happy watching your newest source of entertainment float around in a glass tank, going ‘blub blub blub’, unable to understand why your parents looked more exhausted by the minute.
From what you could remember, it lived a long, happy life. It lived the rest of its days happily swimming around next to the TV. Despite barely meeting the basic requirements for sentience, your parents were determined to give it a proper life. The words ‘This life is our responsibility now’ cycled throughout your home. They did well to instill a strong sense of responsibility in you that has carried on to this day.
When you grew up, that remained. As much as you gushed over cute kitty videos or dogs that knew tricks other than ‘sit’, you weren’t invested in the concept of a pet. Taking care of a fish already seemed like a daunting task the moment you entertained getting one.
If Snowbell hadn’t come along, you might’ve eventually gotten a foster animal. Or, you would’ve rescued a senior dog. Something small and not too barky.
You weren’t initially planning on keeping the cat. When you brought him home, you thought at most he would’ve stayed the night before you dropped him off at the local shelter. One night turned into two. Two nights turned into a week. Before you knew it, Snowbell became the second member of your household.
You tried to do the right thing, at first. You knew Snowbell probably had an owner who was worried sick looking for him. There was no way that wasn’t true. Despite the grim, sooty conditions you found the cat in, it was clear he was well-cared for and domesticated. His sweet blue eyes and long white fur were clear indicators that he wasn’t the average streetcat. As much as you tried to look for his original owner, nothing came of it. For the time being, Snowbell was stuck with you.
He never once hissed or scratched at you. He was such a sweet kitten, perfectly happy to lounge around on your bed or your sofa, dutifully waiting for you to come back home. You never had any problems other cat owners had with their cats scratching up their wooden furniture or making litter accidents. Life with him was peaceful and domestic. Idyllic, even.
Still, there was something strangely off-putting about Snowbell. You could never fully explain it. As pretty as his crystal-blue eyes were, you felt like there was something more underneath. Sometimes, it really felt like Snowbell was laughing at you. There were times he did things that were too human and less animalistic. Pet owners often overestimated how smart their animals were, but you were sure there was something about Snowbell you could never put your finger on.
Maybe that was the issue. You personified him too much–humanized him.
Snowbell disappeared through an open window one sunny day, just like any other cat would have.
You had been an emotional wreck that night. You cried all throughout the night and barely got any sleep. Pathetically, you cuddled the spot of the bed Snowbell used to lie on, as though his lingering warmth would be nestled in the pillows. You almost called in sick for work the next morning before inevitably deciding to sludge your way through the day. You hadn’t even remembered opening that window, but it wasn’t like Snowbell sprouted human hands and pushed it open himself. Guilt for being a shitty pet owner clung to you like dirt.
Snowbell disappeared on Monday. That night, you called every shelter you could think of in search of him. The volunteers on the other end assured you they’d call you if they saw anything, but you doubted anything would come of it. On Tuesday, you and some of your friends went out on a failed search. On Wednesday, you left out food and your shirt outside your apartment in a feeble attempt to lure him back. On Thursday, you went out to search for him again, but alone.
Snowbell disappeared on Monday. By Friday, you were starting to lose hope of ever finding him.
The door rattled as you shut it behind you. You were supposed to call the landlord about it ages ago, but you never got around to it. Non-urgent, but extremely annoying. Yet another thing tacked onto this terrible day.
Tomorrow was the weekend. You knew you wouldn’t spend it lounging around your apartment, catching up on that show you put off. You would be outdoors, continuing your search for hidden corners and pockets.
On the way out, you ran into your neighbor. Tachibana smiled at you–those pitiful little smiles you’d give to someone who got drenched by a speeding car careening over a puddle. Perhaps, in her eyes, there wasn’t much of a difference between the current you and someone like that.
Her daughter lingered just behind her. She was a sweet girl. Last you remembered, she was about to enter elementary school. She wore her hair in a trimmed bob with a bright blue headband. It reminded you of Snowbell’s bright eyes, the way he would track your movement across the apartment with such intelligence.
You were close enough with Tachibana and her daughter to exchange greetings. Some type of small talk. Tachibana gracefully danced around the glaring topic because she had lived in society for quite some time now.
Dani was less perceptive towards social norms. She peered up at you with big softened eyes.
“Have you found him yet?” She asked before her mother could hush her.
Despite the ache in your heart, you smiled down at her.
“Not yet,” you said, “but I’m sure he’ll turn up soon.”
You weren’t the only one dealing with the loss of Snowbell. The few times you had to leave for a last-minute trip, you often left your cat in the care of the Tachibanas. Dani adored that cat, snuggling him every time she saw him. Snowbell mostly tolerated it. He got along well with most of your friends and neighbors.
Dani frowned, clearly not convinced, but she said nothing more about it. She gave a wave as she and her mother brushed by you and back into their apartment. You smiled until their door shut and locked behind them.
The act was exhausting. You were glad you didn’t pass by anyone else as you wandered out the glass doors, onto the busy streets of the city. People brushed by you, completely oblivious to your misery. You didn’t fault them. Why would anyone pay attention to a stranger? You certainly wouldn’t.
You glanced down at your phone. There was nothing. No alerts, no beeps, no missed calls from someone having found your pet. You expected it. It still sank your heart.
You tucked your phone in your pocket, shuffling around with the missing cat posters under your arm. It was your last batch. Once you put these up, you promised yourself you wouldn’t make any more.
You didn’t want to spend Friday night like this. Not many people would. Your friends tried to talk you out of it, encouraging you to go out with them like you were grieving a break-up. Maybe to them, that’s what you were doing. Maybe they thought you needed a break from your misery.
But the thought of Snowbell being out there, alone, lost, and cold. Completely helpless. Injured–maybe even dead. It was all too much for you to think about abandoning the search for even one night.
By the time you stapled the last poster, the sun had already sunk well below the horizon. Oranges and reds streaked across the sky. In a few hours, it would be well into the night, limiting your vision.
If that wasn’t enough, it started to drizzle. The smell of rain hit your nose. The air started to mist ever so slightly, causing the area around you to take on a faint-blue hue. Apparently, everyone was smarter than you. The streets were empty, with the few people left carrying umbrellas or coats. Cold drops hit your hands, your face, your clothes. It wasn’t enough to soak you, but the dark marks on your clothes got more and more prevalent as the seconds passed. For lack of better words, this severely dampened your mood. You knew all those hours of you putting up missing cat posters would turn into soggy, unreadable scraps by the end of this storm, whisking away into the drain to never be seen again.
It was as though the universe itself was telling you to give up.
You’d try again tomorrow. Hopefully, by then, the rain would clear up. You pulled out your phone to check the time when you stumbled. Your fingers slipped, and you lost your grip on your phone, lips pulling up in a cringe when it crashed onto the ground and slid away from you.
You cursed to yourself as you made your way towards it. You really hoped it hadn’t cracked in the fall.
Pale, lithe fingers reached down and plucked it off the pavement.
It’s like he stepped off a runway. His clothes were expensive just from the look of the fabric itself. Despite the drizzle, he remained perfectly dry. His white hair framed his face perfectly. You couldn’t see his eyes, covered by black sunglasses. He might have been the most beautiful man you ever saw.
He silently offered your phone. You accepted it with grateful hands.
“Thank you.” You told him. Where had he even come from? You thought you were alone on this side of the road.
Pink lips curved into an easy-going smile as he towered over you. The stranger hadn’t stepped back once he handed your phone back. Instead, he leaned forward ever so slightly.
“Cute wallpaper.” He commented.
You glanced down at your phone. Your lock screen showed Snowbell in mid-stretch, baby-pink paws reaching towards the sky as he lounged on your bedsheets. You’d had many pictures of Snowbell, but you thought that was your favorite snapshot.
It was one of the few things you had left of him now.
You feigned a smile.
“Oh, thank you.”
The stranger didn’t register your clipped tone. “How long have you had him?”
“Barely a few weeks.” You honestly said before wincing. “I…I’m actually looking for him so–”
When people comment on your cat’s disappearance, there’s often a twinge of pity somewhere in their eyes. It made you feel small–pathetic. You steeled yourself, readying for that same look before he finally left you alone.
There’s none of that.
“I was about to ask.” The stranger hummed. “I thought he looked familiar. I think I’ve seen him before.”
Your eyes snapped up to his face.
“You’ve seen him?” What followed was a barrage of questions: Where was he? What did he look like? Was he injured? How long ago was it?
The stranger barely even flinched at your demands for answers. Even as you leaned into his space, he barely backed up. His smile grew wider as he opened his mouth to speak.
You jumped at the clap of thunder. The already darkened sky swirled with angry gray-blue clouds. The drizzle threatened to intensify.
He glanced up and clicked his tongue.
“How about we talk somewhere indoors?”
🐾
As soon as you stepped into the restaurant, the weather got ugly.
Rain thumped against the window, spraying water onto the soaked concrete sidewalks and roads. Puddles grew across the ground. Thunder rumbled as lightning streaked across the sky every so often. The wind aggressively blew past your shelter, changing direction every few minutes. You’d hate to be stuck out there at that very moment.
Compared to the storm's harshness, the restaurant was a haven. The warmth heated your cheeks as you shrugged off your coat. It looked a bit on the expensive side. Warm candlelight illuminated each table. You sat in a comfortable chair with a red plush seat, watching the waitress happily fill your cup with fresh water.
He was already glancing at the menu as you awkwardly sat across from him.
“What are you thinking of getting?” He asked as he flipped through the laminated pages. “Oh! The eel here is to die for. You’ll love it, promise.” He assured you.
You pursed your lips. “I’m not actually–”
“This also seems good.” He shoved the menu in front of your face, and you reflexively flinched back. “Wanna try it?”
You forgot how you even got to this point. When he suggested talking indoors, you thought he meant a brief shelter from the rain.
“Are you ready to order?” the waitress cheerfully asked.
“Yes!” He said before rattling off a long list of various foods and treats. He then turned to you with a questioning hum.
“Just the water is fine.” You told her, and she happily gathered your menus before she hurried off.
“Isn’t this place adorable?” He asked you. “I found it a while ago. I think a nice, quiet dinner with rain right outside sets the perfect tone.” He leaned back in his chair.
You stared at him and tried to figure out what he was even talking about.
“You said you saw my cat, right?” You changed topics. “Where did you see him?”
“I definitely saw him!” He told you. “A couple of times, actually. Trust me—would never forget that face. He’s really easy on the eyes, huh?”
Your eyes flitted down as you thought of pretty white fur and sparkling blue eyes. You spent hours a week grooming him, fluffing out his soft fur, and making him the best version of himself he could be. He was the prettiest kitten you’ve ever laid your eyes on, and you couldn’t help but make him even prettier.
“He is,” you agreed. You found yourself smiling just thinking about him.
“Really?” He leaned forward. A mischievous smile spread across his lips. “He’s handsome, right? Really handsome?”
Your eyes narrowed as you continued to eye him. Why was he trying to goad you into complimenting your cat?
“Of course he is,” you responded. It felt more and more like he was making fun of you. Were you wasting your time here?
He leaned back, looking oddly satisfied.
“I’m sure he’d be happy hearing you say that,” he told you. “Cats are really good about these things, y’know. Emotions and all that.”
“Right,” you said, hoping to ease him along into the conversation you really wanted to have. “So, again, you said you–”
“Oh, food’s here!” He cut you off and pointed excitedly to somewhere behind you. “I’m starved.”
Sure enough, the waitress stepped into your vision with a friendly smile pressed on painted lips. You watched as she set down pretty porcelain plates and bowls, most crowded in his direction. The smell of steaming veggies and heaps of rice drifted into your nose. Your lips twitched into a frown as the plates continued to pile up before the waitress set something right in front of you.
You moved, quick to correct her blunder. “Oh, I never ordered anything–”
Your words caught in your throat when you realized it was your favorite dish.
“You should try it!” The man urged. “They make it really well here.”
You watched him for a minute. He paid you no mind, continuing to chow down on his meal. How did he know this was your favorite meal?
When you asked him, he stopped eating, looking amused.
