𝐏𝐀𝐒 𝐃𝐄 𝐃𝐄𝐔𝐗
Yandere Ballet Teacher Suguru x Reader
⟡ AN: this is based on an ask from @delulustateofmind. please keep in mind that i did ballet for two years as a child and then dropped out bc i got bored so if there are inaccuracies im sorry.
⟡ TW: NON CON/DUB CON, teacher/student relationship, implied older man/younger woman, inappropriate touching, isolating, bullying (?), threatening loss of career, suguru being suguru
You were eight years old the first time you watched Suguru perform.
You didn't care much about ballet before that, in fact you hadn't even wanted to go when your parents told you about it. But the moment Suguru stepped foot on the stage, a light flipped in you. He was a force of nature, something ethereal leaping around the stage. Your eyes never left him. The flex of his muscles, the sweat on his brow, all were tattooed to your psyche, imprinted in your soul.
When he took his bow, the crowd stood and cheered. He shouldn’t have been able to see you in the sea of people, he should have been preoccupied with the flowers and praise, but by some miracle his eyes managed to catch yours.
And when they did, he smiled.
It was the first time in your life you ever felt starstruck.
You begged your parents to sign you up for ballet lessons that night. Ever since, ballet has been your life.
The second time you saw Suguru dance, you were eighteen.
You’d achieved your dream of dancing at the same academy he went to, and because of that, you were able to get tickets from an instructor to his last performance as the company's principal dancer. It was a once in a lifetime performance. He danced with such emotion, sheer passion dripping from his pores. Each leap and jump pricked your eyes with tears. He was gorgeous. A star exploding just before its death.
When your instructor offered to introduce you to him afterwards you nearly threw up.
You met him in his dressing room, sat with him as he removed his stage makeup. He was warmer then you expected him to be. Down to earth, gentle, but no less intimidating. He asked you about dance and what you were planning on doing with your career. When you meekly told him you were planning on becoming a ballerina for the company, his lips curled up.
“I suppose I’ll be seeing you around then.” he said.
The third time you saw Suguru dance, you were nineteen, and this time you were dancing with him.
It was announced a few months after his retirement that he would start teaching at the academy and that he was looking to take on a talented student as his protege. Dozens of students signed up for an audition slot, girls and boys who were leagues ahead of you in technique and skill, who had better genetics and better connections, people you could never in your wildest dreams hope to beat.
Still, you signed up. He was your idol, after all.
The first round of auditions were nerve wracking. Ten minutes on the barre, ten minutes of floorwork surrounded by nearly fifty other dancers who were more flexible, prettier and stronger than you. To make it worse, Suguru walked up and down the rows, checking your form and tapping people's shoulders so they knew he’d seen enough. You waited with bated breath for his dismissal, gnawing a cut into your lip, but to your shock, it never came.
The second round of auditions were two days later.
You waited outside the auditorium for nearly two hours, watching as people came out and started whispering to their friends, your stomach curling into knots at every grin or confident quip. There shouldn’t have been any reason to worry. You were prepared not to get it, you knew the likelihood of him keeping you in the room for more then thirty seconds were slim to none, and you’d practiced the combination plenty. None of that was enough to keep your heart from pounding.
When it was your turn to dance you couldn’t look at Suguru. If you did, you thought you might vomit. Instead, you focused on your footing, your angles, anything but the man who you’d idolized for ten years staring at you ten feet away. You could feel yourself getting sloppy, cramping up and stumbling out of turns. Nonetheless, you kept dancing. Marking the counts in your head, trying to keep yourself from trembling.
At least until he told you to stop halfway through.
It was a disaster. A nightmare. Immediately you felt your eyes start to water, breath getting caught in your throat. You didn’t expect him to keep you long, but you thought at least you’d be able to finish the combination. Were you really that much of a failure? You blew your one shot at dancing for your idol
You felt a hand on your waist.
“Breathe,” he said, his voice low, gentle. You felt his hand slide down your thigh, lifting it upwards towards your head. “You’re flexible,” he mused, pushing your leg back down, “and I suspect your turns will be good too once you’ve calmed down.”
A bead of sweat trickles down your nape as he steps backwards, air still caught in your lungs. You couldn’t think, or breathe, or speak.
But when Suguru told you to do the combination over, eyes flickering with interest, your body couldn’t help but obey.
This time, you took his instruction, making sure to keep your breath steady, your mind focused. He circled you, looking you up and down as you slowly became more comfortable, falling into the music, becoming less stiff. Occasionally, he’d call out a correction - lift your chest, arch your back, keep your eyes forward. You’d quickly adjust yourself. He’d smile and purr “Good girl.”
Once you’d finished and the music stopped, there was silence. Only your soft pants and the thump of your pulse filled your ears. Until, you heard clapping.
Suguru walked over and placed a hand on your shoulder. “You can tell the others outside to leave now.” he said, eyes gleaming, “I’ve found what I was looking for.”
—
Two years have passed since then, and you’re still intimidated by Suguru.
It’s difficult not to be, especially now that you’re so close to him. Five times a week at exactly four o’clock the two of you meet in a studio, and he won’t release you a second before nine. Every second of that time is precious, he’s told you, it’s a second closer to you taking his place as the principal dancer.
He works you like a horse. Demanding impossibly long turns, bigger leaps, stretching and bending you so deep you feel your bones might snap. Every movement is repeated at least four times before he’s satisfied, and even then, he’s insistent that there’s more room for improvement, that you’re just scratching the surface. He’ll demand you do it from the top, ignoring the way your face falls, only watching with a scrutinizing eye as you return to the start. It feels impossible to please him sometimes. You’ve never felt as exhausted as you do after your lessons with him.
You thought the academy had harsh rules, but they’re nothing in comparison to Suguru’s. There’s the normal ballet school rules of course; hair must be up in a bun, no makeup, pink ballet tights and leotard, no asking for toilet breaks ect, but he’s also particular about your personal life. He makes you track when you sleep and what you eat in a journal and bring it to him each lesson to approve, a rule he made after you pulled an all-nighter one day and nearly fell asleep on him, just to ensure you're “practicing good habits.” You find yourself holding your breath everytime he looks over it, you can only exhale once he’s handed it back to you and told you to go warm up. Then, there’s the rules about people. He advised you, in a manner that made it understood that it was not actually a suggestion, to stay away from other dancers. It’s better for you not to get caught up in the cattiness of it all. More than that, however, you’re to stay away from boys.
“They’ll only distract you from what’s most important.” he’d told you, “You want to be the best, don’t you?”
He’s never made it clear what would happen if you broke one of his rules, but you haven’t found the courage to figure it out. Suguru is, to put it bluntly, terrifying. It’s difficult not to notice the way his arms flex as he stretches you out, the thick veins protruding from the skin, or the strength in his legs as he lifts you, holding you up as though you’re little more than a pillow. Beyond being a once in a lifetime performer, Suguru is a powerhouse physically.
It’s not that you think he’d ever hurt you, but the one time you ever did speak about a boy to him (a dance partner in one of your classes) your stretches that day were particularly painful.
Even so, Suguru, for all his austerity, is a good teacher. You’ve become one of the best ballerinas in the company under his guidance. And though he may be rigid while you’re on the dance floor, he’s gentle in the cool down. He sits you down and takes off your shoes, carefully massaging the soles as he holds water up to your mouth, thanking you for your hard work, ensuring you know he’s proud. He’s confusing like that. Jekyll and Hyde. But maybe that's what makes his praise so addicting. Why you blush so hard when he tells you “good girl.”
Maybe it’s why, even when his touches started to become a little too intimate, you didn’t say anything. The hand on your thigh was just a friendly gesture, the lingering touches on your breasts were accidents. Suguru didn’t mean it that way, surely.
And the kisses on your forehead, those were simple, platonic gestures. He meant nothing by them. Even when he started kissing your hands and cheeks, you gave him the benefit of the doubt.
You tried to focus on the dancing, to remind yourself that Suguru has only ever done right by you. Embrace it, you told yourself, isn’t this what you’ve always wanted? For him to notice you?
When it turned into kissing on the lips you couldn’t deny it anymore.
You weren’t sure how to react the first time it happened. One minute he was pulling off your shoes, talking to you about how proud he is of you, how important you are to him, the next his eye were glinting, resting dangerously on your lips as he leaned in. You couldn’t move. You couldn’t breathe. Briefly, you thought to scream, then to push him away from you, or maybe you should ask him why? But when he pulled away, you were paralyzed.
“That’s good, Y/N.” he sighed, going back in for another, entwining his fingers in yours as his tongue breached your lips. A painful lump grew in your throat as it sunk in what was happening. By the time he pulled away again, tears were spilling down your cheeks.
Suguru smiled softly at you, thumbing away the beads. “Shhh, you’re alright.” he promised, wrapping his arms around you and pulling you into his chest. Thick fingers ran through your hair as you sobbed into his shoulder, clinging onto his shirt for stability. “Don’t be scared, it’s just me.”
You couldn’t pull a coherent thought from the storm whirling through your mind, nor were you stupid enough to think you could pull your already exhausted body out of his arms. You best you could manage was a half choked, “You’ll get in trouble.”
Sugurus' chest rumbled against you. “No, not if you don’t tell anyone.” he said, before pulling away so he could look you in the eye. “Swan Lake auditions are coming up, remember? You know I think you’d make a lovely Odette.”
Your heart sank to your stomach. He was right. And without him to vouch for you, there’s no way in hell you’d ever get the part, or any other part for that matter. Suguru has been the companies darling for over a decade, it would look terrible for them if it came out that one of their dancers did this to their student. They wouldn’t believe you over him if you told them, and even if they did, you’re sure they’d do anything to make sure you shut up about it.
Without Suguru, your career would be over.
And it was because of that, that you kept returning, even though your heart sank every time you walked into the studio. It’s why you stayed quiet as Suguru groped and touched you as he stretched you, why you didn’t argue when he made you drop to your knees and suck him off for not taking his corrections, why you let him finger and edge you into a dripping mess to “teach you discipline.” And when it was time to leave, you’d kiss him tenderly as a thank you for the lesson just like he asked, because you were a good girl.
Suguru only became more insatiable from there. During swan lake rehearsals he’d keep you late and fuck you in your dressing room as he gave you notes, holding your hips steady and arching your back, just like in the studio. If you talked to other dancers he’d quickly usher you away, keeping a firm hand on your lower back just to cement the message that you belonged to him.
Male co stars annoyed Suguru the most. You learned to be careful around them after he caught you laughing at one of the princes’ jokes and spanked your ass red like a child.
Rumors started swirling of your and Suguru’s relationship. You could hear what the other dancers called you behind your back - whore, skank, suck-up. The general consensus was that you didn’t deserve what you had, that you only got parts because you were sucking Suguru’s dick.
And the worst part was that they were right. You never would have made it this far had Suguru not decided you’d make a nice sex toy. Everything, your technique, your strength, your acting, your grace, you owe all of it to him. It’s only because of him that you have what you have.
You find yourself falling into his arms more often than you’d like, crying about how they all hate you. He’s quick to offer you comforting words peppered in between sweet kisses, reassurance that you’re a very talented dancer and promises that they’re just jealous of you. You loathe how you sink into him, how you let him cradle your face and wipe your tears. It’s only a momentary reprieve, soon overshadowed by shame and self hatred, but at this point, he’s the only reprieve you have.
In a way, that makes you his, doesn’t it?
When you’re twenty four, you attend the company's annual gala and it is announced that you will be the company's new primary dancer, and though the applause is loud, no one is smiling.
No one except Suguru, sitting in the same seat you did the first time you saw him dance.
Old English - Compound Word - Literal Translation "Soul-Blood"
You were the fourth born into a well known, properly bred, wolf shifter family. The lineage can be traced back to the world's richest and most elite families in North America. You were destined to be another valuable Omega to the family name, a lucrative trade item to grow the political and genetic alliances between packs.
But there was a problem. You never shifted. Never presented. It was thought you were just a late bloomer, but when eighteen came and passed with nothing, you became the family shame.
They attempt to hide you away so that the world will forget about you. Letting the short attention spans of tabloids send all memory of you into the ether, so they could quietly ship you off to live with other 'unables' and regular humans. The world of Shifters is cutthroat. If you didn't fit in the pack, you couldn't be part of the pack. And if you weren't part of the pack, you were a weak link, which your family would have none of.
All is going according to your family's cover up plan until the four Alphas of the legendary 141 pack arrive. They were meant to find the appeal of your younger Omega sister and older twin Betas. But when they cross the threshold of your family's estate, the only scent they can sense is yours.
For you see, you are no broken Omega.
You're a rare, thought to be extinct, prize. An Omega whose change can only be triggered by true Mates. The 141 have been searching for you for years, ignoring those who laughed at them for chasing a myth. You may be the key to continuing their lines and strengthening the shifters who have been in decline for decades.
And they'll do anything to have you.
Masterlist
Original idea here and AO3 for tags here.
Chapter 1 - Anginn
Noun - Neutral Gender - Meaning: Beginning
Chapter 2 - Giefu
Noun - Feminine - Meaning: Gift
Chapter 3 - æðel
Noun - Masculine - Meaning: ancestral land or estate
Chapter 4 - Wrecca
Noun - Masculine - Meaning: wanderer, an exile, an outcast
Chapter 5 - Bræne
Adjective - Neutral Gender - Meaning: burning, consumed by fire
Chapter 6 - Sǣgen
Noun - Feminine - Meaning: a spoken history or story, oral tradition
Chapter 7 - Gedréfednes
Noun - Feminine - Meaning: trouble, disturbance, affliction
Chapter 8 - Socn
Noun - Feminine - Meaning: search, inquiry, attack
Chapter 9 - Cnǽwe
Adjective - Neutral Gender - Meaning: conscious, aware
serial killer / detective ghoap x forensic pathologist reader
cw: noncon and dubcon. somnophilia. free use. graphic descriptions of corpses. abduction. suffocation. reader is a sick little freak. things involving teeth. heavy smut. 18+ mdni
Detective MacTavish gets too close to the forensic pathologist on his cases. Too bad he already belongs to somebody else.
part 1
part 2
part 3
or [read on ao3]
extras
playlist
moodboard
pinterest board
reminder to please heed the tags! this one is dark
✿ your husband is brought to your chambers drunk, but not in the way you are used to (or, a sex pollen fic with our beloved dragon dreamer)
✿ 18+
✿ wc: 4.6k
✿ cw: fem!reader + wife!reader, no y/n, reader is not physically described, sex pollen, SMUT, oral (f!receiving), unprotected piv, multiple orgasms, premature ejaculation, coming untouched, sex on da floorrr, cum-eating, finger-sucking, overstimulation, praise !!, pet names (my heart, sweet boy, etc), sub-ish!daeron, fluff, daeron is so in love with you, strong language
You enjoy your nights in Summerhall much better than your nights in the Red Keep.
There’s a certain sort of tranquility that lingers around you as you recline in your chaise, perched beneath one of the many latticed windows that overlook the rolling countryside. The sky is an inky black beyond the glass, and a storm brews on the horizon, the smell of rain seeping through a crack in the frame.
You read your novel surrounded by the silence of your chambers, save for the crackling of the fire across the room, the light rustling of parchment as you flip through the pages, and the occasional drip of wax from your chamberstick into the steel pan at its base.
But as you begin a new chapter, your peace is shattered by a great commotion outside your door. You jump a little in your seat as a chorus of voices fills the halls, and it takes you mere seconds to cross your chambers and pull open the door to investigate. In the hall, you find two kingsguard, their armour gleaming beneath the thrown light of overhead torches, hauling your husband across the stones. Your mouth drops open, listening to the clamour that falls from Daeron’s mouth as he’s pulled down the hall like a petulant child.
“She will scold me, don’t you understand? I–I will be punished. You ca–can’t let—”
The kingsguard spots you in the doorway, dumping the prince unceremoniously at your feet. One of them offers you a polite, but sorry smile, whilst the other gestures to the kneeling prince with a wave of his hand.
“He is claiming he is ill,” the guard says quietly.
Your husband is yet to look up. His blond hair falls across his face like tattered curtains, and his entire body shudders as he kneels before you. You can hear the ragged panting falling from his lips, and you can’t help the small flicker of guilt that passes through you.
“He says he consumed something,” the other guard adds on, noting the pity in your eyes. He has a small, slightly humoured smile on his face. “A prince should not accept uncorked wines from strangers.”
With that, you nod curtly and dismiss the guards with a mumbling thank you. You stare down at your husband, who sways a little where he’s hunched. You don’t know what to say to him. So you back away, the material of your chemise fluttering around your knees as you move.
The movement finally draws Daeron’s eyes, and he snaps his head up to look at you. When you lock eyes, now several feet separating the two of you, he lets out a pained moan. It catches you off guard, and you freeze where you stand, your frame illuminated by the roaring fire beside you. Daeron grips the doorframe as he hoists himself to his feet, his legs shaking. His cheeks are flushed a brilliant red, and his eyes water, filled with tears.
“My heart,” he says, syllables strung around a broken whine. “P–Please do not be mad. I did not mean—I did not intend for this to happen.”
“You are drunk,” you reply plainly, crossing your arms over your chest. In response, Daeron whines, stumbling into the room and slamming the door shut with an uncoordinated kick. He loses his balance and leans back against the door. You scoff, looking him up and down, taking in his dishevelled and obviously inebriated state. “You told me you were riding into the village.”
“I was,” Daeron huffs, running a hand through his locks, brushing them away from his eyes. “But I took—I drank something.”
“Clearly,” you bit out, and the venom in your tone makes him whimper.
And then fall to his knees.
Your eyes grow wide, lips parting. “Daeron—?”
“A wine. No, a potion,” Daeron corrected, tongue darting out to wet his dry lips. “She s–said it would make me feel good.”
You frown, taking a subconscious step forward. “Who?”
Daeron whines as he watches you draw nearer, eyes raking down your body. Swollen pupils drag down the curves of your chest and where the fabric of your chemise flutters softly against your waist and tummy. His breath hitches when his eyes settles on your obscured pelvis, his mind running wild, his knowing of what lies beneath driving him to shut his eyes and let out another high-pitched sound.
“The woman,” he replies, breathless as his eyes remain closed. When he opens them, he finds your face, and you’ve taken another step closer. “A witch.”
“A witch?” You echo, sceptical.
“Yes,” Daeron sobs, arms reaching up now. He takes two handfuls of your hips, fingers digging into the covered flesh of your arse. You let out a squeak, and your husband pulls you to him, burying his face against your covered mound. He speaks against the fabric, voice muffled. “She said it would m–make me feel good. But I’m hurting, my heart, I’m h–hurting.”
He nuzzles against your mound, and you let out another squeak-like sound, one of your hands shooting down to fist his hair. He groans loudly as you pull him away, only to see a wet patch on the thin white material from where he had been trying to mouth at you. For a moment, you peer down at him curiously. He meets your gaze, and the fire you see in his eyes makes something swoop low in your belly.
“Where are you hurting?” You ask him softly, scratching at his scalp.
The blush on his cheeks deepens, and with surprising strength, he pulls your hips back to him once more. He presses a kiss to the curve of your lower belly, then to the top of your mound, his eyelashes fluttering as he attempts to keep his eyes open and on you.
“Need you,” he says simply, not answering your question. The hands gripping your hips shift, and he finds the hem of your chemise. Dragging his palms along your knees, and then your thighs, he slowly starts to lift the material, eyes flicking down to your pelvis again. “Need her.”
Before he can push your chemise up any higher, you take a step back. A loud, distressed moan falls from between his lips, and he falls forward onto his hands and knees. He pants like a dog, raising his head to stare up at you as his knees and palms kiss the worn Myrish carpet sitting across the stone.
Your chemise settles back around your knees again. “You need to see a maester.”
He groans. “No, no, no, please, my sweet girl, please don’t s–send me away. Please, I’ll be good, I just need—I just need you, please.”
You bite your lip, assessing, one last time, for any real illness that may be consuming him. But you see nothing. He appears drunk, but his eyes are watery not cloudy, and he speaks to you through desperate stutters not inebriated slurring. As you watch him, he sits back on his haunches, his hands flying to the hem of his tunic. He doesn’t even bother unbuttoning the garment, instead simply ripping it over his head to reveal his flushed chest and sweat-slick abdomen. You realised then that his cock was almost splitting the seam of his trousers, straining taut against the stiff material.
You breathe in, then out, steadying yourself. He waits patiently in the burning silence of the room. Sitting there like a puppy.
“Okay,” you say finally, delighting in the way excitement sparks in his eyes. “Okay, Daeron, you can come here.”
You step to the side and settle down in one of the chairs sitting before the fireplace. Daeron groans, relieved, before crawling across the floor to settle himself between your legs. You part your knees as his palms find the soft skin of your thighs, pushing the soft cotton of your chemise upwards until it bundles at your hips.
He lets out a pleased, almost wistful sigh while you take your chemise and pull it over your head, dropping it down the side of the chair. Daeron hooks his hands beneath your knees and pulls you forward a bit, and you grip the arms of the chair as your arse slides against the cushioning.
“Thank you,” he whispers, licking the side of your knee. Not a kiss, a lick. You squirm, caught by surprise, as he licks a flat stripe up the inside of your thigh. The sensitive skin there is ticklish, and you can’t stop the way your muscles tense up. But he continues: sliding his tongue along your bare skin until his lips press to the thin fabric of your smallclothes. He hums, visibly delighted. “Here she is…”
Daeron lifts your legs and hooks the back of your knees over his shoulders as he pushes himself forward, planting his mouth firmly against your clothed core. He inhales deeply as his lips part, his tongue pressing to the split of your cunt as one of your hands finds his hair again. His arms hug around your thighs, his biceps tacky with sweat as he kisses across the gusset of your smallclothes, holding you at an angle so he can drag his tongue up and down.
Small sounds of pleasure leave your throat as you gently rock against him, head tossed against the backrest of the chair. You idly stroke your fingers through his hair, massaging at the nape, and you feel him purr against you: a soft, content growl from the back of his throat as he pushes the tip of his tongue against the covered bud of your clit before attempting to suck it into his mouth.
You sigh out, scratching shallow lines down the warm skin at the back of his neck. “Daeron, take them off.”
He pulls away from you straight away and does what he’s told. His lips are glistening and puffy, the tip of his nose red and his eyes shining with tears as he hooks two fingers into the band of your smallclothes. You use the armrests to lift yourself, helping him pull the item over the curve of your arse, down your thighs, and away from your ankles.
“There’s my pretty girl,” Daeron mutters as he repositions your legs back over his shoulders once more.
He kneads the fat of your thighs, shifting his head to take a gentle bite. You shudder against him, a low sound passing through your lips as you slip your hand back into his hair. He kisses over the indents of his teeth, then angles inwards. He licks straight between the split of your pussy, hole to clit, and you suck in a breath.
He hums. “The prettiest girl in the whole realm. All for me…”
“Daeron,” you moan, and he finally places his mouth on you.
His lips and tongue burn hot against you as he licks between your folds, his tongue quick to swipe downward and across your hole. You feel him collect the slick pooling there, and his eyes shoot up to find yours. He mumbles something into you as his tongue pushes in, but you catch him before he can get too far.
You pull him out by the roots of his hair. “Speak properly.”
“Love it when you’re this wet,” he whispers, pink lips glistening with your slick. “Love it when I make y–you wet like this.”
You bite your lip to suppress a moan, smiling around the pressure of your teeth as you push him back between your legs. He groans happily, lips drawing the pearl of your clit into his mouth in a lazy drawl, suckling gently as he squeezes the meat of your thighs. You hum, a satisfying weight forming in the base of your spine, weighing down the pit of your tummy.
Stroking his hair, you recline on the chair as he takes what he needs. His tongue moves quickly once he releases your clit from his mouth with an audible pop. The sound makes you whine into the quiet of your chambers, and you stare up at the high ceiling as his tongue drags down through your folds before curling straight into your hole. You keen then, your husband splitting you open, tongue shifting deep as his nose ruts against your clit. Heart hammering in your chest, you tilt your head down to watch him, the hand you have in his hair tightening as he whimpers against you.
“Feels so good,” you whisper, the syllables nearly vanishing amongst the hissing of the fireplace. It throws out a pleasant heat that warms the bare skin of your chest. “Daeron, sweet boy, m’so close.”
He releases a loud, broken moan against you, his eyes lifting to watch the pleasure fissure across your face. His eyelids flutter, his chest heaving, his panting loud as he flicks his tongue against you. It’s a burning-hot desire in the depths of his soul: he wants to see you release above him, wants you to come on his tongue and sear the image deep into his retina. Too many times he has left you for princely duties, and too many times he has fisted his cock raw to such visions.
“Need it,” he’s slurring into you, but you can’t hear it. “Need it.”
The vibrations of his drunken rambling have you cresting the edge of pleasure like a ship across a wave. Your ringed fingers pull tight at the roots of his blond hair as you anchor him to your core, your thighs tightening against his ears as your release surges, peaks, then spills. Your legs shudder as you come around his tongue, the pressure in your spine releasing a flood of tremors through your body as he licks you through it. Chants of his name fall from your lips, and it’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever heard.
Daeron pulls away from you, a thick strand of saliva connecting his bottom lip with your pussy. His mouth and chin is slick with you, and he takes a moment to stare at where your hole flutters and drools in the absence of his tongue. It makes him pout, brows furrowing as he leans forward to press a warm—too warm—kiss to your swollen clit.
“S’alright, my sweet girl, I’m here,” he mutters against you, before he’s pressing a line of kisses down the seam of your pussy and back to your hole. His eyes flutter shut, dizzy with need, as his tongue finds you again, and the sensation has you yanking on his hair. You moan around a gasp as you pull him from you, his lips parted, his eyes black under the expansion of his pupils.
Daeron swallows, eyes flitting over the features of your face. You smile down at him as you remove your legs from his shoulders. You take your fingers out of his hair too, before angling your leg down to nudge your foot against the laces at the front of his trousers.
“Take them off,” you tell him, the ball of your foot brushing over the heavy tent at the front.
That makes him groan lowly, and you remove your foot as his fumbling fingers find the laces, tugging them impatiently. As he does this, he shifts forward to kiss your knee, spreading your slick from his chin to the skin there.
“I love you more than anything,” he says as his trousers loosen.
He pulls away and quickly gets to his feet so he can tug his trousers down. You watch him from your seat in the chair, naked body warmed by the fireplace. Daeron kicks his trousers away, and then undoes his breeches. When the white material falls, you can’t help but moan at his hard cock bobbing free—and you notice the cum already leaking from the tip, smeared down his shaft and glistening on the soft skin.
You spare a glance at his discarded breeches, the front of the material damp with spend. You bite your lip, hiding your grin. He’s spilled in his trousers from putting his mouth on you. He catches your expression and moans softly, his brows drawing together, a blazing blush creeping up his neck. His ears are red too.
“M’sorry,” he murmurs, slinking back to his knees. One of his hands shifts to grasp the base of his cock. “M’sorry, my heart, I didn’t mean to—”
You pick yourself up from the chair and sink to the floor with him. The worn carpet beneath you provides an ample landing site as you close the gap between the two of you.
Your husband’s mouth is warm and sticky against yours. His tongue wastes no time in pushing past your lips with each move of his mouth, and his free hand finds the back of your neck. Your arms wind around his neck as the two of you kiss beneath the orange glow of the steadily dying fire.
You shuffle forward, feeling the wet tip of his cock slide against the skin near your navel. Daeron shudders against you, rocking his hips to chase the feeling, his cock rubbing along the softness of your tummy as your tongues meet again and again. One trembling hand holds the base of his cock, guiding the movements with tiny little jerks of his hand, and you feel him sighing into your mouth as pre-cum smears across the skin that covers your womb.
“Need her,” Daeron whispers into your mouth as your nails scrape across the strong span of his shoulders. You whimper as he gently nudges your legs apart with his strong thigh, the head of his cock trailing down your mound. “Need you, sweet girl. Need it s–so bad, I—”
You plant one last warm kiss to his lips to shut him up, before you retreat backwards onto the carpet beneath you. He watches you carefully, eyes following the bounce of your tits as you fall back onto your hands, beckoning him with a tilt of your chin.
“Yes, yes, yes,” your husband drags out, practically throwing himself over top of you. He settles between your bent, parted legs, and he fists himself as he angles his hips, pushing the head of his cock against your pussy. He groans when it makes contact, skin-on-skin, fiery hot. He rocks his hips, sliding the length through your folds. “Ah, f–fuck, fuck, oh my gods, sweet girl, oh—”
You lift your legs and wrap them around his hips. The sudden movement snaps him out of whatever stupor he’d sunk himself into, and he allows a taut grunt to slip between his teeth. He drags his cock back down until he can press it to your hole.
“Here we go,” he mumbles, more to himself than you. The head of his cock is sucked in, and your legs tighten around his hips, urging him to shift closer. Daeron’s head lifts, watching bliss consume your pretty features. The sight has his cock jerking, barely an inch inside you, a sticky sort of pleasure trekking down his spine. It makes him shudder, eyes snapping back down to where your pussy takes him. “That’s it, open up for me.”
