🐚

25| 𝙨𝙝𝙚/𝙝𝙚𝙧 | 🤍 | 🔞 |

[sylustoru]

꒰ ྀི 𝙼𝙸𝙽𝙾𝚁𝚂 𝙶𝙴𝚃 𝚃𝙷𝙴 𝙵𝚄𝙲𝙺 𝙾𝚄𝚃 𝙾𝙵 𝙼𝚈 𝙿𝚁𝙾𝙵𝙸𝙻𝙴 ! ꒱

☆‧˚ hi im ʍíӀɑղ ⋆ ♡

꒰ 🫧‌ … ꒰ ♡ : 25 living for the angst and smutiest fics ノ

☀︎⋆.ೃ࿔🌼*:･ 𝘍𝘰𝘳 𝘚𝘢𝘵𝘰𝘳𝘶, 𝘐 𝘴𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘦 ⁺₊⋆ 𖤓 ☀️⋆⁺₊

‧˚꒰🍷💋ྀིྀི ꒱༘‧ 𝘍𝘰𝘳 𝘚𝘺𝘭𝘶𝘴, 𝘐 𝘣𝘭𝘦𝘦𝘥 -'🍷⁠*⁠.⁠✧

⋆°.☾⋆.ೃ࿔*:⋆ 🌙 𝘍𝘰𝘳 𝘓𝘦𝘷𝘪, 𝘐 𝘴𝘶𝘳𝘷𝘪𝘷𝘦𝘥 ⋆⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺⋆

[roguishcat]

❄️Before us❄️

Chapter 3 of 12

Chapter 2

Summary: On paper, Zayne was the perfect husband. Attentive, kind, successful. But whenever he was around MC, he looked at her like she was the centre of his world. And that raised the question. What in the world were you - his wife - supposed to be?

Pairings: Non MC x Zayne, MC x Sylus, Blythe x Caleb

Tags: Angst, hurt, comfort, MNDI, soft smut, piv sex, AU, no evol, the LADS are in their 30s, it gets worse before it gets better, emotional infidelity

Word count: 4.7k

Dividers by @orieriee and @diviniyae

A/N: Thank you so much for your comments! 💖 I included a little more about the Reader into this one. I hope it gives some insight into why she tries so hard with Zayne. She is an unreliable narrator and is motivated by her want to justify Zayne's actions in an attempt to create what she sees as a safe environment. She ignores the obvious red flags to maintain the illussion of happiness. For her, admitting the truth means her entire sense of safety and sense of normality collapses.

Hope you enjoy this chapter! It got too long, so I decided to split it into two.

Married life had quickly settled into a quiet, distant routine. Zayne’s demanding career as a world-renowned surgeon meant he was rarely home on time, a reality you tried hard to accept as the unavoidable price of his calling. Your mornings now followed a strict, unyielding pattern to accommodate his schedule.  

You would wake up an hour before when you needed to wake up and cook breakfast while he went for his morning run. You would eat together in pleasant efficiency, then head out to work. You always returned hours before him, pottered around the house, tended your garden, cooked dinner that would slowly cool, and tried desperately to stay awake. Late at night, you would finally feel the mattress dip as he crawled into bed beside you. And that was it.

On rare occasions, Zayne would take you out on a date. It was always perfectly orchestrated. Perhaps a nice evening at an expensive restaurant filled with pleasant, polite conversation. A movie night complete with popcorn and various sweets. A weekend ride into the countryside where you two would share a quiet picnic.

Sex, if and when it happened, was amazing. He made sure that you came at least once. The physical encounters with Zayne were a confusing mix of intense gratification and heartbreaking distance. When he did touch you, his precision in anything he put his mind to translated into an overwhelming, breathless mastery that left your body entirely consumed. He was unfailingly thorough, using his hands and mouth with a focused dedication that ensured your pleasure, never allowing the encounter to end until he felt your body shatter beneath him.

Yet, beneath the heat of his touch, his passion felt deliberate. A flawless execution of a procedure. Something that he did because he was meant to. There was no fun, mess or chaos. No bumping noses or awkwardness. No bursts of affection, no vulnerability in his eyes, and no soft, unprompted whispers in the dark. As you lay in his arms afterward, you couldn't shake the feeling that he was merely performing the duties of a husband, leaving his heart entirely untouched.

You were worried at first when the occasions when you were intimate with your husbands became scarce and far between. But then you reminded yourself that settling into a routine meant that passion became less of a priority. Besides, how could you complain when your husband was out there saving lives?

You were grateful for your life. To any outsider looking in, it would seem flawless.

You genuinely loved your job. Being a teacher was not everyone’s cup of tea, but you found true joy in working with children. You loved your friends, too. Blythe could not spend as much time with you as before now that she was pregnant with her second child, but you had recently reconnected with a few close friends from university.

And then, of course, there was MC.

Despite your deep-seated insecurities and how much you still hated the soft, rare look on Zayne’s face whenever her name was casually mentioned, MC was a great person. She invited you to hang out with her and her co-workers Tara and Simone. When you mentioned that you weren’t really sure what would look good in the sparsely decorated house, she whisked you off on a shopping trip, pushing you to buy the gorgeous things to decorate your home that both of you knew were more to your taste than Zayne’s. Not that Zayne commented on anything that you purchased. When he was actually around, he seemed to treat your house as more of a space where he’d spend time between surgeries rather than a home.

And, of course, you loved your husband. How could you not? He was everything a dutiful husband was supposed to be. Except sometimes, late at night as you lay alone in your marital bed waiting for him, you wondered. Wondered if he truly cared about you as a person, or if he just cared about portraying a certain image of a perfect life.

But you always told yourself that it was fine. Your life was fine. You were fine. Zayne was fine. If anything, you felt that thinking otherwise was you being ungrateful. Many women would kill to have such a comfortable, stable life and a secure relationship. It was certainly better than the relationship your parents had.

To this day you were unsure why your mother hadn’t left your father. To everyone else, he was a charming, handsome man who doted on his beautiful, elegant wife and somewhat plain, unremarkable daughter. But behind closed doors, he was a tyrant who took out all his frustrations with his life on you. He had never hit you. The torture was psychological only. You still remembered vividly how you felt when the call about his fatal car accident came. You didn’t feel sadness, just relief. And what kind of a monster feels that way about her own father?

Perhaps it was the lingering guilt that pushed you to try harder in your marriage. Or perhaps it was the feeling that you could never measure up to the man who chose you. Whatever it was, you knew that you won the husband lottery. You were with a man who never shouted, belittled you or let others disrespect you, and treated you with care. Perhaps your relationship was not as emotionally close as you hoped and dreamed. But you were going to try harder, pour more of yourself in it, and make sure that it would eventually become the real, deep love that you craved.

And for now, you contented yourself with spending an occasional afternoon with Blythe, Caleb, and their toddler. With Blythe heavily pregnant with their second son, Caleb had managed to take a significant chunk of time off from his military duties to be with his growing family. It must have been incredibly difficult to arrange, but he had secured a rare three-month leave out of the six he had originally pushed for.

“Argh, I’m such a whale!” Blythe groaned, dropping rather inelegantly onto the sofa beside you. “And you look so pretty and just look at your perfect legs! I kinda hate you right now.”

“Don’t say that,” you laughed gently, squeezing her hand. “You are absolutely glowing.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever. The miracle of life and all that,” she scoffed playfully. Then, she raised her voice, directing it toward the kitchen. “I swear, this is the last one, Caleb! I’m not doing this again!”

“That’s what you said the last time!” Caleb called back, his voice full of easy amusement.

“Well, I mean it this time!” Blythe yelled back, crossing her arms over her round belly. “Don’t you dare come near me for the next ten years!”

Caleb grinned as he walked into the living room. Without a word of complaint, he popped a spoonful of ice cream directly into her mouth to quiet her down, before handing her the rest of the bowl.

“Even if I have ice cream?” he teased.

Blythe swallowed, a smile blooming on her face. “Only if you have ice cream.”

Watching them, a familiar, quiet ache bloomed in your chest. You looked down at your hands, the words slipping out before you could stop them. “I wish Zayne was around more.”

“Is he still working himself stupid?” Caleb asked. His expression softened as he noticed how nervous you were. He handed you a cup of coffee and a slice of cake. “And here I thought that Mr. Snowman would actually allow himself to be human from time to time.”

“He’s just really busy,” you murmured, your fingers tightening around the warm coffee mug Caleb had handed you. You forced a small, practiced smile to your lips, automatically stepping into the familiar role of an understanding wife. “There’s been so many complex cardiac cases at the hospital lately. He’s one of the few surgeons who can handle them.”

Blythe rolled her eyes affectionately over her bowl of ice cream, though her gaze remained sharp and perceptive. “Hun, lives are always on the line. He was a workaholic when he was twenty, and he’s a workaholic now. But he’s a married man now. He needs to realize his schedule affects you.”

“It’s fine, really,” you insisted, your voice carrying a desperate edge of reassurance. “I knew what I was signing up for. And I really want him to succeed. Besides, when he is home, he’s incredibly attentive. He always remembers exactly what I like, and he takes care of everything.”

Caleb sat down in a nearby armchair, holding his own cup of coffee. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, his violet, striking eyes studying you with quiet concern. Unlike Blythe's bluntness, Caleb's approach was almost brotherly in its gentleness.

“Look, we all respect Zayne’s dedication,” Caleb said. “But even the military gives us leave to be with our families. A marriage can’t survive on the scraps of someone’s time, no matter how noble their job is. You’re allowed to miss your husband. You’re allowed to want him ‘round.”

You swallowed the lump in your throat and stared down at the slice of cake on your plate, suddenly unable to meet Caleb’s eyes. If they only knew that it wasn’t just the long hours that hurt.

“Anyway, enough about Zayne,” you said quickly, forcing a brighter note into your voice as you set your coffee mug down on the table. “We should be focusing on the two of you. Three months of uninterrupted family time is incredible, Caleb. How did you even manage to pull that off with your superiors?”

Caleb stared at you for a heartbeat too long, clearly recognizing the pivot for what it was, but he let it go. He offered a warm, easy smile and leaned back. “Let’s just say I might have done a few favours for the commanding officer. Plus, I think they are scared of Mrs. Xia here.”

“Damn right,” Blythe muttered happily, taking another large spoonful of ice cream. “But seriously, it’s been amazing having him here to help chase our toddler around. I don't think my back could take it.”

You listened to them talk, nodding and smiling in all the right places as the conversation shifted to the chaotic joy of raising a family. It was obvious that they were a team. Navigating the challenges of Caleb's career together without losing their warmth or their connection. The contrast between their genuine, messy affection and your own pristine, silent marriage was deafening.

By the time you finally said your goodbyes and stepped out into the cool evening air, the weight of loneliness was entirely suffocating. Sitting in the driver's seat of your car, you gripped the steering wheel.

A marriage can’t survive on the scraps of someone’s time.

You wiped your eyes with a rough, jerky movement and took a deep breath. There was no use comparing their family dynamic with the one that you had. Every marriage was different. As you drove off, you once again reminded yourself that everything was fine.

You spent the rest of the day losing yourself in your garden, tending to blooms big and small. Wiping your hands on a cloth, you stood back to admire your hard work. Vines of star jasmine flirted with the pink variety, both climbing a vertical archway lush with glossy, dark green leaves and fragrant petals. Nearby sat the evergreen shrubs of Arabian jasmine, which you would soon harvest, dry, and mix with green tea for a calming floral brew. These jasmines were your absolute favourites. Though you would never admit that out loud, of course! Every flower was tended with love, but the abundance of jasmine was deliberate. It was your quiet trap to lure your husband outside, to convince him to sit with you on the swing you had installed a few weeks ago. You could picture it perfectly. The two of you surrounded by greenery and fresh, floral scents, sipping tea and eating the delicate pastries he loved so much.

Smiling, you checked the time. Zayne wasn't due home for hours. There was plenty of time left for your secret.

Walking into the far corner of the garden, you dug a little and unearthed your diary. It was stored in a waterproof container and wrapped up tightly. You knew that perhaps it made you objectively crazy to hide your diary. But you needed an outlet for your emotions and didn’t know what Zayne would think if he ever happened to come across it.

You hadn’t always hidden your thoughts away like that. As a quiet, easily startled child that could not make friends and once she did was uprooted and thrust into a different school, you still needed someone to talk to. So diaries became your companions. The things you documented were innocent enough. Dreams, Christmas and Birthday gifts, stories that you wrote about stories that you had enjoyed reading. But as you grew older, you documented your raw, unfiltered emotions. And that was your mistake.

Even now, you could still see your father’s face as he held your open diary, its pages violated by his angry, prying eyes.

“Is this what you really think of us? Huh? That we are unreasonable? That we are unfair? After all we've done for you over the years? Answer me!”

Hot tears had rolled down your cheeks as your lips trembled, your eyes glued to the floor.

“I said answer me! Look at me when I’m talking to you!”

You had forced yourself to look up. He was standing too close, almost thrusting the diary into your face. “I bet this is what you go around telling people, too! You ungrateful little shit.”

“I—”

“Well?”

“I don’t.”

“Liar! I’ll cure you of that!”

With a sharp blink, you shook your head, forcing the bitter memory to dissolve back into the past. You stood up, walked over to the garden swing, and took off your shoes. Pulling your knees tight against your chest, you promised yourself you wouldn't think of him anymore. That life was gone. Dead and buried. You had a wonderful life now, and a kind husband. Yet, sometimes, when you looked across the table at Zayne as he silently scrolled through his phone during breakfast or the occasional dinner, you deeply wished you could share more of yourself with him. Perhaps, one day, you would.

You were really good at lying to yourself. Practice makes perfect, after all. But no matter how much you convinced yourself that you were happy with the way things were, as days passed and the air started to grow cooler, you could no longer ignore the truth.

The illusion finally shattered on a Saturday night in the frozen food aisle of the grocery store. As you stood there alone, trying to decide on an ice cream treat to eat by yourself, a sudden, staggering realization hit you. The last time you and your husband had been intimate was seven months ago. And you were only two years into your marriage.

Your immediate knee-jerk reaction was to blame yourself, wondering if the lack of physical warmth was entirely your fault. Because you hated confrontation and knew how exhausted he always was, you had stayed silent for months to avoid becoming a cliché. That is, the nagging, demanding wife who puts her own needs before her husband’s career.

No, you told yourself, that wasn’t who you were. You just weren’t trying hard enough. Shaking off the sudden loneliness, you decided to surprise him. Instead of spending another Saturday evening alone watching a film, you put on your favourite summer dress, the one that had his gaze lingering on your back a moment too long to be accidental, packed a basket full of desserts, and drove straight to the hospital. You were determined to bridge the distance between you in whatever way you could.

"I'm sorry, Dr. Li is not here," the receptionist told you politely when you arrived.

"Oh, I see," you stammered, caught off guard. "I thought he had two more surgeries tonight."

"No, he clocked out about an hour ago."

You quickly thanked the receptionist, commenting on how forgetful you were and hoping desperately that she didn’t notice how tight and fragile your smile had become.

Sitting down on a bench just outside the hospital entrance, putting down the useless basket of sweets beside you, you felt a heavy, suffocating dread settle deep in your chest.

If he wasn't working, was it possible that he was avoiding you?

It just didn’t make any sense. With how completely exhausted he was every day after work, surely Zayne would want to get home and unwind in his own space as early as he possibly could.

No, you reasoned, you were just overthinking things again. You tended to do that. He was probably already home, walking through the door right now and wondering where you were.

And yet, when you returned to the dark, silent house forty minutes later, he still wasn't there.

Feeling a sudden wave of desperation, and terrified that something terrible might have happened to the man you loved, you called his phone. It went straight to voicemail. Feeling increasingly frantic, you called again, and again, and again.

With nowhere else to turn, you realized there was only one person left who might know his habits outside the hospital. You dialled her number.

"Hello?" MC answered on the second ring.

"Um, hi! I’m so sorry to call you out of the blue like this," you stammered, your throat tightening as you tried to keep your voice steady. "But I was wondering if you might know where Zayne is. He’s not at work, he’s not answering his phone, and I’m just… I'm really worried something happened to him."

In the background, you suddenly heard the distinct rustle of clothing and movement. "Wait, hang on. No, Sylus, I can't right now," MC whispered. Then, cutting clearly through the line, you heard Sylus mutter a single, low word: "Idiot." MC quickly shushed him, her tone sharp.

Your face burned with an immediate, agonizing flush of humiliation. Was Sylus calling you an idiot? Was he mocking you for being a clueless, desperate wife who had to call her husband's childhood friend just to track him down on a Saturday night? You felt incredibly small, stripped of all your pride in a single second.

"I'm sorry, I don't know exactly where Zayne is right now," MC said, her voice laced with almost sisterly protective worry. "But he sometimes does research or clears his head outside the hospital walls, so that's probably why his phone is turned off. You know how he is! Getting so completely caught up with his work that he forgets everything else around him."

"Sure. Yes. Thank you," you whispered. You hung up the phone, letting it drop against the sofa cushions, and stared out into the empty night. The phone screen dimmed, casting a faint blue glow over your hands before going entirely dark.

You sat on the edge of the sofa in the living room. You shivered, still in your light summer dress. The house was cold. Zayne preferred the thermostat kept at a precise, lower temperature. He said it was a habit from years in sterile, heavily climate-controlled operating theatres.

Your face still burned with the memory of the call. “No, Sylus, I can't right now.” And then that single, low word.

 Idiot.

Was Sylus annoyed that your frantic call interrupted whatever private moment they were sharing? Was he annoyed that you were taking up his wife’s time and asking inane questions about your husband’s whereabouts? Or had he been looking at the situation from the outside, his sharp, cynical intelligence instantly diagnosing the pathetic reality of your marriage? A wife sitting alone in a dark house at ten o'clock on a Saturday night, calling her husband’s lifelong crush to ask where he was.

You looked down at your lap.

The soft, pale blue cotton dress with small embroidered flowers felt entirely ridiculous. It wasn’t meant for someone like you. It was meant for someone full of hope and laughter, for a woman who felt cherished, loved and seen. On you, it looked like a desperate attempt to play the role of someone else.

Seven months.

How had you let seven months slip by without acknowledging what was really going on? You had spent all that time telling yourself that everything was fine. You had swept all your worries under a rug and focused on keeping to a routine. You woke up early, made his coffee, watched the disciplined line of his back as he left for his morning runs, and convinced yourself that this structured, peaceful co-existence was what mature, healthy love looked like.

You had poured yourself into your work at the school. You had leaned on your friends. And you had genuinely tried with MC. Perhaps that was the most painful part. She wasn't a villain. If she had been cruel or dismissive, it would have been so much easier to hate her. And although MC could be careless and difficult, she was kind. She had genuinely cared about helping you and including you.

But Zayne’s heart didn't care how much you tried. It seemed that no matter what you did, his heart did not belong to you.

“He sometimes does research outside the hospital,” MC had said, her voice full of gentle rationalization. “You know how he is.”

It was a beautiful lie. But you wanted to face the truth now, no matter how it made you feel.

Zayne Li did not wander aimlessly. He was a man of absolute precision, of rigorous schedules and micro-managed time. If he was missing for hours after a shift, it was because he had actively chosen to be somewhere else. Somewhere that wasn't here. Somewhere far away from the woman he had legally bound himself to.

The electronic lock on the front door beeped at exactly eleven thirty PM, the mechanical latch sliding back shattered the quiet.

Your breath caught in your throat. Your entire body went rigid as the door swung open, admitting a gust of night air from the hallway. Zayne stepped into the apartment looking exactly as he always did. He was perfectly put-together, sharp, and imposing. He wore a dark, tailored coat over his suit, his medical bag held firmly in his left hand. His silver-rimmed glasses caught the faint light of the hallway before he closed the door behind him.

He paused in the entryway, his hazel-green eyes tracing the dark living room until they locked onto you sitting on the sofa. He didn't look frantic or apologetic. He didn't look like a man who had accidentally lost track of time. His expression was an unreadable mask.

“You’re still awake,” Zayne said, his voice cutting through the air. He set his bag down on the coffee table and began unbuttoning his coat with slow, deliberate movements. “And the lights are off. Is something wrong with the electricity?”

He didn't mention his phone. He didn't apologize for being late. He didn't even seem to notice the dress or the basket sitting at your feet. He was simply analysing the environment, treating whatever this was like a puzzle to be solved. You sat there in the dark, looking at the flawless, beautiful man, you loved so desperately. And in that moment, you knew with perfect clarity that you had enough.

"You're still up," he repeated, his voice betraying his fatigue. "I told you not to wait up for me."

"I went to the hospital today. You weren't there, Zayne," you said. Your voice was quiet, but the absolute lack of a tremor surprised even you.

He paused, his hand dropping. "I had research to review. I went to a quiet cafe near the hospital to get away from it all."

"Your phone was off."

"The battery died." He sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "Look, it's been a long day. If this is about me missing dinner again—"

"We haven't slept together in seven months."

The words cut through the room like a physical blade. Zayne froze. The distant mask he always wore seemed to crack for a fraction of a second, his hazel eyes widening slightly before slamming shut again.

"I am a surgeon," he said, his tone tightening, turning defensive. "My schedule is demanding. I am mentally and physically drained when I get home. It isn't personal."

"Isn't it?" You stood up from the couch, finally letting months of buried hurt rise to the surface. "You have enough energy to go running every single morning. You have enough energy to go out of your way for extra research. And you certainly make an effort when it comes to MC."

He frowned. "What is that supposed to mean?"

"I saw the way you looked at MC before we got married," you said, your throat tightening. "I saw the way you looked at her at our own wedding. Whenever she is around, you look at her like she hung the stars. And then you come home to me, and you look right through me."

Zayne’s posture went entirely rigid. "MC is my friend. She is married to Sylus. You are being completely irrational."

"Am I?" You took a step closer to him, refusing to back down. "I called her tonight because I was terrified something happened to you. Do you know what I heard? I heard Sylus in the background calling someone an idiot. Was he talking about you, Zayne? Or was he talking about me, for being stupid enough to marry a man who is clearly in love with someone else?"

Silence fell over the room. Zayne stared at you. His jaw clenched so tightly a muscle twitched in his cheek. For the first time in your marriage, the distance between you wasn't just a physical absence.

This was war.

The vulnerability you thought you glimpsed vanished, replaced instantly by a cold, impenetrable wall. He straightened, his eyes turning dismissive as he drew himself up to his full height.

"This is completely absurd," Zayne said, his voice becoming dangerously calm, as if he was speaking to someone out of their mind. "You are projecting your own insecurities onto my friendships and my career."

He walked past you, throwing his keys onto the kitchen counter with a loud, sharp clatter that made you flinch.

"I am a surgeon," he continued, turning to face you with his arms crossed tightly over his chest. "My days are spent dealing with life-and-death stakes and gruelling physical exhaustion. When I come home, I need peace. I do not have the emotional bandwidth to reassure you because you feel intimidated by MC or because you're overanalysing a passing glance from months ago."

"So, the last seven months are just me overanalysing?" Your voice shook, his words making you angry and giving you the strength to soldier on. "The lack of intimacy, the empty bed, the distance between us… You are telling me that's just all in my head?"

"This is the reality of marrying a doctor," Zayne snapped, his tone entirely devoid of warmth. "I am tired. I am drained. If you wanted a husband who was home by five, you shouldn't have agreed to marry me. My commitment to this marriage is shown in the life I provide for us, not by how many times I can force myself to ask you about your day after a fourteen-hour shift."

He looked at you, his eyes flat and distant, completely denying the emotional vacuum he had left you in.

"Sylus was calling me an idiot. It had absolutely nothing to do with you," Zayne said, his face an unreadable mask. "I am going to sleep in the guest room tonight. I suggest you use the time to calm down."

He turned on his heel and walked down the hallway, closing the guest room door behind him with a firm, decisive click. He left you alone in the dark living room, colder and more isolated than you had ever been.

💖 Tag list 💖:

@meiyisha, @roastem, @fruitymoonbeams-blog, @eurydiceknowshesloved, @myspi2010, @hwapuri, @whiskeyskin, @bentoverbckwrds1, @rastamousey, @imaginationofafan, @sunqi053, @angelichiaro, @beau-min, @agirlwholoveswords, @sleepisfortheweakpooh, @aomi04, @chauchirem, @weebausarus, @peachystea, @leeniverse, @owodi, @teodoramaria1310, @madnesslusy

[glitxrr]

thinking about crazy strong and crazy rich gojo....

satoru gojo, who's crazy rich, so much so that he never has to worry about working an actual job in his life.

satoru gojo, who refuses to let you buy your own anything the second you two start dating.

satoru gojo, who takes you to the mall when he thinks you're running low on clothes (you've never had more clothes in your life.)

satoru gojo, who pouts when you tell him just because you glance at something doesn't mean you want or need it.

satoru gojo, who doesn't listen and buys you anything you look at for longer than two seconds.

satoru gojo, who has no issue swiping his money away. to be fair, it doesn't even begin to dent the amount in the account.

satoru gojo, who brings a second person to carry your bags because he genuinely freaks if you carry something other than your coffee in front of him.

satoru gojo, who packs the bags carefully into the trunk of the car before joining you in the back, because of course he has a driver.

satoru gojo, who pulls you inside excitedly the second you two arrive home insisting on a "fashion show" despite how he watched you try them all on while in the store.

satoru gojo, who watches from the edge of the bed as you walk out of the bathroom in each new outfit.

satoru gojo, who's smile turns into a deep smirk when you walk out in lingerie that matches his eyes, and that he definetly would have remembered if you showed him.

satoru gojo, who pulls you between his legs by your hips, rubbing slow circles while kissing your neck softly.

satoru gojo, who pulls your lips to his while pulling you on top of him, his back against the headboard and his hands on your waist, grinding your damp lingerie over his tight pants.

satoru gojo, who thinks he's in heaven right now, feeling practically intoxicated over some grinding and his tongue exploring your mouth.

satoru gojo, who dips lower and lower on the bed until your lace-covered pussy is right above his face, and he licks and sucks through the thin fabric until your legs are shaking.

satoru gojo, who refuses to take off your new set, flipping you over and pulling the fabric to the side as he dips one, then two fingers into your hole.

satoru gojo, who feels like he's listening to the most beautiful symphony, but it's just the sounds of your moans and the way your pussy shluups every time he pulls his fingers in and out.

satoru gojo, who makes you cum three times before even thinking of pulling his dick out. he needs to know you feel good before he can start to feel pleasure himself.

satoru gojo, who finally centers his tip above your entrance after another orgasm, lacing his fingers in yours as he slowly pushes in, hissing at the tightness that doesn't seem to go away no matter how many times he fucks you.

satoru gojo, who's balls deep in you after the first slow thrust, kissing your face until your face turns into one of pure pleasure. he doesn't want to see a hint of pain or discomfort.

satoru gojo, who starts astonishingly slow. taking his time with each thrust, murmuring praises in your ear while he holds your hands in his.

satoru gojo, who loses composure the closer you get to cumming. the tightness driving him so wild he can't think about anything other than pounding into you, hard.

satoru gojo, who cums at the same time as you, filling you with the warm white ropes.

satoru gojo, who pulls out and drops down to be face first with your pussy again, lapping at the juices produced by both you and him.

satoru gojo, who won't let you rest until the sun's way past starting to rise.