“No way, I was right?” He laughed, looking thoroughly pleased with himself. “You seemed like the type of person who would like this type of stuff. I guess I’m good at reading people.”
So it truly was a coincidence. You glanced down at the meal. Compared to how you made it at home, the restaurant’s version was immaculate. You weren’t too upset. After all, you weren’t a chef. The scent of the food reminded you of all those times you had to fight off Snowbell. He’d go wild anytime you made it. He would constantly appear in the kitchen, eager for a tasty swipe. You’d feed him scraps, letting him enjoy your hard labour every once in a while. You didn’t do it too often, afraid he might get sick, but you secretly appreciated how much he liked it.
In those times, he felt more human than cat.
“What are you waiting for?” A voice snapped you out of your thoughts. The man gestured to your plate. He was halfway done with his own meal. “The food won’t eat itself.”
It wasn’t like you could refuse, right? He’d already ordered it. You felt it was rude to reject his offering, no matter how strange this man was.
You took a bite.
“It’s good,” you said. You took another one.
He nodded along. “I told you!”
His voice quietened a bit after.
“Still, I think it’s better homemade.”
You agreed with him.
You took another bite. Then, you took another. After your tenth bite, you suddenly realized how little you’d been eating lately. Your free time was spent thinking about Snowbell and worrying about him. You barely had time to sleep, let alone eat a hearty meal.
Sometime after that, your belly was full, the plates were cleared of food, and it was still raining. You found yourself perched right at the doors, hearing the murmurs of the other restaurant’s patrons behind you. You watched as the rain lightly tapped at the crystal glass. The more you thought about the way this night ended, the more humour you found.
Earlier, you had been stuck out in the rain before being picked up by a strange man. It almost paralleled the night you found Snowbell.
(You stumbled onto him one random evening after work. You were hurrying home, eager to get out of the rain. The umbrella you held kept most of the moisture off your clothes, but you could feel water drip through your shoes and up the cuffs of your pants. You could almost imagine chucking them off and enjoying a nice warm shower.
Just then, you saw a streak of white.
Barely a glimpse. At first, you thought it was a plastic bag hurtling into an alleyway. You should have pressed on and ignored it. For whatever reason, you followed the gut feeling nestled deep inside of you.
It was a filthy alley. Trash littered the walls and splattered across the ground. The rain made the smell of garbage even more pungent. You scrunched your nose as you peered around.
Something rattled right behind a garbage can. You crouched down as you tried to steal a peek behind the dumpster.
“Come out here.” You clicked your tongue, trying to be as enticing as you could. You thought it was a small dog, at first.
A shadow peeked out of the dumpster.
The prettiest kitten you’d ever seen blinked at you.
Despite the rain that soaked it to the bone, you could make out pure white fur that was tarnished by mud and water. Flattened ears and a pink nose.
The most notable feature of the animal was its eyes.
The brightest blue you’d ever seen.
Like the cloudless sky on a summer day. The color of a calm, peaceful lake, with barely a ripple of disturbance. There was so much life packed within those eyes. They almost put you in a trance, and momentarily made you forget the rain and the harshness of the wind. The warmth and peace that lingered beneath those irises was enough to push away the cold.
A smile spread across your face as you crouched even lower, hoping you’d make yourself seem less threatening.
“Hi there.” You cooed at the cat, who only stared right back. “Are you lost?”
When you reached out, the creature barely flinched. It appeared more confused than anything as you stroked the top of its head before dropping down to scratch its cheek.
Eventually, your affections seemed to win the cat over to your side. Before long, it leaned into your touch, as if enjoying your petting. Happy at the progress you made in such a short time, you attempt to lift it from the grimy ground. Thankfully, the cat allowed you without much fuss. You tucked it under your arms, keeping it in the shelter of your umbrella. Considering how well it did with strangers, it was clear the cat was domesticated. Did it slip away from its owner when they weren’t looking?
“Poor thing.” You were awed by the sweet little kitten. “Where’s your owner?”
You continued to observe it. No collar. No distinct marking of a claim. You debated going online on missing pet forums. Maybe someone reported the poor guy.
How long had the poor thing been outside? It couldn’t have been any more than a day. The cat was practically a white beacon begging to be noticed. There’s no way this cat wouldn’t have been snatched up by a predator if you hadn’t stumbled upon it. In the harsh city environment, it was utterly helpless.
You hummed, glancing up at the sky.
“Looks like we’re both caught in this weather.” You talked out loud. “It’s a good thing we found each other, right?”
The cat continued to stare at you with large blue eyes. You smiled before tucking it into the warmth of your coat.
“You’re okay now.” You told it. “I’ll keep you safe.”
You knew you were just seeing things, but you swore the cat understood you, somehow.)
“Does it look like it’s going down?” A voice asked.
The man stood by your side, peering out the same window you were. You watched as his sunglasses crept over his nose, close to dropping down, before you glanced away.
“No.” You told him. “I don’t think the rain will stop for a long while.”
He hummed in agreement. “If we waited for it to stop, we’d probably be stuck here for hours.” He didn’t sound too upset at that, you couldn’t help but note to yourself.
You nodded along. Just like the rest of the week, tonight had ended in a bust. No Snowbell. No cat. You were stuck in a warm building after eating a delicious meal, while your cat was probably out in the cold somewhere, waiting for you.
Something stung in the back of your eyes.
You were a shitty pet owner.
“I saw him yesterday.”
Your eyes snapped up to meet his. He stared right at the glass. You waited for him to say something more, but he remained silent.
“Was he–” You swallowed. Your mouth felt dry. “Was he okay?”
“Yeah.” He told you. “He looked great. You took great care of him. I can tell.”
Relief snagged at your heart, weighing your shoulders down with a type of pain you’d never felt before.
“I tried to catch him, but he was a bit too slippery for me.” He clicked his tongue.
You failed to muffle your laugh. Snowbell had easily coaxed himself into your arms the first night you found him. You shouldn’t have been proud of this, but you felt something oddly like pride to know you were the only person he cuddled up to.
“Thank you.” You told him. “For the meal and for letting me know you saw him. It was really nice of you to do all of that.”
Outside, the rain dwindled ever so slightly. In the morning, a light fog would drift over the city, suffocating the streetlamps and the roads. The potholes in the streets would be filled with soot and water far into the afternoon with the sun blaring overhead. A bare heat would fill the city, gentle from the rain, but still warm.
“You really miss the guy, don’t you?” He asked.
You didn’t bother to answer. It’s not like you ever tried to hide your desperation. Everyone in your life thought you were crazy for losing it over a pet as you had in the past days. No one told it to your face, but you knew that’s what they thought. To others, you were some cat-crazed person who wandered the streets. You did miss him. You missed him more than anything.
“I don’t think the rain will stop anytime soon,” you said, “I'd better go before it gets too late.”
“I could drive you back,” he suggested.
You shook your head, insisting you’d be fine. You expected him to push back at your refusal. He seemed to take your rejection in stride, reaching out with something in his lithe fingers.
“Take this, then.” He settled the bundled-up umbrella into your limp hand. You recognized what it was after you instinctively grabbed it.
“No, it’s fine—“ You tried to insist, but he waved you off.
“Just take it. I’d hate for you to walk out in this weather without one. You should’ve had an umbrella in the first place.” He berated you, but there’s no real heat in his voice.
“Just give it back when we search for your kitty.”
You blinked up at him.
“We?” You repeated his words.
He nodded eagerly. “You planned on searching for him tomorrow, right?”
Of course you were, and the day after that, too.
“I’ll come with you.” He declared. “Two heads are better than one, right?”
What was so appealing about skulking outside, searching for the slightest hint of white fur? This man was such an enigma; you didn’t understand him. You knew you shouldn’t look a gift horse in the mouth. The more eyes you have, the better. Yet, you couldn’t help the feeling that rested in your stomach.
“Why?” You asked, but it sounded more like a demand. “Why do you want to help me?”
The man tilted his head downward. The softest laugh left his lips at the same moment his sunglasses slipped down his nose.
His eyes.
The brightest blue you’d ever seen.
Like the cloudless sky on a summer day. The color of a calm, peaceful lake, with barely a ripple of disturbance. There was so much life packed within those eyes. They almost put you in a trance, and momentarily made you forget the rain and the harshness of the wind. The warmth and peace that lingered beneath those irises was enough to push away the cold.
They looked familiar.
“I knew somebody who lost their pet, once,” He told you as his lips quirked up. “It’s a sad thing. No one should go through that.”
Everything he said sounded like a joke, but you saw the sincerity in his eyes.
“This person.” You glanced outside when the sear of his gaze got too much. “Did they ever end up finding their pet?”
He nodded. You didn’t know why that gave you so much relief.
“If you have time tomorrow, then yes,” you said, “I’d really appreciate the help. Thank you.”
“Great!” He clapped his hands together before pulling out his phone. “Let’s exchange numbers, so we can meet up tomorrow.”
You agreed, wordlessly handing him your phone before you realized something.
“I don’t even know your name.” You said out loud.
He laughed again.
“Gojo Satoru.” He introduced before raising a finger in the air to point at you. “But you should call me Satoru.”
You hesitantly received your phone from his hands. The contact name ‘Satoru :3’ stared back at you.
“We should speak more comfortably with each other. After all, we’re gonna be kitty hunting buddies, right? ”
🐾
(The best thing about Snowbell was how sweet he was.
Not just to you (but mostly to you). He was loved by everyone on your floor. Children like Dani adored him, and often asked about him whenever you ran into her. You’ve read that cats were often aloof and hated strangers, but Snowbell wasn’t like that at all. He was liked by everyone and everyone loved him.
And then, Hatori came along.
You’d known Hatori for a while, actually. You two weren’t friends–barely a step up from acquaintances. He was a nice guy and you two were similar in age. Whenever you passed him by in the halls, you made small talk but you never went out of your way to do anything more.
So when you briefly mentioned having a plumbing issue and Hatori offered to take a look at it, you accepted immediately.
“Thanks again.” You told him as you led him into your apartment. “Seriously, it’s been driving me up the wall. All that noise.”
“I get it.” He assured you. “The one in your kitchen, right?”
You nodded. A fluff of white caught your attention. You were about to point your cat out to Hatori when all Hell broke loose.
Snowbell made a sound that was almost demonic before he rushed at Hatori. You barely stopped him before he could get to Hatori’s foot, holding him up by the scruff as he thrashed around in your hold. You kept him to your chest as your cat continued his onslaught. If looks could kill, Hatori would’ve been dead ten times over by now.
“I’m sorry.” You told Hatori as Snowbell continued to thrash and struggle. It was getting harder and harder to keep a hold on him. “He–he’s usually not like this.”
Hatori stepped closer to the door.
“I should go.” He concluded.
“I’m sorry.” You told him again.
Snowbell didn’t stop until Hatori was long gone. His fit was bad. At one point, he’d even hacked something up because of how stressed he was. You coddled him the best you could, apologizing to him over and over. He settled in your arms hours later and peacefully purred into your chest as you stroked his head.
You’d never seen him act like that before, but maybe you were wrong about him liking everyone. Maybe he had a bad experience with men and that’s why he acted like that? You should probably bring it up to your vet the next time you go to the clinic.
Either way, this was the last time you’d ever bring Hatori over.
You kissed the top of Snowbell’s head. His pretty blue eyes blinked up at you.
“Don’t worry,” you cooed, “you’re the only man for me.)
Twenty minutes later, Satoru still hadn’t arrived.
You crossed your arms as you lingered near the streetlight. People meandered their way through the busy street all around you. As the minutes ticked on, you grew more and more frustrated. You should have expected this. From the short while you’d known Satoru, he was not the most punctual guy in the world.
He turned up eventually, practically skipping up to you with a smile on his face.
“Didn’t have to make you wait too long, right?” He grinned, completely ignoring the frown on your face.
“I was about to leave.” You chastised. “You need to be more respectful of people’s time.”
He raised his arms up in a semblance of an apology.