You arch against the carpet as your husband shoves into you. No warning, no more slow and steady. The prince snaps his hips, and suddenly, he’s balls-deep inside you, stuffed tight to the hilt and moaning like a whore. You lock your ankles behind him, taking him deeper, mewling his name as his arms cage either side of your head, his face hovering above yours. His blond hair frames his wrecked face, and you watch in amazement as he groans. His cock twitches heavily inside of you, and then you feel it. He’s coming.
Again.
“Huh–huh, f–fuck, shit,” Daeron rambles around his dog-like pants as he spills inside of you, his abs shifting as his stomach tenses, balls drawing tight as a second orgasm spears through him. He screws his eyes shut, gasping as he empties himself, one-thrust in.
It makes you moan, one hand reaching up to swipe his hair from the side of his face so you can cup his cheek.
“You feeling good, sweet boy?” You ask him gently, thumb stroking the scar along his cheekbone.
His eyes snap open, and he whines. “Yeah, m’sorry. M’so sorry, sweet girl.”
You shake your head, hand finding the back of his neck now. You bring him down to kiss you, and he mewls desperately into your mouth as the two of you connect, your tits pushing against his sweaty chest. Your tongue finds his, and he rescinds control, allowing you to lick across his teeth until he stops panting. When you part, you squeeze your thighs around him, urging him on.
“One more then, Daeron,” you tell him, slowly shifting your hips, prompting him to move. “Be a good boy and give me one more.”
Daeron groans, and listens. He draws his hips back then slams forward. You moan when the tip of his cock punches right against a spongey spot inside you that has you keening, mind going blank. His pace is hurried, desperate, but his rhythm is drunken and rolling. His hips slide against yours, his cock rutting in and out as you meet his movements. Your back scrapes against the carpet as he surges above you, his breathing hitting him in hard grunts as his arms tremble.
You hold him tightly, feeling the rub of his cock against the tight walls of your pussy. A searing pleasure sparks low in your belly. Dull to begin with. But as your prince shifts above you, driving you against the carpet again and again, flushed skin glowing orange from the flickering flames adjacent, it starts to build. You call for him, and he coos down at you, brows drawing together as he nears his third release.
“I’m here, I’m here, my heart, y’doing so good,” he mutters, rolling his hips. His cock hits deep, and he struggles to speak around a whimper. “Doing so good. So good, sweet girl. Fuck, you’re perfect. All—all mine.”
You mewl your response, and Daeron bends down to kiss you. He keeps his rhythm as steady as he can as your mouths slot together. The movement of his lips is lazy, and before long, you’re simply pressing your parted mouths to one another, panting as your bodies join. His nose brushes against yours and he places a wet kiss to the corner of your mouth.
His cock pushes up towards the plug of your cervix, and you can’t help the strong current of electricity that thrums through your veins. Your body shakes, and a moan slips out of your mouth as your head falls back, your back arching further off of the carpet. Daeron takes the opportunity to suck a kiss to the base of your jaw, then another to the column of your throat. As you rock together, his teeth graze your skin. His pants brush past your ear as he licks the thin sheen of sweat from the apple of your cheek.
You huff, managing a small frown through the weight of your impending release. “Daeron.”
“M’sorry, m’sorry, I know,” he rambles, pulling himself upwards to hover above you.
His thrusts speed up, and you let out an animal-like yowl as he grinds against you. He sees your face flickering, the way your entire body racks with tremors as your legs draw tight around his hips. Your heels dig into the muscles of his arse, urging him closer, and your fingers trace bright red lines down his back.
He can’t help but moan your name. “Gods, I love you. I want you to come for me. Please, sweet girl, need to feel you come around me.”
You try your best to keep your eyes open as the fire dwindles beside you, but something even hotter blazes deep within your belly.
“M’coming,” you tell him, body stretched taut, burning hot like an ember. “Come with me.”
Daeron’s mouth drops open in a desperate, whiney plea of your name, his eyelids fluttering as he spills inside of you. Your words were like a lever, opening the floor beneath him. His third orgasm is even harsher than the first: it sears along his spine, forcing him to curl over, and his weight becomes too much, arms giving way until he’s practically lying on top of you. He continues to rut his hips, whimpering as he empties himself inside of you, cock jerking, and jerking still, as the wet walls of your cunt hold him in a vice.
The feeling of being filled sends you over the edge, your release pulling you under alongside him.
“Daeron—” You gasp out, body stiffening as you come. He buries his face into the crook of your neck, mouthing at your pulse as he continues to roll his hips against you. Your release has you shuddering, and your prince holds you through it as the world around you turns on its axis and stars burst vividly behind your drooping eyelids.
“Yes, yes, yes,” Daeron whispers into the damp skin of your neck, nuzzling your pulse. You give him a little moan from the back of your throat in response, and he presses one last kiss to your cheek before he gingerly lifts himself from you.
Lazily, you gaze at him as he rights himself and draws his eyes to where his cock splits you open. You bite your lip, muscles mellow as you watch him pull his cock from you with an oversensitive hiss. Cool air kisses you there, and a small gasp leaves you, his seed drooling from your hole, much to his amazement.
“Don’t waste, sweet girl,” he mutters to your pussy, hands slowly caressing your legs until he can hold the backs of your knees. He shuffles forward, pulling your pliant body to him, hoisting your legs up enough for him to comfortably bend and slide his tongue into you.
You seize up, a moan caught painfully in your throat.
Daeron moans loudly into your core as his tongue spreads you open. He licks his own seed from inside you, his nose rubbing against your puffy clit. The moan in your throat finally escapes, and you swear it hits the roof as you angle your chin to the ceiling. One unsteady hand drags down your body and finds his hair, but you don’t have the strength to tug. Instead, you hold him securely, blond strands soft between your fingers.
He fucks his tongue into you with his eyes closed. You realise then that, although he knows this will make you feel good, he’s not doing it for you. He’s doing it for himself.
A stuttered mewl leaves his throat and is muffled in your core. His tongue curls deep inside you, and you feel it wriggling, moving, searching. Overstimulation becomes a heavy weight in your abdomen, and you finally muster enough strength to wrench his face away from you. He manages to sneak one last flat lick against you before he finally concedes and rests his head against your thigh.
He places a kiss to the soft skin there as he looks up at you, eyes glistening, face wet.
You look down at him, the hand in his hair dragging down the side of his head to cup his cheek.
“D’you feel better?” You ask, your thumb finding the corner of his mouth. You push it to flatten against his lips, and he easily parts for you. You slip the digit inside, hooking over his teeth, running over the front of his tongue. He closes his mouth and sucks.
“Yeah,” he mumbles around your thumb, his tongue vibrating against the pad. He says your name, desperate and needy. Then his eyes close, and he hums, content. “I love you. More than anything.”
You smile at him, cooing in response, “I love you too, my prince.”
DESCRIPTION. under unfortunate circumstances, you’re called back to linkon to temporarily stay at your stepfather’s home- the one you’d jilted as soon as you were able- and the only way to comfort yourself is by saying it’s just for a little while. like the best of plans tend to, though, they fall apart. [art credit: @/chimmyming on twitter/X]
◁⠀❚❚⠀▷ NOW PLAYING: the heart wants what it wants - selena gomez
CONTENT. stepdad! sylus therefore step/pseudocest, eventual smut, nsfw, dubcon, slowburn, yandere undertones, all characters are 18+ (mc is presently 23; sylus is in early forties), possessive & yandere behaviors, age difference, daddy kink, unreliable narrator, drinking, non-evol au, modern au, lowkey enemies to lovers, lots of (sexual) tension, loss of virginity, emotional breakdowns, some angst, some fluff, a lil bit of everything; tags will be added as story progresses— but know the story is relatively triggering
SIDENOTE. dilf sylus til the day we die DILF LOVERS RISE. THIS ONES FOR YALL 🥂 pls heed the tags tho!! if this isnt for u- thats perfectly fine- but i wont tolerate disrespect to myself & my readers. anyways i really hope yall enjoy this one. ya girl was verrrry meticulous with it. do lemme know if u fw this style of content and series!! 💞💞 PS, i dunno how often updates will be but i will try :] nice comments/interactions fuel me tho lol so do with that what u will. the first part will be posted very soon
EPISODES
✦ part one: pilot
✦ part two: the death of peace of mind
✦ part three: love on the brain
✦ part four: haunted
✦ part five: if you were here tonight
✦ part six: dark red
Hey, everyone. So, to make a long story short, I got a horrible cold/flu after Christmas (literally on the 26th) and have been fighting against it during the weekend and all the way to now. Still fighting it. The symptoms have lessened now that the fckn meds finally started working after FIVE DAYS. I was coughing my lungs out during the weekend, my nose was fully clogged, I got a sore throat, probably even had a bit of a fever. So, I couldn't finish writing the next chapter. I couldn't write at all. I am so sorry. 😭 There will be no chapter until I get better and then a few weeks more.
HOWEVER!
I wanted to give you at least something of M&P in December as a little Christmas/New Years gift even if I couldn't write the chapter (seriously, why don't people wear masks when they're sick, also if anyone coughs or sneezes in your vicinity... run. RUN) so...
Have this as my gift to you. I hope you all have a happy New Year. Happy New Year! 🎆✨🩷
ANNOUNCEMENT: Spoilers for M&P ahead. And this is not the FIRST (you'll see) Reader & Doffy share. They are already together in this scene.
Merlot & Primroses
You were napping on the couch in the living room, having grown sleepy while reading one of the history books from the ship’s library. The book now rested on the coffee table, its pages closed. You felt someone shuffling up atop your lap, ruffling the black feathers of Rosi’s coat. Drowsily, you opened your eyes to check who it was. Baby 5 had hopped up onto the couch and was making herself comfortable on your lap, her eyes blinking sleepily.
You said nothing, merely put your hand on the small of the girl’s back, and pulled her close to you. Baby 5 rested her little head atop your chest, her small body curling into you. Within moments, her body relaxed, and she fell asleep on your lap. You closed your eyes again, kept your hand on Baby 5’s back so she doesn’t fall off you, and went back to sleep.
You didn’t know how much time passed, but you woke up when you heard the voices of the crew. They were back. You closed your eyes again, but soon you heard Doflamingo’s footsteps.
By the time you opened your eyes, Doflamingo was slouched over the couch, covering you in his massive shadow. His large hand settled on your upper thigh. It was that hot, warm touch that made you open your eyes.
Your breath caught in your throat. Doflamingo leaned his face down to you, his fingers reaching for your face. His thumb brushed your chin, then brushed your lower lip.
You held your breath.
Doflamingo was looking at you with that undecipherable, intense look. Then, his lips curved into a smile, and he leaned in, close. Until his parted, smiling lips were a breath from yours.
“Welcome ba -” you breathed.
Doflamingo closed the distance between you two, and kissed you. Slow and long, firm. His mouth curved in a satisfied smile. He was making sure there was no mistake to you about who was kissing you.
Doflamingo’s lips were hot and soft against yours, enveloping them, conquering and wanton. The surprised sound you made at the sudden contact parted your mouth. Before you knew it, Doflamingo’s large, broad tongue slipped inside your mouth. His long, large fingers laced through yours, entwining your hand with his broad one, engulfing your hands in their massive size. The heat in your face grew as rapidly as the heat of the kiss as you kept up with Doflamingo — as you kissed him back — your fingers squeezing into his tanned knuckles, his fingers squeezing around your thigh possessively. His thumb kept your face in place, unable to escape.
A moan slipped out of you, the heat coiling in your belly now. Doflamingo hummed in your mouth, long and pleased.
The large pink feathers of Doflamingo’s coat enveloped the small black feathers of your own, swallowing you up like the pirate himself.
The shuffling of Doflamingo’s large body atop your smaller frame, as well as the tickle of feathers, stirred Baby 5. She slipped her eyes open, and saw the pink and black feathers mixing together.
“(Y/N)-san?” Baby 5 asked sleepily.
You squeaked. You pushed against Doflamingo’s hand, moved your right leg, and shoved it into his hip for him to get off of you.
With an audible, very clear smack of his lips on yours, Doflamingo parted from your mouth, grinning. The massive, engulfing heat of his hand gripping your upper left thigh vanished, as did the powerful heat of his presence, and his sinful fingers.
“I’m home,” said Doflamingo, his deep voice making your toes clench. Not in fear.
Baby 5’s sleepy eyes burst open. Her small body leapt away from you, and toward Doflamingo. She hugged his red suit with a cheer of, “Young Master! Welcome back!”
“Fufufu!” Doflamingo pulled his hand around Baby 5, resting it on her back. “What were my girls up to, hm?”
My girls.
The word shouldn’t have made you blush. But it did. Heat in your chest, your collarbones, your neck, your face. Your cheeks were on fire.
Baby 5 happily started telling Doflamingo about you two’s day spent on the ship.
You, on the other hand, grabbed the nearest pillow and covered your face with it. You used it to muffle your scream of shame into it, while Doflamingo smiled devilishly, and Baby 5 blinked at you, confused.
synopsis: you've spent years being bullied by the pretty, white-haired princess the rest of your boarding school adores. who would have thought that whole time she was secretly crushing on you? or catfishing you?
pairing: yandere fem!gojo x loser!reader
wc: 7.1k
content: mdni, angst and smut mostly, DUBCON, fem!gojo referred to as toru, basically k-drama style bullying lmfao, catfishing, fem!toru roping suguru into her schemes to catfish reader, sending risque photos and videos, pining, obsession, stalking, isolation, fem!toru is down so bad it's FILTHY, betrayal, emotional hurt, reader lowk about to have a mental breakdown, fem!toru is delusional and in love, confessions, sorta blackmail, conflicting feelings, hotel room hookup, kissing, groping, fingering, degradation, fem!toru is GETTING her wife girlfriend
a/n: art by @/rezijellyfish !! this was a commission for my sweet angel @sadlittlecucumber !!
“Are you staring at my tits?”
You weren’t. Seriously. But when she was dramatically huffing and bouncing like that, your stare did flicker down for a fraction of a second and that was enough to secure a haughty scoff from your tormenter.
“God, do you ever stop checking me out?” Toru haughtily huffed at you, the edge of a freshly manicured nail scraping against your chin as she forced your head up. Careful not to let her fingers actually touch you, as if you had some disgusting disease she could touch if your skin brushed against yours. “My eyes are up here.”
Painfully blue. So intense they seemed to sear through you, shrink you down into something small enough for her to pick up and play with like a toy she enjoyed torturing.
Staring at you like you were something to devour.
From the very first day you started at this stupid all-girls school and had the misfortune of accidentally dropping one of your bags on her foot in the hallway while you moved into your dorm, she had decided you were the object of her animosity.
And despite how much time had passed, how many times you tried to clear the air and stay as fucking far as possible from her, she always seemed to find and remind you of just how much power she had here. Over you.
“I’m just trying to go back to my dorm,” you muttered, averting your stare as you stepped back, attempting to walk around her – and through the forming crowd of gossiping onlookers eager for some fresh rumor to sink their teeth into.
Toru would be happy to give it to them.
Tossing her soft, white hair over her shoulder, loose waves bouncing as she haughtily laughed and looked back at all the people surrounding the two of you. Any one of them ready and willing to support her when you were standing there practically as proof of what happened when you pissed her off.
“What? Sneak any shots up my skirt today to add to your perverted shrine?” She accused, your face flushing at the absurd insinuation.
Despite her frequent assertions otherwise, you were neither a lesbian nor hopelessly in love with her.
Her ego was just so huge, it was probably just inconceivable to her that someone could exist without wanting her.
But no matter how many times you swore you weren’t secretly obsessed with her and that there was no fucking shrine hidden in your closet or under your bed, she’d been saying the same shit long enough that no one believed you.
“Can you just leave me alone?” You frowned, forcing your way through the crowd to get past her as she called out some other teasing remark about you going to rub one out.
Loathing couldn’t quite suffice for just how much you couldn’t stand her.
Hate boiling and burning beneath your skin every time she hurled a new taunt your way, when she’d find you eating lunch in a single bathroom stall just to make your meals hell too, mocking you with glossy lips and a glittering smile while the rest of your class treated her like an angel even when her antics annoyed them.
And when the girl that could do no wrong wished the worst for you, well, it seemed the worst was all you got.
The rest of the student body had started treating you like shit too. Sneering and scolding you for staring, everyone convinced you had to be some sort of predator just because she said you liked girls.
People didn’t grin at you in the hallways.
Just glared.
Your room had been ransacked a few times, clothes tattered and wrecked with staff that didn’t care to scold them. Your lunches knocked out of your hand. Stupid notes stuck to your back during class.
There wasn’t a single person in this fucking place that wanted to be your friend.
But you guessed it didn’t matter.
You didn’t have that much longer left stuck here.
Graduation was coming up soon – and despite the hell boarding school had been, the scholarship you’d been granted to attend had set you up for a pretty nice looking future. One without Toru.
You locked the door to your room behind you, dropping your bag to the ground before collapsing onto your bed. Exhaling as your eyes shut, a migraine budding behind them from spending another day attempting to avoid her and failing miserably.
Rolling over to pluck your phone from your pocket, your mouth reflexively curled up into a smile at the name on the screen. The one bright light in the midst of this pit of misery filled with pretty girls who thought you were pining after them and tried to punish you for it.
All of them absolutely clueless that you were already taken.
By a man they would definitely be desperate to call theirs too.
You’d been seeing Satoshi for two years.
Sorta.
You hadn’t officially met him yet. Not when you started talking through a dating app. Back then, you’d been craving any company so much you had caved and downloaded a bunch. And you had lucked out to land an equally lonely person.
Your relationship had been fairly casual at first, late night conversations where you stayed up until your eyes were sore and you nearly fell asleep sitting up in half your classes. Things had picked up this past year, the photos that used to be half your face or whatever you were doing escalating to more…intimate images. His questions turned more personal too, picking apart your brain until he knew probably more about you than anyone you’d ever met before.
Sure, it wasn’t conventional. But he had sent plenty of his own questionable pictures and voice messages to quell any of your suspicions. He never asked for money either, instead showering you with attention and sending you expensive gifts (although everyone on your floor was convinced you were spending what little money you had sending them to yourself). He was wearing a uniform from an all-boys boarding school not all that far away in a lot of them – but between sports and classes and busy schedules, neither of you had been able to arrange a proper meet up.
Until this weekend.
Finally, you’d be able to do something other than giggle and grin at the photos of his pretty washboard abs and replay his thick, groggy good morning messages.
He made reservations at a fancy hotel nearby, promising that he’d be waiting for you there with the biggest bouquet he could buy and wearing his best outfit in blue, sending you sweet messages about how badly he was aching to be yours in person instead of just online.
Most people would think you made him up.
And honestly, at first, when you tried to dispel the rumors and whispers about you being a lesbian by protesting and bringing up that you literally had a boyfriend, but when he actually went to another school, no one would believe you.
Eventually, you gave up. Stopped seeing a point in swearing the truth when everyone else would always prefer the lie.
It gave them someone lower on the totem pole to push around.
Kept them safe from Toru’s reign of terror.
Why would they listen?
You told yourself that you were almost free. So fucking close to being out of her reach.
They could all worship at her feet and follow her around like the lost puppies they were. You weren’t going to be a loser lingering in her shadow forever. Not when you still had your support in Satoshi.
A new notification buzzed on your phone, breath catching in your throat in anticipation as you clicked on it too fast, before you could even read it.
You should’ve looked.
An unknown number and a nasty word stared back at you, your fingers automatically moving to block the number and delete it with a frown.
Immediately re-opening your messages with Satoshi as you sniffled a little, too exhausted to keep the swirling emotions inside you at bay as you sent a short message, biting your lip until you tasted the blood on your tongue.
Can you talk right now?
ε✿з
“Please, please, please, please-”
“God, do you ever shut up?” Suguru groaned, rubbing his temple while Toru thrusted the phone in his face.
“But I need your help,” she whined, pouting harder as he squinted at the messages.
“You said you’d tell your girlfriend last month,” he annoyingly reminded her, brows knitting together in irritation as he reluctantly took the phone anyway, readjusting on his bed after she unceremoniously burst into his room after getting a ride all the way to their rival boarding school. “Don’t particularly feel like doing this for two more years.”
God, what good was a best friend if they wouldn’t help in a time of need? Wasn’t he supposed to be a wingman?
“I’m telling her this weekend,” Toru frowned back, folding her arms across her chest as she glanced around his dorm room. It was honestly cleaner than hers, in shades of gray and green instead of the soft blue she was used to. Books actually neatly stacked on his desk instead of scattered haphazardly on every surface. “I wanna make it romantic. Like, book a hotel room and everything.”
Buy you flowers, maybe an expensive set of lingerie, have them scatter rose petals over the bed and leave champagne on the table. Book a couples massage and take you out to a fancy dinner? Sure, she’d probably have to apologize for being a bit of a bitch to you over the years, but once you saw how serious she was about being in a relationship with you, couldn’t you just let bygones by bygones?
Suguru arched one of those thin eyebrows, giving her one of those irksome looks that implied he didn’t think it was a good idea.
But he was a man.
What did they know?
“You think she’s going to take it well?” He tentatively asked, and she couldn’t help scoff.
“She likes Satoshi. Satoshi is me,” she simply said, gesturing with her hands as if it should be obvious. “Besides, shouldn’t she be grateful for my attention? Anyone would be.”
Suguru laughed, like it was a joke.
But she just scowled back at him, completely serious as she tried to get what he didn’t get about the whole thing.
Whoever got to be with her was the lucky one.
Toru was beyond beautiful. Wealthy. Wore the best clothes and went to all the best vacation spots every year. Who wouldn’t want to be hers?
It was just common sense.
She’d been worshipped from the day she was born. It wasn’t like she was expecting you to do the same. She just wanted you to see how fortunate you were to have her favor.
God, any girl would die to be in your shoes. Guys too, actually, beg for her attention and crawl on their knees for the tiniest slice of the attention she gave you.
Sure, maybe she wasn’t always good at getting it across verbally, but she couldn’t risk someone else sneaking in and stealing your attention! Besides, her mouth seemed to always speak for itself around you, never saying exactly what she intended to when all her brain could think of was the shape of your lips and how your uniform clung to your tits since she’d bribed the office to keep sending you the size down.
She could admit that she could be a little aggressive, but she just wanted you to finally fucking admit that you wanted her too. Not just play hard to get and avoid her all the damn time.
“She’s probably just going to complain about you,” Suguru warned her, jealousy flaring up in her chest as she ran her fingers through her hair.
What the hell did he know?
At least you were talking about her.
Toru would rather your thoughts revolve around her than to be nothing to you at all.
“She was definitely checking out my tits today,” she defensively argued, even though Suguru was still making an annoying face at her. So what if he didn’t believe her?
You had, hadn’t you? This wasn’t just totally in her head?
Maybe you didn’t even realize you’d done it. Toru had been trying her hardest to get you to see that you were obviously a lesbian like her, that the two of you were clearly compatible.
“Uh-huh,” he mumbled, and she wanted to yank the pillow out from underneath his head and smother him with it.
“Are you going to call her or not?” She pouted, returning to the point as he slowly scrolled through the messages.
She imagined you back in your own bed, maybe biting your pretty lips until they were swollen, breaking the skin as you waited for a response. Would you let Toru lick the blood off if you knew it was her on the other end?
“For fifty bucks,” he exhaled, and she once again contemplated suffocating him.
But she was still shrugging down her purse, digging through its messy contents to pull out a hundred and toss it at him.
“You’re such a dick,” she derisively huffed, even though she had started this whole arrangement by promising to pay him a couple years ago. Begging him to let her use his photos to catfish you, and despite his initial moral protests that it was wrong, blah blah blah, he eventually caved in.
It wasn’t ever supposed to last this long.
She meant to tell you months ago. But there were always pesky little flies buzzing around every time she tried to talk to you at school, and she couldn’t get the correct words to leave her lips when everyone was always watching the two of you together.
God, even when she tried to talk to you in the bathroom when you ate your lunch in there alone, people still fucking followed her.
“You better pull your pants down a little and snap a pic if I’m paying you,” she hissed at her only actual friend, just for Suguru to roll his eyes at her again from his lazy position on the bed.
God, did she have to do everything herself?
She climbed on top, grabbing his slacks by the hips and wiggling it down as low as she could without revealing his disgusting dick. She didn't really understand what you could possibly find appealing about the obviously inferior gender, but maybe it was just because you didn't know better yet. Hadn't seen what her pretty tits looked like without her uniform covering them or properly experienced a woman’s touch.
“Are you serious-”
Toru ignored Suguru, tugging his shirt up too and snagging the phone back, carefully angling it to snap a photo that captured his dark happy trail, the defined muscles and ridges of his abs and hitting send.
It was almost instantly marked as seen.
She stared at the screen, willing your response, wishing for something in return and grinning wildly when you sent an image back.
Your uniform removed to reveal your gorgeous tits pressed together in a pretty white bra. Had you picked it out for her? Or well, Satoshi? Your face wasn’t in it, but she could imagine what expression you were making. How your lashes might flutter, how your bottom lip might push out.
Were you touching yourself?
“Do you still want me to call her or do you wanna go rub one out?” Suguru sarcastically asked, his voice thick with sleep from the nap she ‘rudely’ interrupted.
“Ask her to send a video of her doing that,” she demanded, holding the phone back out while he let out a low exhale, shutting his eyes like he hadn’t meant to sign up for that.
“Do I at least get to watch the video if she sends it?” He grumbled, and Toru glared back at him, folding her arms across her chest as she gritted her teeth.
“Fine,” she begrudgingly accepted.
It was only natural, she supposed. She spent almost every day bragging to him about how gorgeous you were, rambling about all the cute faces you made and funny things you’d said. Of course, he’d want to experience the little pieces of you Toru was generous enough to share.
He took the phone, hitting the call button as Toru gestured for him to put in on speaker while it rang. He did, and you only took a second to answer.
“Hi,” your soft voice breathed on the other end, and a jolt of excitement shot through Toru.
You sounded so adorable. She just wanted to take a bite. Sink her teeth into you so deep you’d be stuck with the bite marks for the rest of your life.
“Hey, pretty girl,” Suguru greeted, keeping a straight face while Toru suppressed actually giggling at the light sound of your pretty laughter through the phone.
“What are you doing?” You asked, all sweet and sincere.
“Just thinkin’ about you,” Suguru smoothly replied. Toru couldn’t help rolling her eyes at him, having a hard time believing any girl could actually be stupid enough to-
“Really?”
Nevermind.
This was exactly why you needed Toru. Sure, Suguru was her best friend, but moronic men like him would never be able to take care of you like she could!
“I liked that photo you sent me,” he murmured into the phone, pitching his voice down while Toru’s nails bit into her palm, imprinting half-circles into them as she heard your breathing hitch on the other end.
“Y-yeah?” You stuttered a little bit, as precious as always. A little awkward, too, but that was part of what made you so addicting. What made Toru so desperate to be the one you were stammering and stumbling over your words for. “I liked yours.”
“You wanna show me just how much?” Suguru spoke slowly, leaving the implication up in the air for you to jump to your own conclusion.
To decide just how badly you wanted to please Satoshi.
“You want another photo?” You asked after a moment, temptation teetering there. Toru was dying to touch you. Be there in your bed as she heard your sheets rustling underneath your body through the grainy line. Replaying all the pretty expressions you’d worn in the hall earlier, imagining how different the one you had on now was.
“I want more, angel,” Suguru replied, immediately reminding Toru that you still didn’t know you were hers yet, still enveloped in this boy version of her that she and Suguru fabricated. “Are you touching yourself for me?”
“Maybe,” you shyly said, close enough to a confession.
“Think you could record it for me, sweetheart?” He hummed, careful not to sound demanding, just issuing a little dare she knew you would take out of fear of disappointing him.
“If you really want me to,” you hesitantly replied, all light and airy. Barely needing to be nudged to agree to send a video of your breathy moans, one where your fingers would slip underneath your matching panties as you cried out after someone that never really existed.
“Good girl.”
You didn’t even ask him not to show anyone else.
Just blindly trusted him.
Would you still feel the same when you knew it was really her? Follow her lead and stay on her leash?
Sometimes, you sorta reminded Toru of a lost little lamb. One she had to shepherd back into place. It wasn’t like she was trying to put the crook around your neck, to pull you close, but she’d do what she had to just to have you.
ε✿з
Be there in five. Can’t wait for you to finally be mine.
“Can I help you, miss?” A hotel employee startled you, blinking hard a few times in surprise as you swallowed hard and shook your head.
“I’m, um, just waiting on someone,” you answered with a tight smile, grateful when they seemed to accept that answer, nodding politely and walking away as you rested against the wall rather than taking a seat on one of the stiff couches clustered together by coffee tables nearby.
You were too anxious to sit.
Nerves racing under your skin as you continuously checked the time, smoothing out the skirt you picked out and glancing down at the revealing shirt you’d chosen after he made a comment about how much he was looking forward to burying his face against your breasts.
But as minute five came and passed, you still hadn’t spotted a single sign of him.
You felt like an idiot, chewing on the inside of your cheek as you kept scanning the lobby for a glimpse of blue like he promised. Pulling up your phone to read and reread his latest message for comfort.
Fingers tapping the keyboard, typing out a message to ask if he was close only to delete it and try to reword it, wasting another few minutes struggling to come up with something not totally desperate to say only to come up empty.
A familiar giggle made your blood run cold.