satoru gojo, who's the strongest, even in bed. and he makes that very well known to you.

~~~

a/n: okay so i've kind of?? started to get back into the groove of writing. it's mostly just been small blurbs like this, and i've been completely unmotivated to write full fics despite the wild growth in writing skills i know i've gained.

mostly it's because i'm genuinely straight out of ideas. my requests are open if you ever want to send me anything, or if you have any tips on how to get ideas please let me know either by comment or dm.

i really do enjoy writing and i have a passion for writing fanfics and political works like i do outside of tumblr, but your girl is struggling over here and i apologize for that.

[6x-x9]

ಇ.word count: 18.7k

ಇ.pairing: 𝕋oji ℤenin x 𝔽em!reader

Back from college and staying with your dad in his shitty apartment complex, the older man... your neighbor next door has been noticing you, just as you have?

ಇ.content & warnings: porn with no plot :: non canon au :: reader is implied to be thicc :: age gaps - (reader is 19-20, Toji is in his Mid 30s) :: older neighbour trope :: touching through clothes :: kissing :: oral f.rec :: pussyjobs :: multi-gasms :: p in v :: spitting :: different sex positions? :: anal play - (thumb) :: c-pied :: description's of sex and anatomy was meant to be more on the 'graphic side' ::

The back porch of apartment 07 was nothing special — just cracked concrete painted a faded green years ago, a single wobbly plastic chair, and a rusted railing that overlooked the narrow strip of shared yard nobody ever used. Summer heat clung to everything like wet cotton, thick and slow even now that the sun had dipped low enough to turn the sky bruised purple. 

You’d been inside all day, scrolling on your phone until your eyes ached, hoodie zipped halfway over a thin tank top because the AC was barely spitting cool air anymore. Shorts riding up high on your thighs, the soft cotton clinging where sweat had gathered at the crease of your hips.

Ninety degrees and no breeze, so you finally gave up and dragged yourself outside to sprawl on the single step, legs stretched long, bare feet dangling over the edge.

That’s when you saw him.

Toji Fushiguro, in apartment 08, right next door, he stepped out the side door with a black garbage bag in one scarred hand, in the same tight black t-shirt you’d seen him in a dozen times before, sleeves stretched tight around thick biceps, fabric clinging to the hard planes of his chest and stomach like it was painted on. Dark sweatpants slung low on narrow hips, the waistband showing a thin strip of tanned skin when he moved. 

That scar sliced the corner of his mouth, pulling slightly when his lips twitched like he was always half a second from smirking at something only he found funny and black hair messy, damp at the temples from the heat or maybe from whatever he’d been doing inside his own place all day. 

He didn’t look your way at first, he just hefts the bag into the big metal bin with one easy toss, muscles rolling under tanned skin, then wipes his forearm across his brow.

You should’ve looked away, should’ve pretended to stare at the sky or your chipped nail polish or literally anything else, but your eyes stayed glued, tracing the way his shoulders flexed when he turned, the slow roll of his neck as he cracked it side to side and maybe he felt it, because those sharp green eyes finally flicked over.

Eyes locking on yours.

Your stomach does a nasty, liquid flip. Not fear, exactly. Something hotter. Hungrier. You feel suddenly very aware of how your shorts are bunched high on your ass, how the hoodie’s ridden up to show the dip of your spine, how your thighs are parted just enough that if he looked lower he’d see the soft inner curve where skin meets cotton.

He didn’t smile, didn’t wave. Just stood there with one big hand still resting on the bin lid, staring like he had all night to decide what he wanted to do about the pretty little thing next door finally looking back.

Then he starts walking.

Not toward his apartment, towards you.

Each step, heavy. Bare feet on gravel and the closer he gets the more details you take in, faint sheen of sweat on his throat, the way veins stand out along his forearms and he stops at the edge of your porch slab, one foot planted on the rickety porch so he’s towering without even trying.

For a second the world narrows to just that look; heavy and unreadable, dragging down the length of your sprawled body like he was cataloging every inch. The hoodie half-open so the thin tank underneath showed the soft dip between your breasts, nipples pebbled from the sudden shift in temperature and maybe something else, your shorts bunched high enough that the plump curve where thigh met hip was on full display, cotton stretched tight across your mound. 

You felt the fabric pull snug there, outlining the soft curve of your pussy in a way that made heat crawl up your neck, shifting your thighs together instinctively — only making it worse. A tiny damp spot had already started blooming at the crotch from hours of lazy daydreams and the sticky summer air.

You swallow. Throat dry. “Hi,” it comes out smaller than you meant.

Toji’s scarred mouth twitches barely. “Hey.”

Voice low and rough around the edges like gravel dragged over velvet. One word and it already felt like he’d put his palm flat on your sternum and pressed.

You sat up a little straighter, hoodie slipping off one shoulder. “You’re… Toji, right? My dad said you’re the quiet one.”

He huffed through his nose, the closest thing to a laugh you’d ever heard from him. “Yeah. That’s me.” He took one slow step closer. “And you’re the kid who’s been runnin’ around in those little shorts all summer.”

Your breath hitched, you're not a kid. Not really, but the way he said it with that lazy drawl, his eyes dropping to where your thighs are pressed together, made your clit throb under the cotton like he’d reached out and thumbed it.

“I’m not a kid,” you mumbled, cheeks burning. “I’m nineteen, almost twenty.”

Toji’s brows lifted just a fraction. “Almost twenty,” he echoed, like he was tasting the words. Another step forward, now he was close enough you could smell him; clean sweat, faint soap, something darker underneath like motor oil and cedar. “Old enough to know better than to sit out here lookin’ like that when it’s just you and me.”

Your heart slammed against your ribs. You tried to play it cool, tugging the hem of your hoodie down like it would hide anything. “It’s hot. I just wanted air.”

“Mm.” His gaze slid lower again, shamelessly, lingering on the visible outline of your pussy lips printed through the thin shorts, plump, puffy, already so swollen from nothing but his proximity. “Looks like you’re feelin’ more than just the heat, sweetheart.”

The pet name landed like a spark on dry grass, and you squeezed your thighs tighter, but that only made the damp cotton drag against your slick folds. A tiny, involuntary whimper slipped out before you could catch it.

Toji’s eyes darkened. He crouched slowly, his big body folding with surprising grace, until he was eye-level with you on the step. Forearms resting on spread thighs, scarred hands dangling loose between his knees. So close you can see the faint sheen of sweat on his collarbone, the way his happy trail disappears under the waistband, dark and tempting.

He tilts his head, just enough that the dying sunlight cuts across the sharp line of his jaw. Moss-green eyes drag from your bare legs up up up- slowly and unapologetic. Lingers on the bare strip of stomach where your hoodie’s rucked up. On the way your shorts cling to the plump curve of your ass, aaaaall the way up to your face like he’s cataloguing every inch he’s already seen a hundred times through cracked blinds.

“Been seein’ you around,” he says. Voice quieter now and allmost intimate. “You live next door, right? Your old man’s girl.”

Not a question again.

You nod anyway. Tongue feeling too big in your mouth.

“Yeah. I’m… back for summer break.”

He hums, deep in his chest. The sound vibrates through the humid air straight into your bones.

“Didn’t figure you’d be out here lookin’ like that,” his eyes glance to your lips then back up to your eyes, “always out this late too huh, doll?”

You blink. “...You noticed?”

Another almost-laugh. “Hard not to.”

Heat floods your cheeks. You’re suddenly hyper-aware of every inch of exposed skin. The way your nipples have pebbled against the thin hoodie fabric from the slight breeze or maybe just from him looking at you like that.

“You been watchin’ me too, huh?” he murmurs. Voice softer than you expect. Almost gentle. “Every time you come out here. Corner store. Back porch. Thought I didn’t notice?”

Your lips parted, no sound comes out at first. Then, barely a whisper, “I… I thought you didn’t.”

“Wrong.” One big hand lifts slow, carefully and the rough pad of his thumb brushes the edge of your hoodie sleeve where it had slipped down your shoulder. Goosebumps erupts across everywhere he almost touches. “Been noticin’ you since the first day you walked by in those jeans. Ass hugged so tight I could see the outline of your panties. Thought about bendin’ you over the railing right then.”

Heat floods between your thighs so fast your vision blurs and you can feel yourself leaking now, slow, syrupy slick soaking through your cotton panties, darkening the crotch of your shorts in an obvious little patch. His eyes drops to it immediately.

“Fuck,” he breathes, almost laboured. “Look at that. Sweet little pussy already cryin’ for me and I haven’t even touched you yet.”

You whimper again, louder this time, hips shifting forward on instinct, chasing nothing.

“You alone tonight?” he asks. Casually, like he’s asking about the weather.

You nod, throat dry. “Dad’s working late again, always is.”

Toji hums, low in his chest. The sound vibrates through the air into your palms.

He reaches out, slow enough that you could pull away if you wanted.

You don’t.

Thick fingers catch the hem of your hoodie where it’s ridden up over your hip and he doesn’t pull it down. Just tugs it a little higher, exposing another inch of soft skin. His thumb brushes the edge of your shorts, barely a graze, but it feels like he’s touching you somewhere much more intimate.

“These are reaaaaal short,” he drawls. Voice gone darker. “You always walk around in shit like this?”

Your heart slams against your ribs. “Sometimes.”

He exhales through his nose, almost a growl.

“Careful, sweetheart.” His thumb presses just barely into the crease where thigh meets ass. “Lots of eyes around here.”

You’re trembling now and its not from fear, its from the sudden, vicious ache blooming low in your belly. Your thighs press together on instinct and he notices. Of course he does.

Toji’s eyes flick down to where your legs squeeze, then back up to your face, that smirk of his deepens.

“You scared of me?” he asks softly, almost sweet — if sweet could be laced with this much danger.

You shake your head, barely.

“Liar,” he says but he sounds pleased.

His hand slides higher, his fingers splaying wide across the small of your back, his palm is hot and rough as calluses drag against your skin like a promise. He doesn’t push you down. Doesn’t need to, you’re already melting into the floor boards, arching just enough that your ass lifts a fraction — offering.

He groans quietly and guttural, the first real crack in that cool exterior.

“Fuck,” he mutters under his breath. “You’re trouble.”

You lick your lips, voice barely there. “You gonna do something about it?”

His eyes snap to yours. Dark, predatory.

For one endless second neither of you moves.

Your breath hitches when his gaze drops again — straight to the damp patch you know is starting to show. The cotton’s darker there now, clinging, outlining the plump shape of your pussy lips so clearly it’s obscene. You’re soaked, have been since you noticed him watching. And he can fucking see it.

“Pretty little thing like you,” he murmurs, voice dropping to something dangerous-soft, “sittin’ out here all needy. Drippin’ through your shorts for the old man next door.”

Your mouth falls open on a shaky gasp. No denial. No lie. Just liquid heat, shameful heat — flooding between your legs at his words.

Toji’s eyes darken and hooks one thick finger under the hem of your shorts. Doesn’t pull them down. Just lifts the fabric the tiniest bit, letting it snap back against the crease of your thigh with a soft thwack.

“Bet these panties are fuckin’ ruined,” he says, almost conversationally. “All wet and clingy, pushin’ up against the seam, yeah?”

You whimper high and helpless, hips shifting forward before you can stop them.

He chuckles, low and mean. “Knew it.”

Toji’s hand moves again, this time cupping the side of your face, thumb stroking slow along your jaw. Calluses rough against your soft skin. “Pretty thing,” he murmured. “So shy. So needy. Bet you’ve been touchin’ yourself thinkin’ about the mean neighbour next door, huh? Imaginin’ what these hands would feel like spreadin’ you open.”

Your head tipped into his palm. Eyes fluttering. “Y-yes…”

“Good girl.” Praise hits like honey dripping down your spine. He leaned in closer — close enough his breath fanned your glossed lips. “Gonna kiss you now. Wanna taste how sweet that pouty mouth is before I ruin the rest of you.”

You nodded with frantic little jerks of your head.

Then his mouth is on yours.

Soft at first, just the brush of scarred lips over your glossy ones, tasting artificial cherry and nervous salt. He groaned low in his throat the second your mouths connect, like he’d been starving for it, his big hand slides to the nape of your neck, fingers threading into your hair, tilting your head exactly how he wants so he could lick slow into the seam of your lips.

You opened for him instantly. Tongue shy and tentative, his is thicker, hotter, curling against yours with lazy confidence. He kisses like he had nowhere else to be, like he could spend hours just licking into your mouth, swallowing every tiny whimper you give him.

“So fuckin’ sweet,” he mumbles against your lips between slow, wet kisses. “Taste like summer, like you’ve been waitin’ for this.”

His other hand finds your thigh, palming the plush inner meat, squeezing gently, thumb stroking higher and higher until it grazes the damp edge of your shorts, not pushing inside. Just petting. Soothing. Praising.

“Doin’ so good for me already,” he whispers, nipping your bottom lip. “Letting me kiss you like this. Letting me feel how wet you are just from my mouth. Such a good girl f'me already.”

You moan  into his kiss loud and  needy — hips canting up so his thumb presses firmer against the soaked outline of your pussy. He growls softly, rewarding you with another deep, filthy lick into your mouth.

The kiss turns hungrier. Wetter. His tongue fucks slow and deliberately into yours while his hand kneads your thigh, inching closer to where you ache most — never quite touching your clit, just circling, teasing, making you drip more and more until the cotton’s clinging transparently to every swollen fold.

He pulls back just enough to rest his forehead against yours, breath ragged, green eyes blown black with want.

“Tell me you want more,” he raspes. Voice wrecked. “Tell me you want my hands on you. My mouth. Everything.”

Your lips trembles, gloss smeared and eyes glassy.

“I want it,” you breathe. “Want you…please, Toji…”

He smiled then slowly, gaze darkening but still so gentle when his thumb brushes your cheek again.

“Good girl,” he purred.

And then he kissed you deeper — claiming, devouring, promising every filthy thing he's about to do to you next.

His mouth is still on yours hot, slow and filthy in the best way. Tongue sliding deep, curling lazy against yours like he's mapping every soft inch of your mouth, tasting the cherry gloss you’d slicked on earlier just because you felt pretty. 

Toji kisses like a man who’s waited too long to taste something sweet and now couldn’t get enough. A big hand cradles the back of your neck, thumb stroking the sensitive spot just under your ear while the other squeezes the plush meat of your inner thigh — fingers digging in just enough to make your hips twitch forward, chasing more pressure against the soaked cotton clinging to your pussy.

You were drowning in it. Brain turning to warm syrup, every thought melting into the wet drag of his tongue, the faint scrape of his scar against your lower lip when he sucks it between his teeth. Soft little whimpers bubbling out of you every time he pulls back just to nip, just to breathe a rough “good girl” against your mouth before diving back in deeper.

Your hands found his shoulders somewhere in the haze, your fingertips digging into hard muscles under that tight black shirt, feeling the heat rolling off him like a furnace. He smells so good up close; clean sweat, faint cologne that clung to his neck, something darker and masculine underneath that made your clit throb harder every time you inhaled.

When he finally eases back — barely an inch, forehead pressing to yours, your lips swollen, gloss smeared across both your mouths, strings of spit connecting when yours part. You were panting, chest heaving under the half-zipped hoodie, nipples tight and aching against the thin tank.

Toji’s green eyes were blown black, pupils eating up the color as he stares down at you like you were the only thing left in the world worth looking at. His thumb brushing slowly over your bottom lip, spreading the mess even more.

“Fuck, look at this mouth,” he murmurs, voice gravel-rough and wrecked. “All glossy and puffy from just my kisses. Bet it’d look even prettier wrapped around my cock.”

The words hit you like a slap of heat. Your thighs clenching hard — slick gushing fresh against your already drenched panties, the cotton so wet now it was sticking transparently to every plump fold. You could feel the outline of your pussy lips print shamelessly through the shorts, fat and swollen… begging.

You tried to speak — tried to be smart, to play it cool, but your brain was mush, words tumbling out careless and needy.

“W-wanna… come inside?” you breathed, barely coherent. “For… for a drink. Or… something. Please.”

Toji’s scarred lips curves slow and predatory, but still so fucking gentle when his thumb strokes your cheek again.

“Yeah?” he rasps. “You invitin’ the old man next door inside while your daddy’s gone? Careful, sweetheart. I might'n wanna leave once I get my hands on you proper.”

Your head bobs, frantical little nods. “I… I don’t want you to leave.”

He groans low in his throat, like the confession physically hurt him in the best way. Then he was standing, a slow roll of his muscles as he rose to his full height, now towering over you on the step. One big hand extended down.

“C’mon then pretty girl. Show me where you live.”

You take his hand, your small fingers swallowed up in his scarred palm and you let him pull you up. Legs shaky, thighs slick where they're rubbing together. The second you're standing he tugs you closer, arm banding around your waist so your soft body presses flush to his hard one. You could feel him, thick and heavy…his cock already half-hard and straining against his sweatpants, nudging insistently against your lower belly.

“Fuck,” he mutters into your hair, inhaling deep like he was trying to memorize your scent. “Smell's so sweet. Bet you taste even better between those thighs.”

He walks you the few steps to your door like that, an arm possessive around you, free hand palming slow over the curve of your ass through your shorts, squeezing the plush flesh like he was testing how soft you really are. You fumble the key with trembling fingers and he just chuckles low against your ear.

“Easy, baby. We got all night.”

The door finally opens. You stumble inside, the dim living room lit up only by the lamp you’d left on, the cheap couch, scattered textbooks from last semester you hadn’t bothered to put away. Toji kicks the door shut behind him without looking, then spun you gently until your back hits the wall beside it.

He didn’t crowd you right away. Just stood there, close enough you could feel his heat, but giving you that one last second to back out if you wanted.

You didn’t.

Instead you tipped your head back, lips parting eyes glassy and pleading.

Toji’s hand came up and cupsyour jaw so gently it made your chest ache, his thumb stroking over your swollen bottom lip again.

“Look at you,” he whispers, voice thick with something almost reverent. “So fuckin’ pretty. So young and soft and already drippin’ for a man old enough to know better. You know how filthy that is, sweetheart? How wrong?”

You whimpered, nodding your hips canting forward so the damp crotch of your shorts brushes the hard line of his cock through his sweats.

“Feels right to me,” you breathe out needy.

His eyes flutters shut for a second — like your words punched the air out of him. Then he was kissing you again, deeper this time, hungrier. Tongue fucking slow into your mouth while both hands slid down to grip your thighs, lifting you easy like you weighed nothing. Your legs wraps around his waist on instinct; he pins you to the wall with his hips, his thick cock grinding slow against your soaked pussy through layers of fabric.

You moaned loud into his mouth, a desperate, broken sound.

“That’s it,” he praises against your lips, rocking slow and deliberately. “Grind on it, baby, let me feel how wet you are for me. Soaked right through these little shorts… fuck, I can smell you. Sweet little cunt cryin’ for cock.”

His hands kneads your ass rough, spreading you open even through your clothes, his fingertips dipping under the hem of your shorts to brush the edge of your drenched panties. You jolt at the contact and he just shushes you softly by kissing the corner of your mouth.

“Doin’ so good,” he murmurs. “Such a good girl lettin’ me touch. Gonna take care of you, yeah? Gonna make this pretty pussy feel so full… but imma take my time. Wanna savor every second of ruinin’ you.”

You were shaking, your whole body trembling with need, clit throbbing against the drag of his cock every time he rolls his hips. Slick had soaked through everything now and you could feel it smearing against him, making the fabric cling obscenely.

“Toji…” His name comes out wrecked, pleading. “Please… need you.”

He pulled back just enough to look at you, eyes dark, tender and filthy all at once.

“I know, sweetheart,” he rasps, pressing one last soft kiss to your forehead. “I know. Gonna give you everything. But first…”

His hand slid between your bodies and cups your pussy over the shorts, his palm grinds slow against your swollen clit while two thick fingers traces the soaked outline of your lips through the cotton.

“Gonna make you come like this first,” he promises, voice low and wrecked with want. “Just from my hand, m'gonna watch this sweet little thing soak my fingers before I even get inside you. You gonna be good and come for me, baby?”

Your head falls back against the wall, eyes rolling, your hips already chasing his palm in frantic little circles.

“Y-yes… yes, please… Toji…”

He smiles slowly, dangerous and adoring.

“That’s my girl.”

And then he kisses you again deeper and filthy, while his hand works unhurried, perfect little circles over your dripping cunt, building you up slow and sweet until you’re trembling on the edge, ready to fall apart for the quiet neighbour who’d finally let you into his world.

Toji didn’t set you down.

Not even for a second.

The second your shaky “yes” left your lips he scoops you up like you weigh nothing, his big scarred hands sliding under the plush meat of your thighs, lifting you clean off the floor so your legs had no choice but to wrap tight around his narrow waist.

Your soaked shorts presses right against the thick, heavy ridge of his cock straining through his sweatpants, and the friction made you whimper into his mouth — high, the needy sound swallowed by another slow, filthy kiss.

Toji doesn’t even glance at the couch, he heads straight for your bedroom door instead. “Wanna take this where I can spread you out proper. Where I can watch every little thing that pretty face does when I make you come apart.”

Your arms loops around his neck — fingers digging into the short black hair at his nape, clinging like he's the only solid thing left in your world. He carries you down the short hallway like that, feet heavy on the cheap laminate, every step grinding his cock against your dripping pussy through the thin layers. You could feel how hard he is — thick, hot and pulsing, already leaking enough that a damp spot had started blooming on his sweats where your slick had soaked through everything.

Your bedroom door was half-open already. Small room — nothing fancy. Twin bed pushed against one wall with rumpled pastel sheets you hadn’t bothered making, fairy lights strung lazy across the headboard from last semester, a cluttered desk with half-finished college notes and empty energy drink cans. Window cracked, letting in the thick summer night air. It smells faintly like your vanilla body spray and the faint laundry detergent on your sheets.

Toji kicks the door shut behind him, a soft click of the latch sealing you both in and crosses the small space in three strides, he didn’t bother with the light. The glow from a dim lamp on your table and those soft fairy lights was enough — warm, hazy, turning his sharp features golden and making the scar on his mouth look even more wicked when he smirked down at you.

He lowered you slow onto the edge of the mattress carefully, almost worshipful, until your ass hit the comforter and your legs dangles off. But he didn’t step back. Just stayed between your spread thighs, towering, broad shoulders blocking out the rest of the room.

“Look at you,” he murmurs, voice thick with something soft and hungry all at once. Big hands sliding up your sides, under the hem of your hoodie this time, his palms rough and warm dragging slow over the soft curve of your waist, thumbs brushing the underside of your tits through the thin tank. “So fuckin’ soft everywhere. Plush little body just beggin’ to be touched.”

You shiver, your whole body trembling as his hands keep roaming. Up your ribs, over the swell of your breasts, squeezing gently through fabric until your nipples peaks hard against his palms.

Then back down, his fingertips tracing the gentle pooch of your tummy, dipping into the soft dip of your navel, spreading wide to span the width of your lower belly like he was measuring how perfectly you’d fit under him.

His eyes drop lower, locking on the obscene wet spot darkening your shorts. The cotton plastered to your pussy now, every plump, fattened lip outlined clear as day, swollen clit peeking through like a needy little button begging for attention.

Slick soaked all the way through your cotton panties underneath, making the fabric sheer and clinging, showing the glossy sheen of your arousal coating every fold.

“Jesus,” he breathes, almost dazed. “Can’t even hide it, can you? Fat little cunt just printin’ out for me, drippin’ right through everything. Been leakin’ like this since I kissed you on the porch, huh?”

You nodded frantically, cheeks burning, your hips shifting forward on instinct so the soaked crotch of your shorts brushes his thigh.

Toji groans low, a deep rumble in his chest, then leans down, caging you with his arms braced on either side of your hips. His mouth finds your neck — hot, open-mouthed kisses trailing slow from under your ear down the column of your throat. He sucks gently at first, his lips sealing over soft skin, tongue flicking — then harder.

Teeth grazing just enough to sting before he soothes it with slow laps, blooming dark purple bruises one after another like he was marking territory.

“Good girl,” he whispers between sucks, voice muffled against your skin. “Lettin’ me mark you up like this. Gonna look so pretty tomorrow, little love bites all over this sweet neck so everyone knows who’s been takin’ care of you.”

His hands never stops moving, he slides them under your hoodie again, pushing the fabric up slowly until it bunches under your tits. Callused palms dragging over bare skin now, the rough texture making you arch, you let out a faint gasp, as his fingers splays wide over your soft tummy, kneading gently like he couldn’t get enough of how plush you were there.

“Love this,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to the corner of your jaw. “This soft little belly. Gonna watch it bounce when I’m fuckin’ you deep later. Gonna feel it quiver when you come all over my cock.”

You were whimpering nonstop now, your brain goopy, thoughts reduced to nothing but the heat of his mouth, the weight of his hands, the slow grind of his hips every time he shifts closer. He was still fully clothed, his tight black shirt stretching over thick pecs and sharp-cut abs, sweatpants slung low but you could feel every ridge of muscle flexing against you when he moved. Solid. Unyielding. Cutting through the thin layers like he was already inside you.

Toji pulls back just enough to look at your face, eyes dark, tender and filthy with want. Thumb brushing over one of the fresh bruises on your throat, a gentle stroke that made you shiver.

“Doin’ so good for me, baby,” he praises, voice low and steady. “Look how pretty you are.” Your eyes were all glassy, lips swollen, pussy so wet he could hear it every time you shift. “Gonna take my time with you, m'gonna touch every inch, talk you through it nice and slow till you’re shakin’ and beggin’.”

One hand slides down, cupping your soaked mound over the shorts, his palm grinding slow against your clit while thick fingers traces the plump outline of your lips through the fabric. Not pushing inside yet. Just petting. Soothing. Building.

“Feel that?” he whispers, pressing firmer so you could feel how your slick squelches against his palm. “That’s all for me. Sweet little thing gettin’ this messy just from my kisses and my hands. Such a good girl. My good girl.”

You moan, loud and broken, your head tipping back as your hips rolls up into his touch.

He kisses you again, his tongue sliding against yours while his hand keeps that lazy rhythm between your thighs. The other stays on your tummy, rubbing slow circles over the soft pudge, possessive and adoring all at once.

“Gonna watch you fall apart, sweetheart,” he promised against your mouth. “Gonna make this pretty pussy cum so hard you see stars. And then I’m gonna do it again. And again. Till you’re too fucked-out to think about anything but me.”

His fingers hooks under the waistband of your shorts slowly tugging it downward, just enough to bare the top of your drenched panties.

“Ready for more?” he murmurs, nipping your bottom lip. “Gonna strip you and kiss every bruise I leave, spread these plush thighs and taste how sweet you are.”

Your answer was a shaky nod, eyes locked on his and pleading.

Toji smiles slow, dangerous and so fucking gentle.

“That’s my girl.”

And then he starts peeling your hoodie off slowly, his hands worshipping every new inch of bare skin he uncovers, mouth following right behind with more soft kisses and praise, ready to unravel you piece by trembling piece on your little twin bed while the summer night presses warm against the window.

Toji pulls back from your neck, his lips shiny with spit, a fresh bruise blooming dark and pretty under your jaw and his eyes drops to your face. You were a wreck already, cheeks flushing hot, eyes glassy and half-lidded, mouth hanging open in soft little pants.

A thin string of drool had slipped from the corner of your lips, trailing slow down your chin like you’d forgotten how to swallow. Fuck. The sight punches straight through him, making his cock twitch hard against the damp front of his sweats, thickening even more until the fat head was outlined clear as day through the gray cotton.

“Jesus, sweetheart,” he rasps, voice thick and wrecked. “Look at you droolin’ for me already. Can’t even keep that pretty mouth closed.”

He leans in slow, his big hand cupping the side of your face, thumb sweeping under your lower lip to catch the mess. But instead of wiping it away he just smears it wider and then dips down and licks it up himself, tongue flat and hot dragging slowly from your chin to the corner of your mouth, tasting the sweet-salty mix of your spit and his earlier kisses. You whimper the sound coming out high and broken as he seals his scarred lips over yours again in one sloppy, open-mouthed kiss.

Tongues sliding messy and wet, no rhythm left. Just hunger. He sucks your bottom lip between his teeth with a gentle tug and then plunges back in, licking deep into your mouth like he was trying to drink every drop of you.

Drool spilling between your lips, stringing down your chin again, soaking into the collar of your tank. You're making the filthiest little noises, soft, wet glucks every time his tongue licks into you and he groans low against your mouth, swallowing them all down.

“Such a messy girl,” he murmurs between kisses, nipping your tongue. “Doin’ so good though. Lettin’ me lick it all up. My sweet, sloppy baby.”

He breaks the kiss with a wet pop, a string of spit connecting your mouths for a second before it snaps and he sits back on his heels between your spread thighs. His eyes raking down your body slowly, like he was memorizing every inch. Hoodie shoved up to your tits, tank rucked under them so the soft undersides spilled out.

Shorts still on but soaked dark at the crotch, clinging transparently to the plump mound of your pussy. The fat lips were printed perfect through the cotton — swollen, puffy, glossy with thick gluey slick that had leaked through your panties and was now starting to drip down the crease of your thighs, making shiny wet trails on your sheets.

Toji’s mouth waters so hard he has to swallow. His cock was rock-hard now — veined, fattened, throbbing painfully against his sweats. He palmed it once, roughly squeezed it through the fabric, just to take the edge off. The head leaking more, darkening the gray in a fat wet spot right at the tip. But he didn’t care about himself yet. Not when your pretty soaked pussy was right there, begging for his mouth.

“Fuck,” he breathes, voice strained. “Look at this messy little thing.” So sticky. So sappy. “Drippin’ all over your bed like you can’t help it.”

He hooks two thick fingers under the waistband of your shorts, slowly tugging it down your hips. You lifted for him on instinct, — a shaky little arch and he peels them off along with your drenched panties in one go. The fabric stuck for a second — clinging to your slick folds before coming free with a wet schlick. Strings of thick, glossy arousal stretching between the cotton and your pussy, snapping slow as he tosses them aside.

Your legs fell open wider, your knees bent, feet planted on the mattress and there it was; your pussymound all shiny and swollen, lips puffy and parted just enough to show the sticky pretty inside. Slick coating everything — thick, gluey strands webbing between your folds, dripping slow down to your tight little hole that clenched on nothing.

Your clit was begging — fattened, flushed dark, peeking out from its hood like it was throbbing for attention. The whole thing glistened under the fairy lights — sappy, cummy, so fucking wet it looked obscene.

Toji groaned deeply, a guttural sound coming from his chest. His hands slid up your plush thighs, spreading you wider, thumbs hooking under the meat where thigh met hip so he could hold you open. Your pussy lips parted more, the sticky strings stretching, then breaking, revealing the creamy mess inside.

“Goddamn,” he whispers, almost to himself. “Prettiest fuckin’ pussy I’ve ever seen. All swollen and leaking for me. Gonna taste every drop, baby. Gonna lick this sweet cunt clean till you’re shakin’.”

You whimper high and desperate, your hips twitching up toward his face.

He leaned in slow, his hot breath fanning over your clit first, making it jump. Then his tongue, flat and wide dragged up the entire length of your slit in one long, slow lick. From your dripping hole to the tip of your clit. Thick gluey slick coated his tongue instantly, sweet, tangy, so fucking much of it he had to swallow hard. He groaned against you, the vibration rumbling straight through your core.

“So sweet,” he praised, voice muffled as he licked again — slower this time, savoring it. “Taste like fuckin’ heaven. My good girl’s pussy all creamy and ready. Doin’ so perfect for me.”

His tongue circled your clit, with gentle flicks at first, then slower, broad laps that made your hips buck. One big hand slid up to your soft tummy, his palm spreading wide over the plush curve, holding you down gentle while his mouth worked. The other kept your thigh spread, thumb stroking soothing circles on the inner meat while he sucked your clit between his lips, a soft pull, then releasing, then pulling again.

You were moaning nonstop loud and  wrecked, the sounds filling the small room. Slick gushing  fresh with every lick — thick ropes of it coating his chin, dripping down his neck. He didn’t stop, just kept on lapping messy and hungry, his tongue dipping into your tight hole to scoop out more of that gluey cream, then dragging back up to suckle your clit like it was candy.

“Look at her clenchin’,” he murmured between licks, eyes flicking up to watch your face. “So tight and needy. Gonna come for me like this, yeah? Gonna let me drink all this pretty mess while you fall apart?”

His tongue plunged deeper, fucking slow into your hole, then he pulled out to circle your clit again, the hand on your tummy pressed firmer, feeling the way your muscles quivered under his palm.

“That’s it, baby,” he cooed, voice thick with praise. “Doin’ so good. Such a sweet girl lettin’ me eat this pussy. Gonna make you come so hard you soak my face. Then I’m gonna do it again. Gonna keep goin’ till you’re cryin’ my name.”

He sucked harder, his lips sealing around your clit, tongue flicking faster now and your whole body arched, your thighs shaking, hands fisting the sheets, drool slipping from your open mouth again as the pleasure coiled tight and hot in your belly.

Toji didn’t let up, he just kept licking slow and filthy, worshipfully talking you through every tremor, every gush of slick, every broken whimper.

“My perfect girl,” he rasped against your dripping cunt. “Come for me, sweetheart. Let me taste how good I make you feel.”

And with one more long, slow drag of his tongue — circling your begging clit just right — you shattered.

You came hard, harder than you ever had alone in this little bed with your fingers or with that cheap little vibe tucked in your drawer. Your whole body seized up like lightning hit your spine, thighs clamping around Toji’s head on instinct, plush hips bucking wild against his mouth while thick ropes of slick gushed straight onto his tongue.

Your clit throbbing against his lips — fat, swollen, pulsing like a second heartbeat — and he didn’t pull away. Didn’t even flinch. Just groaned deep into your cunt like the taste of your orgasm was the only thing he’d been starving for all summer.

“Thaaat’s it,” he rasped, voice muffled and wrecked against your dripping folds. “Come all over my face, sweetheart. Fuck, look at her spillin’ for me. So sweet. So fuckin’ messy.”

He kept licking slow, greedy — greedy laps through the aftermath — cleaning up every fresh gush like he couldn’t bear to waste a drop. Your pussy lips were puffy and flushed dark now, glossy with spit and cum, parting easy every time his tongue nudged between them. Slick coated his chin, dripping down his scarred neck in shiny trails, soaked into the collar of his black shirt. The fairy lights caught it all — turning the mess iridescent, obscene, beautiful.

You were shaking, overstimulated already, clit so sensitive it hurt in the best way, but Toji wasn’t done. Not even close. Man-starved didn’t even cover it, he ate like he’d been denied pussy his whole life and yours was the first real meal he’d ever had. Toji after a moment hooked his fingers into the underside of his shirt and pulled it off in one fluid motion.

Then his big hands shoved your thighs wider, thumbs hooking under the crease where thigh met hip, spreading you so open your tight little hole winked at him with every clench.

He pulled back just enough to look, eyes black with hunger, pupils blown wide watching the way your fattened lips trembled, the way thick gluey strings of your arousal stretched between them like spider silk every time you fluttered.

“Goddamn,” he breathed softly. “This pretty cunt’s still cryin’ for more. Look how she’s clenchin’… all tight and needy even after comin’ that hard. Fuck, baby… you’re killin’ me.”

He dove back in — lips sealing over your clit again, sucking soft at first, then harder. Wet, filthy pulls that made your hips jerk, made your back arch off the mattress until your tits spilled free from under the rucked-up tank. His tongue flicked fast over the swollen bud — quick little lashes — then slowed to broad, dragging circles that had you sobbing.

“Toj i— f-fuck — too much — s’too much — ”

“Shhh,” he soothed without stopping, voice vibrating straight through your core. “You can take it. Doin’ so good for me. My perfect girl. Just lemme taste a little more. Gotta drink every drop this sweet pussy’s givin’ me.”

He licked lower, his tongue plunging slow into your tight hole, fucking in and out with lazy thrusts that made obscene wet squelches fill the room. Your walls fluttered around him greedily, sucking at his tongue like they wanted to keep him inside forever. He groaned — deep, guttural — then pulled out just to spit right onto your clit. A thick glob of his saliva landed hot and heavy, mixing with your slick, running down your folds in slow rivulets.

You whimpered, high and broken when he blew a soft puff of air over the mess, his cool breath hitting your overheated, spit-slick clit like ice on fire. Your whole pussy jolted — clit jumping, hole clenching hard enough to push out another bead of thick cream that dripped slow down your ass.

“Fuck yeah,” he growled, watching it with dark, fascinated eyes. “Look at her twitch. Sensitive little thing. Love how she jumps when I blow on her. Gonna make her come again just like this.” You were overstimulated and shaking.

He sucked your clit back into his mouth, gently this time, lips soft around the swollen bud while his tongue lapped slow, soothing circles. One hand slid up your soft tummy, his palm spreading wide over the soft give of skin, fingers splaying to feel every quiver of your muscles.

The other kept your thigh pinned, thumb stroking slow, reassuring circles on the inner skin like he was petting you through the overstimulation.

“Such a good girl,” he murmured between sucks, pulling off just long enough to speak before diving back in. “Lettin’ me eat this messy cunt even when it’s too much. Takin’ everything I give you. So pretty when you cry for me like this.”

He licked into you again, deeper this time, his tongue curling to scoop out the thickest parts of your cream, feeding it back to your pussy with slow, filthy thrusts. Then he pulled out, lips shiny, chin dripping and spat again. Right onto your hole this time, watching it slide in, mixing with your slick until everything was glossy and obscene.

“Breathe, baby,” he cooed, blowing another soft puff over your clit, watching it throb, watching your hips buck helplessly. “Just breathe. M'gonna make you come again. Gonna suck this pretty clit till you’re soakin’ the sheets even more. Wanna see how many times I can make her gush before you’re beggin’ me to fuck you.”

Your hands flew to his hair — fingers tangling in the black strands, pulling hard enough to make him growl against you. But he loved it, loved the way you were falling apart and drooling again, spit slipping from the corner of your mouth, eyes rolling back as another wave built fast and brutal in your belly.

He sucked harder — lips sealing tight, cheeks hollowing — tongue flicking relentless over your clit while he hummed low, vibrations rumbling straight through you. His free hand pressed firmer on your tummy, feeling the way your muscles clenched, the way your whole body trembled on the edge.

“Come on, sweetheart,” he praised, voice thick and wrecked. “Give it to me. Come all over my tongue again. Let me taste how overstimulated this sweet pussy gets for me. My good girl, my perfect, messy, drippin’ girl.”

One more long, slow drag of his tongue, circling your clit just right, then plunging back into your clenching hole and you shattered again. Harder. Louder, your whole body convulsing, thighs shaking around his head, slick gushing in thick spurts that coated his mouth, his chin and the sheets beneath you.

Toji drank it all — groaning like a man possessed — licking slow through the aftershocks, soothing your twitching clit with soft kitten licks while you sobbed his name, overstimulated and wrecked and still so fucking needy for more.

He finally pulled back — lips swollen, face a mess of spit and cum, his eyes locking on yours with that dark, adoring hunger.

“Fuck, baby,” he rasped, crawling up your body slow, caging you under his broad frame. “You taste like sin. Like every filthy thing I’ve ever wanted.”

His mouth found yours, in a slow, deep kiss letting you taste yourself on his tongue. Thick fingers sliding between your thighs again and petting your soaked, puffy pussy gentle now, soothing the oversensitive folds.

“Still shakin’,” he murmured against your lips, smiling soft and filthy. “Still drippin’. Think you can take my cock now, sweetheart? Or you need me to eat this pretty cunt one more time first?”

Your answer was a broken whimper — hips canting up toward his hand, begging without words.

He chuckled low, dark and tenderly.

“That’s my girl.”

Toji had finally pulled his mouth off your wrecked pussy — lips swollen dark red, his chin still glistening with thick ropes of your slick and his spit that stretched and snapped every time he moved. 

He gave you one more slow, sweet savouring kiss to your sweet little lips before crouching back down between your trembling thighs for a second longer, just staring at the mess he’d made; your fat pussy mound all shiny and puffy, lips parted and drooling slow streams of cream down your ass, onto the already soaked sheets.

Your clit was a throbbing little pearl now — fattened up dark and glossy, peeking out like it was begging for one more touch even after two brutal orgasms. Your tight hole kept clenching on nothing — suckling air, pushing out fresh beads of gluey slick that made obscene wet sounds in the quiet room.

He groaned low, the sound ripping out from deep in his chest and he palmed his cock through his sweats again. Harder this time, giving it a rough squeeze that made the thick vein along the underside jump under his hand.

The front of the gray fabric was wrecked — a dark wet patch spreading from the fat, leaking tip, glossy pre soaking through in thick globs that clinged to the cotton like honey.

You saw the outline perfectly now; his fat fuckin’ cock all hardened up for you, swollen and heavy, curving slightly to the left, the round mushroom head so chubbed and probably flushed it looked angry.

“Fuck, look what you did to me, sweetheart,” he rasped, voice gravel-thick with want. “Got me so hard it hurts. Leakin’ like a faucet just from tastin’ this pretty cunt. You see how much pre I’m givin’ you? All for this messy little pussy.”

He shoved his sweats down slow enough to free himself, then kicked it off completely. His cock sprang out heavy the thick base dusted with dark curls of hair, shaft veined and ridged, fattened tip glossy with a fat pearl of pre that beaded at the pink slit and dripping slow down the underside.

It bobbed once, smacking wet against his abs, before he wrapped one scarred hand around the middle and gave himself one lazy stroke. More pre welled up — thick and clear — dribbling over his knuckles.

Your mouth watered. Your pussy clenched hard — sappy walls fluttering, clit jumping at the sight. You were so wet still — thicker now, gluey strands webbing between your lips every time your hips twitched.

Toji crawled back up your body, slow and carefully caging you in, under his broad frame. One thick forearm braced beside your head, the other hand guiding his cock down between your thighs. He didn’t push in…not yet. Just rubbing slow, filthy drags of that fattened round tip through your glossed folds.

The head was scorching hot — swelled up so big it parted your puffy lips easy, spreading them wide around the blunt crown. Your clammy, glued pussylips sucked at him, clinging wetly every time he dragged back, strings of your slick stretching from your hole to his tip like they didn’t want to let go. He nudged your clit with the slit, smearing thick pre over the aching bud — making it throb harder, making you whimper high and broken.

“Feel that?” he murmurs, voice low and mean-teasing as he rocked slow. “Fat fuckin’ cock all hardened up just for you.” Rubbin’ right through your glossy folds. “Y’er sweet little pussy’s kissin’ me back, suckin’ on the tip like she’s tryin’ to pull me in.”

You nodded — desperately, drool slipping from your open mouth again, hips canting up to chase more friction. Your clit was so achy, fattened and sensitive, every glide of his swollen head over it sent sparks shooting up your spine.

Toji chuckled, the sound breathless and dark — then pressed firmer. The round tip notched right at your entrance, stretching the tight ring just enough to make your hole flutter and suckle greedy around him. Not inside. Just teasing…just enough to feel how hot and wet and ready you were.

“Look how she’s grippin’,” he praised, eyes locked on where your pussy lips hugged the head of his cock — clinging, glossy, dripping. “Tight little hole sucklin’ like she’s starvin’. Fuck, baby, you’re so so wet. Drippin’ all over my dick before I even get in. Such a needy girl.”

He rocked against you slowly again, dragging that fattened tip up your slit to bump your clit, then back down to nudge your hole. Pre mixed with your slick, making everything slippery, obscene, the wet schlick, schlick, schlick filling the room every time he teased. Your clit throbbed harder, achy and begging, every time the ridge of his crown caught it just right.

“Toji…please—” Your voice cracked — high, pleading. “Need it… need you inside…”

He groaned, the deep rumble vibrating through both of you, then leaned down to kiss you lovingly, slow and sweet, his tongue sliding against yours while he kept that mean, teasing rhythm; fat tip rubbing through your folds, bumping your clit, nudging your hole, spreading you open without giving you what you craved.

“Not yet, sweetheart,” he whispered against your lips, voice wrecked with restraint. “Gonna tease this sweet pussy a little longer. Wanna feel how much wetter you get. Wanna watch this fat little cunt cry for my cock till you’re shakin’ and sobbin’.”

One big hand slid under your ass, lifting your hips just enough to change the angle. Now every slow drag had his swollen tip catching right on your entrance — stretching the rim, making your walls flutter desperate around nothing. Your clit dragged along the thick underside of his shaft, veins bumping the sensitive bud, sending fresh gushes of slick coating him.

“Feel how hard I am for you?” he rasped, rocking firmer. All his thick pre leakin’ “Just thinkin’ about sinkin’ into this tight, pretty cunt. You’re so fuckin’ wet, baby. So ready. But I wanna hear you beg a little more. Wanna hear how bad my good girl needs this fat cock stretchin’ her open.”

Your hands flew to his shoulders — nails digging into hard muscle, your hips rolling up frantically to chase his teasing. Slick squelching loud between you, gluey strands clinging to his shaft, dripping down his heavy balls that brushed your ass with every rock.

“Toji… please… fuck m’need you so bad —” You were babbling now, voice wrecked, drool slipping down your chin. “Want your cock… want it deep… please —”

He smiled slow, adoringly and mean, then kissed you again, deep and claiming — while his hips kept that torturous rhythm: fat fuckin’ cock rubbing slow through your glossed folds, teasing your achy clit, nudging your suckling hole, making you drip and clench and beg for the stretch you were dying for.

“Soon, baby,” he promised, voice thick with hunger. “Gonna give you every thick inch. Gonna ruin this pretty pussy so good you’ll feel me for days. But first… keep beggin’. Keep drippin’. Show me how desperate my sweet girl is for it.”

And he kept teasing, relentless — until your whole body was trembling, pussy clenching empty and greedy, clit throbbing achy and swollen, slick pooling under your ass in a sticky puddle while he watched you fall apart under his mean, loving touch.

Toji’s hips stilled for a second, his fat, glossy cockhead still notched right at your entrance, stretching the tight ring of your hole just enough that it fluttered desperately around him. Your clammy, slick walls were sucking greedily at the swollen tip, like your pussy was trying to pull him deeper even while fighting the stretch. He was so fuckin’ thick, the round mushroom head bloated and veined, ridged crown — catching on every soft fold as he pushed forward slowly, agonizingly slow.

You gasped high and sharp the sound cracking into a whimper — back arching off the mattress, plush thighs trembling where they were hooked over his hips. Your hole clenched hard on instinct — clammy, hot and so so tight it made his breath hitch rough in his throat.

“Fuck.. easy, sweetheart,” voice low and wrecked, one big scarred hand sliding under your ass to lift your hips just a fraction higher. “You’re grippin’ me like a vice already and I’ve barely got the tip in. So fuckin’ tight… this pretty little cunt’s never taken anything this big, huh?”

You shook your head — frantic little jerks — drool slipping from the corner of your mouth again as you stared up at him with glassy, pleading eyes.

Your clit still achy and swollen from his teasing, throbbing every time the base of his shaft dragged against it on accident. Slick poured out around his tip — thick, gluey strands coating the fat crown, dripping down his heavy balls in slow, shiny rivulets.

Toji groaned gutterally, his forehead dropping to rest against yours for a second while he fought not to just slam home. His cock throbbing hard inside that tiny stretch — veins pulsing against your clenching walls, pre leaking in fat drops that mixed with your cream and made everything even messier.

“Look at you tryin’ so hard for me,” he praised, voice soft and thick with adoration even as his hips rocked in tiny, teasing nudges. “Takin’ just the tip like such a good girl. Feel how she’s suckin’ on me? Fuck…your hole’s so tight and wet, baby. Grippin’ like she don’t ever wanna let go.”

He pushed forward another fraction — barely an inch more and your pussy resisted, walls fluttering wild around the fattened ridge of his crown. The stretch burned sweet — hot, the aching fullness made your toes curl and your nails rake down his broad back. A fresh gush of slick squirted out around him, coating his shaft, dripping onto the sheets in a sticky puddle.

“Haaah —Toji ” Your voice broke, high and wrecked, hips twitching up like you couldn’t decide if you wanted more or needed a second to breathe.

“Shhh, I got you,” he murmured, kissing the corner of your mouth gently-sweet — tongue flicking out to catch the drool on your chin. “Doin’ so perfect. So so tight for me… gonna make it fit, yeah? Gonna stretch this sweet little pussy slow till she’s huggin’ every thick inch. You’re my good girl, my perfect, drippin’ girl. Just breathe for me.”

His free hand slid up your soft tummy, his palm spreading wide over the plushness there, fingers splaying to feel the way your muscles quiver under him. He rocked again — tiny, shallow thrusts that barely moved the tip in and out, just enough to let your walls flutter and adjust around the blunt head.

Every nudge made obscene wet sounds, — schlick- schlick-schlick — your slick squelching loudly around him, strings of it clinging to his veined shaft like they were trying to keep him buried.

“Feel that burn, baby?” he cooed, voice low and praising as he watched your face — eyes locking on every flutter of your lashes, every tremble of your lips. “That’s me openin’ you up. So tight it’s squeezin’ the cum right outta me… fuck, you’re leakin’ all over my cock. Such a messy, needy cunt. Love how she’s fightin’ me and still beggin’ for more.”

He pushed again — slower this time — watching with dark, hungry eyes as another inch sank in. Your hole stretched wider, your puffy lips hugging the thickest part of his crown, clinging glossy and white-knuckled around him. The stretch was obscene — your clit jumping every time the ridge dragged over it on the way in, fresh cream bubbling out to coat him.

“Haaah — fuck — there we go,” he breathed, thumb stroking slow circles over your lower belly where he could feel the faint bulge starting to form just from the tip and a little more. “Look at that… already makin’ a pretty little bump and I’m not even halfway. So fuckin’ tight, sweetheart. Takin’ me like you were made for it.”

You were sobbing softly now, broken little sounds as your hips canted up helplessly, trying to take more even as your walls spasmed around the invasion. Slick pouring steadily, thick and gluey — drenching his balls, soaking the sheets under your ass in a warm, sticky mess.