“Whoops, my bad,” he said, “I swear I’m not doing it on purpose. I’ve been swamped at school. Lots of stuff to catch up on ‘cuz I took an unprompted vacation a few weeks ago.”
He mentioned being a teacher a couple of times, but you can’t imagine him doing that. Sitting around and grading papers doesn’t seem like the type of job Satoru excelled at, but maybe that was just because you saw this side of him rather than anything professional.
“Okay!” He clasped his hands together. “So far, we’ve checked the area around your apartment. Maybe we should broaden the search a little.”
“What do you mean?” You asked, your initial frustration waning.
“Maybe we should stop thinking like humans and start thinking like cats.” He told you with the utmost seriousness. “Places like underneath bridges and dark places scared little kitties might crawl into for shelter.”
That was a pretty good point, actually. There was a chance Snowbell wandered off somewhere, maybe in a crevasse you wouldn’t think to look for him in.
With a plan secured, the two of you set off. You and Satoru checked wherever you could think of: underneath bridges, in the park, and on the outskirts of a clump of trees. Each time, you came up empty. Any cat you did see never resembled Snowbell in the tiniest bit. They were often so skittish and wary of humans, shrinking away when you came close.
You still left a bit of wet food for them when you turned away. Maybe it had to do with your lost pet, but any stray cat chipped away at your heart.
Satoru passed the time as he often did, talking and yammering about anything he could. So far, the two of you had gone ‘hunting’ five or so times–each trip ending in nothing. Despite how disappointed you were after every failure, Satoru was more chipper than ever. Most would find how talkative he was absolutely annoying, but you didn’t mind one bit. His upbeat attitude felt comforting, like it was his own way of assuring you everything would be okay.
You often felt like you knew him forever. However, it was more realistic to assume you’d known him for three weeks at most. Maybe even less. He was just that type of person. That personality of his reminded you of Snowbell. He was a little like that too, yowling like he was trying to start a conversation with you even though you didn’t understand his language.
Lots of little things Satoru did reminded you of Snowbell, actually.
A couple hours into the search, Satoru suggested taking a break. You didn’t argue.
“There’s a cafe a little ways from here.” Satoru suggested. “I love their coffee.”
You’d seen the surgery contraptions he calls ‘coffee’ and you’d rather not relive that experience. Also, everytime Satoru brought you to a restaurant, he always insisted on paying, leaving you more and more guilty for taking advantage of him. These outings were starting to feel less like searches and more like dates.
You almost laughed, but you held your tongue. Ridiculous. He was just being a nice guy.
“My place isn’t that far from here,” you said as you turned to him. “Let’s just stop there and I can make us something to eat.”
For the first time, Satoru genuinely looked lost for words. He blinked at you behind his sunglasses.
“You never let me pay.” You explained. “The least you could do is let me cook for you.”
“Oh.” He cleared his throat. “Sure! Let’s go!”
You eyed him. He reeled himself back.
“It’s been awhile since I’ve had a home cooked meal,” he told you.
“Hm.” You walked away, not at all fighting the urge to tease him a bit. “So, what. You’ve just been surviving on instant noodles this whole time? Poor baby.”
“I eat.” He told you after he caught up to your pace. “How else do you think I got these muscles?” He playfully flexed but even underneath those baggy clothes you saw his bicep. You forced your eyes away and hoped he didn’t notice.
“Let’s just get you something before those precious muscles of yours get all flabby.”
You let him into your house ten minutes later. Satoru walked in and slipped off his shoes. He placed them next to yours before he looked around.
His steps were slow as he surveyed your home. You watched as he walked up to a window, hands drifting over the glass.
“...Smaller than I remember.” You heard him say.
“What?” You asked.
He pointed out the window.
“From the ground, the buildings look a lot bigger, right? But when we’re up here, they are a lot tinier,” he said.
Right, of course that’s what he meant.
He wandered to your photographs, scanning over the various knick-knacks and other things you’ve kept over the years. He smiled when he caught the lone picture of Snowbell, framed and proudly displayed. He lightly tapped on the glass.
“What a cutie,” he told you.
You agreed, stepping closer to admire the picture as well. Snowbell had always loved attention and he was oddly very photogenic. Anytime you whipped your camera out, he would stretch and purr and create these adorable poses for you to snap away at. You often wondered if you should make an instagram for him so more people could enjoy his adorableness.
Maybe you missed your chance.
“Seriously, the cutest little guy.” Satoru continued. “Terrible name choice, though.”
You rolled your eyes. This argument again. You couldn’t tell if he did it on purpose or if he genuinely had a personal vendetta against the name ‘Snowbell’.
“It’s a cute name,” you argued back.
“It’s uncreative. Especially for a work of art like that.” He pointed to the picture of your cat. “Lemme’ guess, you’d name a black and white cat oreo.”
‘Cow would be cuter,’ you thought, but you decided not to give him more ammo.
“It just stuck. Besides, I didn’t come up with the name. My neighbor did.”
It was a couple days after you brought the cat home. Back then, you weren’t sure if you were keeping him. His original name was even more uncreative–‘Cat’. Then, when you were helping Tachibana lug up groceries, her daughter asked if she could see photos. After showing her the numerous pictures you snapped of ‘Cat’, Dani excitedly exclaimed how similar ‘Cat’ looked to the cat in ‘Stuart Little’. Thanks to her, ‘Cat’ turned into ‘Snowbell’.
“Ah,” Satoru said after your tangent, “So Dani came up with the name, then.”
You nodded, but then you blinked.
“How did you know her name?” You asked.
“You mentioned her,” Satoru breezily replied.
“No, I didn’t.”
“Yes, you did.”
“No, I didn’t.”
“Pretty sure you did.” He smiled. “How else would I know?”
Your mouth opened, when a knock came from the door. You decided to table the discussion for now.
You smiled when you saw who it was.
“Hatori!” You greeted. “What brings you here?”
Hatori lingered by the door, polite and reserved as always. He gave a pleasant wave.
“Hey, hope I’m not a bother,” he said, “just hoping I could borrow a cup of sugar.”
You gave a smile. This isn’t the first time he asked for favors like that. You didn’t mind. It was nice to see a sweet tooth that doesn’t go overboard with his sugar like somebody you knew.
Like he’d been summoned, Satoru appeared behind you. You bumped into his chest just as you were about to let Hatori inside. He was so close. You could feel his breath on your back. His faded cologne lingered in the air.
You glanced up. Through his sunglasses, Satoru full-on glared at Hatori.
He’d never looked that upset before. Usually he was all goofy and happy-go-lucky. Now, he was stiff, coiled up like a spring.
“Sorry.” Satoru gave a smile filled with sharp teeth. Had he always had fangs? “We’re all out.”
Hatori blinked. So did you. He reacted first.
“Sorry.” Hatori narrowed his eyes and he looked between you and Satoru. “Who are you exactly?”
“Don’t worry about it.” Satoru reached past you and slammed the door in Hatori’s face.
You remained frozen even after Satoru retreated back into the apartment, slumping onto the couch.
“Uh, what was that?” You demanded after a bit of recovering.
“What?” Satoru whined, immediately going back to his usual attitude. You wondered if you imagined it all. “He was bothering you.”
You narrowed your eyes at him.
“He wasn’t bothering me. He’s my neighbor.”
“You should stay away from him.” Satoru finally told you.
You stared at him as he lounged over your couch as though he owned it. Sunlight streamed through your window, illuminating his hair.
You should have been mad at him. You should have kicked him out. And yet, you could still remember his presence imprinted on your back as he kept you on him. You wondered when your heartbeat would slow down.
“Why?”
“He’s bad juju,” he responded. “I can feel it.”
You gave him a look. “Right. Okay.”
“I can tell with these types of things!” He argued back. “Stay away from him. He’s bad news. He might make spiders crawl out of your sink!”
You rolled your eyes and turned away.
“Do you want food or do you just want to make more conspiracy theories about my neighbor being a spider whisperer?”
“Food, please.” Satoru immediately sprung up from the couch and followed you into the kitchen.
Again, you knew you should’ve been more upset with him. Yet, you weren’t.
It oddly felt familiar.
🐾
The cold made the alcohol bearable.
It warmed your stomach, flushing your cheeks with heat as you felt the burn travel down your throat. When you were younger, you despised the taste of alcohol. You could never understand why anyone would willingly drink the stuff.
These days, you still didn't understand, and yet you drank anyway.
You had to stop soon, but for now, you tossed your head back in reflex, taking another gulp. The bar remained sparse of people. There was nobody in the corner you stashed yourself in, surrounded by empty glasses. You preferred this. You don’t want anyone seeing how miserable you were.
Six weeks had passed since you last saw Snowbell. Truthfully, you stopped looking for him by the second. It was clear what happened to him.
He was dead.
If the universe was merciful, his death was quick. Maybe a predator snatched him up before he blinked. Other deaths sounded far more gruesome: eating something poisonous and collapsing on the hard floor of a cold alley, being hit by a car, or just starving to death.
A more hopeful part of you still believed he might have been picked up before you could send those missing posters out. He was a pretty kitty. His white fur was long and his fluffy tail curled so elegantly. His sweet blue eyes were wide and earnest. The chance of someone seeing him out and about and falling in love with him the same way you did was highly plausible.
Maybe they had seen the posters and just didn’t want to give him back. You think you would be fine with that. You just wanted to know he was okay. A sign. The slightest hint of–
“-Started without me, I see?” A voice teased from your left.
You didn’t bother looking up.
“You don’t drink.” You reminded him, but you didn’t argue when Satoru slipped into the seat across from you.
“Still, it hurts to be left behind.” He arched his plush lips into a faux pout before his mischievous smile was back on his flawless face.
You didn’t even tell him you’d be here, and yet, he showed up anyway. That was always the thing with him. He always just showed up, no matter where you were.
His outfit mirrored the cold that lingered outside of the bar. He was dressed in an expensive looking coat, something that nicely shaped his shoulders and torso. His fluffy white hair contrasted with the dark sunglasses he always wore on his face as he surveyed the mess you surrounded yourself in.
You thought you were about to receive a lecture from him. His smile faded ever so slightly.
“You’ve been crying.”
You didn’t bother denying it. Slowly, you reached up, brushing at your face. Your eyes felt raw, your skin felt open and vulnerable. Your nose felt oddly stuffy, like you were recovering from a fever.
Satoru watched you. You gave a helpless shrug.
“It’s the same thing I’m always crying about.” You admitted. That’s all you really wanted to say, but the words suddenly started pouring out and you couldn’t help yourself.
“I know how stupid this all looks. Trust me, I’m aware.” You started, looking into the glass of your golden brown drink because looking at him would be too much. “He was just a cat. That’s what everyone says to me.”
‘You need to move on,’ ‘You should get another cat if you care that much’. You’d heard all those things and more. You couldn’t even bring yourself to hate the people who’ve said that to you. They wanted to help, in their own way. To them, it was more like watching a child bawl over a lost toy. They didn’t understand.
“He…he wasn’t just a cat to me.” You bit your lip. “He was family. So yeah, the thought of him out there in the cold, miserable. I…I just really hope he’s happy.”
You thought you felt tears prick into the corners of your eyes. You blinked them away.
When you looked at Satoru, you felt yourself frowning.
“Stop doing that.” You told him. Your voice was tight and stern.
“Stop doing what?” Satoru repeated.
“Stop smiling like that.” You insisted. “You always do that. You–you always get this really big smile whenever I start gushing about him.”
“I’m not smiling.” Satoru denied, while still openly smiling.
“Liar.”
You rolled your eyes, but you didn't complain much further. He had this trick he liked to do sometimes. You just looked at him, and you instantly felt better, even a bit.
Snowbell used to have that effect on you, too. Anytime you cuddled with him, his presence washed away any stresses you had. There was just him and his soft fur.
Satoru laughed and shook his head.
“The way you speak of him…it’s nice.” He told you. “It’s nice to hear that. Your cat’s lucky to be so loved. I’m sure he’d be overjoyed to hear how much you missed him.”
You stared up at him.
“You think so?” You asked, your voice hushed.
He nodded. “Yeah.”