In a single instant, your mood was spoiled, rotten, head snapping in trepidation as you saw the blue you were searching for at the receptionist’s desk. Just on the wrong person.
A tight blue dress clinging to the hips of your least favorite person, pushing her boobs up and riding high on her thighs as she turned towards you, eyes locking onto yours like she already knew you’d be here.
The receptionist passed her two keycards, and she had to readjust the huge bouquet of flowers in her hand to grab it before she started walking towards you, her tall heels clicking against the tiled lobby.
“Don’t you look adorable?” She smiled at you. Smiled. You were pretty sure your brain short-circuited. Overwhelmed by the fact a compliment had left her lips with not a hint of cruelty. Perhaps a sliver of condescension, but unless your stare was suddenly deceiving you (and you so badly wished it was) she actually appeared genuine.
“W-what are you-” You started stammering, heat rushing up to your face as she stepped even closer, looking down at you with amusement glittering in her pretty eyes as she pushed the flowers into your arms.
“I'm Satoshi, silly,” she hummed, her mouth curling up in a smirk that just screamed she was proud of her scheme.
“No, no,” you bluntly said, struggling to breathe when her words threatened to unravel years of a relationship you’d been clinging to, counting on to keep your sanity intact. “He called me. Sent me voice messages, photos-”
“I had to get my friend Suguru to help,” she admitted, fake sympathy in her practiced smile as she reached out and touched your cheek. Caressed it with her soft fingers while you stood there in too much shock to recoil. “But all the conversations were me, sweetheart.”
Sweetheart.
The word had never made you feel so fucking sick before.
Satoshi had called you that all the time. But he was apparently her, and the realization that all your raw vulnerabilities, all the times you poured your heart and soul out just for Toru to be on the receiving end. All those reassurances you’d hung onto, the pretty words you copied down into diaries and woven into your brain, they all belonged to her.
Betrayal burning through you as you tried to process the depth of their deception. How many layers to it were there? How much time had she spent just to keep up this charade? Pretending to be a fucking man to what?
Humiliate you even more than she did on a daily basis?
“Am I just a sick joke to you?” You asked, voice thick with hurt you couldn't hide anymore. She tormented you for years. What the hell else were you supposed to think?
“You're my girlfriend?” She retorted, tilting her head to the side as if she couldn't understand what you were confused about.
“You hate me,” you pointed out, mentally replaying every mean word out of her mouth from the day you met. All the times she accused you of wanting to have sex with her and basically being a lovesick loser.
“I like you,” she corrected you, and you got the distinct impression this wasn't exactly the reaction she'd been expecting from you.
And in the next thick pause, the silence where you stared at her with an open mouth, you realized that perhaps she'd been projecting.
That maybe the obsessed one had been her all along.
You stepped back, shaking your head as you heard yourself scoff.
“Do you just want me to say sorry?” Toru asked, her glittery lip gloss catching the light as she dramatically pouted. “I am, you know, I just get so excited when I see you, it’s hard to hold it in.”
You blinked.
Her eyes shifted down to your chest, openly ogling you as pink bloomed against her pretty cheeks, her fingers slipping back into your hair like you were a couple.
As if, in any universe, this could be considered normal.
You wanted to scream.
To storm off and slam the glass door behind you.
Go back to your room and cry into the pillow after you scrubbed every stupid photo and video you ever saved of Satoshi from your phone.
This wasn’t supposed to happen. You were supposed to graduate and get as far from Toru as possible, find a place with your boyfriend and start a new life where you could forget about the past few years you’d spent here.
“What did I do to ever deserve you doing this to me?” You breathed, a hot lump forming in your throat as you tried to hold back the sob that wanted to break out. Hyper aware of how hard you tried on your makeup this morning, how much time you’d spent picking out what to wear and how to style your hair, desperate to impress someone who apparently didn’t even exist.
The tears were welling up anyway, heavy in your lashes and collecting in the corners of your eyes as you felt the stares of people passing by. The whispering you’d gotten used to whenever you were around Toru.
Her face scrunched up, her annoyingly pretty mouth parting as she moved her hand to drag her thumb underneath your eyes. Wiping away your tears while she tilted her head to the side, loose waves bouncing in time with her huff, “Are you seriously crying?”
“You catfished me,” you said, hating how crushed you sounded. But you were. In a handful of seconds, she had decimated any ounce of your confidence you had left. Reduced you to rubble under her stupid red-bottomed heels and then rubbed it into the glossy tiles you were standing on. “You’ve been calling me a lesbian for years, but you-”
“That’s because you are one,” she said, perfectly plucked brows knitting together tightly as she took a small step closer. Almost enough for both your chests to touch, her eyes drifting back down for what felt like the twentieth time at your shirt. “I mean, I am too, was it not obvious?”
No, it absolutely wasn’t fucking obvious, but the way she said it was enough to make you freeze.
Honestly, if anything, you thought she was a little homophobic before this, but you didn’t know how she’d take that.
“Come on, you can just admit that you were crushing on me, you don’t have to keep-” You made some sound at her insane statement, pure disgust mixing with the scoff that escaped.
“I hate you,” you half-whispered. Loathing burning in those three short words as you tried to find the strength to move. But she didn’t flinch. Just pursed her lips together as she batted her soft, white lashes at you.
“You told Satoshi you loved him last night,” she so unhelpfully reminded you, speaking slowly as if she was giving you time to think between her words. “That means you love me.”
“I-”
You couldn’t even get out what you wanted to say when she started twirling a loose strand of your hair around one of her long fingers.
Was she actually trying to seduce you?
Her chest pressed against yours, not sparing so much as a glance to anyone else in the lobby despite how much attention she had to know she was drawing as you felt her tits through her thin dress rubbing against yours like you were playing the starring role in a cheap porno.
“Think about all those late nights we stayed up together,” she purred, looking down at you the same way she always did, and you wondered how you ever could have missed the hunger in them before.
Well, that wasn’t quite true. You’d seen it.
You just hadn’t realized what she was starving for.
“All those times we talked about our families and our lives and what we wanted to do with them. All the stuff we wanted to do together,” Toru hummed, her nose nearly brushing against yours now too. You were struggling to wrap your head around the idea of her being the one you spilled everything too. Fuck, how many times had you complained to her about her?
“I didn’t know-” You started, but she made a soft shushing sound that somehow shut you up.
“We can still do all of it,” she promised, like you had any interest in any of it now that you knew what a fool you’d been for putting your trust in someone you never actually knew. In her. “Me and you.”
You got the impression in your already flustered brain that she was trying to be romantic.
That this was all supposed to be some grand gesture to show you that her feelings were genuine.
But it just felt like fresh embarrassment.
Your heart slamming against your rib cage while your thoughts ran in the same panicked circles, falling apart in front of a room full of strangers.
It sort of felt like you were being proposed to in public. Forced to say yes to not seem like a total asshole when everyone else was probably convinced she was earnestly confessing to you.
And after years of being around her, you already had the experience to know the universe would always side with her.
“What do you expect me to say?” You finally spoke, flat-out dumbfounded as your voice trembled. Her treachery was already twisting into something else in your stomach, your body attempting to turn it into something flattering just so you could cope with it. The intoxicating scent of her perfume stuffing your nostrils and clouding your thinking as you struggled to sort out all the different emotions rattling around inside you.
The hurt and the heartache and the conflicting feelings of loss and longing for someone that wasn’t there. The scariest part was that some sliver of you was starting to consider Toru.
Starting to want her.
Acknowledging that you couldn’t actually have Satoshi, and coming to the conclusion that she was the closest fucking thing you had.
The thought itself was incredibly depressing.
“I love you, Toru?” She offered, doing her own impression of your voice.
“I don’t,” you argued, although you weren’t sure how convincing it actually came out when her proximity left your voice quivering.
“What? You only loved me as a boy then?” She grinded her sharp canines, not quite glaring, but clearly unhappy as her blue eyes bored into yours.
“How was I supposed to know my boyfriend was you?”
Other than the fact he was obviously too good to be true. A guy like that would never be interested in you. No, the only person who was, apparently, was your insane classmate who’d been pretending to be a man for two years just to get you to fall for her.
You almost wished this was simply blackmail. That she just wanted to hold your humiliation over your head.
This felt so much worse. So much ickier.
Especially when your body was beginning to betray your mind just with her touch, her scent, warping what your senses with her cruel fingers and soft skin.
“A girlfriend is way better than a boyfriend,” she huffed at you, rolling her eyes like you should already know that.
“You want to be my girlfriend?” You asked, meant to be rhetorical rather than serious. But her eyes lit up, lips lifting up into a blinding smile as she nodded.
“Duh.”
No. No. No.
This could not be-
“Let’s go check out our room,” she hummed, effortlessly changing the subject as she backed off only to grab your wrist. Throwing an annoyed look over her shoulder at all the passerbys who had not-so-subtly paused to watch whatever was happening between both of you. “So annoying how people are always obsessed with me.”
Too blind to see how much of a hypocrite she was being.
You were too stunned to stop her. Feet uselessly following after her as her pale fingertips dug deeper into your skin, dragging you around like you were just an accessory on her arm.
Feeling almost like you were floating along, trying to tell yourself that this was all just some fucked-up dream you’d wake up from before you got there.
But you didn’t.
Just standing there like an idiot when she was holding the keycard up to the door, glancing down to realize you were still holding the flowers in your other limp hand.
The saddest part was you were pretty sure no one else would give you anything as remotely nice as these.
“I wasn’t trying to ask you to be-” You tried one more time, but she was already opening the door and pulling you in.
“You know, you’re kinda being ungrateful,” she huffed, shutting the door with a heavy thud as she dropped her designer purse on the floor. You didn’t even think she knew how much it cost. Probably just purchased it without considering how many meals that much money could’ve bought someone else.
“I’m ungrateful?” You echoed, hurt coiling hot in your core as you stared in disbelief at her in front of you. You wanted it to be hurt, at least, forcing yourself to look away only to find rose petals all over the floor.
She reached around to start pulling down the zipper of her dress, stepping out of her heels without pausing before shimmying her clothes off.
Shit.
She wasn’t wearing a fucking shred underneath.
You weren’t a lesbian. At least, you were pretty sure you weren’t a lesbian. But something was fluttering inside you against your will at the subtle bounce of her breasts when she bent over to pick up a rose petal and pinch it between her fingers, pouting like she was disappointed by the color of them.
“I mean, you have me in front of you, and you’re not even appreciating it,” she complained.
“If you’re expecting me to beg for you-” you started, awkwardly turning to place the flowers on the closest table, but that only gave her the opportunity to move closer. To bridge the gap between you.
“I’m not,” she argued back, but the mischievous little grin on her face was enough to cast doubt. “But you will anyway.”
Your mouth fell open, and it felt like she had your heart in her fist, squeezing it to watch the blood slowly drip out.
“I’ve seen how pretty you look begging,” she murmured, and that heat simmering inside you just creeped higher, flooding your face as you realized what she meant. Remembered all those videos you’d sent her thinking Satoshi was seeing them. “Wanna hear it for myself.”
And before you could even deal with the notion that Toru had a plethora of videos of you masturbating stashed away, that she probably had fingered herself to you, she was kissing you.
She tasted like candy.
Sugary sweet gloss melting onto your lips as her mouth messily collided with yours. You froze for a few moments, but your lips started to kiss her back. Parting to let her tongue slip in as you were torn between telling her to stop and letting this continue.
What could you do?
What should you do?
If she sent those videos to anyone, your life would be fucking ruined. But you didn’t want to just be Toru’s pet, something she doted on in secret and embarrassed in public.
And at the same time, your body was reacting to hers almost instinctively, leaning forward instead of pulling away, despite your arms falling to your side, unsure if you could even touch her back.
Toru, on the other hand, was grabbing a handful of your ass – and one of your tits too. Groping and squeezing while her tongue explored your mouth like she owned it all.
Maybe if you gave into her now, if you let her have this, have you this once, you could still just leave anyway after graduation. Change your number when you changed cities, fuck, maybe changed countries if it meant getting away from the war she was waging between your head and heart.
“You’re such a bitch,” you breathed when she broke the kiss, knowing that if she kissed you again, you weren’t going to stop her either.
She laughed. At that, or maybe just at you.
And then she was grabbing your hips, twisting you around and guiding you back to the bed, pushing you down on it hard enough to knock the air from your chest.
“Don’t be a brat,” she pouted, pushing her glossy lips out as she easily rolled up your little skirt around your hips. Grinning at the sight of your lacy little panties, the pure white shade that came a little too close to her hair that she quickly pulled down around your thighs next.
“I’m not a-”
Your words died in your throat as she slipped a delicate finger inside your warmth before you could protest what exactly you were. No better than a bitch in heat when just an experimental circle had a broken gasp escaping your mouth.
She smiled at you again, pride and amusement shining like stars in her blue stare. You supposed she’d just found a new way to play with her favorite toy.
“You’re so cute,” she complimented, climbing on top of you, her knee nudging your thighs further apart as her other hand trailed underneath your shirt.
You swallowed hard. You knew you should say something else.
Tell her to fuck off.
But nothing came out.
All the words dried up as she dragged her finger even deeper inside you.
And then added another digit. Slowly getting to work stretching you open, feeling the way your walls started to squeeze down reflexively as she held your stare hostage.
“You wanna tell me just how much you don’t like me?” She condescendingly hummed, daring you to disagree with her.
“Do you hate me?” You asked instead, still struggling to wrap your head around the fact this was happening, no longer confident in something you had been certain of an hour ago. That somehow, you were proving her right. That just by being underneath her like this, with the taste of her candied lip gloss on your mouth and her fingers stuffing you full, you had become exactly what she said you were.
A loser in love with her.
You tried to tell yourself again that you weren’t.
“I’m literally, like, in love with you,” she pouted, a hint of a familiar whine in it like she was sick of saying the same thing in different ways. “What do I have to do to make you see that, hm, pretty?”
Probably erase the past few years from your memory, but you had a feeling she might engineer something like a car accident if it had the chance to cause retrograde amnesia – and force you to let her take care of you.
And then her thumb drifted over your clit, and you forgot what you were thinking anyway with the soft pressure she applied.
“Doesn’t it feel good?” She hummed, begging to rub careful circles over it, your body tensing as your chest tightened at the sensation. Your overheating core threatened to send shivers down your spine as her fingertips prodded deeper, faster.
“T-Toru-” You didn’t know what you were even trying to say, brows knitting together as sweat started to drip down your forehead, everything inside you quickly grew all fuzzy.
“You know, no one else could make you feel this good, sweetheart,” she said, teasing you as her thumb pressed that sensitive bud between your thighs like it was a goddamn button.
Activating an embarrassingly primal part of your brain as you felt the pleasure build closer towards a climax you couldn’t believe you might be having.
“No one else will ever know you like I do,” Toru continued, and you loathed that she might be correct. You told her everything. Every thought. Every secret. Every dream. You didn’t think you’d ever be able to trust anyone else like that again. “Love you like I do.”
You wanted to hate this as much as you hated her.
But her fingers were longer than yours, hitting spots you couldn't on your own as she slipped a third one in, swirling it around to tease you with that pretty, lilting laugh of hers.
“Look at you,” she cooed, still mocking you even when you were in her hotel bed. “Soaked on my fingers like a slut.”
You were.
Shaking and squirming as her fingers pumped in and out of you, whimpering weakly as she played you like a goddamn instrument. You knew you were going to cum.
Knew that she’d won.
Toru had made a mess of you. Unravelled you into a million little pieces that probably would never be put back together again.
“That’s it, my pretty little lamb,” she cooed, and you wished your head was a little clearer to understand what she giggled about next. Your thighs trembling when she finally crooked her fingers just right, her thumb dragging over your clit with the perfect amount of pressure to finally make you cum for her.
Your eyes drifting down to her bare body over you, her perfect tits, her flawless skin, the shape of her hips and thighs as her fingers worked in and out of you, her thumb working you through your orgasm as you broke.
Bent into something unrecognizable under her pressure, her presence, blinking as your brain basically stopped functioning when she filled it with just thoughts of her.
Watching numbly when she stood up and walked to her bag and back, white hair spilling over her shoulder as she tilted her head to the side to look at the phone in her hand, squinting at the screen as she angled it to capture where you were splayed out in the bleached white sheets.
warnings: 18+ minors/ageless/blank blogs dni, smut, tamsy (the warning is tamsy), no manga spoilers but possibly manga vibe spoilers (if that makes sense?), tamsy is a freak, pretty graphic depictions of choking/fantasies about choking, noncon/dubcon, tamsy is jerking off on the reg to the mental image of you and your choker, tokushin being used as god intended, minor blood kink but only as it relates to possessiveness, mentioned human trafficking, tamsy is really out here trying to trigger a ptsd episode, submissive!reader, sadist!tamsy bc duh, manipulative!tamsy bc duh, yandere!tamsy bc duh
notes: tumblr didn't like my original title for this so I had to settle for this less good title and I'm sad. ofc my first fic in over a year was never going to be easy.
words: 4k
minors, ageless, and blank blogs do not comment, like, or reblog
Chokers are so universally worn on the ground that they hardly warrant a second glance. Some people try to turn them into a true accessory by attaching charms. Others wear them as bracelets rather than around their necks. But no matter how people dress up or style their chokers, there’s nothing remarkable about them.
And yet, Tamsy finds himself unable to look away from yours. At first, he thinks it’s as simple as wanting to savor the sight of something wrapped around the elegant column of your throat. He’s spent countless hours imagining it’s one of Tokushin’s ropes circling your neck instead of the communicator. He’s spent just as many hours fisting his cock and imagining taking Tokushin’s rope once it’s around your neck and tightening it with his bare hands until your teary eyes roll back as you lose consciousness.
But for as much time as he spends fantasizing about your throat, his hands, and navy rope infused with Anima, he knows it’s something more than that.
So then, he thinks it's because he's the one who gave it to you when he found you, when he saved you, and recruited you for Team Eager. Just knowing that an object he gave you is constantly hanging around your neck, and that it carries his blood, is enough to make him hard — especially when he thinks about how your blood is imbued in the choker around his own neck.
He remembers that when he first cut his thumb to swipe his blood along your choker, it took monumental self-control to keep from shoving it past your closed lips and forcing you to drink his blood straight from the source — so that a piece of him would always be part of you. And when you hesitated to cut yourself for a brief moment, looking to him first for assurance, before nicking your finger and giving your blood to his choker, the urge to grab the digit and give it a harsh suck had been almost painful to suppress.
However, even his sick satisfaction with knowing that you never take off the choker, not even when sleeping or showering, isn’t enough to explain what has him so obsessed with the ubiquitous device.
The answer finally comes to him one day, months after his perverse fixation began, when you’re sitting innocently across from him and he’s daydreaming about stringing you up in Tokushin’s net and fucking you from behind, your bonds only tightening with every brutal thrust of his cock into your dripping and abused cunt. You’re complaining about the paperwork Semiu has been nagging you to complete, protesting that as a giver who rarely, if ever, sees combat, you’re ill-suited to filling out reports. You insist that it should be Team Eager’s leader — giving Tamsy a pointed look — that should have to complete them.
It’s as he gives you an indulgent smile and gently admonishes you — just enough affection and amusement in his voice to keep it from feeling like he’s lecturing you as he says that Semiu is just doing her job as the Cleaners’ receptionist — that he gets to the part in his fantasy where reality crashes down on him with all the strength of a trash beast.
Because in his head, he imagines slipping his fingers beneath the back of your choker and yanking on it hard enough to have your back arching in an unnatural angle, or as unnatural an angle as Tokushin’s iron restraints will allow. But then he realizes that you’re wearing your choker so tightly that he doubts his fingers would even fit between the thick cord and your fragile skin.
Where everyone else's chokers hang loosely around the base of their necks, roomy enough that they usually leave the hollow of the throat exposed, yours is snugly wrapped around the middle of your neck.
The revelation — because it truly is a revelation — goes straight to his cock, and he’s thankful for how the many layers of fabric that make up his baggy uniform, the table between you that hides his lap, and his unflappable nature all work in his favor.
In all of his many, many, many fantasies, never once has he imagined that having something tightly wound around your neck — whether it’s his hands, Tokushin’s ropes, his belt, his tie, the hose to his oxygen tank, a seatbelt in the backseat of one of the cars, even his own long, silky strands on more than one occasion — would actually be welcome.
There’s a small part of him that’s disappointed. Your tears, your choked pleas for him to stop, your nails biting into the backs of his hands, your fingers frantically trying to yank whatever’s around your neck loose, your gulping gasps when he withdraws his cock from your throat that last only as long as it takes for him to constrict your air supply again, and the look of betrayal in your shining eyes as the light fades from them have always been integral to every fantasy.
But the disappointment is quick to pass because while you clearly prefer having your choker snug, he thinks that if you were ever forced to confront it, you would be left lost and confused about what it might say about you. After all, when he found you, when he saved you, the first thing that you had done was to beg with tear-filled eyes for him to break the constricting metal collar that your captors had welded shut around your neck.
So his fantasies begin to take a slightly different shape. You’re still helpless beneath him. You’re still desperately trying to loosen the grip on your throat. You’re still crying and pleading and wasting what precious little breath you have to ask him why. But now there’s an added layer.
Because now, when he dreams of you helpless beneath him, your pussy is dripping with the sticky strands of your arousal. Now, when you desperately try to loosen the grip on your throat, your pussy clenches down around his cock in time with every squeeze of his hands. Now, when you’re crying and pleading and wasting what precious little breath you have to ask him why, it’s not why are you doing this to me, Tamsy, but instead why do you like it when he does this to you.
He knows it might break you to realize that the symbol of your captivity, when your worth was measured only in a monetary amount, is the same thing that makes you wet. And he hopes for it.
It’s easy to find you alone, wandering the halls of HQ late one night. It’s no secret that you’ve always kept odder hours. However, it’s not him who finds you but Tokushin, one of its threads silently trailing after you in the dark. The yarn is light enough that you don’t notice it as it slides up your body, closer and closer to your neck.
You remain so clueless, even as the thread reaches your choker, that Tamsy feels like it’s his duty as a fellow Cleaner to caution you about being more aware of your surroundings. But for now, he’ll reap the rewards of your ignorance as he uses Tokushin to pop open your choker and remove it from your person entirely.
He watches you from the other end of the hallway with a frown as you continue to walk away, Tokushin retreating towards him, the end of the string wrapped around your choker. You really should be paying better attention, even in the safety of HQ.
When it reaches him, he plucks your choker from Tokushin’s thread before it rewinds itself around the wooden spindle in his pocket. Anima drains from the object and it becomes a simple distaff once more.
The choker is warm between his fingers, still carrying your body heat after having been flush with your skin for so long, and Tamsy can’t help but rub it slowly against his cheek with a contented sigh. He could spend the rest of the night just savoring the feel of your choker, but you’re about to enter the stairwell and he doesn’t want to let you get too far.
He calls out your name and you come to an immediate stop, your foot hanging in midair above the first step down. You look back and when you see him walking towards you, you turn to face him fully, the curious frown on your lips quickly morphing into a cheerful smile.
“I didn’t realize you were back already. I thought the job was gonna take another day or two,” you greet him. “Did everything go all right?”
He smiles in return with a nod and an affirmative hum, but your attention is quickly drawn away from the topic of his assignment to the choker twirling around his index finger. Your eyebrows knit together in confusion. You instinctively bring a hand up to your neck, only for shock to light up your features when you realize that it’s your choker that Tamsy is twirling around his finger.
“You dropped this,” he needlessly points out, both the dark and your surprise providing him with enough cover to keep his gaze trained on your fingers as you rub the bare skin of your throat where your choker usually sits.
“Yeah, I guess it got loose. Thanks for grabbing it. It would have been so annoying if someone else found it first,” you reply, your nose wrinkling at the thought. “I’d never hear the end of how I’m constantly losing things.”
“It’s a good thing I’m around,” he offers, his tone benign. He gestures for you to come closer and a rush of satisfaction courses through him when you close the gap between you without a second thought. You hold out your hand to take the device from him, but he shakes his head and leans down to meet you. “Let me.”
Your eyes briefly widen in surprise, before hesitation creeps into your demeanor. You slightly curl in on yourself and your hand drops from your throat as you begin to play with your fingers, a clear sign of your nervousness.
“A-are you sure?” you ask, suddenly extremely conscious of how little space there is between you.
“Mhmm. This way I can make sure it’s on right,” he explains, entirely rational. He’s already opening it and raising the band before you can protest any further.
It’s a simple thing — all he has to do is loop it around your neck and snap it shut, maybe give it a gentle tug to ensure the clasp isn’t faulty. But he didn’t orchestrate this late-night run-in to be done with it all in a few quick seconds.
So, he leans even closer in and takes his time sliding the choker around the back of your neck. He skims his fingertips along your skin under the pretense of trying to guide the band to the exact spot where he knows you wear it. You’ve never had a very good poker face, and even if there weren’t only a few inches separating you, he would never miss the shiver that runs up your spine at the sensation.
“You know, I’ve noticed that you wear your choker a little tighter than most people,” he remarks absently as he fiddles with the ends.
He thinks if you weren’t so thrown off by the unexpected turn your night has taken — or if you weren’t so trusting of him — you might think it odd that someone with his skills in combat is taking so long to do what’s essentially an everyday task.
“Y-yeah, I guess…” you murmur, clearly distracted by the way his thumb sweeps a small line right up the center of your throat. “I haven’t really thought about it. It just…seems like that’s how it should fit.”
When he brings his face just a little closer to your neck, he can feel each one of your exhales on his temple. He’s sure you’re aware of it as well, considering how your breathing starts to quicken.
“It’s just a little surprising since you spent so long with something trapped around your neck,” he says. His tone is casual, like the observation just came to him and that he doesn’t think much of it. His words are punctuated by a soft click! as he snaps the choker closed, and the noise combined with the abrupt mention of your past has you freezing. “And they kept it tight, didn’t they? I can still see the scar here.”
“I d-don’t…it’s not…” you stumble over your words, unnerved by the reminder of your time in captivity and the collar that you had been forced to wear for so long that it left a permanent ring etched into your skin.
You can faintly recall how self-conscious you used to be of the scar when you first joined the Cleaners, and how it was only the scar that took up almost half of Tamsy’s face that eventually eased your anxiety. Because, while you don’t know the history of it, if he could wear a scar so prominently on his beautiful face without a care, then shouldn’t you be able to as well?
“Actually, I remember being surprised you took the choker to begin with. I thought I’d have to convince you to at least wear it on your wrist,” he muses with a soft huff of laughter. He continues to fiddle with the clasp, tightening it so slowly that you don’t even notice — like a frog jumping into warm water without realising the temperature is incrementally increasing.
He’s so close that he doesn’t only see you swallow, but the sound echoes in his ears. Your tongue peeks out as you lick your lips and he has to hold in his sigh of longing at the hint of pink, settling instead for relishing how your wet lips now shine in the moonlight filtering in through the windows.
What he wouldn’t give to see you drooling around his cock, your spit messily trailing past your chin and down your throat to coat Tokushin’s fibers, your saliva becoming another cherished part of his Vital Instrument.
“Y-you said it was important for me to wear it. That it connects us,” you finally reply, breathless from the position he has you in and the topic he’s brought up. He glances at you to see the slightly dazed way you’re staring at the ceiling, fully exposing your throat to him, too trusting to be aware of the danger he poses.
“That’s right,” he hums pleasantly. “It ties us together.”
With your gaze directed up and away from him, he allows his mask to slip for the briefest moment, his lips stretching into a wide, sadistic grin as he suddenly tightens your choker beyond how you normally wear it. Your reaction is instantaneous — you gasp, your body tenses, and your hand makes an aborted gesture to grab onto the front of his jacket, your senses half a second behind your reflexes, before it changes course and reaches up to the choker itself, only for him to bat your hand away.
“Tamsy! It’s too tight!” you protest, although it comes out as more of a wheeze, your chest rising and falling rapidly as panic begins to build. He’s never heard you say his name with such anguish and it sounds so beautiful, like a perfect melody.
His posture straightens as stands back up to his full height, looming over you in the dark, and when he sees the mixture of confusion, fear, and alarm on your face, it’s almost enough to make him groan and shove you to your knees — all that’s missing are streaks of his cum.
But it’s the desperation he sees in your eyes that will stay with him forever, the way you’re pleading with him because you know that he’s the only one who can provide you clemency. It’ll fuel every fantasy he has of you from that point on. Every time he imagines something wound around your throat or his cock pistoning in and out of your pussy or your knees forced wide open by Tokushin’s strings, it’ll be with the same desperation coloring your expression.
He turns pitying as he looks down on you. He’s released the choker — it’s tight enough that it stays in place without needing to be held — but his hands are still loosely hanging around your neck. He soothingly rubs small circles on your throat with his thumbs as he shushes you, like he’s trying to calm a spooked animal.
“Shhhhh, you’re fine. It’s just a little snug,” he consoles you, every word dripping with condescension as he makes light of your distress.
“Tamsy,” you beg, helpless to what you believe is his uncharacteristic cruelty, but he just shakes his head and gives you a look of sympathy.
“I can’t make it looser. It could just fall off again,” he explains, as if he’s telling a child why they need to take their foul-tasting medicine. He almost sounds pained, like it hurts him as much as the choker is hurting you. His thumbs haven’t ceased moving along your throat and he softly gives you another shush. “You’ll get used to it.”