Toji leaned down and kissed you deep and slow, his tongue sliding against yours while he kept those tiny, rocking thrusts. Just the tip popping in and out, stretching you open, teasing your clenching hole, making your clit throb against the veined underside every time he pulled back.

“Doin’ so good,” he whispers  into your mouth between kisses. “My sweet girl takin’ just the tip so perfectly. Gonna keep goin’ slow, gonna make it fit inch by inch till this fat cock’s buried deep where you need it. You feel how hard I am for you? How much I’m leakin’? All ‘cause this tight little pussy’s grippin’ me like she never wants me to leave.”

One more gentle push and another thick inch goes sliding in and your back bows, a moan ripping out loud and raw as your walls flutter wild around him. He stills again, letting you adjust, his forehead pressing to yours, breath ragged.

“Almost there, baby,” he praises, voice thick with restraint and adoration. “So so tight… but you’re takin’ me so good. My perfect girl. Gonna fill you up soon, m’gonna stretch this sticky hole till it’s huggin’ every veiny inch. Ahh — Just a little more… just breathe and let me make it fit.”

His thumb finds your clit, and circles over the swollen bud slow and gently while he rocks another inch in shallow, keeping you on that razor edge of stretch and pleasure. Slick gushing fresh with every tiny thrust — coating him, dripping down, making the slide just a little easier even as your pussy fights to keep him right where he is.

“Tell me how it feels, sweetheart,” he murmurs, kissing your tear-streaked cheek. “Tell me how full you are already… how much you need the rest.”

Your answer is a broken whimper, your hips rolling up desperately, pussy clenching hard around just the tip and a little more now.

“Need… need all of you… please, Toji —”

He smiles slow, filthy but so fucking tender, then kisses you again, deep and claiming while his hips started that slow, relentless push forward again.

“That’s my girl,” he rasps against your lips. “Gonna give you everything. Gonna make this tight little cunt take every thick inch till you’re cryin’ and comin’ all over me.”

And inch by torturous inch he keeps making it fit. Slow. Sweet. Praising you through every clench, every gush, every trembling stretch until your pussy finally starts to yield — walls fluttering open, sucking him deeper, greedily and wrecked and so so ready for the rest.

Then Toji’s patience snapped like a thin wire, a low growl rumbling deep in his chest as his big scarred hands clamped around your soft waist. No warning. No gentle coaxing. Just raw, starving need. He grabs your little body like it was his to manhandle, his rough palms digging into your plush hips, flipping you onto your side in one swift yank that made the mattress springs squeak protest.

“Fuck ah I-I can’t take it anymore,” he rasps, voice thick and wrecked. “Need to go deeper. Need this tight cunt stuffed full, m’gonna make her take every fuckin’ inch now.”

He drags you down the bed, the sheets tangling around your ankles, until your ass hangs off the edge just enough, cheeks jiggling from the rough pull. Your face mashed into the rumpled comforter — cheek smushing against the soft fabric, drool already pooling under your agape mouth.

One hand flew out on instinct, your fingers clutching the fluffy stuffed bear you keep on the pillow (the one with the little bow tie you’d had since middle school), knuckles white as you gripped it like a lifeline while your body arches helplessly.

Toji presses your legs together, his thick thighs pressing your plush ones tight, forcing your chubby little cunt to pucker even more obscenely. Your fat pussy lips squished together now, glossy and swollen, the plump folds mashed into one slick, puffy seam that barely parts for the fat pink tip still teasing your entrance.

The position makes everything tighter — your gummy walls clenching harder, clit trapped between those squeezed-together lips, throbbing achy and trapped against the pressure.

He lines up, his veined, thick cock — throbbing heavy in his fist — and pushes in.

No slow tease this time.

The fat crown spears past your puckered entrance with a wet, filthy pop — stretching those mashed-together lips wide around his girth. Your hole sucking greedily and clenching so tight it made his eyes roll back,  but he doesn’t stop.

Just keeps feeding inch after thick, veined inch into your poor stuffed cunt, the squeeze so intense it forces thick ropes of your gooey cream to bubble out around him, coating his shaft in shiny white strands that drip slow down your inner thighs.

“Haah… fuck — listen to her,” he groans, hips snapping forward harder now that the angle let him sink deeper. “This chubby little cunt’s cryin’ so loud for me. Squeezin’ like she’s scared I’ll pull out… but she’s suckin’ me right back in. Fuckin’ perfect.”

You wail high, lewd and broken, your cries muffled into the mattress — voice cracking every time his cock punches deeper. Never been fucked like this, with legs squeezed shut making your pussy feel impossibly smaller, every ridge and vein dragging slow and mean along your gummy walls.

Your fat lips puckering tight around his base — stretching thin and glossy, clinging desperately like they were made to mold to his shape. The pressure mashes your clit right against the thick underside of his shaft — rubbing it raw with every brutal thrust, sending sparks shooting up your spine until your toes curl hard.

Toji loses it completely.

Big hands gripping your hips — fingers sinking into soft flesh hard enough to bruise, and he starts pounding. Deep, mean strokes that bottoming out with a wet slap every time his heavy balls smacks your clit.

Precum and your thick cream mixing into a frothy mess squirting out around his cock with every pull-back, dripping in sticky webs down your thighs, soaking the edge of the bed where your ass hangs off.

“Goddamn, look at this mess you’re makin’,” he pants, voice rough and praising all at once. “Gooey little pussy just spillin’ everywhere f’me. So fuckin’ cute how she’s creamin’ all over my dick… takin’ it so deep even when she’s squeezes this tight. My good girl…my filthy, drippin’ girl.”

Your cries turn desperate — muffled sobs into the stuffed bear you are clutching, tears streaking hot down your cheeks. Every thrust punches the air out of your lungs, his cockhead kissing your cervix mean and relentless, stretching your gummy walls wide around his veined thickness.

Your clit rubs mercilessly against him — trapped between those puckered lips, swollen and throbbing, building that coil tighter and tighter until your whole body shakes.

“Feel that?” he growles, leaning over you, his broad chest pressing to your back, sweat-slick skin sliding against yours. One hand slides up to cup your soft tummy — palm pressing down so he can feel the bulge of his cock moving inside you. “Feel how deep I am, baby? Stuffin’ this chubby cunt so full she’s leakin’ like a faucet. Gonna make you come like this.” legs squeezed tight, clit rubbed raw and pussy stretched mean around every thick inch of his.

He snaps his hips harder, the angle perfect now, his cock dragging right over that spongy spot inside while his shaft grinds against your trapped clit. Slick squelches loud and obscene, wet slaps filling the room, your gooey cream frothing white at the base of his cock, dripping in thick strands every time he pulls back.

You shatter hard.

Whole body convulsing, walls clamping down like a vice around his pounding cock, milking him greedily as you scream into the mattress. Fresh gushes of slick squirting out around him, hot and messy, soaking his balls, drenching the sheets, making every thrust even sloppier. Your clit throbs wild against him — overstimulated and raw, sending aftershocks after aftershock rippling through you until your legs shake uncontrollably.

Toji groans deep and feral, his hips stuttering as your pussy sucks him in tight.

“Fuck… Aaah yeah, come on my cock, sweetheart,” he praises, voice breaking with how close he was. “Squeezin’ so fuckin’ tight… makin’ such a cute mess f’er me. Good girl, my perfect, pretty girl. Gonna fill this stuffed cunt up soon… gonna pump you so full you’ll be leakin’ me for days.”

He didn’t stop, Toji kept fucking you through it, with mean, deep thrusts that made your ass jiggle, made your cries turn hoarse and wrecked. His veined cock dragged slow and filthy through your fluttering walls — still so tight from your legs squeezed together and clit still rubbing helpless against him with every slam.

“Haah mhnm fuck…m’not done yet,” he rasps, hand sliding down to spread one cheek, exposing where you were stretched obscene around him. “Gonna keep, ah goin’. Gonna ruin this pretty pussy till she’s cryin’ for more… till you’re so full of cum you can’t move.”

And he did — pounding harder, deeper, meaner all while you clutched your stuffed bear tighter, face buried in the mattress, drooling and sobbing and coming undone again and again around his thick cock that finally fit all the way inside your chubby, gooey, perfect little cunt.

Toji’s hips roll in one long, deliberate drag — pulling back just enough that his thick, veined cock starts to slip free from your stuffed little hole. Your sloppy pussy doesn't want to let go. Gummy walls clenching down hard — squeezin’ greedy around every ridge and bump like they’re scared he’d leave you empty.

His foreskin bunches up soft and slick around the fattened base of his crown as he withdraws — pink tip glistening obscene with a thick coat of your cream and his own sappy pre, strings of it stretching taut between your puffy lips and his shaft before snapping wetly against your inner thighs.

You whine high and utterly broken, face mashed deeper into the mattress, your cheek smushed against the soft fur of your stuffed bear, fingers clutching the little plush thing so tight the seams strained. Drool still pooling under your slacked maw, soaking the fabric while your hips twitch back helplessly, chasing the stretch even as he teases you with the slow retreat.

“Fuck haah… listen to that,” he rasps, voice low and filthy-thick with awe. “This nasty lil’ pussy’s makin’ the sloppiest sounds just ‘cause I’m pullin’ out. Squelchin’ like she’s beggin’ me to stay buried. So fuckin’ greedy, baby.”

He didn’t let you go empty for long.

Right when the fat pink tip was almost out — your hole fluttering desperately around the ridge, he leaned over you again, his broad chest pressing hot to your back — and spat. A thick, heavy glob of spit landing right on your stretched entrance — hot and messy — sliding down the puffy seam of your mashed-together pussylips before dripping slow into the clenching ring still hugging his crown, the added slick made everything even nastier, your syrup-thick cream mixing with his spit, bubbling white and frothy where your walls gripped him.

Toji groans deep, a rumble that vibrates straight through you as he pushes forward again. Slow and mean, feeding every thick inch back into your pussy until his hips slapped flush against your ass, his balls heavy and wet smacking your clit trapped between those squeezed thighs. Your pussy sucking him in greedy — gummy walls fluttering wild, clinging so tight it made his eyes roll back.

“Haah…there we go,” he praises, hands clamping harder on your soft waist — fingers sinking into plush flesh like you really are his personal fleshlight, something soft and warm and perfect to use. “Takin’ me all the way again. Feel how deep I am, sweetheart?” His cockhead now kissin’ your cervix… — mngh "Stretchin’ this sloppy hole wide. God your pussy’s so fuckin’ good. So tight even after all that cream you just gushed.”

He drew back again slowly and torturous, watching the way your fat pussylips dragged along his veined shaft, clinging glossy and swollen, trying to keep him inside. Nasty lil’ squelches filling the room — wet, obscene pops every time he pulls out halfway — your syrup-thick pussy noisily protesting, cream bubbling out in thick white rings around his base, dripping slow down your inner thighs in sticky trails that soaked the edge of the mattress.

Your sobbing is muffled into the stuffed bear, your whole body trembling as he manhandles you deeper into the bed. One big hand slides up your spine — pushing your face firmer into the comforter, while the other grips your waist harder, yanking your hips back to meet every slow, punishing thrust.

He spreads your fat pussylips wider with his thumbs — peeling them apart even as your legs stay squeezed tight together — exposing the glossy pink inside where his thick cock splits you open.

“Look at her stretch,” he growls, voice wrecked with how good it feels. Your plump lil’ lips puckering so tight around him… huggin’ every veiny inch like she was made for his cock. “Fuck mhng baby, you’re ruinin’ me. This pussy’s too perfect… too sloppy… too fuckin’ tight.”

He bottoms out again, harder this time, his cockhead bullying deep until you feel that familiar bulge in your lower tummy, the faint swell under his palm when he presses down. Your clit rubbed raw against the underside of his shaft — trapped and throbbing — every drag sending fresh sparks through your overstimulated nerves until your thighs shake uncontrollably.

Toji didn’t speed up. Didn’t rush. Just kept that slow, deep pace — drawing back until only the fat tip stretched your entrance, then sinking all the way in with one long, filthy glide. Each pull-out made your pussy squelch louder — cream frothing white at his base, dripping in thick ropes — each push-in forcing more of your gooey slick to bubble out around him, coating his balls, soaking your ass cheeks, turning everything into a warm, sticky mess.

“God mhm feel that?” he rasps, leaning down to nip the shell of your ear, his breath hot and ragged. “How your pussy’s clenchin’ every time I try to pull out? Squeezin’ like she doesn't ever wanna be empty. My good girl… my perfect, drippin’ girl. Takin’ this thick cock so deep… makin’ such cute, nasty noises for me.”

His hands tighten on your waist — using you like he owns you — pulling your hips back to meet every slow, punishing thrust while he grounds deeper, letting the fat crown drag over that spongy spot inside until your cries turn hoarse and wrecked.

Your stuffed bear was crushed against your chest now, your fingers white-knuckled and face buried so deep in the mattress you could barely breathe around the drool and tears.

He spat again, a thick glob landing right where you were stretched widest around him — watching it slide in, mixing with the mess until everything was even slicker and messier.

“Not stoppin’,” he promises, voice low and filthy-sweet. “Gonna keep fuckin’ this little pussy… till she’s cryin’ and cumin’ again. Till you’re so full of my cum you can’t move, doll Till every time I pull out you’re squirtin’ that syrup-thick cream all over me.”

One more long, slow drag out and your pussy noisily protests with wet, lewd squelches, then he sinks back in deep, bottoming out with a wet slap that made your ass jiggle, clit grind hard against him, walls fluttering wild around every thick, veined inch of his.

“Haah…fuck t-there’s my girl,” he groans, kissing the back of your neck soft and filthy. “Takin’ it so good… makin’ me lose my fuckin’ mind. Gonna keep usin’ you just like this… slow… aah… till you’re nothin’ but a creamy, shakin’ mess for me.”

And he did, he kept that torturous rhythm, his hands bruising your waist, cock stretching your sloppy hole wide, foreskin bunched… slick, spit and cream mixing into the nastiest mess while you clutch your stuffed toy for dear life, sobbing his name into the mattress, pussy clenching greedily and wrecked around his thick cock that owned you completely.

Toji’s hips stayed buried deep, his thick cock throbbing hot and heavy inside your stuffed pussy, every veiny inch hugged so tight by your gummy walls that pulling out even an inch felt like fighting gravity. But he didn’t need to thrust right now.

Not when he had you exactly where he wanted; face-down, ass-up on the edge of your bed, legs squeezed shut, chubby pussy lips puckered and swollen around the base of his shaft like a glossy, creamy ring.

Your pretty little hole was still fluttering around him — suckling greedily on every ridge, even after the last brutal orgasm ripped through you, leaving your thighs trembling and slick dripping in slow, syrupy ropes down the insides of your legs.

He leaned over you, his broad chest pressing hot to your back, sweat-slick skin sliding against yours, until his scarred lips brushed the shell of your ear.

One big hand stayed clamped on your soft waist, fingers digging possessive bruises into plush flesh, while the other slid down between your squeezed-together thighs.

Rough callused fingertips found your puffed-out clit immediately — swollen, fat and glossy from all the rubbing, peeking out from between those mushed puffy lips like a needy little button begging for more.

“Fuck haah… look at this messy thing,” voice low and wrecked with hunger. “So puffed up… so gooey and sappy from comin’ all over my cock. Can’t even hide how bad she wants it.”

His fingers started moving in filthy, lazy circles right over your swollen bud. Not fast. Not rough. Just slow, perfect rubs that made your clit jump and throb under the pad of his middle finger.

He smeared your own thick cream around it — mixing it with the frothy white ring still clinging to his base — making every glide slicker, hotter, nastier. Your pussy clenched hard around his buried cock in response — walls fluttering wild, milking him greedy even though he wasn’t moving yet.

You whimper high, the broken sound muffled into the stuffed bear you were still clutching like it could save you from how good it felt. Drool soaked the plush's fur, tears streaking hot down your cheeks, whole body shaking as those filthy circles kept coming — round n’ round, a slow pressure that built the ache back up fast.

“Haah… m’can’t stop touchin’ you, baby,” he groaned against your neck, nipping the soft skin where he’d already left dark bruises. “Even if I tried… fuck, this little clit’s too perfect. So fat and slippery… jumpin’ every time I rub right here.”

He pressed firmer, his middle finger circling tighter now, thumb hooking under to spread your puffy lips just enough to expose more of that sensitive pearl.

The motion dragging his cock the tiniest bit inside you — barely a rock, just enough to let the fat crown nudge your spongy spot while his fingers worked your clit relentlessly. Fresh slick gushed out around him, thick and syrupy — coating his hand, dripping down his wrist in warm rivulets that soaked into the sheets.

Your hips bucked back helplessly, your ass jiggling against his pelvis, trying to grind into his touch even as your pussy clenched tighter around the thick intrusion splitting you open.

Every filthy circle sent sparks shooting straight up your spine, your clit throbbed so hard it hurt in the sweetest way, walls spasming around his cock like they were trying to pull him even deeper.

“Goddamn…ya feel that?” he murmured, voice thick with praise and filth. “How your cunt ’s grippin’ me every time I rub this pretty clit? Squeezin’ like she’s beggin’ for more even though she’s already stuffed full. My good girl… my perfect, drippin’ mess. Look how she’s leakin’ just from my fingers. So fuckin’ sensitive.”

He sped up just a fraction, circles turning tighter, faster. The pad of his finger flicking quick over the swollen tip of your clit before smoothing back into those slow, filthy loops.

Your cries turned desperate, hoarse and wrecked, sobs muffled into the bear as your thighs shook harder, pussy fluttering wild around his cock. Thick cream bubbled out with every clench — frothing white at his base, dripping in sticky strands that clung to his heavy balls.

Toji groaned deep and feral, his hips finally rocking once, a slow, deep grind that dragged every veined inch along your gummy walls while his fingers never stopped. The dual sensation punched the air out of your lungs, clit rubbed raw and throbbing, cunt stretched wide and filled to the brim.

“Can’t get enough of touchin’ you,” he confessed, voice breaking with how wrecked he was. “This puffed-out little clit… so gooey and sappy… jumpin’ under my fingers like it’s alive. Fuck…baby, you’re gonna come again just like this. Gonna make this fat pussy squirt all over my hand while I’m still buried balls-deep.”

He pinched your clit gently, rolling it between thumb and finger, then went right back to those filthy circles, smearing more of your cream around the swollen bud until it glistened obscene under the fairy lights. Your whole body seized, your back arching hard, ass pressing back desperately against him, your narrow walls clamping down like a vice around his thick cock.

“That’s it ahh…come for me again,” he praised, lips brushing your ear, breath hot and ragged. “Let me feel this pussy milk me while I rub this pretty clit raw. My sweet girl… my filthy, pretty girl… gush for me, baby. Show me how much you love it when I can’t stop touchin’ you.”

One more tight, filthy circle pressed hard right over the tip and you shatter.

Whole body convulsing, pussy clamping down brutally around his cock, walls fluttering wild as thick spurts of slick squirted out around him, hot and messy — soaking his hand, drenching his thighs, pooling warm under your ass on the already wrecked sheets.

Your clit throbbed helplessly under his fingers, overstimulated and raw, sending aftershock after aftershock ripping through you until your legs gave out completely.

Toji didn’t pull his hand away. Just kept those slow, soothing circles, gentler now — petting your puffed-out clit through the tremors while his cock stays buried deep, throbbing hard inside your fluttering, creamy cunt.

“Haah…fuck…there’s my girl,” he sighs, kissing the back of your neck soft and filthy. “Comin’ so hard just from my fingers… makin’ such a cute, sloppy mess. Can’t stop touchin’ you, baby. Not when this little clit’s still jumpin’ for me… not when your pussy’s still grippin’ me like she never wants me to stop.”

He rocked once, letting you feel every thick inch while his fingers kept circling lazy, keeping you right on that overstimulated edge.

“Gonna keep goin’,” he promises, voice low and wrecked with adoration. “Gonna keep rubbin’ this pretty clit… keep fuckin’ you slow… till you’re cryin’ and squirting again. Till you’re nothin’ but a shakin’, creamy mess for me. My perfect girl… my filthy little thing… all mine.”

And he did, his fingers never stopping those filthy circles, cock grinding deep and slow, turning you into a drooling, trembling puddle while your stuffed bear stayed clutched tight in your shaking hands, soaked with tears and drool and the endless proof of how good he made you feel.

Toji’s cock was buried to the hilt, his thick-veined base flush against your swollen puffy lips, heavy balls pressed hot to your clit like they belonged there. Your little fat pussy was stretched obscene around him, your gummy walls parted wide, clinging desperate to every ridged inch like they’d forgotten how to close.

You were gaped already, your poor hole fluttering open every time he stayed still too long, the rim puffy and flushed dark pink, glistening with thick layers of your syrupy cream and his endless pre. Slick dripping steady from where you were joined, slow, sticky ropes that clung to his shaft, webbing down to his balls, pooling warm under your ass on the wrecked sheets.

Shaking, your whole body trembling, face still mashed into the mattress, drool soaking the stuffed bear you clutched like it was the only thing keeping you grounded. Your cries had turned hoarse, soft and wrecked whimpering every time his cock throbbed deep inside, nudging that spongy spot that made your toes curl and your tummy quiver.

He groans low, the sound ripping from his chest like it hurt to feel how tight you still were even after all the pounding, big scarred hands gripped your soft waist harder, his fingers sinking into plush flesh, holding you exactly where he wanted while he started to pull out.

Slow.

Agonizingly slow.

The drag was filthy, every veined inch sliding free with wet, obscene schlicks that filled the room. Your pussy lips dragged along his shaft, puffy and glossy, clinging greedily like they didn’t want to let go. The fat pink crown caught on your rim, stretching it wider one last time before popping free with a lewd, sucking pop.

Your hole gaped open immediately, pink and wrecked, fluttering helplessly around nothing, thick strings of cream stretching from your entrance to his dripping tip like obscene bridges before snapping wet against your inner thighs.

“Haah…fuck…look at that,” he said disbelieving,“This little hole’s gaped so pretty for me… still clenchin’ like she’s missin’ me already. So fuckin’ sloppy, baby. Drippin’ everywhere just ‘cause I pulled out.”

You whimpered, hips twitching back instinctively, chasing the emptiness even as your walls fluttered wild. But Toji wasn’t done teasing.

He lined up again, the fat tip nudging your gaping entrance, smearing thick pre over the stretched rim, then he pushed.

Deeper.

Harder.

One long, brutal glide that sank every thick inch back inside until his hips slapped flush against your ass, cockhead bullying past your cervix, stirring your guts up in that dizzying, overwhelming way that made your eyes roll back.

You felt him everywhere. Hot, heavy fullness stretching from your stuffed hole all the way up like he was rearranging you from the inside. Your tummy bulged faintly under his palm when he pressed down, feeling the outline of his cock moving deep, claiming every inch of your soft insides.

“Fuuuck…there it is,” he growled, hips grinding slow circles now, letting you feel him throb against your deepest walls. “Feel me in your throat, sweetheart? Stirrin’ up your guts… makin’ this pretty pussy taking me so deep she’s cryin’. My good girl… my perfect, stretched-out girl.”

Your cries turning guttural and raw, sounds muffled into the bear as he starts thrusting again, long punishing strokes that pull almost all the way out every time, only to slam back in deeper, harder, stirring your insides into a gooey, creamy mess. Slick squirting out with every pull-back, thick and white-frothed, coating his shaft, dripping down your thighs in warm rivers that soaked everything beneath you.

Then his thick thumb found your tight puckered asshole.

He didn’t ask…Didn’t tease.

Just pressed the blunt pad right against your clenched ring — hot, callused pressure that made your whole body jolt. Your hole fluttering instinctive, tight and untouched, trying to push him out even as your pussy clenched harder around his pounding cock.

“Shhh…relax for me, baby,” he murmured, voice low and filthy-sweet against your ear. ‘m'gonna plug this pretty little hole too. Keep you so full… till you’re shakin’ and sobbin’ for me.”

He pushes in so…so carefully, his thick thumb breaching the tight ring with a soft pop. The stretch burning sweet… the foreign fullness made your back arch hard, ass pushing back desperately onto both intrusions. Your asshole clamping down greedily around his thumb, sucking him into the first knuckle, while your pussy flutters wildly around his thick cock, walls spasming so hard it milks another thick spurt of pre deep inside you.

“Haah…fuck y-yeah,” he groans, thumb sinking deeper, and a slow twist of his thumb... has your hole clenching and fluttering around him. “Takin’ my thumb so good… tight little ass huggin’ me just like your pussy. Feel that? Both holes ngh stuffed f-full”… his cock stirrin’ your guts, thumb pluggin’ up your pretty asshole. “You’re mine, baby. All fuckin’ mine.”

He starts moving — thumb rocking shallow in time with his deep thrusts, cock slamming home every time his thumb pushes in, pulling out together in a filthy rhythm that makes your whole body rock forward into the mattress. Your clit rubbed raw against the sheets now — trapped and throbbing — every grind sending fresh sparks through your overstimulated nerves until tears streamed hot down your cheeks.

Your cries were nonstop, hoarse, wrecked sobs into your stuffed bear, your body trembling violently as he fucked you deeper, thumb plugging your ass, cock stretching your gaped pussy wide. Slick gushing with every thrust, thick, creamy ropes squirting out around his base, soaking his hand where it worked your plugged hole, drenching the bed in a warm, sticky puddle.

“God…look at you,” he praised, voice breaking with how close he was. “Takin’ everything… Such a good girl… my girl. Gonna make you come like this… gonna feel you milk me till I’m pumpin’ you full.”

He ground deeper, thumb twisting slow inside your tight ass, bulbous cockhead bullying your cervix, stirring everything up until the pressure coiled unbearable in your belly.

“Come for me, baby.” he says softly, lips brushing your tear-streaked cheek gently.

One more deep, brutal thrust, thumb sinking to the base, cock slamming home fully and you shattered.

Whole body convulsing, pussy clamping like a vice around his thick shaft, asshole fluttering wild around his thumb, clit throbbing helpless against the friction. Thick spurts of slick squirts out around him — hot and messy — soaking everything as you scream his name into the bear, tears and drool mixing on the sheets.

Toji goes all breathless, hips stuttering as your walls milked him ruthlessly.

“Fuck...yeah…take it, baby,” he pants, grinding deep through your orgasm. “Gonna come… gonna fill this pretty little cunt… gonna plug you so full you’ll feel me for days.”

And with one last deep thrust, thumb buried in your ass, cock throbbing hot and heavy inside your stuffed, creamy hole he starts to spill. Thick, hot ropes of cum flooding your gummed walls — pulse after pulse — stirring your insides even more as he keeps grinding slow, keeping you plugged front and back while you shook and sobbed and came undone completely around him.

And Toji Zenin still wasn’t done touching you.

Not by a long shot.

Toji finally eased his thumb out of your twitching little asshole, slow and careful, letting the tight ring flutter shut with a soft, wet sound that made your whole body shiver one last time. His cock slipped free next, his thick length dragging along your ruined walls until the fat crown popped out with a lewd, sucking pop.

A hot gush of cum followed immediately, thick, creamy ropes spilling from your gaping pussy in slow, obscene waves, dripping down your inner thighs, pooling sticky and warm beneath your ass on the already-soaked sheets.

You were trembling, completely spent, limbs heavy and breath coming in shaky little pants, face still buried halfway into the rumpled comforter with drool stringing from the corner of your swollen lips. Your stuffed bear was crushed, forgotten against your chest, fur matted and damp from tears and spit and everything else.

Toji didn’t move away.

He rolled you gently, almost tenderly — onto your back, big scarred hands sliding under your soft thighs and waist to lift you like you weighed nothing. He settled between your spread legs again, kneeling tall over you, sweat-glistening chest heaving while he looked down at the absolute mess he’d made of his pretty girl.

Your pussy was wrecked, lips puffy and dark, gaping open just enough to show the creamy white mess inside, clit still swollen and flushed, twitching with aftershocks. Cum leaked out in lazy pulses, mixing with your own slick, running in glossy trails down your perineum.

But his eyes softened when they reached your face.

All tear-streaked cheeks, glassy eyes, puffy lips still shining with spit.

“My pretty girl,” he murmured, voice low and wrecked but so fucking gentle now it made your chest ache.

He leaned down slow, his big heated body blanketing yours without crushing you and cups your face in both rough palms. Thumbs brushed away the fresh tears clinging to your lashes, smearing them gently across your flushed skin.

Toji didn’t pull out.

Not even a little.

He stayed buried to the root, his thick, heavy cock throbbing slow and deep inside your stuffed cunt, every veiny inch hugged so tight by your gummy walls it felt like your pussy had forgotten how to exist without him filling it. The fat pink crown was pressed right up against your cervix — hot, insistent pressure that made your tummy flutter every time his heartbeat pulsed through the shaft.

Cum was already leaking — thick, sticky ropes of it flooding your insides from the last brutal spill, so much that you could feel the warm, syrupy weight of it pooling deep in your guts, pressing against your walls like liquid heat.

Your poor hole was gaped just enough around his base, puffy lips stretched thin and glossy, clinging desperate to the thickest part of him like they were scared he’d slip free. But he wasn’t going anywhere, he just held you there, his hips flush to your ass, one big scarred hand splayed wide over your soft tummy so he could feel the faint swell where his cock and all that cum was making you bulge ever so slightly from the inside.

“Shhh… just like this, sweetheart,” he murmured low against the back of your neck, lips brushing damp skin in soft, lazy kisses. “Just cock warming. No more fuckin’ right now. Gonna let this pretty pussy soak in every drop I gave her… keep her nice and full, yeah?”

You whimpered — soft, a wrecked little sound muffled into the stuffed bear still clutched tight to your chest. Your whole body was trembling, overstimulated, oversensitive, thighs quivering where they were still squeezed shut and held down beneath his weight.

Slick and cum mixed into a warm, sticky mess between you, dripping slowly out around his base in thick, pearly strands that clung to your inner thighs, soaking the sheets in a warm puddle that smelled like sex and him and you all tangled together.

He shifted then, just a tiny rock of his hips, not thrusting, just enough to let his cock stir the cum inside you. The movement made a wet, filthy squelch, your walls fluttering greedy around him, milking another thick bead of leftover seed that oozed deeper into your guts.

You felt it, hot and slippery coating every inch of your gummy insides, threatening to drool out if he moved too much, but he didn’t. He just held you closer — arm banding around your waist, palm pressing firmer over that soft little bulge in your tummy like he was proud of how full he’d made you.

“Look how cute you are,” he whispered, voice rough and tender all at once. “Face all flushed… droolin’ on your lil’ bear… pussy so full of my cum she’s practically purring. My pretty girl… my perfect girl.”

He turned your face gently with scarred fingers under your chin, tilting you just enough so he could lean over your shoulder and kiss you slow. Soft at first — scarred lips brushing yours, tasting the salt of your tears and the cherry gloss long smeared away. Then deeper, tongue sliding lazy against yours, swallowing every tiny whimper you gave him while his cock stayed perfectly still inside you, just throbbing, just warming, just owning.

You moaned into his mouth, a soft and needy sound as another warm trickle of cum leaked out around his base, sliding slow down your puffy lips. Your clit still swollen and achy, brushed the underside of his shaft with every tiny shift, sending little aftershocks through your core that made your walls flutter and clench around him again.

“Haah…fuck — there she goes,” he groaned against your lips, kissing you deeper, filthier. “Clenchin’ so sweet even when she’s just holdin’ me. Feel all that cum sloshin’ around inside you? So warm… so sticky… gonna keep it all plugged up in there till it’s leakin’ out slow outta you.”

His free hand slid up and cupped the side of your face, thumb stroking slow over your tear-streaked cheek while he kissed you again and again. Forehead pressed to yours now, breath mingling hot and ragged, his green eyes dark and soft as he stared down at you like you were the only thing in the world that mattered.

“You’re so fuckin’ cute like this,” he murmured, pressing another soft kiss to your forehead — lingering, reverent. “All hugged up on my cock… pussy threatenin’ to drool my cum everywhere but still grippin’ me so tight. My good girl… my sweet, stuffed girl. Just stay like this for me, yeah? Let me keep you warm… let me feel how full I made you.”

He rocked once, barely a movement, just a slow grind that stirred the thick load inside you without pulling out. More cum bubbled out hot and slippery coating your puffy lips, dripping slow down to where your clit throbbed against him. You whimpered high and broken — hips twitching instinctively even though you were too spent to chase anything.

Toji shushed you gently, lips brushing your temple, your cheek, your mouth again in soft, endless kisses.

“Just this. Just me inside you… keepin’ all that cum nice and warm where it belongs. My pretty girl… my perfect little thing… all hugged up and full for me.”

He wrapped both arms around you then, pulling your soft body back flush to his chest, cock still buried deep, still throbbing slow, still leaking the last drops into your stuffed, creamy pussy. Forehead kisses rained down, soft, sweet and lazy in the best way, while he held you close, letting you feel every heartbeat through his shaft, every warm pulse of cum settling deeper inside you.

“Stay just like this,” he whispered one last time, lips lingering on your forehead. “My cute, sweet girl… mine.”

And he didn’t move.

Just held you there — thick cock warming your poor, gaped, cum-stuffed pussy while you trembled and whimpered and clung to your bear, face buried in his neck, soaking in the sticky, overwhelming heat of being so perfectly, completely full of him.

Toji’s arms locked around your waist like steel bands, scarred hands splaying wide over the soft curve of your lower belly, fingers digging in just enough to bruise the plush skin as he yanked you down hard, with no warning. No slow descent. Just raw, possessive force that slammed your dripping pussy all the way onto his thick, throbbing cock in one brutal, claiming drop.

The stretch hit like lightning — your poor gaped hole, forced to swallow every last veiny inch at once, walls parting wide around the fattened girth until his heavy balls slapped wet against your clit and the fat pink crown punched right up against the deepest part of your cervix again.

You felt it everywhere — hot, overwhelming fullness stretching from your stuffed entrance all the way up into your guts, making your tummy bulge visibly under his palm where he pressed down firmly to feel himself buried inside you.

“Haah…f-fuck — there it is,” he growled low against the shell of your ear, voice wrecked and deep, breath scorching your neck. “Takin’ every thick fuckin’ inch, sweetheart. All of it. No more teasin’. Just my cock stuffed deep where it belongs.”

Your cry ripped out raw and broken — high, desperate wails muffled into the crook of his shoulder as your body jolted from the sudden depth. Your gummy walls fluttered wild around him, clenching helpless. Spasming like they couldn’t decide if they wanted to push him out or suck him deeper.

Slick and leftover cum from before gushed out around his base in thick, creamy ropes,frothing white at the stretch, dripping slow down his heavy sack in warm, sticky trails that soaked into the sheets beneath you both.

He didn’t let you adjust. Just held you there, impaled, trembling, your  pussy clenching greedily around the full length of him — while one hand slid up to fist in your hair, yanking your head back gently but firm so he could see your face.

Tears streaked hot down your cheeks, lips swollen and parted in endless soft whimpers, drool slipping from the corner of your mouth again like you’d forgotten how to swallow.

“Look at you,” he says proudly, green eyes dark and blown with hunger as he stared down at where your puffy lips were stretched thin and glossy around his base — clinging so tight the rim looked almost white-knuckled. “My pretty girl takin’ everything… pussy so full she’s shakin’. Feel that? Feel how deep I am?” His cockhead kissin’ your womb and stirrin’ up all that cum he already pumped in you.

He rocked his hips once, a slow grinding roll that dragged every ridge along your fluttering walls without pulling out. The motion made a wet, filthy squelch, your stuffed pussy protesting the fullness even as it clenched harder, milking him greedy. More thick cream bubbled out — syrupy and white — coating his shaft, dripping down to where your clit throbbed helpless against the veined underside.

“Nngh…Toji —” Your voice cracked,hoarse and wrecked, nails raking down his broad back again, leaving red trails over hard muscle. “S’too much… s’too deep —”

“Shhh, I know, baby,” he murmured, scarred lips brushing your tear-streaked cheek in soft, filthy kisses. “Doin’ so good though. Takin’ this fat cock like you were made for it. Feel how your pussy’s grippin’ me? Squeezin’ like she don’t ever wanna let go. My perfect girl… my sweet girl.”

He pulled you down harder, another sharp yank that seated him impossibly deeper, crown bullying against that spongy spot inside until your back bowed, thighs trembling violently around his hips. Your clit grinding raw against his pelvis — swollen and achy — every tiny shift sending sparks shooting through your core that made your walls flutter and clench harder around him.

Toji groaned deep, the guttural sound vibrating straight through you, then wrapped both arms around your waist, crushing your soft body to his chest. One hand slid down to cup your ass, fingers spreading the plush cheeks wide so he could feel where you were stretched obscene around him, while the other pressed firm over that faint bulge in your tummy, thumb stroking slow circles over the spot where he could feel himself moving inside.

“Fuck…look at this,” he breathed, voice thick with praise and filth. “My cock makin’ a pretty little bump right here… fillin’ you up so good you can see it. Gonna keep you right here… just like this”… Cock-warmin’ you deep while he kisses your sweet mouth.

He tilted your chin up, scarred thumb brushing your swollen bottom lip, then claimed your mouth in a slow, filthy kiss. Tongue sliding deep, tasting the salt of your tears and the cherry gloss long gone, swallowing every broken whimper you gave him while his cock throbbed hot and heavy inside your stuffed pussy.

No thrusting. Just deep, possessive grinding — tiny rolls of his hips that stirred the thick load of cum already flooding your cunt, making it slosh warm and sticky against your walls.

You moaned into his mouth, soft needy sounds, as another warm trickle leaked out around his base, sliding slow down your puffy lips to where your clit pulsed against him. Your pussy clenching helpless and fluttering wild — threatening to drool more of that creamy mess if he moved even a little, but he didn’t. Just held you impaled, full, trembling, while he kissed you deeper, tongue fucking slow into your mouth in the same lazy rhythm his cock was grinding inside you.

“So fuckin’ cute,” he whispers against your lips between kisses, forehead pressing to yours, breath mingling hot and ragged. “All hugged up on my dick… pussy so full she’s shakin’. My pretty girl… my perfect little thing… takin’ everything I give her. Gonna stay just like this… keep you warm and stuffed… let you feel everything while I kiss you stupid.”

Wanting to feel you constantly, he kept pressing soft kisses to your forehead, then your temple, to your cheek and your mouth again — endless, filthy affection while his arms stayed locked around you, cock buried to the hilt, cum sloshing warm and sticky deep inside your gaped, creamy pussy.

“Mine,” he murmured one last time, lips brushing your forehead in a final, claiming kiss. “All fuckin’ mine.”

And he didn’t move.

Just held you there, thick cock warming your stuffed, trembling pussy, while you whimpered and clung and soaked in the overwhelming heat of being so completely, perfectly taken.

The room had gone quiet except for the soft hum of the ceiling fan stirring the thick summer air, fairy lights flickering lazy gold across the rumpled sheets like dying embers. You were out cold — completely fucked-out and boneless, face half-buried in the crook of Toji’s neck, one arm slung loose over his chest, legs still tangled with his like you couldn’t bear to let go even in sleep.

Your breathing had evened out into those slow, deep little puffs that made your lips part every exhale, drool already pooling at the corner of your mouth onto his collarbone. Cute. Wrecked. His.

Toji hadn’t moved much since he’d pulled you down onto every thick inch and held you there, his cock still buried deep, warming your cum-stuffed pussy while the last pulses of his cum settled heavy and hot inside you.

Your walls kept fluttering around him in tiny, sleepy spasms — soft little squeezes that milked another lazy bead of seed from his tip even though he wasn’t thrusting anymore.

The mess between you was obscene; thick ropes of cum and your syrupy cream leaking slow out around his base, coating his heavy balls, dripping in warm, sticky trails down your inner thighs and soaking the sheets beneath your ass in a cooling puddle that smelled like sex and salt and him.

He stayed like that for a long while, his arm banded around your waist, scarred palm resting possessive over the faint swell in your lower tummy where his cock and all that cum made you bulge just enough to feel under his hand.

Every time you shifted in your sleep, tiny and little unconscious rolls of your hips, your pussy clenched tighter around him, gummy walls sucking greedy like even unconscious you didn’t want him to leave. It made his cock twitch — still half-hard, still leaking the last sluggish drops into your overflowing heat.

Eventually the ache in his thighs and the way your breathing had gone soft and even, told him you were really gone, deep in that post-orgasm haze where nothing existed but warmth and fullness and him.

Toji exhaled slowly through his nose, a low satisfied rumble in his chest, then started to move.

Careful. So fucking careful.

He slid one big hand under your thigh, lifting it just enough to ease the angle, while the other stayed splayed over your tummy, thumb stroking slow circles over that soft pudge like he was soothing you even in your sleep. Then he pulled.

Slow…

Inch by torturous inch.

The drag was filthy, your poor gaped hole clinging desperate to every veiny ridge as he withdrew, gummy walls fluttering weak protests around the retreating thickness. Slick and cum made obscene wet sounds, soft schlicks and squelches that filled the quiet room, thick white cream bubbling out around his shaft the second he started to slip free.

Strings of it stretched taut between your puffy lips and his glistening cockhead — snapping slow and wet against your inner thighs as he kept pulling.

When the fat pink crown finally popped free with a lewd, sucking pop, your hole gaped open, pink and wrecked, fluttering helpless around nothing. A thick gush of cum followed immediately — hot, sticky ropes drooling slow out of your stretched entrance, sliding down your ass crack in pearly trails, pooling warm under you on the already soaked sheets. Your clit, still swollen and flushed, twitched once at the sudden emptiness, a tiny bead of cream clinging to the tip like a pearl.

Toji stared, breath catching rough in his throat at the sight of his cum leaking from your used little pussy. So much of it. Thick and white and endless, proof of how deep he’d fucked you, how full he’d kept you. Your pussy looked ruined in the prettiest way — lips puffy and parted, hole still trying to clench shut but too stretched to close completely, just drooling his load in slow, obscene pulses.

“Fuck,” he breathed voice low, wrecked, almost reverent. Toji finally took a long inhale, eyes locked on the sight. His pretty girl’s pussy all sloppy and leaking his cum like she couldn’t help it even asleep. Fuck… it made his cock twitch soft against his thigh, already half-interested again for just looking.

He leaned down slow and carefully…not to jostle you too much, breath fanning hot over your sensitive skin and pressed the softest, filthiest kiss right to your swollen clit. Gentle. Worshipful.

Lips barely brushing the swollen bud…a warm, lingering press that made your hips twitch tiny in sleep, a soft whimper slipping from your throat. He kissed it again…slower, tongue flicking out just once to taste the mix of your cream and his cum still clinging there. Salty-sweet messy and perfect.

“My pretty girl,” he whispered against your pussy, voice so low it was more breath than sound. “Took me so deep… kept me warm all night. Look at you leakin’ my cum even when you’re sleepin’. So fuckin’ cute.”

Scarred lips brushing the sensitive bud, gentle and lingering, his tongue flicking out once to taste the mix of your cream and his cum clinging there. You whimpered in your sleep, a soft, needy little sound. Your hips twitched forward instinctively even when unconscious, thighs trembling once before settling again.

One more kiss, open-mouthed this time…lips sealing soft around your clit for a heartbeat, sucking the tiniest pull that made your thighs tremble before he let go. 

Toji smiled against your pussy…slow, dangerous and so fucking tender, then kissed higher; one soft press to your puffy mound, another to the soft dip of your lower belly where the bulge was slowly fading. 

“Fuck… gotta move, baby,” he rasped, voice gravel-thick with leftover lust and something softer underneath. “Your dad’s gonna be home soon. Can’t leave you lookin’ like this… all fucked-out and leakin’ me everywhere.”

He didn’t let you wallow in it.

He moved careful, almost gentle, sliding off you and scooping your limp, trembling body into his arms like you weighed nothing. Your legs dangled uselessly; your head lolled against his shoulder; your ruined pussy leaked a slow, sticky trail down his abs as he carried you to the tiny attached bathroom.

He set you on the edge of the tub softly with utter care, then ran warm water over a clean washcloth. No rough scrubbing. Just slow, careful wipes, dabbing away the cum and slick smeared across your inner thighs, between your ass cheeks, over your swollen mound. He was thorough, gentle thumbs parting your puffy lips just enough to clean the creamy mess still oozing from your gaping hole, wiping slow circles around your clit until you whimpered and twitched.

“Easy, sweetheart,” he murmured, kissing your forehead while he worked. “Gotta get you all clean… can’t have you drippin’ all over the place when your dad walks in.”

When you were as clean as he could get you, skin still flushed and sensitive, pussy still puffy and tender, he carried you back to the bed. He stripped the worst of the soaked sheets (bundling them into a ball to deal with later), flipped the comforter over the damp spot, and tucked you in slowly, pulling the soft blanket up to your chin, smoothing it over your trembling body like you were something precious.

He knelt beside the bed for a long minute, just watching you, then leaned down and pressed a final, lingering kiss to your swollen lips. Slow. Drooly. Tongue brushing yours one last time like he was memorizing the taste.

He pulled the rumpled sheet up over your body, tucking it around your shoulders gentle and careful, like you were something precious he didn’t want to break even though he’d just spent hours fucking you… making sure your shoulders were covered, your bare feet hidden under the blanket.

He smoothed a hand over your soft tummy, feeling the faint bloat still there from how full he’d left you and then leaned down to kiss your forehead too. Long, tender press of scarred lips.

“My good girl,” he whispered against your mouth, forehead resting against yours. “Took me so fuckin’ well… let me ruin you so pretty… now sleep, yeah? I’ll handle the rest. You just stay tucked in and dream about how full I made you.”

He kissed your forehead again, soft and possessive, then stood.

You watched through heavy lids as he pulled on his sweatpants (still stained, still smelling like sex), grabbed the bundled sheets, and slipped out the door quiet as a shadow.

The room smelled like him.

Like cum and sweat and summer heat.

Your pussy still ached, emptier… now but throbbing with the memory of how thick he’d been, how deep, how much he’d filled you.

You curled tighter under the blanket, legs pressing  together to keep the lingering warmth inside and drifted.

ಇ.author's note: reupload from @/torusbabe

★ 𝓣 ag list - @barbatoswh0r3 @cttelina @0celotmilk @mimimochis @booboobear-12 @yummidumplingss @liahcharms @fayefavz @butterbeanandsparkleface @megumisrighttoe @megumiessmile @teaspecifically @kireampie @kashimo--hajime @himboelover @peepopeach @megum1sstepm0m-blog @yoonsucks @user153639937 @yxo7 @laineypooh @alexynthia @valberryboos @cinnamonwithorange @grey-lex @anonymoussigmaa @pusheennnnnehehe★

[himboelover]

FUCK ME THIS WAS FIRE

[sweethearticism]

𝓖.𝐒𝐀𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐔 🌷♡ ͏͏ has you sucking his dick while he drives you home. the problem? you're his son's best friend.

♡. 𝓱𝓮𝓪𝓻𝓽𝓽𝓱𝓻𝓸𝓫. older!satoru :: age gap (40s/20s) :: smut :: roadhead :: m.oral :: fingering :: dirty talk :: reader is megumi's best friend

"Fuck, your dad's gonna kill me."

All you had was that new car smell and the scent of Satoru's cum clogging up your nose.

Rough, long fingers gripped at your hair. Blunt nails digging at your scalp. Forcing you down harder. Deeper. Till you gagged and spluttered all over his dark pants.

Swallowing your best friend's dad's cock down your throat was exactly how you wanted this night to end.

Satoru's white-knuckling the steering. You could picture his jaw set tight. Grinding moans between his teeth as those woman-killer blues of his locked to the windscreen even with his fogged, rimless glasses.

Streetlights flashed by. Pouring over the lewd scene in the front seat. Of you, on your knees and leaned over the centre console, his thick cock straining your lips. Your cherry gloss mixing with foamy precum as bob your head back to his base.

His hips twitched. Breath hitched. As the car slowed to a red light, his head finally fell back.

"Sweet lil' brat," he heaved. Sounding like his lungs were fighting god as he gripped at the back of your neck. "This your plan all along? Study session with my son so you could get me here?"

"Mhhhm."

You hummed, honeyed as you withdrew with a filthy pop. Tongue laving over his underside. Swirling on his throbbing, blushing tip.

"Of course not, Mr Gojo." You croaked, delicate hand squeezing his cock, thumbing on a vein. You pressed the hardness into the side of your face. Batting your doeish lashes up at him.

"I'm a good girl. I promise."

A curse hissed from his heaving chest. Stare heavy as it scowled down at you. A dark grin cracked onto his lips.

"Yeah? Good girl sucking old man dick? Knowing damn well my son's got a crush on her?" His hard shove forced your head back down his cock. Stretching your aching glands around his thick inches.

His hot tip smacked the back of your throat. Smearing his sickeningly sweet pre all over. Earning a saliva-filled whine from your dazed self. Your eyes fluttering back with little hearts as you slaved your mind and mouth to the sick course of sucking on a man who was twice your age. Old enough to be your father. Hell, your best friend's dad.

Gurgled babbles and filthy gawks filled the dim, humid space. Your knees rubbing raw on the leather seat as you let him fuck your throat. Taking you all the way till your chin grazed his balls and tears spilled from your eyes.

"Now that's a good girl. Fuuckk. Pretty lil' thing like you really knows how to suck a dick huh?"

His rough groan vibrated deep in your tummy. Your shaky thighs rubbed together to ease the hot slickness blooming between them.

"What's this?" Satoru breathed, cutting you a small glance as the car took off again.

The hand on your hair slipped down your back. His arm long enough to easily reach over your ass and tuck between your thighs. A sly middle and index nestled against soaked cotton. Stroking over your swollen flesh.

"Getting your panties all sticky just from sucking me off? Oh poor baby," his tut was drawled, pouted as he massaged your quivering cunt. Rubbing on the wet spot and grinding his callouses right beneath your clit.

You choked around him. Eyes fluttering back as you tried to press yourself into him. Whimpering around his pulsing cock as your head stuttered in its movements.

His hips bucked a bit. Stuffing you full again until you spluttered.

"Uh uh sweet thing, c'mon." He cooed. "Keep that throat niicceee and full. You're a good girl, remember?"

You barely managed a nod. Taking him back down till he bulged your bobbing throat again. All while he played with your needy cunt and kept his eyes on the road.

Never slipping in, never stuffing you full from both sides, Satoru merely kept you in the desperate position. Bent over his centre console, in his car, with his cum threatening to spill down your throat any second.

"Three minutes, sweetheart. Better— fuck. Hurry if you wanna take something home with ya." He strained, pinching your clit through your soaked panties.