He did that often, too. He talked about things like he knew more than he let on–like he knew a secret you didn’t.
Or maybe that’s just the way he talked. He’d always been so odd and eccentric. From the short time you’d known him, he always dragged you from one place to another. He was constantly rambling about things you couldn’t catch onto. You’d call him ditzy if you didn’t know any better.
“You know what I think you should do?” Satoru suddenly piped up.
You looked up at him questioningly.
“I think you need something to get your mind off of the whole thing. Clear your head!”
You glanced around at where you were, what you were doing. Yeah, this was getting a bit pathetic.
“Okay.” You agreed. “Like what?”
His smile curled in mischief.
🐾
“What am I supposed to be waiting for, again?”
“Just hold on.” Satoru’s muffled voice came.
You crossed your arms, but you stayed put. Satoru’s apartment was huge. Even from your place on the lavish couch, you could see the wealth sprawled across his place. A bit empty, like he barely lived there.
Presently, he had tucked himself inside his room and told you ‘It’s a surprise!’ You had no idea what he meant by that, but knowing him, he was probably going to come out in something extremely ridiculous. Your imagination took off without you. You could totally imagine him waltzing out after stuffing himself in a hot dog costume.
He didn’t come out in a hot dog costume. Somehow, his surprise was both less and more mortifying than that.
He still wore his usual black clothes, but there was a new accessory he styled himself with. On top of his head sat two white, fluffy ears. You stared at them in disbelief.
“Tada!” He posed like he just unveiled something.
You got up.
“I’m leaving.”
He was in front of you in a flash, reaching the door before you could. A nervous smile spread across his face as he tried to usher you back inside. You’d never seen him look so unsure before, it almost caught you off guard. With those fake cat ears on he looked even more ridiculous.
“Just hear me out for a second.” He tried to say. You glowered at him, but you relented, flopping back down to the couch.
“Think of it as a therapy exercise,” he finally suggested
“A therapy exercise,” you repeated, incredibly suspicious.
He nodded before sitting himself in the space next to you.
“Studies have shown that petting animals reduces stress in humans and all that, right?” Satoru pondered, but a part of you wondered if he was pulling all this out of his ass. “Since we don’t have a cat right now, well…this is the next best thing!”
You stared at him, wondering if he truly thought you were this stupid. His glasses were off, abandoned back in his bedroom, so the blue of his eyes could stare right into you.
“Try it!” Satoru suggested, tilting his head down to show off his new ears.
Well, Satoru has always been a bit weird, right? He was strange, constantly blabbering about things that never made sense, but he was harmless. From the short time you knew him, he’d never revealed himself to be anything but that.
You sighed, but you reached up and gently patted his ears, hoping that would be the end of it.
They were softer than they looked. Almost delicate in nature. The fur was clearly fake but it was smooth and silky and the blooming pink hidden underneath the fur of the ears had such a deep resemblance to your own lost kitty.
“There.” You told him as you pulled away, albeit a bit reluctantly.. “Is our therapy session over?”
“Not yet.” He cheerfully replied. “We got movies too! You’ll love this one! It’s about a cat who wastes all his previous eight lives, and now he’s on his ninth and…”
You tuned out of his rambles, already knowing how this night will end. Truthfully, you didn’t mind a movie night with Satoru. He was fun to hang out with. Maybe a movie night would be good for you–it would cheer you up.
You thought it had to do with those eyes, mostly; they were why you were so agreeable to go along with his whims. A part of you thought he was well aware of your kryptonite, but you could never prove it.
An hour or so later, you were well into the movie when you glanced down at your lap. The setting changed. Satoru ordered pizza a while back and inhaled three whole slices before you finished even one. Half-finished cans of soda laid on the table. When the movie started, you and him sat at a respectable distance between each other.
Now, Satoru’s head settled on your lap with your hand absentmindedly drifting across his hair and faux ears.
The shade of the cat ears almost blended into ivory locks. His hair was soft, just as silky and smooth as that stupid prop he still wore. You wondered what products he used, if he used any at all when Satoru caught you looking at him.
He blinked slowly at you, like he’s fighting off sleep. Ivory, white lashes fluttered closed to meet the rounded parts of his cheeks before that brilliant blue spilled out open all over again. It was something Snowbell used to do. Once, you looked it up and discovered it was a way cats showed silent affection towards their owners.
You smiled. Satoru caught it.
“What?” He questioned.
You shook your head even before your mouth opened up.
“Do you remember the night we met?” You asked as the movie faded into the background.
He nodded and you wondered if he thought of the same night you were–the night when you were cold and wet and miserable and Satoru was a stranger holding out your phone with a smile you couldn’t decipher.
“It’s really strange.” You admitted. “You pop out of nowhere. You know my favorite foods–you know things I didn’t even know about myself. You’re always there when I need you the most.”
Your voice trailed off to a whisper when he rose up to meet you. He was so close and you realized just how many colors his eyes have. Colors you’ve named before: deep navy, rolling cobalt, the softest sapphire, the brightest tanzanite.
He looked into your eyes, too, and you wondered if he did the same thing you did.
“I’m good at reading people.” His voice was equally low and hushed.
“Are you?” You asked.
He tilted his head.
“Am I?” He repeated.
It’s like the world around you disappeared. The TV, Satoru’s living room, the bustling city, faded into irrelevance the longer you stared at him.
“There’s something about you.” You continued because there was nothing left to say. “I think I’ve felt it since the day we met, but I don’t think I could internalize it until now but there’s something familiar about you. I…”
‘I know I’m going insane, but I think you might be my cat.’
The words sat on your tongue, but you couldn’t bear to say it. It was all so ridiculous even as this full grown man sat in front of you wearing cat ears looking at you like you were everything in this universe. You wanted to laugh. Then, you wanted to cry. So much happened in just days and yet nothing happened either.
You were not sure who leaned in first, but neither of you pulled away.
His lips were soft. It was like his hair but a different texture. They were plump and full of life and adoration as he kissed you. A hand reached up to grab your cheek, holding you in place as he continued to kiss you.
You sighed into his mouth and Satoru stopped kissing you and started to eat you whole.
He pressed you into the sofa and you went down with a small ‘omph’ that he swallowed up too. Greedy, was the only word you thought as he kissed you again and again. He wanted it all, and he wouldn’t stop until he got it.
He only stopped when your head was spinning and you gave a low whine. Even then, he pulled away with such reluctance you could still taste it lingering on your teeth.
You were panting, heavy and needy and hot all over. He barely looked affected. His expression was oddly blank, like he was dazed. You would’ve believed he thought nothing of the kiss had it not been for the tight way he still held you, like he was terrified you’d disappear if he wasn’t constantly holding on. That, and the–
“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do that.”
“Yeah?” You breathed. Your eyes trailed down to watch his Adam apple bob with anticipation.
The longing in his voice, it almost matched the intensity of his mouth. He burned so hot, you should have been afraid he’d burn you.
Instead, you reached up to pet the fluffy ears that rested just on his head. He shivered, eyes closing in a way you swore he could feel your fingers tickle the fur.
The slightest of smiles tugged at your lips. A tease.
“What else were you waiting for, pretty kitty?”
His eyes sharpened, there’s the softest hitch in his breath before he was on you all over again.
Rougher, pressing into you like he wanted to imprint his pattern all over your body so you could never forget his space and shape. Teeth that might have been fangs tugged at your lips as his fingers played with the hem of your shirt.
You shuddered as his long, lithe fingers crawled underneath your shirt, pushing it up and over your chest. The fabric pooled around your neck, proudly showcasing your tits, barely covered by the flimsy bra he was clearly eager to rip off.
His hands were cold as they pressed against your feverish skin. You felt goosebumps rise at just his touch as he reached for your bra to feel your tits. The fabric fell away and left you bare and utterly vulnerable to him.
He cursed, barely pulling back from devouring your lips to glance down at his unveiled treasure. Fingers tapped at your chest, eager to explore.
“Can I…?” He asked like you’d say no him–like you ever could.
Your nipples were hard and tender to the touch. A whine left your throat when he gripped them, squeezing at your supple flesh. It almost felt perverted and lingered on desperation.
“You’re so soft.” His tone almost made you laugh. It was like he could hardly believe it himself, needing to touch you more in order to truly prove that fact of the world.
You want to say something teasing when his mouth is dropping down again to lavish your jaw, trailing all the way to your neck and chest. He mapped your body with his lips and tongue before they finally landed on his prize.
“Satoru..” You could only sigh because he was barely touching you and you already felt everything. You relaxed against the pillows and the leather fabric, completely giving yourself to him. Heat pooled at your core as you twitched underneath him.
“Hm?” He asked, still lapping away at your skin. “It hurts, baby? Want me to make it better?”
He swirled his tongue over your nipples, flicking over them like he’s teasing the flesh. Eventually, he couldn’t help himself anymore. He took your entire nipple into his mouth, groaning as he did so, his voice vibrating your skin.
You felt like you were on fire, and yet, it was not enough. Your body was sparking and bursting into flames as you reached up to grab Satoru’s hair, keeping him there as he nuzzled and adored your tits. He’d barely done anything and you already felt like you were high. Your head was up in the clouds as he continued to ravish you.
“Satoru.”
Your voice was pitchy and drowned in want.
“Please please please.” You begged, uncaring to anything else. “Need you.”
He lifted himself from your chest with a loud, debaucherous pop. Your chest bounced lightly with the movement, nipples shiny and perky from his actions. You could already feel the ache on your skin. You were going to wake up tomorrow with marks all over you–you just knew it.
“Yeah?” He asked. His eyes were darker now, twinged with a type of hunger that should have scared you. His cheeks were flushed, dappled with the prettiest red you’d ever seen.
“Need me?” He repeated, hovering closer to your mouth, just inches away.
You nodded. His mouth curled.
“Gotta’ use your words. C’mon, you can do it.” He goaded, placing a chaste kiss on your cheek. You heard the condescension in his voice. In any other scenario, you might’ve just rolled your eyes. In this one, you wiggled your hips, helpless.
“Need you, please, Satoru,” you told him, “need you deep in–in my pussy.”
He shuddered at your words. There was the tiniest breath, a sigh of excitement, before he was pulling away to curl up at your hips. Eager hands gripped at your flesh, pulling down your shorts with a practiced ease.
“Oh, anything for you,” he said as he pulled apart your thighs to look at your vulnerable flesh.
“Anything.”
You were almost embarrassed at the way he looked at you. He practically drooled, licking his lips like he was trying to taste your heated scent. You expected him to rip off your panties the way he was clearly dying to, but instead he spread your thighs wider to lick up a stripe at your inner thigh. You jolted at the hint of teeth so close to your cunt.
“Bad kitty.” You tried to scold but it came out more like a whine. “Kitties don’t bite.”
“This one does.” He purred into your skin before biting you once more.
Just when you were about to complain again, he finally decided to put his mouth to proper use. Satoru eased off your panties, dragging them down your shaking thighs. He didn’t get them all the way off, like he did with the rest of your clothes. Instead, they tangled up your legs, leaving you completely exposed.
He took his prize like a vulture, swooping down to your cunt. His long tongue licked up and down the entire length of your pussy. Words melted back into your tongue as he worked your wet slit.
“Oh.” You sighed as Satoru’s head disappeared in between your thighs.
You thought he was saying something back. Something rested in his voice as he lapped deeply into your cunt lips–a dark tone you can’t place. You didn’t care. It didn’t matter as your thighs tightened around his head, like you wanted to keep him trapped there forever.
“Satoru.” You barely managed out as he licked the nub of your clit, lightly suckling on it as you felt a wave of tremendous pleasure roll down your back.
“Feel good, gorgeous? Don’t be shy, lemme hear you.” He said, his voice slightly muffled as he continued to eat you out.
As though to coax more sounds from your lips, his fingers delved into your pussy lips to rub slow circles onto your clit as his tongue entered your walls. You give him what he wanted, arching your back as your voice got louder and louder. You could hear the debaucherous slick sounds emanating from his mouth licking away at you. They were barely covered by your own moans of pleasure.