It looks like you’re about to protest and tell him again that it’s too tight.
“Be good for me and take it, okay?” he breathes into what little space remains between you, and he’s surprised he doesn’t come on the spot with how quickly the fight drains from you at what appear to have been the magic words.
“These chokers are the only way you and I can stay constantly connected,” he murmurs as he watches how your breathing begins to calm, your tension easing with each rub of his thumbs. “So, you have to be good.”
You nod dumbly in his hold and he lets one of his thumbs trail just slightly down until it’s right above the center of your choker. He waits half a beat and then applies just enough pressure on the middle of your throat for it to be noticeable. He wonders if it’s going to set you off again, especially when your hand suddenly grabs his wrist, but rather than trying to push him away, you simply cling to him — like those pathetic little kittens hanging from branches in those lame motivational posters that turn up every so often in the trash.
While his expression remains sympathetic, as he takes in the way your lips have slightly parted, how your pupils have blown wide, and how your breathing is picking up again, only this time not from panic, he can hear the resounding cackle in his head as his internal self celebrates the realization of his fantasy.
He stays perfectly still, allowing himself another minute to savor the moment, before he loosens his hold on your neck, although he refrains from releasing you altogether. Instead, he returns to fiddling with the clasp of your choker, as if he’s checking one final time that it’s secure.
“Now, aren’t you gonna say thank you?” he gently teases you. However, the small, playful smile that tugs at the corner of his lip is belied by the flash of something darker in his eyes.
It takes you a moment to come back to yourself. Your eyelashes flutter as you blink and your tongue makes a second appearance that evening when it darts out again to wet your lips.
“T-thank you, Tamsy,” you say in a broken whisper, and he internally scoffs in disbelief over how good his luck is that not only does he have his hands around your throat, but you’re actually thanking him for it.
“Anything for my favorite teammate,” he assures you with a smile so genial that it has his eyes turning into two crescents. He slowly lets go of you entirely. But as he drops his hands back to his sides, it doesn’t escape him how your own hand is reluctant to release his wrist.
He takes a step back, putting a more appropriate amount of space between you, as the tense and heated aura hanging over you both slowly begins to dissipate. However, he can see how the awkwardness still continues to linger in your form, like you’re not sure what’s just happened or how to act.
“You really should get on a more regular sleeping schedule,” he gently chides, his tone laced with concern. “Don’t I owe you a trip into town soon? How am I supposed to take you if you’re going to sleep just as the day is starting?”
The nagging seems to reestablish the sense of normalcy you were desperately scrambling for because your features scrunch together unattractively. He watches with hawklike eyes as your hand absently reaches up to instinctively adjust your choker before you realize what you’re doing and drop it.
“You’re starting to sound like Delmon,” you grumble, your fingers toying with each other again to keep them busy, and he snorts with amusement. “Fine. I’m off to bed.”
You give him a half-hearted wave as you begin to head in the direction that you both came from. But just as you pass him, he says your name and loosely wraps his fingers around your wrist to stop you before you can make it much further. You look up at him curiously only to freeze, because while he’s still wearing the same smile that you’re so used to seeing from him, there’s now something about it that unsettles you.
You don’t know what it is or why you feel your skin breaking out in goosebumps, your hair standing on end. There’s nothing out of the ordinary about how he’s looking at you, but for some reason, you feel like you’re trapped in the threads of a spider’s web. What confuses you even more is the unexpected urge you feel to squeeze your thighs together.
“You look good with a collar,” he says, looking pointedly down at your choker.
Your mouth suddenly feels dry. Dread pools in your stomach. A small tremble appears in your fingers.
Not once have you ever thought of the choker you willingly wore — that keeps you connected to the people you’ve come to care so dearly about — as anything similar to the collar that tore your skin and chained you to your captors.
But is he right in referring to it as just another collar? You’re becoming increasingly aware of how tight the choker feels around your neck all over again.
“Tamsy…” you trail off, entirely helpless before him.
He simply smiles in return, as if his words hadn’t sent you spiraling, and lifts a hand back up to your neck, his baggy sleeve sliding down his forearm as he does. He manages to squeeze the tip of his left pinky — the only one he still has — beneath the band’s center, making you flinch harshly. With the finger he’s hooked around it, he gives it an unexpectedly harsh tug that has you tripping slightly towards him, before he releases you again. Your own hand comes up reflexively to rub your throat as you watch him with wide, teary eyes.
“All that’s missing is a little bell, so I always know where to find you,” he teases, but there’s something slightly darker in his tone that makes you think for a second he’s not joking. You forcefully shake your head and tell yourself to forget it because this is Tamsy. “Be good and get some sleep, okay?”
You can only nod dumbly in response as he gives you one last smile before walking away towards the stairs, where he soon disappears from your sight. You’re left alone in the dark and silent hall, confused, shaken, and with no one for company but the shame that creeps up on you as you notice how wet you are.
as what the title says, i want to share and talk about my favorite audios. will def make a part two.
note: check warnings before listening!
these are all M4F. the only requirement i have for these audios to be labeled as my “favorite” is if it made me orgasm, yes seriously.
so here we go:
1. “Deciding You Want More Than the Things He Buys You” by AugustInTheWinter
- this is a wealthy M x spoiled F audio where you are in a sugar baby-esque relationship with M.
- will forever be a favorite of mine, i come back to it again and again.
- the “why should we go to your bedroom? i’m not your fucking boyfriend, right?” line gets me WET every single time.
- this August boy… i swear… he is my favorite “cummer” in the history of 🌶️ audios, he sounds absolutely good when he finishes. pls pls listen to him.
TMI: i always picture Mike Faist in the Challengers movie with his voice… is that allowed… or…
(may you all also see the Vision)
2. “Your Wedding Night with the Enemy Prince” by AugustInTheWinter
- JESUS FUCKING CHRIST…
3. “The Cute Barista is actually… A Hard Dom?!” by UselessTimidity
- like the title, soft-boy turns out to be a hard dom; wolf in sheep’s clothing type of thing?
- the communication was absolutely beautiful, first time i got turned on by how he told her what he wanted. when i tell you my heart fluttered when this guy giggled during that part.
4. “Keeping the Bride’s Brother Out Of Trouble at the Wedding Reception” by AugustInTheWinter
- (guessed my favorite creator yet?)
- M is a slutty horndog and F is asked by the bride to make sure he doesn’t do anything, so F fucks M to distract him.
- made me love slutty Mswitch oh my god the power of August is unbelievable.
6. “You Are NOT Wearing That Out” by LateNightFeels_
- man i mean that “say goodbye to me and give me a kiss” alr did shit to me so.
- i love LateNightFeels_’s tease, borderline toxic, def has issues, bfe audios. a great guilty pleasure of mine TRULY.
7. “Your Obsessed BF Won’t Let You Break Up With Him” by LateNightFeels_
- again, please read tags before listening.
- this was my first listen of this creator and shit he got me immediately.
8. “Fucking You Was Not What I Came Here For” by Badjhur
- will always love the “you think you’re so special?” to “you’re the only one who can ruin me”-esque situations.
- the tongue clicking badjhur likes to do in his audios to get your attention never gets old.
- RIP man, i miss you greatly.
9. “Teaching Your Slutty Friend Some Respect” by AugustInTheWinter
- i was grinning the entire time.
- August (and GEDAudio) is your BFF if you like men whining.
10. “The Sergeant’s Diamond” by TheJarlintheUK
- a bridgerton inspired au
- this made me like british accents LMAO
- MY PROUDEST NUT YET
- the whole “The May Ball” collab is worth a listen. they all fucking ate with this one.
[ SERIES SYNOPSIS ] — it was obvious when this started, it was simply a mutual understanding between two horny college students, with very high libidos, and didn’t want any random stds that this was purely a sexual relationship only. and yet, both of you are unintentionally toeing the line between that and something else. [ Fratboy!Sukuna FWB Series ]
[ TAGS ] — MDNI. 18+ nsfw. contains explicit sexual themes and content. piv. angst. friends with benefits. hurt/comfort. hurt/no comfort. SLOW BURN. fluff. spit. ráw. rough. heavy spanking. degradation. dacryphilia. slight exhibitionisim. pda. soft sukuna. choso + yuuji r his younger brothers. every position. heavy creampies. violence. depression/anxiety. anger issues. squirting. cockwarming. alcohol. family death. family trauma. reader slightly oc. happy ending. tags will be updated as series continues.
✮ ch 1 || how it all started ✮ ch 2 || miss me already?
✮ ch 3 || call me ✮ ch 4 || two worlds
✮ ch 5 || coming soon ✮ ch 6 || tbd
✮ ch 7 || tbd ✮ ch 8 || tbd
✮ ch 9 || tbd ✮ ch 10 || tbd
✮ ch 11 || tbd ✮ ch 12 || tbd
✮ pt 1 — sukuna is starting to toe the line
✮ pt 2 — you’re desperate to prove this is just sex
✮ pt 3 — cockwarming him for the first time
✮ pt 4 — sukuna’s brothers visit unexpectedly
✮ pt 5 — pregnancy scare with sukuna
✮ pt 6 — sukuna has a stash of naked polaroids of you
✮ pt 7 — halloween special: scare actor!sukuna
✮ pt 8 — sukuna’s noticeable bulge at the gym
✮ pt 9 — high stakes no nut november edition
✮ pt 10 — holiday special: grinch!kuna naughty or nice
✮ pt 11 — tbd
✮ visuals ✮ bts lore ✮ music tag ♪ ✮ tiktok tag ✮
✮ pinterest board ✮ ask tag ✮ main masterlist ✮ ao3 ✮
[INFO] — parts vs chapters: the chapters are the actual series and connect. parts exist in the same universe, but as stand alone drabbles and will not be mentioned in the chapters. [ they can be read separately. ]
there is NO SERIES TAGLIST ✮ age should be visible on your blog — (art by @/to00fu, dividers by @/lariesographic )
Summary: Enjin decided to take some of the older cleaners out for a fun night after a heavy mission while Semiu doesn’t know the real meaning of relaxation, so you give her exactly what she’s looking for.
“Why not?? All you do is sit at this desk, drink at the bar and gaze at pictures..let’s go look at the real thingggg!” Enjin begged the woman sitting at her desk for umpteeth time in a row waiting to check anybody in or send anyone out.
“Who all going? If it’s just you I have to be the designated..”
“Me, Corvus, Gris, maybe Tamsy if I can get him out of his room…don’t be like that come hang outtt! The dance’ll be on me..”
“I’ll see if I’m feeling up to it..if you convinced the boss to out to a strip club I guess I can tag along only for research.” She said, flipping the page of the porno magazine in front of her.
“How do you manage to focus with all of that in your face?”
“It’s called having self control Enjin..”
“Everybody has a breaking point..” He laughed at the white haired woman tossing his umbreaker across his shoulder.
“Yeah some weaker than others..” Semiu scoffed, rolling her eyes as she continued to look over the physiques of the women laying on the page before her.
Semiu rarely has a chance to ‘take the day off’, is it highly recommended by her peers and her boss? Of course it is but to the studious woman her works was her passion, she truly didn’t mind keeping watch over HQ and keeping those knuckleheads from killing each other so she didn’t consider it as a job.
What soothed her after a hard day usually considered of heading to a bar, getting her fill and taking her drunkess out on her self, pumping her fingers so deep into her needy cunt practically humping her hand off to hit that spot. Semiu wasn’t unknown to sex toys either, her collection puts sex shops to shame! So whenever she felt that urge creep in she’d handle her business and keep it moving, she didn’t need to be laid up under someone or feel the need to talk about her dating life if she could call it that.
“So I’m hearing you’re going out tonight..” Corvus chimed in with a chuckle, crossing his arms as he approached her desk.
“I never agreed to anything with that fool..I’ll be fine keeping things calm here..”
“Semiu..i never known you to turn down a free drink..”
“What if im thé one buying her a drink?”
“Even better i don’t have to stare the bastard down..look just give it an hour..one little dance with something you think is cute..a nice drink and you’ll have the weekend off it’s a festival this weekend..”
“Are you sure the real Corvus didn’t drop dead from a heart attack?”
“This last mission took quite a toll on some of us thankfully we all made it back alive and all in one piece, we’re taking the kids out to the festival so tonight is for the adults..”
“Fine..fine I’ll budge..only because they have good vendors..I may find something I like..”
“Good..I didn’t want to be alone with those drunk fools..”
“You could’ve started with that..” Semiu laughed with Corvus joining in with her, she sighed in agreement to finally go thinking back in her mind that she may have gotten played by Enjin and Corvus but she didn’t ponder to long on the thought, she had to get ready for tonight!
Since it was a rare occasion for her to step out, she decided to put on something different than her usual leather jacket and pants combination, if she planned on going out the least she could do was throw an outfit together.
She picked out a nice red satin button up shirt with small flowy cuffs on the end, opening a few buttons to show off some of her chest pairing it with black dress pants with strings to sit on her hips simulating she had a thong on despite wearing one.
"Two and a half drinks, one dance, then we go home..that's it.." She spoke to herself, applying the final layer of lip gloss, sprucing up her hair with a big wide-tooth comb.
"Semiiii we're in the car!" Enjin called out while she put on the finishing touches, grabbing her small clutch bag off the counter. She had a silver flask right beside it, taking a swig to loosen herself up, clicking her heels out of her room to head to the car with high hopes for the night.
~
"Enjin how did you find out about this place?" Tamsy asked, looking around the sketchy alleyway they were parked in.
"A friend of mine works the bar which is why I said drinks were on me..come on this is just the entrance.." He said with a cheeky smile, turning off the car.
"When you're surrounded by trash, I don't think you should be complaining about appearances." Semiu joked, tucking her clutch under her arm as Enjin found a door handle on the side of the dusty covered wall, opening it up to a blue-illuminated hallway leading to some stairs
**
Everyone's eyes widened at the lit-up exterior with Semiu leading the way inside, walking down the blue stairs as the bass grew louder the further they went in. The strong smell of weed smacked them all in the face, along with the sounds of people talking and barely covered women walking around looking for their next customer.
"Welcome to the Honey Factory..plenty of good food, good drinks and of course something to look at.." Enjin smirked, looking at a thick woman walk past him.
"Where the hell do you have me.." Corvus laughed, looking around to get a good look at his surroundings.
"You know where to find me.." Semiu spoke with a soft smile, making her way to the bar where a topless bartender made eye contact with the white haired woman. Enjin followed her to keep his end of the deal and see if Semiu could score something without his help
"Henny and coke please love.." She asked, sliding a twenty to the pretty woman.
"Make that 2.." Enjin added, looking towards Semiu.
"Think you could handle something like that?"
"In my sleep, I'd hurt that girl.." She chuckled over the music, taking the two drinks from the bartender. Enjin pulled out a 50 while the woman turned around for him so he could slip it inside of her thong just like the rest of the bills hanging off of her.
Semiu took a long sip from her glass, turning around to get a good vibe of the atmosphere. For the most part, she had to admit she was having a decent time. The lights weren't too crazy, people were off in their own worlds and the music didn't drown anybody out.
"What about…..mmm that one..baby blue heels." Enjin pointed to the girl walking around near the front stage.
"You're really eager to get me something to play with.."
"I have to see if the rumors are true.." He said, holding his hands up with a giggle.
"Bring her here.." Semiu sighed with a smirk, taking another sip as the tall blonde went over to you with a 100$ bill in his hand.
It was another decent night at the club, and you were expecting to be downstairs where the big ballers went to gamble but tonight you were on the main floor and stage, praying your regulars came through so you didn't have to come in tomorrow.
While you were walking around trying to find your next victim, a tall man covered with tats began to approach you out of your peripheral, and in his hand was enough to grab your attention.
" 'Scuse me, my friend over there is a little shy, think you can get her to relax a little bit? It's her first time.." He snickered, placing the bill in the top of your fishnets set watching his eyes bounce from your full hips to those full lash-covered eyes batting up to him.
“Who am I helping tonight?”
“You see the one eyeing you at the bar? Real tall lady with the glasses?”
You looked in the direction he was talking about, squirting your eyes to finally see the white haired woman staring back at you, her gold colored glasses sitting on the bridge of her nose. You loved receiving woman clients, they tip the most, you didn't have to do much work and you get to enjoy the conversation instead of pretending to get extra tips.
“I can help them out and maybe you later?” You said, touching his chest.
“Oh, most definitely, after Semiu I’m sure you’ll be able to walk so come find me..”
“I’ll hold you to that.” You smiled, walking off to get a better look at the woman across the room. Your pretty heels clacked against the floor, the way your thighs jiggled with each step made you sway your hips, causing you ass to eat up the thing thong sitting between them. Your nipples were covered with a fishnet-like design, and your skin soft and drenched with baby oil, you were about to give the woman a show of a lifetime.
"A friend of yours told me this was your first time.." You smirked, leaning in so she could hear your voice over the music.
"And just what did he tell you?" Semiu spoke, finishing up the last of her drink, her golden eyes falling down your body.
"You were a little shy and needed somebody to help you out a bit.." You smiled, stepping back to study the masterpiece in front of you.
"Is that right? How do you plan on doing that?" She asked with a smirk, resting her head on hand, going to reach for her clutch.
"Come with me, I think I got something that'll loosen you up.." You teased, going back to grab her hand so you could bring her to a nearby empty couch.
"Come on right here.." You instructed, getting her to sit down so you could start your set, spreading her legs open so you could step in between them, feeling up on her thighs purposely dragging the pace near her crotch area going up her waist all the way to her neck, putting yourself onto her lap.
You held onto her rolling your hips along to the rhythm of the music, softly rubbing Semiu down before leaning into the crook of her neck arching your back so you could throw your ass on her.
The edge of her nails grazed against your skin like a needle on a record player going over the ridges of your body, feeling the ripples of your ass. You lean back to notice her eyes locked onto yours, her lips pursed into a focused look, you move your hand from her neck to cup your chest, letting them drop before pushing your tits together with your arms, grabbing her hands to put them back on your ass.
"Don't get shy now..I think you need a better look.." You smirked, hopping off of the woman so you could turn around and give her what she really wanted.
"You think I'm shy?" Semiu smiled with a tilt in her head, twirling her finger to get you to turn around to show off the poor thong suffocating between your plump ass cheeks, you took your hands to spread yourself open wiggling your thighs to make it move. You felt a flash of bills fall on your body and decided to move in a little closer, feeling a few taps on your ass from her enjoying the show. A soft golden flash of light could be seen every time you took a glance behind you, you knew the cleaners would waltz their way into clubs like this all the time so jinki usage wasn't a new thing to you, what caught you by surprise was the sudden hold Semiu had onto your body after the fact. She placed her hands onto your hips, putting you into her lap while you continued to rub your body against her, starting a steady pace.
"You don't feel so nervous no more…" You said biting your lip from how good your ass felt pressed up against what you thought was a bulge but it was just from her pushing her hips up into like she had one. You had to keep your hormones at a steady level or you'd give it all away before you make an offer to the diamond rooms!
"But you do.." She whispered back, dragging her sharp stiletto nails up your thigh, grabbing at your hips to position you on her thigh, moving you back and forth.
“I’ve seen what you can really do, stop hiding from me…” She whispered, sliding the bill into your thong, giving you the signal that she wanted a more private experience with you. The way your clit grazed against her leg made your thighs tense up , it wasn't a rare thing for you to have good looking clients, but it was against the policy to sleep with them! You were supposed to be selling fantasy, not give up the whole story!
How could you focus with her hands finding every hot spot like a perfect GPS, how her soft hums of approval drove you over the edge, she smelled expensive, and every whiff of her scent made your cunt tremble in anticipation, all you could think about is how smooth her lips would felt sliding across your cunt. If that didn't give it away the obvious wet spot forming on that tiny thong revealed your true intentions but Semiu figured this out already.
Getting up from your new favorite seat, You took her hand to pull her away from the noise down a narrow hallway with rooms only on the left hand side, you pushed past an empty door into a low lit room with mirrors covering the entire room, the low color of yellow emitting underneath the couch with a pole in the middle of the room.
In an ice bucket sat a bottle of tequila to which Semiu had to indulge in, opening the bottle smoothly, she grabbed a glass and poured herself a hefty shot.
"Now come here and show me how you really make your money.." Semiu spoke, calling you over with a finger sending a sharp shiver down your spine.
You took this as a challenge, walking back over to the couch to stand in front of them, slipping those pretty tits out of the fishnets, slowly peeling the ensemble off of your smooth skin, dropping it to the floor.
The rooms had their own music separated from the main floor, giving the atmosphere a more sensual touch allowing you to move your body the way you wanted.
"Mhmm..the thong too.." She hummed, taking another sip.
You obeyed her commands by tugging them down to your ass, letting the string sit on your ass so you could turn around to show off your leaking cunt. You made sure to bend over directly in front of her, listening to the slight squelch coming from your pussy lips squeezing together, the sight made Semiu's cunt quiver.
She adjusted her hips up before taking her hand to slide her fingers in between your slick mess while you shook your ass, causing your eyes to widen from how easily she found your clit.
You gasped softly lifting up to turn around quick to grab her hand, an instinct to have with anyone getting too touchy in the club.
"We have strict rules at the Honey Factory baby..you gotta watch those hands.."
"You gon watch em for me?" She asked, carefully moving her hand towards your cunt, taking her fingers to toy with you clit once more. "I know that camera right there can't see what I'm doing..you said you were gonna help me relax right?" You couldn't do anything but glide your hips on her fingers, feeling her slip two digits inside your needy pussy.
"Keep your eyes on me love..keep moving.." She instructed.
She was so slick, just hearing her talk made you leak more onto her fingers, she must've caught on by the way she pumped into you slightly allowing you to do most of the work. She took her other hand to place it in the safe spot of your hips, guiding you at a steadier pace letting her nails poke your skin.
"Just like that baby..I like how she holding onto me.." She smiled, looking down at your cunt swallow her digits over and over again, biting her lip listening to your soft whimpers trying to cover her moans with her hand, moving your body to keep up the facade of just a simple lap dance.
Your pussy twitched from the way her fingers drug against your walls, your hips wanted to pick up the pace oh so badly but then you'd be riding her right in front of the camera!
The ball building inside of your stomach was growing to a point where you were about to ignore the consequences, you were almost at the top before she pulled out of you to get a taste of what she was in for tonight, sucking her finger off slowly.
"This is relaxing to you? Playing with a stripper's pussy?" You taunted, removing your knees from the couch to step the other side of the room, hitting the camera's blind spot by sitting on end of the couch.
You called Semiu over with a 'come here' motion with your finger, eyeing the woman as she made her way over to you, sitting back down while you knelt back to the ground, crawling to her spread legs to grab at her pants, pulling them down along with the thong soaked in Semiu's juices.
While you worked on her lower half, she unbuttoned the rest of her shirt letting her chest spring free, those perky nipples just begging to be touched.
Your hands found their way to Semiu's inner thigh before you felt your face being shoved deep into her hot slit, burning your tongue in the best way. You drug your lips up and down her slimy folds, sucking in her puffy clit with your lips, popping it back out just to do it again.
"I knew that pretty mouth could do something.." She hummed, feeling you stick out your tongue so she could use your face as her personal sex toy, the wet muscle rubbing her clit just the way she liked it.
You moaned in response, moving your head around in circles to spread her mess all over your face, Semiu's breaths quickened as she took those hardened buds into her fingers, kneading and cupping her breasts to hit that spot forming in her lower stomach.
Her soft moans made your cunt drip in excitement which made you reach under to rub tiny circles onto your needy little clit, letting your moans vibrate onto Semiu's hot pussy.
"That's how you gon get me to relax? Hmm? Oh fuck I'm gonna cum all over this pretty face…" She slurred, pushing her hips up into your mouth. You started a sloppy make out with Semiu's swollen pussy lips, making sure you kept your tongue in the middle licking her quivering hole every time it asked for attention.
Your dripping folds tighten around nothing as your fingers picked up the pace right along with your tongue lapping at Semiu's creamy pussy, the way you tongue fucked her left white stains all around your mouth, and you even pause to take some of her slick to rub it on your cunt, purposely pausing to edge yourself.
"Ohhh shhhitttt!" She moaned softly, a soft stream of her cum covering your plump lips. Semiu wanted to see what the mixture tasted like so she took it upon herself to grab you up by the chin so she could slide her tongue inside, figuring out what was so addicting about her flavor.
Your tongue danced around hers while your hands dropped down to her tits, you held them up in your hands before pinching at them, whimpering softly into Semiu's mouth.
She broke it up to leave a nasty line of saliva from the both of you, going back in so you could start sucking on her tongue, by intinct you were trying to get back into her lap but this time, she pulled away from your lips to turn you around, sitting your bare ass against her skin.
"I hope yo nasty ass get caught.." You groaned with a giggle, pushing your hips back to brush up on her cunt.
"You want somebody to watch me play with this pussy that bad?" She whispered near the shell of your ear, sending icy cold chills down your spine only aiding to the pulsing sensation in between your thighs.
You felt the woman snake her hand around your body to reach that desperate clit using the pad of her fingers to roll circles on the puffy clit using her free hand to hold on to your throat, keeping you right where she wanted you.
“Ouu fuck do you hear that?”
“I hear you messing around with my pussy..” You groaned back, wriggling your hips as Semiu finally pushed two digits past that tight barrier hitting that spongy spot hidden deep inside. “Semiu!”
“Say it again for me baby..who you helping out tonight?”
“Fuck..Semiu..” You replied, taking your hand to cover hers, feeling her thrust her fingers inside.
“Mhmm..right on these nails..”
“On them fucking nails..Oh fuck ..fuck..f—.” Your words were muffled by Semiu putting her hand over your mouth as she slipped her fingers out of her cunt, rubbing your clit slide to side before playing with swollen bud in between her fingers.
"I'm cumminggg…I'm cummming!!" You cried out to her, releasing a heavy stream all over her fingers, the couch and nearly some on the floor. She continued to rub the poor throbbing cunt, occasionally pausing to lay more smacks, soothing it by sliding your clit along with her fingers.
Semiu still wasn't satisfied, no she had to know what it felt like to cum on your clit, the pure thought of you riding her pussy sending her body into overdrive. It was more than a fix, it was more than taking a break, she had a craving she couldn't kill.
Slowing your movements down, she tapped on your outer thing signaling you to get up so she could position herself laying on the couch cushions, kicking her leg up on the back of the chair while her other one rested on the ground, you fit yourself right in like a puzzle piece, lining your cunt up with hers.
“You’re so fucking wet..” You whispered, rolling your cunts past each other over and over again, the warm feelings of your soaked pussy gliding back and forth.
“I didnt tell you to stop moving back, shake that ass on this fat clit..” She swore, laying a heavy swat on your ass, her eyes never leaving your cheeks as you followed your command, feeling Semiu help you with your hips.
“I wanna squirt all over this pussy..fuck..”
The sticky mixture of both of your juices left lines appearing with every bounce, every time her cunt grazed up against your hungry pussy made your body sending shots of ecstasy pouring through your veins.
“I’m gone keep my promise...” You babbled
“Keep it for me baby..”
“Ouu fuck i’m gonna keep it..keep..mhmm..lemme ride this pussy..”
Semiu reached her arm up to play with your breasts shortly before wrapping her fingers around your throat, bucking her hips up to match your speed. Her eyes were focused on the creamy sight the both of you were making, biting backs moans with each thrust.
You held onto her leg humping her slimy cunt as your clits swirled around, your ass clapped together with each bounce while you practically got yourself off with her cunt.
“I feel that pussy throbbing for me..keep that fucking promise..” She spat, gripping your skin hard enough to leave nails marks.
The scene was almost pornographic, like the pictures she would gawk at during her downtime. She was putting herself into a Porn stars shoes by the way she was rolling her hips into you.
It wasn’t long before a nasty shot of cum came splashing out, coating both you and Semiu’s thighs and the couch underneath you with that sloppy mess, but the both of you couldn’t stop.
“Nooo..Nooo don’t move..this shit feels so good...”
“You don’t have to stop..you don’t have to hide that pussy from me..let me clean it up for you..”
She hummed, pushing you off of her drenched cunt, leaning your body on your back so she could spread your pink folds wide with her fingers.
"You're right I did make a mess didn't I? You have to excuse my manners..." She smirked, laying her tongue right on that sensitive clit still throbbing at her.
"So relaxing ain't it?'