You whined. Hollowing your cheeks. Squeezing your throat. Your head pumped in a shot of vigour. Eager to taste his cum before you trotted back into your house and smiled at your parents. Lied through your teeth about how productive your study session was when you wouldn't remember anything other than the smell of your best friend's dad and the taste of his cum.

Spit and pre mixed. Stringing a filthy web between your lips and his crotch. Snapping and splashing as you worked him. Jerking back to focus on his tip. Sucked on a vein. Then greedily took him back all the way. Till your throat would miss the shape of him when this was all over.

The car slowed as Satoru got close. Both to your home and his orgasm. Words melting into a stream of deep groans and gruff grunts.

His hips slammed! up as he turned the corner. Grinding nastily into your mouth. Twitching and throbbing like mad as that thick, underside vein of his pulsed hard at the back of your tongue.

"Better fuckin— take every, hah, every drop like the good girl ya keep telling me you are." Words broken, rough. You swore his eyes must've been rolling back.

As the car pulled up, his hand slammed down. Shoving your head all the way. Till your eyes rolled into your skull and your mind flatlined.

"Fuck, oh fuck babbyyy."

Hot, thick spurts frothed up your throat. Creaming you so full that it bubbled back up into your mouth. Spilling around your glossy lips. Trickling down your chin.

You didn't care for the mess. Too lost in your newest addiction: old cock and cum.

Satoru's breaths heaved. Wheezed and burning as he slumped back into the seat. Glossy eyes looped to the car roof as his glasses slipped down his nose.

"Fucking. . . gonna give me a stroke." He groaned, grinding his hips a few more times into your greedy mouth.

You hummed in response. Dazed. If it were up to you, you would have stayed there. Nursing on his cock and lapping his cum.

No such luck. Satoru lifted you off of him soon enough. Cupping your face and swiping a thumb on your lower lip.

"Can't keep doing this, y'know." He breathed. But his eyes told you that's hardly what he wanted.

Nudging your face into his palm, you pouted. "You can't ignore me now. I sucked your dick in a car. We're practically engaged."

He sighed, deep and fond before he pressed a kiss between your brows. Achingly affectionate.

"Crazy girl."

© 𝒔𝒘𝒆𝒆𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒂𝒓𝒕𝒊𝒄𝒊𝒔𝒎. no plagiarism or ai training authorised. divider: @/cheriisoda. art cred: @/osakku_ ( ig )

꒰ 🌷 ⸰  ✦ enjoyed this piece?   ꒱ consider joining my patreon or commissioning me <3 I appreciate all the support!

[sweethearticism]

♡. @snailsolidarity @siredheretic @satorus-princess @yesdere @haazelnuutloover @prettypthaloamorous @yukiyaaaa @honoredoneswife @princesslilium @heavenlystarstruck @alinacoke @tangyneon @feeblyscarletvirus @chewiebee @floraljae @justaghosthere1 @lielieei @belovednari @ssorasky @theclosetismadeofglass @satorucest @p1xie-hiv3 @jinjen @wise-fangirl @lidyada @strawberryshortcakkitty @sovaintilla @miksde @nnaa-bba @crystalrainforest @akiyhara @kiatheinsomniac @dawnsoblivion @bzziestbee @yeiena @ch3rrykoolaid @h1ddenbby @enchantedstarfish @moonlightoru @russian-schoolgirl @igalol @sajova @ritsatoru @twinfaes @lovebythuuu @chvrrycosmos @viienie @secretofchance @dreaminglaya @winkii

[tonycries]

Puppy Princess - G.S.

Synopsis. A jester marrying a princess? Not even in the most terrible joke.  Gojo Satoru has loved you ever since the first time he made you laugh, he’s loved you since you appointed him as your personal jester—and he’s loved you even when your royal engagement was announced.  But if only a prince can marry a princess…maybe a jester can wreck it.

Pairing. Gojo Satoru x Reader

Content. MDNI, fem!princess!reader, jester!Gojo, royalty AU, forbídden Iove, yearning, PLOT, hurt, best friends to Iovers, betrothaIs (not to Gojo), he’s so siIIy, and so in Iove, sad backstorìes, vìoIence and bIood (not to or from Gojo), rhymes, pranks, Naoya’s awfuI, hidden schemes, makeovers, masquerade baIIs, masks, somewhat CindereIIa-Iike, oraI (fem rec.), tongue f, fìngering, he’s PÚSSYDRÚNK, p taIking, pínching, bíting, spítting, ínappropriate use of the jester hat, he’s FÉRAL, raw, matíng presses, first times (for both), he’s BlG, making it fit, talking you through it, pushing down, dirty taIk, rhymes whilst he’s INSIDE, creampíes, cúmpIay, royal weddings, HAPPY ENDING, pet names, swéaring.

Word count. 16.8k

A/N. TO THE LOVELY BABYGIRLS THAT HAVE BEEN BEEEEGGING FOR THIS TROPE- and inspired by the very talented @/karolineprihodko on Tiktok <33

“A fool may sleep. A fool may sneer. A fool may ask why the princess is crying here?”

It’s so sudden that it stops your tears.

Crouched in a small passageway near the royal court. Between the gleaming armors upon display of Gakuganji the Great and Kashimo the Fierce. For a brief moment of madness; you think you must have imagined the lilting voice—almost melodic. Marvelous.

It’s one of the most beautiful things you’ve ever heard - even more so than the music wafting from the open doors of court, brought by the travelling circus that your palace was entertaining.

And then you’re hearing him again.

“Sob sob sob—for my princess is a crier. Dear Gojo here, shall set Yaga’s stache on fire—!”

That makes you finally lift your head out of your arms, with a laugh that is full-chested and unabashed. For the first time in a long…long time.

“What might your name be?” You ask the boy with the bright blue eyes, and an even brighter smile. 

And that was the story of how you met Gojo Satoru - when you were eight, and he’d been merely ten. Though he didn’t look ten—he might’ve looked even younger than you. 

White hair. Winks of dimples upon each cheek. His face was chalk-white from the make-up typical of jesters, even young ones, supposedly. 

He was drowning in a faded red and blue jester outfit that looked as if it’d been dragged through multiple shows a night. It looked far too big to have been his originally. Even through the patched-up collar, his collarbones showed, and from the too-wide sleeves; his pale, near-skeletal limbs stuck out oddly. 

His face was pretty, however, with eyes too large for his head. 

Gojo’s cheeks were sunken in, yet his smile wasn’t the slightest bit smaller. That, too, looked too large to be his. 

And you…

Crying outside the royal court, after your parents had declared you far too young to see the travelling circus. The acrobats. The sword-swallowers. And one little jester…that had gone missing during the processions. 

Though, in time, Gojo took delight in weaving in additional parts of fighting off dragons and two haunted knight armors—enraptured courts that clapped and laughed as he sang of a white-haired fool and his crying princess. He’d whisked you off your feet and made you swoon in ways a princess utterly shouldn’t - and then produced you before your horrified father, His Majesty, as the sole suitor that made you laugh. 

At least according to him.

Though one thing was true from that fairytale: Gojo had been the only person to make you laugh. The only one.

Previous jesters and palace acts wavered between confusing you with their overly long ballads, or enraging you - all because they assumed some little princess couldn’t handle humor. And maybe that was why - Gojo hadn’t underestimated you - that you’d gone right up to your father in the middle of a particularly splendid fire-breathing act, stood in the center of the lavish floor, and declared—

For Gojo to be released from the circus to become your personal jester.

As a royal jester he would be clothed, bathed, and tutored alongside you - so long as he kept you entertained with his rhymes (to which you had no doubt that he wouldn’t falter). 

Not minister nor royal guest should lay a hand on him. He was to be treated as an equal member of the court, and should have titles bestowed upon him in due time—but for now, he will grow up as your best friend. Your only.

And whilst declaring this in about as much royal haughtiness as you could have managed, you looked over at Gojo. You don’t remember for what reason. You don’t remember what you were looking for.

All you remember is that Gojo’s eyes seemed brighter in that moment, like the night’s cloak of stars. There were tears in his eyes.

And he flashed you his crooked grin.

You grinned back.

His Majesty and the advisors didn’t take long to mull over the thought before asking the circus master to name his price for the boy. And Gojo had been small then - oh-so-small - a mere waif of a boy. He was clearly the youngest amongst these adults, and the circus master hadn’t even remembered he was part of the troupe.

He’d demanded two crowns and a bag of wheat.

To which The King had obliged with a simple wave of his hand—before freeing the other circus members, as well. He was merciful…most of the time.

And you’d been so overcome with joy that you ran to the jester and took his hands then and there.

Had it been in the little passageway where you’d met, then you might even have embraced him.

But perhaps you’d given the ministers enough conniptions for the day?

“Follow me.” You breathlessly whispered to the little jester that seemed far too shocked for words. “I shall summon the royal tailor whilst you take your bath- we have every fragrance in the land, and more than enough botanical springs.”

But the longer he stayed speechless and unmoving, the more self-conscious you grew.

Your fingers loosened around his, “That…that is if you wish to-”

“I do.” He stopped you from slipping away - he clasped your hands even tighter. Tight enough to nearly hurt—but you didn’t stop him. “I-I’d be honored, Your Highness.”

“You shan’t have to call me that.”

And though a few eavesdropping court ladies and gentlemen gasped at the destruction of long-held social etiquette, Gojo had merely smiled and nodded. And then you’d been the one to whisk him away. 

You.

Gojo shared little about his upbringing that first day in the palace, and even less over the years. You knew that he’d been born into an average family just a kingdom over - Gojo itself was a fairly used name - but tragedy struck and his parents both passed away—although you never asked how, and he never shared why. It almost…seemed as if he didn’t remember. A part of him that had scrubbed out most of those years, like a bloodstain.

And he’d lived in the same lifeless home as them for five days. Trying to wake them.

No one listened.

No one arrived.

No one helped.

No one helped.

No one helped.

Driven by hunger and loneliness, Gojo finally left the house after those five days. And just his fortune, he hadn’t walked long before encountering the travelling circus—so many jugglers and jesters and acrobats and fire-breathers. And one master leading them from the front. 

He’d been both enraptured and scared.

And hungry. So…so hungry.

Even the smell of the lion food was appetizing to him. 

One acrobat passing by had spotted the boy watching wide-eyed from the side of the road, and seeing how desperate he was, shared her lunch and invited him to join. It was the biggest act of kindness he’d felt in five days.

And so he taught himself to rhyme. To joke. To smile. 

And two years later was when you saved him- you told Gojo that it wasn’t so much as saving him than him saving you. But he denied. 

“Thank you.” Gojo had whispered to you, almost fearful, during his first night in the palace. The Princess’s jester had been granted quarters right across the hallway from your own chambers—and yet, the first night was always the scariest, wasn’t it? 

He’d given you quite the fright sneaking into your royal chamber after all the candles had been snuffed and your attendants had left. Soundless as a mouse—and looking just as unwelcome inside the gilded bedroom. But eventually, you welcomed him onto the lavish mattress far too large for even two.

Let alone two children.

Laid a fair distance apart, you faced each other. 

“I forbid you to say those words again, Gojo.” You smiled. “And just for the one night, I trust?” You meant the bed-sharing; should your attendants walk upon this in the morning, then Gojo would be thrown into the dungeons faster than he can rhyme. 

Gojo nodded, somewhat flushed. “Just for the one night.”

.

.

.

“Satoru-”

“Mmmm, puff pastries and wagashi.”

“Satoru.”

“Huh? Ohhh, sweet cheesecake.”

“Sato—” The exasperated call of his name doesn’t land before the kick does - square in the middle of Gojo Satoru’s broad back. 

Sometime in the last few years, after he’d taken up training with General Yaga to keep himself fit for his dances, Gojo had started sleeping without his upper garments on. 

And you couldn’t deny that it was a sight for sore eyes; his sun-freckled sun, the dips and curves of his muscles shifting as he did. The roundness of his deltoids. The sensual curve of his spine. The patterns of his scapulae, and lash marks that he wouldn’t explain. They moved like waves of an ocean, and they peaked and fell just as much. Some mornings you dared to trace every single one—just with your eyes, of course. 

But of course, he was just your best friend - socially, your jester, at that.

Which is exactly why you’re kicking him off the bed the second you hear your morning attendants heading down the corridor. As soon as he’s out of sight, the double doors to your bedroom open—and they’re floating inside with steaming-hot trays of breakfast and new fragrances for your skin. 

One of the attendants sets the breakfast tray down on your bedside table, and you sneak him a few of the blueberry-spotted pancakes. Though have to slap Gojo’s hand away from swiping the syrup, too, before one of them sees.

“Such a beautiful day, isn’t it, Your Highness?” Your head attendant, Utahime, trills as she throws the curtains open to let soft morning sunlight flood inside. “The perfect morning.”

“It is.” You’re nodding. You slap Gojo’s hand away from the syrup again.

“And we have no more than an hour to get you ready, Your Highness. So I beg you to finish your tea quickly.” Another attendant hands you your morning tea - just how you liked it. It smelled of something floral that reminded you of the royal gardens, and something else so utterly appetizing that you could feel Gojo huffin’ and puffing about beneath you.

Served him right for sneaking in again, you think.

You slap Gojo’s hand away again. Utahime continues speaking onwards obliviously, “—prepare for the guest.”

“A guest?” That piques your interest. 

This time, Gojo steals the syrup. And it creates a loud clatter that draws the attention of all the attendants sweeping and scurrying about to pick out your gown for the day—you’re unceremoniously coughing to cover it up. You’re not sure it works.

Utahime crinkles her nose, “Nasty little ailment, isn’t it?” Her intelligent eyes dip down to the bed - though she keeps it discreet. Utahime, as well as being your head attendant, was one of your closest friends as well. 

Close to you in age, you’d hand-picked her to be what was essentially your right-hand woman. 

And she knew of the rather…close friendship that you and Gojo had; perhaps improper for court etiquette, but just right for the two of you. 

From underneath the bed, Gojo snickers. 

You bounce on the mattress, whilst Utahime kicks the bed post. 

“Ah…this ancient bed.” You’re commenting once the other attendants look at you with raised brows, “Honestly, sometimes I believe it to be haunted.”

“Wake up to a mysterious figure at your bedside, do you?” Utahime eyes you. You avert your gaze from hers. “Well, we should do well to rid your chambers of that before the Prince arrives, Your Highness.”

“The Prince?”

“Prince Zenin Naoya, of course.”

Gojo knocks his head on the bed frame. 

.

.

.

Prince Zenin Naoya possessed many titles; the latest one being the most unpleasant royal you’ve ever had the displeasure of meeting.

Which was saying rather a lot.

You’ve met many a-princess that were appalling to her attendants, and many princes that boasted their numerous wars. Your father himself fell into the latter group. And many, many more dukes and duchesses and marquis—and whatever other title had surfaced over the last few centuries and gotten latched-onto with rabid, golden-ringed claws. Had it not been for your duty to maintain a peaceful political climate, you would have forgone those social gatherings altogether.

Though your father was particularly careful not to repeat the border strife that had occurred not too long ago in your kingdom…some violence-seeped dispute over power. 

And so you lifted your head and plastered a smile.

You managed to clamor through even the most painful of social obligations.

But this one…this one might just force you to rewrite all the royal rules that had been drilled into you since you were younger. 

“It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance.” You nod in acknowledgement as the Prince bows. His coronet was made of pure gold; a simple band with a blood-red ruby in the middle. 

It flashed at you menacingly.

And so did his pearly-white smile. 

“The pleasure is all yours, Your Highness.” 

You’re taken aback at his choice of words. You meet Gojo’s eyes a little ways away from the court- and his read the same confusion. He shakes his head imperceptibly. Then Naoya turns to the King seated on the throne beside you instead. His smile leers, “My utmost gratitude for this invitation, Your Majesty. My parents send their regards.”

“Good people, good people.” Your father nods, “Their assistance during…those times of trouble shall forever remain in my memory.”

“Who are we if not united against the face of the radicals, Your Majesty?” Naoya graciously bows once more. 

“Well said.” And then the King makes a sweeping gesture in your direction. “And in the future, it seems we shall be united once more.”

Naoya throws his gaze at you again, and the way he looks at you…it makes you hug your arms to yourself.

You’re unsure why your gaze had been upon Gojo at that very moment - they always did seem to find him - but you watch as his expression darkens. Darkens. Darkens. In a way you’ve never seen before, and then it’s hitting you—

“Father?”

But he ignores you, “Satoru—!” In the years that you’ve brought Gojo to court, your father had become rather fond of his rhymes and riddles as much as you were. So it wasn’t exactly surprising that he had been called upon, and Gojo’s expression switches instantly into one of foolish mirth. “Why don’t you share one of your amusing rhymes with our guest?”

“As you wish, Your Majesty.” He bows deeply. As he makes his way to the middle of the court, where Naoya and his entourage were gathered, the bells upon his blue-and-white garments jingle. 

And before you know it, Gojo clasps onto Naoya’s shoulders and ensnares him with his words. “Naoya o’ Naoya, with your great riches and gait.” The corners of his lips twitch - something sharp. Gojo covers his mouth in a faux-whisper, though his words reach every single corner of the vast chamber. “Every lady here knows you take potions to compensate~”

Naoya’s face turns green then red. A furious red.

As if fearing the Prince would swing, Gojo jumps back- just in time for the hay-blond man to whirl around. “But oh, no potion shall make Prince Naoya’s rooster big—the most you ladies get will be the size of a fig~”

The jester laughs maniacally, and so does much of the court; you yourself can’t stop from letting out a startled laugh or two. 

Your best friend never did hold back - perhaps because he was the only one allowed to do so without fearing the threat of the dungeons. 

And Gojo watches as a giggle slips past the hand you’d brought up to cover your mouth- and his grin widens as he takes it as a challenge. Dancing around Naoya, he continues—

“Naoya is hated by the ladies of the court. Naoya is hated in his medical reports~” He trills gleefully, darting a hand out and knocking Naoya’s coronet off. “And all the ladies and all the healers, have never seen a cock this short~”

Red face now turning almost…a sickly yellow, Naoya attempts to fist-fight the jester. Though Gojo was far more agile than he looked, and he was dodging each hit with ease.

“Oh—have I offended you, Your Highness? Perhaps a change of pace…” Gojo crows. “For all Naoya hates women, he might as well court men-”

“You- you—”

“Easy, son.” Your father chuckles to himself as well, “You should do good to familiarize yourself with the Princess’s jester if you are to marry her.”

Gojo stutters- and his rhyme pauses. His eyes widen.

You feel the red, red carpet give out beneath you. 

.

.

.

“I simply must…apologize for Sato- my jester, Your Highness.” 

The clinking of silverware fortunately masked the waver in your tone. It was insincere and unapologetic.

Naoya maintains an expression as if he’d just smelled something unpleasant, perhaps as if it was on his very plate. The Prince cuts into his bird with far too much force than necessary, “Apology accepted.” Rather short.

Though you yourself didn’t care—you shoot a look at the ministers that were currently attempting to meld into the royal portraits on the wall. 

With nervous smiles, they urge you to continue.

It was a poor imitation of a romantic dinner - as romantic as a political marriage could get. 

The royal dining room had a table that sprawled nearly from one end-to-end. Polished mahogany. Intricately-carved legs. So thick that they didn’t buckle under the hundreds of dishes piled on top: soups to puddings to heart-shaped wagashi to those you couldn’t even name. Woven in-between were flickering candles and vases of red, red roses—sprouting confessions of love. 

Some of those petals were even scattered across the floor.

Though the dining room could seat about four-hundred guests, right now it only seated him and you. You and your future husband.

Your future husband.

Your future husband.

Your future husband.

It still hadn’t sunk in, and you didn’t want it to.

Zenin Naoya takes a bite of his roasted bird and spits it back out. From his entourage, one of the Zenin ministers darts out with a dish to collect it.

You wrinkle your nose in distaste.

Two courts were watching this fallacy of courtship. 

From your side, it was the entirety of your court save for some of the outer ladies-in-waiting and some gents, and your parents. From his side, it was Naoya’s entire entourage at his every beck, call, and swallow. Just waiting for the opportunity that their beloved Prince didn’t like anything.

Which seemed to be…everything.

You yourself can only pick at the delicacies on your plate - they’d done well to include favorites of both you and His Highness. And yet…

And yet, in the past eighteen years you’ve never sat through a dinner without Gojo at your side. 

Always at your right-hand seat. Always chomping through his dinner with overexaggerated noises that made you laugh, and the ministers grimace.

How could you feel so alone surrounded by so many people, and yet lacking one?

You’re biting back a sigh.

“Pssst.”

Confused, you look up at Naoya- but he seems just as morbidly indulgent in his food as he was before. He was spitting out even more. 

And so you look around—but none of the ministers nor advisors catch your eye, either.

“Psssssst.”

There it was again. Somewhat irritated and feeling your confusion growing - this dinner certainly hadn’t put you in a good mood - you’re about to excuse yourself from this social hostage-situation. Someone must be attempting to make a fool out of you. You’re resting your hands on the polished table and about to push off—

When you feel something…touch your wrist.

You’re about to scream-

“Tamper your screaming, please.” 

Oh, well if they asked so nicely…

Wait-

Who?

Without making too much of a spectacle, you slide your fork off the edge of the table. 

Naoya grumbles at the metallic ringing—and muttering a dainty apology, you’re leaning down to pick it up. Or so it seems. 

Instead, you’re crouching yourself down and lifting the tablecloth ever-so-slightly. It’s a purple velvet, one of the finest in the land, and it opens up to reveal one of the greatest treasures this palace held. At least, in your opinion.

Gojo Satoru brings a finger up to his lips and winks. His make-up crinkling handsomely as he did so, “Do you frequent these parts?”

“I should ask the same from you.” You hiss, glancing around to make sure that no one was looking. “Satoru, what do you think you’re doing-”

“Exercising my culinary skills, my princess.” And he raises up a little velvet packet in one hand, shaking it around tantalizingly. He answers your question before you can voice it, “Just a little horseshoe, just a little wool from Yaga’s sweater, and perhaps the Prince that swallows this shall be a little sweeter~”

Your jaw drops. “You cannot be serious-”

“Never in my life have I been more serious.” Gojo replies solemnly, then with an innocent flutter of his lashes- “Forgive me for not sharing, my princess. But perhaps you would favor it as well?”

“It shan’t suit my palate.” You answer firmly.

“It’s far more palatable than what I did to the wine, trust me.” Gojo smirks.

“You rouge.”

He opens his mouth as if to say something more, but Naoya’s tone grates through the little bubble of mirth you’d formed—in less than a minute, no less. “Wife- wife.”

You and Gojo stare at one another in shock.

Wife?

One of your ministers coughs pointedly, and with a final glance at Gojo, you’re straightening in your chair. “Were you perhaps addressing…me, Your Highness?” And any smart man would have quickly backtracked at this opportunity to change their answer. 

But you never claimed that Zenin Naoya was particularly smart. “My eyes don’t perceive any other woman here?” He scoffs, taking a bite of a chicken leg and then immediately spitting it out—“As for the engagement plans- eugh.”

You’re biting back a laugh as he drags out a string - seemingly from a wool…sweater…of Yaga’s - from his mouth and looks at his ministers in bewilderment. 

“Th-the chef must have been in a state of pioneering.” You cough out.

Another bite he takes.

And another wad of wool he spits out. 

You bring a hand up to your lips, “Perhaps you should wash it down with the wine, Your Highness? It had been brewed specifically for this occasion.”

And so he does - eyeing you all the while.

Naoya takes a big swig of his goblet and—shrieks as he finds half of a shoe inside. 

One of Gojo’s very own.

That shriek is loud enough to make the walls of the dining chamber rattle; and Gojo shoots out from the side of the dining table, unable to keep his laughter in control, and dances away. “Twiddle dee, twiddle doo—Naoya coughed up a shoe~” Those double doors are still swinging as it sinks in what just happened- and your ministers and guards take a menacing step towards where the colorful intruder had disappeared. 

You raise your hand to signal them to halt.

“This insolent—” Naoya was spitting with fury- unable to even formulate words. His mouth is a downturned slash, and he shoves the plate off the table. It shatters vociferously.

You notice that he’s turned a little green in the way he only seemed to do when Gojo was nearby. “My first order as King shall be to rid this incompetent kitchen-” He spits. “-and that godforsaken jester-”

Your fork clatters to the floor once again. “What’s wrong with Satoru?” You didn’t care if you sounded rather too offended by such a question. “Is it the practical jokes? I shall request that he ceases such-”

“What’s wrong? What’s wrong?” Naoya cackles to himself. “Woman, what is there not wrong about that goddamn fool? He’s- he’s—a fool.”

“For that is his duty, is it not?” You narrow your eyes at him.

“I suppose.” Naoya leans back in his chair, “But his duty is to the crown, and when I am King-”

“His duty is to me.” Before you know it, you’re standing. You’re breathing hard. You’re ignoring the ministers that attempt to hold you back. “He’s my best fri—jester.”

And you repeat…though you don’t know whether it’s more for yourself, Naoya, or the boy with the blue eyes that was once underneath the table.

“He’s mine.”

Those words fall like the blade of a guillotine. 

Naoya’s eyes were spitting fire. “He’s…yours, is it?” He throws his cape back and stands, “Your Highness…I fail to understand why you entangle yourself with a mere jester?” Though the sentence itself wasn’t one particularly barbed, his distaste bled through every syllable. 

“He- he is my best friend-”

“He is a jester.” Naoya says with a tone of finality. He pushes back, letting the chair clutter behind him- the brings up a palm to stop his ministers from righting it. “And a jester can never be anything to a princess. Never.”

Those footsteps of his resound louder than your heartbeat. Ba-dump. Ba-dump.

On the way to making his exit, he stops before the entrance and speaks. “We are to be engaged in six moons, and when you are my wife, I expect you to act like one.” Naoya’s gaze is deadly as he grips the door open, “My family earned our titles bringing down entire households- a mere jester is nothing to me.”

Another guillotine: this time, it’s the closing of the dining room doors.

“Your Highness-”

But you’re following Naoya out, and tears burn behind your eyes.

Just as luck - or perhaps fate - would have it, who else had been standing behind the doors listening to every word? None other than Gojo Satoru. 

Though his face is downturned, and you can’t make out his expression, your heart soars at the sight of him. He’s pressed against one of the walls closest to the doors, and he clenches his fists at his sides. And you’re just about to reach out- to tell him that Naoya’s words didn’t matter- to tell him that Naoya didn’t matter—

But before you could, Gojo sharply turns to you and bows. Those bells atop his hat jingle as he does so, and he stays bowed as he asks, “This fool begs to be dismissed, Your Highness?”

Your Highness? “You…you may…” Your brows furrow, fingers trembling towards him. “But Satoru-”

And yet, he’s gone.

And you didn’t get a single look at his expression.

You wondered what you would see. You wondered what you would be hoping to see.

But no matter what it was, you knew that all you wanted to see - whether anger or mirth or irritation - was Gojo himself. 

Your engagement was in six moons.

.

.

.

To your dismay, Gojo Satoru was avoiding you.

You should have realized that something was off that moment after the disastrous dinner—or perhaps when he didn’t join you to sleep, or perhaps when he hadn’t joined court in the following days. According to one of the palace staff, the jester was ill, but every attempt at a visit to his quarters ended up with you being rebuffed or diverted.

And how many opportunities for diversion there were.

The palace was a-flush with florists, and bakers, and candle-makers, and mask-designers—and orchestras upon orchestras practising for your engagement waltz. 

One of those times you’d been dragged away to floral-picking for the grand engagement ball - the one that would announce your union to the entire kingdom. Another time it had been to pose for a portrait with Naoya (a particularly taxing endeavour). And another time it was to pick out the colors for your mask- this was to be an extravagant masquerade ball after all. And another time it had been to get fitted for the ballgown you’d be wearing for the night—like exactly right now.

This time, you’d gotten just past the guards stationed upon either side of Gojo’s chambers (both on his word, and to prevent the Princess from getting into any…scandalous affairs before the engagement).

And you’d cracked open the door - ever-so-slightly - only to find that what was inside…made you halt.

Gojo’s room was completely and utterly empty.

Not just of himself, but of his literature books, his shoes, his bells, his flower vases. Anything and everything that made the chamber so utterly Gojo’s, was gone. Even the braid of friendship you wove for him when you were twelve - that he kept at the very top of his jewelry box - and the flower crowns you made for him that he dried and hung from his windows—you made them rather often, before…Naoya. 

He had intruded upon your idle dance between love and friendship - and you were still feeling bitter and confused as Utahime fitted you. As she wound up the hip springs of your corset- and tightened, and tightened—

“I just fail- hah, fail to understand.” You’re muttering, slightly out-of-breath.

Utahime looks up from the knots of your corset, “Your Highness?”

The royal tailor had just stepped out to aid in bringing the imported silk and cloth of gold up to your bed chambers, and in the meantime your attendants were helping tighten your numerous layers underneath. Your ballgown - engagement dress, more precisely - would be fitted on top of the base linen undergarments and the crinolines. 

Tonight, you will be engaged.

And to a man that has never made you laugh once-

“Your Highness?” Utahime repeats, snapping you out of your little reverie.

“Oh- forgive me.” You nod at her in acknowledgment. “What I meant to say was, I just fail to understand what he’s thinking.”

She nods back - you didn’t have to specify who. “It is precisely as I have told you, Your Highness.” Utahime tightens a few more knots- knocks a few more breaths out of you. “That ol’ nuisance has not a single thought in his mind. You must not worry yourself too much about him.”

“Oh, but Utahime…how can I not?” You’re sure the flurry of other attendants surrounding you were listening in - smoothing down your layers, preparing your jewelry. But you didn’t care at the moment, if you did say so yourself. 

“I believe it is just a little ailment, Your Highness. I fear I am not blessed enough for such a thing to prove fatal to that jester-”

You gulp. “I believe Satoru may be avoiding me.”

At that, even Utahime’s brows furrow. “Pardon?”

“His chambers have been emptied of even the flower crowns, and I haven’t even the faintest glimpse of him these past few days.” Speaking these words aloud seems to make them too real. “I believe I told you of how he overheard the conversation between Naoya and I?”

Utahime nods.

“Naoya had uttered some things- balderdash, if you ask me—” Your fists threaten to clench, but two attendants were working on your nails. Another was double-checking the measurements for your mask. Mask. “Yet I fear Satoru may have misconstrued some things…and I haven’t laid eyes on him ever since.”

There’s a silence.

Her fingers finish their final knot.

And then Utahime stands to look you squarely in the eyes. “This is Gojo Satoru we speak of, is it not?”

Slowly, unsure of where this was going, you nod.

“Then you have naught to worry about, Your Highness.” She flashes you such a beautiful smile, looking over your corset for imperfections - of course, there were none. “It is most likely that he’s skulking about these palace walls, looking for a minister to scare or a prince to embarrass.”

You’re letting out a soft huff of laughter.

“Or even…a princess to adore.”

Your eyes widen- and you’re snapping your gaze to hers. There’s a knowing expression that Utahime wears - one she often gets whenever she notices Gojo hiding in your room, or watches the two of you sneak out during royal balls. 

This one, in particular, was about to be the most crowded and convoluted yet. 

And you’re meeting her smile, eventually. “I thank you, Utahime…” You then look down as you hear the doors of the dressing room fly open, “But adoration cannot stop a royal engagement.”

Three sharp claps sound as the tailor gets the attention of your attendants. 

“That will be all, ladies. Thank you.” And his own attendants and apprentices flood the room to take over the fitting stage—Utahime squeezes your shoulder as she leaves.

Though she doesn’t reach her bed chambers for a much-needed rest, as she might have wanted to. Instead, she’s halting right outside the entrance-

“You.”

And making sure you were occupied by the tailoring, Gojo bows dramatically. Holding his little bells so they don’t jingle- “At your service, Madam Sour-face.”

“Cease it.”

“No, I said Sour-face-”

“Forget it.” Utahime could feel a migraine coming on already at the mere sight of his impish grin. 

“Sour-face Utahime with her pressure so high, one more joke and she’ll make me cry~”

Why - oh why - couldn’t the universe take as kindly to her and forbid her from seeing this man, too? She continues, “First, enlighten me as to why you’ve been giving Her Highness the cut?”

A too-innocent expression crosses his face. “Pardon? I fear I have no recollection of ever-”

“I will kill you with my bare hands and feel no ounce of guilt.”

Gojo clicks his jaw shut.

“I…” And it’s under the pressure of her unwavering glare that he finally cracks- letting out a deep sigh and dropping his head. “I plan to leave the palace.”

“Pardon?” Even she sounds utterly shocked. “When-”

“Tonight.” Gojo has never sounded more serious to her. “I have spent the past few days gathering my possessions, everything…she gifted me. As the ball starts tonight, I shall take my leave.”

“But your duties-”

“I have informed His Majesty of my decision. It seems though he shall miss the rhymes, he is keen for an amicable marriage between Her Highness and Prince Naoya. A jester can be replaced, trust in a marriage cannot—especially not one of political nature.” Utahime is almost shocked at this simple foresight, but then again- everyone always did underestimate the fool.

She watches his reaction, “And…the Princess?”

Which seems to make him flinch - as though struck. Perhaps a part of him was. “…I shall leave her a letter before I depart. Her Highness does not deserve to see such cowardice-”

“And yet you still remain.” Utahime’s words make his blue eyes snap to hers. She crosses her arms in front of her, and lets a smug smile take over her lips. “For what reason were you spying outside Her Highness’s fitting, if not to see her?”

“I—” He takes a desperate step closer. “It was simply in passing-”

“For what reason did you empty your bedroom of the flower crowns Her Highness made especially for you? Surely they shan’t prove themselves too useful on the road?”

Gojo’s eyes widened. “I…the memories-”

“For what reason have you waited until the last minute to leave? Until the last minute she shall not be yours, and yours only?”

He snarls, “She was never mine.”

“Because you believe the Princess does not deserve to base herself- being the lover of a fool yes?” When Gojo does not answer, she continues. “The fool seems to believe he knows what the Princess deserves. But does the fool know what he deserves?”

There’s a prolonged silence—of which is only punctured by the awed gasps from inside the dressing room, as the tailor and his apprentices comment on your beauty.

Gojo has the sudden, mad thought to open those doors just a little wider and see you for himself. Just one last time.

One last time.

What was he thinking?

He laughs to himself bitterly, “A jester can never be anything to a princess. Never.” 

“But a princess can be everything to a jester, yes?” Utahime asks. “More importantly- who are we to dictate what a person is to another person?”

The answer was as obvious as it was painful.

Gojo Satoru loved you. 

Loves you.

Something of it must show on his face, because Utahime throws him a pitiful look she’s never shared before—“You may leave if you please, I shan’t stop you.” And then she reaches out and presses a hand against the doors- they part, unlocked. “But if you wish to stay and stop acting a-fool…then follow me.”

She brushes past him.

Meanwhile Gojo looks inside and catches a glimpse of you - and he’s never seen anything more beautiful. 

He runs after Utahime, bells jingling.

.

.

.

“You look…”

“How odd.”

“How startling.”

“What a change!”

Utahime crinkles her nose, “The only thing this proves is that your face is more tolerable when it is covered.” She turns to the brown-haired woman next to her, “And that my Shoko is a goddess when it comes to handiwork.”

Shoko smiles sweetly, “I have much practice making death masks.”

“I’ll say.”

As the other few attendants pendulate between laughing to themselves, and admiring Shoko’s quick work - she’d been requested just a few hours before to make a mask befitting a royal ball, and she’d finished it just in time - Gojo leans closer to the mirror. 

He reaches his trembling fingers up to touch his face, “This is surely…me?”

“Unfortunately.” Utahime sighs, and she gets elbowed by Miwa.

Utahime had gathered the most trust-worthy attendants she led: Miwa, Momo, and Kugisaki from tailoring. Along with the impeccable royal healer, Shoko, who she knew would be the only one that would be able to create a mask for the ball with her expert hands. And they’d gotten to work fixing up perhaps their most difficult case yet—none other than Gojo Satoru.

The royal jester was rather fussy at first- insisting that the powder puffs and cloth wipes tickled. 

Before Utahime put her foot down and announced that they weren’t going to present a ‘half-assed’ (forgive her language) marriage-wrecker to the Princess just yet.

That reminder of you kept him quiet for the rest of the make-over.

And Kugisaki had even commented, “Perhaps we ought to invoke the Princess’s name every time we need to keep the jester in line?”

“Do not tempt me.” Utahime had replied. 

Gojo had shuddered.

But it really was true: he sat through the rest of the next hour or two without so much as a single rhyme or peep. 

Not even when they told him to ‘pucker up’ in order to douse him in rouges and lip stains. That likely saved five years from Utahime’s life…

Gojo himself helped them scrub off his stark-white jester’s make-up. The vampiric base. The teardrops of black paint. The red, red lips—a few of his little troupe openly stared as they’d never seen the Princess’s jester without his make-up. 

And Gojo himself knew that he wasn’t all that bad looking - he had noble features. A strong nose. A high set of cheekbones. A pert, pretty mouth that always looked to be on the verge of saying something he shouldn’t.

Or, at least, that was how you described him.

You were the only person that got to see Gojo without his court-deemed make-up; and you always did say he was handsome. To which he’d always bat his long, white lashes dramatically and compose you a sappy sonnet about your eyes. He supposes he knew he was decent, but…handsome? 

He never saw it.

But these girls seemed determined to make him.

Cloudy hair. Delicate features. Blue eyes like a painting.

They replaced his make-up with something simpler. Gone was the cast of white, instead replaced by just a bit of rouge and shimmer. His pale brows were tamed and so was his hair - braided to the side using fragrant rose oils, with a few pieces falling handsomely over his face. All thanks to Momo, of course. 

Kugisaki had dug up something from that ol’ tailor’s trunk—a snow-white cloak and doublet, along with the associated tights he often made fun of. It was a suit fit for a prince. 

And it was exactly the type of suit he’d made fun of a prince for.

But here he was now - not a single difference between him and them. Or at least physically.

Gojo’s training sessions with Yaga had kept him fit; and he fit the suit perfectly. His broad shoulders were outlined against the clean cut, and his trim waist fit snugly into those damn tights—even through the suit, it was obvious he was well-built, in a way those baggy jester’s outfits never did show. Polished shoes. Silver buttons. Silver belt. Heavy silver chains and pendants that arrived with the robes. 

He might even have passed for a battle-hardened Prince like this…

Momo helped him into his equally as white gloves - it seems they were sticking to a theme for him. All the better to help his eyes and his crown stand out.

Oh yes…the girls had somehow bribed Yaga into letting them sneak down to the royal treasure. For just a few minutes.

All the spoils of war and generations of wealth—and they’d come out with a crown. 

It was Utahime who’d dug this one out, deciding that that would make him stand out far more than the usual hats. 

Made of pure silver; the design itself was rather simple, or so it seemed at first. Only when one looked closer…when one ventured further…could you see that what seemed like a simple band was actually a wreath of silver branches and floral vines twisted into one, with sapphire-studded flowers blooming along it. One more thing had been taken from the treasury - a signet ring with a ‘G’. 

“It felt proper.” Miwa, who had found the ring, beamed. “Names and titles are lost to time. And though I may not know what the ‘G’ once stood for, at least for tonight, it can mean ‘Gojo’, can it not?”

Gojo felt it getting slid onto his left hand, and he stares at the ring with furrowed brows.

He stares and stares.

He’s never felt more worthy of you.

By the time they had finished, the strings of the orchestra had started playing their opening sequence - the ball was commencing. 

Utahime turns to the rest of them, “We have done well.” Then, ultimately, back to grumble at him. “…You have done well.”

And though Gojo could make up a rhyme to rile her up, though Gojo could comment that they could have done better and bask in the ensuing chaos, though he could do his mask and his mask—

He simply looks at each and every one and smiles. Sincerely. “Thank you.”

They smile tenderly back.

The final component of his outfit for your engagement ball was the mask. Though there was no set theme, Shoko had gone above and beyond to craft his in the shape of the upper-half of a snow leopard’s face. The feline gaze. The sharp ears. The faint outline of rosettes against the white mask. It was mastery. 

Gojo dons it and smiles to himself. He really did feel handsome, as you had always said.

His blue, blue eyes twinkle from behind the mask.

.

.

.

“You look absolutely riveting, Your Highness.”

“I thank you.”

This was a royal ball that looked gilded. There was no other word to describe it—gilded. 

Polished floors. A thrumming orchestra. Golden chandeliers had every single candle lit; and they crept halfway down to the ballroom floor as if gifted from the Sun itself. Just for you. 

And that was in addition to the numerous other decorations that made even the most high-titled of guests gape in awe: the shimmering fountains that looked as if they were sprouting liquid gold, golden-dipped gardenias wreathed around the hallway, and the long table of foods were most lovely. All sorts of sweets and champagnes in honor of the union.

Guests upon guests upon guests being announced as they entered. They were dressed to impress, and there were more aristocrats gathered for this one ball than you’d seen in your entire life, perhaps. 

Had Gojo been here with you, then you two would’ve had the most amusing time coming up with stories for each one. 

There was Sir Gakuganji who held a secret liking for abstract dancing, here was Lord Todo whose son had fallen in love with a thousand-year-old portrait. No one would be spared. The two of you would have tucked yourself into some alcove and watched as the lavishments flew by, and when everyone was appropriately drunk you’d sneak out to the stables or to star-gaze. 

Your heart clenches.

Satoru…

You attempt to shake your head free of him.

It most certainly was a beautiful ball. And if you imagined that this was one of no particular purpose, then you really could see it. 

The ball was decorated to match your dress, you see.

Floor-length silk. Gold-threaded bodice. 

Celestial layers upon layers.

Your uppermost skirts had gold dusting atop it; and they dazzled as you floated across the ballroom. 

Your attendants had decided that going for a more simple look with the jewelry was appropriate - it would accentuate the simple gold circlet atop your head. A single sapphire embedded into the middle of it. 

Naoya had sneered at the choice, of course. When doesn’t he? But this time, he was particularly offended at the presence of a sapphire rather than the Zenin family’s signature blood-red rubies.

You refused to make your attendants change it. You donned your cat-like mask with pride. 

Perhaps that’s why he seemed keen on ignoring you in favor of a group of other beautiful court ladies in attendance—though you honestly couldn’t imagine anything different happening had the two of you been married, as well. You sighed inwardly.

You’re nodding in acknowledgement as Prince Okkotsu Yuta nears with a man beside him. 

He looked older - about your father’s age, if not a few years older. Tall. Toned - in the way of someone that had one been corded with muscle, but had since lost it to age. Bearing an ice-white beard and a row of silver medals proudly lining his chest—he stands before you in his off-white uniform and bows. It was obvious that the man was rather handsome, drawing eyes from around the ballroom. 

But what catches your eye the most were his eyes.

Summer-sky blue eyes.

They reminded you of—

“My uncle, Michizane, Your Highness.” Yuta introduces him. “This is his first time in the palace since…”

Your voice drops into something hushed. “I understand.” Turning to the general, you’re half-bowing once more. “I am rejoiced to welcome you into my home, any troubles that we may have had in the past-”

“Have naught to do with the present, Your Highness.” Michizane graciously nods at you. “And most certainly have naught to do with the beloved princess.”

You manage a smile.

“And if you can excuse my being so impudent…it is precisely what I sought this occasion for, Your Highness.” He looks over the bustling crowd, now getting ready to waltz- and seemingly catches the eye of your father. Your father who now looked as though he’d just seen a walking dead man. “I hope to bury the misunderstandings between my family and your father, and understand what happened to my younger brother and his family. It had proved itself to be both a blessing and a curse that I had been on an excursion during those troubled times. And I seek a resolution for the sake of my inner peace, if nothing else.”

You’re nodding in agreement. “It is most tragic what happened. For the sake of borders…nothing is worth so much. And I cannot ask for your mercy enough-”

“It is not something I shall ever be able to forgive. But you are not at fault, dear princess.” Michizane smiles conclusively, but not unkindly. 

“And yet, I have been wracked with guilt ever since.” You ultimately reply. 

Though you hadn’t met Michizane previously, you had learned that the history between your families was a long and bloody one. His family had been of a royal bloodline, of kingdoms now lost and eviscerated into neighboring ones - including yours. And you knew it was partly the fault of your kingdom. And although royal tutors justified and justified away your father’s actions—you could see past them

“Perhaps…” Michizane is the one to break through your whirlwind of thoughts. He reaches his gloved hand out, a silver signet ring on his middle finger. “-a dance to commence the burying of our animosity?”

“But of course.”

As the orchestra starts up a lively tune, Michizane whisks you away onto the dance floor. Much to the horror of some of your elderly ministers, of course, who gaped at the mere presence of the man.

And at the fact that your first dance wasn’t with the Prince.

But laughter bubbles to your throat as Michizane twirls and swirls you—sways you smoothly around and around the dance floor. He was one of the best dancers you’ve ever encountered, and you’re smiling appreciatively at him once the song comes to a close.

From the corner of your vision, you spot the black-and-red-clad Naoya storming his way over to you. And you hurry to beg a second dance when-

A title is announced - louder than all the rest. 

A prince.

Prince…you don’t hear the name.

But you don’t need it. 

Because you’re looking up at the grand staircase from which guests made their entrance, hand-in-hand with their partners or followed by their entourages. This one had neither. This one was one of the most beautiful men you think you’ve ever seen.

He looked like something from a story.

Snow-white mask. Snow-white suit. He was tall and clearly toned - but there was something in his demeanor that made him seem almost…dainty. He gripped the balustrade of the landing and looked over the glistening ball- barely even breathing, it seemed like. And he looked content to remain there in awe, before the chief butler reading out the named coughs- pointedly.

The man startles.

He looks over at the chief butler, and then nods jerkily to himself. In self-assurance.

Cautiously, he makes his way down to the ball.

And the closer he gets, the more of his details you’re taking in: like the traces of signature silver on his suit, and the way his fingers trembled ever-so-slightly. 

He looked just like the princes you’d read about in fairytales - the ones you imagined as a child before you happened to meet a real-life prince. 

Curls of white could be seen behind that snow leopard mask of his. They contrasted oh-so-beautifully with the blue, blue sapphire atop his crown.

Just like his eyes.

Your breath hitches-

“I believe I may have been monopolizing you, Your Highness.” Michizane whispers as the Prince nears. 

“Pardon?” You look at him- but he merely smiles.

Before you know it, the mysterious guest has neared enough to give the two of you a jerky bow. His tone tremors ever-so-slightly as he asks, “P-permission for the next dance, Your Highness?”

Michizane nods at you reassuringly. 

“I would be delighted.” You breathe, and then he’s taking your hand in his—gently. A touch even softer than the fabric of his tender, tender gloves. 

“I bid you a good evening, Your Highnesses.” Michizane tips his hat, “And do take care of the lovely princess…” Before turning to the younger man…his brows furrow the longer he looks-

But a lady-in-waiting taps Michizane’s arm for a dance—and he’s made to turn away. 

And you’re left alone.

With him.

Naoya stuck with some other lady-in-waiting as you put your hand…tentatively on the other man’s right shoulder. He lets out a shaky breath, as if your mere touch was replenishing his soul—and he doesn’t move away. Then you let your second hand get grasped - gently - in his own. 

Backward with your right foot.

Sideways with your left foot.

Backwards.

Sideways.

Backwards.

Sideways. 

It’s halfway into the song, pressed closed to his thundering chest, that you finally break the silence. “The crown suits you…Satoru.”

Gojo flinches, “You discovered-”

“You did not seriously think you could fool me?” You smile. He mirrors it- albeit sheepishly. “Gojo Satoru, how could I possibly be gulled? You have been my dearest friend since I was eight-”

He twirls you in the middle of the ballroom.

And you continue. “-and the one I hold closest to heart.” Looking deep into his blue, blue eyes.

Gojo sighs, “Words cannot describe how beautiful you are, my princess. The least this fool can do is but dress to impress.”

“You look particularly dashing this evening as well, Satoru. You always do.” Surprise makes his lips part—and you’re leaning in. Though they do not touch, you hear gasps from the onlookers. “You look like a Prince.”

“And you look like my dreams.”

The two of you dance for a second song, and a third, and a fourth. Without letting Naoya gain any entryway between you two - that non-existent space - you two dance the night away—dizzy with nothing but the proximity.

The realization that you could be so…close as long as no one found out. That you couldn’t be closer.

That you could.

That you needed to.

By the time that most of the guests had well and thoroughly indulged themselves in the bubbling champagne and wine, the clock had struck midnight—and you and Gojo disappear into the night once no one’s looking. Through the small passageway where the two of you had first met, then up a few flights of staircases, breathless and giddy, you’re lucky there were no guards stationed outside your bed chambers as the ball raged on.

And you’re opening the door and falling into the vast bed with him.

Your hands on his lapels. His hands on your waist.

You’re both letting out synchronized grunts as your back hits the springy mattress, and Gojo’s letting out a scorching breath that fans your face. That sets your skin searing.

“We ought not to…” You whisper- and then you’re pressing your lips down his neck. Illuminated by the moonlight filtering through the windows.

“I am of the same thought.” He responds, in an equally hushed tone - as if anything louder would shatter this fragile dream. It most certainly must be a dream, yes? This was all you’ve ever wanted- and him. “And yet—”

And yet, Gojo places a hand on the back of your neck, and guides your mouth to his. 

He kisses you loooong and deep- and inexperienced. You both are.

You’re chuckling as you tug his lips open with yours - letting Gojo’s sultry tongue slide inside your wet cavern. He drags his tastebuds inside and moans—

And after kissing you and kissing you as if starved for eons—

Until your lips were buzzing.

Until his hot hips were crushing into yours.

—you let your fingers fall to his silver buttons. Rapidly undoing them.

“My princess.” The jester wrenches deep from his chest - guttural and gone. There was a crazed hint in his tone already. “Allow me…”

And before you know it, he guides your hips to rest back on the king-sized mattress. Sapphire eyes boring deeply into yours- Gojo hands you his crown to hold, as he hovers himself down and unravels the first few layers of your gown. 

His fingers are quick- nimble.