“That’s it. Fuck.” He hissed into your trembling thighs as you felt yourself tense up.
“You sound so cute when you feel good.” Satoru purred. “I’m so glad I’m the one who made you feel like this. All for me.”
You barely registered the darkness in his words. At some point, your legs were propped up on either side of his shoulders. Your fingers fisted into his hair, coaxing him deeper into your wet, needy heat. Satoru barely needed the extra encouragement, eating your pussy like it was all he was made for–like he’d die if he did anything else.
Your whines crested into something else. Satoru picked up on it, eagerly moving forward and picking up his pace as your pussy walls trembled from the constant attention he gave you.
“Gonna come for me?” He pressed. “S’ okay. Let go, gorgeous. You can do it. Just a bit more–”
Your back arched, but Satoru anchored your hips, keeping you in place as your orgasm rushed through you. It was the strongest you’d ever come, wave after wave of pleasure fizzed up your toes as they flexed and curled to assuage the intensity.
Satoru kept going until your body flopped down, exhausted by his ministrations. Even then, he only pulled away when your whines turned into pathetic begs of ‘too much’. You watched him rise from in between your legs with bleary eyes. He wiped away his mouth with the back of his hand, never taking his eyes off you.
You must have looked like a mess as you lied there, breathless. He wasn’t much better. His cheeks were dappled in pinks and red as his blue eyes simmered with ocean foam.
“Come here.” Your arms felt like cement but you reached up anyway, caressing his hot skin, coaxing him down. He followed like he was leashed, tethered to your fingers, crashing his lips onto your own.
You could taste yourself on his tongue, sour and sweet. You wondered what he was tasting as he ate your pussy, absolutely relentless. It felt like he’d happily suffocate in between your thighs, lapping away at your folds for the rest of eternity.
That didn’t sound too bad. A part of you hungered to push his head down to your clit again, let him worship your cunt in waves of ecstasy.
But another part of you felt something hot and heavy rest at your thigh, barely obscured by the denim of his jeans.
“Was I good?” He asked between feverish kisses, bringing you back to him.
“Mmh,” you agreed as his teeth nibbled on your bottom lip. “You were so good,” It’s all you could say, mind muddled and soupy by the orgasm.
Satoru moved down, lavishing your jaw and upper throat in kisses.
“Such a good boy–good little kitty.” He practically melted at your words, whining at your throat as you stroked his hair and fluffy ears.
“Yeah?” He asked, lips pulling away from your collarbone.
You nodded. “The best boy.” You continued as you wiggled your hips with need. “But Satoru–”
“I know.” He pulled away, and you mourned his warmth before you saw the way he straddled you as he fiddled with his belt.
“I’m hurtin’ too, gorgeous. Waited months for this.” Months? But hadn’t you met Satoru five weeks ago?
You ignored every alarm bell ringing in your head just in time to see his cock bob between his strong thighs. He looked painfully hard. Precum leaked from a mushroom-shaped tip as his cock touched your bare thigh.
Your mouth watered.
“Ready, baby?” That growl in his voice was back again as he leaned over, chest hovered above your own.
You never broke eye-contact as you licked your lips. You could still taste remnants of him in your mouth.
“Fuck me, Satoru.”
His eyes flashed. He was going to ruin you. You couldn’t care less. You wanted him to.
His cock slipped through your folds, teasing at your clit, still wet from him earlier. Your eyes rolled back into your skull at the first press of him at your battered pussy. You hissed at the same time he did, but you still managed to keep your eyes on him, wanting to admire what you did to him.
His expression was almost pained as he eased himself deeper into your cunt. His eyebrows were pinched together, and his jaw was clenched like he was physically holding back from crying out at the mere touch of your warmth. It looked like he was doing everything he could to stop himself from coming the moment he entered your pussy. Eventually, he couldn’t take it anymore, collapsing into your shoulder to whine at your shoulder.
“I–I can’t do it.” He whined but you could still feel his cock stretching out your hole. “You’re so warm and tight. Feels like–like I’m home.” He babbled.
You tried to laugh, but it came out as a strangled moan.
“Don’t say stupid”-- You barely stifled a moan as he pushed himself deeper inside you–”things like that.”
He bottomed out with a stuttered gasp, clinging onto you like you were his lifeline. You’d never felt more full in your entire life. He pressed all the way into your womb. If you looked down, you were half-afraid you’d see his cock imprint itself onto your belly.
“Fuck.” Satoru hissed in your ear. “Look at you. You’re…you’re a perfect fit.”
If you could speak, you might’ve agreed. His cock stretched you out oh so nicely, each curve nestled into the deepest, wettest part of you. A spit of precum dribbled out of your stuffed hole, lecherously coating your pussy lips.
“You okay?” Satoru asked when you shuddered underneath him.
You nodded, tucking your head into the crook of his neck.
“Can I move?”
“Please.” Your voice was soft and keening. “Please, please move, ‘toru–”
“Shit, quit that.” He lightly berated. “I’m tryna hold back but your voice drives me crazy…moving, so hold on, gorgeous.”
You moved on instinct, rather than on his order. A particular thrust left you gasping, making you reach up and cling onto his smooth nape. Satoru barely flinched at you clawing at him, curling his lips as he continued to stuff you full.
The way he fucked you was messy, bordering on desperation as he drilled you into the couch. The stretch against your walls left you breathless and panting for more. The cool air of Satoru’s apartment felt like aloe against your heated skin as he picked up the pace, filling you up with his cock over and over again.
“Shit. You feel like heaven.” He said through gritted teeth. “You’re squeezing me so good–do you feel good? Am I making you feel good?” It didn’t even feel like dirty talk. It felt like he was genuinely asking, scarfing down any lick of praise as he continued to drill you against the sofa.
Your pussy spasmed around his cock, bearing down on him like you never wanted to let him go. Your thighs were painfully clenched as you wrapped your legs around his narrow waist. A hand dropped down from Satoru’s neck to your clit.
Before you could relieve the pressure, Satoru snatched it up. He grabbed your wrists holding them above your head. He reached down with his other, circling your clit with his thumb and turning your head into mush all over again.
“Oh, yes,” your eyes rolled up as his cock pistoned into you. “Satoru its–its–”
“I know, baby.” Satoru lowered himself so his cock hit something deep and spongy inside of you. “Just gotta hold on a bit more. I’ll take care of you.”
Something rumbled in his throat. It almost sounded like he was purring as he rutted into you, and maybe that should have been your final sign, but you could hardly care less as you creamed around his cock. Your mind floated as he fucked you the way he wanted to, the way you begged him too. It was an endless build up that seemed to last for centuries.
Your orgasm hit the minute he slammed his cock into that spot all the way inside of you, rolling away at your clit at the same time. Your back arched as you came around his thick cock. Your pussy milked him for all its worth, gushing around him as Satoru staggered and swayed above you.
He didn’t last all that long after. There was a feral snarl before his cum sprayed all the way inside your womb. There was so much of it. Some dribbled out of your sore pussy all over your cunt lips.
Minutes later, when you barely put yourself together after that mind-numbing orgasm, you could still feel Satoru deep inside you. His head settled into the crook of your neck as he tried to regain his breath. You felt butterfly kisses across your skin as he lavished you in exhausted affection.
You stopped him when he tried to pull out, using the last bit of your strength to cinch your legs around his waist.
“Stay,” you mumbled, “‘feels nice.”
He smiled against your neck. You felt his arms wrap around your waist as he laid down with you. The couch was probably a snug fit considering how tall Satoru was, but you could hardly care less.
“Yeah?”
You hummed. You thought he said something else but you were too tired to care. Nestled in the arms of a man who fucked you silly was a good position to pass out in.
Just before you fell asleep, you noticed the funniest thing.
Between the pussy eating and the rapid fucking, those stupid, fluffy ears still remained on top Satoru’ head.
🐾
You woke up to sore legs and an aching body.
Your stiff limbs complained whenever you moved. Blearily, you opened your eyes. Sunlight poured in through a window. It was late-morning, at the very least.
Your environment also changed. The last thing you remembered was falling asleep next to Satoru’s warm chest on his sofa. Now the only thing you felt below you was a springy mattress and fluffy pillows. You laid naked underneath a bulky blanket.
Satoru was nowhere to be found, but the spot beside you was warm. Outside the room, you distantly heard a muffled phone call. Bits and pieces.
“Lost the curse user? That’s fine…got really curious about the…nah, it was my fault for getting caught up in that…yeah, I guess things mostly worked out…should thank him, honestly–”
You must have dozed off. When you opened your eyes again, Satoru was underneath the sheets with you. He watched you with a strange smile on his face, propping his chin up with his hand. His white hair was tousled like he’d never left. He was shirtless, proudly showing his bare skin when the light marks you left on him. With slight disappointment, you noted his cat ears were gone.
“What?” He asked, noticing your souring mood.
You scowled and turned away from him.
“You bit me,” you said, pulling an excuse out of the air. “‘Can’t believe you did that. Get out. I’m banning you from the bed.” You lightly nudged him with your foot.
Neither of you acknowledged that it was his bed in his apartment. Instead, Satoru whined, slumping over you in a bear hug.
“I’m sorry!” He kissed your shoulder, lightly licking over a mark he made the night before. “Please forgive me!” He caught onto your smile. “You’re into groveling? I’ll keep that in mind for next time–”
“Shut up.” You lightly scolded, but you sank into his hold regardless.
“Can I use your shower?” You asked after a few minutes of cuddling. As much as you liked this moment, your skin still felt clammy from last night.
“I can draw us a bath.” Satoru rubbed his cheek against yours with a satisfied sigh. “I got lavender scented bubbles and everything.”
“That sounds nice.” You nodded, but neither of you moved.
He practically invited himself into your shower time, but you didn’t mind. It was a little cute how eager he was. Or maybe that was just you missing every sign in the book. After all, this guy spent weeks and weeks helping you skulk around outside searching for your cat. Maybe you shouldn’t have been so surprised he was this forward.
Speaking of your cat….
“Satoru?” You called.
There was a hum against your skin as his head buried into the crook of your neck.
“I don’t think I need to worry about Snowbell anymore.” You tell him. “I…think he’s fine. Wherever he is.”
“Yeah.” Satoru said in this voice that you couldn’t read. “Wherever he is.”
You needed to shower, but he was so warm and the bed was so soft and perfect. You couldn’t help but drift off again, letting Satoru cling onto you. Distantly, you wondered maybe….
…maybe next time, you could convince him to wear a tail, too.
INFECT ME WITH YOUR LOVIN'| KILL ME WITH YOUR POISON !
summ. After your base is attacked, you're left at the whims of the wilderness- that includes to a lonely Na'vi that seems to take a liking to you.
w/c. ~7.3k
tags. Na'vi!Caleb, human!reader, soft yandere, alienxhuman, Avatar (2009) AU, Slight angst and fluff, Mentions of war, forbidden love (kinda), forest setting, CAVE sex (again??), slight infantilization, doting Caleb, slight predator/prey dynamic, pathetic Caleb agenda, minor injuries, drooling, p in v, HUGE dick, masturbation, spitting, filthy filthy $mut, size difference, cvmming inside, begging caleb, he whines, making out, slightly maniuplative caleb
a/n. it's finally here...this one took me way too long lol. some minor things: in this AU humans can breath on pandora for minutes at a time without a mask. ur girl gotta have more time to make out w the aliens LOL. oh and also, brown skin is mentioned like once, but this is just to refer to human skin (since all skin tones are shades of brown, whether light or dark) not to make the reader insert a certain race.
Your breaths come in ragged, panicked pants, each puff fogging up the cracked glass of your mask. Your brain screams at you to move. Your body stays locked up, though, pinned against the rough bark of a tree.
The edge of an oxygen mask glints alluringly in the midday sun— untainted, uncracked, with advanced tech you know will last you months, but it lays about twenty feet away. And that’s twenty feet deeper into the foreign, bushy wilderness.