When I tell you Miss Semiu..you've really outdone yourself!! It's something about this woman that makes my two heartbeats wanna fight!!! I'm so glad to be back in the playhouse, I've missed yall just as much as yall have missed me, trust i've seen your filthy requests ,,.Corvus is lurking round him somewhere..I hope he isn't too upset...hehehe
synopsis: everyone loves to tell you how lucky you are a guy like Nanami sees something in you. even you don't get it sometimes. intelligent. handsome. the kind of gentleman who opens every door for you and gets flowers delivered just because. you never would've guessed what kind of double life he might be hiding. or how far he'll go to keep his squeaky clean cover story - and you.
pairing: serial killer!Nanami x gf!Reader
content: mdni, angst, light fluff, smut, mentions of murder/blood, multiple povs, childhood friends-to-lovers, distant/cold nanami, lonely reader, insecurities, jealousy, unhinged nanami, unprotected piv sex, pulling out, breaking and making up, domestic fluff, sukuna being a nosey shit lmfao, flirting, regret, grovelling, complicated relationships, more tags in each chapter
chapter index
one: vows
two: vulgarities
three: rings
four: wrongs
five: in sickness
six: and health
comment to be tagged <3
a/n: everyone say thank you to @starmapz for encouraging this
MDNI, f! reader, she/her pronouns used, wc: 3.3k, flashback of how you met (1st part of the fic, past tense used, then we jump back to present, divider used to separate the two timelines. both take place on his birthday btw), suguru makes an appearance (as satoru’s wingman :3), established relationship (you’re married & have a daughter), reader wears a dress, first time face sitting + riding (oral, f! receiving), pet names (baby, my love), he cums in his pants, breeding implied at the end (sort of, to avoid spoilers)
a/n: happy birthday to my biggest mental illness ♡
side note: if the story of how you met sounds familiar to you, please note that it was from one of my talk posts from a while ago & i decided to make use of it : )
what gojo satoru wants — he always gets.
after all, it’s how he made you his as well.
“satoru, you’re staring way too hard at her”, suguru nudged him on the arm.
“think she noticed, too?”, satoru chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck, ears turning slightly red from embarrassment, unsure if it was because he got caught or that it was too obvious he was checking you out.
“very likely. i mean, it’s hard not to notice an annoying pair of blue laser beams persistently invading your space”, suguru mocked. “are you going to talk to her?”
“yes”, satoru firmly replied, without peeling his eyes from you, “i’ll ask her out, i think”
“hey, hey. slow down there”
“nope”, satoru shrugged, almost like a stubborn child disobeying his parent, “i’ve made up my mind — i really want to make her mine”
it was a pure coincidence, or some might say fate, that you ended up in the same restaurant — he was there celebrating his birthday with a small circle of friends while you were present to honor your colleague that had just gotten a promotion at work.
satoru’s eyes relentlessly followed your every move, every gesture, from the moment you walked in and settled on the table next to his. it was rather unusual for him to be this interested in someone simply upon sight, in fact, even desiring to pursue something with someone so immediately. it was always the other way around — women would flock to him because of his looks and peculiar behavior, and of course — his money — but he would turn them down without batting an eye. love and seeking romance were never a priority for him, he did not have time nor any interest in them. but here he was, contradicting himself, being blatantly distracted by your presence while somehow trying to simulate an active conversation with his friends, more than frequently averting his gaze to look at you, his brain busy coming up with a plan to get your number by the end of the night.
it didn’t take him too long to finally make his move. he stood up from his chair and walked over to your table, stopping right behind your seat.
“excuse me”, he leaned in, placing one hand at the edge of the table and the other — at the back of your chair, “hello”, his face mere inches away from yours. taken aback by the way he, a complete stranger, had the guts to get this close to you, you turned to face him with a questioning look.
“i felt like i would regret it for the rest of my life if i didn’t come say hi to you”, he spoke.
truth be told, despite being astounded and a bit put off by his approach, you were slightly intrigued. he was handsome, pretty even — like that one oddly eye-catching cloud in a sky full of thousands that you notice as soon as you look up. the white henley shirt he was wearing made the blue in his eyes pop even more, the v-neck revealing a little bit of his well-crafted chest, just enough to leave you tiny bit wondering about the ridges of his abs beneath.
as much as the scenery up close made your cheeks feel hot, his boldness rubbed you up the wrong way, too much to let it just slide, and you snapped. “is that so? well, now that you’ve said your hi, you can go back to your table and live with no regrets for the rest of your life”, you rolled your eyes skeptically, pushing his hand off the table.
“oh, i am sorry”, he chuckled, brushing his hair back with a hand, “but there are three more things i need to do before leaving, i’m afraid”
you raised an eyebrow, questioning.
“first, let me introduce myself — i am gojo satoru, also known as the man to be your boyfriend, then your husband, and then the father of your children”, he smugly said. your eyes widening at the audacity of his declaration that left you at a loss for words. “second, i hope you don’t mind introducing yourself as well — as you are to be my girlfriend, then my wife, and then the mother of my children — it’s only natural that i know your name”, he continued, “and last but not least — i am not leaving until you give me your number so we can make this all work”
wow. this man was really fucked in the head, you were sure of it — who in the right mind would speak such nonsense to someone they just met? “you have to be joking, right?”, you laughed in genuine disbelief.
“no. i am dead serious”, he replied in a heartbeat.
“is this your move? you pull this on everyone you find remotely attractive?”, you narrowed your eyes.
“actually—”, suguru interrupted, placing a hand on satoru’s shoulder as he approached from behind, “no”, he spoke. “believe me when i tell you this — he’s never been this smooth in his entire life. i know he probably came off a bit creepy, considering the boldness of his actions — hell, even i am creeped out because it’s pretty unusual for him to act like this”, he laughed, glancing at satoru to let him know that he got his back on this. “but, what i’m trying to say is — my friend here seems to really like you as i’ve never seen him be so intense and interested in anyone before. he’s also a birthday boy today — so could you at least give him a chance before turning him down so quickly? you can come sit with us before you make up your mind on whether you want to give him your number or not?”
you thought for a second, weighing the options in your mind — he was pretty, although he annoyed you a little bit by being all bossy and arrogant as if you were compelled to belong to him just because he said so. but there was just something about him you couldn’t quite put your finger on that made you question yourself. were you actually drawn to him? you could say “no” and never hear from him again, occasionally pondering over the what-if’s and should-have’s from this night; or you could say “fuck it” and see where this strange encounter goes, and live your life without regrets — as he would say. there — he was already getting under your skin…
“well”, you sighed, “guess i’m down for that”
by the end of the night not only did you give him your number, but also a promise for a date the next day — the first of many to follow after.
“careful, you’ll wake her up”, you whisper, leaning against the doorframe of your 3-year old’s room and watching your husband place a soft peck on your daughter’s forehead.
“can’t help it”, he speaks quietly, “she looks like an angel”, before fixing the blankets around her, making sure she’s tucked in all cozily. “the nanny said she cried for papa while we were gone”, he puts a hand over his mouth to stop his lips from trembling, his eyes filled with nothing but love and tenderness, welling up and flowing from the corners.
“she’s such a daddy’s girl”, you sigh, a soft smile present on your face, “next year we can stay home and invite everyone else over — that way we won’t have to worry about missing her bedtime”.
“yea”, he hums, “let’s do that next year”, giving her one last kiss before turning off the night lamp and tiptoeing to you. “come on”, he puts a hand at the small of your back as you both walk out of the room.
“do you remember”, satoru speaks softly into your ear while walking behind you on your way to your shared bedroom, his front flat against your back, the hand at the small of it now circling around to rest over your navel, while the other — reaches for the handle of your bedroom door to push it open, “the night we first met on my birthday?”, he continues after carefully guiding you inside.
you stop in the middle of the room, his arms still wrapped around you from behind, your hands resting over his and playing with his knuckles.
“how can i not?” you chuckle, tilting your head back to let him rest his chin on your forehead, “that was one hell of a fortune telling you pulled on me back then”
“but i was right, no?”, he brushes his lips on your forehead before leaving a soft peck, “see — you’re all mine now, just like i said”, and then another, ”i made you my girlfriend first”, and another, “then i gave you my last name”, and a fourth one, “and then you gave me a beautiful daughter, made me a father”, before turning you around to face him.
“you partly owe it to suguru though — he eased me into the situation, unlike you”, you reply, humbling him like you always do. your head is nestled on his broad chest as one of his hands caress the back of it. still in his embrace, he slowly walks you towards the bed. sits at the edge of it and straddles you on his lap. his palms finding their way to the plush of your thighs draped over his, caressing them tenderly but needily as his fingertips press and then release against your flesh in quick repetitive motions.
“this is because i asked him to give me a hand in case you cut me off”, he admits, tilting his head to meet your lips, not to kiss but just to keep them brushing against each other as you speak. he loved doing this a lot.
“oh?”, you gasp into his mouth, pretending to be shocked to your core, “you wanted me so much that you of all people, the gojo satoru, had to ask someone else for help?”
“you have no idea. if that hadn’t worked, i would’ve fallen on my hands and knees and begged you to take me”, one of his hands reaching the side of your face, playing his fingers on the strands of your hair covering your cheek before tucking them behind your ear.
“hmm”, you doubt, “is that so?”, nuzzling your nose against his.
“mhmm”, he nods, “there’s nothing i wouldn’t do for you, i thought you knew that by now. it kind of hurts my feelings that you doubt me actually”, he acts offended, pursing his lips and turning his head to the side to face away from you.
“oh my, what have i done now”, you knit your brows and press your cheek against his, pretending to be very, very sorry about what you just said.
“you made the birthday boy sad”, he huffs a silly, somehow obviously forced, pout, “you’ve got to make it up to me somehow”
“i’d do anything to make the birthday boy smile again — just say the word”, you sweetly pamper, patting the top of his head.
“really?”
“really.”
“anything?”
“anything.”
“you promise not to go back on your word?”
“i promise.”
he pulls his cheek away from yours and looks you in the eyes, the blue in his shining with a darker shade of mischief now. and considering the smug smile on his face, you sigh — perhaps you just got yourself played, falling face down into his little trap.
“then”, he points at his own face, “sit on it”
to say you were surprised by his request would be a lie. he’s many times tried coaxing you into doing this in the past but somehow you managed to avoid it, part of you still shying away from it. it’s not like his tongue has never been inside you before. but riding it as if it were his cock seemed way more obscene in your head than anything you two have ever done previously — and you’ve done pretty much a lot.
“well”, you sigh in defeat, seems like the time has finally come, “today’s your lucky day”, you say as you get up from his lap and turn your back — a signal for him to unzip your dress — to which, of course, he immediately complies.
“as it should be”, his crafty fingers work the slider down, slowly peeling the dress off your body and letting it fall on the floor, followed by your lace thong and bra, “it’s my birthday after all”
“the way you always find a way to make things go your way gets on my nerves so much”, you turn around again and push him on the bed and slowly climb on top of him to straddle his chest.
“make a wish before you blow the candle”, you look down at him, your pussy close to his face, the scent of you tickling his nostrils, and he, instinctively almost, takes a deeper breath, rolling his eyes back and hissing with delight.
“freak”, you quickly look away, embarrassed, but he cups your cheeks, forcing you to look at him again, “i want you to look at me as you ride my face”, his voice comes out breathy, “will you do that for the birthday boy?”
you nod into his palms, “you’re insufferable” — “suffocate me then”, he coos through a grin, grabbing your knees to pull you forward until you’re above his face.
“jerk”, you say, but softly, as you lower your cunt on his willing mouth, landing your softness on his face in slow motion, immediately earning a throaty groan from him that shudders through your pussy lips.
satoru breathes deeply in and out with your heat on his mouth, the scent of you hitting his lungs and even below, reaching all the way down to his groin to further nurture his cock already throbbing in his slacks. his hand reaching down to unbuckle them slightly, to give more space for his hard-on to grow freely.
“mowe”, he muffles incoherently into your pussy, grabbing a handful of your ass cheeks to push you against his face, tilting his head up and down, jutting his jaw up and out to meet you.
you whimper at the friction, your clit bumping and rubbing against his nose as his lips are kissing your folds, his tongue slowly poking at your entrance with the tip before darting in — twirling around your walls — and out.
“nghh…s-sa-t-to—”, you barely cry out his name, tugging at his hair, mercilessly pulling him into your heat. as much as you hated to admit it, you loved this position. your embarrassment long gone and forgotten, you ride his face in a haze, your pussy getting wetter against his mouth and your movements — faster and harder each moment.
“heawen on my fongwue”, he groans. if he could speak properly right now, he would probably make the nastiest, dirtiest remarks, shamelessly walk you through every single thing he was feeling as you rocked your hips back and forth, grinding on his face. he would probably say something about your boobs, too. how they looked so pretty jiggling ever so slightly from the movement. he can’t speak right now, yes, but he can still get his thoughts reach you through actions — his hands run along your belly, gripping your breasts from below, squeezing and squishing them inside of his palms.
you clutch his hands with yours, “i can’t hold this position for too long”, and force them down on your hips for support. you hear him say something through a loud groan but it’s barely recognizable — most likely just him cursing “fuck” and “baby” from pleasure under your pussy, but also from the ego boost you just gave him — that he can make you weak but at the same time desperate enough to want to continue — despite your hips giving up — not only with his cock but his mouth alone, too.
you let him take over as you chase your high, weighing on his face as his hands grip on your hips, dictating your every move, composing the tune of your hips. his tongue is no more sliding in and out as he makes you grind harder on his face — it stays in, continuously licking your sweet spot clean.
“f-fuck, fuck, fuck…”, you curse loudly, reaching your hands to grab the head of the bed and hammer your pussy harder into his face, squeezing every last drop of strength left in your already cramping muscles until you cum, shuddering on his mouth.
“mfff”, he groans throatily into your hole, sucking and slurping your juices. his hips buck in the air, helplessly searching for friction to soothe his aching cock. his half-unbuckled pants are drenched with precum, leaking out from his tip through his boxers and out through the cloth of his pants, visibly staining them.
you can’t see but it’s easy to figure out from the way the bed bounces up and down as his ass meets the mattress after every time his hips fall down. “how cute”, you utter as you try to calm down your breathing, cunt still resting over his face.
his eyes are half closed, rolling back and hiding their blue away. all he needs is a little push, a little rub, you know it. you know it by the way his tongue has stopped moving inside you, by the way his hands have loosened the grip on your flesh, by the way his shortened moans have grown into one long and steady groan coming from the bottom of his throat — his entire brain solely focused on the muscles of his lower body that is searching, almost beggingly, for relief.
you lean your upper body back a little, just enough to make it easier to reach his shaft while still sitting on his face. “since you’re the birthday boy”, you drag your words out as you place your hand on his clothed cock, feeling the wetness that’s emerged from beneath against your palm, “i’ll give you a hand.”
his ass cheeks tense and squeeze as he presses his hips against your touch, ferociously rubbing his clothed cock on the flesh of your open palm. his groans get louder as he bucks his hips under your hand, pushing them up to meet your hand harder and faster each time — just the way he forces his cock into your tight cunt as he nears — until the last three thrusts that he always prolongs in order to properly and completely pump his seed out.
the inside of your hand feels hot against his clothed cock as he seeps himself out, the stickiness of his cum absorbing itself into the material of his pants and emerging through it to reach the skin of your palm.
you lift yourself up a little only to plop your body down next to his. his mouth, cheeks, chin, even his nose, are covered in his spit and your cum, all mixed in.
“shit, baby”, he laughs, breathing deeply in and out of his mouth, overwhelmed by the whole experience, “what the hell did you just do to me”
“do you really need me to verbalize what just happened”
“yes”
“no”, you slap his cheek with the back of your hand, softly, before rolling on your side to rest your head on the left side of his chest, kissing it tenderly. “happy birthday”
“it really is”, he whispers, tracing a heart shape over the skin of your exposed cheek with his fingertip, “with you, it always is”
“did your wish come true by any chance?”, you tilt your head to look at him.
“not yet. but i’ll work on it later tonight. for now, i’ll let you catch your breath”
“wait, wait.”, you raise a brow, “what’s that supposed to mean?”
“my love”, he clears his throat, “do you remember how i said, when we first met, that you’d be the mother of my children?”
━━━ synopsis: fate has a strange way of birthing love. you married gojo satoru to stay close to his father — an arranged union built to conceal a scandalous affair. but somewhere between the lies and the silence, another secret began to stir quietly in your chest. one that did not belong to his father at all.
━━━ content warning: MDNI, fem! reader (she/her), arranged marriage, affair, infidelity, love triangle, age gap (late 50s vs late 20s/early 30s), reader’s age isn’t necessarily specified but she’s written with late 20s/early30s in mind, unreliable narrator, original characters (satoru’s parents: gojo akihito & gojo saori), falling in love, sexual themes but no explicit content, alcohol consumption in a few scenes, reader is drunk in one scene, flashbacks, character death, murder, twists, there’s a specific fire scene that is heavily inspired by the manhwa “betrayal of dignity”, pregnancy, angst with a happy ending, ask to tag if something triggering is missing
━━━ pairing: gojo satoru x fem! reader ; gojo akihito (oc) x fem! reader
━━━ word count: 20k+ (…idk what happened there tbh)
━━━ author’s note: hello guys! this is the idea i first mentioned back in october and it’s finally coming to life! it’s the longest thing i’ve ever written so please be gentle and kind — to me, to the story, and to reader. i did my best to proofread while editing but apologies in advance for any typos, inconsistencies or mistakes that might’ve slipped through! i hope you enjoy the read ♡
Love can make you do crazy things.
Sometimes it’s a silly behavior that you exhibit, one that isn’t akin to your usual self, one that makes you a bit of a fool.
You find yourself taking detours to “accidentally” bump into someone. Your heart races at the sight of them, and you disguise your longing behind an awkward ‘What a coincidence!’, but what you really mean is ‘I really wanted to see you! I couldn’t stay away.’ It’s harmless — charming, even.
But what happens when love blooms where it shouldn’t? When it takes root in poisoned soil, nurtured by secrecy and betrayal — can it still be called innocent? When the heart wants what it shouldn’t, when desire threatens to unravel lives and twist fates — is it still harmless? Still endearing?
No. The fool knows better — but doesn’t care.
Blinded by love, reason is cast aside. Judgment dulls. Morality slips through desperate fingers. The choices no longer belong to conscience; they belong to longing.
Science says that falling in love mimics a drug high — dopamine rushes, rational thought hijacked, impulse overrides consequence. You become addicted. You crave. And in that craving, you’d do anything to have it. No matter the cost.
--
The air in the room is thick. With the windows shut, the scent of sex lingers — trapped between the four walls of the hotel room, clinging to your skin and his. Your bodies lie tangled, worn out and still close.
“Nobody saw you come in, right?” the whitehaired man beside you breaks the silence, voice low but tender. His breathing has steadied, back to its usual calm rhythm.
You tilt your head, cheek still pressed against his damp chest. His hand, which had been trailing lazily along your bare back, moves up to cradle your neck — gentle, almost instinctive. Like he’s trying to spare you any discomfort, even now. It makes you smile, the way he always trembles for you.
“No, no one saw me”, you murmur. “It’s not like this is the first time.”
“It’s the first time since you got married”, he replies, his tone quieter, more guarded.
“Is this why you’re so tense?” you let out a feeble laugh. “Nothing’s changed, really — except now we’re both married...” the smile on your lips slowly fades. Your lips part, more words caught behind them.
...not to each other though — you want to say, but you don’t. You don’t want to break the moment. It’s been too long since you last had this.
“Actually”, he trails off, reaching for the pack of cigarettes on the nightstand.
At times like this, you’re reminded, again, how large he is. He barely shifts beneath you, just stretches one arm to grab the pack, the other still wrapped around your waist. He lights a cigarette with practiced ease, tucks it between his lips, and inhales deeply.
“There’s one thing that has changed”, he says, smoke curling from his mouth.
“Oh?”
“I see you every day now.”
A faint smile touches his lips, softening his blue eyes. He kisses the top of your head, gaze lingering on you.
That’s right. You do see each other every day now. It’s the consequence of living under the same roof.
“But even so, moments like this... they’ve become rare. That bothers me.”
The warmth leaves his voice. His eyes grow distant, pale and cold. “Seems like he is keeping you too busy. Maybe he’s starting to like you.” he speaks in a dull voice.
“You think so?”
“He’s around the house more, with you. He used to be gone all the time. That wasn’t supposed to happen.” His tone hardens. “He wasn’t supposed to act like this.”
You let out a dry, uneasy chuckle. “Maybe he’s taking after you. Maybe I bewitched him... just like I bewitched you.”
You don’t mean it. It’s just a tease, but the words land wrong.
“Don’t joke about it”, he mutters, exhaling sharply. His brows furrow, tension creeping back into his features. “That’d be... problematic.”
The man beside you is Gojo Akihito — your lover. The former head of the Gojo Clan. He is also the father of your husband. The current head of the clan — Gojo Satoru.
...you only meant to lighten the mood. But just like his plan —
It’s not working.
--
Rumor has it: The clan head, Gojo Satoru, is completely enamored with his wife.
It has become the talk of the mansion.
“Did you see”, one maid whispers, nudging her colleague as they set the long dining table. “He brought her flowers, again.”
“That’s nothing”, another chimes in, lowering her voice. “The other day he asked me how to make omurice. Said he wanted to learn it properly.”
The first two maids lean in, wide-eyed. “And? What happened?”
“I went into the kitchen early next morning”, she continues with a conspiratorial grin, “And there he was. Apron and everything. Cooking omurice from scratch. Said it was for his wife. Even served it on a fancy plate — with flowers from the garden. I think he picked them himself.”
The maids collectively gasp, hands covering mouths, eyes sparkling.
“He’s completely smitten”, one sighs, nearly swooning. “I heard he turned down every arranged match before her — didn’t even consider them. Then out of nowhere, he agrees to this one without a second thought.”
“At first, I figured he just caved from the pressure”, another adds. “You know how the elders kept pushing. I thought he married her to shut them up.”
“But now? Look at him. That’s not obligation. That’s a man in love.”
A round of dreamy sighs circles the table.
“Remember how he used to show up maybe once every couple of months? Only if something serious needed his attention?”
“Now we see him every day”, one nods. “And if he’s not home, it feels... weird.”
“He always comes back”, says another. “No matter how late. And the first thing he does is go see her.”
“That’s not all”, the first maid says, lowering her voice even more. “The other day, he came home with a wound.”
“No way. Him?” one of the others gasps. “He’s untouchable — who even got close enough to land a hit?”
“Exactly. And do you know what he did? He let her clean him up. She asked for the first aid kit, and he just... smiled. The whole time. Like it didn’t hurt at all.”
A chorus of quiet squeals follows, full of awe and disbelief.
“He let himself be struck just so she’d fuss over him?” one whispers, covering her mouth. “God, he’s hopeless.”
But before the fantasy could grow any richer, a sharp voice cuts through the air.
“If you’re done gossiping”, Akihito says coolly from the doorway, “Perhaps you could focus on the work you’re actually being paid to do. Call everyone when dinner is ready.”
The maids freeze, spines straightening, heads bowing in rapid succession. “Y-yes, sir. Our apologies.”
Akihito didn’t linger. He didn’t need to.
It wasn’t their chatter that irritated him. It was what they were whispering about. What they were seeing — what he couldn’t ignore. That’s what got under his skin.
--
“Good evening, wife.”
You blink at the mirror just as a bouquet of forget-me-nots is gently laid in front of you on the vanity. Satoru leans in behind you, his reflection appearing over your shoulder, smiling. “You look beautiful, as always.” he murmurs against your ear.
You shift slightly in your chair, but his hands land softly on your shoulders, holding you in place — not forcefully, but firmly enough to suggest he’s not letting you leave just yet.
“Want me to brush your hair?”
You sigh and meet his eyes in the mirror. “I can do it myself.”
“I know”, he says smoothly. “But I want to.”
Persistent. That’s one thing you’ve learned about him in the month you’ve been married — Satoru always gets what he wants. If you said no now, you wouldn’t put it past him to slip gum into your hair just so you’d have to ask for help.
Just like he did with your slippers.
He wanted to put them on for you one morning — for no reason other than his own mischief, you’re sure — but you refused. Later, fresh out of the shower, they were gone. All of them. Every pair. Oh no, we’re out of slippers! Guess I’ll just carry you — he said with that shameless grin of his. And he did. Said the floor was too cold. Couldn’t let his wife get sick, after all. He carried you around the house all morning. Then, right before leaving to run some errands together, he knelt, slipped your shoes on like some smug prince, and you let him — half amused, half annoyed.
The bastard always wins.
“Fine”, you relent now, sitting back.
“Don’t worry”, he says, picking up the brush. “I’ll be gentle.”
So far, nothing about this marriage has matched what Akihito told you. It was supposed to be nothing more than a formality. He reassured you countless times that his son would not even glance at you — let alone lay a hand on you; that you would probably just see him just once, on your wedding day, and that would be the end of it. But so far, Akihito was wrong about everything.
He’s never home, huh? — You see him every day.
He won’t touch you, huh? — Then why does he look for every excuse to be close? Going as far as to get himself injured on purpose and come back without healing himself so you’ll tend to him... Why does he always find a reason to touch your arm, your hand, your back? Why... Maybe, he wants to get in your pants? That must be it... right? Why else would he try so hard to make things work? It’s not like you two married out of love. You could’ve just quietly existed as his wife on paper; he certainly doesn’t have to bother making you an actual part of his life.
Sure, he is a huge tease. But it’s not the annoying kind. It’s... disarming. You hate to admit it, but there’s something about him. A pull. A quiet magnetism that makes you want to lean in instead of pull away. And sometimes, you forget — forget why you came to be his wife in the first place, that this was never meant to be more than convenience serving the purposes of a scandalous affair.
Until you remember. Until you look at him and see shadows of Akihito — the resemblance too striking to ignore. A younger version of the man who changed everything for you.
You sigh, unable to keep your thoughts from wandering.
“Did I hurt you?”, Satoru asks, suddenly pausing mid-stroke.
You glance at his reflection. For just a second, there’s something soft in his expression. Worry. “No”, you say. “Just thinking.”
“About?”
He continues brushing, careful not to let the bristles graze your skin. Instead, his hand absorbs the pressure — the motion surprisingly tender. Then his hand drops. Light fingertips brush your neck. Two fingers lift your chin, tilting your head back until your eyes meet. “Thinking about someone else while I’m this close to you?” he asks, brows furrowed. His tone is calm, but the edge in it isn’t playful. It’s sharp. Serious.
“Jealous?” you smirk, trying to deflect.
He places the brush down and leans in. His head hovering over yours. There’s barely any distance left. When you both breathe out a veil of warm air falls and fills the tiny gap left between your faces. “Very”, he says quietly, his face deprived of the usual grin. “Makes me want to do terrible things to the man in your thoughts.” He’s not joking. Not even a little.
“I was thinking about you, actually”, you reply. It’s not technically a lie.
Not accustomed to such intimate closeness with him, heat starts to spread across your cheeks, your heartbeat acting peculiarly too. The nearness is too much. You share a bed, yes — but neither of you has ever dared cross the middle. Not yet. Why beat so fast suddenly, heart? Must be the fact he’s looming over you like this that is making you uncomfortable. Trying to break the tension, you joke. “If you’re planning on doing terrible things to yourself, make sure you don’t die. I’d hate to be widowed so young.”
His expression falters. For a second, you see it — genuine surprise. It’s satisfying. He blinks, once, twice, head pulling back slightly, fingers at your jaw trembling with something unspoken. But it doesn’t last. He recovers quickly.
A breathy laugh escapes him as he leans in again. “You were thinking about me? What, something dirty?”
You scoff. “You wish.”
“I do”, he replies instantly. “And don’t worry — you’ll get there soon enough.”
The audacity.
“What makes you so sure I’ll get there”, you shoot back. He grins, guiding your face back toward the mirror. “If you can’t see it up close...” He taps the glass. “Just look there. I’m kind of a masterpiece.”
“The only piece you are is a piece of work”, you mutter, turning your head with a huff, your hair brushing against his face. You expect a quip in return. But he goes still. Sniffs.
“Hmm... What’s that smell?” He leans closer, nose buried briefly in your hair. “I didn’t know you smoked.”
You freeze. Akihito’s cigarettes. You didn’t wash your hair after the hotel. Damn it.
“I don’t”, you reply, hoping your voice doesn’t betray you.
“You smell like cigarettes.”
“I was with a friend earlier. She smokes. Maybe that’s why.” you lie.
Satoru watches you carefully through the mirror. “Good. You shouldn’t smoke”, he says at last, straightening up. “My wife has to live a long life. With me.” A smile tugs at his lips. A playful smirk, back to normal.
You try to summon a sharp retort. Something clever. But all you manage is a tight, fake smile as your heart thunders in your chest. You were almost caught.
Then—
Knock-knock.
“Dinner is ready, sir. Madam.” one of the maids calls from outside.
“Hai-hai~”, Satoru casually yells out. “We’ll be down in a minute.”
--
The dining room is too quiet. The kind of quiet that isn’t peace, but tension — stretched thin between the four people who sit on the table. It makes the softest sounds feel sharp. Or maybe it’s just in your head, considering the situation.
It’s tradition, apparently — whenever everyone is home, meals are eaten together. Your least favorite part of the day. Understandably so, given the circumstances: you willingly put yourself here, fully aware you’d be sitting across from the woman whose husband you’re secretly sleeping with, and beside the son you’re technically cheating on — with his father.
You sit beside your husband, Satoru. Across from you, Akihito — your lover, your secret. Next to him is Saori, your lover’s wife and husband’s mother — regal and silent, her expression unreadable as always, like she’s wearing a careful mask.
No one speaks when the food is served. Just the mechanical act of eating, a silence that presses against your ribs like guilt. Your appetite has all but vanished since becoming the bride of the Gojo Clan, your stomach perpetually knotted with remorse. Sometimes even water feels repulsive. You often catch yourself wondering why you’re even doing this. Is it really love? You begin to question the choice you made, weighing it with a heaviness that never seems to lift.