And it takes him far shorter an amount of time to rid you down to your undergarments than it takes your careful attendants. Desperate. Depraved. Soon enough, you’re feeling goosebumps prickle across your skin at the bite of cold midnight air; your chemise and undergarments were much too thin.

And soaked. 

Utterly, utterly soaked. 

But Gojo’s face flushes - almost hard enough to warm your skin through sheer proximity. He admires your sopping cunt through your panties, he leans down and presses his nose right where your clit would be. And then he sniffs—

“Fuck.”

He almost jolts. Reaching in and tearing through your undergarments with his teeth. 

“Fuh-fuck.”

The noise that expels from him is almost unbidden- and its primal tone is enough to make your toes curl. Wide-eyed and open-mouthed, he stares at your swollen folds. He stares at your glossy slit. 

He stares and stares as slick beads out of you in a pretty stream—and before Gojo’s own mind seems to register, he’s muffling a hot moan between your naked legs. Immediately shoving himself nose-deep.

His chin thwacks! the top of your sopping slit, and his tongue wastes no time darting inwards. 

Your entrance is so wet that he has no trouble easin’ his thick muscle inside- despite its impressive girth. And then immediately zig-zagging his sensual inches fucking in—aaaaaaall along your walls and driving the curvaceous tip of his tongue into every little ridge and cranny. Fat. Trembling with need. 

“Yes, my princess.” Gojo’s managing between husky breaths- each scorched out against where you were most sensitive. “Yes, my princess-”

“S-Satoru—” Your hand’s reaching down to twist your fingers into his snow-white locks. 

You’re giving him a particularly hard pull and he groans-

“My princess…” That ocean gaze of his is half-lidded and hypnotized, flickering right up to bore into your eyes as he gluttonously propels his tongue even deeper. “I cannot live if I do not make you mine.”

Your feet plant on either side of his shoulders- a steadfast pedestal. For you to buck your hips and shove your drivelling cunt against his mouth, “Then what deters you, jester?”

Gojo’s chuckle is dark and deepened with lust. “Nothing, Your Highness.”

He’s moving his tongue in and out of your hole at such a frenzy. 

This was the night of your royal engagement, and you’re here getting eaten out by your jester—

“Does it vex you that this lowborn jester has finally gotten his hands on the princess’s pretty pussy?” He gurgles out into your arching core, the wads of your sap slipping between his lips—and then back out as he licks. “Perhaps not you…but surely those godforsaken ministers that must have hoped for a more…royal touch….”

And licks and licks and licks—“Y-you keep running that mouth, Sato-”

“Jester, remember?” He grins. “Pray tell, Your Highness, am I the first?”

He must know the answer. He surely must- he’s been at your side for the past eighteen years…and you yourself were aware that you were his first, too. 

Yet you find your lips moving before your mind does. And you whimper, “Y-yes…”

“Pardon, my princess?”

“Yes-”

Gojo drags the doughy patches of his fingertips across your clit.

“Then you grant this lowly fool the deepest and most precious honor.”

It was an honor. 

An honor to eat your pretty core—to press his puckered lips against your folds in such a sensual kiss- one that would make even the most scandalous of court ladies faint. To part those tender pussylips and dive his tongue inside- every single inch that thrusts away at a vigorous pace. Stuffing you from the hilt of his tastebuds, to that flexible tip that swirled to n’ fro- 

Gojo had his face pressed up so closely - so deeeeep - that parts of his features were rubbin’ red. Covered in slick. Dripping with it. 

And yet he was only scouring deeper- deeper- fucking deeper until your pelvis was crushed against his hungry maw. Crushed. “And this fool is grateful- so very, utterly grateful.” His tastebuds were going in nearly till those sweetened soft spots you loved so much in those solitary moments in the privacy of your baths, yet he flares his tongue till he’s stretchin’ you out even more. “I shall do anything for you, my princess- anything—I live to serve you-”

Gojo’s honed canines nip at your clit.

“And this pussy.”

And serving you, he is. 

With every fibre of his being. With every part of him that could reach you—he’s eating you out like such an animal, as if he was going fucking frenzied on your cunt. 

The tip of his nose massaging your clit. That left hand of his fastening to your waist and dragging you right back n’ forth even deeper. 

“And th-this fool deserves not such a privilege-” He whispers, mostly to himself. Though his wide, lust-glazed eyes maintain contact with yours, “This fool deserves nothing. And yet…yet, I care not if they happened to enter this chamber right now- I would gladly get thrown in the gallows for this greed, for a second taste.” 

Wide-eyed - almost crazed - he tugs his wet tongue uuuuup the middle of your slit, and almost up to your navel. “In fact, I beg of it.”

And his other hand…

Oh, Gojo’s other set of fingers smear the puddle of slick that spreads from your core- all along your inner thighs and making its way down your calves. He collects it all.

Every single drop.

And then, like the most precious of mead, he brings those wettened fingertips up to his mouth and sucks. Savors. Gojo’s eyes flutter closed and his Adam’s apple bobs with ecstasy - “She tastes like she yearns for more.” 

“You understand?” You’re asking, half-bemused.

“I speak seven languages, Your Highness.” Gojo replies, “One of which is pussy—” Then with his flattened tongue, he laps up the rest of the satiny ribbons escaping you- before flicking his eyes to the mountain of pillows piled behind you. “My princess, might I request that you procure a little treasure I have left underneath your favorite pillow?”

“A little treasure…?” Almost dazed, you reach underneath and your fist closes around something soft and bell-decorated. One of his jester’s hats. 

“A long, long night beside the princess left this poor fool forgetting—the hat bestowed upon me by the princess, I should be getting~” Gojo trills- whilst he still lavishes his heated, horny lips across your swollen cunt. “But if the princess puts it upon my head, she can be as pushy- as she wishes as I eat this royal pussy~”

Your jester is speaking rhymes between your legs?

“Oh, sometimes your mouth is overworked.” You’re harrumphing at the overjoyed jester - once you’re unceremoniously dumping the cap n’ bell onto Gojo’s head.

Grinning, he bites down on the expensive tip of his right glove and tugs it off. 

He makes quick work fastening that behind his ears, before nudging your hands to grasp onto the floppy ‘ears’ on top. Your sole source of balance as he leans in and eases one of his long fingers inside- then two—then teasin’ a third.

As he shovels in oblong inches into your sopping cunt, pushin’ apart your tender folds and letting his padded tips find their way inside. And inside.

In and out.

“Please-” You breathe heavily as he quickens the pace after a few squelching thrusts. His middle finger was the longest, and it was spreading you apart the deepest—fuck, it was just so soft inside. So welcoming. So tight that you were clenchin’ around him almost hard enough to make his poor digits snap- and the mere thought makes Gojo hard enough in his trousers that he wants to cream them right away-

You’re clamoring onto your elbows suddenly, “Y-you cannot be serious, Satoru…”

Oh, had he said that out loud? It seems he’d said that out loud. And yet, without even a hint of regret in his grin- Gojo hums. “A jester shan’t ever lie to his princess.” Those kiss-bitten lips of his purse with a wad of spittle that lands gently between your pussylips, “Or his pussy.”

“Your pussy?” You ask- before the breath’s suddenly knocked out of you as he starts driving a third finger in this time. Properly.

Stretching you out to the maaaaaximum. 

The globular ends of his fingers edging in, in, in—he doesn’t just remain pistoning them vertically. Gojo’s rude in the sense that he’s hooking them right below where you needed him the most.

Throbbing, thumping; your g-spot was most certainly aching for him.

But that was exactly the problem- and Gojo’s smile grows wicked as he keeps thrusting his three fingers into your cunt. “J-just the slightest bit…fuck, to the left, jester.”

“If the princess may still utter a sentence, then this poor jester must go harder on her entrance~” He croons. Swabbin’ into every good spot except for that one - your favorite - he suckles on your sensitive nub. “What deters you from claiming what you seek, hm? Use me, Your Highness.”

Your teary eyes snap open. When had you even closed them? “Use?”

“Use me.” Less of a demand- more of a live-saving plea. Gojo was so far gone by this point that his hardened hips were ruttin’ against the luxurious mattress with every swipe of his tongue, “Claim what you wish. Use me- use me—”

And as he wishes, you’re lightly tugging on the points of his jester hat to keep him pressed against you-

But that wasn’t enough for him.

“I beg of you—this lowly fool begs…” As his right hand shapes out the tight, tight channel of your cunt - Gojo reaches his other hand up to grasp your own- to make you clutch his cap n’ bells even tighter. Hard enough for his fingernails to leave marks- and he needs you to be just as rough. “Fucking use me like the princess you are. The princess that saved me.” 

He ruts even more suddenly- he must be painfully hard now. 

“Claim my lips. Claim my tongue- claim every fibre of my being to be used by you…” A low snarl snatches from the back of his throat. “-just claim me as yours, as I have claimed you, my princess.”

And then you’re knocking that stupid little hat off his head- and fisting your hands in his hair once more to crush Gojo’s pretty, pink lips against your cunt. Arching off the mattress, you were just bucking and bucking your treacly pussy all over his face.

Stringing yourself through the shockwaves of pleasure that kept pouring up your legs - like warm water. Gojo was just salivating in-between them.

He doesn’t even have the time to breathe—and you’re getting the distinct feeling that he didn’t want to. Couldn’t even make himself think of anything else but dragging four - now four - fingers between those swollen-shut lips and thud-thud-thudding into your g-spot. “Good princess.” He hisses between clenched teeth, “Gooooood princess-”

“Keep quiet, jester.” You’re feeling yourself get slowly overcome by primal desperation. 

“As you wish, mistress~” And Gojo’s never been happier- lashing and lashing those ridged tastebuds inside until your walls buzzed with the texture. “Mmmm.”

And soon enough, you’re feeling your legs start to twitch- in the way they did whenever you had your fingers stuffed deep in the baths- “Oh.” By this point, Gojo was aiming to intrude four fingers and his slippery tongue between your pussylips. 

Swirlin’ and swirlin’ it—tap-tap-tapping it over that first tight ring of muscle. 

His greed sickened you- and made you even wetter. And with a forceful tug of those angelic strands of his, you’re staring deep into Gojo’s eyes - fluttering desperately as he fights not to detach himself with your wet pussy. He doesn’t.

And he’s accelerating his fingers hitting the bullseye—

“I-I feel I shan’t last very long, Sato- jester.” You’re hissing, eyes threatening to shut as the white-hot pleasure keeps wracking through you.

With his spit-glossed lips wrapped around your clit, he hums. “Mmm?”

“Oh.” You hunch into him. “Repeat that.”

“Mmmmm—” Gojo elongates his nearly-feline rumbles, and then his lips quirk up- into a grin you recognize as being a signature of when he gets a devious idea. 

One sure to ruin courts and leave you amused - though you’re sure that you’re the sole one being ruined right now. 

He’s nuzzling his face ever-deeper against your cunt, then muffles out an entire sentence - what you assume to be a rhyme - whilst he keeps his mouth sucklin’ on your clit. Making the sensitive bursts of pleasure explode twofold behind your eyes- you’re seeing stars as he repeats it—again, and again, and again and again and again—

Gojo often did love repeating a joke if it managed to make you laugh exceptionally hard.

However, now you were all but crying out for mercy. Your chin trembles as you keen out Gojo’s name in a lingering echo, “I-I really shan’t- oh…” No matter how many years of royal diction or elocution you’ve endured, it couldn’t mask the way your voice cracks on the tail end of your sentence. 

Almost pathetically so.

And soon enough, Gojo’s finding his witty mouth stuffed full- fucking you through your high.

Tongue flicking in and out. Teeth grazing over your clit. 

He alternates between letting his tastebuds enter your pussy as well—and then letting his doughy digit take over as he suckles on your clit. Like the sweetest thing in the world. “Mmmm.” Repeating his little rhymes over and over- interrupted only by the noisy slurps! of him sucking on your nub- and the embarrassing little whimpers as he was wrenched by you.

Side-to-side. Up and down.

You’re moving him wheeeeeerever you wanted- and he was in heaven as pain sears from his scalp.

You grip onto his braid, and another lock of his hair, as handlebars to prolong your wave of pleasure. The bliss stabs through you white-hot as he presses deeeep into your g-spot. “I haven’t felt anything like this- hah, before, Satoru…”

“Your jester aims to please.”

Your orgasm makes you shiver. It rattles past your walls - where the pounding was most prevalent - and then up your spine to make your head pound with pleasure—the curling of your toes, the fluttering of your lashes, the way you’re letting escape the sweetest soft moans; sweeter than any orchestra downstairs. Gojo memorizes it all. 

Through peak after peak.

Through thrust after thrust.

And as the crescendo comes to a close, he parts with your pussy—a pointed squelch! emanates from the connection. “Though the back of this Princess’s pussy I did knock, Her Royal Highness still yearns for the jester’s cock~”

Your mouth gapes, “Do not tell me that was the rhyme you have been repeating this entire time?”

“As you wish, I shan’t.” He grins. And then Gojo’s raising himself to his haunches- shrugging off his cloaks and his coats. “Perhaps another? From all the princes and lords to pick, our beloved Princess yearned for the jester’s di-”

“Another word and you shall be turned out.” You warn him, albeit half-heartedly.

“Now that doesn’t rhyme, Your Highness.” Gojo faux-pouts. With a few more tugs and pulls - he really didn’t understand how you aristocrats wore this on every occasion - he’s ridding himself of his upper garments and his trousers. 

Though you’ve seen the royal jester shirtless time and time again, his perfectly-toned body made your eyes bulge. 

And then finally the linen undergarments that presented him—Gojo Satoru’s long cock, hot and rock-hard.

He was engorged till he looked fit to burst - with his mushroom-curved tip blushin’ an angry red, and his veins popping out down his shaft. So prominent that you could almost count every throb-throb-throb!

Gojo’s tip glistens wetly with precum, capping the top of his cock and just oozing like a lacquer down every inch. Almost eight inches, if you’re mentally counting correctly. 

He wraps a single hand around his thickened base- rustling the soft curls decorating his pelvis. Spreading out in an alluring pattern—Gojo then uses his other hand to nudge your thighs apart. Hamstrings stretching. Toes curling. Making sure they’re pinned to the springy mattress before he inches his red-hot cock closer. 

There’s a resounding squeeeeelch! as he smears the very first, readied inch down your opening crevice. 

“Easy there, Your Highness.” Gojo’s breath hatches with a moan. “Easy- hah…”

“I am no steed, Satoru.”

“You speak the truth, my princess.” He shoots you a ravishing smile- hungry. He really did look ready to eat you. Ready to shovel his entire length in.

Ready to break—himself. Fuck.

He was breaking himself. 

A mere few inches are entering past that first ring of muscle-

And you’re arching your back into his chiselled chest. “Oh h-heavens…” It leaves you and mixes with the broken grunts n’ gruffs that were leaving Gojo just as equally, just as desperately, as he keeps your hips pushed into the bed and siiiiinks his cylindrical length inside. 

It’s like nothing your royal tutors had lectured you upon - down to the fact that all those awkward anatomical lessons were for your wedding night with a prince, no less. 

You feel a pearl of red escape you—and you embrace him with weakened limbs. “Satoru-”

“H-heaven is correct.” Gojo hiccups out. Was he still stuck on that you’d uttered earlier- had he even heard anything more? And were there…tears twinkling at the edges of his lashes? 

Before you can finalize an answer, you’re mewling at the slight resistance of your cunt. Gojo’s cock was oh-so-girthy—more than you might have expected, and seemed to be throbbing even bigger with every second he was mazin’ himself inside you.

And he feels the shift immediately- he’s affected by it immediately.

His handsome jaw grits. His chest caves with a sudden groan. He turns his half-lidded eyes downwards, and using both overlarge hands he grips each of your asscheeks. 

Those pretty, princely features of his twist into something agonized- as Gojo arches his sculptured back and drives his cock inside. “Please-” Your best friend pants out. “Please, please, please, please—h-haven’t I served you well, Your Highness?”

“You would be correct…?” You’re answering him- head foggy because of the sudden flurry of semi-thrusts.

In and out. In and out. He was buried just a few inches past his sensitive slit - and the small tremors of your cunt meant that he was thrown to ecstacy every few split-seconds. 

Gojo seemed to be growing longer than you remembered seeing him.

Gojo seemed to be pulsing even thicker-

“Th-then…shan’t this lowly fool be rewarded with a single inch…?” He mumbles- sounding utterly drunk. And it wasn’t just his slurring tone and his tapering sentences that gave you that impression - but Gojo had his face pressed into the crook of your neck, and his hot tongue gliiiiiding up your sweaty neck. “A mere inch, my princess-”

You buck- and even that seemed far too much for the pussydrunken jester.

For he’s digging his crescent-shaped nails into your soft flesh and dragging you back into him - hitting his hips with a resounding thwack! “No- no, please don’t leave, Your Highness.” He begs—fucking begs. 

“I-I am not—oh.” Another blustering thrust that leaves your deepest innards probed.

“If you wish me to cease- then just say the word. And I shall heed every syllable.” Gojo murmurs, his sapphire eyes threatening to shut with the hypnotic squeeze. With his pure need. With the urge to feel himself from the outside- and considering how big he was, he’s sure he’d manage to. “But please- please, do not leave me. Th-this pussy has been my deepest, darkest desire ever for f-far too long.”

Your eyes widen, “How long…exactly?”

Those plump, rose-pink lips of his graze yours as soft as a feather. “Ever since I knew what it was…and I woke up with quite the ah- rock-hard situation. I had never left your chamber faster, Your Highness- what if the attendants witnessed it?”

You moan as one of his hands lifts off your ass to thumb aside your sultry pussylips. Lovingly full.

“What if they were aware how feverishly I desired you?”

They were just glued with sap- it makes him break off a moan.

“What if- hngh, what if they could see through me—a lowborn mutt- eager to dirty the precious princess?”

Gojo stares so long and lovingly at your slightly-ajar cunt—so lovingly, that his mouth ends up watering. He continues, “To dirty you…to corrupt you.” A stream of spittle leaks from the corner of his lips, and it ends up dapplin’ over your folds. 

“To- hah, fuck you.”

Your jester roves his hips closer - smearing the translucent liquid using his hips. Aaaaaaall over as he nudges and nudges his rounded, reddened tip deeper inside - taking over your cunt little by little. 

Stars flash behind your eyelids, and in that opportunity, Gojo had reached over to take the crown that he’d donned for the ball. Your engagement ball. And he was promptly caressing the top of your scalp with it, placing it atop your beautiful head—you suited his colors. 

Gojo lets out something that sounded more like a prayer: “To fuck you with the crown on, has always been this fool’s most embarrassing wish.”

He’s finally bottoming out.

Finally. And it’s a sensation like none other. 

Gojo’s cock was stretching you out in ways you’ve never felt before; managing to mold your channel to his measurements. And his hammers were just so sensual—slow, semi-thrusts so that he can fit himself inside. “Please-” Inside and inside. “Please, please- this lowly jester knows every secret and preference of yours, my princess.”

Your heels are digging into the gorgeous dimples at the base of his spine. “Yes, oh…”

“Every- single- inch—” And you’re being propelled in short jerks upwards- those ancient royal bedsprings protesting. As much as you were begging for more. Your hands drag down his creamy-white back, leaving bloodied marks- and that only leaves him pulsating even harder inside you. Gojo’s blossomed tip had contentedly filled you up till your cervix - “In ways those ministers would- hah, wring my neck over.”

“I would never let them.” You’re spitting out.

“And yet…” Gojo leans down to whisper. “That only made this fool yearn for it- more-” A few more pressurized thrusts, and every prominent vein of his massages your spots oh-so-perfectly. As he pushes n’ pushes he continues babbling, “Please let it fit inside-” His lips tremble with a whimper. “Please let it fit inside—”

Shock strangles your words, “S-Satoru, you’re already inside.”

“P-pardon?” He almost stutters his hips - before he likely realized that your syrupy-sweet cunt was far too heavenly for him to merely linger. And he’s thrusting away like an animal. 

Nodding, “Satoru, I promise—” Eyes scrunching together at the incredible sensations of him stretchin’ you out, hitting into your every nook, letting his velvety tip glide across your tenderest area - that g-spot. “You’ve succeeded your fantasy.” Your legs tighten around his slender waist, “Promise.”

Gojo’s chin hits his chest.

And he’s staring down at where the two of you glossily connect—“O-oh…” Gojo’s mouth looked so delicious like this - you almost wanted to bite him - as an expression of cute surprise takes over him.

And all of a sudden, it’s as if he’s simply melting…

Into your arms. Into your cunt. Gojo’s honey-dipped tip probes into your cervix, and instead of even ramming away - he’s merely draaaaagging and swirlin’ the bulbous edge of him around. Again and agaaaaain. The texture of his flared ridge was something incredible, and it knocks n’ grinds against hidden spots of nerves. “I finally have you, Your Highness.”

You’re feeling your heart pound at his confession - oh-so-tender. Even when he was fucking you deep into the plush mattress.

“You have never not, my jester.” You’re admitting back up at him.

The most beautiful smile graces his face- and Gojo’s feeling quite unfairly about all this. So he’s slitherin’ his right hand between your legs and spankin’ your neglected clit.

Those slight brushes of his bushy happy trail weren’t enough—now he was twiddling and turning such dizzying patterns atop that sweet, sweet nub. Watching your every minute expression, he hums. “Beautiful through anger, happiness and shock, yet the Princess looks prettiest on my cock~”

“You fiend.” You’re swatting his chest.

Only for him to gather up those weak legs of yours and bend you into a mating press- a mating press. Muscular thighs against your thighs. Your knees against your tits.

Gojo keeps his forehead pressed against yours as he drills away, “Though this lowly fool may be poor with the manners of a pig, aren’t you happy to have a cock that’s actually big~?”

And that…you have to admit that that one actually draws a laugh out of you.

And just as soon as the bubbling noise emerges from your lips- 

Gojo’s body seems to collapse. His hips seem to falter. His cock thunks at the back of your womb, sending your teeth chattering, and lets out a throb-throb so hard that you feel it louder than your own heartbeat.

Your eyes shoot open, “S-Satoru…?”

“I-I am quite alright, Your Highness. Naught to worry about.” Though there was something thoughtful behind his eyes, “It is simply…”

And only after a few more thrusts—after a few more rub-a-dubs of his thumb…fingers now so jittery on your cunt that he’s teasin’ you with his silver signet ring, too.

The smooth metal makes you keen-

“For all the horses and all the men, could not pull the fool out of his princess again.” He near-tentatively utters. It could be heard only slightly above the smacking of skin-on-skin, of his hips practically plastered onto yours, and you can’t help it - you’re startled into a laugh.

“P-pardon?” You speak through both moan n’ giggles. 

“Oh…” Meanwhile, Gojo was absolutely shattering. He was drooling. He was—fuck, he was tearing up. And great globules of tears were hitting the edge of your shoulder.

Gojo’s rubbin’ himself raw- he’s wracking his brain a mile a minute just for a new verse to come up with. 

Something that will make you laugh.

Something that will make you squeeze your tremoring thighs ‘round him. 

Something that will make you clench—and it’s such a startling, tight sensation that damn-near sends him hurtling straight into his high. But he can’t cum before you - of course, he can’t. What good jester possibly ever could? Before his princess no less?

Gojo accelerates his hips until tears start clinging onto his long lashes, and his cocktip starts twitchin’ out of pure oversensitivity.

And so he keeps on repeating—rhyme after rhyme, botched whimper after whimper. Each one more ragged than the last. Your jester was making you whine with laughter as he fucked you- whispering in your ear in aaaaaall the dirty ways one perhaps shouldn’t to a princess.

He fucks you like an animal. 

It’s the final note you’re hearing - ‘—no prettier princess than thee.’ - as your sudden high takes you by surprise. Legs shaking. Back arching. You’re squeezing him tighter than ever as the white-hot pleasure courses through you.

Thrumming your every vessel and vein.

Thrusted deeper into you with every one of his- they seem to burst pretty fireworks inside your now-emptied head. Nothing but lust inside it.

And it doesn’t take much for Gojo to topple into his orgasm, as well. He shakes- he stutters…“C-cumming…” Breathlessly. Large tears were puddlin’ at the crook of your neck, dampening your skin more than your perspiration. “And I cannot think of a more appropriate home.”

“Should you sire an heir, they shall have your head.” You’re whispering to him - a smile on your face.

“But you forevermore have my heart.”

“Rake.”

“For you only, my princess.”

That bawling divot atop his shaft keeps floodin’ out a constant stream of cum—hot-white and lacquering your insides. Every single burst of cum made him twitch- letting out the prettiest erotic whines. “My princess—solely for you.” 

“More.” You murmur gutturally. “More- more.”

“More…deep inside.” Lovingly, he’s patting at your bloated pussy. “Just for my princess.”

Until your walls were almost heavy with the condensation of his sap, and after only a few thrusts of his shaft- it was pouring out of you almost like a waterfall. 

Between the crevice of your puffy pussylips, you feel it drip-drip-dripping out of you. Eventually formulating a little froth of creamy white ‘round Gojo’s swollen base - a few globules that he’s smearing with a thumb and pushing right back into you. A thumb stuck right between your folds. “A-and where do you believe you are putting your hands, Satoru?”

“Simply giving my princess everything she deserves…” He leans down to nibble on your soft ear lobe. “And right on her engagement night, as well.”

You’re moaning as he tugs on your clit a few more times.

“Happy engagement, Your Highness.” The jester speaks, as he fucks his cum into you harder than ever. 

You end up babbling for a few minutes longer, before the sudden sparks of your high start bating- and Gojo himself starts finally slowing his hips down. 

“Mmmm…” You reach up and clasp him by the back of his neck, sweaty, with his hair curled at the name. You whisper into his mouth, “My greatest pleasure, to be engaged to you, Prince Gojo Satoru.”

There’s a long stretch of silence - still thrusting - before he mutters. 

“I really do wish I could marry you…” Summer sky-blue eyes shuttering into the kiss—

“Satoru.”

“—my princess.”

.

.

.

“Zenin Naoya.”

The young man whirls around - and his nose crinkles in distaste as an older man enters the royal guests’ quarters. 

No union had been announced.

The engagement ball had long since ended, and you had even long since disappeared with some prince- some jester, as he had discovered through ballroom gossip. 

The fucking jester.

Naoya knew he should have gutted him after that dinner.

But alas, once he arrived outside your royal bed chambers to finish off the job- he’d been blocked by your personal guards from entering. That damned General Yaga had threatened that a single step closer could constitute an attempt at treason- treason? 

Accusing him of treason? Did he not know who Naoya was?

General Yaga hadn’t budged. And thus, Naoya had no choice left but to retire to his own guest’s quarters. 

Alone and angry until morning arrived. 

He had just settled with the thought of enacting his own taste of justice today- he shall lure some of the ministers to your bed chambers, perhaps falsifying an ailment you’d befallen under, before Gojo can escape. And once they discover that that lowborn jester had sullied the Princess- dungeons it is for the fool.

And oh-so-generous Prince Zenin Naoya shall agree to marry even a ruined maiden. 

Then comes the crown. Then the titles, the land, the power.

The woman shan’t be too bothersome, either, at least you were easy on the eyes. Even if the jester had gotten his hands on you first.

And ah…perhaps he shall throw out this court and your father along with it? That’s if he was in a good mood - and it was the original plan, after all…

Or perhaps he shall stage a coup of which your father had ‘led’ and enact justice as King- yes…a royal hanging should seem righteous enough. The jester shall be first. 

This was justice. 

Naoya had just been in the middle of writing a letter to inform his father of this change of plans, when a knock-knock-knock thundered from the door. The broad, bearded man on the other side of it hadn’t waited for him to answer before coming inside. 

“May I…help you?” He stands. Had this seemed like any old guard or minister, then Naoya would not have hesitated to draw his sword- but this was clearly someone of high status. Of numerous battle accomplishments.

And his eyes dip down to the silver scabbard at his waist…

This was clearly someone potent.

“I have arrived with a proposition.” The bearded man invites himself to sit down on the very chair that Naoya had been at work at.

Naoya’s eyes narrow, “Of what kind? Do I look like an errand boy to-”

“Of the kind I am aware your family is quite expert at.” Those words held such a dark weight to them—and he doesn’t take his eyes off of the Prince for a single second as he utters. “To be frank, I must request the ah…removal of Prince Okkotsu Yuta from the throne.”

That makes the royal straighten. “Find yourself a common mercenary-”

THUNK—!

From underneath his coat, the visitor pulls out a hefty bag - so large that Naoya wonders just how it had remained obscured for this long. There is a weight to it that makes the polished desk rattle, papers flying. There is an overabundance of its contents—so that the burlap rim threatens to burst open.

Naoya gulps as he eyes the - albeit alluring - bag. “D-do you believe the Kingdom of Zenins to have plummeted so far that we hold the need for a single sack of gold?”

The other man chuckles, “Gold?”

And with a single flick at the rim—it’s opening to reveal…sapphires.

A miniature mountain of it.

Such a rare beauty. Naoya had never seen so many in all the treasuries he’d ransacked combined - and his hand it darting out to grasp it—

“This is, of course…merely the advance.” The man places his hand on top of the bag, and slides it discreetly away from the Prince. His fingers twitch towards it, but Naoya can’t do anything with the other man here. “Trust me when I claim that your kingdom will have no shortage of sapphires for the next hundred years. I simply request that you prove your abilities to me.”

That snaps the Prince out of his constant eye-contact with the expensive bag. “Prove?”

His now-client nods. “Prove it. I should hope that the eradication of Prince Yuta shan’t prove too daunting- and for that, I wish to know what other…deeds you have accomplished, Your Highness.”

“The burning of the Inumaki kingdom’s crops.” Naoya immediately blurts out—before he lists off his family’s proud accomplishments as though he was listing off a market list. The other man nods with an unreadable expression. “The…displacement of the Cursed rubies, the demotion of the Ijichi household, the framing and eradication of the Gojo family-”

“Oh?” At that last one, he looks more alert. “Kindly elaborate on that final one, it seems to have ah…piqued my interest.”

Naoya hesitates- before a single glance at the sapphire sack makes him talk once more. “It was prior to my birth, thus the details might not be as adequate. Essentially what happened had to be done- the Gojo royals were advancing their economy in leaps and bounds—far too rapidly, far too soon.”

As he continues, an almost proud smile twitches at his lips. 

“It was ingenious- really.” He hums, “Just a few forged letters, just a single meeting with His Majesty-” Naoya gestures vaguely at this palace. “And he became convinced that the Gojos were planning battle over the borders.”

Naoya spits.

“Borders? Pah- what borders?” He’s pacing now, hands clasped behind his back—back turning to the other man as the Prince stares into the licking fireplace. “Come dawn, the palace was painted in red. Ministers. Mongrels. That King and Queen- the cowards begged for mercy, were you aware?”

Silence stretches.

It seems like an eon passes before the man’s answering - in a rough tone that punctures the silence. “I…I was not aware, no.”

Naoya huffs out haughty laughter.

“And what of their son?”

The Prince looks at the other man over his shoulder, brows pinched in confusion. “They had no son.”

“No.” The sword is pulled out of his scabbard. “They hid Gojo Satoru well.” 

It embeds deeply in the junction between Naoya’s shoulder and his neck—and his scream is silent. Expression twisted into shock as those final words registered - Gojo Satoru. Even in death, he hears his name. 

Much louder than Naoya’s scream was the impact of his cold, dead body hitting the carpeted floor - and almost instantly, Prince Okkotsu Yuta enters the chambers. “I have recorded the confession, uncle, and the troops are storming the Zenin palace as we speak.”

“Good.” Michizane pulls his sword out and watches as blood creates a painting across the brick fireplace and floor. He wipes it off using what would have been Prince Naoya’s engagement robes, and places it back in his scabbard. 

Yuta takes a step closer to offer a clean wipe to his uncle, “Should I summon a court meeting at once?”

“No.” Michizane takes it and dabs at the beads of sweat on his forehead. Then he nods at Yuta to collect the bag of precious sapphires, “I have a far more important affair to attend to.”

.

.

.

KNOCK-KNOCK-KNOCK—!

Both you and Gojo startle awake- and a single glance at the floor-to-ceiling windows reveals sunlight filtering in. A soft breeze rustles the sheer curtains…and Gojo’s beautiful locks right beside you.

It wasn’t the first time that you were waking up next to him.

But it was the first time it was…in such a manner.

You’re tugging on the satin blanket- of which you were wearing nothing underneath. Bare. Barely holding yourself back from him. And Gojo smiles to himself as the thought seems to occur to him, as well, reaching over to kiss you—before wincing at the red, red nail marks that twinged with movement. 

You’re leaning in as well—

But then two things occur to you:

It must have been at least midday.

Someone was at the door.

KNOCK-KNOCK-KNOCK-KNOCK—!

More insistent this time.

The two of you look at each other.

Then at the door.

Then at each other.

Gojo jumps to his feet, throwing off the blankets and attempting to dive underneath your bed- but you’re raising a hand to stop him. Shaking your head imperceptibly. “No…”

“My princess?” Gojo asks.

“I believe there comes a time where one must stop running.” You’re speaking, more to yourself. And in a quick fashion you cross the room to don your satin robe—Gojo manages to bunch up a few blankets that cover his bits. You shake your head and scour for one of his casual night garments from underneath your bed - throwing it at his head.

“For all the princess in the land-”

“Oh, perhaps I ought to hand you to the guards.” The guards that were surely outside. Perhaps waiting to accuse you of treason for shattering the Zenin union. Perhaps ready to embarrass you and your jester in front of the royal courts.

Whatever it shall be - whatever the price may be for loving Gojo Satoru - you’re raising your head high and taking it like a ruler. 

You open the doors, and outside stands…

Michizane?

He looks just as startled as you, though he manages out a rough smile. “May I see the ring?” 

You’re unsure what he means—and you’re considering telling your guards to escort him away, when Michizane peers inside your bedroom and locks eyes with Gojo. Gojo who seems to startle the instant that blue, blue gaze meets his. Perhaps…

And then he’s stepping forwards- pushing the door open ever-so-slightly further open.

And presenting his left hand - with the silver signet ring still upon it. A hollowed gasp leaves the older man, and he’s clasping Gojo’s hand in his own trembling, timid ones—holding it as though it was the most prized treasure in this world. Buried for eons. 

Gojo’s voice sounds scratchy, “I-it is not my possession to don-”

Michizane shakes his head. 

“I believe…” He looks between the two of you, bright eyes twinkling with tears. “-that there is much we need to speak of.”

.

.

.

There was to be a royal wedding.

There was to be a royal wedding.

There was to be a royal wedding.

The union between yourself and the long-lost prince of the Gojo kingdom. 

After Michizane had explained to you both - let alone an astounded court - that he was the uncle of your beloved jester, that he was titled royalty, and that Gojo himself…was the sole survivor of a gruesome attack that the Zenin family had orchestrated…Gojo didn’t believe it. Not at first.

Not that someone knew his life before this life.

Not that someone had come to…save him. Because Michizane didn’t - to Gojo, it had been you. And it forevermore shall be.

But you could see the fearful hope - almost unwelcome on his face - as Michizane explained that he hadn’t known about the status of the Gojo heir, his nephew, before the engagement ball. He was so young, he must have forced himself to forget such a traumatic ordeal. Thus, it had always been assumed that he had perished along with his brother and his wife—though Michizane couldn’t find a small body amongst the carnage. 

And so he had always hoped…always, always…

And it had been the signet ring (looted by the Zenins and gifted to your father, no doubt) that roused his suspicions. Then those eyes. That hair. That smile, like his mother’s.

It had to have been him.

Fearing such an attack, had the late Gojo royals not kept the birth of their son a secret, then his features would have gotten him poisoned before he even stepped foot into the royal court. The cap n’ bells masked more than one would think. 

The scheme to expose the Zenins had been planned beforehand - being the only reason that Michizane even attended the ball in-person. And he’d thought that perhaps finding his late nephew’s look-alike had been a good omen.

Had been…

Oh, he just had to confirm it for himself. Especially after Naoya had affirmed that the Zenin’s hadn’t been aware of any son. 

Michizane could see the Gojo name in the boy. And so he was right. 

Acceptance had taken long hours cooped up in the numerous palace libraries—poring over history books, and rewriting ones that misunderstood.

During this time was when you’d iron-handed your ministers into changing the law that ‘only a prince shall marry a princess’. Of course. 

Long days and longer conversations.

Gojo had finally accepted that he was the sole righteous heir to the throne of Gojo by the time he’d ascended to the throne. It had occurred during a coronation too grand for words - of which you were the honored guest, of course.

Michizane had accumulated vast sapphire mines during his time away, and the Gojo kingdom’s infrastructure was soon able to recuperate their losses. Though not all of it…certainly some wounds would take time.

But the first time that Gojo stepped through those familiar palace walls, he cried as if it were a dream. And he’d said as much—“I had believed it was a dream- oh, I believed this was all a dream. This is my home.” As he embraced you in the middle of the royal lobby, you could agree with the sentiment. “You are my home.”

The first portrait that one saw when they entered the palace - moved by Michizane from Gojo’s former chambers to the main hallways - was one of his mother, his father, and Gojo himself.

Just an infant with bright blue eyes and an even brighter smile.

He had his father’s eyes, but his mother’s smile. 

After Gojo’s crowning, the borders of the Gojo kingdom were reestablished - all territories and citizens that surrounding kingdoms (as well as yours) had absorbed were handed to their rightful ruler.

His kingdom was new…but building. And fast.

Then Gojo had gotten to work helping right all of the Zenins’ wrongs. He aided in expanding the Inumakis’ agricultural lands, he returned the Cursed rubies that had been embedded in Naoya’s coronet to lord Sukuna, he promoted the Ijichi household’s titles twofold. 

And he rebuilt his own family. 

Of course, the Zenins themselves met their rightful fate. Prince Yuta had attacked their palace and numerous fortresses, causing those family members to be impounded. Some fled but were quickly caught—in part due to General Yaga’s tireless assistance. 

Gojo had insisted that the children grow up in his palace. And though you’d been befuddled at first - most certainly you wouldn’t allow them to be hurt…but as for raising them yourselves over placing them in noble homes - you quickly registered that Gojo simply didn’t want history to repeat itself.

Above all, he took in young Fushiguro Megumi as a ward.

The trials for the other family members were currently ongoing.

But, recently, there was a new event that shook your kingdom. 

The wedding. 

Not one of political nature…but rather love. No matter the class, position, or power the two of you held—you would always be his princess, and he your best friend- oh alright…your jester. But solely because Gojo still loved to act a-fool to make you laugh. 

Your father had no choice but to approve your wedding to such a powerful young King. Why would he risk such strong political ties? Why would he risk your abandonment?

Your people throw snow-white petals of gardenia as the wedding carriage passes through the streets- on its way to a honeymoon voyage before setting down in a newly-built palace between his kingdom and yours. Megumi would live there, too, and of course you’d convinced your most-trusted attendants—Utahime and everyone else that had readied Gojo that night of the engagement ball - to reside there, as well. 

Not as servers, but with titles. With General Yaga as your head of guards.

You couldn’t be happier. 

Gojo holds your hand. Wedding band on his left ring finger, the Gojo signet on his middle.  

Faces beamed and cheers soared as you two passed by in your dream-like carriage—upon a cloud. And though the kingdom had been decorated until one nearly couldn’t spot a single roof, Gojo only had eyes for you.

He’s unabashed as he leans down to publicly kiss you. 

Now that he finally could, the boy that had once been jester.

“Satoru.”

“My queen.”

A/N. Ugh had just finished watching the animated Sleeping Beauty before I wrote that ending, can you tell??

[tiiraameesu]

The One That Got Away Pt 15

Gojo Satoru x F!Reader

Synopsisજ⁀➴ Gojo is a charismatic college student, known for his carefree approach to relationships, never letting things get too serious. You are his longtime best friend and have quietly harbored feelings for him but never acted on them, knowing Gojo’s aversion to commitment. But when Gojo shares an unexpected connection with another girl, the dynamics between them start to shift. As the lines blur between friendship and something more, you are left grappling with your emotions—unsure of whether you'll be able to stay by Gojo’s side, or if it’s time to move on.

tagsજ⁀➴ college au, hockey player!gojo, band member!reader, angst, slow burn, complicated relationships, emotional dependency, mutual pining, right person wrong time, bittersweet ending, realistic relationship dynamics, gojo needs to get his shit together

NOTESજ⁀➴ i went through an existential crisis all of last week and ive been back and forth on my new fic ideas and my brain is honestly so drained from life lmao but hope you guys enjoy this new chapter! i hope u dont hate either of them too much ><

wcજ⁀➴ 3.2k

taglineજ⁀➴ @tntoothless @jellykuni @litmusflourin3 @bri4nn44 @oikawasabc @sleeplessromanticcc @arminsgfloll @saturns-fairy @moonlightlexie @gtokay123abc @sadmonke 

ONE | TWO | THREE | FOUR | FIVE | SIX | SEVEN | EIGHT | NINE | TEN | ELEVEN | TWELVE | THIRTHEEN

The lunch hall was a roar of clattering trays and overlapping conversations, but for Mina, the world had narrowed down to a single glowing rectangle.

She wasn't eating. Her salad sat untouched, the greens wilting under the harsh fluorescent lights, while her thumbs moved with a frantic, practiced speed. Her eyebrows were pulled into a sharp, tight line, a deep furrow of frustration etched between them as she scrolled.

Gojo. Last active: 4 hours ago.

Four days. It had been four days since the party, four days since she’d thrown that ultimatum at his back, and four days of absolute, deafening silence. She swiped out of their messages and opened Instagram, her pulse spiking as she tapped on his profile. No new posts. No stories. He hadn't even viewed hers, despite the fact that she’d posted three "looking my best" selfies specifically as bait.

She went back to their chat, her jaw tightening.

Are you actually serious right now? [Sent 12:02 PM] Pick up your phone Satoru. [Sent 12:05 PM] Don't act like a child. We need to finish that conversation. [Sent 12:10 PM]

She began typing again, her fingernails tapping sharply against the screen like a ticking clock. I’m coming to your class if you don't answer me in the next five minutes—

"Mina? Earth to Mina."

The voice broke through her tunnel vision like a splash of cold water. Mina didn't look up immediately, her thumb hovering over the 'send' button as she forced her expression to smooth out, though the tension remained in her shoulders.

"Mina, seriously," Yuki said, leaning across the table and waving a hand in her line of sight. "I’ve asked you three times if you want to go to the mall after the game on Friday. You’ve been staring at that screen so hard I’m surprised it hasn't caught fire. Is everything okay?"

The rest of the girls at the table went quiet, their eyes turning toward her with a mix of curiosity and that shallow, performative concern that Mina usually mastered.

Mina finally looked up, tossing her phone face down on the table with a loud thud. She forced a sharp, brittle smile, the kind that didn't reach her eyes.

"I’m fine," she said, her voice clipped and airy, though her fingers twitched with the urge to grab the phone back. "Just dealing with some annoying group project drama. Satoru is being… difficult. You know how he gets during the season. He’s probably just sulking."

"Four days of sulking?" Yuki raised an eyebrow, trading a quick, knowing look with the girl next to her. "That’s a long time, even for him. Did something happen at the party?"

Mina felt a hot prickle of annoyance. She hated the way they looked at her—like they were waiting for a crack in the "perfect couple" facade so they could gossip about it later.

"Nothing happened," Mina snapped, perhaps a little too quickly. She reached for her water, taking a sip just to give her mouth something to do besides lie. "He’s just being dramatic. He’ll come around by tonight. He always does."

But as the girls drifted back into their gossip, Mina’s eyes slid back to the dark screen of her phone. For the first time since they started dating, the "He always does" felt less like a fact and more like a prayer.

Mina spent the rest of lunch performing. She laughed at Yuki’s jokes, critiqued someone’s outfit, and slipped easily into the familiar rhythm of conversation. She couldn't let them see the cracks. If people started noticing something was wrong between her and Gojo, the questions would start. The concerned looks. The awkward sympathy she didn't want. 

Gojo was going to come around. 

He had to. 

This was just a longer-than-usual tantrum.

But as the day dragged on, the performance became exhausting. Every vibration of her phone in her pocket sent a jolt of adrenaline through her, followed by a sickening wave of disappointment when it was just a promotional email or a group chat notification.

By her 3:00 PM lecture, the air in the room felt thin, like she was being slowly choked. Her mind kept drifting back to the party—the coldness in his eyes, the way he hadn't even looked back when he walked out the door. Where did he go?

She bit down on her thumb, the edge of her nail digging into the skin—a nervous habit she usually only indulged in private. Was he even in school? Did he go to you? Was he sitting in that cramped apartment right now, complaining about her? The thought made her stomach turn.

She couldn't help it. She opened the chat one more time, just to see the timestamp of her last ignored text.

When she did, it felt like time slowed down, the roar of the lecture hall fading into a dull, underwater hum. Her heart didn't just drop; it plummeted, leaving a cold, hollow ache in her chest.

There they were. Two tiny, blue checkmarks.

He had seen them. He’d read every single line—the demands, the excuses, the frantic "where are you?" texts she’d sent at 2:00 AM. He had seen it all, and he hadn't even bothered to give her a "k" or a "busy." He’d looked at her heart laid bare on the screen and simply closed the app.

A hot, prickly heat climbed up her neck. It was the realization that while she had been spiraling, he had been perfectly capable of looking at his phone, reading her words, and choosing—deliberately—to stay silent.

Mina shoved the phone into her bag, the plastic clattering against her notebooks. She didn't hear a word of the professor's lecture for the rest of the hour. All she could see were those two blue lines, mocking her. By the time the bell rang, the panic had hardened into something sharper, something more desperate.

If he was going to ignore her digital self, fine. Let’s see him try to ignore her when she was standing right in his way.

_____________________________________________________________________________

The thirty minutes she’d spent leaning against the hallway’s cinderblock wall felt like hours. Every time the heavy door to the lecture hall creaked, her heart skipped, only to settle into a bitter rhythm when it was just a stray student slipping out early. She had checked her reflection in her phone screen a dozen times, smoothing her hair and adjusting her expression into something that looked more "wronged" than "desperate."

Finally, the low drone of the professor’s voice stopped, replaced by the chaotic symphony of chairs scraping and zippers sliding shut.

The doors swung open. A pack of guys she recognized from the hockey team spilled out first, loud and smelling like sweat and expensive cologne.

"Oh, hey, Mina!" one of them—Rin, one of the defensemen—called out with a casual wave.

Gojo was right behind him, his tall frame cutting through the crowd effortlessly. He followed Rin’s gaze, his blue eyes finally landing on her. There was no flicker of surprise. No guilt. He just stood there with a stoic, unreadable expression that made Mina feel like she was looking at a statue instead of her boyfriend.

Mina didn't even acknowledge Rin. She stepped forward, her heels clicking sharply on the linoleum, and closed the distance. She reached out and grabbed Gojo’s hand—his skin was warm, but he didn't squeeze back.

"We need to talk. Now," she hissed.

Without a word, she turned on her heel and began pulling him toward the stairwell, away from the prying eyes of his teammates. She expected him to pull away, to ask what she was doing, or to at least sigh in annoyance.

But Gojo just let her.

He followed her silently, his footsteps heavy and rhythmic behind hers. The lack of resistance was sickening. It felt like she was dragging a ghost through the hallway, someone who was only moving because she was tugging on the sleeve of a life he didn't want to inhabit anymore.

The heavy door slammed shut, cutting off the noise of the hallway and leaving them in a sudden, ringing silence. Mina spun around, her chest heaving as she let go of his hand.

"So?" she demanded, her voice sharp against the concrete walls. "Do you have anything to say for yourself?"

Gojo didn't move. He stood on the landing, looking at her with a terrifyingly blank expression. "You’re the one who dragged me in here, Mina. I assumed you were the one with something to say."

Mina clicked her tongue, the sound echoing like a gunshot. "Oh, don't give me that. I’ve been saying things for four days! I know you saw my messages, Satoru. I saw the read receipts. You’re seriously going to ignore me for half a week over a stupid argument? Don't you think you’re being a little too dramatic? It was just a photo. I was stressed, it was a big night, and you were being difficult. It’s not like I asked for the moon."

She paced the small square of the landing, her heels clicking a frantic rhythm. She was waiting for the familiar push-back—the sigh, the apology, the something. But Gojo just stood there, his hands in his pockets, watching her with the detached curiosity of someone watching a movie they’d already seen.

His silence was a vacuum, and Mina felt herself rushing to fill it with more venom.

"And what? You just disappear? You leave me at the party and then vanish?" Her voice pitched higher, becoming more jagged. "Where did you even go? Did you run straight back to her? Is that why you aren't answering? You’re too busy playing house in her cramped little apartment, complaining about how 'mean' I am?"

She stopped in front of him, her face flushed, waiting for the explosion. She wanted him to get defensive. She wanted him to yell so she could feel like they were still in this.

But Gojo didn't explode. He finally spoke, and the calmness in his voice was more devastating than any shout could have been.

"I didn't go to her place, Mina," he said. He sounded… unbothered. Almost light. "I went back to mine. I’ve been going to practice. I’ve been eating, sleeping, and going to class. I’ve had a pretty quiet four days, honestly."

"Quiet?" she echoed, a hollow feeling starting to spread in her gut. "I was losing my mind, and you were having a quiet week?"

"I wasn't ignoring you to be dramatic," he continued, taking a half-step toward her, his gaze steady and cool. "I was ignoring you because I thought we were done. You told me that night—if I walked out the door, we were over. So, I walked out. I was just following your lead."

Mina let out a short, breathless laugh—a scoff of pure disbelief. She shook her head, looking at the ceiling as if asking the universe to witness how ridiculous he was being.

"You’re serious?" she asked, her voice hitching. "You’re really playing that card? Satoru, everyone says things they don’t mean when they’re frustrated. It was a heat-of-the-moment thing. You don't just take an ultimatum literally and vanish for four days. That’s not how dating works."

"We’ve been together for months. We’ve had a great time. You’re really going to throw all of that away because of one bad night at a party? Because I wanted a photo? You’re being petty. You're trying to punish me, and fine—message received. I’m here. I’m talking to you. Can we just stop the drama now?"

She looked up at him, waiting for that familiar softening in his gaze, the one that usually meant he was about to give in.

"Mina," Gojo said, his voice dropping to a weary, level tone. "If you really think this is just about you asking for a photo, then you completely missed the point of everything I said that night."

Mina’s jaw tightened. "Then what is it, Satoru? Tell me! Is it the band you feel guilty about? Is it her?"