Head thumping back against the tree, you spare a few seconds to think. Most people, if not everyone in that lab, are getting killed or already dead. It’s likely still teeming with those hostile Na’vi, so it’s not like you’ll be able to go back anytime soon.
Fuck, this is what I get for applying for this position, you curse internally, gritting your teeth. Some shady military op that’s apparently trying to conquer an alien planet and put scientists like you, who were just trying to understand alien life, in danger.
Oxygen leaks out of your mask with a steady hiss. Your breaths grow shallower, chest tightening. You need that mask. Even if it risks giving up your hiding spot.
Slowly, you crawl out into the open, tufts of plush grass tickling your palms. You keep glancing surreptitiously towards the base, half expecting a screeching Na’vi to pounce at you at any second.
The mask is ten feet away. Now five. You’re about to make the final stretch. But first, you feel it: a little tingle on your skin, a dark inkling that something is wrong.
Then, you see it.
Two dark eyes are pinned on you, peeking through the thick foliage. A zap of terror shoots through you. Instead of recoiling back, you freeze, chest tightening in a way that has nothing to do with your lack of oxygen.
Time stands still.
Move, you snap at yourself internally, but you can only stay petrified, mouth agape, on your hands and knees, arm still reaching for the mask like an idiot.
Would moving even make a difference? The other part of your brain laments. It’s not like I could compete with a Na’vi’s speed.
Then, the branches part. The being reveals himself, all long, blue limbs toned with muscle. A male, you realize, unable to do much but stare right back at him. A bow is slung over his back.
Your heart pounds, fully anticipating him to just whip out an arrow and shoot you right there. But his gaze isn’t predatory or malicious, no— it’s sharp with curiosity, almost wide with surprise at seeing a human in these forests. He’s not one of those hostiles, then?
Even through his messy, brown hair, you can see that he dawns markings that don’t correlate with any tribes you’ve seen. With your experience in studying the Na’vi, you quickly catalogue potential identities. A lone hunter? A nomad?
He steps closer, and closer yet, until he’s just a foot away. Brilliant bright eyes— violet, you realize— drop from you, to the sought-after mask, before shooting back up to you.
Then, with all the grace and elegance of a cat, he crouches down and plucks the mask from the ground.
Desperation rising, you blurt, “No!”
He was merely turning the object in his large palms, inspecting it, but at your outburst he pauses, head slowly raising to stare at you. You resist the urge to clasp a hand over your mouth.
What were you thinking, yelling at this lethal alien? But he hasn’t killed me yet, when Na’vi are known for ending their victims relatively quickly, you ration. So maybe I have a chance?
Your oxygen mask beeps in warning, drawing his endlessly fascinated gaze. You need that mask.
“I mean,” you try again, this time in the basic Na’vi you picked up while studying, “that’s mine.”
The Na’vi tilts his head. Then his lips twitch, sharp eyebrows lowering, as if pleased by hearing you speak to him.
The one-sided conversation is interrupted by a loud crash from the base.
Both of your heads snap in the direction of the base. There’s another crash, accompanied by the screeching of approaching Na’vi that gets louder by the second. The takeover hasn’t stopped. It’d been just moving throughout the base, and now it’s moving towards you.
Finally, you scramble up, forget about that stupid mask, and run.
You don’t know where exactly you’re going. You just push through thick branches and foliage, hoping the vegetation will shield you from the hostiles’ eyes. But then you realize there’s a second set of footsteps behind you.
You shriek as a long arm binds around your waist, tugging you flush against a firm chest. A large blue hand grabs both of your flailing arms easily, and you’re hauled over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes.
At first, you want to kick and fight some more, but when you look back at the wrecked base, distance from it growing with each of the Na’vi’s long strides, you see the building shake with a low boom, and arrows whiz past the interior. He’s saving you. And though you have no idea where you’re going, as long as it’s away from the mass slaughter taking place in there—
You can only tuck your face against the Na’vi’s neck and pray.
You feel him mount you on something, and you peek just a bit and see that he’s ushered you on an screeching ikran. “Wait,” you panic, squirming to look up at him, but he only glances down airily, before shoving your face into his broad chest with a large palm.
You suppose you should be grateful for the way your view is hindered as the ikran rocks and takes off shakily, as you’re positive you would’ve vomited everywhere if you were forced to see the treetops far below. You still squeal though, clutching at the Na’vi’s torso like it’s a lifeline, eyes squeezed shut. You swear you feel his chest rumbling with laughter against your cheek.
It’s been minutes when world tilts again, air rushing past your ears. You can feel yourself soaring up, steeper, before suddenly the ikran lands with surprising grace, and you’re on stable ground again.
The Na’vi wastes no time in dismounting and taking you up in his arms again. Finally, you open your eyes. The area is lush with vegetation, but it’s clearly distinct from where the base was. Jagged rocks jut out against hills, creating interconnected networks of caves that extend outwards in different openings.
He takes you to one of them. You assume it’s his longtime home, as it’s entrance is veiled by a net woven with beads and wooden vines. He lifts the veil, revealing a spacious interior that glows with bioluminescent fauna that glows dimly even midday. As he sets you down, you can only marvel at the space, curiously taking in a Na’vi den you’ve only studied on computer screens— yet this one seemed decisively different. Most Na’vi homes were villages, clusters of netting and treehouses that were interconnected, built alongside nature, but never the nature itself, like this cave you’re in. There were some similarities, such as the woven net covering the cave that extends slightly to create a hammock-like structure, before dipping to cover the cold stony floor, that suggested he’d settled here for long enough. He must not be a nomad then. But there’s no village in sight— so what is he?
Your thoughts are cut off when you’re lightly shoved onto the hammock without any warning.
You twist, only to see the Na’vi kneeling over you. “What— hey!”
Your words are in English, but he still seems to sense your distress. “Calm down,” his voice is surprisingly soothing even when he’s speaking an alien language. “I just need to fix you up.”
He gestures to a shallow gash on your shin that you didn’t even know was there. Huh.
“But first…” he delicately hands you the oxygen mask. You take it eagerly, discarding your old one. The Na’vi watches, fascinated by the sight of your face without a barrier, but you’re quick to clasp on the new mask, eyes averted.
You sigh in relief, the tightness in your lungs fading with just a few breaths of the recycled air. Yet, you tense up again when lithe fingers grip your shin.
Now it’s your turn to watch in fascination as the Na’vi brings out what looks like a giant pestle bowl and grind up some sort of herbs, the plants bleeding an alarmingly neon green color that honestly looks poisonous— but it’s not like you’re in any position to complain, so you just let him work. You shift your feet a little, feeling ridiculously out of place. He’s quiet, probably concentrated on his work, but your human mannerisms and curiosity urge you to fill the silence with conversation.
“So…” you clear your throat, straining your tongue to wrap around the foreign vowels of Na’vi to tell him your name, before adding, “what’s your name?”
“Ca’leb,” he answers simply.
“Caleb…” you probably mess up an accent or two, but that’s the least of your worries. Mindfully, as not to be rude to your host, you ask, “why did you save me?”
“Well, you were in danger,” Caleb hums simply, and you jerk when his long fingers apply the cool herbal salve along the stinging cut. As his grip shifts to unnecessarily cup your calf in a gentle caress, his violet gaze shimmers in the glowing fauna, intense yet almost shy. “Besides, I’ve never seen a human up close before. I just had to take you.”
Ooookay, you flush, refusing to meet his insistent gaze, I might be stuck with this weird loner Na’vi for a while. At least he’s healing me?
“Alright,” you clear your throat, “thank you. It was…awful back there.”
Caleb shifts closer, slender tail flicking behind him excitedly as he practically lounges on the hammock with you, sturdy netting barely dipping under his weight. “You’re welcome. In fact, I’m surprised you even got away. Humans seem very fragile…can I?”
You don’t even have a chance to reply before he’s practically feeling you up, large hands lifting and turning over your smaller limbs, eyes wide with intrigue. He pokes and prods at your ribs and thighs, drawing quiet noises of shock from you. His hands go up, pushing up the fabric of your shirt, exposing your stomach and almost—
You shove his hands away urgently, letting out a snap. “Don’t you even try going there! Please,” you add quickly, anxious about angering him.
Instead, Caleb looks sad, eyes widening and lip jutting, tail curling backwards dejectedly.
Huh. Strange equating this lethal creature to a puppy, but here we are.
To his credit, he gets over it relatively quick, a pleasant expression making its way back on his face. He tugs his hands away, as if just now realizing that personal space would be nice, especially after the frightful event you just experienced.
More alert now, he stands to his towering height and tucks some furs around you. “Get some rest,” he orders, heading towards the entrance of the cave, where he perches, bow by his side. “I’ll keep watch and make sure no hostile tribes followed us here.” You blink, watching him leave rather abruptly.
You’d think falling asleep in such an unfamiliar place is hard, especially when said place is the wilderness of an alien planet. Yet, with the soft elastic material beneath you and a hide pulled up to your chin, it’s not long before you’re in a land of dreams.
When you wake, the sun hangs low in the sky. Sitting up, you notice Caleb’s steady form is gone from the opening. Apprehensive mingles through you: you didn’t exactly want your only source of protection gone when you were out here in the wilderness.
Meekly, you stand— ignoring your stinging shin— and creep out of the shelter, lifting the netting to step out onto the grass. Glancing around doesn’t give you any more insight on where you are as you’d hoped. Well, it’s another forest, you think dryly, blinking up at the towering trees around you.
“What are you doing outside?”
You turn at the sound of his voice. Gone is the innocent exterior he held; Caleb’s glaring, sharp brows lowered and jaw clenched. Slung over his shoulder is a bloody carcass of some sort of creature, and despite his softness earlier, you find the violence comes eerily natural to him. You swallow thickly.
“I woke up and was just wondering where you went,” you stammer, and his expression slowly relaxes. He really can switch up, huh? You wonder. Are all Na’vi like this?
“Alright,” with a hand on the small of your back, you’re ushered back inside. “Right on time for dinner. Just don’t walk on your injury, yeah?”
You nod, perching back on the hammock. You watch him bring the animal just outside the cave, where he sparks up a small flame. You choose to look away as he hacks at the meat with a knife into tiny cuts— you’ve been on this planet for a while, but as a scientist, your exposure to the wilderness and camping has been limited to cooking smores back on Earth. Eventually, though, Caleb returns with a steaming plate of roasted meat, with a side of what looks like grain and herbs. It’s not any human food, but just the smell of it is enough to make you salivate.
“Thank you,” you eagerly reach for the bowl, but Caleb merely pulls it back an inch, shaking his head with a smile.
“Let me feed you. You should save your energy,” and he’s perching right next to you on the hammock, scooping some food onto a spoon.
“Oh, no, I’m alright—”
He’s already holding out a spoonful. “Say ahh!”
Reluctant, you lift your oxygen mask, leaning forward to take a bite. Caleb watches your expression, enraptured, as you chew and swallow. You give him a strained smile— the food is amazing, but having him be so attentive is a bit embarrassing.
“Delicious,” you comment as you slip the mask on for a second to steal some breaths of oxygen. Caleb lights up at the praise, lips splitting with a smile, big eyes glimmering.
“Good. Eat it all, then. You need strength, yawntutsyìp,” you have no idea what that nickname means, but you continue letting him feed you.
“You should eat too.”
“I will, later.”
“Alright,” eating and rushing a few breaths of oxygen doesn’t exactly leave any room for speaking, but your curiosity really knows no bounds. “What animal is this?”
“It’s a syìl*,”*** Caleb seems eager to hold a conversation, so he doesn’t mind when you eat slower to rush out some questions. “Herds of them are plentiful around these forests, especially less than a mile north.”
“Oh,” you’ve heard of those deer-like creatures in your research. Knowing that you’re tasting one makes you feel an absurd amount of giddiness. “You seem very knowledgeable about these parts.”
“I am. I’ve lived here for quite a while.”
“But I don’t think there are any tribes or villages nearby,” you are careful to tread lightly. As familial bonds are deeply sacred to the Na’vi, and his isolation is not only deeply baffling and rare, the subject may be a sensitive one. “Do you live here alone?”