Then, as always, the silence shatters. Satoru reaches over, casual as anything, and plucks a bite of greens from your plate with his chopsticks. “Yours always taste better”, he grins, dropping them in his mouth. “Must be the way you chew”, he says with a mouthful.
A small, soft laugh escapes you before you can catch it. There he goes with his silly antics again, you think. He somehow always knows how to tug you out of your head, whether you want him to or not.
Akihito’s chopsticks pause mid-motion. His eyes narrow, barely, but you feel the weight of it. “Interesting”, he says, voice low and smooth, but with a faint edge. “I thought you never touched your greens.”
Satoru doesn’t look away from you as he chews, slow and deliberate. “Tastes change.”
The air thins. You take a sip of wine to steady your hands and avoid meeting Akihito’s eyes. You can feel them — heavy, disapproving, and not very kind.
“They do”, Akihito replies after a moment, setting his chopsticks down with a soft click. “Although not always for the better.”
You want to look at him, to read what he’s really thinking — but you don’t dare. Sometimes it feels like even a glance might betray you. Especially now, as Satoru shifts slightly in his seat, angling himself subtly closer to you, as if rising to meet some unspoken challenge.
“I suppose it depends”, Satoru says lightly, the smile still playing on his lips. “Sometimes, watching someone savor something — it can spark a craving in you too.” He smiles at you then — softly — and something flutters in your chest that has no business being there. Then, he adds, with just enough weight to sharpen the air again. “But you’d know all about that, wouldn’t you, old man? How tastes change over time.”
You freeze, just for a moment. Akihito doesn’t blink. His tone stays dry, his face unreadable. “Was there a point to that?”
Satoru leans back slightly. “Just that, at your age, I’d expect you to be less surprised when people... shift.”
Across from you, Saori finally lifts her wine glass. She doesn’t drink — not yet — but she swirls the red liquid slowly, her gaze shifting from father to son like she’s watching something she’s already seen before. They clash often, you’ve noticed. Not loudly, not outright — but it’s always there. A push and pull beneath the surface, a cold war of words and glances.
Sometimes, you wonder if Satoru knows about the affair. He says things — subtle, but cutting — that make you pause, that make you think he might be more aware than he lets on. Maybe that’s why he’s pursuing you so intently — just to prove a point to his father. But then, there are moments when his gaze softens when he looks at you, when his touch lingers just a second too long. He goes out of his way every day just to be near you. And in those moments, it feels too sincere to be a game. You start to think he might actually mean it. That he’s not just chasing you out of spite — but because he truly wants you.
You reach for your own glass again, taking another sip of wine, as if it might wash away the tension thickening by the second. But it doesn't. Setting the glass back down, your hand lingers at its base. Your fingers brush against Satoru’s hand that rests on the table between you two. He doesn’t flinch. Instead, his pinky curls beneath yours — just enough to be felt, not seen. You don’t pull away. You know Akihito sees it. You feel it. The tick in his jaw is barely visible, but you notice it.
“I’ve been seeing you around way more frequently, Satoru. I hope marriage hasn’t dulled your focus”, he says, his voice smooth and pointed. “There are more important things than... comfort.”
The irony, you think. The words sound like a joke to you, coming from the same man who orchestrated your marriage just to keep you closer and see you more freely. You barely manage to swallow a scoff.
Satoru leans back in his chair, unfazed. “You’d be surprised”, he says lightly. “Sometimes comfort is the only thing keeping people from falling apart.”
“It’s rare”, Saori speaks at last, “to see affection in this house. Perhaps we shouldn’t discourage it.” Her words are gentle, kind — at least, on the surface. But they carry the weight of something unspoken, a quiet complaint from a woman who has never been loved by her husband — not in the way a lover is.
The silence that follows is anything but gentle. Her words hang in the air, delicate yet heavy, like the last note of a song no one knows how to follow. No one speaks. Not right away. You watch Akihito, wondering if he’ll respond — if he even knows how. But his expression remains unreadable, carved from habit more than emotion. Then, without looking at anyone in particular, he speaks, as if the comment never touched him at all. “I meant to tell you”, Akihito says, cutting through the quiet like a blade, “The elders requested a meeting with you tomorrow morning.”
Satoru’s glass of water stills halfway to his lips. “Can’t”, he says casually. “I’m taking my wife out.”
You blink. That’s the first you’ve heard of it.
Akihito’s expression doesn’t change, but the muscle in his jaw tightens — just once, sharply — as he exhales through his nose. “You can reschedule”, he says. “The clan elders don’t appreciate being made to wait.”
Satoru shrugs. “Neither does she.” He doesn’t even look at you when he says it, but the weight of it presses into your ribs like heat.
The silence that follows is tight, full of things no one says. Saori watches Akihito this time, her gaze sharp as cut glass. Her husband is acting odd. And she notices everything.
--
Gojo Akihito was a man carved from discipline. Now in his late fifties, he was a figure both respected and quietly feared. When he entered a room, silence followed. Backs straightened. Conversations halted. People instinctively adjusted their posture — as if simply being in his presence demanded their best. His presence was weighty, not in a menacing way, but with a gravity that commanded reverence. His name alone held power — spoken softly, carefully, like it belonged to someone who mattered more than most. And he did. Shaped by the will of the elders, Akihito had been molded into the ideal head of the Gojo Clan: composed, unwavering, and dutiful. Obedience had been stitched into his bones from childhood. He was taught not to dream, but to serve. To lead with strength and never stray from what was expected.
His path had been set before he could walk it — become strong, inherit the clan, marry a chosen wife, produce an heir. And he did. His talents bloomed early. Power came easily to him, and with it, authority. He married Saori, a woman selected by the elders, and fulfilled his role without resistance. Love was never part of the arrangement — but respect was. Even in the absence of affection, he treated her with dignity. They never became lovers — much to Saori’s quiet sorrow, for she had loved him from the very beginning. After they conceived Satoru, he never touched her again. As if it had been part of a duty — fulfilled, then forgotten.
When he stepped down and passed the title of clan head to his son, Akihito did not fade quietly into the background. His voice still carried weight, often more so than of the current leader. To many, he remained the pillar of the clan. The rock. Unmoving. Unshakeable. Dependable. But even stone erodes, given time. Even the strongest man can change. Even a rock, under enough heat — can melt.
--
Akihito wasn’t supposed to be here. The streets were too narrow, too loud, brimming with color and life in a way that felt foreign to him. He was meant to be elsewhere, at a meeting across town — another empty ritual of clan maintenance. But his driver took a wrong turn, and instead of rerouting, Akihito had stepped out, needing a walk. Needing air. Needing space from the weight that always clung to his shoulders. That’s when he saw you.
At first, it was nothing. You were just a figure in the crowd — young, distracted, smiling faintly at your phone, coffee in hand. But something about you… stopped him. You passed by without noticing him, and the moment stretched too long. Something about you felt familiar, though he couldn’t place why. A detail misplaced in time. A memory from a life he never lived. He turned — just slightly. Just enough to watch you go. You entered a nearby café tucked between cramped buildings. Small. A little worn. Too cozy, too youthful for someone like him. He should have kept walking. But he followed you inside. He told himself it was curiosity. That he needed a moment to sit, make a call, kill time. But deep down, even then, he knew. He picked a seat in the corner. Three tables away from you.
He returned the next day. And the next. It was irrational. Dangerous. He wasn’t the kind of man who indulged temptations. His life had been a masterclass in restraint — each step measured, each emotion disciplined out of existence. But you… You sat in the same spot each day, sipping a drink, sometimes reading, sometimes just staring out the window with that faraway look that seemed to see something no one else could. He wondered what you saw. He wondered what you wanted. He wondered what it would feel like to be the thing you looked at that way. And he hated himself for it.
You didn’t know who he was. You didn’t know that the man sitting a few tables away had once been the most powerful figure in one of Japan’s oldest sorcerer clans. That he had blood on his hands and responsibilities that still echoed through every inch of his life. You didn’t know that his marriage was nothing more than a political alignment. That he had followed every rule. Sacrificed every selfish urge. That he had never, in over fifty years, been in love. Not until now.
On the third day, he stopped resisting and made a decision. He stood up, walked to your table, and asked — “May I sit?”
--
Three tables. He was sitting three tables away from you — again. Just like yesterday. And the day before that. Today made the third.
You’d noticed him immediately. How could you not? Tall, impeccably dressed, white hair, broad shoulders, and unmistakably refined. You guessed he was in his fifties, but he wore it well — almost too well. Dressed in a designer suit, he looked out of place in this cozy, slightly run-down café filled with students and twenty-somethings. Yet, there he was.
Each time you stole a glance, he was gazing out the window, never once meeting your eyes. But something about him — his presence, the stillness in the way he sat, the ghost of a smile on his lips — kept drawing your attention. Maybe you were imagining things. But, perhaps, was he there… for you? Just as you started telling yourself it was all in your head, he moved. Ah, he’s leaving—
No — he wasn’t. He was walking toward you.
Your breath caught. Your eyes widened as he came to a stop at your table.
“May I sit?” he asked, voice smooth but low, as if careful not to disturb the air between you. You blinked, pulse rising. “Why here?” you asked, managing a dry smile. “There are plenty of other tables, including the one you’ve been using for the past few days.” You motioned toward his old table. “I like the view better from here,” he replied calmly, and took the seat without waiting for permission.
The view, of course, was you. He had resisted the pull for two days. But today, Gojo Akihito gave in. In his fifties, for the first time in his life — he fell in love. And for the first time… he broke a rule.
--
He didn’t touch you. Not for weeks. Not inappropriately, not even in passing. His interest was always wrapped in respect, laced with a restraint that was somehow more intoxicating than overt desire. He spoke little, but with purpose. He listened like it was sacred. Asked questions no one else had ever bothered to. You told yourself it was harmless. That you liked the attention he was giving you. That you weren’t doing anything wrong… with a married man. It’s just a connection — nothing more. But the way he looked at you… like you were something precious, something rare, he had no right to touch but desperately wanted to — it stirred something in you.
When he kissed you for the first time, it wasn’t impulse. It was quiet. Measured. Like a man saying a prayer before stepping into hell. And you let him. After that, the pretense faded. You started meeting behind closed doors…
You were in love, yes. Or maybe, looking back now, you only thought you were. Not the way he was. You were free, while Akihito was chained to a life he could never escape. The deeper Akihito sank into you, the more you floated above him. Untethered. Capable of leaving. And that was what terrified him the most. He needed something stronger — something permanent — to bind you to him.
One year into your affair, Akihito proposed something unthinkable.
“An arranged marriage?” you gasped, your voice cracking in disbelief. “To your son?” You tried to push away from him, stepping out of the bathtub, but he caught your wrist and pulled you back in.
“I miss you too much when you’re away”, he murmured against your shoulder. His breath was hot. His arms wrapped around you from behind, pulling you close, anchoring you to him in the steaming water. “Not knowing when I’ll see you again — it’s unbearable. And knowing it won’t be tomorrow? I hate that.”
You sat between his legs, your bare back pressed to his chest, steam rising around you like a veil. His head dipped to the curve of your neck. You said nothing. Your lips trembled with a smile that didn’t quite reach your eyes, with a sob that didn’t quite leave your throat.
You spoke every day. But meetings were rare. Always discreet. Always in motion. Hotels changed with every rendezvous. Different rooms, different names, different times of arrival. You booked separate rooms but only ever used one. Because what you shared was a scandal. And the walls, anywhere, could talk. He was the former head of the Gojo Clan. A public man. A married man. And in the Gojo Clan, divorce was taboo. Unspoken but absolute. Marriage ended only with death.
“It’s madness”, you whispered. “You’d just… hand me over to another man like that?”
“I’m not handing you over”, he said, voice low and tired. “It’ll be just on paper. You know what Satoru’s like — he’s obsessed with his work. Sorcery is the only thing he’s ever cared about. He won’t touch you.” He paused. He knew how it sounded. But to him, it made sense. He was convinced this was the best way to keep you close. Satoru, as far as Akihito knew, had no interest in romance, no time for love. If you married his son, your place in the clan would be secured — and so would your bond to him. Even if you tried to leave him one day, you’d still be part of his world. Divorce, after all, was never an option. “Think about it”, he continued. “We’d be able to see each other more freely. People wouldn’t question it if we were spotted together — we’d be family. It would raise fewer suspicions than what we’re doing now.”
You stared into the steam, into nothing. “...fine.” You caved.
Neither of you knew then just how flawed the plan truly was. The flaw had a name: Gojo Satoru.
--
Back in your shared bedroom, you close the door behind you and turn to face Satoru. He’s already tugging off his jacket, tossing it carelessly over the back of a chair. You squint at him, arms crossed. “What was that earlier?” He pauses, one sock halfway off. “Hm?” He looks up at you, eyebrow arched in that maddeningly innocent way.
“‘I’m taking my wife out’”, you echo flatly. “We made no such plans.”
He chuckles — a low, amused sound. “Ah. That.” Straightening up, he begins rolling his sleeves to the elbows, wandering toward the bed. “I was too distracted by your beauty when I got home, I must’ve forgotten to tell you.”
You narrow your eyes. “Tell me what exactly?”
“That everyone wants to meet you”, he says, as if it’s obvious.
“Everyone?” you eye him.
“My students. My colleagues. Most of them think I made up this whole marriage thing just for attention.” He grins like it’s the most absurd idea in the world. “So tomorrow, you’re coming with me. I need to show them that my wife is, in fact, a very real, very stunning person~”
You blink. “So you didn’t just blurt it out to get out of meeting the elders?”
He scoffs and flops onto the bed, arms behind his head. “Please. I don’t need an excuse to avoid them. I’ll meet them when I feel like it — not when they demand it.” Of course he would say that. “Besides”, he adds lazily, “I figured we could hang out a little after. Grab a bite or go somewhere. A proper date.”
You stare at him. “A date?” — “Yeah”, he shoots. “You know, two people spending time together on purpose because they want to?”
“Satoru”, you sigh, “you don’t have to bother with this kind of thing. This is an arranged marriage, let me remind you. We’re not... required to play house.” He tilts his head, eyes glinting with mock curiosity. “Who said couples in arranged marriages can’t go on dates? That’s a rule now? If it is, I must’ve missed the fine print.”
He’s relentless — in a strangely charming way. Always pushing, always poking. And the worst part is... he knows you don’t exactly hate it. You glance away, shaking your head. “Alright”, you say finally, “fine” — and he immediately beams like he’s just won something. And maybe he has — in his own strange way. Satoru doesn’t need much to feel victorious. But there’s something you have noticed — how a yes from you is usually worth a trophy in his world, even if you offer it begrudgingly.
You watch him for a moment, unsure what to make of the warmth blooming quietly in your chest. It's not love. It can’t be. Right? But it’s something. A softening, maybe. A flicker of possibility. Your fingers absently toy with the edge of your sleeve. That strange flutter you’ve been ignoring — the one he keeps coaxing out of you — is getting harder to deny. What exactly are you doing? — you ask yourself.
And then your phone buzzes in your pocket. You fish it out quickly and glance down at the screen.
Akihito: Come to the guest house.
Just like that, reality presses its weight back onto your shoulders. It doesn’t look like Satoru noticed anything, but your hands are already closing the message, hiding the screen like a child caught with stolen sweets. “I’m going to the kitchen”, you say, too quickly. “I want something sweet.”
Satoru sits up a little. “Tell me what you want, and I’ll get—”
“No.” You cut him off, maybe too fast. “I’m not sure what I want yet, so I’ll just look around.” His gaze lingers on you for a moment. Something unreadable flickers there — brief, sharp, gone too fast. Then he leans back on his hands, still smiling. “Alright, my picky little bride. Don’t be long.”
You force a light laugh and slip out the door.
--
Akihito hears your knock — light, familiar — before the door opens. You’re still in your dinner clothes, but your hair is looser now, lipstick faded. You look comfortable, relaxed — and he does not exactly like that. You step quietly, and he lets you come to him without saying a word. For a moment, neither of you speak.
He looks somewhat tense, but the air between you is still warm with memory — earlier today, your skin beneath his hands, your lips murmuring his name into a hotel pillow. And yet. “I’m sorry for calling you over like this”, he says finally, his voice low. “I just needed to see you.”
You smile faintly. “You saw me at dinner.”
“Not like this.” His eyes search yours. “Not alone. Not without... him.”
You stiffen slightly — not defensively. Just aware. Akihito gestures to the seat beside him. You sit.
“He’s not the same”, he murmurs after a pause. “Satoru. He’s changing.”
You don’t respond at first. You fold your hands in your lap.
“You know what he used to be like? Detached. Cold. Always disappearing on missions. He never gave a damn about what anyone thought of him — never entertained sentiment. And now?” He scoffs softly. “Flowers. Cooking. Holding your hand under the table like some infatuated schoolboy...”
Your mouth opens — then closes. You can’t find the right words.
“You saw it too, didn’t you?” he asks quietly. “At dinner. The way he looks at you.”
Your gaze falters. Not guilty — not quite — but cautious. “He’s just playing the part, Aki”, you say eventually. “He’s always been theatrical.”
Akihito shakes his head. “No. That wasn’t an act.” There’s no bitterness in his voice. No anger. Just... disbelief. Like he’s watching something slip through his fingers that he didn’t expect to lose. “Before you came into his life, he never stayed home. Never cared about meals or traditions or people. He never had time for anything... personal.”
You look down.
Akihito studies your profile, as if memorizing it. The curve of your brow, the slope of your cheek. “I know I’m the one who suggested this arrangement”, he says, and his voice is more vulnerable than you’ve ever heard it. “I told myself it was the best way to keep you close. Safe. But now...” He trails off.
You reach out, take his hand in yours. “I’m still yours, Aki”, you say gently. “You know that.”
“I want to believe that”, he murmurs. You squeeze his hand. “You can.”
But your voice falters, just slightly. Just enough for him to notice. His eyes flick up to your face. There’s no accusation in them. Only fear. The quiet, creeping kind that lives under the surface of a man who’s spent a lifetime being in control.
“I know he’s not you”, you add softly. “I know why I said yes to this. You don’t have to worry.”
Akihito nods slowly. But his silence stretches too long. You lean your head against his shoulder, and he kisses the top of your hair. Grateful. Reassured — or trying to be. But the weight in his chest doesn’t lift. Because for the first time, he isn’t sure if the threat is outside of what you have... or is growing inside it.
--
“Don’t worry, they don’t bite”, Satoru chuckles, watching you fidget with your sleeves like you’re about to walk into a job interview. You shoot him a dry look. “You say that like you’re not the worst of them.”
“Me? I’m the warm-up act. They are the terrifying ones”, he teases, nodding toward the lounge room door. You roll your eyes but don’t stop playing with your cuffs.
“You’ll be fine”, he adds, nudging your elbow gently. “Just flash that charming smile and pretend I’m not hovering behind you like a lovesick fool.”
“You are hovering.”
“I’m setting the scene”, he grins. “For dramatic effect.”
You scoff. “I’m not scared, you know.”
“Of course not”, he nods solemnly. “You’re just fidgeting because you’re excited to meet my fan club.” You shoot him a sideways glare. He leans over, voice lowering just a touch. “They’re going to love you”, he says, softer now. “They’ve never seen me with someone like you.”
“Someone like me?”
“Someone who makes me behave.”
You don’t get the chance to press him on that. He throws the door open before you can respond — and the room instantly freezes. Chairs creak to a halt. Conversations cut off mid-sentence. All heads turn. A spoon hovers midair. A can of soda stops halfway to someone’s lips. Even the air feels like it’s holding its breath. And all of it — every flicker of curiosity, disbelief, and blatant awe — is aimed squarely at you.
“Guys”, Satoru announces, all flair and no shame, “This is my wife. Try not to scare her off.” You manage a composed smile, offering a polite nod. “It’s nice to meet you.”
The reactions come in like dominos.
Yuuji blinks so fast he looks like a malfunctioning cartoon. “She’s real. She’s actually real.”
Nobara lets out a dramatic gasp. “Oh my god, she’s gorgeous. How is he married to her?”
“There’s definitely something wrong with her”, Megumi mutters, arms crossed.
“Blink twice if you’re being held hostage”, Maki deadpans without missing a beat.
Even stoic Shoko lifts her eyebrows, taking a slow drag of her cigarette. “I genuinely thought he made you up.”
Ijichi bows at the waist, glasses fogged slightly from the tea steam. “Gojo-san speaks of you often. I assumed it was... metaphorical.” Nanami says absolutely nothing. Just closes his eyes and exhales, a slow, pained breath that says this is beneath me, but also of course this is happening.
Meanwhile, Geto is the picture of calm. Reclined on the couch, one leg crossed over the other, he simply smirks and raises his hand in greeting. “About time you dragged her here, Satoru.”
“Don’t encourage him”, Nanami mutters without opening his eyes.
You can’t help it — you laugh. A light, genuine thing that breaks the awkward spell in the room like shattering glass. The tension in your chest uncoils slightly, and Satoru beams beside you.
“Oh god”, Nobara groans. “Even her laugh is gorgeous. This is unbelievable.”
“Do you need help?” Megumi asks again, completely serious.
“She’s under some kind of spell, huh?” Yuuji whispers. “Do we do something? Help her?”
“No need to rescue her”, Satoru says smugly. “She married me willingly”
“That’s even worse”, Nanami mutters.
“You guys are insufferable”, you finally say, smiling despite yourself.
“You’re perfect for him then”, Shoko hums.
“Alright, alright, don’t scare her off on her first visit”, Geto says, rising from the couch. He strolls over, offering his hand. “I’m Suguru. Satoru’s better half.”
“Hey!” Satoru protests.
You shake Geto’s hand. “Pleasure.”
“It really is”, he replies smoothly. “Though we may have to talk about your taste in men.”
“I’ve made peace with it”, you reply with a smirk. The room erupts into scattered chuckles. Even Megumi snorts. Satoru clutches his chest. “I feel so betrayed.”
“Get in line”, Nanami mutters again.
“Come on”, Geto waves you over. “Sit. Eat something. Let us dissect your personality in peace.” As you move to join them, Satoru’s hand brushes your lower back — a barely-there touch. Protective. Familiar. You glance at him. He’s still smiling like the sun — blinding and hard to read beneath the surface.
You ease yourself into a spot between Suguru and Satoru on the long couch. Plates and cups shift around. The lounge settles into casual chaos again, but it’s warmer now — less like scrutiny, more like curious acceptance. As conversations spark up around you, you feel it — a brush at your side. Subtle, deliberate. Satoru’s hand slides across the space between you on the couch. He doesn’t say a word. Doesn’t even look your way. But under the table, his fingers quietly reach for yours. At first, you don’t respond. The chatter of the room covers the rapid thrum of your heartbeat. It feels like everyone might notice, even though no one’s looking. And still — slowly — your fingers curl around his.
You glance sideways at him. He’s still grinning and bickering with Geto about who’s ageing better — but there’s a flicker in his eyes when they meet yours. Something warm. Something that longs. And Satoru doesn’t look like he’s letting go of your hand anytime soon.
--
Even after leaving the school and walking toward the car, Satoru hasn’t let go of your hand. Not once. And, truthfully, you haven’t tried to pull away either. His hand is warm and steady, fingers loosely laced with yours like it’s always been this natural. “They’re very chaotic”, you say as you walk side by side, the late afternoon sun painting golden highlights into his white hair. “But adorably so.”
Satoru gasps. “How come you never say that about me?”
“I do say you’re chaotic.”
“Not that part”, he pouts, dragging your hand slightly as he walks. “Say I’m adorable too.”
You glance up at him with a smirk. “Why make me lie now?”
He clutches his chest like you just wounded him. “Unbelievable. And here I was, thinking we were having a romantic moment.”
“You pouted like a toddler five seconds ago. That was the opposite of romantic.”
“That was endearing, thank you very much.” He sighs dramatically, unlocking the car with a flick of his keys. “One day you’ll realize just how lucky you are to have married me.”
You chuckle. “I’m still trying to figure that out.”
As the engine hums to life and the radio kicks in with something mellow, he steals a glance at you. “You liked them, though?”
You nod. “They’re all... a lot. But in a good way. I liked them. They like you, too — though it’s hilarious how some of them thought I was a figment of your imagination at first.”
“That’s fair”, he shrugs. “Even I sometimes think you’re too good to be real.” You don’t reply to that — partly because it’s sweet, partly because it makes your stomach twist in ways you’re not ready to admit.
--
Instead of taking you to a fancy restaurant, Satoru pulls the car up near a quiet park tucked into a tree-lined stretch of the city. It’s not crowded, the evening air is crisp, and the swings creak gently in the breeze.
“A date doesn’t have to be complicated”, he says, hands behind his head, strolling beside you. “This used to be my favorite spot when I ditched meetings.”
You laugh. “What a responsible clan head.”
“Oh, terribly irresponsible”, he agrees proudly. “Now — race you to the swings!”
You both make a break for it, laughing as your shoes hit gravel. You get there first, narrowly beating him (because he let you), and triumphantly claim the left swing. Satoru sits on the other — except, the chains creak loudly as he settles in, clearly too tall and too big for the tiny seat.
“God, you look ridiculous”, you say between laughs.
“Hey”, he grins. “Let me have my moment.” He tries to swing but his feet keep dragging on the ground. You get off and try to push him but fail spectacularly. “You’re too heavy!” you exclaim. He snorts. “I’m muscle and grace, I’ll have you know.”
“Lift your legs then! That’s the only way this will work.”
“If I lift my legs, the swing will snap and we’ll both die.”
You dissolve into laughter, arms over your chest as you watch him try — and fail — to get any lift. “Hop off now”, you say. “It’s your turn to push me.”
He gets off, and you take over. He starts pushing you gently, and you find yourself relaxing, head tilted back toward the sky as you glide back and forth. You don’t notice how quiet he’s gone until the swing slows and you look back to find him watching you — softly, openly, with none of his usual teasing in sight.
“Why are you looking at me like that?” you ask. He shrugs. “You look happy. I like seeing you like this.”
Your heart stumbles. And just like that, the real world catches up — Akihito, the marriage, the plan... Guilt prickles under your skin. You’re not supposed to feel this warm around Satoru. Not this content. He notices the shift in your eyes, tension in your smile. “Hey.” He walks in front of the swing, kneeling slightly to meet your gaze. “Where did you go just now?”
You open your mouth — but you don’t know what to say. There’s too much. You’re not even sure what you’re feeling anymore. Satoru doesn’t push. He simply lifts a hand to brush your cheek with his knuckles, gentler than anyone would expect from a man like him. “If you’re scared”, he says, “I’ll wait. But I’m not stopping.”
You should say something — anything — but you don’t. Instead, you lean forward without thinking. Just a little. Just enough. And he meets you halfway. You kiss. It’s soft. Uncomplicated. Barely a breath long — but enough to make your stomach flip and your thoughts scramble. You pull back just as fast, cheeks feeling hot, and suddenly shoot up to your feet.
“I—uh—I’m going to head to the car”, you stammer, already backing away. “Give me fifteen minutes. Just... wait, okay? Don’t come right now.” Satoru blinks after you as you run off, flustered. A slow smile spreads across his lips. He lifts a hand, touching his fingers to where your lips met his. “Why shy away like this now?” he murmurs to himself, chuckling. “It’s not like this is our first kiss...”
His smile lingers, a little softer now. Almost nostalgic. He watches the direction you went, lost in thought. Because only he remembers. You’ve kissed before. But back then, you didn’t know who he was. And you still don’t remember.
--
Satoru remembers it as clearly as if it had happened yesterday. The memory came rushing back the moment he saw your picture — the proposed match for the arranged marriage. The others in the room kept talking, formalities piling up like a tide of obligations, but he barely heard a word.
It was you — the girl who stole his first kiss. The girl he never managed to find again.
It happened years ago, sometime past midnight. He had just wrapped up a mission — a dull one, barely worth remembering — and was wandering the streets of Tokyo, eating red bean mochi with one hand and scrolling his phone with the other. Still in uniform, still buzzing from leftover cursed energy, still too wired to sleep. As he strolled past a row of late-night bars and clubs, the music leaked into the street like fog. Somewhere between neon signs and cigarette smoke, he spotted you — a girl slumped on the curb outside a nightclub, arms wrapped around your knees, head lolling sleepily to one side. You looked like you were dozing off. Alone. Vulnerable.
He kept walking. At first. But something didn’t sit right. There were a few guys loitering nearby — drunk, leering, the kind of men that don’t need a reason to ruin someone’s night. One of them peeled away from the group and started approaching you, calling out something Satoru didn’t care to hear. He stopped at a vending machine, fingers patting his pockets as if he were looking for coins — but really, he was watching. Calculating. When the guy crouched beside you and reached out to brush your hair behind your ear, Satoru moved. Fast. “Sorry I took so long”, he said loudly, slinging his jacket over your shoulders in one smooth motion as he stepped between you and the stranger.
The man froze.
Satoru didn’t raise his voice, didn’t flare cursed energy — just looked at him. Cold. Unblinking. Dangerous. The guy got the message. “I was just making sure she was okay”, the creep stammered.