"It’s because I’m tired," he said, and the simple honesty of it seemed to vibrate in the small space. "I’m tired of feeling like I have to shrink myself just so you don't blow up. I’m tired of watching what I say so I don’t set you off. I can't keep living like that."

He let out a long, heavy sigh, his shoulders dropping. "And listen—you said it yourself. You told me if I walked out that door, we were through. And I did. I was just following the terms you laid out for me, Mina. I didn't text you back because I didn't think there was anything left to say that hadn't already been decided in that corridor."

"I didn't mean it!" Mina shouted, her voice cracking as it echoed off the concrete, but the words sounding thin and hollow even to her own ears. She stepped into his space, her eyes wild with frustration. "I was angry! You were supposed to know I didn't mean it! You were supposed to come back for me!"

Gojo didn't shout back. He just let out a short, bitter laugh—the kind that held no humor, only the realization of how exhausted he really was. He didn't say a word, and his silence was louder than her screaming.

"Satoru, please," Mina whispered, her voice trembling as the anger finally collapsed into a desperate bargain. She stepped into his space and reached out, her fingers lacing through his. When he didn't immediately pull away, a spark of hope—sharp and painful—ignited in her chest.

"We can still fix this," she said, her voice small and cracking. She reached up with her other hand, her palm flat against his cheek, forcing him to look at her. "I’m sorry. I'm so sorry if I made you feel like you had to... that you had to shrink yourself. I didn't mean to. I just get so caught up in everything, but I can change. I can."

She searched his eyes, looking for even a flicker of the boy who used to adore her. She paused, her thumb brushing over his cheekbone in a frantic, familiar rhythm.

"We can still make this better, okay? Just... let’s just start over. Please."

She didn't wait for him to answer. She couldn't. She leaned in, her eyes fluttering shut as she tilted her head, her breath warm against his skin as she moved to find the familiar spark of a kiss—a desperate attempt to fix with her body what she had broken with her words.

But the spark never came. Before her lips could touch his, Gojo’s head tilted back, just an inch—enough to let her know he wasn't going to meet her halfway. Then, he gently but firmly took hold of her wrists and pulled her hands away from his face.

The silence that followed was deafening. Mina’s eyes snapped open, and for a heartbeat, she just stood there, her hands still suspended in the air where he had dropped them. The cool air of the stairwell rushed into the space between their bodies, feeling like ice against her skin.

She had never felt smaller. She had offered him everything—her pride, an apology, a promise to change—and he had looked at it all and simply stepped back.

The dejection hit first, a heavy, sinking weight in her stomach. But right behind it came a wave of searing, red-hot humiliation. She could feel the heat climbing up her neck, staining her cheeks. She looked at his face—still calm, still so horribly peaceful—and something inside her snapped.

"I hate you!" she sobbed, the words tearing out of her throat like a jagged scream. The tears finally broke through, hot and blinding, ruining the makeup she’d spent an hour perfecting. "I hate you so much, Satoru!"

She lunged forward, her fists balled up. She began to strike his chest—messy, weak blows that lacked any real power to hurt him, but carried the full weight of her heartbreak.

Thud. Thud. Thud.

Gojo didn't move. He didn't raise his arms to block her, and he didn't try to catch her hands again. He just stood there like a statue, his gaze fixed on the concrete wall somewhere above her head. He didn't even flinch when her knuckles caught the bone of his sternum. He just let her.

He knew he’d been the one to pull her into this orbit in the first place. He’d truly believed in them at the start—had wanted her to be the one—but he’d stayed long after that belief had vanished, and he felt he owed her the target now. 

Finally, her strength gave out. Her strikes slowed until her hands were just trembling weights resting against the fabric of his jacket, her forehead leaning against his chest as she sobbed. The stairwell was silent, the only sound the ragged, uneven rhythm of her breath.

Gojo didn't pull away. He waited until the worst of the tremors had passed before he reached down, his touch light as he gently caught her wrists.

"Mina," he said softly. He didn't let go until she finally looked up, her vision blurred by tears and her eyeliner smudging into dark tracks down her cheeks.

"I really appreciate that there’s a girl like you who wants so much with me," he told her. There was no edge to his voice, no lingering anger—just a heavy, honest clarity. "I mean that. But I can't be that guy for you anymore. I don't have anything left to give you, and it’s not fair to keep trying when I'm empty."

He looked down at her, a flicker of genuine regret crossing his face. "I’m sorry that I kept finding ways to make you upset. I really am. I hope you find someone who doesn't make you feel like you have to fight for them. Someone who just... makes you happy."

Mina shook her head frantically, a stray sob escaping her lips. She tried to tighten her grip on his sleeves, as if she could physically hold the relationship together. "I don't want someone else," she choked out, her voice raw. "I want you. We can just—we can try again."

Gojo didn't reply. He couldn't offer her a "maybe" when he was already miles away. He simply reached down and, one by one, uncurled her fingers from his jacket. It was a slow, deliberate movement that felt more permanent than any shout.

"I have to go," he said, his voice gentle but wrapped in a finality that made her heart sink.

He let go, his hands falling back into his pockets as he took a long, slow step backward. The distance between them felt like an unbridgeable canyon.

He stood there for a heartbeat, the silence stretching until it felt like it might snap. He looked like he wanted to say something more—an apology, a consolation—but he clearly realized that any more words would just be a lie.

"Take care of yourself, Mina," he finally said, his voice barely above a whisper.

He didn't wait for her to respond. He turned and pushed through the heavy stairwell door, the sudden roar of students and lockers slamming in the hallway rushing in for a split second before the door clicked shut behind him.

Mina stood alone in the shadows, her hands still halfway raised in the air. The silence of the stairwell returned, colder than before, and for the first time in their relationship, she realized he wasn't coming back to say he was sorry.

[siennayaps]

Best friend Satoru has started dating but why does it bother you so much?

The thing was, you never thought you would be one of those girls.

You had seen them online before. The female best friend who hated every girl her guy best friend talked to. The one who became possessive the second another woman entered the picture. The one who insisted she wasn’t jealous while actively making everybody miserable. You hated those stories. Hated those girls. Every time a video appeared on your feed talking about them, you always found yourself rolling your eyes because honestly, if your friendship was truly platonic, then why would another relationship threaten it? Why would it matter if your best friend started dating someone?

Which was exactly why your current predicament was driving you insane.

Because Satoru Gojo had been your best friend for nearly your entire life, and until recently, you had never questioned a single thing about it.

You had grown up together. There was no dramatic first meeting, no cute story, no significant moment where your lives collided and changed forever. It simply felt as though Satoru had always existed. He was there in your earliest memories, sitting beside you in classrooms, walking beside you after school, showing up at your house uninvited and immediately making himself comfortable. Somewhere along the way, your lives became so deeply intertwined that neither of you bothered separating them anymore. If somebody needed you, there was a good chance Satoru was nearby. If somebody needed Satoru, they usually called you first. It had been that way for years.

People questioned it all the time. Your friends questioned it. Your parents questioned it. Complete strangers questioned it.

The number of times somebody had mistaken the two of you for a couple had long since become impossible to count. Even now, whenever your friend group went out together, somebody inevitably made a joke about the two of you acting like an old married couple. Nanami was particularly ruthless about it. Shoko was worse because she looked genuinely convinced. Suguru simply enjoyed watching both of you get annoyed.

But you and Satoru always laughed it off. Because they didn’t get it.

They didn’t understand that once you knew somebody for that long, romance almost stopped being an option. Satoru wasn’t some mysterious attractive guy who sat across from you in class. He wasn’t somebody you could fantasize about because there was nothing left to fantasize about. You knew everything. You knew how grumpy he became when he was hungry. You knew he secretly cried at animal documentaries. You knew exactly how many cups of coffee it took before he became unbearably hyperactive. You knew every embarrassing story from his childhood and he knew every embarrassing story from yours.

He was just Satoru.

Your Satoru.

Your best friend.

And for the longest time, that explanation had been enough.

Maybe that was why you never felt particularly interested in dating. It wasn’t that you couldn’t. Men approached you often enough, and there had been a handful of relationships throughout the years. A few dates. A few kisses. A few brief situationships that inevitably fizzled out when you realized you would rather spend your Friday night watching movies with Satoru than entertaining somebody else’s attempts at flirting. Looking back, perhaps that should have told you something. The fact that every person you met eventually felt disappointing. The fact that they all seemed exhausting compared to the ease you felt around him. But you never thought too deeply about it because there was no reason to. Your friendship worked exactly as it was.

Until university. Until suddenly everybody else started noticing him too.

Not that Satoru had changed much. That was the irritating part. He was still the same awkward astrophysics nerd who spent twenty minutes explaining black holes whenever somebody made the mistake of asking a simple question. He still forgot where he left things. Still rambled when he got excited. Still looked genuinely confused whenever somebody flirted with him. Yet somewhere between eighteen and twenty, the rest of the world collectively realized that Satoru Gojo was devastatingly attractive.

You noticed it everywhere.

Girls found reasons to sit beside him during lectures. They stopped him after class. They interrupted your conversations. They laughed too hard at his jokes. They touched his arm when they spoke.

They found increasingly ridiculous excuses to spend time around him.

At first, it was funny. Then it became annoying. Then, somewhere along the way, it became something far uglier. Because every time another girl approached him, something unpleasant twisted inside your chest.

Not jealousy.

You refused to call it jealousy.

It couldn’t be jealousy.

Jealousy implied you wanted something. Jealousy implied you had feelings. And you didn’t. You were simply… irritated.

That was all.

Irritated because people constantly interrupted your time together. Irritated because they treated him like some prize to be won. Irritated because none of them actually knew him.

That explanation worked perfectly. At least until the afternoon Satoru casually informed you that he had a date.

The conversation started innocently enough. You were sitting beneath your usual tree after class, discussing weekend plans the way you always did. You had been talking about the new Marvel movie and suggesting that the two of you book tickets before they sold out when Satoru suddenly looked almost guilty. It was such an unusual expression on him that it immediately caught your attention.

“What?” you asked, narrowing your eyes.

He rubbed the back of his neck. “Nothing.”

“Satoru.”

A sheepish grin appeared.

And somehow, before he even spoke, dread settled into your stomach. “Oh,” he said. “I’m actually busy tonight.”

The words shouldn’t have mattered. People got busy. People had plans. Satoru was allowed to have a life outside of you. So why did your chest feel strangely hollow?

“Oh?” you replied lightly. “Doing what?”

His grin widened. And then he said it.

“I have a date.”

For one horrifying second, your mind went completely blank.

The words themselves were harmless. Ordinary. The kind of thing people said every day. People went on dates all the time. Your friends went on dates. Strangers went on dates. Satoru, being a twenty-year-old university student who happened to look like he had been sculpted by a particularly generous deity, should have been going on dates far more often than he actually did. There was nothing strange about it.

And yet somehow, the moment the words left his mouth, it felt as though the entire conversation shifted beneath your feet.

You stared at him.

He stared back.

Still smiling.

Still completely unaware that something inside you had just cracked. “Oh,” you said finally.

It sounded wrong. Even to your own ears. Satoru’s smile faltered slightly.

“Yeah.”

“That’s… good.”

The silence that followed felt awkward. Nothing had changed. Nothing should have changed. You had known this would happen eventually. Satoru wasn’t going to stay single forever.

He wasn’t going to spend every weekend with you forever. People grew up. People fell in love. People got married and all that shit.

Life goes on.

So why did it suddenly feel like somebody was trying to pull something away from you? “Who is she?” you asked.

The question came out too quickly. Too eagerly. Satoru blinked.

“Huh?”

“The girl.”

“Oh.”

He laughed.

“I met her a little while ago.”

“A little while ago?”

“Yeah.”

Your felt sick. “A little while ago” could mean anything.

A week.

A month.

Long enough for conversations. Long enough for feelings. Long enough for him to decide she was worth taking on a date. And apparently long enough for him not to tell you. The realization struck harder than it should have.

Because that was stupid. Satoru wasn’t required to report every detail of his life to you. You weren’t entitled to that.

Still.

A strange bitterness settled at the back of your throat. “You didn’t tell me.” Satoru looked confused. “I didn’t think it was a big deal.”

Not a big deal.

The words lodged themselves somewhere painfully deep. Not a big deal. For years, you had been the first person he told everything to.

Every stupid achievement. Every embarrassing failure. Every ridiculous story. Every insignificant detail.

There had been days where he texted you simply because he saw a cat that looked funny.

And now there was somebody important enough to go on a date with, and somehow you hadn’t known. You hated how much that hurt.

“So now you’re keeping secrets?” you joked. Or at least you tried to make it sound like a joke. Something flickered across his expression. Was it concern?

“Why are you being weird?”

“I’m not being weird.”

“You are.”

“I’m literally not.”

“You are.”

“I’m not.”

Satoru stared at you for a long moment. Then, slowly, he leaned back against the tree. The concern remained. And somehow that only irritated you more. Because what exactly were you supposed to tell him?

Sorry, Satoru. I’m irrationally upset about a completely normal event and I have absolutely no idea why.

No.

So instead you smiled. The fake kind. The exhausting kind. The kind that made your cheeks hurt and flood bile up your throat. “Seriously,” you said. “Good for you.”

His expression softened. And suddenly guilt punched straight through your chest. Because he looked happy. Genuinely happy. The kind of happy you should have been celebrating as a best friend. The kind of happy that should have made you happy too.

Instead, all you could think about was the image of him sitting across from another girl tonight.

Laughing, smiling, looking at her the way he looked at people he liked. Maybe walking her home afterward. Maybe texting her before bed. Maybe kissing her or having sex…ughh you don’t wanna think about that.

Maybe waking up tomorrow with somebody else occupying the space in his life that had always belonged to you. The thought arrived so suddenly that it stole the air from your lungs. And immediately you hated yourself for it. Because what was wrong with you?

Seriously?

What was wrong with you?

He was your best friend.

Your best friend.

As though some ugly hidden part of you had believed otherwise. You spent the rest of the conversation pretending.

Pretending to listen. Pretending to smile. Pretending that every mention of tonight didn’t feel like a knife being slowly twisted deeper and deeper into your chest.

By the time Satoru finally left, promising he’d tell you how everything went tomorrow, your head was pounding. You watched him walk away. Watched him disappear around the corner. And for the first time in years, the thought of seeing him tomorrow filled you with dread instead of comfort.

Because what if it went well? The question followed you all the way home. What if it went really well? What if she was funny? What if she understood his stupid astrophysics rambles? What if she made him laugh? What if she liked all the little things about him that most people found annoying? What if she became important?

You hope his date goes miserable.

- divider by @/muerdida

[tiiraameesu]

The One That Got Away Pt. 1

Gojo Satoru x F!Reader

Synopsisજ⁀➴ Gojo is a charismatic college student, known for his carefree approach to relationships, never letting things get too serious. You are his longtime best friend and have quietly harbored feelings for him but never acted on them, knowing Gojo’s aversion to commitment. But when Gojo shares an unexpected connection with another girl, the dynamics between them start to shift. As the lines blur between friendship and something more, you are left grappling with your emotions—unsure of whether you'll be able to stay by Gojo’s side, or if it’s time to move on.

tagsજ⁀➴ college au, hockey player!gojo, band member!reader, angst, slow burn, eventual friends to lovers (maybe), gojo is dumb af

NOTESજ⁀➴ hi im new here so pls be kind! do feel free to dm me if any of my content offends you! (˶˃ ᵕ ˂˶) .ᐟ.ᐟ

wcજ⁀➴ 7.0k

The ice rink was alive with excitement as the final seconds of the game ticked away. The roar of the crowd echoed throughout the stadium, a sea of faces clad in school colors, jumping to their feet in anticipation. On the rink, the Arctic Aces were poised for a victory, the puck at the feet of their captain, Gojo Satoru.

With a deft flick of his stick, Gojo sent the puck careening toward the goal. The opposing goalie was caught off guard, a split second too slow, and the sound of the puck hitting the back of the net sent the crowd into an explosion of cheers.

“GOAL!” the announcer bellowed, but the noise from the stands already drowned out everything else. Gojo’s teammates rushed towards him, lifting him into the air as the buzzer sounded, signaling the end of the game. The victory was theirs.

You sat in a quieter corner, slightly detached from the chaos of the bleachers, the game still playing out in the background. Your notebook was open in front of you, its pages filled with half-finished lyrics, the melody lingering in your mind, yet elusive. At the bottom of the page was a small doodle—just a simple, almost careless sketch of Gojo’s jersey number. You hadn’t meant to draw it, not really, but there it was, a subtle tribute to the guy whose presence always seemed to fill a room without trying.

With a soft sigh, you closed the notebook, the sound nearly lost amidst the cheers echoing around you. You slipped it into your bag and rose to your feet, your gaze briefly lingering on the jubilant team celebrating in the center of the rink.

You clapped along with the rest of the crowd, your smile wide and genuine as the team gathered at the center of the rink, already celebrating. It was hard not to feel a surge of pride yourself, even if you weren't directly involved. You’d been there for the highs and lows, through every game, every practice. And now, here he was, surrounded by his teammates, basking in the glow of victory.

From across the rink, you spotted him.

Gojo’s eyes were immediately drawn to you in the crowd, his expression lighting up with that familiar, cocky grin. The chaos around him seemed to blur, and for a brief moment, it was just the two of you. He nodded in your direction, his gaze lingering on you as the celebration continued around him. His eyes said it all—pride, admiration, and something else you couldn’t quite place.

Your heart gave a soft jolt, and you couldn’t help the smile that tugged at your lips in response. You clapped harder, cheering for him as your eyes met his, silently acknowledging the bond that had existed between you for as long as you could remember.

The celebration around you continued, the sound of clapping and cheers echoing in your ears as you remained at the edge of the stands, watching Gojo and his teammates bask in their hard-earned victory. The pride in his eyes when he’d glanced over at you made your heart skip a beat, but you quickly pushed the fluttering feeling aside. This was his moment, and you were happy for him—just like always.

As the team began to make their way off the rink, you slowly made your way toward the back hallway where they would head to change. You’d been in this routine for years: waiting outside the locker room for Gojo to finish, stealing a quiet moment together before he went off to celebrate with his teammates.

You turned the corner and found yourself face to face with a small group of girls—other members of the team’s girlfriends, their laughter and chatter filling the hallway as they stood near the entrance to the locker room. They were all dressed up, their excitement just as evident as the boys’ on the rink. The sight of them made your heart thump a little faster, the realization creeping up on you that you, too, were here waiting for Gojo.

It wasn’t that you didn’t belong here. You’d been doing this for years—being there for him after every game, every victory, even after every loss. It was just that... well, in this moment, it hit you all at once: the way you were standing there, waiting like everyone else, but your connection to Gojo wasn’t like theirs. You weren’t his girlfriend, not in the way they were to their boyfriends. You were his best friend.

You flushed at the thought, suddenly acutely aware of the blush creeping up your neck. Was it silly to feel this way? To feel just a little out of place, even though you knew—deep down—that your relationship with Gojo was different. Special, in its own way. But still, it didn’t stop that feeling of awkwardness from bubbling up. You knew you had no claim over him in the way they did. You were just... well, his best friend.

Still, the thought made your chest tighten in a way you couldn’t explain, and as you stood there, trying to seem casual, your fingers absentmindedly fiddled with the strap of your bag.

The door to the locker room swung open, and soon, Gojo emerged, his white jersey drenched in sweat, a cocky grin plastered across his face. He jogged toward you, his energy undiminished by the physical toll of the game.

The moment your eyes landed on him, all your thoughts seemed to vanish. Everything—the other girls, the lingering self-doubt—faded away. There was only Gojo, glowing with the thrill of victory, and the familiar rush that came with being near him. It was like slipping into something comfortable, and just like that, your nervousness was gone, replaced by the ease of a banter that had become second nature.

"Well, well, well," he teased, stopping in front of you, out of breath but practically glowing with energy. "Were you actually watching this time, or were you scribbling in that nerd journal of yours again?"

You rolled your eyes, folding your arms across your chest. "Wouldn’t you like to know?" you replied, a teasing glint in your eye. "Maybe I was writing an exposé about how predictable your moves are on the ice."

He gasped dramatically, clutching his chest as if offended. "Predictable? You wound me!" He leaned in a bit closer, eyes sparkling with playful mischief. "Did you see that shot? I’m the best, and you know it."

You smirked, reaching into your bag and pulling out a towel, handing it to him. "You're okay, I guess," you said, shrugging like you were just barely impressed.

Gojo took the towel with a grin, pretending to be hurt by your indifference. "Oh, come on, I expected more from my number one fan!" He draped the towel over his shoulders, exaggerating his disappointment. "Here I am, out there scoring game-winning goals, and all you’ve got is ‘you’re okay’?"

You smiled, amused by his theatrics. "Well, you know, someone has to keep your ego in check."

Gojo grinned, clearly not ready to let the playful banter end. He tilted his head slightly, a glint of mischief in his eyes. He wiped his face with the towel, still looking at you with that teasing smirk.

"You’re no fun," he remarked, a hint of disappointment in his tone as he playfully shook his head. Then, his expression shifted, his voice turning a bit lighter but with an eager undertone. "But hey, speaking of fun... you’re coming to the party, right?"

You raised an eyebrow, feigning indifference as you folded your arms. "I don’t know… I’ve got a lot of important nerd journaling to catch up on."

Gojo’s expression immediately shifted, pouting dramatically as if you had just crushed his dreams. "What? No way! You can’t just leave me hanging after I win the semi-finals for us!" His hand came up to his chest in mock offense. "I’ve got a whole celebration planned, and it’s not the same without my favorite person there."

You rolled your eyes, but the corner of your mouth tugged upwards despite your best efforts to resist. "You’re unbelievable."

Gojo stepped closer, his tone turning slightly more pleading, though still playful. "Come on, please? I’ll even save you a spot by the snacks, I promise." He added with a wink, "You know I’m much more fun when I’m not around all these crazy fans. I need someone who can keep me grounded."

You glanced at him, considering it for a moment. It wasn’t like you had any other plans, and honestly, it had been a while since you’d just hung out with him. Maybe it wouldn’t hurt to join the chaos for once.

"Alright, fine," you relented with a sigh, though you couldn’t help but smile at the victory in his eyes. "I’ll come. But if you make me regret this, I’m leaving early."

Gojo’s grin returned in full force, and he playfully pumped his fist in the air. "Yes! Victory! You’re the best, you know that? Don’t worry, I’ll be on my best behavior," he said, though it was clear from the sparkle in his eyes that he was definitely not going to keep his promises.

The party was in full swing when you arrived. Gojo had given you and a few of his teammates a lift, and as soon as you stepped inside, the vibrant atmosphere hit you. The music was loud, the lights dimmed just enough to set the perfect party mood, and people were already dancing, laughing, and enjoying the night.

Gojo, as always, was in the center of it all, surrounded by teammates and friends, a bright grin on his face. He turned to you with that familiar gleam in his eye, his excitement contagious.

As soon as you stepped inside, Gojo grinned at you, his excitement clearly building. "Told you this would be worth it," he said, a playful glint in his eyes. "See? Not so bad, right?"

You shook your head, laughing lightly. "Alright, alright. You were right. But I’m still not convinced this is my scene."

Gojo raised an eyebrow, leaning closer with that characteristic smirk. "You’ll warm up to it. Just give it time."

Before you could respond, a couple of teammates called out to him from across the room, pulling his attention away. With a quick, almost apologetic smile, he waved at you before being swept into their conversation, his laugh carrying over the noise. You watched him for a moment, his energy like a magnet for those around him, before turning toward the snack table.

The music pulsed around you as you picked through the snack table, finally grabbing a drink. You popped it open with a satisfying crack and took a sip, letting the coolness settle in your hand as you surveyed the party. It was a lot—too much for you to dive into right away, but you were managing. The hum of conversation, the laughter, the occasional burst of songs—it all blended into the background.

"You look like you're in your element," a voice said from beside you, breaking your moment of observation.

You turned to find Geto Suguru, another member of the Arctic Aces, leaning casually against the snack table, a grin playing on his lips. He wasn’t as flashy as Gojo, but there was something laid-back and steady about him that made his presence comforting. His dark hair framed his face as he looked at you, his usual calm demeanor offering a contrast to the louder energy around you.

"Yeah, I’m just trying to keep up," you said with a smirk, raising your drink in a mock toast.

Geto chuckled, glancing around the room before his eyes landed back on you. "I get it," he said, that easy grin of his showing. "It’s a lot to take in if you’re not used to it. But hey, sometimes it’s fun just watching the chaos unfold without jumping in headfirst."

You raised an eyebrow, sipping your drink. "Yeah, I’m more of an observer. Not sure I get the hype about all this, but I guess it’s not the worst way to spend a night."

"Fair enough," Geto said with a shrug. "It’s not for everyone. But, you know, there’s something about a party like this—it brings people together. Everyone’s just here to have fun and let loose, no pressure." He looked back toward the group near the center of the room, grinning as a few of his friends got into a debate about something, probably over a game. "But hey, not everything has to be high-energy. You can always hang back and enjoy the quieter moments too."

You nodded, spotting a few people hanging out on the couches, chatting quietly. "True. A little peace in the middle of all this madness wouldn't hurt."

Geto’s grin widened. "Exactly. No need to dive into the madness if you don’t want to."

You both stood there for a moment, casually observing the party, and for the first time that evening, you felt a little more at ease.

"So," Geto broke the silence, his eyes gleaming with a mischievous spark. "There’s a beer pong game going on over there. You in? It’s chill, nothing too serious."

You looked over at the table where some of his friends were already setting up. A couple of cups lined up, a few people tossing ping pong balls with varying degrees of success.

"Beer pong?" you asked, a playful glint in your eye. "I’m not sure I’m ready to show off my amazing skills yet."

Geto smirked, clearly enjoying the teasing. "Oh, I’m sure you’ll blow everyone away. Or, you know, at least keep us entertained." He nudged you with his elbow. "Come on, it’ll be fun. Plus, I promise no one's going to make you do anything too crazy."

You rolled your eyes but smiled, the idea sounding better than the noise of the dance floor. "Alright, alright. But if I end up losing, you’re taking the blame."

Geto laughed. "Deal. Let’s go—just try not to throw off my perfect winning streak, yeah?"

With that, he led the way over to the beer pong table, the two of you joining the group already gathered around. You felt a little more relaxed now, ready to see how this party game would unfold.

The beer pong game was in full swing, and you found yourself leaning into the rhythm of it, despite your initial hesitation. Geto was on your team, and with his laid-back demeanor, he made the whole thing feel a lot less intense than you’d expected. On the other side of the table was Shoko, laughing softly as she lined up her shot, her usual cool demeanor only slightly cracked by the casual fun of the game. Her relaxed approach made her a surprisingly good opponent, and she had a knack for landing her shots effortlessly.

"Alright, you’re up," Geto said, giving you a playful nudge as he grabbed another cup from the table and set it back in place. "Don’t mess this up, we’ve got a streak to keep."

You chuckled, grabbing the ping pong ball and eyeing the cups across the table. "No pressure, right?" you teased, though you could feel a slight tension in your fingers as you focused. With a flick of your wrist, the ball bounced off the edge of the table and landed neatly into a cup.

"Nice!" Geto grinned, his usual calm facade replaced by a proud smirk. "Guess you did have it in you."

"Yeah, yeah," you said with a smile, taking a step back as Shoko raised an eyebrow at you, clearly impressed.

The game continued, with a few more players hopping in and out of the action, each one bringing their own unique flair to the table. As the game wore on, the noise and chaos of the party became more distant, like a buzz in the background of your focus. The cups kept getting fewer, and despite the light-hearted teasing and competition, you were starting to enjoy yourself.

Finally, after a round where you successfully sunk another ball, you stepped back, leaning against the edge of the table and catching your breath. The game was getting intense, and you felt the adrenaline picking up, but you decided to take a small break. Your eyes wandered, searching the crowd for a moment of calm.

And then you spotted him.

Gojo.

He was dancing with a cheerleader, a girl you’d seen around campus but never paid much attention to. But this time, the way he moved with her was different—charged. He was still his usual animated self, effortlessly spinning and swaying, but there was something undeniably magnetic about the way they fit together. They laughed, their bodies gliding and shifting in sync, a fluid rhythm that felt more intimate than anything you’d seen before. His hands brushed against her lower back with a confidence that made your chest tighten. There was a certain spark between them, the kind that you couldn’t ignore—like they were feeding off each other’s energy in a way Gojo had never done with anyone else.

The playful, carefree smile he wore was still there, but there was a deeper connection in the way he held her, a closeness that felt charged and electric. It wasn’t the usual flirtation, the casual touch-and-go kind of connection Gojo had with the girls who passed in and out of his life. No, this was different.

You quickly tore your gaze away, heart pounding in your chest. It wasn’t jealousy, you told yourself—not exactly—but something about the scene unsettled you. Maybe it was the raw, undeniable chemistry between them, or maybe it was the fact that Gojo, the one who never seemed interested in anything serious, was making you feel like an outsider in his own world. You tried to shake it off, refocusing on the game, but the lingering feeling wouldn’t go away.

"Hey, you good?" Geto’s voice broke into your thoughts, but you hadn’t noticed him watching you. His tone was casual, no hint of suspicion, just his usual calmness.

"Yeah, just catching my breath," you replied with a small smile, grabbing another drink from the table as if nothing was amiss. "This game’s getting competitive."

Geto nodded, a grin tugging at his lips. "Yeah, that's what makes it fun." He motioned to the cups in front of him. "Your shot next."

You pushed the moment with Gojo out of your mind, focusing back on the game as if nothing had distracted you at all.

The game continued with the usual back-and-forth banter and some impressive shots, but you couldn’t shake the growing feeling that your attention was divided. The lively energy of the game was fun, but your thoughts kept drifting back to that moment you had seen Gojo dancing with the cheerleader. It wasn’t anything that should’ve bothered you, but for some reason, it did.

Shoko tossed the ball at the cup with a confident flick of her wrist, sending it into the last cup with a victorious cheer. "Yes!" she exclaimed, raising her hands in triumph. "We win!"

You blinked, realizing you were so distracted by your own thoughts that you hadn’t even noticed the last round coming to an end. You let out a small laugh, trying to shake off the distraction. "Guess I lost focus there."

Geto leaned back with a playful grin. "Yeah, I noticed. You okay? You seemed a bit out of it."

You gave him a small shrug, not wanting to dwell on the weird feeling that had taken over you. "Yeah, just... a little distracted."

Shoko was already high-fiving the others, and a few people started gathering around to congratulate her. You felt the buzz of the crowd all around you, but it was starting to feel a bit too much, and you needed a break.

"Alright, I'm out," you said, pushing yourself up from the table. "Gonna grab some fresh air."

Geto gave you a lazy salute, looking half-amused. "Go on, take five. We’ll keep your spot warm."

You nodded, flashing a smile as you made your way through the crowd. The noise, the trashy music, the movement—it all felt too much, and you couldn’t quite place why your thoughts had been so scrambled. Maybe it was the way Gojo had been so carefree with the cheerleader, or maybe it was just the overwhelming energy of the party in general.

Once you made it outside, you stepped into the cooler night air, the sharp contrast immediately soothing your frazzled nerves. You leaned against the railing of the patio, taking a deep breath, feeling the cool air fill your lungs. It was quiet here, a much-needed break from the chaotic energy inside. The noise of the party was muffled, distant, and for a moment, you allowed yourself to just take it all in.

But as the fresh air settled your mind, the thoughts you’d been trying to ignore bubbled back up, more persistent now.

Gojo and the cheerleader—what had that been?

The way they danced so close, so natural with each other. It was like they had their own rhythm, their own unspoken connection. You could’ve brushed it off, but it was hard to ignore the tightness in your chest when you remembered how easily Gojo had slipped into it. He was always the life of the party, always the one drawing attention, always so effortless with everything, even with women.

A part of you—one you liked to keep tucked away—had always been amazed by how effortless Gojo made everything look. He just fit into the world, like he belonged. And yet, standing there now, in the cool night air, with that image of him twirling with the cheerleader flashing through your mind, you couldn't deny the pang of something… sharper. The way he looked at her, how easily he connected with her—it was all so natural for him.

And then, you remembered the words he'd said to you, as casually as if he were commenting on the weather: that he wasn’t really into relationships, that he wasn’t interested in finding a girlfriend. He didn’t want to be tied down, didn’t want to complicate things with attachments. He just wanted to have fun. At the time, you’d respected that, admired his free spirit, and told yourself that it didn’t bother you. He had made his stance clear. No strings. No complications.

But as you stood there, feeling the chill of the night air against your skin, you found yourself wondering why it felt different now. Was it because you had thought, somewhere deep down, that maybe things were just… simpler with him? That you didn’t need to define what you were to still have moments that felt real? You weren’t sure. All you knew was the sudden, inexplicable weight in your chest. It wasn’t supposed to matter. It wasn’t supposed to feel like this.

You squeezed your eyes shut for a second, trying to focus. Why was this bothering you so much?

It wasn’t like you expected anything from Gojo. Hell, you didn’t even think he’d look at you the way he looked at others. He had made that perfectly clear. And you had always told yourself that was fine. You were fine with it.

But then, seeing him with someone else, laughing with her, so at ease—it stirred something inside you. Something you hadn’t really known how to name, and certainly hadn’t wanted to acknowledge.

You ran a hand through your hair, frustrated with yourself. It shouldn’t matter. You barely knew him outside of these parties. Hell, you weren't even sure you were looking for anything at all. So why did it feel like something was missing when you thought about him with someone else? Why did it hurt?

You sighed deeply, trying to shake off the unease that clung to you like a fog. You hadn’t signed up for this. You hadn’t signed up for the confusing mess that your thoughts were becoming, nor for the overwhelming weight of emotions you hadn’t asked for.

As you stood there, trying to ground yourself, a loud cheer from inside cut through the quiet, snapping you out of your spiraling thoughts. The music and voices from the party had reached a fever pitch, the energy almost tangible, and for a moment, you were distracted by the chaotic buzz from within. The door felt like an escape, a safe boundary between you and everything that was swirling inside your chest.

With a deep breath, you pushed yourself off the railing and walked back toward the door. You hesitated for a moment, gathering your thoughts, before stepping back inside. The noise hit you again—laughter, the clinking of glasses, a sense of collective joy—and you couldn’t help but feel out of place, as though your personal storm didn’t quite fit in with the party’s sunny atmosphere.

You made your way through the crowd, your eyes scanning the sea of faces, searching for something familiar, something to anchor you. That's when you spotted Geto, leaning casually against the wall, a half-empty cup in his hand. His sharp eyes met yours, and in that instant, you felt like he already knew something was off, even before you had a chance to say anything.

"Everything okay?" His voice was quieter than usual, soft but laced with an undercurrent of concern. The question hit you harder than you expected, and the tightness in your chest only worsened.

You forced a smile, but it was thin—barely a curve of the lips—and you knew Geto could see right through it. You shook your head, not ready to expose everything that was eating at you. "Yeah, just needed some air."

Geto didn't press, but his gaze lingered, measuring you with a quiet intensity. He wasn’t the type to pry, but he could read you like an open book. After a beat, his eyes shifted around the room, the calm in his demeanor a stark contrast to the growing chaos inside. Then, he looked back at you, his voice quieter still. "There's a lot going on in there... If you want to keep your peace, maybe it’s best you stay out here for a bit."

His tone wasn’t teasing. It was low, almost protective, like he was warning you to shield yourself from the storm brewing in the room. You frowned, a knot tightening in your stomach. Geto didn’t speak like this unless something was really going down.

"Why’s that?" you asked, your voice betraying the unease creeping up your spine.

He shrugged slightly, his faint smirk only half-formed, like he knew something you didn’t. But his eyes were darker now, unreadable. "Just a little... drama brewing."

You tilted your head, still not getting it. But before you could ask again, a sudden eruption of noise crashed over you—loud cheers, boisterous shouts of encouragement. It felt like the entire room was vibrating with an unseen energy, something in the air urging everyone to push harder, get louder.

And, against every instinct telling you to stay out of it, your feet moved. Drawn toward the door, the buzz inside almost impossible to ignore. You stepped closer to the entrance, trying to catch a glimpse of what was happening, but before you could make sense of it, you saw them.

In the far corner, Gojo was kissing the cheerleader.

The world seemed to slow. The kiss wasn’t the playful, casual brush of lips you’d seen a thousand times before. This—this was different. It was slow, deep, intimate, a connection that felt effortless, yet so charged, as if every moment they shared was weighted with something unspoken. The way Gojo held her, the soft curve of her body against his—it was like they fit together in a way you’d never seen before.

Your breath caught in your throat. Your heart slammed against your ribs, too loud, too painful. This was no fleeting moment—it was real, it was them, and it made something inside you shatter in a way you couldn’t explain.

The crowd around them erupted in cheers, but all you could hear was the rush of blood in your ears, the beat of your heart thudding painfully in your chest. Your body went numb, your vision narrowing as you tried to force yourself to look away, but you couldn’t. Every detail of that kiss, the way Gojo’s hand lingered on the small of her back, how she leaned into him as if there was no one else in the room, etched itself into your mind. It was too much. Too raw. Too real.

You felt cold, exposed, like the weight of the room had just pressed in on you, suffocating. The realization hit like a gut punch—Gojo, the guy who never did this, never gave anyone more than a fleeting glance or a brief touch, was suddenly offering someone else everything you had wanted to give him. The part of you that had always been there for him, the part that had waited and stayed in the shadows, felt torn wide open, vulnerable in a way that left you trembling.

You couldn’t breathe. You couldn’t think. And in that moment, you knew—it was too late.

You stood frozen in place, heart pounding, the world around you blurring as you tried to force yourself to breathe. It was like the air had been sucked out of the room. You blinked, feeling like you were standing on the edge of something you couldn’t control.

That's when you felt Geto’s presence again, the way his gaze settled on you with an intensity that cut through the haze of your emotions. You could hear the concern in his voice, though it barely registered through the ringing in your ears.

“Are you okay?”

The question hit like a wave. You struggled to keep your composure, but the crack in your smile was all too obvious. You shook your head, the sharp edges of your thoughts scraping against your skull.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” you lied, your voice barely above a whisper.

Geto didn’t buy it. He stared at you, his gaze sharpening. He could see through every wall you tried to build, and for a moment, you felt like he was going to call you out. But he didn’t. Instead, he gave you a small, understanding nod, though his eyes were still full of that quiet concern.

“Alright,” he said, his voice softer now. “But if you need anything, I’m here.”

You nodded quickly, too quickly, like you were desperate to move on from this moment. You didn’t want to talk about it. You didn’t want to feel any more. So, you did the only thing that made sense—you grabbed a drink from the nearest table, your hands shaking as you wrapped your fingers around the cold glass. Without a second thought, you tilted the glass back and downed it in one shot, the burn of the alcohol stabbing through your throat.

It was harsh, but it was enough to take the edge off. Just enough to dull the sharp sting of everything crashing down on you.

You set the empty glass down, the room spinning a little as you steadied yourself. Your chest still ached, but at least it was bearable now. You didn’t know how much longer you could stay, how much more you could watch, how much more you could pretend that you weren’t falling apart.

“I’m gonna head home,” you muttered, already turning away.

Geto didn’t argue. He just gave you a small nod and a glance that said everything without saying a word. You could feel his eyes on you as you made your way out, but you didn’t turn back. You couldn’t. Not when you knew if you did, you’d break open in front of him.

You didn’t want to be seen like that. Not by anyone.

So you left.

The cool night air hit you as soon as you stepped outside, and for the first time in hours, you could breathe. The city stretched out before you, the distant lights barely reaching up to where you stood. You knew you couldn’t just go home—not after everything that had happened tonight. Not when your mind felt like it was about to crack wide open.

Instead, you walked, each step purposeful, until you found yourself at the door of your studio. It was quiet here, isolated, the perfect place to think—or, at least, drown out everything with noise.

You shoved open the door and stepped inside, the familiar scent of wood and old instruments hitting you like a wave. It was a strange kind of comfort. The walls were lined with guitars, and the sound of your fingers brushing against the strings felt like the only thing that could quiet the storm in your mind.

You didn’t bother to turn on the lights—just went straight for your guitar. The soft, familiar shape of the acoustic greeted you like an old friend, and you sat down on the edge of the old couch in the studio, fingers instinctively resting on the strings.

You strummed a few chords, the sound mellow and comforting in the silence of the room. It was familiar, something that had always calmed your mind. But tonight, it felt... hollow. The notes felt small, contained, like they couldn’t fully capture the mess swirling inside you. You tried to lose yourself in the rhythm, in the song you were playing, but your fingers faltered. The music wasn’t matching what you felt.

What was it that you were searching for? You didn’t know. It was the kind of feeling that started in your chest and spread through your body, but the acoustic guitar didn’t have the power to express it. It wasn’t the quiet melancholy you’d often poured into your songs. No, this was something else—something more urgent, more intense. Something that, as much as you hated to admit it, made you think of Gojo.

You closed your eyes, letting the last chord ring out, but the silence that followed felt too thick, too heavy.

It was his smile. His laugh. The way he seemed to move through the world like he had everything figured out, with no hesitation or doubt. It was the way he looked at her—the cheerleader—like there was nothing but the two of them, and how effortlessly they seemed to fit together. There was something so... easy about it. Something you couldn’t quite place, but it made your chest tighten.

You set the guitar down with a frustrated sigh and stood up, pacing around the room, the weight of everything pressing on you again. You thought about Gojo and the cheerleader. The way they moved together, so effortlessly, so sure of themselves. You thought about how he could be so light, so carefree, and how you were... not that. Not in the same way.

It was strange. You didn’t want what he had with her—what he could have with anyone, really—but there was something about it that made you wonder. Why was it so easy for him? And why was it so hard for you?

You grabbed the acoustic again, but this time, it felt even more distant. The softness, the quiet—none of it matched what you were feeling. You needed something more. But what was it?

power to express it. It wasn’t the quiet melancholy you’d often poured into your songs. No, this was something else—something more urgent, more intense.

You closed your eyes, letting the last chord ring out, but the silence that followed felt too thick, too heavy.

You set the guitar down with a frustrated sigh and stood up, pacing around the room, the weight of everything pressing on you again. You thought about Gojo and the cheerleader. The way they moved together, so effortlessly, so sure of themselves. You thought about how he could be so light, so carefree, and how you were... not that. Not in the same way.

It was strange. You didn’t want what he had with her—not in the sense that you wanted to be with someone else, but it made you wonder. Why was it so easy for him? The way he was with her, so relaxed, so certain. And why was it so hard for you to even acknowledge the way your heart twisted every time you thought about him, about the way he made you feel?

The cool night air hit you as soon as you stepped outside, and for the first time in hours, you could breathe. The city stretched out before you, its distant lights flickering like they belonged to someone else. You knew you couldn’t just go home—not after everything that had happened tonight. Not when your mind felt like it was about to crack under the weight of all the thoughts crowding in.

Instead, you walked. Each step was mechanical, like you were trying to outrun something. Anything. And before you knew it, you found yourself standing at the door of your studio, its silence a sharp contrast to the chaos that had swirled inside the house. It was the kind of quiet you could lose yourself in—at least, that’s what you told yourself.

You shoved open the door and stepped inside. The familiar scent of wood and old instruments hit you like a wave, grounding you in a way you hadn’t expected. It was strange—this place always felt like home, like the one constant you could rely on, but tonight it felt more like a refuge from something you couldn’t outrun. Something that had started the moment you’d seen Gojo with her.

Your fingers brushed the neck of your guitar as you sat down on the worn couch in the corner. The shape of the instrument was familiar, comforting in a way you hadn’t realized you needed. You strummed a few chords, the sound soft and tentative, as if even the music knew you weren’t really here.

But the melody felt wrong. Hollow. Like it was a poor imitation of the storm inside you. The rhythm, the notes—they couldn’t capture what you were feeling, no matter how hard you tried to make them. Your fingers faltered, slipping on the strings as your mind wandered, unwillingly, back to the image of Gojo and the cheerleader. The way he’d kissed her, so easy, so effortless. Like there was nothing else in the world, like nothing had ever been more natural. It was all so... simple for him.

Your chest tightened, the air thick with something that wasn’t just frustration—it was something sharper, something you couldn’t define. Something that stung, deep and raw.

You closed your eyes and let the final chord ring out, but the silence that followed felt too heavy, like the space between the notes was just as suffocating as the weight in your chest. The truth that you were trying to ignore came crashing down in a way you couldn’t escape: It wasn’t just the kiss. It was the way he moved, the way he was with her—so light, so carefree. It was how he looked at her, the ease with which he seemed to fit into everything, into life.

And you... you couldn’t even breathe around him without wondering if you were doing everything wrong.

You set the guitar down with a sharp sigh, the sound too loud in the quiet of the studio. Standing up, you paced, unable to sit still as your thoughts collided with each other, sharper now, more frantic. What was it about him that made everything feel both so simple and impossible? The way he’d looked at her, the way they fit together—it felt so effortless, so right. You’d watched him move with her, and for a brief, ridiculous moment, you wondered if you could ever have that. But you weren’t like them. You weren’t that easy, that sure of yourself.

You grabbed the guitar again, but it felt even more distant this time. It was just another object, another tool, in a room full of things you used to make sense of the chaos. The soft notes, the gentle strumming—none of it matched the whirlwind inside you. You needed something stronger, something that could hold what you were feeling, but the music just wouldn’t come.

What was it you were really searching for? You still didn’t know. But you did know one thing: you weren’t ready to face it.

The guitar felt foreign now, the touch of it somehow wrong as you strummed another failed chord. The frustration built, and your fingers slipped off the strings again. Your thoughts turned back to Gojo—his laugh, his smile, the way he moved like he was untouchable. And, God, how easy it all seemed for him. Why was it so effortless for him to just... exist, and so impossible for you? Why did everything about him make you feel like you were drowning?

The last thing you wanted was for him to be in your head like this, but there he was. His face, his touch, that damn smile that seemed to slice through everything, leaving you exposed and uncertain. And what were you supposed to do with all of that?

You exhaled shakily, leaning back into the couch, the room spinning just slightly. It wasn’t jealousy. It wasn’t anger. It was... something else. Something far more unsettling. You tried to deny it, but it was there, festering beneath the surface—the way your heart twisted every time you thought about him.

You didn't want to want him. You didn’t even know how to want him. But there it was, the ache.