But Caleb looks unfettered and merely nods. “Yes.”
You press your lips together in thought, but you have to quickly part them again to take the spoon in your mouth again when he insistently waves it around. It seems like this is all you’re getting out of him today, because by the time your bowl is empty, he’s pushing you to lie back into the hammock.
“Sìltsan,” he coos, brushing a palm over your head as you lay down, “good, good job. Now just go to sleep, yeah? You’ve had a long day.”
You’re too tired to even bristle at his doting— does he seriously think humans are a kind of pet or something?— dozing off under his persistent, gentle pats. You sleep deep enough that you don’t stir when he curls up beside you later.
You learn a few things about Caleb in the next days that pass.
One, being that he’s alarmingly attentive.
You’ve woken up at least 3 times with Caleb’s bright eyes pinned on you in the dark of the night. You at first wondered if he was irritated— did you take too much of the pelt, leaving him chilly? Or were you hogging too much space? You attempted to resolve this by shifting away from him one night, ensuring you don’t brush against him. He didn’t take too much of a liking to that, tugging you close again with his long limbs and nuzzling into your hair. You had squeaked, offput, but said nothing. Perhaps you should’ve, because now these nightly cuddles have become a habit. But you don’t want to complain to your ever-accommodating and considerate host. Maybe he’s just lonely, you think, wide awake in the dark cave as Caleb’s breath brushes your hair, arms heavy around you. And really does see you as some sort of pet. Or comfort object.
And that’s another thing: he’s very much completely alone.
Sure, Na’vi travelling alone for some time isn’t absolutely unheard of, but they always return back to their villages. From what you’ve heard from Caleb, he’s never spoken of any relatives or past tribes. And he speaks a lot.
Not that you’re complaining. Most of it is about any fauna or wildlife he brings back to the cave. You’re always quick to stop him before he can cook everything, inquiring about each thing incessantly. He mirrors your enthusiasm, happily rambling out information like they’re not the greatest gems of knowledge for a scientist like yourself. Sometimes, he loves talking about his flying practices in particular, how he maneuvers his ikran and soars over the clouds. You wish you had a notebook to write these stories down sometimes, so you can show them to…
To who? You huff at yourself. The corpses of those scientists back at the base?
You grimace at your own gruesome thoughts. There’s no telling if anyone survived back there, but there had to be more human bases around, right? Though being a cuddle-buddy to an alien out in the wilderness isn’t the worst fate, you have every intention of exploring the possibility of reuniting with other humans later.
You two manage to develop some semblance of a normal routine over the next few days. By the time you wake, Caleb is back with some early-morning catch, and you sometimes help cook it into breakfast, before loitering around all day trying to chase boredom, through the various efforts Caleb endorses. Escaping from civilization for a bit is fun at first.
The first few days you’re taken with the idea of weaving, spending hours trying to loop some vine around a stick. “It’s kinda like crochet,” you realize, slowly going through the motions that Caleb had previously guided you through— “Upwards, then around, then through,” he had instructed, larger hands cradling yours with a delicacy that made you flush.
Caleb just tilts his head. “What is crochet?”
You tell him, and he listens with endless fascination. That’s another thing about Caleb; he loves listening to you speak, however basic your Na’vi, about human life. You tell him about the plants on Earth, the things you used to eat, hobbies, even the boring stuff like jobs and work and traffic. But he just listens, head propped up in his hand, staring so intently you wonder if he’s even listening or if he’s just staring because he wants to.
But eventually, talking about civilization makes you miss it with each word you blurt. And by the— tenth? or eleventh—day, you’re completely over this little vacation.
“Caleb,” you say, in the middle of him braiding back your hair for bed— you’ve long since given up trying to protest this. “Do you think it’s about time I went back out and explore for other humans? I’ve been here a while.”
His fingers pause against your scalp. “Why?”
You blink. “Well, because…I can’t exactly stay here forever. I’m human.”
His fingers continue their strokes, and his tone is more playful than curt this time. “And why not, huh?”
You’re surprised how much the question catches you off guard. Caleb is harmless, that much is sure, even if the large creatures he drags back after each successful hunt is a bit alarming. And it’s not like you have anyone you’re missing back on base or even on Earth— that’s why you signed up for this job, anyways.
“Because,” you huff stubbornly, ducking your head. “That’s just how it is.”
He finishes your braid without another response. But you still haven’t gotten a clear answer from him.
“So, I’ll probably go back out and search tomorrow.”
“No.”
You frown, twisting back to glance at him over your shoulder. “…no?”
His brows are furrowed, azure cheekbones taut with barely-concealed irritation. “No. There’s no telling how many hostiles are still out there. You could be attacked immediately.”
“But how much longer am I supposed to wait? Have you seen any signs of danger nearby?”
Caleb’s eyes widen, before he quickly averts them, almost guiltily. “Signs, yeah. Footprints and such.”
“Right,” you sigh, disbelieving. “So I should just sit here forever then.”
His face softens, and he reaches out to pinch at your cheek. “Don’t be upset,” he croons. “You’re a fragile human*.* There are many creatures waiting in the wilderness to catch you. I wouldn’t want my yawntutsyìp to be in danger, would I?”
“No,” you respond leniently, and he beams, pleased, tail swishing behind him. “No, you wouldn’t.”
But when Caleb curls up beside you that night, steady pats bewitching you into slumber, you form a plan.
You know his schedule by now; every morning, right before the sun has risen, Caleb gets up to hunt.
You remember it because you stir awake every time you feel the hammock shift beneath you, the loss of his body heat. You usually end up turning over and get right back to dozing off.
But today, you don’t let yourself drift off when you feel Caleb sit up. To fake being asleep, you continue inhaling and exhaling deeply, breaths hissing out of your oxygen mask.
A palm brushes over your head, and then a quiet sniff against your hair. Woah, is this part of his normal morning routine too? It takes everything in you to not flush and turn away. Finally, after a bit more nuzzling than needed, you feel his presence depart.
You wait a few more minutes to just make sure he’s really gone, breath held, body tense, before your eyes slide open. Sure enough, the cave is empty, the dim fluorescent fauna illuminating all crevices and corners and confirming that you’re alone.
As you rise and exit the cave, looking over the darkened forest, you rethink your decisions just a little bit. What exactly was the plan after this? You suppose you should at least get to a high place and see if you can spot any structures down below, or even if some humans can spot you and extract you. You’d explore for a few hours, you decide, until the sun rises. And if you don’t return before Caleb gets back, then you’ll just apologize.
I don’t owe him anything anyways, you think as you weave past trees., trying to feel less guilty. Sure, he saved me and all, but I’ve only known him for a week. It’s not like I’m obligated to stay with him.
The actual outcome is not as easy as you hoped.
Sure, finding and traversing an inclined hill was easy enough— aside from how you end up with raw marks on your skin from sharp thorns, leaves and branches in your hair. Your struggles are for nothing.
Because when you look over the edge, you don’t see any buildings or structures amidst the treetops. No, you only see mist, tinged pink from the sunrise.
It takes you a moment to realize that it’s not mist. It’s clouds. He took you to one of those floating sky islands.
Your stomach tilts with unease. Just how far up are you? How far away did he take you from any other living, sapient being?
You’ll never be able to get back down to civilization without his willingness to help, will you?
Your revelation is broken off by a crack of a branch below you. You whip your head down so fast you’re surprised you don’t roll over.
His chiseled torso is smeared with blood. You know better than to think it’s his own. A carcass is already hiked up over his back.
Caleb. He’s standing there, meters below you, looming on the forest floor, gleaming eyes pinned on you even from this distance. And he looks livid.
Long dark hair frames the sharp edge of his tense jaw, falls just over his furrowed brow. It’s a look you’ve never seen on him. Unhinged, feral.
He just stares. You stare back. You don’t know why you feel the urge to run. This is Caleb. He’s cared for you, saved you. Logically, there’s nowhere you can go. But a more primitive part screams at you to get away.
But this is Caleb. He’d never hurt you.
You run.
There’s nowhere run except down, so you make a mad dash down the hill, the swoop of gravity boosting your speed and sparking a rush of exhilaration in your chest. Those branches are clawing at you, tugging at your clothes as if the planet itself was against you, but you push through, breaking into a clearing. You pause for a moment, turning and looking at all possible directions. Before you can decide where to go, you hear the padding of large footsteps on the muddy ground.
It seems you may have become his next hunt.
You panic, turning just in time to try and spring the other direction. But, like the skilled hunter he is, he’s already directly behind you. A hand clasps around your arm, tugging you so that you’re flush against his large body. You wail in discomfort as the glass of your mask is forced against his blood-stained abs, before he’s hauling you off the ground. You shriek, limbs thrashing until he traps them between your bodies, subduing your struggles entirely, and easily begins walking.
“C-Caleb,” you cry, his arms crushed too tight around you, like a deadly snake. “Caleb!”
He shushes you sharply, arms tightening possessively around you. You let out a strained sound in protest.
His feet stop abruptly, and you startle at the sound of another voice.
“What do we have here?”
Caleb physically tenses against you. You wish you could twist around, see who has appeared behind you, but the apprehensiveness radiating off Caleb keeps you obediently still.
Maybe Caleb was just using a very basic dialect of Na’vi with you, because when he speaks to this unknown stranger, you find you can barely understand a full sentence. As they exchange words, you only understand a few phrases; “live nearby” and “friendly” and “mate.”
Mate?
The stranger’s tone darkens, deepening into one that almost seems like he’s lecturing or berating Caleb for something. You make a quiet sound of fear, half expecting to hear the sound of a bow being drawn in your direction— the clamor of the attack on your base still wracks in your head like warning bells.
The conversation quiets at your noise, as if both Na’vi are observing you. Then the stranger barks out a final order, “get going then.”
You feel Caleb continue walking, this time with more urgency.
You’re silent on the way back. When he sets you down on that damn hammock again, you want nothing more than to bury your face somewhere, stomach in knots.
He’s silent, too, uncharacteristically so, as he sets his bow and hunt away and kneels down in front of you. He keeps his gaze fixed stubbornly to your scraped knees, rubbing salve on every tiny nick.
You don’t think you can take the carefully neutral look on his face, the way his eyes avoid yours. “Caleb,” your voice cracks on the syllables. He doesn’t regard you, staying intent on his work.
You tear off the oxygen mask with a hiss, freeing your sight of the murky glass, and swallow painfully. “Caleb. I-I’m sorry, okay? I just thought I’d be able to get rescued by some humans— Caleb,” you cry when he dips his lead lower, brown strands shielding his face. His incredibly tall body, now shriveled up, hunched over till he’s short enough to avoid your eye.
“You know what that Na’vi wanted back there?” he grits out, and you freeze at the sound of his voice. You’ve never heard it this dark; it’s worrying. “He saw you and questioned your presence. He wasn’t part of those hostiles, but the Na’vi know. They all know the intent of most humans who come here, so they assume the worst of every one of them. If he found you before I did…”
His cadence dips. His back shudders as he heaves a shaky breath, blue skin rippling with muscle. Your body reacts before your brain can think, and you’re brushing his hair away from his face, reaching down to cup his face.
“I know, I’m sorry, okay?”
He melts. Violet hues finally raise, wide and shiny. When they flit around and land on yours, his pupils slowly expand, swallowing the irises like a black hole.
“Why did you leave?”
“Because…I have to go back to civilization. It’s not like I can live in the wilderness forever.”
“Why do you want to go back?” Caleb shakes his head, lips trembling. “You’re not like those humans, who just want to conquer and destroy. You can’t truly be happy there. It’s selfish of me, but…” a large palm cups your cheek, stroking your bare skin reverently. “I want you by my side.”
Your lips part in surprise at his declaration. Your heart squeezes— because you know it’s the truth. Just coming to terms on what the company you had worked for was doing, and witnessing the sheer massacre they were willing to provoke from the natives, the countless employees they sacrificed for a greedy and entitled cause was hard enough, but Caleb laid it all out for you. Living with a Na’vi in just this short amount of time showed you what could have been lost because of a human conquest— the tradition and livelihood, sure, but the smaller things, like breakfasts, homemade salves, woven hammocks. What are your options if you return to civilization? It’s either on an overpopulated, dying Earth, or supporting a cause that will destroy the things you’ll come to love.