“Yeah”, Satoru said flatly. “She is. Now leave.” He didn’t have to say it twice. Once the guys scurried off, Satoru crouched beside you, tilting his head. “Hey. Not a great place for a nap, you know?” You stirred, muttering something incoherent. “I’m serious”, he said, nudging your shoulder lightly. “It’s not safe out here.”
“Can’t walk”, you mumbled. “Not sure if I’m spinning, or everything else is.”
He blinked. “That bad, huh?”
You squinted at him through half-lidded eyes. “Are you a cop?”
“No.”
“A kidnapper?”
“Definitely not.”
“Hmm”, you leaned your cheek against your knee. “Guess you’ll do.”
Satoru stared. “What does that mean?” You reached and tugged his sleeve, and with surprising strength, pulled him to sit beside you. Then, without warning, you laid your head in his lap. “What are you—?”
“You’re warm”, you sighed, nestling closer. “And you smell nice. But I kind of feel like throwing up.”
“Please don’t”, he said instantly, trying not to panic. “This is my favorite outfit.”
You giggled. “You’re funny.”
He looked down at you, at the way your hair fanned across his thighs, at the curve of your sleepy smile. “What are you even doing out here alone?” he asked.
“I lost my friends”, you mumbled. “Or maybe they lost me. Who’s to say...”
“You got a phone?”
You held it up proudly. It was dead. “Perfect”, he sighed.
Eventually, when it became clear you weren’t going to get up willingly, he gathered you into his arms and stood. “Alright, mystery girl. I’m getting you somewhere safe — where’s your place?”
“Wait, wait”, you slurred, squinting suspiciously at him. “I don’t know you. I can’t just tell you where I live!”
“You’re literally unconscious on the sidewalk and I’m carrying you like a bridal bouquet. I think we’re past that point.”
You didn’t answer. Your head lolled onto his shoulder. He sighed, glanced around. He didn’t know your name, didn’t know where you lived — but you looked about college-aged, and the university campus wasn’t far. It was the best guess he had. So he started walking.
Halfway there, a group of girls came jogging down the sidewalk, calling some name (yours). They looked frantic — until they saw you in his arms. “Oh god”, one of them exhaled. “We’ve been looking for her everywhere!”
They reached out to take you, but you lifted your head groggily, blinking at him like you’d just remembered he existed. You took off his sunglasses and placed him on his head, then cupped his face in both hands, surprisingly gentle.
“You’re pretty”, you said.
He blinked.
Then you leaned in and kissed him. It was soft and quick. “Thank you”, you whispered. “For keeping me warm.”
And just like that, your friends pulled you away — you still wearing his jacket, him still too stunned to speak. He stood there long after you were gone, fingers pressed to his lips, dazed. “What a weird girl”, he muttered.
But he’d already fallen for you.
He tried to find you after that, of course — visited the area again, lingered by the campus, even asked around in his own way. But your name, your face... all of it had vanished like a dream after waking. Until years later — when he saw your photo again. And this time? He said yes without hesitation.
--
The days begin to blend. Soft, warm mornings. Laughter over late breakfast. The rustle of flower petals against your cheek as you wake — a new habit Satoru’s picked up. You open your eyes to a fresh bouquet on your pillow, tied together with a silk ribbon and a folded note tucked inside.
Roses are red, violets are blue, don’t open the curtains, I'm watching you ;)
S.
You roll your eyes but smile. By now, your phone is full of messages from him — some voice notes, some texts. Some completely random, like:
Voice message — 9:07 AM
Hey, I found this stray cat that reminds me of you. They ignored me when I tried to pet them and just walked off. Thought that was kinda romantic~
Text — 10:12 AM
Do you miss me or are you pretending I don’t exist again? Be honest. I can take it. (Don’t be honest)
Sometimes he’s halfway through a mission and still finds the time to send you a photo of some stupid little charm at a shrine that “looks cursed like you” — and by the time he returns home, you’ve forgotten how silence used to fill the rooms before he came.
You start leaving notes back. Hiding snacks in his coat. One time, you sent him flowers — as a joke. A massive, bright pink bouquet delivered right to the faculty lounge at Jujutsu Tech.
Yuuji nearly dropped his drink when he saw it. “Sensei, I thought you were the man in this relationship... but I guess you really shouldn’t judge a book by its cover.”
Satoru beamed as he held the bouquet. “Listen, Yuuji, I think she’s got me on a leash. And honestly? I don’t mind it.”
Geto didn’t even blink. “You’ve always liked being domesticated.”
Nanami groaned in the distance. “Please take your romance outside school grounds.”
Your life with him feels like a sitcom at times. Like you’ve somehow fallen into a slice-of-life version of your own story. And strangely, you don’t hate it.
But not all lives move at the same pace.
Akihito watches it unfold from the shadows of his own silence. This was not part of the plan. You’re playing your role way too well to his liking. Are you humoring Satoru’s peculiar behavior for the sake of keeping the peace... or is there something more to it?
He feels the distance stretching. You reply to his messages slower now. When he calls, you sound distracted — not cold, just... somewhere else. Sometimes when he walks by your and Satoru’s room, he hears his son’s voice talking to you and it cuts deeper than he expects. Laughing. Teasing. Talking to you in a tone Akihito used to think was only his to use.
He remembers your last few moments together, how they’ve been growing shorter. More careful. Your touches — once confident, rooted in secret familiarity — now come with hesitation. Like you’re aware of something new. Something blooming in the cracks you didn’t plan for. You were slipping. And for the first time in a very long time, Akihito doesn’t know what to do.
He doesn’t confront you. He won’t. Because even now, he trusts you. Even now, he tells himself you would never betray him like that... But still — he’s left staring at the space beside him that used to be filled by you, fingers curled into fists he won’t raise, breathing through a storm he never thought he’d have to weather.
--
Evening settles softly across the room like a warm blanket. The lights are dim, casting a gentle golden hue over the shared bedroom you’ve both slowly grown used to — not just as a space, but as a kind of quiet haven. You sit on the bed with your knees tucked close to your chest, absently flipping through some old magazine you already checked out twice. Satoru is nearby, sprawled across the foot of the bed, fiddling with his phone but mostly stealing glances at you. The silence between you is easy now. Not empty, not awkward — just comfortable.
Still, something hangs between you, unspoken but undeniably there. It’s been lingering ever since that kiss in the park. You haven’t kissed again since, but your touches linger longer now — a brush of fingers as you pass something to him, the slow curl of his hand around yours when you walk beside each other. Close, but careful.
Tonight feels different.
“Do you ever miss the chaos?” you ask, not looking up from the page. “Before we... whatever this is.”
“Before we became a domestic power couple?” Satoru teases, stretching out with a dramatic sigh. “Tragic. I used to be wild. Now I fold your laundry.” You laugh. “You don’t fold my laundry.”
“I would. For the record. If it meant you’d smile like that.”
You glance at him now, and his expression softens when your eyes meet. The air changes. It’s in the way he shifts, propping himself up slightly on one elbow. There’s something different in his gaze — not just affection, but hunger veiled by hesitance. You feel it too. That same flutter deep in your belly. The nervous kind. The kind that tastes like anticipation. He moves closer, slowly, watching you for any flicker of hesitation. When he reaches out, his fingers brush lightly along your jaw, his thumb barely skimming your cheek. You don’t move away.
“You’ve been looking at me like that for a while now”, you whisper.
He smiles, a little crooked, a little shy — rare, for him. “Yeah. I’ve been... trying to behave.”
Your lips part, but you don’t speak. Satoru leans in, and this time, when he kisses you, it’s slower than last time. Less impulsive. More reverent. His hand cups the back of your head gently as he pulls you closer, tasting your breath as if he’s been craving it every day since the last time. And then he pulls back. Breath shaky. Eyes shut. You blink, still dazed from the kiss. “Satoru? What are you doing?”
He exhales a slow, uneven breath. “Waiting for you to slap me.”
You stare at him. That rare vulnerability in his voice knocks the breath right out of your lungs. “Why would I slap you?”
“I didn’t ask. I didn’t warn you. I just... kissed you. Again. I told myself I’d wait until you wanted me.”
You hesitate only for a heartbeat. Then, you lean forward and take his face in your hands, gently pulling him back into you. Your lips find his, and this time there’s no pause. No retreat. He kisses you like he’s trying to memorize you. Every angle. Every sound you make. Your hands find their way under the hem of is shirt, fingertips grazing bare skin, and he shivers beneath your touch. You break the kiss long enough to whisper, “Come closer.”
His forehead rests against yours. “Only if you want me to.”
“I do”, you breathe, voice trembling but sure. “I want this. I want you.” His arms tighten around you, and it’s slow, almost reverent, the way he lays you down — like you’re something sacred. Clothes are shed without urgency, and his hands trace the lines of your body like he’s reading scripture. The rest unfolds in quiet gasps and whispered names. It's not just desire — it’s need. Familiar, frightening, warm...
...when it’s over, the silence that follows is different from all the ones that came before. You lie beside him, heart still racing, his fingers lazily tracing circles along your arm. He doesn’t speak. He just watches you, memorizing the curve of your lips, the way your chest raises and falls. And for a moment, you forget every plan. Every lie. Every secret. For a moment, it feels like love. The kind that sneaks up on you — quiet, uninvited, and impossible to ignore. You lie tangled together, your head tucked against his shoulder, his hand tenderly caressing your bare skin. Hearts still thudding.
Satoru is the one to break the silence, his voice light, teasing (as usual). “So... You really don’t remember me, huh?”
You blink, lifting your head just enough to glance at him. “What?”
“Brutal...”, he laughs. “And here I was, thinking I made a lasting impression that night.”
You narrow your eyes, unsure if he’s joking. “What are you talking about?”
“Nahh, I get it — you were pretty drunk”, he says, dragging the words out like a cat playing with mouse.
“Oh god—” You sit up suddenly, sheet gathering around your chest. “Don’t tell me we’ve hooked up in the past and I don’t remember it?” Satoru bursts out laughing. “No, not like that.”
You squint at him. “Then stop being so cryptic and tell me!”
He stretches, hands behind his head, smug and insufferable. “Let’s just say… you were outside a bar. Alone. Slumped on the curb. And I saved your life.”
You blink again. He continues, barely hiding his amusement. “Some creep tried to hit on you. I intervened, obviously. You asked if I was a kidnapper, told me I smelled nice, then fell asleep in my lap.”
Your jaw drops. “No way.”
“Oh, there’s more,” he says with a mock-serious nod. “You called me pretty. And you kissed me.”
You gape. “You’re lying.”
“I’m not,” he says, lips twitching. “And you stole my jacket, by the way.”
Your eyes widen. Something flickers at the edge of your memory. “Wait— that was your jacket?”
Satoru raises his brows, clearly enjoying himself. “Yep.”
“I always wondered where it came from”, you mumble, stunned. “I kept it for years. I thought maybe someone just… gave it to me out of pity.”
“Well, I did give it to you”, he says, softer now. “But it wasn’t pity.”
You’re quiet for a moment, absorbing it all. “I can’t believe it. That was you.”
He shrugs one shoulder, like it’s no big deal — but his voice betrays him when he says, “Yeah. I looked for you, you know? Went back to that street, hung around your supposed campus. Thought about that stupid night more times than I’d ever admit.”
You gasp.
“When your photo showed up in the marriage proposal packet?” He looks over at you, something unreadable in his eyes. “I said yes before they even finished reading your name.”
You stare at him, stunned. “Why didn’t you tell me sooner?”
He smiles, reaching up to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. “Because you didn’t look at me like this before.” You lean in, heart heavy with something warm and aching. “How do I look at you now?”
“Like you might not disappear this time.”
--
You slip into your nightgown, your skin still tingling with traces of warmth and tenderness. The sound of water runs in the background — Satoru in the shower, humming something off-key. A lazy smile plays on your lips as you step out of the bedroom, quietly padding down the hallway. You tell yourself it’s just to grab snacks. Maybe a drink. Something to soothe the afterglow that’s left your heart both full and aching.
But as you reach the kitchen and flick on the soft underlight, your body seizes.
Akihito is there. Standing in the low light like a phantom, glass in one hand, his other curled into a loose fist at his side. The bottle of whiskey beside him is nearly half-empty. He doesn’t speak right away — just stares at you, and it’s a look you’ve never seen on him before. Not like this. There’s pain, yes. But buried under that is something sharper. Something raw.
“Akihito...” you breathe, barely more than a whisper. He doesn’t answer. Just brings the glass to his lips again, slowly, as if buying time — or trying to keep himself from saying what’s already clawing its way up his throat. Akihito, huh? You used to call him Aki...
He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, eyes narrowing slightly as he steps forward. You don’t move — not because you don’t want to, but because you don’t quite dare. He stops in front of you, closer than comfort allows. The scent of whiskey and something tired hangs on him — disappointment. His eyes flicker over your face, and you know he sees it. The softness in your cheeks. The haze still lingering in your gaze. The warmth that isn’t his. He knows. Of course he does. But he wants to confirm, one last time.
His hand reaches toward you, swiftly lifting your nightgown to brush his fingers against your cunt, bare, still wet and sore. You flinch, instinctively stepping back — but his free hand snaps around your wrist. He withdraws his fingers, bringing them close to your face, then slowly rubs them together. Smearing the slick, laced with remnants that don’t belong to him. “You slept with him”, he says, low, flat. No question. Just a quiet accusation.
Your breath catches.
He leans in, close enough for his words to brush against your skin. “Do you love him?”
Before your lips can part, before your heart even finds a beat, a new voice breaks the silence.
“Hey, I was looking for y—” Satoru enters the room, still damp from the shower, water clinging to his chest, a towel slung low around his waist, another in his hands as he rubs it through his hair. The moment he sees his father, he stops mid-step. His eyes lock at his hand around your wrist. His tone drops, his jaw clenches. He immediately yanks his hand away from you, then his eyes dart to the whiskey on the counter. “Old man, did you get drunk enough to mistake my wife for yours?”
Akihito doesn’t answer right away, but he tenses. For a moment, he seems to fold in on himself — trying, perhaps, to remember who he is, and who he’s supposed to be. “I lost my balance for a second”, he mutters. Then without another glance at either of you, he brushes past and disappears down the hall.
The silence he leaves behind is deafening. You’re frozen. Like glass on the verge of shattering. Guilt crawls under your skin like a fever. You want to scream. You want to run. You feel like you’ve betrayed them both.
Satoru looks at you. His expression softens the moment he sees your face. “Hey...” voice gentle now. “You okay? You look a bit... pale.” He tries to joke, but there’s a note of worry breeding into his words. “Did I... maybe go a little too hard on you back there?” A faint smirk, halfhearted. His eyes, though, are searching.
You force yourself to nod, to smile like you’re fine. “No. I’m okay. I just—” you glance toward the hallway, “I got startled. I didn’t expect to see anyone else awake.”
Satoru doesn’t look entirely convinced, but he doesn’t push either. He just reaches out and tucks a strand of hair behind your ear, his touch almost reverent. “Next time, tell me”, he says softly. “I’ll walk you around the house like a proper husband.”
You laugh — weakly, but you manage it. Neither of you says what you’re thinking. Neither of you asks the questions hanging thick in the air. But both of you feel it. Something has shifted. And in the stillness that follows, all you can do is hold your breath and pretend it’s not already slipping out of your control.
--
The soft creak of Akihito’s footsteps disappears into the silence of the hallway as if he is retreating from more than just a room. By the time he reaches the bedroom he shares with Saori, the burn in his chest has settled into something heavier, duller. She is already asleep, curled into herself beneath the silk sheets. He doesn’t even look at her. Akihito pours himself another drink from the decanter near the dresser, the sound of the liquid filling the glass louder than it should. His hand shakes as he brings it to his lips. He has lost count of how many glasses he had tonight.
He believed he was in control, never imagining, even for a moment, that you might be the one to falter. He sits on the edge of the bed for a while, nursing the bitterness on his tongue, trying to down what feels like the unraveling of everything. His grip tightens around the glass until his knuckles turn white. And eventually, the weight of it — the whiskey, the pain, the loss — pulls him down. He settles in bed, fully clothed, eyes open to the dark. Only when the alcohol dulls the sharpest edges of his thoughts does sleep finally claim him.
Saori wakes sometime later — hours, maybe. She doesn’t know what stirred her at first. The clock ticks quietly. The room is still. But then she hears it. A soft sound. A broken voice. Akihito. At first, she thinks he is awake, whispering. But when she turns to face him, she sees the tight lines on his brow, his face twisted in restless dreaming.
...a name falls from his lips like a prayer. Your name.
“Don’t leave me...” He shifts, face turned toward her, eyes shut tight. His voice cracks in a way she has never heard before. “I love you... please... don’t go...”
Saori doesn’t move. She doesn’t breathe. For a long moment, all she can do is stare at the man she spent more than half her life beside. The man who kept so much from her. Until now.
Everything made sense to her now. All of it. The proposal of a random girl — a nobody, by traditional standards — as a bride for the clan head. His obsessive oversight of your marriage. His silence. His sudden, inexplicable shifts in mood. All the times he came home reeking of another woman. And now this.
She sits up slowly, placing her hand on her lap as the cold realization settles deep into her bones. Her husband has never said her name like that, even in dreams. A sharp, unfamiliar ache blooms in her chest. It isn’t jealousy — though that is part of it. It is grief. For a marriage that never really belonged to her. For a love that was never hers to begin with. She turns to look at Akihito once more. His lips move soundlessly now, breath uneven. Vulnerable in a way he has never let himself be when conscious. Saori whispers, her voice nearly a breath, “You poor, stupid man...”
And she doesn’t know whether to feel pity, rage, or heartbreak. So she sits there — in the dim quiet, beside the man who is dreaming of someone else — and tries to remember what it feels like to be chosen.
--
The morning sun spills through sheer drapes. Saori sits before her vanity, back perfectly straight, hands folded in her lap as the house attendant brushes through her hair. She stares at her reflection — still, expressionless. But her eyes, always sharp, betray thought in motion. There’s no puffiness in them, no redness, no sign of the long night she endured beside her sleeping husband and the dreams he whispered into the dark. Not a trace of it reached the surface. Because Gojo Saori does not falter.
She was raised for this life. Trained from the moment she could walk and speak — in manners, in posture, in etiquette. In silence. In sacrifice. She was chosen for the Gojo Clan as if born for it, bred for it. A perfect match to elevate status and maintain lineage. An ideal bride, by design. Not merely beautiful, but refined. Not merely obedient, but poised. Regal in her restraint. And still, he never loved her. Gojo Akihito, the man she married at twenty-one, gave her everything a wife could ask for — wealth, status, a name that carried power. But not his heart. Never his heart. She spent years trying to earn it anyway. With devotion. With loyalty so fierce it could have moved mountains if he had only looked her way and seen her properly.
But last night... Last night, in the hush of the sleeping room they shared for so many years, he spoke someone else’s name. Not once. Not carelessly. Lovingly.
Saori meets her own gaze in the mirror — unwavering, unflinching. She should’ve wept, perhaps. Cried the way lesser women might. Collapsed into trembling disbelief or broken rage. But she had no time for that. No space, in the skin she wears, for such indulgence. Her family name was teetered on scandal, and she bled too much grace into this place to see it torn down now — not by a girl’s foolishness, not by a man’s longing. Gojo Saori was, above else, a guardian of the image. But the image was beginning to crack. And she was ready to protect what needed protecting.
--
You sit at the table, eyes tracing the rim of your teacup, steam curling softly into the morning air. You haven’t taken a sip. You haven’t touched your plate. Your stomach is tight, twisted with guilt... especially after last night.
Satoru is full of light and ease, as he always is — grinning, teasing, tossing playful remarks into the stillness like stones skipping across a glassy lake. His hand brushes yours casually, fingertips lingering just long enough to warm your skin. It's comforting in a way, how unchanged he is. But his energy doesn’t reach you this morning. You smile when you’re supposed to. You answer when he prompts you. But your mind is far away — caught between the memory of last night’s warmth and the echo of Akihito’s voice, flat and cracked with disappointment.
Akihito sits quietly, as he always does, but today his silence feels heavier. His fingers press against the bridge of his nose, slow and methodical, as if trying to will away a migraine. He hasn’t touched his food. His presence across the table burns into you like a brand. You can’t bring yourself to look at him, but you can feel his restraint like a tremor in the room — barely contained, always building.
Saori is a vision of composure. She lifts her teacup with perfect posture, takes delicate sips, and sets it down with the precision of someone who has performed this same ritual every morning of her life. Her face is unreadable — not blank, but too measured. There's something behind her stillness, something coiled. But you can’t tell what. She gives nothing away.
Satoru leans in toward you with a lopsided grin, voice dipped in mischief. His hand brushes your arm again, and for a brief moment, you wonder if he senses how fragile you feel. “You’re awfully quiet today”, he points out. You blink, startled — his voice snapping you out of your spiral — and you force a breath, a small smile. He’s trying to bring you back. The way he always does. “I didn’t get much sleep last night”, you manage, voice low and tight.
“Tired, huh?” he echoes with a soft laugh, leaning in closer. His voice drops to a whisper, just for you. “Guess that’s what happens after a long, productive night... right?”
Your heart stumbles. The words land like a thunderclap, disguised as a joke, but sharp enough to cut through your skin. His wink is lighthearted — harmless in his mind — but you freeze. You don’t laugh. You can’t. The knot in your stomach coils tighter, shame rising in your chest. You drop your gaze and press your lips together, every nerve on fire.
Then comes the sound. A sharp, sudden crack.
Akihito’s hand clenches around his teacup — or what’s left of it. Porcelain shards glint, splintered across the table and floor. His palm is cut, a slow trickle of blood winding through the lines of his hand, but he doesn’t seem to feel it. He stares at the broken cup like it’s something far away. His shoulders tense, jaw clenched. A man unraveling slowly — but silently.
Satoru turns toward him, his gaze casual, almost detached. He says nothing.
Saori moves immediately, her composure untouched as she rises and then immediately kneels beside him without ceremony, inspecting the wound with clinical care. Her voice is even, steady. “Are you alright?” Akihito doesn’t respond. His eyes are still fixed on the broken shards. His breath is shallow. Hollow. You wonder if he even knows where he is. Saori retrieves the first aid kit from the cabinet, her movements smooth, practiced. She tends to the cut with quiet precision, wrapping the bandage around his hand in silence. She doesn’t look at you, not directly — but her awareness is piercing. You can feel her watching, even when her eyes aren’t on you.
You try not to flinch under the weight of it.
Satoru watches you now. Truly watches you, and only you. There’s concern in his eyes, but beneath it, something darker — a flicker of something unreadable, as if he’s seeing straight through you.
--
You walk Satoru to the front of the estate, the morning sun slowly warming the stone path. He lingers, reluctant to go. “Are you sure you want me to leave?” he asks, searching your face. “You’ve been... kind of out of it all morning.”
You manage a smile, reaching up to smooth a hand through his hair. “I told you, I’m just tired.”
He’s clearly unconvinced. “Then let me stay. I’ll take the day off, we’ll snuggle in bed, watch trashy movies, eat junk food — whatever you want.”
“No”, you cut him off gently. “They’ll chew you out for skipping another day because of me. I’m fine, I promise. I just... need a little time to myself.”
He watches you for a moment longer, visibly debating. Then he leans in and presses a kiss to your forehead. “You better call me if you change your mind. Or even if you don’t. I just want to hear your voice.”
“I will”, you say, trying to mean it.
“You won’t”, he mutters. “But I’ll pretend to believe you.”
You watch him walk away until he’s out of sight. And then the weight returns, heavy and unforgiving. You turn and head back toward your room, your steps slow. You were planning to reach out to Akihito — to talk, to finally be honest. At least with him. You need to say the words out loud.
Halfway to your door, one of the maids appears at the end of the corridor, bowing her head respectfully as she approaches. “Lady Saori has asked if you would join her for tea in the garden”, she says.
You blink. “Tea?”
“She’s waiting for you now”, the maid adds.
Your stomach twists. This is a first. Saori has never invited you anywhere, never initiated anything outside of polite formality. And now — tea? You murmur your thanks and change direction, heading toward the garden with careful steps. When you arrive, Saori is already seated beneath the wide shade of the cherry blossom tree. Everything is picturesque — the porcelain tea set arranged perfectly, delicate sweets on a lacquer tray. Not a single detail out of place. She looks up as you approach, her posture composed, her expression mild.
“Hello again”, she says, gesturing to the seat across from her. “Please, sit.”
You lower yourself slowly. “Thank you.”
She pours the tea herself. No attendants. No distractions. Just you and her. “We’ve never had the chance to talk”, she says, tone pleasant. “Just the two of us.”
You nod faintly. “I guess not.”
She picks up her cup, takes a small sip, and sets it down again. “Satoru seems happy.”
You glance at her, cautious. “He is.”
“I can tell. He’s always been bright, but lately there’s something different. Something new. He’s softer. His laugh is more genuine.” She offers a smile. “He clearly cares for you — deeply.”
Your mouth goes dry. “Thank you.”
She hums softly, and then — without a change in tone — asks, “And how are things between you and my husband?”
The question hits you like a stone dropped into still water. No warning. No shift in expression.
You stiffen, staring at her.
She doesn’t look away, “Not well, I imagine?” voice still calm.
“I—”
“I don’t want to hear it”, she cuts in, quiet but firm.
Silence settles like a weight. Her voice remains calm, but the steel beneath it is undeniable. “I am not blind.”
You lower your gaze.
“I see the way Akihito looks at you. I see what it’s done to him.” Her fingers rest gently on the rim of her teacup. “And I know the kind of woman it takes to twist a man like him into something unrecognizable.”
You flinch.
“I won’t let this continue. I won’t let you unravel this family from the inside out. If you stay on this path, you won’t just break Akihito — you’ll destroy Satoru too. He’s already too attached. Too invested. And when this blows apart — because it will, like all secrets do — do you really think he won’t be the one to bleed for it?”
You look up at her, heart pounding. Her words feel like nails driven into your spine. There’s no venom in her voce. No raised pitch. Just control. Cold and deliberate. “I’m giving you a choice”, she says. “You leave. On your own terms. Or I will make sure you have no terms at all.”
You open your mouth, but nothing comes out. What can you even say? What are you supposed to do? Argue?
“Think it over”, she says, lifting her teacup again. “Before it becomes something you can’t come back from.” Then her eyes meet yours one last time — still poised, but with a new edge. “And don’t even think about telling Akihito we had this conversation.” she adds softly. “Unless you want Satoru to know about it too.”
--
You barely make it back to your room before your legs give out. The door shuts behind you and you crash onto the bed, your breath caught somewhere between a sob and a scream. You press the heels of your palms into your eyes, trying to hold back the tears, but it’s useless now. The dam is breaking. Your shoulders shake, and the sob that leaves you is hoarse, pulled from a place so deep it feels like you’re splitting open.
Everything was falling apart — like a chain of dominoes tipping one after another. One thing went wrong, and the rest followed, collapsing in swift, inevitable sequence. The worst part? The love blooming quietly in your chest. There’s no use pretending anymore. You can try to lie to everyone else — maybe even try to lie to yourself. But the truth is carved into your every glance, every touch, every breath, every unspoken word between you and Satoru. You love him. But you’re not allowed to have him. Not after this. Not when the damage has already begun to spill over the edges.
You sit in the stillness for a while, until your tears run dry and resolve begins to settle in their place. There’s one thing left to do — the thing you intended before everything spiraled. You need to speak with Akihito. You pick up your phone and type out the message.
Meet me in an hour. I’ll send you the location of the hotel.
Then you get up, dress in silence, and leave.
--
The room is quiet when he arrives. Akihito steps inside and finds you standing by the window, framed in soft, diffused light. There’s something different in your posture — something heavier. He doesn’t speak right away. He just looks at you, then takes a step forward.
He dropped everything and came to you. Still hoping. That small, foolish hope still flickers in him — that maybe, despite everything, you’ve called him here because you’ve come back. He reaches for you, arms out as if to hold you again. But you step back.
“No”, you say, voice tight. “We can’t do this anymore.”
His hands drop to his sides. “What?” his voice barely comes out. You swallow the lump rising in your throat. “Aki... we can’t.” He stares at you. Then — a bitter, hollow laugh escapes him. “So that’s it?” His voice cracks. “You fell in love with him, didn’t you? And all this was for nothing?”
You close your eyes. The silence answers for you. He paces away, running a hand through his hair, then back again. “God”, he mutters. “I thought this was the perfect plan. I thought — if I couldn’t have you publicly, I could at least have you close. Through him. Knowing he wouldn’t want you, wouldn’t touch you. Knowing that you loved me...” He looks at you now, eyes sharp with grief. “But I was wrong about both.”
You wrap your arms around yourself. “This was a terrible idea from the start, and you know it”, you whisper. “I should’ve never agreed. I should’ve never let it get this far. I wish I’d never—”
“Don’t”, he snaps, suddenly raw. “Don’t say you wish you never met me. Don’t.”
Your breath hitches, but you don’t take it back. His voice lowers, thick with disbelief. “You don’t really mean it... right?”
Your silence cuts deeper than any answer.
He lets out a sharp breath, like it hurts, and moves to step toward you again, in utter denial of what’s unfolding before his eyes.
“No”, you say, firmer this time. “Please. Just let this be the end.”