Maybe it was the feeling that you'd never quite measure up to whatever it was he had with her. Maybe it was the knowing that, no matter how hard you tried, you’d never feel the way he seemed to make it look—effortless, natural, right.

And all you could do was sit in the silence, that hollow ache growing louder, until the music was just noise, and nothing made sense anymore. NEXT PART

[yukithestar]

84 years later and i finally expanded on this. tw: nsfw, implied sub-space

sylus likes you like this: blissed out and pliant under his touch; all your reluctance in letting him spoil you gone. the weight of your legs over his shoulders and the heat of your body under him as you are pressed against his. he traces the curse breaker mark on your ribcage and delight in the way you shiver — amused and challenged at your silence still.

he’s used to the way you are silent in the bedroom, savors the barely there whimpers and gasps that you don’t swallow down in time. but not tonight. not after the stunt you pulled, putting your life on the line when he told you to stay back. his thumb brushes the mark again, too deliberate for it to be an accident causing you to wiggle out of his grasp.

“sy—, ah”, your voice breaks, instinctively turning away from his touch. he can’t have that; you trying to move away. “that— that tickles.” your voice pitched higher than normal, the telltale sign of you falling into a headspace both of you never acknowledge. 

he’s being strategic — cheating, you’d chastise him if you knew his intentions — he knows the mark is one of your sensitive places. but the warmth of you isn’t enough to convince him you’re still here, that he had got to you in time and you’re still breathing with him. alive and real.

you had put up your body as a shield to miss hunter’s bullet.

if it wasn’t for his quick reflexes & his evol, he’d have felt your blood on his skin.

alas, he had smirked for his audience of one as he pushed you aside, the bullet pulverized in thin air. “finally learned to pull the trigger, did you?” 

he had watched you retreat to where luke and kieran is in the shadows, as he tried to resonate with miss hunter. but later, after the failed attempts, after he had brushed the imaginary lint from his shoulder to leave her alone, the twins had told him you’ve gone to your room. 

no one under his care dies on his watch. he presses a kiss to your neck, and opens his mouth to taste the salt of your skin. maybe if he gives you his mark right now, you’d remember that. 

———

you’re a curse breaker. in this world and the next, you see lines connecting people. you discern stories from what you see. once, sylus asks you what it’s like and you tell him it’s a hindrance to watching a movie in the theatre — all glowing and bright; the lights might not as well be dimmed. 

that week he rents an entire movie theatre and asks you to watch a recent release you’ve been wanting to watch in a while. when you point out that both of you could have stayed at the base with his home theater, he shrugsand says, “you wanted to watch one in a theater, no?”

in that dark room with only his tapestry of red glowing at the corner of your eye, you tell him, “it’s probably like your eye. you see people’s desires; i see people’s hatred in neon colors all the time.”

but not all curses are born out of hate. sometimes the cruelest ones are born out of love. it’s why the energy to create the linkage is strong enough to withstand efforts to break it.

the more you love someone, the worse the betrayal. 

you never tell him about the black line sprouting from his chest. you suspect he already knows. 

———

when you come to, you’re tucked under his arms, his hand rubbing mindless circles on your shoulder. the occasional kiss or two to the top of your head. you catalogue the fresh sheets under you, the tender but clean flesh of your body, rid of sweat and fluids, knowing he had cleaned you up, and sink into the warmth of his body heat.

he hums a nonsensical tune. the vibration of his voice grounds you more than the sound itself. you still feel a bit floaty, hazy; the world a bit softer on the edges and a need to be cocooned in warmth. a feeling of vulnerability you can’t quite place that arises after being with him so you seek his other hand, the one holding a book for him to read and thread your fingers together instead.

“someone’s feeling greedy,” he teases without heat, even if he relinquishes the book back to the bedside table without you asking. still you squeeze his hand hard in retaliation because as much as you’d like to pinch him,you don’t want to lose any contact you have with him right now. “and a need to stretch out their claws,” he adds in amusement. 

both of you never talk about it — the person you become under him and the person that emerges after — and you trust him to take care of you because he always do. indulges you with quiet moments like this as if business doesn’t knock on his doors, like you both have forever in the confines of his room. 

“what time is it?” your words still slur a bit, voice so timid in any other time you hate how small you sound.

“early enough for you to rest,” he commands, planting it to the top of your head. “so rest.” 

and you want to. god, you want to. to believe this moment is yours to hold and stretch and bind to your soul. but you know it’s just you. a side effect of waking up from the haze of intimacy: lengthening everything in a rose-tinted lens.

because sylus likes to lie and you endure it.

pretty, beautiful, sweetheart — echoes of compliments you wish he could take back because it’s all a lie. you want to tell him to stop because it’s cruel to ply you with sweet nothings he’s just saying for the act of it, but maybe for tonight, you can soak it in, believe maybe a part of him means it because the only time his reverence doesn’t sting is the one time your brain stops thinking what ifs.

it must be why you can’t stop the words from tumbling out, why you call out his name and when he answers with a hum, it would be your greatest regret to continue. “why don’t we run away?”

his chuckle is a beat late. you know the answer even if he refuses to say it, choosing to entertain you instead. “where to?”

“anywhere,” you reply though your heart isn’t in it anymore. when you look back to this moment in the future, you’ll feel the prickle of humiliation at how desperate you must sound. the only thing you did right was feigning sleep after and not holding him from leaving the bed when a call comes through his phone. 

————-

some curses are hereditary or ancient — a passed down line that turns paler with each generation when the original emotion has been weathered down with time; some are shimmery and translucent reds they look more pale pinks than anything else when it’s inflicted halfheartedly like jokes between friends or harmful intent that comes to pass once the other person forgives the other. the latter will usually fade with time. 

no one knows what the curse is from looking at the colors, only the severity of it. the deeper the red, the more harmful it is, and if it’s black, well there’s a reason poison labels are that color.

when the twins brought miss hunter to the base, you saw the black line that tethered them together. a caster and its captor and a gun. your lack of hesitation to throw yourself in front of its trajectory selfishly. you only know you don’t want to watch him die.

you heard sylus talk once about not being able to die, not until his beloved kills him, over the surveillance feed in the control room, where you were stationed for a mission he wanted you to tag along for to evaluate some artifacts for any lingering residual resentment on them while giving him and the twins a heads-up should someone sneakily come up to them. cursed objects with protocores tend to be more volatile and unpredictable after all.

you remember his mocking tone right before he disintegrates the captive and their weapon into dust. the cynical, self-assured voice tethered with grief and anger. you never want to hear it again. 

————-

“what’s wrong?” you set aside the popcorn and pause the movie the minute you notice a shift in the air. you’re on your weekly (well, weekly is a bit of a stretch given both of your schedules) movie night when his pager beeps. the twins. if the mission was a success, they should be en route home by now.

instead of answering, he grabs his jacket draped on the next seat and pulls up his terminal on his phone, typing away as he turns to leave. mephisto’s footage coming into view on the screen. “keep watching the movie,” he says, dismissively.

you suppress a sigh as you stand, scurrying after him. “for someone who claims to be above everything, you’re a terrible liar.”

he frowns. “what are you doing?”

“going with you, of course,” you move past him to the secret compartment on the wall next to the vase and grab your favorite weapon. there are plenty around the house. you and the twins made a game out of who can find the most in one night which you suppose is n109’s version of scavenger hunts. sylus had given all of you his version of the stink eye because now everything had to be put back and cleaned. no one slept a wink that night and for all his surliness, he had given everyone an impromptu workshop on how to clean weapons properly. his patience when the twins mess up, the slightest hint of shyness peaking through when he’s about to go on a tangent over which bore brush, which oil works best for which gun when one of you asked, probably, maybe won you over as much as you can be won. it was a side of him that was novel to you, a softer contrast to when you had first met him: self-assured, confident, a glowing red eye that makes you think ah, he’s as greedy to take in the world as you are.

that night in the living room with your hands grimy with oil after a clumsy spill, him concentrating on his current weapon, and the twins flitting around him like hummingbirds. you envied him as much as you were intrigued by him at first sight with the number of red lines attached to him where not even the most controversialpublic figure had that many. because what terrible things had he committed to garner such wrath many times over? how could he stand so tall even with hatred surrounding him and still let love in? you had wished to own that self-assuredness for yourself to face the world, to still let light in, and next to luke and kieran, he’s kind, he’s loved, and you added another ounce of your envy for him: that he had remained gentle through cruelty, and then you decided, when he had looked at kieran with barely restrained pride, you wanted to protect him, this version of him, in whatever way you could. 

and that means, the twins back to safety in the present. at his silence, you add, “what? you promised you’ll watch the entire before sunrise trilogy with me. ’m not letting you skip that.”

you grab the keys for the jeep on the drawer for good measure and throw it for him to catch. the forecast mentioned rain earlier and it’s the one you’re sure has first aid replenished from a recent run. “come on. you’re driving as always.”

he chuckles as he catches up to you. “has anyone ever told you how demanding you are?”

“why, did you hear something?” you quip, letting him open the door as you walk past him. 

in the car later where the twins are patched up and safe and dozing away their medication, you think of the twins’ relief at seeing sylus and start drafting plans of how to make sure he lives despite that death curse should he and his beloved one day cross paths. books to track, people to visit. the car rolls to a stop under a red light and you jerk out of your stupor at the touch of his hand on your cheek.

dried blood you didn’t even realize was there linger on his fingers and the moment breaks when the light turnsand the car moves, but at a different intersection, as the lights whizz past you, he says, “thank you.”

the words are clumsy and quiet compared to luke’s steady snoring in the background. his knuckles tense on the steering wheel, for what you don’t understand. the lingering anxiety and anger, maybe, from saving the twinsand paying back the ones who hurt them. a slow drizzle starts splattering the windshield matching the beat of your heart. “mm,” you hum, “don’t mention it.” n109’s roads are as bright as ever with its various led screens. a commercial on the latest tablet is playing and blurring into splotches of watercolor before the wipers swipe it into clarity again. something inside of you is buzzing. you drum it into something slower on the button that willroll down your windows. maybe the rain can cool you down with how warm you feel but you don’t want to get wet. “we’re rewatching the trilogy from the first one by the way.”

sensing his complaint, you add, “it’s called a marathon. not a start and pause.”

he shakes his head and presses the pedal. “you’re unbelievable.” 

————-

curse-breaking is a lost art. no one really does it by trade. some might sell their services online, but at most, it’s a parody and a scam. true cases you’ve seen require either the caster to retract it, or a payment equivalent to fulfill the curse. like a vessel that’ll absorb the curse that you purposefully redirect it to so the balance in the universe is still upheld. even then, it doesn’t guarantee it would break such is the finicky thread of human emotions. 

still, you’ve enjoyed reading stories about curses, historical accounts of curse breaking you can find amusement in at its inaccuracy to pass the time perhaps because life has marked you as one who can break it.

you’ve never done it nor study it. in a modern time, where most people think curses don’t actually exist, no one really has a need to learn the ancient arts. it’s a dying breed, but you know of a shop that trades knick-knacks fronting as a place for curse-breakers to apprentice. your mark burns sharper as you get closer to the shop, like some sort of twisted pied piper’s song for curse-breakers to be lured into which was how you found the shop years ago.

the sting dissipates when you step into the shop. truly, you grumble, what kind of wickedness do curse-breakers inherently possess?

no one is in the counter to your left spanning the length of the shop. you step in further, taking note of the rows and rows of jewels, pendants, amulets, signet rings on the display case, and the locked wooden drawers making up the wall behind it. you notice none of the objects in the shop emit a faint glow nor are there lines running throughout the shop. it’s blissfully clean. apprentice work, probably. you’ve never actually looked around the first time you stumbled into the shop and a woman with black hair had looked at you knowingly right before you turned tail and ran back into the night, your mark a dull pain on your ribs.

the door in the back of the shop with a frosted glass pane cracks open as you admire a magnifying glass, and a woman with white hair in a long gown walks out. 

“she bet you would come back,” the white-haired woman says as she approaches you. instinctively, you take a step backwards. you’ve never cared about this power of yours, not when it seemed futile to care when people are careless with words and intentions when their emotions run high. it’s a sisyphean cycle with no reward to break curses that will eventually form the minute you look away over petty disagreements. you have no tolerance for it, but now, maybe, maybe it’s worth tapping into and in this shop, you can sense it means something to them. this power. 

“would you be able to help me?” you force yourself to look into her eyes, black as the night outside. 

a smile slants her face. “only if you can pay the price.”

————-

“tell me again,” sylus says. the movie drags on, the technicolor lights mapping the shadow of his face. truthfully, you’ve checked out from the movie five scenes ago when the characters start brawling in plain daylight. you have no tolerance to view plain hostility like that. the last movie you watched about wrestlers, you asked sylus if they were accurate in hopes to avoid looking at flying fists, and he had said to come to his boxing match to judge for yourself. you did and it solved nothing, and he had laughed when you told him about your observation, which is really stellar of him and much preferable than the version of him sitting next to you. “what is it like?”

the red lines around him are uncountable that it becomes its own canvas of red, but the black thread stands out just the same. you can dismiss it as a trick of the light, but it’s lighter in shade today, more maroon than outright black and you swallow your questions away. “you see people’s desires; i see people’s hatred in neon colors all the time.”

he looks at you then, one eye glowing and you let him read you even the parts you don’t understand yourself. a moment passes, the scene on the screen changes as the light flickering in his face dims. “take what you need,” he says. 

maybe it’s what you both need after a close call of almost losing each other if luke and kieran were a split second too late to the extraction point. it’s mostly just the need to know the other is alive, you’re sure, nothing more and nothing less. you think about crossing the line and weigh it against your own need to know he is still alive against your own hands, how his way of offering comfort is also his way of asking for his own. you’ll let him consume you, you think, anything. “only if you do the same.”

————-

the price, it turns out, is just a lot of money and time. to research, to track an object, to be discreet and plan everything between your missions with sylus or the twins. it’s a pet project, of course, to find out how to break his curse. he never expressed it and you’ve never pushed; none of your conversations ever address his curse and eye or if you have tried breaking a curse instead of just seeing them. but if one day he wanted it gone, at least you’d have an option ready in the first place. something you can brush away as a birthday gift, if he ever asked, courtesy of a curse-breaker.

the shop had told you about the existence of a jade dagger, one carved millenniums ago, said to be auctioned where you currently are tonight helping out miss hunter and sylus’ joined mission. you’re not privy to the details of what they are looking for, but you set it aside to look for the dagger on the second floor of the auction halls after doing a sweep of the place. this has been a reoccuring theme – sylus and miss hunter going on missions – a tentative partnership, he had assured you when you ask if it was a wise decision to let the hunter’s association know about his whereabouts. you had taken it in stride because you know to not ask, and so you have thrown yourself instead to tracking the dagger down and doing your own research about the curse.

and it had led you here, placing the highest bid on the jade dagger strapped under your dress. nobody had to know you strayed a bit from your mission. he had only told you to stand by and do your normal sweep of assessing what might be worth buying and you’ve added his name to the list of bids you think would be worth acquiring.

you check in with luke and kieran, amd quickly, move towards the first floor where both of them were last seen. the orchestra plays something lively. the dance has started then and the auction is winding down to a close.

you first met sylus at an auction, not much different than the one you’re currently viewing. at that time, you had stopped at a painting in display – a medieval looking one of a dragon with a sword sticking out of his chest, and a princess on the other end of it. the plaque reads: “a fiend’s doomsday” credited to unknown. it sits in the west wing next to the organ where he’d only play one song every time. you haven’t heard him play in a while. every time you gaze at the painting listening to him play, melancholy eats at you and the painting comes alive in your head like a scene out from a movie, not much different than what is in front of you now: miss hunter and sylus on the dance floor, her dress billowing behind her as he twirls her.

you slow to a stop at the bottom of the steps as the crowd parts around them. the jade digging slightly into the soft flesh of your thigh. they make a stunning pair and for a moment, you find yourself entranced as the music fades until you spot someone from the corner of your eye dashing somewhere and the rumble overhead feels ominous. you calculate where he should be and the time of possible impact. your eyes widen. “sy-” you shout, covers be damned, whipping your head around to pinpoint the flash of red. you stumble to stay upright through the impact reverberating as the ceiling crumbles. 

the screams fade to nothing. there’s a commotion around you as the power cuts. dust stings your eyes and you take in the faint reds of curses floating around you not dimmed by the light. multiple shoulders jostle past you so do streaks of red and white and pinks but you stay rooted, the last syllable of his name falling into ash in your mouth. 

there in the middle of the darkness is his aethercore glowing red. his red outline holding miss hunter close. the dark maroon line snaking down his chest to her wrist. invisible to everyone but you. 

the dagger shifts under your dress, the handle digging into your thigh like a brand. heavy and awful. a stone.

you get it now. the warnings from the sisters in the shop. love is the strongest curse there is. the hesitation on their faces. perhaps, they were right. perhaps, he doesn’t want to be saved. 

miss hunter screams at him something indignant, probably about how she can handle herself. you watch the emotions on his face, this look of amusement and assuredness. her ankle twists over something in the midst of backing away, the maroon line jerks and his arms like a puppet clasping her back to him. you tune everything out.

you follow the red threads of sylus’ and the many guests who did not make it out in time and the objects, most of which extends to outside the building, out of sight, to guide your way out the dark. you don’t remember the trek back home. 

————-

at the forest clearing, the twins who had begged to come with the both of you on your excursion to the north is befriending the herd of sheep native to the area. a couple of the sheep runs away from luke, who is chasing them with his mask on. maybe, terrorizing would be a better word.

you sigh into your drink as you lounge on the swing nearby. “you really should teach your kids some manners.”

“they have manners,” his voice amused behind you, where you have ordered him to stand so he can provide extra shade from the sun. not that there’s any with the canopy of the tree over you, but he had humored you anyway. a stray sheep approaches the both of you, bleeting once it deems itself a safe distance from you. you can feel his eyebrows raising. “unlike this one.”

you bite back a laugh. it wouldn’t do to choke on your drink. “don’t be mean, sy,” you reach out a hand to pet the sheep who is nuzzling your knees, its wool soft to the touch. “he’s harmless.” 

the sheep bleats in agreement. or maybe a call since some of his friends start trodding over.

“calling for reinforcements when we’ve both been harmless is not an ideal display of sportsmanship,” he tuts. 

“and since when do you have a stellar sportsmanship?” 

one of the sheep snorts in reply. 

you burst out laughing, slightly startling the few sheep that has gathered itself near the both of you. sylus’ slight frown makes you laugh harder. 

“here,” you take his hand and direct it to the baby sheep looking up at him. “why don’t you pet them so they know how strong you are and how you should not be messed with. restore your reputation.” 

“i wasn’t aware i had a reputation to restore,” sylus drawls, despite lowering himself to pet the sheep tentatively like he’s afraid it would run away the second his hands touch it. another sheep nudges the one he’s petting, waiting for a turn, and then another joins in crowding his hand.

“i think you need to work harder or else you’ll be known as a softie,” you tease, content with the lone one who decides to stand next to you. 

the quiet settles around both of you and you wonder if he’s as content as you are in this moment. if trying to give a world that make him happy, memories that are soft, would be enough to make him reconsider throwing his life away so recklessly each time he has a mission with miss hunter. you don’t own him, you know. whatever he chooses to do is beyond you, but still. “hey, sylus,” you say, the wind carrying your voice as you smile at him. “thanks for coming with me.” 

you remember him about to say something in reply until mephie flies in with a piercing caw, scattering all the sheep away including the one under your touch. he fluffs his feather on his perch on sylus’ shoulders, puffing his chest up and you snort at the silly bird’s jealousy. “or i guess your bird can win that fight for you.”

you’re not sure why it’s this memory intruding your thoughts while you take off your earrings and start prepping for bed. maybe because it was the first trip you had planned with the knowledge that the efficacy of breaking a death curse relies on the bearer to want to live or have enough happy memories to decrease the strain a death curse’s residual might have on the body. how you had stupidly, naively, believe that maybe if you can start making more happy memories for him, it can lighten the severity of the curse. you had a stray thought it was an ulterior motive of the shop sisters telling you she needed someone to go up north and take care of her sheep; an alternative, less destructive path than what breaking a death curse would usually entail.

birthdays, outings, small things like surprising him with his favorite record or knitting mephie silly clothes to wear that you both can laugh at, you’re not the most expressive person and all of this is foreign to you, but you try you suppose. nothing too out of the ordinary of the rhythm you’ve established, of course, you don’t have the heart to stomach it and you don’t think he’ll be receptive to it. and between how the n109 never sleeps, the pockets of time together are rare. and this all had happened months before he’d wind up on your bed, forever cementing your loyalty to him in more ways than one. months before you’ll watch from the sidelines as he throws himself in front of every danger meant for miss hunter, and perhaps it’s why you can let go and accept that he’d choose death for his beloved over any semblance of living with you. 

you wipe away the stray tear that comes unbidden. you don’t even know where it’s coming from when you had just finished your skin care. setting your skincare to the side, you’re about to call it a night when the door opens and sylus barges in, collar open and tie askew. “you left first.” 

“mm,” you fake a yawn and a stretch before getting into your bed, trying to get away from the smell of her perfume. “i was a bit tired.”

you did come to the auction by yourself while sylus arrived with miss hunter to maintain their cover and leaving at separate times isn’t new to how your joint-missions can be. you’re not sure why he’s bringing this up now when all you want is to sleep this weird day off.

“what’s this?”

on his hands, the jade dagger the shop sisters have warned you about owning – the consequences it can leave you with, which you think is a bit redundant considering you’re dealing with a death curse. of course, it’d have consequences. still, it doesn’t matter in the end. “a pet project,” you offer instead, which is not a lie technically, and you do occasionally have bouts of getting into something. back when you would frequent his bed and both of your routines were predictable enough to expect movie nights, he’d make a quip about your little projects he’d notice. embroidery, painting, cello, gardening, the list is endless. it should be believable enough he’d drop it. 

his gaze turns assessing to the open books on your desk. it’s nothing that will lead him to connect the dots; all the texts that mentioned the death curse you have returned to the shop after that night you had asked him if he’d run away with you out of desperation and stupidity. only a general book on artifacts are laid out, and a handful of scrolls in languages you know he’s not fluent in, which the shop sisters have taught you – curse-breaker language, they dub it. you watch him look back at the dagger on his hands, and hope he will leave your room soon. maybe you’ll hand the dagger to the shop as a gratitude gift since it no longer matters.

“i’m keeping this,” sylus declares, pocketing it into thin air, a smirk on his face.

“okay,” you agree, lying down on the bed and closing your eyes, tired and exhausted in ways you’re not sure why. it doesn’t matter. he can have it too.

you wait for his footsteps so maybe you can do something to ease the weird chasm on your chest. you’re not sure what would fix it either, this weird itch to excavate your heart outside of your body, but you know it’s not something you can do when he’s still here. you count your breaths, long enough for you to start drifting and wonder if maybe he’s left, only to feel the heat of his body covering the length of yours. his shadow falling over you. 

slowly, you open your eyes and meet his scarlet ones staring back. the scent of her perfume burns. “what do you want, sylus?” 

a dozen quips seems to flit his mind, searching for one to land, but in the end he says nothing to break the silence of the room.

you sigh as you reach out, unbuttoning the second button of his shirt, the next one, and the next. his gaze a weight you try to bear as you keep your hands steady, focusing on the expanse of skin revealed to you. he’s pliant to your touch, letting you peel his shirt off and fling it somewhere across the room. her scent gone with it, but not his gaze. you avert your eyes, mustering a smile, like this is an everyday occurrence, a dance you both know. “come sleep,” you blindly pat the space next to you. you think this will be the last time, where you let your longing flay you open. tomorrow, you’ll box all your feelings away and maybe do something to dislodge the weight in your chest. but right now, you wait and count the seconds before he sinks into his side of the bed, exhale the relief in your chest that you can still take his warmth for yourself one last time and sink into the warmth he cradles you in as you drift off to sleep. 

————-

a storm warning was issued for civilians to stay clear from the roads, cutting your eta by half. based on the text, luke and kieran is hiding in the trees a mile away from where you’re standing. a forest borders the clearing and it’s where they’ve been helping with long range shots. boss’ orders, they said, since he was supposedly meant to go alone. it wouldn’t do to lose the upper hand so you trek by foot the remaining miles after abandoning your car to one side of the road and pinging your arrival. hopefully the rain would cover any lingering engine sounds.

it’s a desolate rundown landscape ahead of you. a mountain in the backdrop as the only sign of life; everything else a wasteland turned muddy with the torrential downpour. wild grass up to your knees.

you stumble on one body, then two, then spot two hunter associations’ vehicle — one belonging to miss hunter who is standing next to her partner with silver hair who bears a resemblance to lumiere, and a transport van you suspect is loaded with weapons and gadgets meant to subdue sylus, if the electrical charge in the air isn’t proof enough. the air feels evol-dampening; a new device they’ve made like an emp but for evols covering a large enough radius to weaken an enemy at the cost of weakening yourself. the driver is slumped over like she’s sleeping. you suspect it’s the twins’ work tampering with the electrical signalling of her comms to subdue her a little with some neurotech they were excited about a few weeks ago.

there are bodies everywhere. at least, the hunter’s association was smart enough to send a team and not one person to subdue him. at least he had put up a fight, a traitorous thought swims in the back of your head. 

in the distance, you hear more siren sounds. reinforcements. you’re at a disadvantage due to the location since it doesn’t provide a lot of coverage. the only time you have an advantage to turn this around is if you finish this before the reinforcements are here, 15 minutes out you’d guess. you survey the scene using the van as cover:miss hunter’s partner stands behind sylus, two swords on his back, miss hunter in front of him. it would be simple, you bemoan in your head, if sylus is willing to fight one of the two who remains standing but knowing who is on the other side of it, you know he won’t. you aim for miss hunter’s neck with your tranquilizer dart, the twins’ newest invention where it sinks to a person’s skin seamlessly, only to get a sword embedded right next toyou in the next second. the metal sings near your ear and you tense at the close call.

at least, he has one weapon down, but you know the calmest ones in battle are the deadliest and his sword still earns him the advantage. on hand to hand, sylus and him would probably equal but with the sword, short range would be trickier. your cheek cuts open. what a fine blade, you think. the blood trickles your cheek. it’s better than getting pinned by your ear you suppose. miss hunter trains her gun to your direction.

it’s deja vu, how you slide into the scene from the shadows, facing the other end of miss hunter’s barrel, only this time you have your own trained at her too, even if it’s not as harmful as hers.

“move,” she says, hands steady. you hear her partner unsheating his other sword behind sylus. “i have no business with you.” 

“shouldn’t you be able to kill a civilian since your words mean nothing?” you tilt your head, gun trained at her,feigning innocence. it’s a low blow, but last time you checked they had an agreement to not out one another in their respective territories and now she decides no, her loyalty is to the association. your goal now is to drive her back so if she aims at sylus, her aim might have a higher chance of a miss. “i mean, you killing me or you killing him would be the same result. he writes my paycheck.” you jab a thumb towards sylus, cataloguing his state. smug bastard that he is offering no help, cockily putting his hands above his head like he’s happy to be hereinstead of recognizing a sword is under his throat.

“i should warn you. she does bite,” sylus says, unhelpfully. the sword biting into his neck. a red line of blood starting to flow like the one on your cheek. they won’t kill him, you realize, taking in miss hunter’s partner’s eyes flinting in disapproval or maybe the guy would have if he’s not under miss hunter’s watch. well, that’s an advantage. 

you take a step forward, notice miss hunter’s partner tensing in the corner ready to strike and dare another step anyway. sylus has defended himself in worse situations. you’re just cornering the unpredictable variable, the one you know he won’t hurt, but is arguably the easier target to subdue. it’s the only reason he didn’t finish this in one-go. subduing her partner would work if miss hunter doesn’t have a gun on either of you since they nullified sylus’ evol and no one’s bulletproof anymore. if you subdue her first though, sylus has a fighting chance to get out of the swordman’s hold. a risk, maybe, since sword guy would go rabid too to avenge her if she was hurt. you don’t envy her for holding two leashes. “go on, shoot me,” you cajole. “it’s not the first time either, is it?”

miss hunter’s partner’s attention flicks over to her for a slight second. his blue eyes narrowing. ah, he doesn’t know about her excursion does he? “at least you can argue i am armed this time so let’s make it count,” you add with another step, close enough to see the slight wavering of her form as she fights the first dose of drugs and close enough for a sleight of hand to embed another tranquilizer dose on her. the gun trained to her only for show. she slaps your non-holding gun hand away with her gun, causing the trigger to shoot one to the distance, and it kickstarts the skirmish. with her front open to you, you kick her in the chest, shoot your stun gun in her direction, and she stumbles back. something crunches behind you. the swing of a sword meeting flesh. the wet sound of it. sluggish as she is with the drugs in her system, she fights back when you aim to dislodge her gun and when it clatters, you turn to aim at her partner, whose nose is bleeding. the sickening crunch earlier must have been sylus headbutting him, who is also bleeding down his arm. she tries to subdue you with her remaining strength, but you shake her increasingly sluggish body away, leaving her to the ground as you watch how sylus had distanced himself from her partner, whose remaining sword is now missing. both their fists bloody. 

you move closer to the pair, keeping your aim at the swordsman, waiting for an opening. sylus turns his body slightly to avoid the jab towards him, his eyes meet yours, briefly widening, and you shoot your shot.

two shots ring out and your world tilts.

a wet cough and blood on the ground.

blood wet on your chest.

you hear rather than see miss hunter’s gun clattering behind you and numbly you shoot another one to her partner still fighting the drugs. they’re out cold for now.

sylus, though. sylus falls towards you. heavy and bleeding, and smiling stupidly. you let gravity take both of you down and cradle him as you frantically open his shirt to try to stop the bleeding. “someone’s feeling hasty,” he rasps.

“stop talking, you stupid oaf,” you focus on putting pressure on the wound, ignoring the wet feeling of his blood on your hands soaking through the fabric as you rip more of your clothing to add to it. distantly you hear luke and kieran finally making their way out of hiding, hotwiring the car of the hunter’s association. the storm rumbling overhead. 

sylus places his hand on top of yours, the one marred with his blood over his gasping chest, over the maroon thread tying him to another soul, and his usual warmth is non-existent, does not thaw the stone that is yourself. only my beloved can kill me. the splutters around a mouthful of blood, “run away with me.” 

he’s the cruelest person you’ve ever known. “anywhere,” you reply, voice tight as you watch his eyes close.

you help the twins lug his body to the car, not sure how to tell them you’re not sure if he’ll make it, if you had just said goodbye, and in the commotion, the jade dagger falls from his pocket and cracks on the wasteland.

————-

you like to lie and sylus endures it.

“your funeral was a chore,” you pack his bags, back turned against him, grumbling all the while. “too many guests. honestly, who’s going to run this town after?”

the first time he met you was not by the painting, but by the poker table, where you reveal your royal flush as opposed to his full house. he knew you knew he was cursed because unlike the rest of the table who greets him warmly, scooting to make space for him to sit, or the fear and intimidation he is often on the receiving end of, his eye tells him you wanted to know who cursed him and curiosity becomes a two way street.

you are flippant in your loyalty. following him without question to save the twins and expecting nothing in return. you always say it doesn’t matter, but it’s the first time someone helped him carry the burden of protecting his hoard. you say you’ll take as much as he’s taking and yet you placed your heart on a jade dagger and said, it doesn’t matter. it’s a pet project. you’re the cruelest person he knows.

even now, with his bandage aroind his torso more for show than anything after his evol had returned to suture his own wounds just fine, you’re pushing him to rest, not letting him any say in all of this.

well, he smiles as he watches you root through his closet, it’s not like he can blame you. 

“what?” you turn around, finally facing him. “why are you smiling like that?” you frown further, rushing to his side.“is the dosage too high? or do you need more? i'll page kieran –”

he chuckles, opting to pull your wrist down to silence you until you flail on top of him. huffy and indignant. you restrain yourself from punching him, which is sweet, he supposes. “sylus,” you glare at him. “let me go. ‘s not good for you.” his torso aches slightly since he wasn’t able to heal it immediately with his evol and had to rely on modern medicine to do its job for the first half of it, so despite the scarring gone, even his flesh can feel painhe supposes. still, he wraps his arm around you, silencing your protest to leave. he’ll take discomfort if it means you’re next to him.

“ask me again,” he implores, his other hand cupping your face. anything to get your eyes to look at him so he can set it right. a lifetime ago, in this same bed, when you had asked that question, and he had been taken aback by the vulnerability he didn’t think you’ll ever let him see, even when he had offered you all of him to take months ago. you knew he was cursed and you never asked, and yet, you had given him acceptance in turn, and the moment had passed before he could make it right. something had splintered then, he knew, the slight distance you insist didn’t exist, you sneaking aorund, your door closed but the light under the door would burn warm when he got back later than anticipated. he noticed, of course, he did.

only he thought, he’d give you the space you clearly need. he knows better than most the armor you wear. he wears it too, after all, and perhaps it’s why this dance has went on much longer than he anticipated. he assumed you knew his loyalty is to you the way you offered yours to him, but clearly he needs to remediate that. “ask me again,” he repeats, softly.

your eyes flicker down to his chest. he does not know what you’re seeing. his curse line, maybe, whatever form it takes. he never asked, and you never offered to describe what his curses look like, but whenever he held you close you’d always place your hand in the same area. it burnt when he had taken that bullet for you, it burnt the first time he almost lost you for good and offered himself to you to take. it hummed when he picked up the jade dagger and he had understood then what you were hiding behind his back. it’s a dull ache now and even he can sense the ache feels more tender than a sharp pain of dissonance. maybe the curse shifted. he still doesn’t know what the jade dagger was supposed to do and maybe one day you’ll teach him about your world, about how you see it beyond what you’ve told him, but right now, you have no idea how the curse never mattered to him. he may be fated to carry it, but he chooses you if you’ll have him.

selfishly, he wants you to say it. selflessly, he wants you to ask it for yourself. take what you need.

you press your trembling hand over his heart. his heart aches. “sylus,” your eyes resolute when you meet his even if your voice wavers. you don’t know how much he wishes to ruin you. “would you run away with me?”

he threads his fingers with yours. you should know by now there is no love more purer than mine. but that will come later, he has all the time in the world to convince you of it. “always.”

———————————————————————

end notes:

happy birthday sylus. this was originally supposed to be angstier where one of them did not make it (yes two alternate endings) but since it's his birthday, i'll give them a kinder one.

first story in a while, very nervous. thank you to everyone who was very enthusiastic about this idea. originally, i was going to update the sylus series but i know if i don't upload this before the ending of sy series, this won't ever go out so despite how rough this is, i hope you can enjoy it just the same. that is still on the calendar i just needed to get this out first.

[corealism-deactivated20260512]

a regular sunday afternoon. at least that’s what you gathered as you were completing the mundane task of laundry.

you stuffed a few hoodies, shirts, pants, skirts, whatever until you found one of satoru’s jeans. you straightened them, levis, until you put your hand into each pocket to make sure he didn’t forget anything inside.

you never forgot to after the incident a few months ago when satoru left his phone in the back pocket and well.. he didn’t backup his icloud.

you felt the front pocket and frowned at a protruding square, inserting your hand to find his wallet, leather and black with a few scruffs on the corners.

you hadn’t seen it in a while since he usually keeps it in his pockets and sends you money through his new phone, so you opened it.

couple of credit cards, cash, a coupon for his favourite shop that was probably expired knowing him and.. a photo of you.

your expression softened and you felt your cheeks redden, it was a candid photo you didn’t even know he took.

it was roughed up, teared slightly and definitely old. you remembered the outfit and place- it was your first date.

you heard the front door open, the shuffles of shoes being taken off and jingling of keys until your sweet satoru enters with a bag in hand.

he smiles widely at you, blue eyes lighting up. “baby! i missed you, you have no idea. there was some freak curse on the street when i was coming home, not to mention the shitty day i had at school so, of course, i deserved a sweet treat and i swung by the shop but i realised i forgot my coupon, bu-.”

you couldn’t wait and rushed over to him, pulling him down to kiss him gently. he muffled against your lips, words dying away while he wrapped his arms around you like second nature.

as you departed from each other, satoru grinned widely, eyes searching yours in the moment of surprise. “what was that for?”

your lips lifted up softly in admiration, feeling shy all of a sudden. “i just.. really like you.”

he snorted, dropping the bag on the dining table as he pulled you closer by the loops of your jeans. “that so?”

you nodded, biting your lip to contain a wide smile.

he hummed, “no reason in particular?”

you glared at him jokingly, “do i need a reason to like my husband?” you asked, poking him in the chest.

he feigned pain, face contorting as his eyes drifted to behind you. “you wound me. wha- hey, my coupon!”

[jooniesylus]

DEAD THREAD -Sylus

an: tried my best with the timelines.

PART 27

Then why?

Why would she do that to someone who claimed to love her?

Was he thinking straight, or was his mind twisting itself into madness just to survive the ache?

And then...truly, why was he expected to accept it?

To wake up, one day, only to find her no longer in the valley? He sensed it as soon as he set foot in the field; it was lacking the warmth. The morning breeze was casually occupying the field without her.

Why was he expected to accept it that she had left him to live with the humans? No, she wouldn’t.

He knew she wouldn’t.

She was his mate—his mate and only his. The very thought was absurd, laughable even, because somehow, impossibly, he had begun to see her the way she insisted she was. She accepted him as her mate.

His mate is a human, and that was...fine. It was fine, because she was his.

She was his.

Yet, the pain came anyway, crawling up his spine like poison, sinking and twisting into his ribs. She left.

She left, Stayrus. She determined and left the clan with her father to live with the humans, said his mother, and in that instant, he felt his heart bleed.

No, she would never leave. It’s a scheme, his heart screamed.

It had to be. His chest tightened, his breath ragged as his body trembled. He couldn’t cry; dragons don’t cry. His instincts screamed, clawing at the inside of his skull, all desperate and furious.

It’s a lie.

Because mates did not abandon each other.

Not like that. And she would never leave him. It must be her father who had done something.

Cannot trust the humans.

He had been to human cities far too many times to care, far too often as he learned to hunt for the souls. Humans were predictable. Easy to read, if one ever truly wished to.

But this place was different.

This was his first time crossing into this area of the city.

As a young dragon, he wasn’t allowed here.

He was not even permitted to fly over it. The elders had spoken of it with contempt and caution, and his mother had always been uncharacteristically firm whenever the borders of this land were mentioned.

They called it Sanctuary.

Apparently, the humans here were not ordinary. They carried strange, unnatural power, the kind that did not come from bloodlines or mating bonds, but from desperate discipline and survival.

His mother had said it was because they immersed themselves in self-preservation arts like ancient practices. Though not all can master it, some succeeded with the forbidden knowledge, rituals that sharpened the human body into something more than fragile flesh.

Sylus scoffed at the idea back then.

But now, standing at the edge of Sanctuary, the air felt different.

Just for the sake of blending in, he had cut off his horns and wings. His horns were severed at the base, and he took an unimaginably long time to tear his wings off. As a young dragon, he had not yet mastered the art of hiding them the way the elders did, not yet learned how to fold his true form beneath skin and illusion.

It was disgraceful.

A humiliation that would have earned laughter, perhaps even punishment, if his clan ever discovered it. And they will discover that because it will take years to regrow.

But it doesn’t matter.

He could endure it because his horns and wings would grow back. Dragons were known to heal. It’s not immediate, but it will regenerate. And, for his mate, he could endure small pain.

Heavens, he would endure the worst.

He felt excruciatingly weak around the Sanctuary. It wasn’t subtle. It hit like a sickness forced down his throat; the entire region made him nauseous. He felt his vision blurred at the edges. His skin prickled as though the air itself was hostile.

Spider lilies.

Those surround the entire place. Standing proudly, their petals wild and blooming, their crimson petals curling like a hook. The scent saturated the air, sickly sweet like he always knew. He was known to the scent since the beginning of it all. And, his dragon reacted immediately.

It was her scent.

It weakened him. As always, it did.

She had once worn spider lilies without fear, weaving them into her hair or pressing them behind her ear. She had them grow in her backyard in a small corner; apparently, her mother hated them.

But she had stopped—stopped the moment she realised what it did to him. She had noticed the way his breathing grew shallow, or the way his body tensed as though resisting poison.

And just like she wasn’t immune to datura…

He was not strong against spider lilies.

He had asked her once why she still approached the datura field—why she still worked there, day after day, despite not being immune to it.

“They’re beautiful,” she said.

“Just because something is killing you,” she murmured, “does that mean you have to stop loving it?”

“I was attracted to datura since I was a child,” she continued, fingers brushing the petals with a tenderness that made his chest tighten. “Knowing they were poisonous to me never made me stop loving them.”

And Sylus had hated how much he understood.

Because the way she spoke of datura…

Was the way she felt about him.

She was his comfort. So, he could never give up.

He remained hidden in the nearby forest, staying close enough to watch over but far enough to keep himself from collapsing. And whenever his strength allowed it, he ventured out.

He would wander through Sanctuary’s edges, slipping into its paths, searching the streets and rooftops for even the smallest glimpse of her.

At least a shadow of hers.

Anything. Because he had to see her. He had to know she was alive and not stolen away.

He had to. He couldn’t bear to stand among humans, pretending to be one, searching for her, day and night. He could not bear the thought of her existing in this place without her.

Another week passed, and every attempt to find him ended in failure.

The days, however, blurred together into endless wandering that led to disappointment. Some nights, he could barely breathe at all.

And worse...his rut was near.

He could feel it creeping closer with every sunrise, the heat building beneath his skin. By now, he should have been seeking a secluded place, somewhere safe and hidden, where he could endure the transition into adulthood.

And he should have been doing it beside his mate.

But she was nowhere.

Then—

Caw!

He froze. His head snapped toward the sound. He knew that voice. He knew it with certainty.

“Mephisto?”

Another caw answered, louder this time, and relief struck him so hard it nearly made him stagger. The crow swooped down and landed directly on his palm.

Sylus stared at it, stunned.

The bird had grown. Its feathers were fuller, even glossier...still a little strange-looking, still carrying that ridiculous attitude in its posture. But alive.

He examined it carefully, fingers steady beneath its claws. Then he let out a breath that sounded almost like a laugh.

“Mephisto,” he murmured, shaking his head in disbelief. “I thought you were eaten, buddy.”

The stupid bird scowled at him.

He laughed at its deviance as his fingers ran through his wings.

“How do you know its name?”

He was startled that his hand jerked; the voice had come from behind him. He turned, sharply, still holding Mephisto so firmly.

Standing behind him was an old lady, yet she was younger in her own way. Her face bore the lines of age, but her posture was straight, her eyes unnervingly clear. He couldn’t explain, it as like time had touched her skin but never managed to dull her spirit. He narrowed his eyes, “I know him.”

The woman’s gaze didn’t soften. “You don’t belong within Sanctuary.”

“I never said I was.”

“Peasants belong to the ground, boy,” she said flatly, “Unless you wish to become a disciple, you may tell.”

He cursed inwardly because he couldn’t do anything but stand there, momentarily dumbfounded. So, whoever lived inside wasn’t a common human.

He could feel the old woman’s eyes scrutinising him. It was unsettling him. “I was looking for someone.” He told lastly.

“And that might be?” Her gaze didn’t leave him.

“YN.”

She staggered a bit; her expression shifted into quite a subtle surprise. “And who are you?”

He straightened his posture, forcing calmness, “I am a boy from the village. My father sells flowers.”

“Great,” she replied flatly, unimpressed.

He blinked. “Yeah?”

Her gaze narrowed. “So.. you’re here to find your friend?”

“I’m here to return Mephisto,” Sylus said, lifting his palm slightly as the crow tilted its head. “He was injured before. I don’t want that to happen again.”

The woman hummed, as if considering. “I could help you with that.”

“No.” His answer was immediate and firm. “I have to give him to her myself.”

A pause.

The old woman’s lips curved faintly.

“You’re determined, Stayrus.”

“I am.”

The words left his mouth before he could stop them. Then came the realisation, his eyes widened. He never told her his name. The old lady smiled nonetheless, knowingly. But, nothing was kind in that smile. It was the smile of someone who already held all the cards.

“I can see more beyond what’s hidden, boy. Your lame attempt to hide your predatory horns or the wings never did anything to cover that filthy dragon blood of yours.”

“But-

“How dare you set foot in here?” she snapped.

Still, he held his ground, though his heart thundered against his chest. He forced his voice to be steady. “I need to find her.”

The woman’s eyes narrowed further, and her smile became something cruel. “While you are a dragon?” she repeated, as if the words themselves were an insult. “Sanctuary was built to slay your kind.”

She stepped closer, and he felt it—pressure. Not the brute dominance of a dragon, but hatred refined into lethal judgment.

“And you,” she continued, voice rising with contempt, “walk in here searching for someone who lives inside?”

Her gaze cut into him like a blade.

“Are you mocking us?”

Sylus’s claws flexed at his sides, the instinct to bare his teeth fighting against the very real warning his body screamed at him. He forced himself to breathe through the nausea, through the spider lily scent that already made his blood burn.

“I’m not mocking you,” he said, voice low. “I’m looking for her.”

The old woman’s eyes narrowed, and for a moment her gaze flicked to the crow perched obediently on his palm.

“She sent that creature to you,” she murmured, as if tasting the implication. “Or you stole it from her.”

“I didn’t steal anything,” Sylus snapped, offended. “It came to me.”

A soft chuckle escaped her, “How convenient.” She circled him slowly, her steps silent against the ground, “You dragons are all the same,” she said. “Greedy. You mistake obsession for devotion.”

Sylus’s nostrils flared.

“I love her,” he growled.

The woman stopped. Her gaze sharpened, suddenly dangerous. “Love?” she repeated, and the word sounded like an insult in her mouth. “Dragons don’t love. Your nature is not capable of such pure devotion.”

Sylus stepped forward half a pace before he could stop himself. “You don’t know anything about us,” he hissed.

“Oh, I know enough,” she said. “Enough to know she fled for a reason.”

Sylus’s blood went cold.

“What do you mean?” His voice dropped, trembling with restraint. “She didn’t flee.”

“She did,” the woman replied, calm as death. “She walked into Sanctuary because she wanted protection.”