You feel lightheaded, not just from the heavy, foreign air, but from your heavy thoughts as well. But you don’t slip on the mask if it means it’ll ruin how his skin brushes yours.
Thankfully, Caleb doesn’t seem to expect a response right away just yet, standing to perch beside you. You steal some breaths of oxygen but ultimately keep the mask off, refusing to put any barriers between you two again. He stays close, tail flicking anxiously behind him.
“Did I…scare you back there? Why’d you run?”
“A little, I mean, I guess the sight of you angry and covered in blood was a bit off-putting.” You admit sheepishly.
Caleb laughs, hanging his head, pretty smile softening his features. You can’t help but laugh with him.
“I’m sorry. I just sensed another Na’vi nearby and knew I had to get to you. You’re not hurt anywhere else, right?”
You shake your head, but he frowns, leaning in closer. “But wait, your face…”
“Oh,” you realize, reaching up to feel a few small nicks. “Just some branches scratched me up a bit. No big deal.”
But he leans even closer, until you’re gasping, quickly leaning back so your noses don’t brush. “You need to be more careful,” he breathes, brows still drawn together. He cups your face with both hands, an expression of fretfulness flashing across his features that was so intense it was almost comical— though you held your laugh, not wanting to make fun of his concern.
“Poor thing, your face is all cut up,” Caleb practically whines, thumbs darting to brush every mark. Your cheeks heat under his touch.
“Please, it’s not that bad—”
“Shh,” his nose brushes yours, and he simply caresses your face for a few moments, as if his touch alone could heal you.
“Caleb,” you murmur, muffled by the way he smushes your cheeks slightly.
“Hmm?”
“What all did that man say back there?”
“Oh,” his eyes lowered, a purplish hue staining his cheekbones— is he blushing? “Like I said, he’s a head of a tribe nearby and was just patrolling around their territory. When he saw me with a human…well, he was naturally just appalled. But it’s okay! I just let him know that you were friendly to Na’vi, harmless, and my mate.”
“What?’
“Not that you are,” Caleb blurts, backtracking. “Or that you aren’t. Well, I mean, I had to defend you somehow. But he was obviously taken aback, saying how it’s against Eywa. But…I’ve never been too firm of a believer in that, have I?”
His tone dips to a more sultry one that makes your heart pound. “He says it’s against nature. That something interspecies wouldn’t benefit Awaang. But…” his hand slides down your arm sensually, sending goosebumps in his wake, “I haven’t been much for following the norm, or what’s seen as right.”
Caleb’s lips are a breath away. Your heart pounds. “I’ve never desired anything as much as I’ve desired you,” he pants raggedly, before crushing his lips to yours.
You melt immediately, hands tangling in his long locks and tugging, and he whines against your lips, suckling and biting. Caleb’s kisses aren’t gentle or perfect; they’re eager and sloppy. He licks into your mouth and pushes you onto your back, hulking body enveloping you entirely, shielding your arching and squirming body from the world.
“I’ve never asked for anything, except for you,” he rasps, before sealing the words with a rough kiss,“Eywa couldn’t possibly deny my only request, right?
You squeak against his mouth as he ravages your lips, struggling to keep up with his hunger with your own meek kisses. He finally breaks away with a last wet smooch, glossy lips parting, drool smudged down the corner of them.
“Caleb,” you wheeze quietly, and he’s scrambling to press the oxygen mask to your face, concern bleeding past his arousal.
“I’m so sorry, I’m sorry, can you breath?” Caleb rushes, biting his swollen lip as you take deep, hissing breaths. “I’m so sorry, I did it for too long, I’m sorry,” he gasps again, leaning back off of you to give you some space. You’re not having any of that.
Once you’ve taken a few deep breaths, you’re tossing the mask aside and kissing him again.
Caleb whimpers like he’s in heaven, sagging back over you, pecking and licking at the seam of your lips. He’s gentle at first, as if still concerned about your respiration, but he quickly loses himself, his hunger growing by the second. It seems like he’s taken advantage of the opportunity to pick up exploring your anatomy again from that first day he met you, hands eagerly bunching up your shirt just past your ribs, slipping under to squeeze your tits until you arch and mewl. His other hand wastes no time in sliding down, slipping under your pants to caress your bare thigh, claws tantalizingly close to nicking your soft skin.
When he takes your bottom lips between his sharp teeth and sucks, you can’t repress a quiet moan. The sound makes him harden against you—you can feel the press of it from where it presses against your thigh, and it feels huge.
When Caleb breaks apart again, a string of saliva pulls taught until it snaps, and he wipes it away with a swipe of his thumb. Gently, he rubs the glass of the oxygen mask clean, before securing it back over your face.
His calm actions are at odds with the pained look on his face; you twitch needily at the expression of longing, in his furrowed brow and parted lips.
“Fuck, yawne,” he pants, sitting up to reach for the loincloth around his waist. “Please, need you so bad, please please—”
“Yes,” you gasp, pushing off your already-strewn clothes—first, you kick off your pants and panties, before lifting your shirt and bra off and tossing it aside. Caleb watches the unfamiliar clothing with enrapturement, glowing eyes particularly caught on your discarded panties. His long fingers grasp the cloth, brushing it reverently.
He’s shoving off his loincloth with the other hand, and you are not prepared for the sight of his cock; it bobs up immediately, smacking against his blue abdomen, and it is large. The size of your forearm, almost? Your thighs clench with arousal at the thought.
Caleb groans, brushing the head of his leaky tip with his thumb, before beginning to jerk himself off right in front of you. His bright eyes are pinned to you, raving over your human anatomy, and his abs clench deliciously as he tries not to cum immediately.
Your face heats, and you squirm underneath his heady stare, pussy clenching around nothing. “Please, pretty,” he begs sweetly, scooting a bit closer. “Just need to get myself ready for you, I’m so hard. Need your spit.”
You stare blankly, quietly shocked at his lewd words. “Your spit, hahh,” he clarifies, head rolling back in pleasure, till he’s staring through half-lidded eyes. “Please spit on me.”
You snap out of your daze, leaning your face forward towards his cock. It twitches, a zap of pleasure shooting through it just from your attention alone. You purse your lips and let a wad of pearly saliva land right on his leaky tip and slide down his shaft, highlighting every thick vein in it’s wake.
“Nghh, fuck,” he almost sobs, quiet schlicks from his cock as he begins to pump it with your spit as lube. “Thank you, thank you.”
You’ve never been more soaked in your life. “Caleb,” you wail, shifting your thighs apart eagerly to reveal your swollen pussy, throbbing with need. He gapes at the sight of it, awe and thirst settling on his face now. “Please just put it in. Need you.”
You know he can’t resist. He melts almost immediately, throbbing cock forgotten, settling his massive form between your thighs. He presses his face between them, hesitantly kissing the glossy folds like he’s worshipping at an altar.
You twitch, letting out a keening sound. “I know,” he cooes, brow scrunched as he nuzzles his nose against your thigh. “I just don’t know if I’ll fit, yawntutsyìp. Don’t wanna hurt you.”
“Just put it in, fuck, need it—”
Caleb is nothing if not attentive to you.
Pulling back, he lines himself up, tip just nestled against your hole. He pushes in slowly, making your pussy squelch, walls fluttering so hard immediately it almost pushes him back out. Caleb’s jaw tenses as he tries to go slow, hips twitching eagerly and making his tip slipping in with a pop.
“Ngh, ohmygod,” you squeak, tight ring of muscle burning deliciously at the stretch. You buck your hips for more involuntarily, to which Caleb pins them down firmly with a single hand to your stomach—which only serves to press down against his tip bulging inside you, the pressure making your feet kick out in pleasure.
“I’m sorry,” Caleb rushes, but he doesn’t move his hand, ears pinned back and flushed. He only pushes his hips forward, feeding you inches and inches of his long cock until it presses deep past your gooey walls, poking directly into a bundle of nerves in you. His palm can feel his hard dick in you through your stomach, and just the thought has him spurting precum in you.
“Don’t you dare stop,” you pant before he can start apologizing again, chest heaving as you try to accommodate his size. Caleb’s eyes drop from your face to your alluring tits at that, and he’s dazedly leaning down before he even knows what he’s doing, taking a bud into his mouth eagerly.
“Cay,” you mewl, hands pushing and smacking at his abs, begging him to start moving and relieve you of the pressure. Finally, he blinks away the fog of arousal, maw unhinged against your breast, drooling on your tit as he begins thrusting.
He pumps slow and deep, tip ramming steadily against your g-spot. “You feel so good, can’t believe you can take me so well—” he rambles against your chest, ragged breathes brushing your hardening nipples.
Your cunt sucks him in greedily, clicking with each thrust and leaking all the way down his shaft, until it’s slathered in a creamy mess. Caleb finally lifts his head to look down at the sight, where blue meets brown, Na’vi meets human, where two worlds collide into lewd, forbidden pleasure.
His hips quicken at the sight, until he’s pounding into you, desperately chasing that pleasure again and again. You mewl with every thrust, cunt spasming around his shaft, wringing a pained groan out of him. Your thighs quiver, jerking every time his pelvis smacks against them wetly, the skin pinkened and raw.
“Fuck, fuck, I’m yours, don’t ever leave me,” Caleb blurts, and he feels your stomach spasm underneath his palm in pleasure. You nod drunkenly, lips parted.
“Hahh, yes Caleb, need you so bad!” You hiccup, not exactly aware of what you’re affirming, but his tail swings happily behind him all the same at the agreement.
“Ah, nghh,” his jaw drops again when you clench around his shaft; you swear he’s sheathed in so deep that he’s pressing up against your guts. It’s so full, combined with how his large palm presses your tummy down firmly. “That’s it, my perfect mate,” he grits out, eyes feral and wide with the need to fill you up.
You whine out when he shoves himself a fraction deeper, his leaky tip kissing into your cervix, brute size bruising your walls up. His cock presses up against every nerve ending, making you tense up with pleasure, thighs locked and toes curled.
“I’m gonna cum,” you squeal out, fists curling against his large pecs. “Please—please!”
Caleb doesn’t stop, hips pumping with an exactness that has you seeing starts. “Yeahh, cum all over my cock,” he begs, expression crumbling prettily as he nears his own release. “Let Ca’leb fill you up, please—”
You gush around his shaft with a squeal, pussy clenching down hard when you cum, your smaller feet kicking and curling against the hammock as shocks of pleasure rack through you. Caleb cums immediately at the sensation, and like the rest of him, his load is huge— it doesn’t all fit in your tiny stomach, leaking steadily out of your messy cunt.
Caleb doesn’t even pull out when he collapses on top of you, careful not to crush your body. You don’t complain, heartbeat pounding in your ears as the rush fades, leaving you satiated and sleepy.
You both lay there exhausted for who knows how long, before Caleb suddenly lifts his head from your chest, blinking at you.
“I forgot to make and feed you breakfast. You must be hungry.”
“Mmm, no, Caleb. Not hungry.”
“But you can’t sleep if I haven’t braided your hair,” he complains quietly, frowning. “Then I won’t be taking care of you properly.”
“Trust me, you’ve taken care of enough,” you huff, turning over to nestle your face into his chest.
You’re both content to lay there, instead of going on with your usual schedule. You, because you have a place that feels like home now, doze off as you nuzzle into the hammock. And Caleb, because he finally has someone who belongs to him, sighs as he nuzzles into your hair.
Someone literally sends me a fucking video of him masturbate and his hard on dick to my whatsapp. The number below hes a fucking Exhibionist. And he fgot a small dick. I have fast memory when i look at a picture. He was sends it with one time look mode. So i closed it immidiately after i opened it and cant show it to you guys.
Like i dont want to see something like that beside caleb's, gojo's, nanami's. So i need to bleached my eyes with holy water.
And he had the audacity to video called me? Hes a freak. literal freak.