You reach for the door. He follows. For the first time, you leave the hotel room together — not like all the other times, not hidden, not careful. You’re walking away, and he’s chasing you, hand reaching desperately for yours.
“Wait—!”
Akihito’s hand closes around your wrist just as you step onto the sidewalk, his grip tight, desperate — like holding on could somehow undo everything unraveling between you.
And then you hear it — a familiar voice calls your name.
“...is that you?”
You freeze. Shoko stands a few feet away, dressed in her uniform. Her gaze flicks from your face to where Akihito’s hand still clings to yours, and her expression changes in an instant.
And just like that — in the space of a single day — everything you’ve tried to keep buried begins to rise. Crashing, all at once, to the surface.
--
The sun is long gone by the time Satoru returns, the estate cloaked in stillness. He steps inside, calling your name softly. When you appear at the end of the hall, barefoot in the dim light, something in him settles — and then, just as quickly, something else begins to stir. You look like yourself, and yet... not. Your smile is soft but distant, your eyes shimmering in a way he can’t place. “I’m home”, he says, shrugging off his jacket. “Missed me?”
You nod, walking up to him. You press a hand to his chest. “Little bit.” He smiles and leans down to kiss you, and when your lips meet, he feels it — the way you cling just a little tighter, hold just a little longer. It’s like you’re trying to memorize the way he tastes.
Later, in your shared room, the lights are low and the silence is velvet. You’re already in bed when he returns from the shower, his white hair damp and tousled, towel slung loosely around his neck. He slips in beside you, cold fingers brushing your arm. You shiver, not from the chill — from the weight of what’s to come.
“You said you needed some time for yourself this morning, but you’re still like this”, he murmurs, pulling you close. “I don’t like it.”
You nestle against his chest, pressing your cheek to his skin. “I’m okay now.”
There’s something in your voice that makes him pause. But he doesn’t push. Instead, he wraps his arms around you tighter, grounding himself in the curve of your spine, the warmth of your breath against him.
“You smell like cotton candy”, you whisper.
He chuckles, nose brushing the crown of your head. “It’s that new shampoo. Smells fancy, huh?”
You don’t answer. You just reach for his hand and intertwine your fingers with his like it’s the last time... “Will you stay with me?” you ask softly.
“I’m not going anywhere.” he breathes.
“Good”, you murmur, voice barely above a breath. “Then, come closer.”
Satoru tilts his head down to look at you, a flicker of unease moving behind his gaze. “Of course”, he says. “Where else would I go?”
You pull him down to kiss you again. Deep. Slow. There’s no teasing. No games. Just something desperate threaded through every movement. Like a goodbye wrapped in silk. When you make love, there’s no rush. No fire. Just the quiet rhythm of two people trying to suspend time — to stretch a moment into forever. You whisper his name like a prayer. He kisses your temple like he’s stealing a promise he doesn’t know he’s about to break.
Afterward, you lie tangled together, your head on his chest, his fingers absentmindedly drawing circles on your bare shoulder. Your breathing evens. Sleep comes to you quickly — a peace you haven’t known in a while.
But Satoru doesn’t sleep. He watches you in the darkness, his blue eyes searching your face, as if trying to decode something written there. Something unsaid. You’ve never look so peaceful. And, honestly, that’s what scares him. His chest tightens. Something in his gut whispers that he’s missing something. That he’s not seeing the full picture. That maybe... you’re slipping through his fingers.
“Why do I feel like I’m losing you?” he murmurs, barely audible, brushing a thumb along your cheek. You stir, but don’t wake. He leans down and kisses your forehead — gentle, reverent. “I love you”, he whispers into your hair. And for a moment, he lets himself believe it’s enough to keep you.
--
A week passes. The Gojo estate buzzes with preparations for the annual celebration — Saori and Akihito’s wedding anniversary. As always, Saori is at the heart of it all, composed and efficient, orchestrating every detail with practiced grace. Akihito, on the other hand, remains distant. Detached. You barely see him around the mansion. Not a word has passed between you since that day at the hotel. It feels like he’s quietly disappearing — withdrawing, piece by piece — and yet, an uneasy weight sits in your chest. Something feels off. Unfinished.
One afternoon, as you help Saori sort through invitations, she brings it up — casually. “Have you made up your mind?” she asks, her eyes never lifting from the stack of envelopes. You pause, fingers brushing the edge of an envelope, and answer softly — almost absently. “Who knows.”
--
Morning light filters through the sheer curtains. You’re already awake, lying still in Satoru’s arms. His breath is warm against the nape of your neck, one arm draped lazily around your waist, holding you in place like an anchor. Carefully, you ease out from under his arm. He shifts but doesn’t wake. Bare feet touch the cold floor as you rise and stand in the light, allowing yourself one last look. He’s lying on his back now, hair a tousled against the pillow. Peaceful. Vulnerable in a way only sleep allows. Your chest aches.
In the bathroom, you splash cold water on your face and lift your gaze to the mirror. Your eyes are red. Hollow. The skin beneath them bruised with fatigue. But beneath the weariness, there’s something else — resolve. When you return to the room, Satoru is stirring. He squints at you with a sleepy grin. “Come back”, he mumbles, voice rough with sleep. “I sleep better when you’re here.”
You smile softly. “Can't. You know today’s the big day.”
He stretches like a cat, arms reaching above his head, the sheet slipping down to his hips. “Ugh. Right. Completely forgot about that”, he groans and then rolls onto his side. You manage a quiet laugh. As he nestles back into the pillow, you linger in the doorway. “I love you.” you whisper — quietly, so quietly he won’t hear. Then you close the door behind you. And with that, the countdown begins.
--
The Gojo estate is nothing short of magnificent tonight. The garden glows beneath a canopy of paper lanterns, warm amber light spilling across the sea of guests. Tables are dressed in fresh flowers. Soft music hums in the background, blending into murmured conversations and the gentle clinking of glasses. Tonight is a celebration of image — Akihito and Saori’s wedding anniversary. Saori is elegance incarnate, her smile as polished as the pearls at her neck. Akihito stands beside her, composed, offering polite nods and minimal words. Together, they are the picture of grace. But the image is just that — a facade. There’s nothing worth celebrating. Nothing real about the harmony they pretend to share.
Across the garden, Satoru floats through the evening like a disruption in the symmetry. Dressed in a loose gray suit, tie nowhere in sight, he laughs too loud, drowns juice from a champagne glass, and teases the elders with casual disrespect. No one bats an eye — it’s just Satoru being Satoru. But those who know him — really know him — can see it. He’s restless. His eyes keep scanning the crowd. At first subtly. Then, with growing urgency. You’re not out here. You slipped away earlier, saying something about fixing your dress. But that was over thirty minutes ago. Long enough for the knot in his stomach to tighten. Long enough for his laugh to start sounding forced.
He leans toward Shoko, who’s sipping wine with a bored expression. “Have you seen her?”
“Nope”, Shoko replies, unbothered. “Didn’t she say she was heading to the bathroom?”
“Yeah”, Satoru’s fingers drum against the table. “But how long does fixing a dress take?”
Across the garden, Akihito and Saori stand side by side as guests gather for the toast. She leans in, whispers something. He nods — but his gaze flickers, briefly, toward the house.
An elder raises a glass. “To love. To strength. To bonds that stand the test of time.”
Glasses rise.
Clink.
Applause follows. The illusion holds.
Until—
BOOM.
A thunderous crack splits the air. The ground shakes. Heat pulses across the garden like a wave. Screams erupt. From the left wing of the estate, fire bursts through the windows — a wall of flame swallowing the air. Smoke billows thick and choking. Music cuts out. Plates crash. Glass shatters.
Satoru’s glass falls from his hand and explodes against the ground. Something sharp drives into his chest. He knows — you’re still inside. But before the thought is fully formed, he’s already running.
“WHERE IS SHE?!” His voice cuts through the chaos as he barrels through the guests.
Akihito starts to follow, face pale, but Saori grabs his arm. Her gaze then snaps to her son. “Satoru, STOP!” she cries — but he doesn’t hear.
To Satoru, the world is silent now. There is only the roar of the fire and the pounding of his heart. He bursts through the estate doors, sprinting toward the source of the flames. He forgets his technique. Forgets his own safety. Forgets everything — except you.
“Please, baby— please, my love— I’m coming, please— Don’t do this to me, please—”, he keeps chanting.
The deeper he goes, the more warped the hall becomes — blackened, unrecognizable. He reaches the kitchen — but it’s empty. Panic claws up his throat. He turns, runs to the nearby bathroom. Kicks the door open. Heat smacks him like a wall. Smoke clogs his lungs. He pulls his sleeve over his mouth and steps inside.
Then he sees it — someone collapsed near the sink, limbs sprawled. Still. His heart stops. He nearly slips as he rushes forward, dropping to his knees beside the figure. Burnt and unrecognizable. But the dress — what’s left of it — is familiar. The color. The delicate trim. There’s a necklace around the neck, half-melted, but unmistakably yours. “No”, he whispers. “No, no, no—”
His hand hovers over your body. His throat tightens. Everything around him is heat, noise, pressure, but in his ears, there’s only silence. Like the world just folded in on itself. He doesn’t realize he’s crying until the tears hit his lips — salt and ash. “I was just with you...” he whispers, almost childlike, broken. “You were laughing with me a moment ago...” He leans in, presses his forehead to your shoulder, and breathes raggedly. Body shaking.
Behind him, voices start to echo. Footsteps. Shouting. Geto is coming to pull him out. But Satoru doesn’t hear any of it. He doesn’t move. He can’t. For the first time in his life, it feels like he’s lost.
--
The fire was quickly contained. The Gojo mansion still stands, its structure untouched. Only the left wing of the first floor bears the marks of the fire. The investigation concluded that the fire was caused by an overheating motor in the bathroom’s ventilation system, a tragic accident. Only one life was lost: yours.
Your funeral was two days ago. A private ceremony. Satoru didn’t speak during it. He barely moved. Just stood there, hands shoved deep in his pockets, his eyes hidden behind the blindfold. Quiet. In a way he’s never been.
Now, days later, the world still spins — people still laugh, they breathe, they live. But he’s still here. In the room that was once your shared bedroom. Alone. He sits on the edge of the bed, staring at the chaos of your things scattered around the room. Your belongings — still as you left them — seem to scream your absence. He can’t bring himself to touch them. Not yet. Not ever. The book you were reading, the bottle of perfume on the nightstand, your lotion, your earrings, the brush on the vanity, and your nightgown — neatly folded on your side of the bed. It all kills him. The maids are prohibited from entering the room. He’s made sure of it. The silence of the space, with all its untouched remnants of you, is his alone to bear.
He buries his face in your pillow, hoping to catch even the faintest trace of your scent. But it’s long gone. A strangled breath leaves him. Then another. And then... he breaks. His hands shake as he scrolls through his phone, endlessly flipping through old texts. Rereading them. The messages that still feel so alive — your voice echoing in his mind. One voicemail stands out. The one you left days before the accident. He presses play.
“Satoru, stop leaving the toilet seat up! I’m too sleepy in the mornings to notice, but my butt definitely doesn't appreciate an unexpected ice bath.”
He laughs. Just once. And then, he breaks again. Gojo Satoru, the strongest sorcerer in the world, curls into himself, his body crumpling into fetal position. He cries. Not quietly. No. He cries like he’s been holding it in his entire life, like the ground beneath him finally gave way and left him with nothing to stand on. No air. No reason.
They say he’s doing fine. Around others, he smiles. He jokes. He walks with that same easy confidence, says the right things, acts like nothing’s changed. But Geto and Shoko know better. They see it in the way he visits your grave every day. The way his shoulders stiffen when someone dares mention your name. The way his hands tremble when they’re not stuffed in his pockets. He’s unraveling. Slowly. Quietly. And still, no one knows the truth. Not yet. Not even him.
Only Shoko does.
--
You follow Shoko into the morgue at Jujutsu Tech, each step slow and soundless. She doesn’t speak. Just moves steadily toward a counter, where she sets a folder down. Her back remains to you. The silence stretches long and taut. Then—
“I wasn’t sure what to make of what I saw earlier”, she finally says. “But the fact that you followed me here... it confirms my suspicions.”
You try to speak, but no words come out. Only a shaky breath escapes, heavy with guilt, regret, and everything you’ve been holding in for far too long. Shoko turns to face you. Her expression is unreadable, but her eyes are sharp.
“You look like you want to say something”, she says. “So say it.”
The words stumble out at first, fractured and raw. But then they come faster, pouring from you. You tell her everything — the affair, the reason behind the arranged marriage, the lies... everything. And the worst of it — that somehow, in the wreckage of it all, you fell in love with Satoru. You nearly choke saying it aloud, the weight of the truth crushing in your chest.
Shoko listens in silence. She doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t interrupt. When you finally stop, she speaks with her usual stillness. “Why are you telling me this?” Then, sharper, “Why not tell Gojo?”
“No”, you say quickly. “I can’t... I won’t do this to him.”
She tilts her head, gaze narrowing. “You already did”, she replies flatly. “Whether you tell him or not doesn’t change that.”
Your throat tightens. “I know... and I need you to help me.”
“Help you?” she repeats. “Why would I?”
“Because I don’t want him to hurt, not like this.”
There’s a long pause. Shoko just watches you — assessing, weighing. Then she steps closer, her voice low. “But he will hurt. In a way I’m not sure he’ll ever come back from.”
You meet her gaze, desperation burning in yours. “Please.”
She says nothing, but something seems to be shifting in her.
“There’s something that will hurt him less than the truth”, you say. “I need you to find a body. Someone who resembles me. Imbue it with my residuals — only you can do that. I’ll take care of the rest.”
Her arms cross slowly. “You want me to find a corpse?” she asks. “You want me to help you fake your death? Is that it?”
You nod, eyes dropping. “He’ll be better off thinking I’m dead than knowing what I’ve done.”
“You’re underestimating him”, Shoko says, shaking her head. “You don’t know what you mean to him. This isn’t mercy — it’ll destroy him.”
Her words cut like glass, but you close your eyes. “Please”, you whisper.
“When?”, Shoko asks, and you blink. “When do you need the body?” she repeats, rubbing the bridge of her nose.
--
(One month later)
You moved away. Far away. To a small village tucked in the mountains, hidden in a forgotten corner of the country. It’s quiet here — the kind of quiet that doesn’t demand anything from you. No one knows your name here. Not your real one, anyway. You rent a modest cottage, barely furnished, but clean. You wake with the sun, tend to your tiny garden, then walk to the local pub where you started working just enough to get by. It’s simple. Monotonous. A life carved from necessity, not desire. And yet, every night before bed, you check your phone. One conversation always sits at the top of your inbox: Shoko.
Your last message was three days ago.
You: How is he?
Her reply came the next morning.
Shoko: Still breathing. Don’t ask for more.
You didn’t. You never do.
--
(Back at Jujutsu Tech)
Satoru has just returned from a mission, and it’s clear he’s not himself. He’s sharp, but off. The usual cocky confidence has slipped into irritation, and he drifts through the halls with his mind elsewhere. Distracted. A clipboard hangs loosely in his hand, and he’s on the hunt for Shoko — she’s supposed to fill out a report.
These days, he only drops the act around her. Or Geto. Or, of course, when alone. When he’s not pretending, he’s quiet. Drained. Nothing like the Gojo Satoru everyone knows.
As he nears the morgue, he slows. A muffled voice cuts through the silence behind the door. It’s Shoko, on the phone. He’s about to knock when he hears it.
Your name.
Satoru freezes. Is he finally losing his mind? But then, there’s more—
“...you need to stop asking.”
A pause. Then, softer—
“He... He doesn’t talk about you still. He’s not okay. But you knew he wouldn’t be.”
The world stills. He doesn’t breathe. Doesn’t blink. It’s like his mind is short-circuiting. Did he hear that right? His grip tightens on the clipboard until it creaks beneath his fingers. But then, it comes again.
Your name.
He stands there, stunned for a moment, before his body moves of its own accord. The door opens with a slow creak.
Shoko looks up, and she sighs. “...I have work to do”, she says quietly, and ends the call.
Satoru steps inside and shuts the door behind him. He throws the clipboard aside. He is not smiling, and he’s no longer wearing his blindfold. And for the first time in a month, his eyes are fully visible — different, bottomless, rimmed in red — and they are fixed on her. “Care to explain?”, he says, voice low, flat.
Shoko doesn’t play dumb. She doesn’t lie. She leans back against the wall, her posture shifting to something almost resigned. She exhales, a soft sound, like she’s been waiting for this moment. She knew it would come. And for the first time in weeks, Satoru’s eyes — his grief-clouded eyes — are lit by something else. Hope.
“She’s alive.”, Shoko says. The words hang in the air between them, and Satoru’s world shifts. He doesn’t react at first. Just stands there, trying to process her words.
Finally, his voice cracks — barely audible, barely more than a whisper, like something fragile. “You let me bury her.”
Shoko’s gaze softens for a moment, but then she sighs, a sound that’s more exhausted than regretful. “She said it’d hurt you less.”
“Less?” He laughs once, a shar, disbelieving sound. “Less than what?”
“The truth.” The words come from Shoko with unflinching clarity. “She had an affair with your father.”
Shoko waits. For a reaction. For anger. For questions. For anything.
But Satoru doesn’t blink. He only asks one question. “Where is she?”
--
The Gojo estate still stands. The first floor — once scorched by fire — has long since been renovated. But beneath the surface, the scars of the past remain. For those who know, it’s impossible to forget what was lost. Akihito sits in the living room, staring down at the floor, his expression hollow. The once commanding patriarch is now a broken shell. His hands tremble as he takes a sip of his drink, his gaze unfocused, consumed by grief. He hasn’t spoken much in weeks. Every time he tries, his voice cracks. The loss of you has shattered him. Sometimes he tells himself it was better this way — better to lose you to death than to watch you belong to someone else. Even if that someone else was his son. For a moment, that thought would make it easier to breathe. But then again, what did it matter? You were gone. And something in him knew — the fire wasn’t an accident. He suspected Saori. Maybe she found out. Maybe she did this to you. Should he kill her? But that wouldn’t bring you back. And besides... the clan. He still had a duty to do.
Saori sits nearby, her gaze fixed out the window, her lips curling into a faint, satisfied smile. Her eyes flicker to Akihito for a brief moment, but there’s no sympathy in them — only contentment. After everything, she believes fate has finally righted itself. She watches him fall apart with quiet detachment, a sense of calm in her stillness. At least now, he is more hers than he is yours. “Perhaps it was fate”, she murmurs softly, her words for no one but the walls. Akihito’s eyes remain distant, his thoughts far removed from her voice. He’s too lost to hear anything she says — too far gone to care.
Then, the door opens. Satoru enters, no grand gesture, no announcement. His presence fills the room immediately, thick and heavy, like an impending storm. Akihito doesn’t look up. He doesn’t need to. He knows why his son is here — he can feel it in the air before he even steps further in. Saori glances at Satoru, her eyes narrowing slightly, sensing the shift in the atmosphere. She rises without a word, understanding that this conversation isn’t for her. She leaves quietly, walking past her son with only a brief, knowing look.
The door clicks shut behind her.
Akihito slumps lower in his seat, but he doesn’t look at his son. He doesn’t need to. The way Satoru stands there, rigid, fists clenched, eyes dark and filled with fury. Akihito feels the weight of it, heavy in the room, before he even lifts his head to look at him.
“You know”, Akihito says quietly, his voice hoarse, a statement rather than a question. Satoru stands still, his jaw clenched tight, eyes burning. He doesn’t answer. The air between them crackles with the unsaid. Akihito presses on, his voice low, laced with a tremor. “How did you find out?”
Still, Satoru remains silent. His fists tremble at his sides, his breathing shallow, ragged. The words catch in his throat, a clash of fury and hurt. When he finally speaks, his voice is hoarse and strained, as though forcing each word past the tightness in his chest.
“You broke her.” he spits, finally. “You broke the one thing most precious to me.”
Akihito flinches, the weight of the accusation landing heavily on him. His gaze hardens, but he can’t meet Satoru’s eyes. There’s nothing to say. His son is right — he did break her. And by doing so, he broke his son as well.
Satoru steps forward suddenly, his movements swift and calculated. The space between them closes in an instant, and Satoru’s eyes, wide with intensity, burn through the silence as he towers over his own father. There’s something primal in the air now — a rawness, an energy that could consume the entire room, the entire estate, if left unchecked. Akihito doesn’t react, he just sits there, knowing what’s coming. He accepts it. The man he once was, gone. And this son — this powerful, broken son — is the reckoning he’s been waiting for.
“Do you have anything to say?” Satoru’s voice is barely containing the storm inside him. His hands shake, still clenched tightly into fists, but there’s a note of something darker in his gaze — an edge that suggests the breaking point is near. Akihito looks at him, pained, defeated, but remains silent. The words don’t come.
The sound that follows — sharp and violent — could be a fist crashing into flesh or a bone snapping under pressure. It’s unclear, too quick to pinpoint. The air itself seems to shatter with it.
Satoru turns without another word, leaving the mansion. His hands are covered in blood.
Behind him, a scream shatters the silence. Saori’s scream, high and frantic, echoes through the halls. Saori doesn’t know it yet, but her time is coming too. Soon enough.
--
Satoru knew. He had known for a while. It wasn’t a dramatic discovery. It was quiet and accidental, in fact. It happened early into your marriage, when you were still distant with him — polite but clipped. Somehow always guarded. He thought it was the nerves at first. Shyness. The weight of tradition. But then a month passed, and you still wouldn’t meet his eyes unless it was absolutely necessary. Still flinched when he reached for you. He could handle awkward beginnings, of course — especially for you. He wasn’t expecting a fairytale, you didn’t even remember him. But what he couldn’t handle was not knowing you, the way that you never let him in.
So he did what a curious man with too little patience like himself might do. He followed you. Not out of suspicion of course. He thought if he observed you from a distance, he might’ve learned things you weren’t ready to tell or show him. Your habits. Anything. And then, one afternoon, he watched you enter a hotel. Alone. Odd.
Ten minutes later, his father arrived. Very odd.
Satoru waited. Two hours later, you walked out. Head down, hair slightly mussed. You didn’t see him. Shortly after, Akihito exited the building, adjusting his coat, wearing an expression Satoru had rarely seen on him — satisfied, secretive. And that was it. He didn’t even use his Six Eyes at first. Part of him didn’t want confirmation. Part of him hoped it was just a coincidence. But shortly after, he let his technique drift over your form. And there it was. Residuals. His father’s cursed energy. All over you.
...and everything began to click. Your stiffness. The arranged marriage. His father’s sudden interest in choosing his bride. How Akihito had spoken of you before the engagement with just a touch too much fondness. It wasn’t an arranged marriage; it was a cover. You weren’t his. You were his father’s.
Satoru never confronted you, never let on that he knew. He just watched. Watched the way you disappeared for hours and returned with a soft look in your eyes that was never for him. Watched the way Akihito seemed lighter after seeing you. Watched the lie of a marriage unfold, thread by thread, every day. He never blamed you, though. He thought, maybe this was fate’s twisted way of bringing you back together. Yes, he could’ve easily destroyed it, could’ve exposed the affair and made the clan turn against Akihito. But that would’ve meant the clan turning against you as well. And Satoru never wanted to ruin you, he wanted to keep you.
So he waited. Watched. Loved you in silence. And when he caught glimpses — that maybe you were beginning to see him, not just the son of the man you loved, that you were starting to change — that was all it took. He clung to that.
Because the thing about Gojo Satoru is that, when he wants something — really, truly wants it — he doesn’t stop. Not rules. Not family. Nothing can stop him.
You had been stolen from him once — the night on the curb, when fate gave you to him and then ripped you away before he could even ask your name. Then it happened again. His father got to you first.
Now, he wasn’t going to let you be taken away from him for the third time. No matter what. Even if it meant choosing heart over blood.
If you had faked your death and disappeared because you believed you couldn’t exist in a world with both of them, then all he had to do was remove the one standing in the way. To keep you.
--
You’re wiping down the tables at the pub, preparing for the new day. Half-focused. Letting the repetitive motion ground you, steady your nerves. Trying not to think about the ghost of him that’s never really left you.
The door creaks open behind you.
“We’re not open yet”, you immediately call out. Politely, without turning around. “Please come back in an hour.”
Silence. Neither a response, nor footsteps indicating that the person is leaving. You glance over your shoulder, ready to repeat yourself, but the words catch in your throat.
Satoru is standing there, leaning against the doorframe. “Won’t you make an exception for me?” he says softly. It’s meant to sound like him — teasing, light — but his voice gives him away. It’s quiet, fragile. Like it might crack if he tries any harder to keep it steady.
The rag slips from your hands. You freeze. Then slowly, you turn. But you don’t meet his eyes. You don’t dare. “Why would you come here?” you ask, your voice barely above a whisper. It’s not a question of how he found you. The answer was simple. Shoko.
He steps forward, slowly. “For you.”
“For me”, you echo under your breath, more to yourself than to him, a bitter laugh escaping you. “For me, huh?” you repeat.
“For you.” — he says again, with no hesitation. You wrap your arms around yourself, trying to shrink, as if you could fold into nothing. As if it might protect you from the weight of what he’s carrying in his voice. “Did you ever consider that maybe I didn’t want to be found?”
“I did”, he says. “I considered a lot of things, actually.” He pauses before he takes another step, and then adds, “But the fact you did something so reckless... made me consider that you cared more than I imagined.”
You shake your head, swallowing the lump in your throat. “You don’t understand—”
“I do.” He cuts in gently. “You thought if you stayed, you’d destroy us both.”
You finally look up, meeting his eyes for the first time, and something inside you threatens to cave, the devastation in him nearly buckling your knees. “I did something unforgivable.”
He exhales, like what he’s about to say is so obvious it needn’t be said out loud. But he does it anyway — “I was ready to do anything for you.”
“Even if what I did was truly terrible?”
“Even then.”
He takes another step, and then another, until the distance between is gone. Until he’s close enough to touch. You want to move. To put space between you, but your feet don’t listen. And his presence — it roots you in place like gravity.
“You could’ve told me everything”, he murmurs. “You should’ve told me.” A pause. “I already knew.”
“What?”, your breath stutters.
His eyes darken, and a faint, bitter smile tugs at the corner of his lips. “I’ve known for a while.”
“But... Shoko... didn’t Shoko—”
“It wasn’t her.” He shakes his head. “I found out myself.” He falls silent for a moment, like the memory stings to recall.
“And you never said anything?”
“I had my reasons”, he says softly. “Just like you had yours.” He lifts his hand — the lightest touch — and tilts your chin up. The gentleness nearly undoes you. You try to speak, but the words tangle with the sob building in your chest. It slips out instead — small, broken. His fingers brush beneath your eye, catching the tear before it falls. Even as his own hand trembles. “One word from you would’ve changed everything”, he whispers. “I would’ve burned everything down to keep you safe. Happy.”
You slowly break under the weight of his words, forehead falling to his chest. You feel the tension in him — not anger, not judgment. Just ache. His arms wrap around you.
“You were always my girl”, he breathes into your hair. “Even when you didn’t know it. Even when you were his. From the moment you fell asleep on my lap outside that club, you were mine.”
You tilt your head up, lips trembling. “I’m... I’m really s—”
“Shh.”
He leans in, pressing his forehead to yours, the warmth of him seeping into your skin. “I know.”
And then, his lips charge closer — you meet him halfway into a soft, slow kiss. One that is both an ache and a release all at once.
It hurts to want him this much. It hurts to know what you did. It hurts to know that he still looks at you with so much love, even when he knows it all. It hurts, that despite everything, it’s still you.
--
You never thought you’d find peace again. Not truly. But now, the mornings are calm. The nights are quiet. The days pass without dread — light, easy, almost gentle. You and Satoru settled into this small life together, tucked away from the rest of the world.
He left it all behind — the clan, the title, the crushing weight of being the strongest. Here, he isn’t Gojo Satoru, head of the Gojo Clan or the face of sorcerer society. Here, he’s just Satoru. Your Satoru. The one who wakes up beside you each morning, arm draped around your waist, murmuring sleepy nonsense into your ear. The one who insists on cooking breakfast and makes an unspeakable mess in the kitchen. The one who still leaves the toilet seat up just to hear you scold him — and grins when you do.
Your belly is growing now — small, round, and full of promise. Sometimes he speaks to it like he already knows who your child will be. Sometimes he rests his head there and falls asleep. Other times, he lies awake with his hand on your baby bump, eyes full of wonder and fear, whispering that he hopes he’ll be good enough — for both of you.
There are things left unspoken between you. You’ve never asked what happened after he left the clan — or more accurately, what happened before he left. You suspect the truth, of course. There’s no way not to. But you don’t press. And he doesn’t offer.
Still, you think of Akihito sometimes. It’s impossible not to — he was a turning point, a fire you walked through to become who you are now. And sometimes, in the right light, Satoru looks so much like him. The same build, the same jawline, the same eyes.
But you know better. He’s nothing like him. Akihito, for all his love, always chose the clan in the end. His desires may have been selfish, but they were always entwined with duty. He loved you, yes. But he never chose you. Not truly.
But Satoru did. He always chose you — even when it broke him. Even when it meant walking away from everything he was. Even when it meant taking a life — his own blood — to protect yours.
When he said, “I was ready to do anything for you”,
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