“No,” he said, shaking his head as if denial could break the words apart. “She wouldn’t do that. She wouldn’t abandon me.”

The old woman leaned closer, her eyes gleaming with something like pity—but twisted. “She didn’t abandon you, Stayrus,” she whispered. “She escaped you.”

That sentence struck him like a physical blow. She escaped you.

His breath hitched. His vision blurred at the edges.

His nails dug into his palm until blood welled. “She loves me,” he said, voice cracking with rage. “She is my mate.”

The old woman’s gaze flicked briefly to his bleeding hand, unimpressed.

“Mating bond,” she murmured. “A dragon’s favourite excuse.”

Her eyes lifted back to his face. “Tell me, boy… when she looks at you, do you see devotion?”

“Yes.”

She laughed as if his anger was nothing more than childish entertainment. Without waiting for his response, she turned and walked past him, her robes brushing against the grass.

“Follow,” she said simply.

Sylus hesitated for only a moment before obeying. He drew Mephisto closer to his chest, cradling the crow because it was the only familiar thing left in this cursed place. The bird shifted against him, and for a brief second, he clung to that comfort.

Evening had already fallen.

The last rays of daylight were being swallowed whole, darkness pouring over the land. The air grew colder as they crossed deeper into Sanctuary, and the scent of spider lilies thickened until it felt like it coated his throat.

Inside, the Sanctuary was nothing like the human cities he had seen before.

It was almost… royal.

Stone pathways lined with lanterns, their lights glowing steady and golden. Tall walls carved with intricate symbols that seemed to pulse faintly when he passed. The architecture was elegant.

Sylus felt out of place immediately.

Even looking like a human, even sounding like one, he carried something in his posture that didn’t belong. His skin prickled as he walked through the polished halls, aware of unseen eyes watching from every corner.

And for the first time in his life, he felt what it meant to be the intruder.

Is this how she felt?

It was a garden.

A huge, scared-looking garden. The moment he stepped into it, he felt his chest tighten, with his ribs wrapped with coils.

Spider lilies. They were everywhere, no, they were the garden.

Crimson blooms stretched across the ground like spilt blood, swaying gently beneath the lanternlight. Their scent was thick, suffocating. The air itself tasted sweet and metallic. His heart lurched because he could taste his blood on his tongue.

He could handle this for a bit.

He clenched his jaw, forcing his feet forward. It’s not like I’m going to collapse from poisoning, he told himself, desperate to believe it. Right?

She had once fed him an antidote; it was small, bitter, and warm against his tongue. But it had never been enough to make spider lilies harmless. It only made them bearable.

And he could endure bearable.

He wouldn’t die.

Yet with every breath, his senses dulled further. His nostrils burned, then went numb, blocked by the overwhelming thickness of the flowers. His head began to feel light, his vision slightly blurred at the edges, as though the garden was swallowing him into a slow, dreamlike haze.

Then,

He saw her.

She was sitting quietly, a book resting in her lap, completely immersed in her own small world. The lanternlight caught the curve of her cheek, the gentle fall of her hair, the calm in her posture, so peaceful...it made his chest ache.

He felt the crushing weight that clung to him slowly fade. She’s alive. He took a step forward instinctively. Before he could, the old lady snapped at him, halting him from staying behind. Swallowing hard, he stared at her from a distance.

He was forced to watch his mate like a stranger in a world that had stolen her away.  

“Dearest.”

The old woman’s voice softened the moment she stepped closer, her earlier sharpness folding neatly into affection.

“You went out for so long,” she replied without looking up from her book. “Whatever took you so long, Grandma?”

“We had to be careful,” the elder said, gaze briefly shifting toward the garden’s entrance before settling back on her. “Lately… I’ve learned dragons have been wandering among humans so often that they’ve begun to look like humans.”

A faint pause.

The girl hummed, turning a page lazily. “Hmm. Don’t worry about it. Their nature… won’t allow it.”

Sylus, standing just beyond the threshold of the garden, felt the words land somewhere unpleasant in his chest.

Their nature won’t allow it.

He didn’t know why, but something about the way she said it made his instincts tense. He felt ugly.

The old woman exhaled slowly.

“Cruelty.”

He watched his beloved spit that word. Sylus felt it like a strike. She continued, almost matter-of-factly, stating something she had observed her entire life. “It is easy to spot a dragon,” she said, “because their cruelty overflows. Whatever they touch… will rot.”

Silence settled over the garden like mist.

The old woman gave a small, approving hum. “True that.”

Then, quietly, as though she was speaking to herself, “I wish… my father had made better decisions back then.”

“Marrying your mother?”

“No,” she corrected gently. “Marrying a dragon.”

Marrying a dragon.

He stood frozen at the edge of the garden, spider lilies swaying mockingly in front of him. The already thickened strangled him further.

His breath became shallow, barely enough to keep him steady. Mephisto shifted against his chest, his feathers brushing his aching chest, but even that familiar warmth could not anchor him.

His mate... she had spoken of dragons... of him, with a disgust so calm it was terrifying. So she left by choice?

He felt his throat tighten, and his blood burned with humiliation.

Pain.

A dragon did not beg.

Nor a dragon ache like this.

He should have stepped forward. Forced her to recall the valley, their datura field, the way she used to lean into his chest and call him as if he belonged to her.

But, his legs would not move, because what if she looked at him now...and only saw rot?

He doesn’t think he could handle it. Not even once did he think that he could handle it. Never her rejection, the hatred spoken so casually. He couldn’t handle the truth that she had truly escaped him, not because she wanted to.

Her father probably didn’t force her.

He took a slow step backwards, but the old woman didn’t stop him. Barely glancing his way as if his existence wasn’t worth acknowledging.

By the time he reached out of the Sanctuary, his hands were shaking, and he let go of Mephisto. The black crow flew away, not looking back.

He stumbled into the nearest forest, pushing through the trees like a wounded beast seeking shade. The moment the lilies’ scent began to thin, his knees nearly buckled.

He caught himself against a trunk, his trimmed claws digging into bark, breath coming out in harsh, broken bursts.

His rut was close.

His blood was unstable.

And now—

His heart.

His heart felt as if it had been ripped open and left bleeding in the dirt.

His mate rejected him.

He sank lower, back pressed to the tree. His eyes shut.

Dragons didn’t cry.

Dragons were the strongest, most dominant, vicious creatures.....yeah...cruel creatures. That’s what she said.

Cruel creatures. Who aren’t capable of crying or loving.

Dragons were worthless to humans, who knows, apparently to their mates as well.

How pathetic.

Dragons were the stupidest creatures to fall in love, and that too, with a human.

His lips trembled as he swallowed hard, trying to force the ache down.

Dragons didn’t cry...yet, his tears seemed to fall anyway.

Endlessly, those silent trails slipped down his face as if his body had betrayed his nature.

_to be continued_

PART 28

TAGS:

@sleepkittyenergy @emochosoluvr @sylusismine4life @aurorab-0-realis @animegamerfox @sand342 @justpassingdontworry @sunqi053 @maryy237 @yoonights @crimsonrubie @youru-yoru @phisen @gremlinartstudio @poptrim @silver--47 @nisarelle @napforalifetime @akarimochi0523 @definitely-asexual-volcano @ionlypartiallyslay @mariahuchiha90 @cheezeandkrackers @vyntheria @violentriddlehoard@silverianni @r3nr3nn1e @kim-hae-il @adharanotfound @hemmosfear @kingraspberry12-blog @leftpoetrymoon @mangooes @applecrow168 @seraphineash @silverwingedfiends-wife @sylustoru @aiycnlyme @mia-menaceinaction @porqueestadificilcolocarunnombre @haze-ez @myprincesspasta

[damn-stark]

Tell me I’ve been lied to

Levi Ackerman x reader

Requested by @minheoly “Levi soulmate au where levi doesn't want a soulmate and rejects his soulmate and she dies and only after does he realise how much he needed her (angst pls)”

A/N- uh...thanks for making me cry while writing this :): but no really, I hope you like it!!

Warning- talks of death, violence, blood, angst!!! Spoilers for 4x14

———-

There was never time. It was always one thing, or the other.

But it was expected, you were soldiers risking your lives all the time, never knowing if a certain expedition would be your last. Everyone knew that too much attachment wasn’t a good idea. He especially knew that.

So you never had high hopes that Levi would give into these undeniable feelings, to the unmistakable connection you both shared, after all it was written in the stars, you were fated soulmates. But still you had the tiniest sliver of hope that he’d at least acknowledge that fact. It would’ve made things easier and much better. But he...didn’t.

He never tried to accept what was written in the stars.

*SOMETIME BEFORE*

“Levi, can we talk?” You ask by the doorway of his room, watching as he didn’t stop doing his tasks around his room. He only briefly looked at you over his shoulder to let you know that he acknowledged your presence.

“I have some time.” He says over his shoulder before he looks back at what he was doing, “come in.”

You hesitate for a brief second that you begin to regret walking in to try and talk to him, but as you remind yourself, as you push the topic you wanted to talk about inside your head, you just nervously hit the door with your knuckles before you step inside.

“What did you want to talk about?” He queries.

“I,” you sigh as you walk in and stand by the end of his bed frame. “Want to talk about,” you pause and continue watching him with his attention wavered around his room, it frustrates you, you could feel the feeling begin to boil at the pit of your stomach, but you don’t express it yet. You let him continue cleaning his already spotless room. “...Us,” you finish.

Levi still doesn’t face you, you notice that he briefly stiffens as he pauses what he was doing only for the slightest second. And surprisingly he answers. “Us? What do you mean by that?”

“I just,” you clear your throat and take two steps towards him. “...mean about our connection,”

It was hard bringing it up, the fact that you were considered soulmates, the undeniable feelings you knew you both felt. The way your heart felt so at peace when you were with him, the way every single color this world was filled with was brighter and more beautiful, the way worry felt so minuscule being with him because he made you feel safe. Knowing Levi was okay brought you so much comfort, seeing him even if it was just for a second out of the entire day made your heart burst and brought you solace.

Those feelings had felt so strange at first, when you first made eye contact on the first time you met on your first day in the Scout Regiment. But they also made complete and utter sense.

“I know,” you continue as you keep your eyes on the back of his head, “you feel it too. And I’m tired of pretending it’s not there, I want to embrace it, not push it away.” You reach for his shoulder, but just as your fingers could touch the material of his suit jacket, he turns to finally face you, his face as usual, completely nonchalant. You didn’t mind it before, but today you wanted to see at least one reaction twitch on his face, one reaction show through his blue eyes.

“I know that with what we do it brings risks, but I don’t care,” you continue once you note his silence, slowly beginning to reach for his hand this time. “I can’t hold what I feel back anymore. I want to be with you, like it’s meant to be.” The corner of your lips twitch, but you don’t smile as you notice his gaze remained hard, and his lips stayed in that straight line until he parted his lips to finally speak.

“Y/N,” he sighs, “I can’t feel what you do. I can’t lie to you and say I want it too, because I don’t.”

You blink and drop your hand back to your side, stepping back and feeling your lips slowly drop into a deep and saddened frown.

Levi keeps his eyes on yours and no single expression flickers through them. He remains serious.

“I can’t return your feelings, I can’t run the risks you so easily want to disregard.” He continues, unknowingly, or knowingly stabbing your heart—you drop your gaze and look at the clean wooden floor to focus on the sound of the rain pattering on the window for a brief second, as you try to fight the urge to not let your eyes well up with tears. It was a hard task but you were keeping your ground for now.

“I’m sorry,” he says in a tone that you felt was different from the previous one he was using just moments ago. “But I can’t. I don’t want to.”

Your lips part, and your eyes sting ten times worse as the need to cry even burns your throat. Levi notices, he sees your eyes still focused on the ground, and your fists curled into tight shaking fists, the silence that now overcame you, but he doesn’t do anything to comfort you. He can’t even if he wanted to.

Instead he remains nonchalant, or at least he keeps with that act. “So if you don’t have anything to add to our mission plans, then I’ll see you at the meeting. I have things to do.”

“Right,” you nod slowly, feeling yourself drown in disbelief and an overwhelming sadness. “Okay.”

Without even daring to look at him, you hurryingly storm out the room, but stay behind his door as you close it behind you. You just needed to stop, to try and compose yourself there before anyone saw you. But a soft cry escaped your lips before you could attempt to stop it, and unknowingly Levi had heard it as he had walked to stand by his door, knowing you hadn’t walked off.

He fought the urge to not walk out to stop you crying, to comfort you. It was difficult, but he managed it, he forced himself anyway.

Just like you forced yourself to walk away and not look back.

But maybe he should have just tried.

~

It had happened so suddenly and unexpectedly, the way he had impaled your own blade into your stomach. It could’ve been avoided if you had simply ignored his plea for help, but he had proven to be trustworthy in that month Levi and you had been looking out after him; Zeke Yeager. But that was your downfall, thinking he was a friend because the person you really wanted to talk to didn’t talk to you about anything else besides your work.

Now you were lying on the grass limp and cold, bleeding out and having to hear the commotion going around you without being able to do a thing. Having to see as one of the Titans Zeke had turned with just his scream, was trying to get a hold of you, it’s grubby hands inching closer, and closer until you watched them get swiftly cut off before it’s life came to a quick end. Not so long after, after feeling the dust the crashing body had blown your way, came Levi, his face contorted into anger and disbelief. He crouched down beside you and his eyes moved quickly as he tried to grasp what was happening.

“Just,” he spoke quietly, “just stay awake okay? Don’t you dare close your eyes on me while I try to recapture this asshole, okay?”

Without much of a choice, you nod in agreement, noticing his hesitance to leave you for even just those couple of minutes he needed to bring back Zeke. But he had to, so he did, leaving you to only be able to look at the tall green trees that grew far into the sky, because if you even lowered your eyes just a bit, you’d see the blade sticking out of your body. And that would make what you knew was slowly happening painful.

Painful in a way that it'd hurt your soul. Because pain otherwise, you already felt deeply.

So you had to look at the sky that was slowly getting invaded by dark clouds and slowly covering away the blue sky. That’s where you only let yourself think of Levi as you felt yourself drifting off, and felt the pain less and less by each passing second—you thought of the way he made you feel the first time you saw him, that exact moment your eyes met each other's and everything set right into place. A half of you finally connected. A half of you that you didn’t know was missing until the day you met him.

Until the day you met each other.

It was such a beautiful day that day. Even if he never accepted what you were to each other, you still thought of it, and him as the best thing that’s ever to you in your life.

That’s the last thought you’d think of as you passed away waiting for Levi to return. It was a peaceful and beautiful thought that left a small smile on your face. A smile he couldn’t accept as he returned to you just a few seconds too late.

“Come on, y/n,” he mutters as he cradles your body. “Come on, come on.” He presses his ear against your chest and waits to hear your heart with his breath held in. But as he waits, as his body screams at him to breathe again, he hears nothing but the sound of his own heartbeat pounding in his ears. “No.” He finally breathed out, relieving his lungs of that anguish. “No. Come on.” Levi lifts his head to look at you and stroke your cheek as he’s unable to accept the truth in front of him. After all, he's seen death many times. He knew what it looked like, but he couldn’t accept it. It was harder to do so with you.

“Hey,” he whispers softly, “hey.” He moves to sit down with his arms still cradling your lifeless body. “You’re alright, you’ll be okay.” His eyes searched yours as they became cloudy with tears, and that’s when he finally let himself think how beautiful you were, how you really completed him and filled this half of him.

“Please,” he cried softly, “please. Y/N? Come on, I’m sorry, I am. Please. Don’t leave me. Hey...not you.” He continues to stroke your cheek as he presses his forehead against yours to continue talking to you. “I need you...” he pauses and inhales shakily, feeling more tears stream down his cheeks.

Levi exhales deeply and shakily once more before he continues with the same kind and breaking voice. “I do, I do want to be with you, so you have to stay with me, you have to keep living. Breathe for me…” he pulls back and once again looks into your eyes.

But this time he accepts the truth. Slowly, but he does even if he doesn’t want to. Even if that meant accepting that a part of him was now gone, that he now felt completely empty.

“I’m sorry,” he cries one last time. “I’m sorry I didn’t accept you before, I'm sorry.” He sniffles and moves his hand to slowly close your eyes, leaning forward to press a gentle kiss on your lips before he pressed his forehead against yours one last time, hugging you tighter than ever before.

“I love you.” He whispers for the first and last time.

[ohimsummer]

PUPPY DOG TRAINING ft. SATORU GOJO

— minors dni, satoru x puppy hybrid! reader, possessive! reader, hybrid au, virgin! + afab! reader, humongous c0ck satoru LOL, hole training, (mentions of) p -> v penetration, fingering, masturbation, reader w/ pubic hair

⭑ ࣪ ˖ sum’z notes.ᐟ this has been in my drafts since april of last year </3 i finally decided to just split it into two parts cause i've been wanting to post it for a while now but i hadn't ever finished it SO! two parter 💪🏾

wc 3185

ding, ding!

the lady at the counter shifts her gaze towards the door. her back straightens once spotting the new visitor, and she grins.

"welcome in! please let me know if you need any help."

satoru only gives a short wave as he makes a beeline to a particular section of the store, marked overhead by a sign that reads 'puppy playhouse'. there's a large play area surrounded by chest-high, glass barriers and occupied by an assortment of canine hybrids. but he's searching for someone specific.

a flash of pink catches his observant eye, and satoru spots exactly who he's looking for:

you're sprawled out on your belly in a corner of the play pen, gnawing on a squeaky plush bone and about as isolated as you can get from the other frolicking dog hybrids. you seem content with your current task, idly swinging your tail and mostly ignoring everyone else. even at this distance, you look just as cute as you did on the shop's website.

satoru trails around the glass partition until he's standing in front of you. his lingering presence attracts your attention—he's tall and broad and you can sense a powerful aura radiating off him. not to mention, he's handsome, too, with a charming smile that sends your tail swaying wildly. an ideal mate, to be honest.

your keen nose twitches at the tantalizing combination of both sweets and his natural aroma. it's intriguing and makes your senses go a bit haywire.

satoru grins as you spring to your feet, bone in tow, tail still swishing eagerly as you walk over to greet him. you're even more adorable up close, with big, round eyes, long lashes, soft cheeks, and velvety ears that flop over your hair.

"hey, miss.", satoru calls to the attendant. "i want her, please."

getting familiar with your new home is a walk in the park. satoru, now your new owner, had already prepared the apartment for your arrival. he's stocked up on treats, plushies, several collars, and even your own pretty, pink recliner occupying a corner of the living room. it's horribly out of place amongst the rest of his interior, but perfect for curling up in his lap and taking naps on.

more importantly, satoru has granted you an entire room to yourself. "eh, it was one of my guest rooms, but now i'm giving it to you, pretty." and it is a nice room, complete with a queen-sized bed, heart-shaped vanity, and an assortment of toys and plushies waiting to either be chewed on or cuddled with.

despite the initial excitement of having your own bedroom, you rarely ever sleep there. after the first week or so, you made it a habit of prancing right into satoru's room—whether he was there or not—and making yourself comfy in his king bed. you preferred when he was home so you could push your way between his arms and snuggle into his chest, though just being wrapped in the fluffy, satoru-scented sheets was still heavenly by itself. it only took a month living with him before you were fully obsessed.

getting to know satoru was even easier. from the initial car ride home to when your eyes shut for bed, the two of you never stopped talking. doesn't matter what you said, what you asked, what you poked and prodded about, he had an answer for everything. satoru was also completely comfortable with your constant displays of affection, even returning it tenfold on day one. you'd wrap yourself around his arm and follow him anywhere, and satoru would respond with a smile and head pat.

he actively welcomed you into his personal space. you loved resting your head on his shoulder, falling asleep to satoru stroking your ears. other times you would hop into his lap, tossing both arms around satoru's neck before rubbing your cheeks against his. being so restless, you wriggled in satoru's lap a lot, which he didn't mind, per se, though he would eventually grab your hips and sit you still. it never clicked why until satoru had stopped your squirming and the heat in the pit of your belly would register. and also the sudden hardness you were sitting on that definitely wasn't there before. you weren't necessarily an idiot about breeding, but the shop you came from didn't let their hybrids reproduce, so this made you...curious, to say the least.

you were enamoured with satoru. he treated you well, spoiled you rotten, loved you hard. you couldn't find a single downside about living with him,

unless you considered the...guests he would have over.

they were rarely men, usually women. lucky because you had a low tolerance for pretty much any man who wasn't satoru. aside from his one friend—suguru, you think?—with the long black hair who always led you into his arms. the one who would squish your cheeks between his fingers and study you as he listened to your idle chatter. that was, until satoru decided you'd paid suguru enough attention, patting his own lap, and a victorious gleam would grace his pretty blue eyes at the speed in which you'd break out of his friend's embrace and hop over into his. regardless of how kind or inviting suguru was, they both knew who your heart belonged to.

as for women...honestly, you weren't too fond of them, either. satoru would come in late some nights with one on his arm, both of them drunk and giggling. other times you'd peep out into the hallway and he'd be carrying them to his bedroom, slamming it shut and you'd have to listen to her loud moans as satoru, your satoru, had his way with her. those nights, you'd be forced to sleep in your own room.

the thought of satoru sharing his affections with others made you sick with possession. after all the effort you'd put into rubbing your scent all over him and his bed and his things, you'd have to mark your territory all over again to get rid of the stranger stench his guests would always leave behind. satoru was adamant that his bed was your bed, and you despised the idea of some person, man or woman, sleeping where you belonged. it made you feel bitter. it made you feel jealous.

one morning, you bit the person he'd brought the previous night. a woman with fair skin and brown hair down her back who was a little too comfortable with the layout of his house. you didn't get the chance to draw blood like you wanted, but you were happy to have hurt her nonetheless. that's what she got for her little invasion.

"god-, i'm so sorry." satoru stumbled into the nearest bathroom, reappearing with alcohol, tissues, and a box of bandaids. "they don't usually bite."

technically true, but that's only because you'd never felt the urge. his other guests would settle on waving or just ignoring you entirely as satoru ushered them to his room. who did this woman think she was, trying to pet you? really, it was her own fault.

"naughty girl.", satoru sighs and pinches your ear after she's left. "you can't go around biting people."

it seemed a bit hypocritical considering he liked to nibble on your neck or thighs when you two were alone and suck marks into them. he'd also giggle about how your teeth tickled whenever you gently gnawed on his fingers or arms or neck. just more of satoru's enabling behavior.

and it's not like he'd given you any kind of training when he brought you here. that's why you were spoiled. satoru let you chew on him. he let you occupy half his bed when you had a perfectly fine room to yourself. he let you litter toys all over the apartment, his bedroom included. satoru let you steal bites of his food, though sometimes he'd make you whine and pout and blink your cute puppy-dog eyes at him and beg for it (all while knowing he was going to say yes, anyway). he let you shove your pretty new phone in his face and whimper about whatever new thing you just had to have. spoiled.

the closest thing you ever got to a real scolding or proper training was when satoru spontaneously decided he didn't want you doing something, because he'd just discovered you doing said something five minutes before and didn't like it. you don't leave the house alone anymore because he told you not to. 'it's safer if i'm with you' he said. you don't get bored and devour half the tasty sweets in his fridge anymore because he spanked you for it. and you don't kiss suguru's face to greet him anymore because jealously is a disease, and satoru's cure involved making you grind on his thigh all night long until he thought you'd learned your lesson.

so, this was really just another impromptu rule. something satoru had decided in the moment needed to be corrected: don't bite the guests i have over.

you remain bothered by satoru's preference to bring other people into his, your home, for the purpose of breeding with them. he's your mate after all. one might find it silly to consider him one rather than your owner. but also, isn't he? your mate?

he treats you like one. squeezes your cheeks til your lips pucker and pecks wet kisses on them until you're a giggling mess. he runs a bath on quiet nights and leaves he door open, a silent offer to join him if you'd like (and you do). he bites at your neck, marking you like a mate, and refreshes the reddened bruises on your skin whenever they begin to fade. at first it was because you'd bite first, but satoru soon admitted he grew to like seeing them on you. it makes your tail twitch, ears perk up, heart flutter, knowing he's claiming you. of course you think he's your mate when he acts like one.

the obvious next step would be to breed with you, then, no? but it's coming up on six months and he hasn't made a move. satoru has never penetrated you, with his cock or fingers. the farthest he's went is grinding you down on his bulge until you both came, and that's far from good enough, in your opinion.

"how come we don't breed?", you ask him curiously from the bathroom doorway. he always leaves the door unlocked, or sometimes wide open. nothing to hide and, if satoru's lucky, you'll hop in the shower with him.

"hm?" satoru raises his white brows at you in the mirror, spitting out toothpaste before going to rinse.

despite rehearsing this conversation in your head, the words begin to sizzle away on your tongue. it doesn't help that he's just in a towel, body damp from the shower. his back muscles look woefully empty of your teeth marks. "you–, you always bring those other people here, all the time. why not breed with me?"

you see his shoulders tremble, and huff because you can tell he's trying to hold back giggles.

"firstly," satoru says, huffing out a laugh, "you can call it sex, pretty girl. because like–, it's–, no one really–". he stops, sighs. "i don't know, just don't call it breeding."

"okay.", you nod. "so?"

satoru peeks at you again through the mirror, blue eyes piercing into yours. "dunno. i kinda don't wanna scare you. or break you, for that matter."

his words draw your ears to attention, and your head tilts. "break me? how would you do that?" and then you think for another second. "also, you wouldn't scare me! we're mates!"

satoru studies you for a moment, then shakes his head and releases a louder chuckle. "baby, you've never had sex before."

"how do you know that?"

"well, have you?" satoru's giving you that look like he already knows the answer. the one that makes you feel feisty, because you want to throw a wrench in the situation just to be a brat, but you know he's expecting that, too.

"no..."

"uh huh.", is all he says. and then, satoru turns to you and he's undoing the towel around his waist.

he lets it fall to the floor and you give him several, wide-eyed blinks. you've never actually seen his dick before in all it's glory—only half-hard through his pants or boxers before he pulls you into his lap.

it's huge. even limp, it's bigger than anything you could have imagined. it's like the width of your fucking wrist. and even though the drool is pooling up in your mouth, all you can think is 'holy shit' and wonder how it would fit inside you soft, let alone thick and heavy when he's hard.

"still wanna try?", satoru asks. you can't speak, only hear him burst out laughing at your slack-jawed expression as you continue gawking at his dick. satoru ruffles your hair as he leaves the bathroom fully nude. it's patronizing. it's the same thing he does when he holds your favorite treats high above his head and tells you to grab them, knowing you can't reach. a mockery.

long after he's left for a work trip, satoru's words continue bouncing around in your head. he doesn't want to scare you. nonsense. even with his intimidating size, you would never be afraid of him. maybe nervous, but...still not scared. and you're going to prove it to him.

if satoru is worried about your first time taking his cock, then the obvious solution is training yourself to take it. but first: research. living in various hybrid shops your whole life meant never having a chance to be bred. or have sex, whatever satoru wanted you to say. and it also meant taking suppressant pills to stop whatever heats you may have had once you reached a certain age. workers at the shop were careful with not allowing any frisky behavior between hybrids, so your sensual interactions with satoru are the most intimate encounters you've ever had in your life.

your research is brief, and only consists of watching various videos of women masturbating. they make it look easy enough.

one quick trip to satoru's room later and you have his favorite sweatshirt in your possession. your acute sense of smell makes his scent hit 10x harder, and your tail wags as the comforting aroma of satoru fills your nostrils. you pad down the hallway and towards your room, slipping inside the woefully unlived-in space and locking the door behind you.

flopping into bed, you throw satoru's sweatshirt over your face and slide a hand down your shorts. you brush a finger over your cunt, feeling at the sparse, curly hairs, leaving light touches over your inner thighs. when you part your folds, your finger is immediately soaked in slick, gliding down your soaked cunt and the tip slips easily into your entrance. you tug satoru's shirt down and pull your hand out to inspect it. your fingers are coated in a clear and stringy fluid, keeping the digits connected as you part them and look on in awe.

you sigh, inhaling the smell on satoru's shirt again. your eyes flutter closed and a fantasy beings spinning in your mind: satoru finally returning from another week long work trip. him pouncing on you right after his shower, tugging you into his lap, sucking on your tongue and grinding his bulge into your core, groping and squeezing your ass. long, curious fingers wandering up your tail to send shivers down your spine as satoru mutters about how much he missed you.

circling and pressing down on your twitching clit shoots a familiar pleasure throughout your body, and a heat begins to boil in your lower tummy. it's a lot more intense than when you're dryhumping satoru. incredibly pronounced when it's direct contact. 'fuck'.

your hips shift upwards into your hand. a gasp leaves your parted lips, followed by a moan as you apply more pressure to the swollen nub. the shirt suffocates you in his scent, and the more you inhale, the more intoxicated you become.

suddenly, they're not your fingers anymore, they're satoru's. you've had them in your mouth before, allowed to gently gnaw on them to satiate an oral fixation. though, satoru's also shoved them there to occasionally silence your bratty whines. he'll corner you against a wall, cooing gently as he rubs at your ears with his free hand and watches the defiance drain from your heavy-lidded eyes.

the scent of your arousal is heavy and plentiful in the air, almost overpowering satoru's shirt when it's still right on top of your nose. the pleasure feels unbearable. your limbs twitch and jerk, dripping hole clenching on nothing, begging to be filled.

you go limp in order to catch your breath. your heart pounds in your ears, legs sore and aching. there's an underlying sense under all the pleasure of just feeling utterly pathetic. how do you expect to take satoru's cock if you can barely handle having your clit rubbed?

'whatever'. you pull up the hem of your shorts to stare at your drenched hand, coated in your own juices. you don't have any other sort of lubricant within reach, nor know where satoru keeps his. besides, the sluggishness weighing your body down wouldn't allow you to get up, anyway.

after taking a few more minutes, you glide your middle finger between the slick folds of your pussy again, gasping at the sensation. your index and middle form a 'v' shape, toying with yourself, pinching at your clit, pulling back the hood to expose what's underneath. it leaves your back arching, mouth flying open, cunt throbbing as you grind against your own hand. you dive a little lower, prodding the tip of your finger against you hole again, and your spasming cunt threatens to suck it in whole.

pushing in past the first knuckle feels weird. you've never had anything inside you before. it's mildly uncomfortable, wiggling your middle finger further along. it's barely an inch but it feels like way more. a little deeper and you can feel the hot, gummy walls of your pussy clamp down as you tighten and untighten. it doesn't really feel like anything.

you spend a while exploring around in there, gasping and twitching whenever your fingertips brush against some squishy spot you can't quite reach, no matter how hard you try. it's frustrating. you think maybe a toy would do the trick. or satoru's fingers, but you're not quite ready to approach that topic again. you eventually admit defeat with a persistent flame boiling in your lower tummy.

one ¥30,000 purchase later, and you're excited for tomorrow when you will be the proud, new owner of a bottle of lube and a 'g-spot rabbit vibrator', whatever that was. just based on visuals, it was the smallest vibrating dildo thing you could find on the website. maybe once you could handle your own fingers, you'd spin back for a dildo. for now, them and their intimidating length and unfathomable girth had successfully scared you away.

[kkunai]

𝜗℘ ˖ ࣪ . ˖˙ ‎ husband!satoru hates arguments. even more so when your conflicts upset your baby daughter :: tags. fluff, hurt & comfort :: wc. 1.1k

satoru hates having arguments with you. he hates it whenever an argument turns into the silent treatment. he apologises and apologises, yet nothing helps to change your mood sometimes.

ever since you got married and had your daughter, you were a bit more sensitive to the smallest of things than usual. it wasn’t like satoru despised you for it; in fact, he understands that motherhood was and is stressful. that man was nothing but supportive to you.

though, your little arguments were indirectly having an impact on the mental state of your baby. you didn’t realise an one year old could sense the tension between her parents.

“mama, mama!” your daughter appears out of nowhere, waddling over to you standing in the kitchen. she had barely just learnt how to walk. her tiny hand reaches for yours and she points at the doorway with her other, “go, mama, go.”

you curiously let your little girl lead you towards where she was pointing at, only to arrive at the living room. satoru was sitting on the couch, idly staring at the ceiling, other hand fiddling with one of your daughter’s toys. he seemed deep in thought. even exhausted and clearly not his playful self.

“mama, go! mama go papa.”

satoru’s head turns to the side at the cute sound of his favourite little girl. he smiles brightly at her return to the living room, only for his smile to fade just for a second at the sight of you next to her. he isn’t mad at you—more like sad that you still seemed upset with him.

your daughter tugs at your index finger. she apparently wants you to go to her dad—wants you to interact or talk with him. her big eyes were staring up at you with a pleading look in them.

you were in a dilemma. of course, you wanted to put your daughter’s mind at ease. you could just fake interact with satoru—or actually just make it up—but there was still a small part of you that needed time alone. you weren’t yet mentally ready for another confrontation. you needed time to think it out.

however, part of you also knows that your earlier argument was kind of silly. you don’t even fully remember what it was about, that’s how irrelevant it was to your brain.

“c’mon, pumpkin. ‘tis not nice for you to bother mama while she’s cooking.” satoru’s soft voice startles you back to reality. he had already gotten up and crouched down to pick your daughter up in his arms, kissing her chubby cheeks to distract her; “mama’s busy, ‘kay? let’s go play with papa.”

even satoru knew that your argument had caused your little girl to feel some kind of stress. she didn’t fully comprehend the situation, though she was clearly uncomfortable by the fact that her parents were not acting nice and lovey dovey like they usually would.

“no, papa. mama!” the baby whines and points at you and then at satoru, her little legs kicking. it absolutely broke satoru’s heart — shattered it into pieces. oh, how he wishes to never fight with you again. the sight of his little bundle of joy trying to mend things between you two with all she could was simply too much.

satoru looks down at you and notices the way you look at your one year old as well. the same way he did; with guilt and sadness. he sighs softly and without further thought, wraps his free arm around your shoulders and brings you close to his body.

“c’mere,” satoru murmurs as he holds both your daughter and you to his chest, “let me hold my two girls, yeah? may i, sweetheart? please.”

your husband asks for your consent. if you were okay with this—even when he needs it desperately, to hold you again in his arms and to make it right to you—your comfort comes first. if you weren’t ready yet to make up, he’d let you go. even if it’d hurt him immensely.

you don’t answer with your words and instead let your actions do the talking. you wrap one arm around satoru’s torso, the other cradling your daughter closer to both you and him.

it was like nothing mattered anymore in that moment, except for your little family. your worries, stress and anxiety about everything and anything had vanished into thin air as you felt the embrace of the two people you held dear.

your daughter finally giggles—a sound satoru and you had greatly missed. you close your eyes and just rest against your husband’s body.

“mama papa, wuv!” the little girl squeals in happiness as she excitedly babbles on, causing both satoru and you to laugh as well. the white-haired sorcerer leaves a big peck on the baby’s forehead before doing the same to you.

“mhm, papa loves mama veeery much.” satoru hums and kisses your forehead again, solely because he missed being affectionate to you, “papa loves his sweet little angel too.”

you can’t help but chuckle along with your one year old—who seemed to be extremely content in her parents’ loving embrace again. this is how it always should be.

“mama also loves papa very much.” you reply, causing your husband to regain his usual big grin. he finally got what he longed for; to have you look and talk to him with love. your silence may have lasted only a few hours, but it felt like it had been a couple cruel months to the sorcerer.

your eyes meet his again and all was well. you smile at him and he smiles back before leaning in to kiss you gently on the lips. satoru’s arm that was draped over your shoulder moves down to curl around your lower back, pulling you as close to him as your bodies would allow.

he pulls back after a few seconds and just lovingly stares at your face again—eyes holding an affection only you had ever been able to witness. your eyes told the same story; nothing could separate you two. ever.

“waaaaah! mama papa, me, me!”

the romantic air between you two suddenly gets interrupted by your daughter’s excited demands. she was demanding kisses as well, puffing her cheeks up as she got ready for it.

“ohh? seems like our angel wants some kisses too.” satoru laughs and nods his head at the baby in his other arm whilst looking at you, “shall we?”

you giggle and nod back—not able to refuse your little girl any longer.

it was not long before the living room fills with the sounds of your child’s laughter, which was caused by the continuous kisses and tickles she was receiving from both satoru and you.

[leenkeyluc]

Reminder of the Past

cw: non-mc!reader, purely self-indulgent, might be ooc sylus, implied early stages of established relationship, nickname dove + sweetie, hurt/comfort, mentions of bad childhood, major d*pressive vibes, passive su!cid*l ideation, daddy issues, slight mention of Chinese culture | wc: 1.6K words

WARNING!! please do not read if d*pressive moments trigger you. also, this is based on my personal turmoil, your views might be different from mine, please drop this immediately if it doesn’t align.

ᯓ★ dividers by ©saradika-graphics and ©pixopix!

Sylus was squinting. He was eyeing the calendar on your phone. He was simply borrowing your phone to take silly photos—a bird outside trying to woo Mephisto—but this made him pause.

Today was your birthday? 

Well, to be fair, he never asked—he should’ve asked, he was mad at himself, he should've known from the start either way. It was the day he could lavishly spend on you, showering you with your favorite things and planning something that would make your eyes sparkle, surprises.

But he missed the chance because he simply didn’t know.

His eyes glossed over your position from the kitchen counter, seeing you were humming to yourself while snacking on the couch, the small sound from the TV entertained you.

"Sweetie?" His call made you perk up.

"Yeah, Sy? You want some?" you asked with your oh so sweet smile—according to him, offering your chips. Sylus would fawn and tease, but he was far too disappointed at himself right now.

"Don't you have anything to say about today?" He went straight to the point with a raised brow. 

Your brows furrowed together. Licking your fingers from the leftover salt, you shook your head when coming to a dead end.

"Is it important? Our anniversary wasn't today..." you muttered. You stood up, brought the bag of chips to seal it, and washed your hands before you took hold of your phone. 

"Care to tell why you didn't mention your birthday is today?" Sylus frowned. It was a selfish thought; he would be fine if it were his birthday, but this was your birthday, someone he cherishes. Maybe Luke's and Kieran's attempts to surprise him almost every day during his birthday month affected him— you should have someone like that too for your birthday.

"Oh, I... I just don't think it's too important," you truthfully said, looking away.

"Do you not usually celebrate it?" he asked. He hadn’t met you around this time last year—he wished he had.

"Well, I usually do when I was younger... but these last few years, no." You sighed. "If I remember, I’d get a slice of cake and have a nice dinner by myself… but I don’t feel like I deserve it today."

"...Would you like to tell me? It’s alright if you don't." He held your shoulders, grounding you, thumbs rubbing in circles to comfort.

You weren’t sure whether to tell Sylus, knowing little about his past and family— you didn’t want to be complaining when you have a complete family. Your lips jutted into a pout. He could see you were holding back your tears. You couldn’t help it when he was being this gentle. What had you done to deserve someone so caring like him?

“Would I be complaining if I do?” you asked, looking up at him. He only shook his head, hands squeezing slightly, assuring you to go on.

"...I just didn't have a good childhood, Sy. Only one working parent, the other is just a random stranger living in the house… Couldn’t even provide, couldn’t have the things I’ve wanted, the house was running down.” You rambled, hands rubbing your arms. 

High voices and slammed doors, calculative and codependent—you weren't sure what or where the warmth was, the one that people had mentioned, present at their homes, their family.

Exhaustive like a candle vanishing its life, you thought they would be better off divorced—yet codependency and the one-sided love still pursued. One was tired, one was ignorant—is that what you call loving each other? 

“I was envious of my friends’ families—I felt like I was surviving all this time. At one point, the home became a rundown house,” you muttered, feeling slightly ashamed. “I couldn’t communicate without lashing out or tears.”

“...You could have asked me for anything now, but you never used my card as freely as I want you to be.” His voice rumbled, grunting. It made you smile, appreciating his sentiment. 

“I’m still raised right—I think, to not take things for granted. I don’t want to burden you with my needs, Sy. I wouldn’t mind when we’re wedded, though.” You grin, trying to ease the sadness that’s building up inside you. 

“You know I wouldn’t mind even now…” Sylus muttered. He had reminded you all the time that you weren’t a burden to him, your needs wouldn’t even make a dent in his wealth. “But I suppose I respect that, I’ll just wait until we are legally bound together. Just wait, dove.”

You laughed at his teasing remark with the promise behind it. The squeeze on your shoulder signalled you to continue, while he had moved both of you to the couch.

“It’s hard for me—I don’t want to get used to the luxury again. I’m afraid I wouldn’t be able to provide for myself, just like how he failed to provide for his own house.” You shut your eyes. “We had a tradition to celebrate each birthday with the whole family. Until I decided I didn’t want to—I would rather not celebrate than have to sit through a whole dinner with the people I loathe.”

“I stopped celebrating ever since because it always had to be a whole, as a family.” Scoffing, you leaned against his side. An arm around you, he was patiently listening.

“At one point, I kept rethinking why I was born in such a dysfunctional family…" You said, looking down. “Am I ungrateful? I was always taught to be grateful—I have to, but why is it so hard to do so?”

"It's the day when I was born, I was happy, but I wished that I hadn't been born at all to experience life up to this point by enduring them. If I could just—why am I alive for another year?" A tear slipped out, a shudder as you breathe, true feelings pouring out. Sylus froze at your words. 

This was the first time he saw you vulnerable, heard your deepest hurt. It pains him to know that you would rather be gone than hold on. He couldn’t imagine not having you in his life at this point—

"...But at least, now I have you.”

His hold on you relaxed, breath released. Those very words were enough— he made a change in your life, even if it’s small.

“It’s still hard to change my mind, but having you in my life made it better—bearable. You're the only good thing that happened in my life... I don't want you to turn away knowing I'm a broken person." You still try to laugh, sniffling slightly. 

“It was why I hesitated when I wanted to date you. I haven’t healed from my past, and I don’t want to inflict my anger and hurt on you when I don’t know how to love or receive love.”

He knew what you were referring to. He was doing the bare minimum—listening to you when you ramble, remembering the little things you’ve mentioned in passing, remembering your favorites and dislikes, bringing you dinner when you hadn’t eaten—and more others, all of it made you surprised every time he does such things, you were confused on how to react aside from ‘thank you’ and ‘why did you do that, you didn’t have to’.

“I don’t know what a healthy relationship is. My only mentor was romance novels and fanfics.” You chuckled slightly. Sylus raised a brow—he’ll search for those so-called ‘fanfics’ later.

“Forgive me, I don’t know how it is to have a male figure in my life. All I know is that he emotionally torments my mother, who became an unpaid maid rather than a wife. I watched her grow tired each day, earning disrespect from her husband, who doesn’t appreciate what she does when she had taken care of him like a baby.”

Sylus was both angry and sad. You deserved better. Life had already been unfair to him—to everyone. Why must you apologize for something that’s out of your hands?

“You don’t have to apologize,” he muttered.

He only pulled you close the moment sobs wrecked you, cradling you on his lap. He kept you close, rubbing you back soothingly. Your cries broke his heart. He couldn’t imagine the weight you’ve been shouldering all this time—imagine how you envision your own future.

"You're also one of the good things I have in life aside from my boys." He hummed, kissing the top of your head.

"I'm sad... to hear you had thought about giving up before. I can't heal your hurt and pain, but let me shoulder them with you as time will heal them." Sylus murmured, pulling back to cup both of your cheeks. He frowned at your glossy eyes, lips trembling to keep your cries in.

"I’m grateful and proud of you for telling me, I'm still going to be right beside you—to support you through thick and thin, and through your worst times." It was a vow, a promise that he wouldn't let you fall too deep in sorrow.

"Thank you for trusting me to listen, thank you for being strong." He smiled slightly, wiping away the remaining tears. 

"Happy birthday, my dove. I'm glad you were born.” A kiss on your forehead. “I’m glad you are with me." 

A wet laugh escapes you, tears still streaming down. "Thank you, Sy."

“I’m not sure how you were treated before, or what you had seen before. But I promise you, I will take good care of my people, especially my beloved.” 

Sylus hushed you the moment your lips jutted out to hold your cries again because of his sweet words, kissing you once.

"Now, do you want to blow a candle? We can have a small dinner with the twins." He offered, asking for your consent to the impromptu event.

"Mephie is coming too, right?" You chuckled. A knock on the window affirmed the answer.

"Of course, as the queen of the day wants." Sylus rumbles a laugh. “We’ll have noodles, I want us to grow old together… Do you mind?”

“Stop, you’re going to make me cry again.” You hit his shoulder, earning a hearty laugh.

"I'll make sure to remind you how lucky and happy I am to have you alive by my side every day, dove.”

a/n IT’S APRILUS I KNOW, I’M SORRY— this is my first sylus only fic and it’s depr*sso haha. there will be a short short fic on sy’s birthday too.

but today is my birthday! happy birthday to whoever is having their birthday haha, happy birthday fellow aries babies this 2026. this is a personal piece, it’s an outlet, whoops sorry, just had to put it out somewhere. i hope the comfort came through to those who need it.

ᯓ★ ©2026 leenkeyluc — only on tumblr! thanks for reading!

[purrtoru]

♡ husband!satoru’s genes are just too strong ( ˶°ㅁ°) !!

part 2

you’re sitting on the edge of the bed, one hand resting on your very obvious baby bump, the other clutching the newest ultrasound.

“i’m done,” you declare.

across the room, satoru pauses mid taking his shirt off. “done… with pregnancy? because i feel like that’s a little late.”

“with your genes,” you snap, glaring at the photo. “they’re ridiculous. actually unfair.”

he snorts, walking over. “nothing i can do about that, sweetheart.”

you shove the ultrasound toward him. “explain this.”

he looks at it, then at you. “…that is a baby.”

“that is you,” you correct immediately. “again. for the third time.”

he hums like he’s considering it. “we don’t know that.”

“we do,” you insist, growing more emotional by the second.

“we have two already, toru. two tiny versions of you running around with your face, your hair, your stupidly pretty eyes—what am i even contributing?!”

“everything?” he offers.

“no,” you shake your head, pouting. “i carried them for months. i’m carrying this one. i do all the work and your genes just— copy, paste, repeat!”

he tries— he really does— but a grin slips out anyway. “to be fair, it’s a very good face to copy—”

“satoru.”

“right. not the time.”

you huff, looking down at your stomach. the baby shifts faintly, and it only makes your emotional state worse. “i just… i want one that looks like me.”

that quiets him instantly.

he steps closer, slower this time, like approaching something fragile. kneeling in front of you, he gently takes your hand and places it more securely over your bump, covering it with his own.

“they are like you,” he says, softer now.

“they don’t look like me,” you mumble.

“they have your expressions. your attitude,” he replies. “the way they get emotional over the smallest things—”

“it’s not small!”

“—and the big things,” he corrects easily, a small smile tugging at his lips. “that’s all you.”

you hesitate, but your eyes are still shiny. “that’s not the same.”

“it is to me.” his thumb brushes under your eye, catching a tear before it falls. “and this one? might surprise us.”

“you said that last time.”

“okay, yeah,” he admits, “and i was wrong.. twice. but y’know— third time’s a charm.”

a reluctant laugh slips out of you.

“there she is,” he murmurs, leaning in until your foreheads touch. “besides… even if our baby comes out looking exactly like me—”

“she will.”

“—she’s still yours first,” he says gently. “you’re the one she hears, the one she feels. you’re home before she even opens her eyes.”

that makes your expression falter.

“…and,” he adds, grin returning just a little, “if we do end up with three mini me’s, i think that just proves you have excellent taste.”

you let out a shaky breath, then weakly smack his shoulder. “your genes are still stupid.”

“yeah,” satoru says easily, wrapping his arms around you and your bump, “but you married into the problem.”

you grumble, but melt into him anyway, his hand resting warm and steady over your stomach.

“…next one better look like me,” you mumble.

“personally, i do not mind if we keep trying.”

“and what— create a whole clan?” you huff.

“i mean—” you slap a hand on his mouth before he can continue.